Simon Kernick - Ultimatum

I felt the adrenalin building inside me, but I knew my best bet was to stay calm and go on the attack. ‘What are you accusing me of?’

I took a step towards Dav, who lowered his pistol and pointed it at my groin with a hand that was way too steady. ‘Don’t move, or I’ll blow your balls off.’ His eyes blazed with anger and his finger tightened on the trigger.

He barked something in Albanian to the big bodyguard who produced a thin-cord garrotte from under his jacket, and walked round behind me.

‘What the hell’s he doing?’ I snapped, my hand hovering over the gun, knowing I was already too late. At the same time, the shotgun-wielding thug who’d been hiding behind the shelves walked towards me until the end of his barrel was only a few feet from my gut. His face was blank and I knew he’d kill me without a second’s thought.

‘Don’t go for that gun,’ said Dav quietly. ‘You won’t make it.’

‘I’m not a cop,’ I answered, looking him right in the eye, working hard to keep my voice steady. I felt the gun being removed from the waistband of my jeans, leaving me completely unarmed.

‘Maybe you’re not. But we’re going to find out one way or another. And you, Mr Cain, get your gun out and drop it on the floor.’

‘Look, Dav,’ said Cain, raising his hands, palms outwards, in the universal gesture of reconciliation, ‘I can vouch for him. He’s definitely no cop.’

‘Drop your gun, or I get my friend to shoot you.’

‘This whole thing’s wrong,’ Cain called out, using the agreed code to tell Cecil we were in trouble.

‘Drop it. Now.’

Reluctantly, Cain pulled out his gun and laid it down on the floor. He was scared now too, but he glanced at me briefly, his expression saying: Don’t worry, it’s going to be all right. This is just a misunderstanding.

But it wasn’t. Someone, somewhere, had betrayed their contact, and the grim irony of it all was that it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I couldn’t see how Mike Bolt could be responsible, but if he was, then I’d tear him apart with my bare hands.

But right now that was the least of my problems, because if Dav searched me, then there was a good chance he’d find the GPS units in my wallet, and that would be as good as a death sentence.

And then suddenly I was being yanked backwards as the garrotte Dav’s bodyguard was carrying was whipped over my head and tightened round my neck. My breath was cut off like a light switch, and spots of light danced in front of my eyes as I was lifted up on to my toes. And all I could think was that this was it, the end, that I was about to die without saying goodbye to my daughter, and that they’d never find my body.

‘This whole thing’s wrong!’ shouted Cain, using the code for a second time, his voice echoing round the room. ‘This whole thing’s wrong! Let him go!’

Dav said something else in Albanian and the cord was loosened enough for me to breathe again, but I was still unable to move and panting wildly for breath. The big guy was patting me down now, looking for more weapons. He found the mobile phone and lobbed it over to Dav, who caught it with his free hand and inspected it. Seeing that it was switched off, he lost interest and lobbed it away, ignoring my gasps for mercy.

Next came the wallet, and Dav put his gun away so he could use both hands to check through it more carefully.

Jesus, I’d messed up. My whole life was in that wallet, not just the two GPS units Bolt had given me. My address.

My family .

‘This whole thing’s wrong!’ yelled Cain again.

But there was no movement outside the door. No Cecil. No nothing.

‘Shut the fuck up, Cain!’ snapped Dav.

He shouted something in Albanian and one of the other gunmen came forward and searched Cain from behind. Cain tensed, and for a moment I thought he might go for the gun on the floor, but he didn’t resist as it was kicked away, out of reach.

‘This isn’t the way we do business in this country,’ he said angrily. ‘You treat your customers properly.’

Dav’s expression was like stone. ‘Someone betrayed Brozi. It wasn’t any of us. So it has to be you, or someone close to you. How long have you known this guy for? Uh?’ He waved an arm at me. ‘How long?’

Cain hesitated. For just one second, but it was one second too long. ‘Long enough.’

Dav shook his head emphatically. ‘Not long enough.’ He pulled a crumpled photo from the wallet. It was an old one my mum had taken of Gina and Maddie, when Maddie was about a year old, and we’d still been a family. ‘Nice picture.’ He grinned, showing his nicotine-stained teeth. ‘This your wife and kid?’

I swallowed hard, which with the thin cord round my neck was no easy feat, the anger rising in me at the thought of this arsehole holding such a precious photo. I thought about elbowing the big guy in the ribs and making a break for it, grabbing Dav’s gun and shoving it against his head, but there was no way I’d make it.

‘Put it back,’ I hissed, as the big guy tightened the garrotte once again.

Jesus, I was scared now. More scared than I’d ever been. And angry with myself too for getting involved in this. I should have turned Bolt down flat. Instead, here I was, trapped with a bunch of madmen, with Cecil, the one man I trusted in this whole thing, nowhere to be seen.

Dav slipped the photo back in the wallet, then pulled out my driving licence. I stiffened. It had my old address on it. The family home where my wife and daughter still lived. I couldn’t believe I’d made such a basic error as to keep my real ID on my person. But I had.

Dav stared at the licence, then back at me. ‘So, Richard Burnham-Jones. How did you meet Mr Cain here?’

‘He’s part of our organization,’ Cain insisted, his voice steady. ‘And we really don’t like people treating us this way. So I’d advise you to let him go so we can continue our deal.’

‘Don’t advise me, Mr Cain,’ said Dav, putting my wallet in his back pocket. He barked something in Albanian and the shotgun-wielding thug who’d searched Cain lifted his weapon and pointed it at the back of his head.

For a single terrifying moment I thought he was going to pull the trigger and blow Cain’s brains all over the dirty floor, but nothing happened, and I was impressed at how calm Cain kept as he looked slowly over his left shoulder at the gunman.

‘Put your hands in the air, Mr Cain, and don’t say another word. Understand?’

Cain nodded once.

‘So, I ask you again, Richard Burnham-Jones. How did you meet Mr Cain?’

It wasn’t easy for me to talk with a garrotte round my neck, but I made the effort. ‘I did some work with one of his guys,’ I gasped. ‘I proved myself. And now I work for him.’

‘I don’t like you, Richard Burnham-Jones.’ Dav spat my name out like it was contagious. ‘There’s something about you that’s not quite right. I can smell it, you know. I’ve always been able to smell trouble.’ He came closer now, his face only inches from mine, and I could smell the stale smoke on his breath. ‘You know what we used to do back home to guys who fucked with us? We killed their whole fucking family. Wife, mother, father. Even their baby children. All of them.’

He turned away and walked over to one of the shelf units, bending down to pick something up. It was only when he turned back round that I saw what it was.

A bloodstained meat cleaver with a steel blade that gleamed in the light.

I started struggling again but I was powerless against the garrotte, and every time I moved it bit deeper into my neck. Jesus, where the hell was Cecil?

‘Where’s the money?’ Dav demanded, resting the cleaver against his shoulder, flat side up. The question was aimed at Cain.