Dan heard David curse loudly, echoing his own thoughts. He wanted to activate his comms piece to ask what had happened to the gunman on the stairs but couldn’t without alerting the second sniper to his presence.
Thankfully, at that moment, David confirmed the kill.
‘The clown’s dead,’ he confirmed.
‘Huzzah,’ said Mitch.
‘Accessing the stairwell now,’ David said, ignoring him. ‘Mitch – shoot that lock out. To hell with it; he’s going to know we’re nearly onto him.’
‘Copy that.’
‘Dan – where’s the PM?’
‘About to step out of his car.’
‘Shit.’
The comms link went silent as each man concentrated on the task at hand.
Stop the sniper. Don’t let him shoot the Prime Minister.
Dan’s head shot up as the vehicles stopped in a line in front of the podium, and then the security team moved towards the back door of the middle car.
His stomach lurched, and he began to elbow his way through the dense mass of people who lined the cordon, their bodies packed into the small space.
Most appeared to be tourists, mobile phones and expensive-looking cameras held aloft as the back door of the car was opened, and the Prime Minister stepped out.
The man turned and waved to the crowd across the roof of the car, turning from side to side to make sure all the television cameras and reporters got an opportunity to capture the moment.
Dan clenched his fists and took one look at the security team surrounding the leader of the country and then at the deputy who stood next to him.
‘Here goes nothing.’
***
Mel adjusted the volume on the speakers next to her computer screens, tuning out the voices of the rest of the team.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Sarah, looking up from the document she’d been examining.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Mel. ‘Hang on.’
She concentrated on the chatter filtering through her earpiece from the police channel, and then frowned as her mind processed what she was hearing.
‘Shit,’ she muttered, before reaching across the makeshift desk and punching in a series of numbers on the computer, the frequency changing to a relatively unknown one.
Her breath caught at Malikov’s name, and then her heart lurched.
‘There’s another operation underway,’ she said.
‘What?’ Sarah crossed the room in a heartbeat. ‘Why didn’t they tell us?’
‘Good question.’
The space hidden within the tunnel system seemed to contract, and Mel fought off the light-headedness that threatened to engulf her.
Mel swept her notes and reports from the desk and began typing furiously at her keyboard.
‘No,’ she murmured. ‘No, no, no.’
She tapped her comms piece and then cursed as the signal dropped out.
Nothing.
She jumped in her seat as an alarm began to sound within the small room, her insides threatening to turn to liquid.
‘The tunnel door’s been breached. There’s someone coming. We need to destroy all of this. Start shredding.’
Sarah moved across to the table and began gathering up the documents, then hurried across to a shredding machine that had been set against one wall.
Mel noticed the other woman’s hands shaking as she fed the pages into it, then her gaze shifted to the monitors above her screen, and she watched in horror as, one by one, her carefully planted security cameras went black.
‘What the hell is going on?’ she muttered.
Her fingers moved over the keyboard as her eyes sought another way, another frequency she could use to reach the team to warn them.
‘Christ, the whole system is dead.’
She pivoted on her seat and began the series of keystrokes she’d developed that would wipe all the information on her computer system, protecting David’s mission from prying eyes.
She swallowed, her mouth dry as the sound of running feet on the metal walkways outside the secure door reached her ears.
They were out of time.
‘They’re here,’ Mel said.
She hit the ‘Enter’ button on the keyboard and then covered her eyes with her forearm and turned away to protect herself as the door blew inwards.
CHAPTER 55
Dan shoved a teenager out of his way and moved quickly into the space next to a policeman standing with his back to him.
‘Oi,’ exclaimed the teenager. ‘You’re in my spot!’
‘Piss off,’ muttered Dan.
‘I heard that.’
Dan ignored the tug on his sleeve, his gaze sweeping the layout of the raised podium and lectern, trying to form some sort of logical plan.
‘Hey – I was talking to you,’ the teenager said, louder.
The policeman glanced over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow at Dan and the teenager. ‘Problem?’
‘Yeah – he took my place.’
‘You can have it,’ said Dan and then pushed past the policeman with all his strength and launched himself at the parked cars.
As he slid across the bonnet of the Prime Minister’s vehicle, he calculated he had seconds before the security men behind him caught up and their colleagues to his right realised what was happening. Gambling on the confusion that would delay their reaction, he sprinted towards the podium, where the Prime Minister and Porchester were shaking hands with members of the local constituency as they made their way up the short flight of steps to the stage.
‘Talk to me, Mel,’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’
Static reached his ears, and he cursed.
‘Dan, stop!’ David yelled over the comms link.
His voice was echoed by the security team, whose reactions were starting to catch up with Dan’s progress.
He arched round to the right, ignoring the shouts behind him, a fleeting thought passing through his mind that the security team might shoot him if he didn’t stop.
‘Dan, wait!’ David’s voice increased in urgency, and he winced as the shouting grew louder.
