by Mark Arundel
From the other side of the toppled antique table, I watched as Xing lifted her head, raised her body using both hands and then turned her face to look at the man. He moved rapidly forwards. I thought Xing would pull the Glock from her waistband, but the man was too fast. Her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths. The skin of her face was drum tight and her pale lips pulled thin across white, clenched teeth. Her wide, black eyes saw only the man and held a solicitous expression. It told me something. She was losing the fight. These men were good.
My own opponent squirmed beneath me in an attempt to get free, but I held his arms. From my superior position on top, I was able to keep him down, but that alone was not going to make me victorious.
I glanced back at Xing and as my eyes found her, I noticed Meriwether. I wondered why he had not fled. He remained seated in the chair beside the fireplace. He, too, had the face of a mask. It was set like rigor, unblinking and aghast. The violent scene playing out before him, in his own drawing room, had him anchored to the chair. He was unable to run.
Freeing one hand, not the one securing the pistol, I attempted a number of further punches, but none of them connected tellingly with the man’s face. His evasion skills were commendable. Indeed, they were so commendable that I too felt concern over the outcome. I had to get the pistol out of his hand.
Loosening my hold, I automatically allowed his gun hand to lift from the floor and then urgently with my free hand I attempted to prise the man’s fingers apart. He fought back strongly. The heat produced between our exerting bodies felt as if someone had wrapped a blanket around us. The effort required for my new tactic to succeed meant I had to take a gamble. That gamble was to alter the position of my body, which risked losing the advantage I had and allowing the man to break free.
It worked. At least, for a second or two, it worked.
Changing the position of my body provided the extra strength I needed in my hands to force the pistol from the man’s grip. The weapon flew out and landed with a sturdy thud on the carpet. I tried desperately to regain my hold, but a second later the man’s fist found my ribcage and he broke free.
The next few moments seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.
The man rolled away across the rug. The pistol was on the carpet some distance behind me. I sprung to my feet in a squat position. Immediately, Xing and the other man took my attention. Their fighting bodies were against each other. The weight difference was too great and Xing was in trouble. I knew exactly what the man intended. I used the method myself. The move required accuracy, but when executed correctly was very effective.
My adversary had also jumped to a squat position and was considering his options. I thought it looked as if he intended to rush me. His concern being that I might go for the pistol and that he had to stop me before I reached it.
I hesitated. I was watching Xing. She tried desperately to defend her position, but the man exerted his weight advantage. He had her backed up against a large sideboard, which allowed her little chance of escape. Despite the position, she fought with immense tenacity and almost broke free, but her final block missed its target. The man took his chance. With Xing’s midriff exposed, he turned his upper body, raised his hand to his chest and slammed back his elbow. His timing and accuracy were perfect. Xing saw it coming, but she was helpless to escape. She contracted her body in a reflex motion, but it was not enough. Tight against the sideboard her midriff took the full brunt of the man’s elbow. I watched it sink into her abdomen just below the breastplate and knew the outcome. As Xing’s solar plexus felt the sudden shock of blunt force trauma, her consciousness vanished and she dropped as if shot by an elephant gun. I knew from experience that she would be unconscious for several minutes.
In the same instant as Xing’s lifeless body hit the carpet, my adversary sprung at me. He was fast and I was unprepared. The best I could do was to roll with him, but he came out on top. I was in trouble. I stole a glance at the other man while I evaded a head punch that scuffed my forehead. He was watching us and then he turned his face away and looked at Meriwether.
‘Run,’ I shouted. ‘Run.’ Meriwether seemed not to hear my hollered warning. He appeared stuck in the chair. The mask of his face had contorted into a crooked, open mouth and staring eyes like a gothic gargoyle. The close-up experience of intense physical violence must have rendered him frozen with shock. ‘Run,’ I shouted again, but Meriwether did not move.
I evaded another punch and tried to get free, but now I was the one underneath and this man knew all the same moves I did.
