The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  Cramer sat in the rear seat of the Mercedes and stared at the back of Martin’s head. ‘You okay, Mike?’ Martin asked.

  Cramer realised that Martin was watching him in the rear-view mirror. He forced a smile. ‘Yeah. Just fine.’ Actually he felt far from fine. He felt as if a metal clamp was biting into his intestines. The previous night the pain had been worse than anything he’d ever felt before in his life, worse even than on the two occasions when he’d been brutally tortured. At least then he’d had someone to blame for his pain, someone he could curse and hate. Having a focus for his anger had helped take his mind off the damage that was being done to his body, but with the cancer there was nothing to fight against. The pain was the result of his own body working against itself; he had no one to hate but himself.

  Allan was walking around the rear of the Mercedes, his head swivelling from side to side. As his hand gripped the handle of the door next to Cramer, Martin nodded. ‘Here we go,’ said Martin, opening his own door. Cramer grunted as he stepped out of the car. Martin moved to stand directly in front of him as Allan closed the door, then the three men moved together towards the steps that led up to the front door of the school. Cramer’s stomach churned and he tasted something bitter and acidic at the back of his mouth. He forced himself to swallow whatever it was that he’d thrown up and then took several deep breaths.

  One of the guards came along the gravel path from the croquet lawn and Martin stepped to the side to provide cover. The man was too far away to be a threat but Martin kept a wary eye on them as Allan stepped up to the front door and checked that the hallway was clear. Cramer looked up and saw Su-ming at one of the upstairs windows. ‘Focus, Mike,’ Allan whispered. Cramer had stopped at the foot of the steps and both the bodyguards had been forced to stop too, so that they wouldn’t get too far ahead of him. His protection depended on them never being more than a step or two from his side. The further away they were, the more he was at risk. ‘In the car you’re safe,’ said Allan, coming back down the stone steps. ‘We’ll always be using vehicles with bullet-proof glass. Besides, our man has never taken a shot through a window. It’s always face to face. Entering and leaving vehicles and buildings is where you’re in the most danger, so you must be aware of everything that’s going on around you.’

  A ripple of nausea washed across Cramer’s stomach and he felt his legs go weak. Allan put a hand on Cramer’s shoulder. ‘You tired?’ he asked.

  ‘A bit. I didn’t sleep much last night.’

  Allan looked at his watch, a rugged Russian model that looked as if it had come straight off a Soviet tank commander’s wrist. ‘We could take an hour off. We’ve been pushing it hard today.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Cramer gratefully. He hated having to show weakness, but this wasn’t a question of fatigue, he was really sick and if he didn’t rest up he knew he’d collapse. He wasn’t sure how much Allan and Martin knew about his medical condition, but one thing he was sure of, he didn’t want their sympathy and he didn’t want them to treat him like an invalid. That was the main reason he’d rejected the offers of treatment made by the doctors in Madrid. Radiation therapy, chemotherapy, operations; they had a host of suggested remedies none of which had more than an outside chance of extending his life by more than a few months. The doctors had admitted as much, and they had made no attempt to dissuade him when he refused treatment. There was no way that Cramer was prepared to die in a hospital bed, no way that he was prepared to see the pity in the eyes of the doctors and nurses as they waited for the cancer to run its course. He wanted to die on his feet with the blood coursing through his veins, and if everything went according to plan he’d be getting his wish within the next few days.

  Allan patted him on the back. ‘Let’s take a break, then. Grab some scran, if you like.’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Cramer, though food was the last thing on his mind.

  Martin headed towards the kitchen and Allan followed him. Cramer took off his overcoat and draped it over his arm. ‘I’ll be in my room,’ Cramer called after Allan. He walked slowly up the stairs, taking deep breaths, willing the pain to dissipate.

  He took the stairs one at a time, shuffling like an old man, one hand on the banister for balance, the other clutching the coat. When he reached the top, he leant against the wall and closed his eyes. Gradually the waves of pain subsided, though a dull ache remained, like a small block of ice lodged among his intestines. The Spanish doctors had warned him that the pain would get worse as the disease progressed, and that eventually it would become more than he could bear. Cramer opened his eyes. His jaw was aching and he realised he must have been grinding his teeth.

