Dance with the Enemy (The Enemy Series)

by Rob Sinclair

  Logan had no choice. They were out-positioned and outgunned. Selim wasn’t bluffing. If Selim didn’t put a bullet in their heads here and now, he would only draw out their deaths agonisingly. Logan couldn’t bear the thought of that. He’d been too close to it before. He wasn’t going to go through it again. And there was no way he could put Grainger through that.

  He had to give it a go.

  He waited for Selim to start speaking again, knowing that any distraction at all would be helpful.

  ‘But a leopard doesn’t change its spots,’ Selim said. ‘I am what I am. And there’s a few new tricks I’d like to try on you two. Kind of like –’

  Selim didn’t finish his sentence. Logan reached up behind him and grabbed the barrel of the rifle, pushing it away from his head. He was banking on Selim pulling the trigger, which was exactly what he did. Bullets sprayed out of the muzzle, hitting the floor and the wall opposite. The din was deafening, making Logan’s head spin. He tried his best to force the barrel of the gun up, away from himself and Grainger, toward the skinny man. Selim didn’t have the strength in his arms to stop it and there was a cry as the skinny man was hit. Logan had to assume that Grainger would take care of him from there.

  Logan swivelled himself round, then put his body’s weight from his knees back onto his feet. Selim was still holding on to the rifle, still struggling to regain control. But Logan wasn’t going to let him. He yanked down on the gun, at the same time reaching up and grabbing Selim behind the shoulder. He kicked his leg out and pulled down hard on the weapon and on Selim. The momentum threw Selim over Logan’s outstretched leg and into a heap on the floor.

  Selim’s arm twisted around awkwardly as he fell and he let out a shrill scream. But he had kept a finger on the trigger. And when he fired a single shot, it caught Logan, tearing into his shoulder. The bullet went right through him and a spray of blood projected out behind him.

  The shot knocked Logan off balance and he stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Grainger and the skinny man. The two of them were wrestling on the floor. The man had been shot in the arm. His gun was nowhere in sight. Logan guessed it had fallen from his grasp in the melee. He wanted to help Grainger, but he knew Selim, who was still armed, had to be his priority.

  Logan did his best to fight off the pain in his shoulder. Just in front of him, Selim was getting to his feet. He was disoriented, but still holding on to the rifle. As he began to raise it, there was only one thing Logan could do. He lunged forward and his body crashed into Selim’s, slamming him against the wall. They both hit the deck.

  At such close quarters, Selim’s rifle was now useless. Logan knew his injured shoulder was debilitating; he just hoped the adrenaline coursing through him would be enough to keep him going. Unlike in the fight with Lorik, Selim should be no match for Logan’s size and strength.

  He arced back and crashed his forehead down onto Selim’s nose, then began to prise the rifle out of his weakening grip. He hurled his right knee upwards into Selim’s groin. Selim let out a long groan. Logan balled his left fist and sent a hook onto the temple of Selim’s head. He put his whole body weight behind it, punching right through to the target. Selim’s head rolled and his body flopped.

  The quick succession of hits had been enough to turn the tide in Logan’s favour. Selim was out for the count.

  A second later Logan was on his feet. He looked over to Grainger, expecting to see the two bodies on the ground. But what he saw was Grainger disappearing down the front steps, shouting after the skinny man. He smiled to himself, knowing she wouldn’t let her man get away. He kicked the rifle out of the reach of Selim then walked into the front room to reclaim his gun. Checking the chamber he walked back to Selim, who lay on the floor. He was starting to come round but was clearly dazed and confused.

  This really was it now. Logan had his man at long last. It was the moment he’d been waiting for. So why did the whole situation leave a sour taste? He should have been on top of the world.

  Logan knew why: Selim was still alive. And the police wouldn’t be far behind. This time tomorrow, Selim would be waking up in a prison cell in France that would knock spots off the torturous hell hole that he deserved. And then what? For years Selim would fight extradition charges with every bogus story he and his lawyer team could come up with, all the while evading justice.

