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As Slater swung back behind the pillar the RDB man who had fired at him raced towards the desk covering Andreas and Chris. Standing, leaning hard into the submachine gun as if he was on the range at Pontrilas, Andreas took off the top of his attacker's head like a boiled egg. Cartwheeling to the floor with his finger on the trigger and his selector on automatic, the RDB man fully and lengthily discharged his magazine. Four of the 9mm rounds punched through, respectively, Andreas's carotid artery, windpipe and second and third cervical vertebrae -- snapping back his head and flipping him, all but decapitated, against the back wall.
Not yet dead, Andreas's RDB attacker kicked lazily on the carpet. Behind the desk, her movements icily controlled, Chris fired a double-tap through the open top of his skull into his exposed brain. The kicking stopped.
As the dead body of his friend slid bloodily down the wall, Slater forced himself to remain in control. No one, it was clear, was going to come out with their hands up. The Department's single bargaining card - Branca - was bleeding to death, and thus no longer negotiable against Eve.
As he considered his options, he saw Chris lean round the end of the upturned desk and fire a long, exploratory burst with her Uzi in the direction of the remaining two RDB men. Slater couldn't see them, but he heard their grunts as the rounds screamed and' ricocheted around them.
The two exchanged breathless comments in;
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ferian, and an MP5 magazine slid across the carpet sen them. Then one of them gave a hoarse and it shout and an instant later a door opened at the ad of the warehouse.
lother RDB man came out - a man they hadn't |, In front of him, still dressed as she had been in the |t� was Eve, gagged. The man had the fingers of f hand knotted in her hair and with the other was ; to her throat a small rubber-handled automatic H$ome card-index in Slater's brain recognised as a Black Widow. The man was short and broad, head and body were almost entirely concealed ire's.
|ome out, please, or I shoot your woman.' The ; was nervous - dangerously so - but undoubtedly fr. 'I count to three, OK, then I'm killing her.
sr said nothing. He was in plain sight of the man jEve. If he tried to move out of the RDB man's line he would become visible to one of the
one moved. Chris waited behind the desk, her lead from Slater. �/'
bent down, placed his Uzi on the floor. Let told himself. Let go of reason, let go of fear, let p.everything. Enter the zone.
man holding Eve nodded, waiting for Slater to sn and walk out unarmed.
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Enter the zone. Access the physical memory of those hundreds of hours in the killing-house. Let the body do the thinking, not the brain. Let go of everything but instinct. Become that instinct. Let the body speak.
Slater straightened. But his hands were no longer empty -- they held the Sig Sauer, which had somehow become part of his body, a taut and deadly extension of his gaze.
Chris, describing the events to Ray and Debbie a fortnight later, would say that things seemed to freeze at that moment - that there was an instant of pure motionlessness. And in that split-second, she would tell them, there was time for certain details to strike her the painful-looking twist of Eve's neck, for example, and the way that the RDB man had to twist his stubby fingers in her hair to retain a gnp of her, and even the entirely irrelevant fact that he was carrying the Black j Widow in his left fist.
And then the Sig Sauer swinging upwards,] stretching the moment to unbearable length. Time| hurtling on.
'Three!'
Slater's first shot -- double-handed, arms at full reach - smashed through his target's left elbow, reducing t joint to a shattered hinge of bone, cartilage synovia! ligament. As the RDB man's forea twitched spastically, fingers fanning into fluttering dance, the Black Widow spun off bet him. He seemed to half-turn after it, and then the i briefly reddened as Slater's second and third she
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jfe through his right temple. Dying, his hand itarily clenching in her hair, the RDB man
Eve down to the carpet. ae of the remaining Serbs screamed to the other, jured a volley of fire towards Chris. Grabbing his iter leaned round the pillar and fired a burst at acker. The RDB man fell sideways, hit in the and Chris finished him off with a double jrn behind the desk.
