Adrian Magson - Deception

‘As long as Tate does what you said he will.’ Deakin picked up a stone and flicked it into the water. ‘You’ve got a lot more faith in him than I have. What’s to stop him screaming for the cops?’

‘Because it’s not in his nature. I know the way he thinks, believe me.’ Paulton was now relishing the fact that they were depending on his knowledge of Harry Tate to do the right thing. It meant the balance of influence had shifted, allowing him to play a more guiding role in what would follow. ‘He’ll trot after Ferris alone because he’s been conditioned to do so. It’s all he knows.’

‘But if he doesn’t?’ Turpowicz insisted.

‘In that case, there will be a messy confrontation with the police or Special Forces and I fear your two thugs will not return to their homeland. And Ferris will be another casualty of police action.’ He eyed Turpowicz keenly. ‘In which event, Mr Turp, I think we might have need of your specialized military skills.’

‘Me?’ Turpowicz stopped walking.

‘Yes.’ Paulton turned and glanced at Deakin for support. ‘Of the three of us, you alone have the freedom to travel to the UK without lighting up half the security or military networks in the country. You’re what some of my more hip, cool and trendy former colleagues call a “clean skin” — unknown to anyone and able to move freely without arousing interest.’

‘Why the hell would he need to do that?’ Deakin asked. He sounded torn between the desire to remain in control and fascination at what Paulton was saying.

‘Damn right,’ Turpowicz echoed. ‘I like it just fine on this side of the Channel, thanks.’

Paulton kept his eyes on the American’s face. It was a trick he’d learned when about to propose a dangerous course of action to a subordinate. It lent gravity and confidence to the implied request that was about to follow. ‘If the Bosnians fail to stop Tate, then you will have to step in and take over. Unless, of course, you’ve been out of practice too long?’

It was a risky way of provoking a positive response, not least because Paulton wasn’t sure what Deakin’s reaction would be at having matters taken out of his hands like this. Except that it made absolute sense — and he was certain that the former US airborne sergeant’s pride would not let him back down.

‘He’s right.’ Deakin nodded after a few moments. ‘We have to get this turkey off our tail. We’ve already used up three of our five days, and we don’t need Tate on our case along with the Chinese. How about it, Turp?’ He waited for his colleague to agree.

Turpowicz stared at them in turn, then tilted his head. ‘Sure. Why not?’

Paulton smiled broadly. ‘Good man. Shall we go and celebrate, or do you need to go off into the woods and practise those silent kill techniques which I know they teach at Fort Campbell?’

Turpowicz didn’t return the smile. ‘No need. Once taught, never forgotten.’

‘It’s not just me any more,’ said Harry, thinking fast, eyes fastening on Zubac’s and trying to drill into his brain. ‘The word is out; the Protectory is going to be ripped apart anytime soon. Their time is up along with anyone associated with them: Deakin, Turpowicz, Nicholls, the lot. For you, using any of the conventional ports is out of the question. They’ll be watching every exit from here to Inverness.’

Zubac slowly relaxed his grip on the gun, flexing his fingers around the butt as a frown knotted his brow. The barrel dipped as he absorbed what Harry was saying. Then, ‘You better hope not.’ He shifted the gun and angled it down at Clare’s head. ‘Or I shoot her right now. You think I care about shooting a woman? She is nothing to me. We did it all the time where I come from. It was sport.’

‘OK. OK.’ Harry wanted to call his bluff, but he couldn’t take the chance. He’d seen what Zubac was capable of. He lifted a hand to placate him, anything to stop him pulling the trigger. ‘Let me think how. First, though, where’s the man you took?’

Zubac blinked. ‘Ah, you mean your colleague, the boy?’ He tilted his head back towards the bridge. ‘Him I nearly forgot. He’s fine. He’s my other insurance, in case this one dies too quick. . or you refuse to help.’

To emphasize his point, Zubac reached down and placed the gun barrel against Clare’s forehead. He took the first pressure on the trigger as Clare stared up at him, looking helplessly past the gun. ‘You like this woman, Englishman? Huh? She’s not pretty already; this will make her even less so, I promise you. Difficult to like her much then.’ He grinned, showing yellow teeth. ‘But at least she won’t fight back, yes?’

Harry didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying not to look at Clare. Her right hand was moving. He told himself that it was probably a subconscious motor motion, a reaction to shock and pain drawing in the muscles. God knows what she must be feeling.

‘There’s no need for that,’ he said. ‘I’ll help.’ It was bullshit, of course, as they all knew. Zubac would no more allow them to go free than he would give himself in to the police. First Clare, then Rik, then Harry; all expendable in exchange for his freedom. And with Harry, Zubac had a score to settle. ‘So what was the plan, then, before this? If you’ve got a vehicle, it would help.’ Keep him talking, opening the idea that he could get away even now.

‘There is another car with fresh plates. In the town called Grinstead.’ Zubac had trouble with the ‘Gr’. ‘One kilometre east from here, by crossing. . but not used any more. You understand, crossing?’

‘I understand. All you have to do is walk along the track until you reach it.’

Clare had brought her hand down to her hip, moving with excruciating slowness. It must have been agony. Harry kept his eyes on Zubac’s face, demanding his full attention. He had no idea what Clare was up to, but if she could distract him long enough. .

‘That’s easy enough. You get the car and then what? What did Soran say to do next? What was the plan?’

Zubac spat to one side. ‘Soran is going to be dead man,’ he muttered. ‘The Renault he gave us was supposed to be good. It was shit machinery with shit engine, fit for scrapyard. So maybe there is no car in Grinstead and he cheat us. That is why you will help.’

Christ on a bike, Harry thought. What a time to lose confidence in your supply line.

‘There will be other cars, no problem. I can get one.’

Clare’s hand had disappeared. She was now trying to move her body, to roll slightly. Was she going for a back-up weapon. . or was the pain so acute that she was trying to ease it? Whatever, the final movement was sufficient to catch Zubac’s attention.

He glanced down with a muttered query.

Harry began to move, his gut lurching. It was no good; he would be too late. All it would take was the pressure of Zubac’s finger-

Fortunately, Zubac was even slower to react. Clare gave a grunt and her hand came out from under her body trailing a glint of silver. She brushed the back of Zubac’s hand, leaving behind a heavy veil of blood as the blade of her compact knife sliced deeply through the skin and extensor tendons. The Bosnian cried out in pain and tried to pull the trigger, but his fingers were useless and the gun fell on to Clare’s face. As it slid to her side, she scooped it up in a flash and thrust it into his chest, screamed furiously, and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession.

Zubac was thrown backwards by the force of the shots.

By the time Harry got to her side, Clare had dropped the gun and was nearly unconscious. He made her comfortable and checked her airways were clear, then tore off his shirt and used his belt to hold a wad of the cloth against the wound.