As his long legs carried him up the steps, the Prime Minister turned to see what the commotion was, and his eyes opened wide.
‘Dan…’
Porchester began to turn, and at that moment, Dan caught up with them.
‘Get down!’ Dan yelled.
He pushed Porchester into the Prime Minister, tackling the two men to the ground.
As he fell onto Porchester’s legs, he saw a flash of red spray in the air above them, blood ejecting from the politician’s body, and then a woman began to scream, closely followed by others.
He raised himself up onto his elbows, and then ducked at the sound of loud gunfire from the building where Mitch and David had been hunting the sniper.
In the split second silence that followed, he realised no more shots had been fired at the podium and rolled away from the politician.
‘Shit.’
Porchester lay still, face-down on the stage. A large exit wound in the man’s back bled profusely, covering the stage area with viscous dark blood.
Dan’s gaze moved to the PM, who was sitting up, groaning. He watched in disbelief as the leader of the country began unbuttoning his shirt.
‘A bulletproof vest?’
The PM’s eyes met his, and he shrugged.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Dan. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
A clatter of footsteps began to climb the wooden steps behind him, and Dan struggled to his feet, pulling out his gun from his belt as he stood, and spun on his heel to face the building where he’d left Mitch and David.
He ignored the commotion around him and pushed his earpiece into place. A burst of static filled his head, and he ripped the earpiece away, cursing loudly.
Then the security detail surrounded him.
‘Down, down!’
‘Drop your weapon!’
‘On your knees!’
Dan fl
icked the safety on his gun, slid it across the stage towards the security guards, and then clasped his hands behind his head and dropped to his knees.
‘Here we go again,’ he muttered.
CHAPTER 56
Malikov hurried along the hallway, jabbed his forefinger against the panel for the security code to his temporary office, and pushed against the steel-framed door as soon as the locking mechanism deactivated.
Sweat pooled between his shoulder blades. He’d known it could come to this, had replayed the moment in his mind, but all the emotions were wrong in his dreams. He’d imagined anger, indignation, a sense of justice or retribution.
Instead he felt hollow, discordant.
He stalked across the room to the desk, its surface clear of any computer or telephone. He withdrew a set of keys from his pocket and then cursed as his fingers trembled while he tried to select the right one.
He exhaled, a vain attempt to release some of the pressure rising in his chest.
He finally found the key he sought and stabbed it into the small lock that was set into the drawers of the desk, twisting it counter-clockwise.
He wrenched open the top drawer.
The snub-nose revolver gleamed in the sunlight that poured through gaps in the closed blinds at the window.
Malikov ran his palms down his trousers, trying to lose some of the moisture, and then reached out with his right hand and wrapped his fingers around the weapon.
He checked the chamber and then flicked the lock back into place and straightened, his eyes turning to the open door.
Another spasm gripped his sternum, and he gritted his teeth, his left hand gripping the desk to steady himself.
He panted, waiting for the pain to subside, until it faded to a dull ache, and then set his shoulders and strode towards the door.
He didn’t lock it behind him; there was no need now.
He checked his watch. The sniper hadn’t called in, yet the television news channel that filled the screens in the living room as he passed confirmed his presence. Both the Prime Minister and Porchester had been rushed to hospital in what the press office was calling ‘critical condition’.
Malikov swore under his breath.
He ignored the glances from the two guards as he began to climb the stairs, motioning to them to remain where they stood.
The taller of the two shrugged and levelled his weapon along the hallway towards the front door, anticipating the inevitable breach.
Malikov reached the landing, removed his shoes, and crossed the carpeted area to the first room.
He rested his forehead against the cool wooden surface and closed his eyes.
He’d never believed in a god; conversely, he didn’t believe in a hell either, but his soul would surely pay for what he was about to do.
He took a last wavering breath and then turned the door handle and pushed.
The room was bathed in soft light from the summer sun as it crested the roof of the house, casting shadows into the corners of the room.
A simple double wardrobe stood against the wall to his left, while a single bed took up the length of the wall to his right.
He stepped over the threshold, his steps silent in his sock-clad feet as he padded closer to the figure in the bed.
She was lying on her back, headphones on, blissfully unaware of his presence as the hiss of escaping music reached his ears.
Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders, one arm thrown over her shoulder as she lost herself in the pop tune.
She wore an old t-shirt and jeans that had holes at the knees, her bare feet brandishing bright pink toenails. Her chest rose and fell with each relaxed breath, a gentle hum escaping her lips.
It had been easy for Krupin and his men to snatch the willowy twelve-year-old as she’d stepped out of the car. After that, her mother had followed meekly, terror in her eyes as she’d tried in vain to calm her hysterical daughter before they’d been transported to the house in the country.
Malikov wiped his brow and then cocked the revolver.
He crept closer to the bed, hoping she didn’t open her eyes, knowing his resolve might shatter otherwise.
She snuffled, and he nearly dropped the gun. She hummed a bit louder, and then her breathing returned to normal.