  On the way to his room, he walked past the bedroom which had been allocated to Su-ming. Her door was open and as he went by he saw her sitting on her bed. He stopped and knocked quietly. ‘Hello, Mike Cramer,’ she said, without looking up. Cramer wondered if she was trying to impress him, to demonstrate that she could recognise his footfall.

  ‘Hi. You busy?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Ah. Right.’ He turned to go but she looked up and smiled at him.

  ‘Come in,’ she said.

  Cramer walked into her room and dropped his overcoat over the back of a leather armchair. The room was similar in size and layout to his own, with a small bathroom leading off to the left. He looked out of the window and watched as Martin drove the Mercedes away from the front of the building, presumably to park it around the corner with the rest of the vehicles.

  ‘More rehearsals?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. Allan sets high standards.’

  ‘He cares about you. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.’

  Cramer turned to look at her. She was sitting cross-legged on the single bed with a leather-bound book and a notepad in front of her. She was holding something. ‘He’s just doing his job,’ said Cramer, trying to see what she had in her hand.

  Su-ming shook her head without looking up. ‘You’re mistaken. There’s more to it than that.’ She unclenched her fist and tossed three coins up into the air. They spun slowly and then fell onto the bedcover. She looked at them and then wrote in her notepad.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  Su-ming picked up the three coins and held them tightly in her left hand. ‘Seeking guidance,’ she said. She tossed the coins and made another note.

  Cramer sat down in the armchair and leaned forward to watch her, intrigued. She threw the coins in again. Cramer peered at the notepad. She had drawn a series of lines, one above the other, several of them broken in the centre. ‘May I?’ he asked, pointing at the leather-bound volume.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she said, tossing the coins again.

  Cramer picked up the book. The leather was old and the pages yellowing, but it had obviously been well cared for. He opened it. It was Chinese. He flicked through the well-thumbed pages. There were several illustrations, black and white drawings of Chinese figures, birds, animals and landscapes. The book appeared to be divided into chapters, each one headed by a diagram similar to the one Su-ming had drawn on her notepad. Six lines, one above the other, some broken in the middle, others unbroken. Cramer put the book down and looked at the diagram on Su-ming’s notepad. She saw him frowning. ‘It’s a hexagram,’ she said.

  ‘A hexagram?’

  ‘It tells you where to look in the I Ching.’

  Cramer smiled. ‘Are you being deliberately inscrutable?’ he asked.

  Su-ming handed him the three coins. They were covered with Chinese characters and had small holes in the middle. Like the book, they were clearly very old, the impressions almost worn away. ‘The I Ching is the Book of Life Changing. Or the Book of Changes. The Chinese title can be translated several ways. The idea behind it is more than five thousand years old. The copy I have is more than three hundred years old.’

  Cramer raised his eyebrows. ‘Three hundred years?’ he repeated.

  ‘The coins are even older.’


  ‘How old?’

  ‘At least eight hundred years.’

  Cramer stared at the coins in the palm of his hand. He wondered how many thousands of hands the coins had passed through over the years. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how the world had changed as the coins had passed down through the generations, the metal growing smoother and darker as the humans who made them turned to dust. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever touched anything so old,’ he said.

  ‘It puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?’ said Su-ming.

  ‘This I Ching, it works?’

  ‘It’s not a television set, Mike Cramer. It’s not something you plug in and watch. The I Ching helps you to interpret what’s happening to you. It’s an oracle, and the skill is in the interpretation of the book.’

  ‘Like Tarot cards?’

  ‘It’s more detailed than the Tarot. But a similar idea, yes.’

  ‘Fortune-telling?’

  ‘No, Mike Cramer, it is not fortune-telling.’ She held out her hands for the coins and he gave them to her.

  ‘Do you do readings for your boss?’