Glancing at the other man, I saw him take something from his inside jacket pocket and realised with alarm that it was the toxin. He paused to check that it was ready to use and then after looking at us still on the floor fighting proceeded towards Meriwether.
‘Run,’ I yelled again, but Meriwether was frozen. Unless I did something in the next few seconds, Meriwether was dead.
I put my hand on the carpet and felt the edge of the rug. I pulled at it but too many heavy objects weighed it down. Then I felt something solid. I grabbed at it as a drowning man grabs at a lifeline. It was heavy like a brick. The object I had found was the silver box that had fallen when we knocked over the table earlier in the fight.
I glanced again at Meriwether. Faced with immediate danger, his instinct for survival had brought him out of his stupor and forced him to fight. It was a fight for his life. Using his hands, he was trying frantically to fend off his attacker. It gave me a few extra seconds.
With the box tightly gripped, I swung it with all the strength in my arm. The man’s head was slightly elevated and its position above me was perfect. The silver box arced through the air with the acceleration of a NASA rocket. The connection was brutal. It was not necessary for me to hear the ugly sound or feel the man slump to know I had struck him squarely on the jawbone.
As he went out cold, I tore myself up. I had to save Meriwether. Was I too late? Meriwether’s efforts to fend off his attacker were over. The man had him in a tight headlock. Pain and anguish racked Meriwether’s face. His breathing was short and his face red.
The man tightened his death grip and prepared to administer the toxin. He had decided not to bother with any attempt at deception. Instead, he planned to inject Meriwether in the neck above the collar line.
As I stood, the man saw the movement and looked over. I saw him make an instant assessment. He decided to complete the injection before pulling his pistol.
The distance between us was too great for me to reach him in time. The silver box was still in my hand. With as much controlled urgency as the time allowed, which was none, I threw it fast and hard. I aimed for the man’s head, but my aim was out. My throw missed its target. The Lady must have been watching over Meriwether because although I missed the man’s head, the heavy silver box did strike his wrist and knock the toxin from his hand.
I was already on the move. The man released Meriwether and went for the pistol inside his jacket. He managed to pull it, but I reached him before he had time to point. My mood was black and my focus single-minded. I had had enough of these men. There was sufficient adrenalin in my body to drench my muscles twice over. Perhaps Xing had softened him in the same way people loosen tight lids on pickle jars. Either way, I took him apart. It was cold, destructive and fast. My hands flew. He tried to defend the onslaught and fight back but he never touched me. It finished when I made his head connect solidly with the wall. He slumped like a drunk in an old film with his arms and legs sprawled out and his head down.
I took out the restraints from my pocket and knelt down. I pulled together his wrists and ankles and then trussed him like a bird on Christmas morning. I then went straight to the other man and did the same.
I collected the two Glock pistols from the floor and then went over to check on Xing. She was still unconscious. I made sure her breathing was all right and then put her on her side. I knew she would soon come round.
Still seated in the chair, Meriweth
er was watching me. I walked towards him. He was feeling his throat with a careful hand and his eyes were full of discomfort.
‘I thought you two were supposed to be good,’ he said hoarsely.
I smiled. ‘You’re still alive, aren’t you?’ I replied.
30
FRIDAY, 18:06—18:15
I poured Meriwether a large brandy from the decanter and passed it to him.
‘Thank you,’ he croaked and raised it to his lips with a shaky hand. After two heavy gulps, he lowered the glass and said, ‘I feel rather strange and not at all well.’
‘It’s the shock of almost getting killed,’ I said. ‘It’s lowered your blood pressure. Brandy is probably a bad idea. Just sit quietly and breathe deeply. You’ll be all right.’ My own physiology was not great either. The fighting had worsened every one of my aches and my head was pounding like the bass drum of an enthusiastic marching band. I drank a glass of water and swallowed three painkillers.
‘I feel nauseated,’ Meriwether said.
