Killing for the Company

To Luke’s right stood two men with MP5s pointed directly at him. They handled their weapons like pros. Beyond them he counted three others. He tried to identify the guy from the bar, but he couldn’t. That meant he was still out there somewhere.

One of him, six of them — and that was just down here. Not good odds.

Ivanovic turned to face him again. Luke noticed his hands trembling, as if in excitement. As he took a step nearer, Luke saw he held a cable tie — exactly what he himself had stashed in his waistcoat for use as Plasticuffs. He knew what these Eastern European fucks did with them. The skin round his neck tingled.

Ivanovic said something that made his men laugh. Luke closed his eyes. The moment he went for his PPK, the guards would shoot. But if he didn’t, Ivanovic would throttle him. Maybe he should let that happen. Once the cable tie was on, Ivanovic and his guys would be off their guard. He could nail them and then hunt for a knife, but he wouldn’t have much more than a minute to find one…

‘I can give you information…’ he said hoarsely. It was bullshit, but it might buy him some time.

Ivanovic appeared to find this very funny. ‘Information? I knew already you were coming. What information could you…?’

His gloating was cut short.

Gunshot, coming from the staircase. And then a thump.

The men with MP5s turned to see what it was, and in their moment of distraction, Luke moved.

He rolled away from Ivanovic and, as he did do, pulled the PPK from his ankle holster. By the time the two armed guards knew what he was doing, Luke had discharged two rounds, one into the first guy’s neck, the other into his mate’s head. As the men crumpled, spattering Luke’s face with blood, he had a direct line of fire to the other three. They were scrabbling for their guns, but they didn’t scrabble fast enough: Luke had all three down in less than two seconds, and it was as they dropped to the ground that he saw what the disturbance was.

Something had fallen down the stairs. Some one to be precise. He was now lying face down at the foot of the steps, the back of his head blown away. He might have lost half his brains, but it was unmistakably the man they’d followed back from the bar.

Luke had hesitated too long. Ivanovic was launching himself at him, the plastic loop gripped tight. Luke pushed himself to his feet just as the Serb came within range. With all the force he could summon, he brought the edge of his hand up against the underside of Ivanovic’s nose. There was a definite crack, and Luke felt his hand was wet. Ivanovic roared in pain, but the blow didn’t floor him. With blood gushing down his chin, he came at Luke again.

Luke’s orders had been to take him alive. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt the bastard.

He discharged two rounds from the PPK: one into each of Ivanovic’s shins. From two metres, the 9mm rounds would all but destroy each bone. Certainly the guy would never walk again. For a moment, the Serb’s roaring stopped. But only for a moment. As he fell backwards, his damaged legs no longer able to support the weight of his body, his shrieks echoed off the concrete walls.

But Luke was barely paying attention to that. Because, in the few seconds after Ivanovic’s man had come crashing down the stairs, he had become aware of something else.

A figure was standing at the top of the steps.

Luke pointed his PPK in that direction. ‘Chet?’ he called out. Surely he wasn’t on his feet. But who else would have nailed Ivanovic’s man?

No reply from the top of the stairs. Blood and sweat dripped down Luke’s face.

‘ Fucking hell, Chet,’ he shouted over the noise of Ivanovic’s screaming. ‘ If that’s you, say so.’

The sound that followed was not a voice. It was the noise of a body falling. The figure at the top of the stairs toppled. It hit the steps face downwards, then tumbled heavily into the basement.

It was Chet all right. The side of his face was mashed. His leg was a mess. How the hell he’d even got to his feet with the injuries he’d sustained, Luke couldn’t guess. He was like some fucked-up Lazarus, his chest moving, but only just. Even Ivanovic stared at the monstrous sight of Chet’s damaged body with a look of horror, his screaming now subsided into a series of desperate gasps and groans.

But Luke didn’t care about the Serb and his injuries. Or about the bodies all around them. All he cared about was his Regiment mate, collapsed and close to death, on the ground.

THREE

For a moment, everything was silent.

Luke looked around. Six corpses; two gravely injured men. Pools of blood everywhere, and a strange cocktail of smells: the dampness of the basement, the cordite of the gunshots, a faint smell of shit from where one of the men had taken a round in the guts.

He tried to get his head straight. Chet was his priority now. Ivanovic wasn’t going anywhere. If he died of his wounds, so be it. The Ruperts and the spooks would see red, but they weren’t on the ground, making the decisions. Luke could only look after one of these two casualties.