  Su-ming rubbed the coins between her hands as if trying to warm them. ‘Every day,’ she said.

  ‘He must believe in it, then?’

  Su-ming sighed as if deeply disappointed. ‘It’s not a question of belief. You don’t have to believe in an aeroplane for it to carry you through the skies. Yes, Mr Vander Mayer believes in the integrity of the I Ching and in my interpretation of it, but that is irrelevant so far as its veracity is concerned.’

  ‘So it does work?’

  Su-ming’s eyes flashed, then she smiled as she realised he was teasing her. ‘Yes, Mike Cramer, it works. Are you happy now?’

  ‘Will you do me?’ He held her gaze for several seconds.

  She stopped smiling. ‘Is this a test, is that it? You want to test me?’

  Cramer shrugged. ‘I thought it might be interesting, that’s all. If you don’t want to …’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m not some sort of guinea pig. I don’t need to have my abilities tested. I consult the I Ching for myself and for Mr Vander Mayer. I don’t do party tricks.’ She held out the coins and Cramer took them.

  ‘You have to ask a specific question,’ she said. ‘Not a question which can be answered with a yes or a no, and it must be a question which is significant to you. The I Ching is not to be used for fun, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cramer meekly.

  Su-ming nodded. ‘When you have the question fixed in your mind, you toss the coins six times. Depending how they fall, each toss will be either yin or yang. If it’s yang, I draw an unbroken line, if it’s yin, I draw a broken line. The six throws produce a hexagram. Do you understand?’

  Cramer shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. All you have to do is to frame the question and throw the coins. I will use the hexagram and the coin combinations to interpret the answer from the book.’

  ‘Do I have to tell you the question?’

  Su-ming shook her head. ‘No.’

  Cramer wondered what he should ask. He toyed with something frivolous but he knew that Su-ming wouldn’t be amused. She clearly took it very seriously. ‘Okay. I’m ready.’

  He threw the coins and Su-ming drew a short line on the notepad. He tossed the metal discs another five times and when he had finished Su-ming held up the six lines she’d drawn on the pad. The top, third and fifth lines were broken, the second, fourth and bottom lines were unbroken. ‘Chi Chi,’ she said. ‘Completion and what happens afterwards.’

  Cramer frowned. ‘What’s that? What do you mean?’

  ‘The hexagram is called Chi Chi. The top three lines represent k’an, water. The bottom three lines represent li, fire. Together they form Chi Chi. It’s a good omen, so long as you remain alert. It’s like a kettle burning over a fire. If it’s controlled, then everything is fine. But if you are careless, the kettle will boil over and the water will evaporate. You will have lost that which you hoped to achieve. You must not become complacent, that’s the message of the I Ching.’ Su-ming looked down at her notepad again. ‘The hexagram is only the start,’ she said. ‘It provides an overall guideline, a framework. According to the way the coins are thrown, some of the lines are called changing lines. Any combination of the six could be changing lines.’ She looked at the notepad. ‘In your case it’s the fourth line. It was yang, but a changing yang. So I consult the I Ching to see what it says about the fourth line. Then we change the fourth line from yang to yin, from a broken line to a complete line, and that produces a second hexagram. The oracle’s advice is a combination of the first hexagram, the second hexagram, and the changing lines. There are thousands of possibilities. That’s why the book is so thick.’

  She opened the leather-bound volume and slowly went through it. ‘Here we are. Chi Chi. The fourth line.’ She read it silently, then looked at him. ‘You must be on your guard. You must be careful. Things can very easily go wrong.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ laughed Cramer. Her face fell as he laughed and he immediately composed himself. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just that under the circumstances … you know. Obviously I’m going to be on guard.’

  She looked at him seriously. ‘The I Ching is referring to your question, remember? It is with regard to the question you asked that it is offering advice. This is not fortune-telling, Mike Cramer. The I Ching only answers specific questions asked of it.’

  ‘I understand, Su-ming.’