‘Keep taking deep breaths,’ I advised and then poured him some water. His hand was still shaking. ‘Just sip it,’ I said. He poured the remainder of the Brandy into the water glass and took a sip.
‘I have to make a phone call,’ he said.
‘I’d wait a few minutes,’ I counselled. ‘You don’t want to throw up.’ He considered my words while he studied my face. He sat back and inhaled deeply.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait a few minutes.’
The first of the two men stirred and regained consciousness. It was the one I had initially fought and hit with the silver box. He groaned and attempted to roll over, but the constraints made it difficult. I went across to him.
‘How does your jaw feel?’ I said. He looked at me but remained silent. ‘Can you move it from side to side?’ Fresh blood covered his features. It ran down his cheek and onto his chin from a cut below the eye and his face had already begun to swell.
Cautiously he moved his jaw. ‘I don’t think it’s broken,’ he said. He had a northern accent. ‘What did you hit me with?’
‘...a silver box,’ I said. Using both hands, I pulled him over to the wall and positioned his back so he could remain upright.
‘What’s going to happen?’ he asked. It was a good question. Without giving an answer, I turned away. Xing was standing up. A slightly bowed head hid any expression. With her right hand, she felt her abdomen where the elbow had struck. I went over to her and she raised her face. The expression I saw surprised me. It was coveted respect.
‘How did you win?’ she asked.
‘I got lucky,’ I said.
‘That man was unbeatable,’ she declared. ‘I tried everything. How did you do it?’
‘You must have softened him up for me,’ I suggested. ‘How do you feel?’
‘...light headed,’ she replied.
‘That’s your blood pressure,’ I said. ‘You should sit down until it stabilises.’
‘I’m all right,’ she said with the assurance of someone who had experienced unconsciousness before.
Meriwether was watching us quietly from his seat by the fire. He appeared to be taking my advice or maybe he was unable to do anything else. He and Xing met eyes.
‘You’re still alive then,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he agreed humbly. ‘Only with a touch of good fortune, I believe. My expectations were not of anything quite so thrilling.’
‘Now will you tell me why you almost got yourself killed?’ Xing had asked a good question. I too would like to hear an explanation or a confession or something.
‘I must make that telephone call,’ Meriwether said.
‘Who do you need to call?’ I asked.
‘An old friend at the Foreign Office,’ he replied. ‘We were at school together.’ Meriwether made the call and held the phone to his ear. ‘Grouse, old man, it’s Meriwether.’ Meriwether paused for a moment while he listened to whatever Grouse had to say and then Meriwether said, ‘It happened exactly as I said it would.’ Meriwether listened again. ‘Yes, here at my house,’ he confirmed. ‘There are two men.’ Meriwether listened while Grouse spoke. ‘Yes, but you and I both know what you must do.’ There was another pause. ‘Yes, once I have confirmation. Do it now. I’m not a patient man not when men have come to my house to kill me. I’m sure you understand. Yes, Grouse, I know that.’ Meriwether ended the call.
‘What was that all about?’ I asked.
‘They should have given me the job straight away,’ he said.
‘What job?’
‘...head of the British Secret Service.’
I was confused. One minute they were trying to kill him and the next they were putting him in charge. As employment strategies go, it was not one with which I was familiar, but then with someone like Bartholomew Meriwether, anything was possible.
The second man came round. He attempted to lift his head and then stopped. He groaned with pain and discomfort. I walked over to him and he looked up. ‘How’s your head?’ I asked. He groaned again. He too had blood that covered his face. He had gashes on both eyebrows and a split lip and a head wound that dripped blood from his ear. ‘Do you have any serious injuries?’ His eyes stayed on my face.
‘Maybe concussion but not bad, I don’t think,’ he said. He too had a northern accent. He looked over at his partner. ‘What’s going to happen?’ he asked. His friend had asked the same question.
