Джеймс Паттерсон: Revenge

“Got it,” said Bennett.

They slipped smoothly down a ramp in pursuit. Shelley drew his SIG, checked the mag, chambered a round. He unclipped his seat belt, ready. Did they already have Lucy? He didn’t know. Was he running right into the trap they had laid for him? He didn’t know that either.

Some way ahead the Transit rounded a corner, taking the service road to the back of the building, just as Shelley had thought.

No, thought Shelley, there was absolutely no point in running right into a trap. He remembered Lucy and the guard in Iraq. They saved lives that day precisely because they didn’t go in all guns blazing.

“Stop,” he said.

“Really?” But Bennett was already hitting the brakes, ABS bringing them to a fast but steady and, more importantly, quiet stop.

The Transit was out of sight now. “What are you—” started Bennett, but Shelley had already opened the door and stepped out, keeping his SIG low and his target area small as he scuttled along the service road until he reached the corner of the building. He could just about hear Bennett’s harsh, stranded whisper behind him: “Shelley, what the fuck are you doing? Shelley? Get your arse back here . . .”

At the corner he risked a quick look and saw a large, locked roller door, possibly for deliveries—laundry, something like that. Further back was what looked like a fire escape. Near that, the Transit, backed up so that the rear was close to the fire escape. The driver and passenger doors were opening and he pulled back sharply as Sergei and Dmitry both got out at the same time, carrying handguns and checking the coast was clear.

Shelley glanced behind at the Mercedes, where the driver’s door had opened and Bennett was climbing out. Shelley didn’t want Susie left alone but right now he was running out of options. Lucy was the priority. God, I’m sorry, sweetheart , he told her silently, and risked another peek around the wall.

A tall blond guy had clambered out of the back of the Transit. Dmitry ordered him to take up position and watch their rear, while he and Sergei approached the fire escape. At that moment the door opened with a chunky sound, loud in what was otherwise a still night. Framed in the doorway were two men who grumbled and bitched in low voices as they manhandled a body.

Lucy .

Shelley’s breath caught in his chest. Her blond hair hung over her face. The wound in her thigh was bleeding, blood spreading across the front of her pajamas. But he was almost certain she wasn’t dead, just stunned. And yes. There. Her eyelids fluttered. Her head lolled as though she was trying to raise it.

Dmitry had his phone to his ear. Shelley wondered what he was doing. Summoning more men perhaps? Demanding some kind of status update?

It occurred to him that if Bennett was right about it being a trap, then the trap required Shelley’s presence, which meant . . .

Too late, he realized. The call Dmitry was making.

It was to him.

CHAPTER 74

SHELLEY’S HAND SLAPPED at his pocket just as his phone rang and his position was revealed.

He thought fast and decided his only option was to claw back the element of surprise. So as the Chechens reacted, Shelley broke cover.

Bursting forward, he took out the blond guy on the run, his SIG bucking but controlled in his grip as he pumped two shots into the guy’s chest, an instructor-perfect double tap.

The guy staggered, swaying. Beyond him, Sergei and Dmitry both dived for cover behind the Transit, Sergei snatching off a shot that went wide, Dmitry screaming something at him in Russian.

The blond guy’s body was still dropping as Shelley passed it. By the fire escape door, the two heavies had finished bundling Lucy into the back of the van, drawn their guns and joined the fight, firing recklessly, seemingly ignoring whatever Dmitry was shrieking at them.

Crack. Thump . Night split by gunfire.

Shelley dropped to one knee. Death was just a blink away but he felt a strange calm, that same mastery of his fear he’d felt at Millharbor kicking in afresh. He squeezed off a shot that took out one of the kidnappers, who dropped with crimson spraying from his throat. Shelley twisted his torso and found the second kidnapper in his sights. This guy had leveled a pistol fitted with a suppressor and was pointing it at him but Shelley stayed calm, found time in the moment, and his aim was true. Another double tap and the Chechen fell.

And then Sergei did what Shelley had feared might happen since the beginning of the firefight. He emerged from the rear of the Transit holding Lucy, who was slumped in his arms, her head swaying gently from side to side as though she were gradually recovering consciousness.

Next Dmitry stepped around from the other side of the van, the third point of the triangle, positioned about halfway between Shelley and Sergei. No doubt Dmitry thought he’d gained the upper hand, but Shelley had two things in his favor. One, he knew the Chechen wanted him alive. Two, Bennett had yet to make his play.

Shelley’s gun was aimed at Sergei, and at this range he knew he could take him out and save Lucy. Not a case of if. Just a case of when.

But then Shelley felt the barrel of a gun at the back of his head.

“Game’s up, I’m afraid, Shelley,” said Bennett.

CHAPTER 75

“DROP YOUR WEAPON,” said Bennett.

Shelley’s gun was still trained on Sergei, who held Lucy, slumped, her knees bent. “I’m not going to do that,” he replied evenly.

“I’ll put a hole in your head if you don’t.”

“Will you indeed? Did you hear that, Dmitry? The ten-million-quid bullet.”

“Be careful, please, Mr. Bennett,” warned Dmitry.

“Tell you what, we’ll put a bullet in Lucy instead,” Bennett called across. “Sergei, could you do the honors, please?”

Shelley kept his cool. “Do that and the next person to die is you, Sergei. No, I’m sorry, lads, but from where I am it looks like your only option is to put a bullet in me and kiss goodbye to the ten mil. You ready to do that?”

“Dmitry?” asked Bennett.

“ Wait ,” said Dmitry.

“Dmitry,” urged Bennett, “shots have been fired. The cops will be here soon.”

“You’re ready to do it, are you, Bennett?” said Shelley. “You’d put a round in me, just like that.”

“It’s nothing personal, Shelley. Never was.”

“Oh yeah? And you behind it all along, were you, being not-personal all this time?”

“Not quite,” said Bennett. “Not quite ‘all along.’ I’m afraid I can’t claim credit for the original idea. Would you believe that honor goes to—”

“Johnson?” said Shelley.

“Exactly,” replied Bennett. “He had the right idea.”

“And Gurney?”

“Yup. Cooked up a little plan with Gurney and then cooked him out of it. They both had the right idea. Just needed a little finesse, that was all.”

“Finesse you were able to provide.”

“Cooked up with my good friends here, yes. I look forward to enjoying preferred fundraiser status with the most powerful criminal organization in the world. I intend to have a good time with it, Shelley. I’m only sorry that you can’t join me.” He addressed Dmitry and Sergei: “Now, gentlemen, it really won’t be long before the police arrive. Might I suggest we speed things up just a tad?”

“Then how will I get my money, Mr. Bennett?” said Dmitry. There was a note in his voice that Shelley found intriguing. Did he imagine it, or was Dmitry suspicious of Bennett?

“Oh, very simple,” Bennett responded. “I have Mrs. Drake in the car. Which means that we have no use for Shelley at all. Nor his wife. Put a bullet in her now, Sergei. I’ll do the same over here. Guy Drake will pay up for the return of Susie, and nobody will miss a couple of ex-SAS grunts. Plus you get to impress your friends in Grozny. Oh,” he said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “don’t forget to film it, Dmitry.”