Malikov swallowed.
Don’t think. Just do it.
He shuffled closer until he was within touching distance of her and then reached over and snatched up the second pillow that had been discarded to one side.
He blinked, and then in one fluid motion, he pulled the pillow across her face, lowered the revolver, and turned his head away as his forefinger squeezed the trigger.
He fired once.
The blast ricocheted around the small room, and he sensed the life pass from the still form beneath his grasp.
He blinked, left the pillow where it was, and tried not to think about the blood that spattered out from under it.
Doors slammed throughout the building, running feet pounded up the stairs, and confused shouting filled the air.
One voice rang out, cutting through the others.
‘Emily? Emily!’
She was coming closer, her room at the far end of the house near enough to give her an advantage over the guards climbing the stairs.
He heard her panicked breathing moments before she staggered through the doorway, her eyes wide in terror.
Her gaze met his and then lowered to the gun in his hand and then to the prone figure on the bed.
She dropped to her knees, a keening wail beginning in her chest before its crescendo filled the room, moments before she started to scream.
He advanced on her slowly and raised the gun.
Her attention snapped from the dead child in the bed next to him, and he knew then what pure hatred looked like.
‘She was innocent,’ the woman hissed, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘You promised you wouldn’t hurt her if we came with you. You said...’ Her mouth worked, but she seemed unable to find any more words.
‘Her father made a deal,’ said Malikov, steadying his grip. ‘And your husband broke his word.’
He pulled the trigger, and Lily Porchester, ex-Mrs Malikov, slumped to the floor.
CHAPTER 57
Dan sat on the back seat of a heavily guarded car, fuming.
His requests to speak to David had been ignored, the Prime Minister’s security detail going out of their way to make him as uncomfortable as possible while they’d frog-marched him towards the nearest vehicle.
He’d ducked at the last minute, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the door frame as he’d been pushed onto the back seat. He’d twisted as he fell, to avoid landing awkwardly on his wrists and breaking them, swearing under his breath.
The door had slammed shut moments after he’d tucked his feet into the foot well, and then the car was locked, and he was left alone, staring alternatively between the blacked-out windows and the glass that separated him from the front of the vehicle.
A cordon surrounded the car comprising a mix of the Prime Minister’s security team and several police officers, their backs to the vehicle.
It took a moment for Dan to realise what they were doing, but when he did, he was grateful.
They were sheltering him from the prying eyes of the assembled television cameras, reporters, and general public.
His mind turned to the sniper’s intended target.
After he’d been dragged away from the podium, he’d twisted between his captors’ grip until he could see over his shoulder.
The Prime Minister was nowhere to be seen, and a sickness surged through Dan.
What if he’d been too late?
What if the sniper had managed to take a head shot and killed the PM?
Why the hell hadn’t they been told about the plan for the PM to wear a bulletproof vest?
He leaned down and wiped the sweat from his brow onto his shoulder.
With Porchester dead, would anyone believe them?
He forced down the urge to panic and instead tried to reason with himself. He closed his eyes and fought the exhaustion that now threatened to engulf him.
His head jerked up at the sound of the front door to the car opening, and Mitch slipped into the driver’s seat.
He caught Dan staring at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘Don’t say a word,’ he murmured. ‘We’re not out of danger yet.’
He slung a long item on the passenger seat next to him, wrapped in his jacket. As it landed on the leather upholstery, a polished grey metal flashed briefly into sight, and Dan realised it was the sniper’s rifle.
‘Why have you got that?’
Mitch glared at him in the mirror. ‘We had to get to you,’ he hissed. ‘We couldn’t leave it behind for someone else to find, could we? Now shut up.’
Dan forced his gaze away, and stared out of the window instead.
Mitch turned the ignition key, released the handbrake, and eased the car through the security cordon that surrounded it.
As the vehicle moved, the security cordon moved with it, the men keeping pace until Mitch had steered them out of the square and onto the street.
A police motorcyclist cleared a path through the traffic ahead of them, leading them away from the centre of the city until the rider steered away, holding his hand up as the bike powered to the right and disappeared.
Mitch’s foot nudged the accelerator harder as they joined a busy dual carriageway, and then they were free of the capital and onto the motorway that led south-west.
Neither man spoke, each lost in their own thoughts as they tried to process the events of the past few hours.
A few miles later, Mitch turned off the motorway and took a series of turns before finding a quiet country lane. As soon as he was able, he pulled over and climbed out.
Dan waited until the back door opened and then climbed out.
Mitch reached out to steady him and then held up a small key. ‘Let’s get those off you.’
Dan flexed his wrists gratefully as Mitch tossed the handcuffs into the back of the car and glanced at the rifle.
‘You got the sniper?’
Mitch nodded. ‘David got him, but obviously not before he could get that first shot off and killed Porchester. You did good. We got the clown, too.’
Three Lives Down (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 24