  She picked up the notepad again and drew a second hexagram, changing the fourth line from broken to unbroken. ‘This is now ko. Revolution. A combination of tui, lake, over li, fire. The image is of a lake over a volcano, when the lava bursts through the water is vaporised. Great change. It’s not a bad sign, the opposite in fact. It suggests that the present situation is about to give way to a more beneficial one. An end to sadness. But you yourself must make the change possible. It must first come from within.’

  Cramer nodded. ‘An end to sadness,’ he repeated. ‘That can’t be bad, can it?’

  Su-ming closed the book carefully as if she was afraid of damaging the pages. ‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘Was the advice helpful?’

  ‘Of course. I must be careful, but if I try hard there’ll be a happy ending.’

  Su-ming looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘You sound as if you don’t believe what you’ve been told.’

  Cramer shrugged. ‘It’s the sort of advice I’d get in a fortune cookie. Or in the horoscope of any tabloid newspaper.’

  ‘Your mind is closed,’ she said brusquely. ‘If you refuse to listen to what the I Ching has to say, how can you hope to be helped by it?’

  ‘I’m just not sure how throwing coins can give me the answer to a problem that I have.’

  ‘Because everything in the universe is connected,’ said Su-ming.

  ‘Well, I’m not convinced,’ he said. ‘It’s like when you read my palm. I don’t believe that the lines on my hand are an indication of what has happened to me in my life, much less a guide to what lies ahead of me.’

  Su-ming picked up a small leather bag with a leather drawstring and dropped the coins in one by one. She put the bag on her bedside table and held out her hand. At first Cramer didn’t realise what she wanted, then he slowly held out his own right hand, palm upwards. She bent forward, her face only inches away from the palm as she traced the lines with her index finger. Occasionally her fingernail scraped his skin and he felt a tingle run down his spine like a mild electric shock. He shivered, but Su-ming didn’t appear to notice. She stared at his palm for several minutes, then released his hand.

  ‘So?’ said Cramer, his curiosity piqued.

  Su-ming raised her eyebrows. ‘So what?’ she asked.

  ‘So what did you see?’

  Su-ming shrugged. ‘I was just checking.’

  ‘Checking? Checking what?’

  She tilted u
p her chin. ‘There’s no point in telling you if you don’t believe, is there?’

  Cramer nodded slowly as he realised that she was toying with him. ‘Right,’ he said. He stood up. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  Su-ming picked up her coins again and smoothed them between her hands. She avoided Cramer’s gaze. ‘Are you frightened?’ she asked.

  ‘Frightened?’ he repeated, genuinely confused by her question. ‘Frightened of what?’

  ‘Of what lies ahead,’ she said.

  Cramer rubbed his chin. ‘Allan’s trained me well. I stand a pretty good chance of getting through it.’

  Su-ming looked up sharply. ‘That’s not what I meant, Mike Cramer,’ she said.

  Cramer swallowed. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. She continued to look at him, waiting for him to reply. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘Yes, I’m frightened.’

  She nodded. ‘An end to sadness,’ she said. ‘Remember that, Mike Cramer.’ She threw the coins and they fell silently onto the bed. Cramer walked out of the room as Su-ming drew a line on her notepad.

  Lynch left the M4 and followed the A483 over the River Tawe and into Swansea. The sky was beginning to darken and he wanted to reach Llanrhidian before nightfall. Marie gave clear instructions that took them through the city centre and onto the A4118, the main road that cut through the fifteen-mile long limestone peninsula. She had the map on her lap, neatly folded with the area they were driving through uppermost. Lynch didn’t know whether or not she’d been joking about being a Girl Guide but her navigation had been faultless.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to drive, Dermott?’ Marie asked, massaging the back of his neck with her right hand.

  ‘I’ll be okay. I prefer driving to being driven.’

  ‘Most men do.’

  Lynch threw her a quick glance. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re saying that driving is a male ego thing, is that it?’

  Marie held up her hands. ‘Hey, if the cap fits …’ She laughed and squeezed his neck harder. ‘Don’t be so sensitive. Besides, you’re a very good driver.’