Джеймс Паттерсон: Revenge

“He’s fine, ma’am, as far as I know,” Bennett said gently. “He’s at home, resting.”

She nodded as if that was all she needed to know. “Good,” she said, a little too dreamily for Shelley’s liking, and resumed staring out of the window.

“Right, where are we going?” said Bennett.

He twisted back to face front, pulled his seat belt across him, and was already moving off as Shelley directed him to the hospital. His driving was assured and fast, a sense of purpose to it that gave Shelley hope as he ran through the events of the evening, ending with a question of his own. “So how did you come to be ramming a pen into Gurney?”

Bennett gave a dry laugh. “There’s a first time for everything. Not bad for a bit of on-the-spot improvisation, I thought.”

“But you knew, did you? You’d worked out that Gurney was working with them?”

Bennett nodded sadly. “Johnson—I don’t suppose we’ll ever know whether he went to the Chechens of his own accord or not. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized Dmitry seemed to have so much info that Johnson couldn’t possibly have told him. Where Susie Drake would be that morning, for instance. Christ, even mobile numbers. They had to be getting it from someone other than Johnson.”

“I came to the same conclusion myself,” said Shelley.

“And so when Gurney let himself out just after midnight, I decided to follow,” explained Bennett.

Shelley chuckled. “Pool room window?”

“That’s the one.”

Bennett drew up to traffic lights. Shelley found himself unconsciously putting his own foot down, wanting to urge them forward; it was night, there were no cops around. But then again, he supposed Bennett was doing the right thing. No point in risking drawing unwanted attention.

“And now you think they’re going for Lucy to get at you?” asked Bennett, looking across at him. “A bit of collateral.”

“Looks that way. To be honest, I’m not sure what they know about Lucy. Whether they know she was in the Regiment or not, I couldn’t say.”

“They know she’s important to you, though?”

“Looks like it. And they could have got that from Gurney.”

“So you’re about to put yourself back in the firing line?” said Bennett.

“We’ll see.”

They drew away from the lights, Bennett cruising through the gears, the hospital just moments away now. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Dmitry said something that made you think he was going to snatch Lucy? In other words, he revealed his intel? Why would he do that, do you think, Shelley? Why let you know his game plan?”

“He didn’t . . .”

“Not directly, but he dropped a massive fuck-off hint, didn’t he? He led you to believe it, and you drew exactly the conclusion he wanted you to draw. Which means that by racing over there right now, we’re doing precisely what he wants us to do, Shelley. I say ‘we.’ I mean you, my friend. You’re playing right into his hands. Just remind me, if you would: is that what we recommend in the forces, playing right into the enemy’s hands?”

Shelley knew it, always had done. He took a deep breath. “I know, but look, this morning, after the crash at the gates, when you thought Johnson might still be alive, you approached the car even though there was a greater-than-average possibility that the car might be booby-trapped. You remember that?”

“Of course,” conceded Bennett.

“At the time I thought it was a dick move. Stupid and reckless. But the thing is, even though I didn’t approve of it, I understood it. I knew why you had to go out there, even though tactically it was the wrong thing to do.” And besides, this is Lucy we’re talking about.

“Even so, Shelley,” sighed Bennett, “I’m not sure I can stand by and watch you do this.”

“Put it this way: you don’t have any choice.”

“Why did I have a feeling you were going to say that?” said Bennett ruefully. He shifted down and floored it, a statement of intent that gave Shelley hope as the city streets flashed past.

CHAPTER 72

SERGEI DROVE THE black Transit, Dmitry at his side with the phone clamped to his ear. His man Bogdan, dispatched to follow Shelley on the trains, had gone offline, much to his irritation. But Albert and Boris, sent to the hospital? Ah, now that was a very different situation indeed.

He came off the phone. “Albert and Boris have the girl,” he told Sergei.

“It is fortunate that they were able to mobilize so quickly, Dmitry,” replied Sergei.

Dmitry glanced into the rear of the van, where just one of their men, the Ukrainian, Wladimir, sat silently. He was big and blond and—though known to be a little squeamish when it came to the sight of blood—a man you would want by your side in a fight.

This night had taken its toll on them as an organization. Dmitry looked across at Sergei. “An interesting evening for us, Sergei,” he said, part statement, part question.

“Indeed, Dmitry.”

“We have at least managed to sort a few things out.”

“Indeed, Dmitry,” said Sergei. He checked the satnav suction-cupped to the windshield. The Chelsea and Westminster Hospital was just a short distance away now.

Dmitry reached into the front of his jeans, drew his pistol, and exhaled as though it had been digging into him. He held it in his lap. “Sergei,” he said with a mildly quizzical tone, “tell me, were you ever tempted to join with Karen?”

Sergei gave a small chuckle. “Certainly not, Dmitry. As you are aware, I came to you the second that her treachery became apparent.”

“You did, Sergei,” nodded Dmitry, “you did. And for that, you know that you have my eternal gratitude. Who knows? With a less conscientious and loyal lieutenant, perhaps her plan for takeover might even have succeeded.”

“Perhaps,” said Sergei.

“But of course you knew what she could not have known, which is that our friends in Grozny have been tiring of our association with the Regan family. You above all knew that forming an alliance with Karen Regan was suicide.”

Sergei’s jaw tightened. “Are you suggesting to me that I exposed the traitor merely out of self-preservation and nothing else, Dmitry?” He sounded genuinely hurt. “Does our friendship mean nothing?”

Dmitry threw back his head and laughed. “You made the right decision, Sergei, that is the important thing,” he said. “You may be sure that you will be well rewarded for your loyalty tonight. We all will be. Twenty million in the bank. And not just one, but two of the British Army’s most celebrated SAS operators as a prize. If Alexander is unhappy about the loss—the temporary loss, mind you—of the studios then he will not be for long.”

Sergei was slowing, trying to make sense of a forest of signage at the entrance to the hospital complex, just as Dmitry’s phone rang. It was Boris. He had details of where to come in order to collect the girl.

Yes, it has been an interesting night , thought Dmitry as he relayed directions to Sergei and instructed Wladimir to be ready. However, although everything had gone to plan so far, he had a distinct feeling that the night still had a surprise or two in store.

CHAPTER 73

THE MERCEDES CAME into the entrance road of the hospital and then drew almost to a standstill. “Where to now?” said Bennett, peering in evident confusion at the signs. Shelley, too, leaned forward to gaze through the windshield. He was about to direct Bennett to the main entrance when he saw it: over to their right, a black Transit van headed across the front of the main building just below them.

Of course. Some kind of rear entrance.

“Down there,” he pointed. “The van. Do you see it?”