  No, that wasn’t going to be Selim’s fate. Logan would not let that happen.

  He knew first-hand what this man was capable of. He had seen what he could do to other, defenceless humans. Jail time just wasn’t going to cut it. Logan wanted to skin him alive! He wanted Selim to suffer in the same way that he had made so many others suffer. A slow and painful death, that was what Selim deserved.

  But Logan knew he could never do that and live with himself. He couldn’t bring himself down to that level. He wasn’t a sadist.

  But he was a realist.

  Logan raised his gun, aiming at the spot between Selim’s eyes. His hand was shaking so badly that it was almost impossible to keep his aim. He wasn’t even sure he would be able to hit his target, despite the short distance. He pulled his left hand around to steady the grip as best as he could.

  Selim, his head still lolling, made eye contact with Logan. There was no pleading, no look of resignation or fear. Logan hated him even more for that.

  In fact, Logan thought that Selim actually looked amused: the corners of his mouth were turned upwards, as though he was mocking the predicament that Logan found himself in. Like this was all his making and was what he wanted.

  ‘This ends here,’ Logan said.

  Selim began to laugh. ‘What ends here?’ he said. ‘Do you even know why Modena was taken? What I was being paid for?’

  ‘What?’ Logan said. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by Selim’s words.

  ‘Eight million dollars,’ Selim taunted. ‘That’s a lot of money for a name.’

  Selim opened his mouth to say something else. But he never got the chance. Logan wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity.

  He fired his gun. The bullet tore into Selim’s face, just above his left eye. Then he fired again and the glimmer of a smile was gone for good.

  Logan lowered his gun and bowed his head. A rush of feelings coursed through him. Relief was the predominant one. But also confusion as to the meaning of Selim’s dying words.

  It only took a few seconds before the adrenaline surge that had helped him through the fight dissipated. And it was only then that Logan really felt the searing pain in his shoulder. He looked at his wound, but as he did so caught a glimpse of a shadow, a person standing in the open doorway off to his right.

  Logan’s world was going into a blur. The pain in his shoulder was immense, sending shock waves all the way down the right side of his body. He slumped to his knees.

  ‘Carl. Are you okay? Carl!’

  It was Grainger. She rushed over to him.

  ‘I’m okay,’ he said, fending her off. ‘I’ll be okay. Check Modena.’

  Reluctantly she stood up and turned.

  ‘Oh no. Logan … He’s hit. Modena’s been hit!’

  She ran into the front room. Logan followed, fighting off the pain and the spinning in his head, and looked at the crumpled figure of Modena hanging from the radiator. His eyes were shut. Blood was trickling down from his gagged mouth and on his chest a large patch of red on the shirt he was wearing was widening by the second. He must have been shot by one of Selim’s stray bullets.

  ‘Frank? Frank! Can you hear me?’ Grainger said, kneeling down by him.

  Logan fell to the floor next to Modena, wincing in pain as he did so. Grainger lifted up Modena’s head and untied the rag around his mouth. A rush of pooled blood escaped and ran down his chin.

  ‘Frank! You’re safe now,’ she said. ‘You hear me? We’ve got you now. Just hang in there.’

  Modena murmured, a gargling noise; he tried to speak.

  �
��Frank, you listen to me. Just hang in there!’

  Grainger lifted up Modena’s shirt. The bullet had hit him low in his chest. It had avoided his heart, but it was a bad wound. He was losing a lot of blood, which was coming out of the hole in big gulps with each beat of his heart. And with his hands cuffed to the radiator, it was impossible to move him into a position to tend to him properly. Grainger put a hand on the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. Frank’s swollen eyes opened wide at the touch, looking like they might pop right out of his head. Her touch would be painful, but it might help him survive.

  Everything around Logan was spinning. He knew he needed treatment, fast. But Modena was dying. And Logan couldn’t let that happen. He pulled himself up next to Modena and held the man in his arms. Modena wasn’t his friend; there was no emotional attachment. He had never met the man before in his life. But he felt a duty towards him. A duty to save him.