: last man charged at Slater, firing as he came. W swung sideways to evade, but felt the rounds him. Fuck, he thought, more in irritation I've been hit. Adrenaline kept him on his ', a moment, but then another jackhammer blow him to the carpet. His body stopped
to his will.
i was how it was. No pain, no fear, just the red disappointment at not being allowed to
time's up, whispered a voice he almost 1. And I'm coming to get you, like I always I would. Above Slater, an RDB man who arious resemblance to his father was preparing i him in the face. Time had jammed again, ard the tiny plink of window-glass an instant 1C damped crack of the distant Dragunov. the conservative, had opted for the chest t the heavy 7.62 round drilled neatly through I's sternum before exiting his back in a it-sized wad of loose tissue, bone and lung.
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Dead on his feet, the RDB man hit the floor like a ton of condemned beef.
Silence, except for Branca's shivering gasps. Five men dead and the place a blood-hosed slaughterhouse, dense with smoke, rank with death. Everywhere on the carpet -- now a sodden red-black - the yellow metal casings of expended nine-mm ammunition.
Slater on his back, helpless, the black wetness spreading beneath him, the carpet a warm marsh, feeling nothing.
Eve face-down twenty feet away, waiting for the next exchange of fire, with a dead man's fist stiffening in her hair.
Andreas motionless against the wall in a clotted puddle, his eyes sightless, his neck bonelessly and horribly twisted.
And finally movement. Quiet footfalls as Chris runs through the blood-stink and the brick-dust from Serb to Serb, levels her Uzi at each man, delivers the formal double-tap where necessary - a quick tubercular cough -- and hurries on.
Finally she makes her way to Eve, briefly squeezes'! the other woman's shoulder and whispers her name,i| works the dead man's hand from her hair, finds the keys for the plasticuffs in his pocket.
Eve, looking up with stunned eyes, clambering srif to her feet.
Chris moving on to Slater. Touching his neck fo the pulse. Exhaling.
'Chris to all stations. Come in. Over.'
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voice shaky, but procedure holding her ler.
seeing Andrew's body, noting Branca Nikolic to death beside the desk, falling to her knees j Slater. The sight of the blood coursing from his returning a sense of purpose to her icnts.
this,' she ordered him, pressing a crumpled erchief to the wound.
jk'winced, but managed it, and she began to Mi his shirt.
she got to the protective vest, her eyes I. Three subsonic 9mm rounds had penetrated ;'s Kevlar outer skin and flattened themselves the perspex trauma-shield. Only the fourth jkjjhad actually penetrated Slater, and this had |straight through the muscle overlying his collar but not fatal. Loosening the Velcro jr~straps, Eve removed the combat-vest and aen his T-shirt.
*'s chest looked as if a sledge-hammer had been
it. Where the rounds had struck the trauma ee mauve compact-disc-sized whorls covered /ribs. Even as Eve watched the bruises were and expanding -- within hours they would rid purple of rotten plums, jiook her head in disbelief. 'Well, it looks as if 3t that second chance you paid for. You're Uy going to die.'
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'No?'
'No. And don't sound so disappointed. You look as if you've been kicked by a carthorse and there's a neat nine-millimetre hole straight through your right shoulder -- but no, basically you're going to make it.'
'Andreas?' Slater ask
ed, although he already knev the answer, and she shook her head.
'Branca?'
'I doubt it. She's taken a round in the groin.'
He shook his head, and then winced, closing his eyes.
'You saved my life,' said Eve. 'Or something very like that. I felt those rounds go past me.'
'I honestly don't know how I made that shot. I think it was Something to do with seeing Andreas killed. I just. . .' He shrugged, helpless, and winced again.
'I'm sorry,' said Eve. 'You were old friends, weren't; you?"
'We went back a few years,' said Slater, his mouth j twitching at a dim memory of Trooper van Rijn, as he J had then been, baring his buttocks at a party of| outraged Kuwaitis from the back of a commandeered j Chevrolet during the aftermath of Desert Storm.
'Well, we liked him too,' said Eve, folding her arms j tightly across her chest as her eyes filled with tears. I 'And I just can't believe he's dead. I mean it's pretty 1 pointless, isn't it - his life for my life?'
