Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

“Understood.” Roger spoke quietly, and Will knew that he would be hidden somewhere halfway along the three-kilometer hill route.

Will checked the pockets of the dead men but found nothing of interest. He heard Roger’s voice again in his earpiece.

“I can see a four-seater sedan driving up Pasino Brdo. Three Iranians are inside. One of them is Nozari, and the other two are from the team. They’re driving slowly and they’re two point eight kilometers from your position. They’ll be passing me in two minutes and you in five. Let me know if you want me to stop them.”

Will frowned. He had no doubt that the men who had killed Harry’s bodyguards were the same people who had killed Kljujic, and he knew that Nozari had been directly or indirectly involved in both acts. But it made no sense to him that they were driving back to Harry’s house at such a casual pace. If they’d been stupid and left something in the house to compromise themselves, they would be driving with haste. Likewise, if Will had been spotted by them going to the house-and he thought that impossible-they would be after him with speed and in greater numbers. But they were driving as if they were unafraid of time or consequences.

Suddenly the realization of what was happening hit him. He cursed silently and pulled out his SIG Sauer handgun at the same time as his free hand flew to his throat pressel switch. “They’re coming to collect the assassin. He’s still here.”

“There could be more than one.”

“There’s only one empty seat in that car.” Will swung his gun around. He could feel his heart race, and he kept moving. “But whoever’s here is good enough to take out four men in the blink of an eye.”

“Then I’d better be on my way.”

Will held his gun in two hands and walked quickly but lightly across the room and into the downstairs hallway. Opposite him was one of the two smaller studies, and he reentered the room, walked around its perimeter, and then returned to the hallway. He stopped to listen but could hear nothing. The upper floor of the house contained the most rooms, closets, and other areas where a man could hide, and Will decided that unless the assassin had left the house already, he must be in one of those places. He ascended the stairs until he was back on that upper floor. Beams of white daylight traversed the expansive corridor area before him and came from open doorways and the external windows beyond them. He narrowed his eyes to try to focus through the strobelike effect they created, and he started moving through the floor, checking each room to his left and right. The smell of the polish was even stronger here, and he didn’t remember noticing its pungency when he’d been up here a few minutes earlier. He exited the final room on the right side of the corridor and moved to the master bedroom at the end of the floor. It was the last room to be checked. He crouched low and to one side of the double-door entrance. He slowly turned the handle and pushed the door inward while remaining in position and out of sight of anyone inside the room. Within a split second, he poked his head into the room and out again. In that time he had seen no one in there, although he knew from his earlier search that there were at least nine places inside it large enough to conceal a man. He counted ten seconds while listening before moving steadily into the room with his gun held in front of him. He examined all nine places and then kicked at the bed in frustration. He was now sure that the killer must have left before he’d entered the house. He looked around the room one more time and sighed.

A loud thud came from behind him, and he instantly spun around to face the direction of the noise. It had come from the end of the long corridor, and through the fragmenting splinters of daylight he saw an open attic hatch and a man standing beneath it with his back to Will. The man turned toward him. Even though he was approximately thirty meters away from Will and partially disguised by the distorting effect of inconsistent light and darkness, he could see that the man was tall and middle-aged. He could also see that the man’s arm was outstretched. Will raised his gun to shoot, but a tiny flash of another kind of light descended quickly from the man’s hand toward the floor. Too late Will realized that the tiny glow belonged to a cigarette lighter and too late he understood that the pungent alcohol smell belonged not to polish but to a fire accelerant. The lighter hit the floor, and blue flames instantly engulfed the corridor and sped along it toward the master bedroom. Will flinched slightly as the fire dazzled his vision. When he looked up again, he was surprised to see that the man was still standing in the same position. It then registered that the man was pointing a handgun in his direction. Will saw the gun’s muzzle flash, sensed the tiniest moment of absolute pain in his head, and then felt and knew nothing.

“I need you to live.”

Will saw his body move away from the floor. He saw black swirls, he saw yellow and red, and he smelled roasting flesh. Something sharp repeatedly banged against his chest and produced pain. But the pain on the side of his head was much worse. He felt things were moving, and he felt out of control. He closed and opened his eyes, and each time he did, he saw different images. He heard breathing and felt something wrapped tight and unforgiving around his back. Movement increased and became as rapid as the breathing he heard. He saw things and then no longer saw or heard anything.

“You’re not safe yet.” The voice sounded different.

Will’s head whipped back, and he saw white light. It slumped forward, and he saw snow and feet and legs quite close to him. Again something angular banged against his chest, and the images before him jarred in time with each small impact. He felt that he was moving fast. He felt helpless. His eyes closed even though he did not wish them to do so. His brain began to fall into some kind of strange sleep.

Will opened his eyes and saw sky. Underneath him everything felt cold. He focused on his hands and pushed with them without knowing what the action would do to his body. It forced him up into a seated position and into a place that at first he did not understand. He was seated in thick snow and on a steep hillside. He shook his head quickly to try to focus his mind.

“Don’t do that.”

Will stopped. He looked toward the voice, which seemed real. He saw Roger, but the man was not looking at him and was instead crouched on one knee while looking back up the hill. He held a rifle and was peering through its scope. Will shook his head again.

“You’ll lose consciousness if you do that. And I’m not going to haul you back onto my shoulder for another thousand-meter run if you ignore me.” Roger pulled away from the scope and looked toward Will. “We must go.”

Will touched a hand to his head and felt a long groove along the right-hand side of his hairline. He knew that the injury must have come from the assassin’s bullet. He coughed and recalled the thick smoke within the house. His vision blurred, and he blinked several times to try to regain control of his sight. He breathed in deeply and felt pain in his lungs. He slowed his breathing and tried to calm his body and mind. He spoke. “How the hell did you get me out of that house?”

Roger came toward him. “I didn’t. But the man who torched the place and then shot you most certainly did.”

“He should not travel that distance. He’s been shot in the head.”

Will heard the words from behind closed eyes. He opened them and saw Julian and Ben. The two men were standing over him. He looked around and recognized his surroundings as the superior suite he had stayed in before, in Sarajevo’s Radon Plaza Hotel.