  ‘Go and get help,’ Logan spluttered.

  Grainger didn’t hesitate. She released her hand from Modena’s chest and got to her feet. Logan pushed his own hand onto Modena’s wound, pressing as hard as he could. The soaked skin squelched and bubbled as the blood tried to find its way through. Grainger rushed out into the hall, talking hurriedly into her phone.

  Modena tried to speak again. This time he got his words out, so faint that they were almost a whisper.

  ‘Lucky. It was …’

  ‘What was that?’ Logan said. ‘Frank, what did you say?’

  ‘It was … lucky. Lucky that …’

  ‘Yes, Frank. It was lucky. You are lucky. You’re going to be fine, though. Just hold on.’

  Modena opened and closed his mouth again and again, but no more words came out.

  ‘Frank, just stay with me,’ Logan shouted. He could sense that he was losing Modena. But he was also on the brink himself. Everything him around was hazy.

  Logan opened and closed his eyes, struggling to stay alert, struggling to stay conscious.

  Then he felt the pressure underneath his hand lighten and his focus seemed to return.

  ‘Frank! Stay with me.’

  But no response came from Modena this time. Logan took his hand away from the wound. The blood was no longer gushing. Just a constant, slow trickle.

  ‘Frank!’

  But there was no response.

  Modena’s heart had stopped beating.

  ‘Carl?’

  It was Grainger. He turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, tears rolling down her cheeks. The look on her face said it all.

  Logan simply shook his head, then closed his eyes.

  Chapter 54

  There would be no needle and thread in a hotel bedroom this time. Logan needed professional treatment. But regardless of his needs, he and Grainger had another priority. The man they had both been looking for, both trying to save, was on the brink of death. His heart had stopped beating. And until further help arrived, they had to do everything and anything they could to keep him alive.

  First they needed to release Modena from the radiator to make it easier to tend to him. Grainger held the barrel of her handgun up against the chain that connected Modena’s handcuffs together and fired. At such close quarters the shot caused a fair bit of damage to the skin on Modena’s hands in the process, but if he made it through this, they were sure he would forgive them. With his arms freed, they both helped to move Modena so that he was lying flat. Grainger then tried her best to resuscitate the dying man.

  Logan had plenty of training in first aid, but it wasn’t quite as simple to perform when you had a gaping hole in your shoulder. With the blood that Logan himself was losing, it was a struggle just to stay conscious.

  An ambulance and a local police car were first on the scene. The paramedics promptly whisked Modena off, reluctantly leaving behind the injured Logan; they assured him they would send another ambulance for him. In lieu of proper medical attention, Grainger had hastily tied a makeshift tourniquet around Logan’s injured shoulder.

  The two local cops had quickly subdued the last of Selim’s men who was still alive: the skinny man whom Grainger had fled into the street after, and whom she had shot in the leg to add to the wounds he already had in his arm and to his head. With all loose ends apparently taken care of, the two policemen were left scratching their heads and struggling to do anything else useful.

  Logan and Grainger were left to contemplate what had just happened while they awaited the cavalry.

  ‘There’s still time if you want me to take you away from here,’ she said to Logan. ‘We don’t have to wait for the others to arrive. Don’t you want to get away before they do?’

  ‘I think the moment for caring about that has passed,’ Logan said. ‘Everyone already knows we were both here. It wouldn’t make any difference now. Dead or alive, we have Modena. And Selim is dead. There’s no need to run now.’

  His relief when he spoke Selim’s name was obvious. The first time he had ever spoken the name in that way.

  But he was also troubled by Selim’s parting words. A name. Eight million dollars for a name. It was what Logan had suspected: that Blakemore and the others were being paid to extract information from Modena. So why was someone paying eight million dollars for a name?

  ‘How’s that shoulder?’ Grainger said, shaking Logan from his thoughts.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll live.’