'You can't think like that,' said Slater. 'It doesn't j take you anywhere.'
She nodded and stared at the floor. 'So what! happened to the disc?' she asked eventually. 'Did you!
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', it with you just in case?'
snt it back to London,' Slater said, avoiding her 'Stuck it in a postbox at the Bastille in the early 1 of this morning.'
looked at him quizzically and then nodded, idea. The sooner it's processed and destroyed :er.'
> joined them, the Clock 26 hanging from her 'So,' she said wearily.
and Eve made their way downstairs to let in Jand Terry. The priority now was to report to erson and get the hell out of France. When they ed the door behind them, Slater attempted to > his feet. The attempt was agonising - his broken gnt waves of white-hot pain lancing across his - but he made it to his knees. ' metres away, Branca lay on the carpet, her lips uncertainly as if singing along to a song she If-knew. Bright red arterial blood flooded the beneath her.
Swly, painfully, Slater made his way over to her. |sorry, Branca,' he said quietly. Reaching for a of Paris-Match which lay among the detritus of aturned desk, he slipped it as gently as he could Ben her head and the carpet, and shrugging offhis T-shirt he pressed it to the bloody well at her
jjle flinched, but her eyes thanked him. 'We should Je enemies,' she whispered, and Slater shook his
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'You're a good soldier,' he told her. 'You played it well.'
She managed the shadow of a smile.
'What is your true name?' she asked him.
'Neil.'
'I think I'm dying, Neil. Yes?'
He nodded gently and took her hand.
'No doctor coming?'
He met her fearful gaze. 'No doctor, Branca. I'm sorry.'
She closed her eyes as a wave of pain overtook her. 'Will you stay with me?' she gasped, eventually. 'I'm frightened to ... to go alone.'
Til stay^with you,' he promised, moving the damp strands of blonde hair from her eyes. 'Don't be frightened.'
Her skin was very pale and very cold. As he watched, she lost focus for a moment as the pain returned and then she seemed to gather herself, to draw down a last brief lease of life. 'Please, Neil, do something for me.'
Her gaze was steady now. She knew she had very little time.
'Tell me,' he said.
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decided to take the slow road to Brighton, across i Downs. It was a warm day -- alternatively bright overcast as the clouds scudded across the sun. 4o one, he thought -- no one in the world - knows I'm here. It was a pleasurable thought. Reaching |�he pressed the sun-roof button, and the wind led easily into the car.
i shoulder hurt less now. There had been two bad but now the wound had subsided to a dull ache, on the other hand, were worse. The service yi who strapped him up in Paris had worked at ree for several years and treated the jockeys who id broke bones in the Grand National. So he had less than impressed by Slater's attempts at i. 'You'll be back on the rugby pitch within the he'd said cheerfully, briskly turning down r's request for pain-killers. 'It might tickle a bit, aothing that'll worry a tough lad like you.' spite himself, and despite his screaming ribs, l&r had smiled.
f'd been back in England for ten days. After the 397
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firefight at the Rue de Coude, Eve had spent an hour on the mobile to Manderson, explaining the situation. Terry and Leon had kept watch, but the street remained deserted. The shots fired on the top-floor had all been silenced, and no trace of the mayhem had been discernible outside.
Manderson had ordered them to stay put, and after alerting the Paris station chief had flown in an MI6 cleaning team.
The cleaning team had worked all night, subtly rearranging the bloody tableau and planting certain artefacts and substances. By dawn they had vanished, leaving behind them clear evidence of a lethal firefight between members of an East European heroin importation ring.
The cleaners had thought it best to remove a coded notebook containing contact numbers for Branca's various clients and lovers. Evidence that a number of prominent Parisians were being blackmailed by the RDB was felt to be safest in British hands. That their number included a French NATO official was considered of particular interest.
Andreas's body was spirited away from the Rue de Coude in a sealed van, along with the rest of the team. They had raced out of Paris, and shortly before dawn, in a field near Cap Gris-Nez, a Puma helicopter had swung out of the mist and taken them on board.