‘Be patient,’ I said. ‘I’m going to work everything out. I was trying to convince myself as much as him. In the meantime, I want you to know that we know you are here on an assignment from the sanctioned termination office. It was our job to stop you.’ I motioned at Meriwether with my head. ‘Do you know who he is?’
‘...no, not really, I didn’t ask too many questions.’
‘Just out of interest,’ I said, ‘what’s your background? Which regiment were you in?’
‘We both joined as Marines and were both in the SBS.’ That explained why they were so good.
‘What’s the SBS?’ Xing asked.
‘It’s the Special Boat Service,’ I said. ‘There are some in the British military that thinks it’s the best of the Special Forces, but don’t ever tell that to the SAS.’
‘British Special Forces,’ Xing said as if that was explanation enough as to why she had lost. She studied the man for a second or two and then looked away. He continued to stare at her. I could see he wanted to know who she was. ‘It’s better if you don’t know,’ I told him. ‘She’s a friend, that’s all.’ The man looked at me but remained silent.
I lifted him up slowly into a sitting position and then dragged him across the floor like a sack of potatoes to where his partner still rested against the wall. I positioned him in the same way and left them. They were both now at the opposite end of the room to where Meriwether sat watching me.
I walked back to him and his eyes stayed on me the whole time. The fire behind him sent up orange sparks and popped loudly. He turned to look at it. ‘Right,’ I said, ‘let’s have the story and try not to leave out anything important.’
‘I’m going to need another whisky,’ he said and passed me the empty glass while checking on the two men. The room was large and if Meriwether spoke quietly, they were out of earshot.
I passed back the whisky glass refilled and he took a sip. He cleared his throat. ‘I am Santiago,’ he said theatrically like a murderer confessing his crime. This was not a great surprise. Santiago had to be Meriwether. Charlotte knew that and so did I. I waited for more. Meriwether took another sip of whisky. ‘I have a friend at the Bank of England named Camel. He and his colleagues, together with a senior official at the Home Office, and, of course, Grouse at the Foreign Office have been party to the whole business. It was with their knowledge and approval that I engaged in the exchange trades and amassed the profits I did.’
‘...with their knowledge and approval,’ I questioned. Meriwether sipped his whisky.
‘Y
es, that’s right. You see, I arranged it so that all of the money went to Her Majesty’s treasury. They seem quite pleased with the amount.’
‘So, you weren’t doing it for personal gain?’ I said. Meriwether smiled and sipped again at his glass.
‘...well, no, not financial gain, anyway. It was not the money that I wanted but something far more precious.’
‘...which is?’ I questioned.
‘...the position...the head of the British secret intelligence agency, of course.’ I was confused again. Or rather, I was still confused. I had not yet become enlightened enough to enable confusion to resume.
‘Can we let these two men go now?’ I asked.
‘Not just yet,’ Meriwether replied. ‘I’m waiting for a call back with confirmation. Then they can go.’
‘What confirmation?’ I asked sounding dumb.
‘...confirmation that I’m the new Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service.’ Meriwether narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you received another blow to the head?’ he asked.
‘...but why do they want to kill you one minute and reappoint you as chief the next?’ I asked without managing to sound any less dumb. Just then, Meriwether’s phone rang. He motioned with his hand and then took the call. His eyes moved away from me and he listened keenly. Xing was standing beside me. I wondered whether she understood any better than I did.
‘That’s excellent news,’ he said. ‘You’ve made the right decision. Now, tidy it all up quickly and let me know if there’s anything important that comes out it. I want everything over and done with this evening.’ Meriwether ended the call. I could see he was satisfied.
‘What “right decision”?’ I asked.
‘Not to allow what happened here this evening to become public knowledge,’ he said. I had moved from feeling confused to feeling puzzled. Meriwether must have seen it on my face. ‘It’s leverage, dear boy,’ he said by way of explanation. As explanations go, I had heard better ones. ‘Let’s allow the two gentlemen to leave and then I’ll explain.’