  He was still slouched on the floor, next to the large pool of blood where Modena had been. It was all smudged and smeared and there were bloody footprints trailing all around the room and out of the house – a combination of Logan’s, Grainger’s and the paramedics who had escorted Modena out. Much of the blood was from Logan’s own wound.

  The tourniquet had so far been successful in stemming the blood flow, but it couldn’t stop the pain. Logan was feeling drowsy from its persistence.

  ‘Did Modena say anything to you?’ Grainger asked. ‘While I was on the phone before?’

  ‘No. He could barely speak,’ Logan said. His speech was becoming more laboured by the minute. ‘Just something about him being lucky. Poor guy.’

  Logan noticed a twinkle in Grainger’s eye at his words. The briefest flash of recognition at what he had said – at what Modena had said to him. But just like that, the look was gone again.

  ‘Let’s hope he was right,’ she said.

  ‘Wait,’ Logan interjected. ‘Does that mean something to you? What he said to me? About him being lucky?’

  ‘What? No … not at all. Why would it?’

  Perhaps he’d just imagined it. He was hardly on top of his game.

  An armed response team from the French police arrived a few minutes later. Too little, too late: they’d already missed all the action. But, determined to leave their mark, they made plenty of noise as they stormed through each room in the house, securing an already secured area.

  Next came a small team of FBI agents, some detectives from Paris, crime scene investigators and, finally, Mackie, who’d rushed over from London on the Eurostar.

  By that point, Logan was the subject of some heated debate between the Feds and the police. Half of them were contemplating arresting him despite Grainger’s protests.

  Things were quickly squared off once Mackie had arrived, though. After that, Logan was left to deal with only the persistent stares and sneers of the various law enforcement teams.

  He could handle that.

  Three further ambulances had arrived in between all of the squabbling. A young female paramedic tended to Logan. She gave him some morphine and stitched up the wound on both the front and back of his shoulder. As ever, he resisted being taken to a hospital and had persuaded the paramedic to let him stay on the scene, albeit inside the ambulance. He didn’t yet know what kind of damage had been done to the bone and muscle, but right now it didn’t really matter to him.

  Only two things did: Modena and Grainger.

  Grainger was busy being debriefed by her bosses. It was hard to know what kind of troubl
e she would be in now. She could be fired for what she’d done. Maybe more than that. On top of lying to her superiors, she’d destroyed evidence, helped a suspect escape a police chase and had been involved in the deaths of a number of people. The list went on. Yes, she’d helped to get Modena back. But for her, for the police and for the Feds, rules were everything. And she’d broken just about every one.

  Mackie put his head around the ambulance door.

  ‘I suppose we should just be grateful that Modena is at least still alive,’ he said, barely able to hide his annoyance.

  Despite Mackie’s tone, Logan perked up. He hadn’t known that Modena was still alive. When he had been carted off his heartbeat had been so faint it was almost not there. ‘He is?’

  ‘Just about, yeah. Too early to tell what’s going to happen to him. His heart stopped twice more on the way to the hospital. But he is technically alive. Whether or not he’ll recover, I don’t know.’

  Modena was alive. And as long as that was the case, there was a chance he would recover. It was something, at least.

  ‘As you can imagine, you haven’t got many friends out there at the moment,’ Mackie said. ‘You’ve caused a lot of people a lot of problems. And not just tonight.’

  ‘And I’ve also potentially helped to save Modena’s life.’

  ‘Well, if he doesn’t live, I think people will probably point the finger at you, so don’t count your chickens just yet. And you’ve done it all in a completely gung-ho way right under the noses of regular law enforcement. I’m going to have to pull some pretty big strings to keep the wolves at bay. You and that friend of yours are prime targets for the role of scapegoat in this whole mess.’

  What mess? Logan thought, but he decided not to say it. All of the kidnappers were dead or in custody and Modena had a fighting chance of survival. It was better than many of the other possible outcomes. But Logan knew not everyone would see that. And whatever came next, Logan would just have to live with it.