The extraction was carried out by a special team seconded from the RAF. The flight had not been cleared with the French authorities, but then neither
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Operation Firewall -- hardly surprising given that |,had cost the French arms industry many billions of
cs in lost business. |$y midday Andreas's body had been cremated and a ificate issued to the effect that he had died of heart are . His ashes were returned to an address in South ion, from where they were collected by Debbie. Jlcommon with the other members of the Cadre, he
no immediate family.
Slater had been dropped off by the van at a small flat jind the British Embassy in the Rue du Faubourg St lore, where a service doctor had dressed his wound I strapped his broken ribs, administered a single dose folterol, and put him to bed. two days later he had been pronounced fit and en to the Gare du Nord, where with the aliments of the MI6 station chief he had been ed a first-class Eurostar ticket and -- with the pliments of the doctor - a half bottle of Laphroaig
'to help him sleep'.
|e had been met at Waterloo by Eve, who drove fc back to his flat. They barely spoke during the two drive, but as soon as they were behind closed he dropped the bags and reached for her. She sponded hungrily for a moment but then had disengaged herself.
ten days,' she told him, placing a finger on his i. 'For the next ten days it's going to be all work. f that, though, there's going to be a week's leave, len we can . . . escape. How would that be?'
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A little unwillingly, Slater had agreed that it would be fine. He wanted her with every nerve and sinew in his body, but he also knew that she was right -- that the only way things would work between them was if their relationship remained deep-frozen while they worked together. Any other arrangement would be destructive of the subtle dynamics of the team. They could not allow themselves to be more concerned for each other than for their colleagues, and they could not allow their colleagues to think that this was a possibility. There would be leave-periods, and there would be the odd night at weekends, but for the time being that would be the limit of it.
Slater agreed. Having thought that he had lost her altogether, he was prepared to wait for her.
'It'll be special,' she'd promised him with a small smile. 'But for the next ten days I'm not even going to think about it. And you
mustn't either.'
'That's a bit of a tall order,' Slater had said.
'Well, I expect you've taken a few of those in your time. And let's face it, a covert relationship has definitely got its sexy side. Neither of us would be in this line of work if we weren't at least a little bit addicted to secrecy, would we?'
Slater had laughed, then winced and touched his ribs. 'I'm not telling you,' he said.
At Vauxhall Cross, the team had been debriefed both individually and as a whole by Manderson. The general feeling, apart from regret at Andreas's death, was that Operation Firewall had proved a great success.
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Balkan desk were beside themselves with joy. toine Fanon-Khayat was dead, as was the Ondine Any chance of its resurrection by Belgrade had scuppered by the elimination of the entire RDB : tasked with identifying Fanon-Khayat's contacts, ftth the potential embarrassment of the Cambodia jres eliminated, what was more, Radovan Karadjic id now be tried for war crimes at the Hague in the I glare of publicity. It would look good, it would feel and mainland Europe - with the possible jtion of France -- would be properly grateful to in.
len, Manderson had politely enquired of Slater i'-'his return from Paris, did he think that the disc it be reaching them? Slater had shrugged. He told iderson that he had taken a stamp and a small ed envelope from Miko Pasquale's desk -- not to guess what those pocket-size envelopes were lly used for, given Pasquale's profession - stuck the i inside, addressed it, and slung it into a postbox on pvay back to the car. That had been on the Monday ling, after picking up the Uzis with Leon, and now iras Thursday. The European post was generally slow - chances were it wouldn't arrive until ' the weekend.
anderson had nodded, supposing that Slater was It. Typical French, of course. Quick enough to cise 'slow' British trains, but when it came to Bering a letter within seven days . . . st as a matter of interest, Manderson had
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continued, why had Slater gone to the trouble of posting the CD? Why hadn't he just pocketed it with a view to carrying it back to London?
Slater had shrugged. 'At that stage,' he'd explained, 'the RDB had Eve, and we knew that they weren't going to give her up lightly. If we had come off worst in that firefight, and I hadn't survived, the CD would have been in Belgrade by now. It seemed safer to trust it to the post.'