Simon Kernick - Ultimatum

‘I told you,’ said Cain. ‘Near here.’

Dav motioned towards the big guy holding me, and the next second my legs were kicked from under me and I was forced to the floor so I was lying back with my head resting in the big guy’s lap, the cord still biting into my neck. I started choking and it loosened just a little. At the same time, Dav came over and knelt on my legs just above the knees, holding them in place before putting the cleaver’s blade against my shin. I could feel the sharpness of the blade pushing hard on the skin.

‘Tell me where the money is or I’ll cut off his fucking leg! You think I’m bullshitting, yeah? You think I’m bullshitting?’

‘I didn’t take you for a thief,’ said Cain, still keeping his voice even. ‘I thought you were a businessman.’

Dav glared at him. ‘I am a businessman, but I’m no fucking sucker. Someone took down our middleman and now you turn up here without your money. I want to know what’s going on.’

‘So do I. This whole thing’s wrong!’ Cain shouted these last words so loudly that Cecil would have heard him if he’d been chewing popcorn at the top of the London Eye.

But where was he? For Christ’s sake, where was he?

‘The money, Cain. You tell me where it is, or I take his leg. Then yours.’ He raised the cleaver high above his head, his thin feral features alive with excitement.

And in that moment I knew he was going to do it.

Channelling all my strength, I flung myself upwards, ignoring the tightening of the cord, and knocked Dav off me.

He yelled out in anger and lashed out with the cleaver, slicing the material of my jeans. I felt a flash of sharp pain as the blade cut into my leg, and then he was back sitting on my legs again. I could no longer breathe, and my vision was blurring as he raised the cleaver for a second time.

And then the whole room erupted in a hail of gunfire, and suddenly the cord went slack.

Everything now happened incredibly fast. Dav was staring towards the door, and I went for him, fuelled by a potent mix of anger, adrenalin and fear, grabbing his cleaver arm in one hand as he scrabbled wildly for the gun in the holster beneath his leather jacket.

He wasn’t fast enough. With my free hand I punched him twice in the face, before swatting his other arm to one side and yanking out the gun as he rolled backwards across the floor, still holding the cleaver.

There was another burst of gunfire and I hit the deck, rolling across the floor before swinging round with the gun in my hand as bullets sprayed round the room, ricocheting in all directions.

Both the shotgun-wielding Albanians were on the floor. The one who’d been covering Cain lay sprawled out, not moving, while the other was down on his knees pointing his shotgun unsteadily at Cecil who was standing in the doorway, holding the MP5 in front of him. Cecil fired again, at exactly the same time that the Albanian pulled the trigger. The Albanian took a burst of fire to the chest but stayed upright, while Cecil was forced to dive out of the way to avoid the shotgun blast, which struck the wall behind him, puncturing a hole in the brickwork.

Meanwhile the big guy who’d had the garrotte round my neck fired a shot in Cecil’s direction, then swung round towards me, firing wildly as he went. The two of us were only ten feet apart and I took rapid aim at his torso and pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened. The safety was on.

I flicked at it with my forefinger but now the big guy was aiming right at me and I could smell the cordite from his weapon.

For a tenth of a second the whole world stopped. I was too late. I was going to die.

And then the side of my assailant’s head exploded in a shower of blood and brain matter as a bullet slammed into it, and he went down hard, firing off a last shot that flew up into the ceiling, before dropping the gun.

I turned and saw Cain kneeling in a firing position, holding the pistol he’d come here with, his face grimly determined as he continued firing, hitting the surviving guy with the shotgun who, though he’d been hit by Cecil, was still trying to get to his feet, and sending him sprawling into the shelf units.

Now that only left Dav. I jerked round just in time to see him running wildly for the door at the back of the building. I didn’t even hesitate. Holding the gun two-handed and finally flicking off the safety, I took aim and opened fire, missing with the first two bullets, but bringing him down with the third and the fourth.

He stumbled forward into the desk, dropping the cleaver in the process, before slipping on to his knees.

I stood up, still pretty unsteady on my feet after what had just happened, and walked towards him, gun outstretched.

Dav gave me a defiant look as I stopped and pointed the gun at his head.

‘Don’t shoot him,’ barked Cain, coming over with Cecil. ‘We need to know where the weapon is we’re buying.’

‘Fuck you,’ hissed Dav through gritted teeth. He was clutching at his stomach, blood oozing through the gaps in his fingers.

‘You’re not the only one who knows how to use a cleaver,’ said Cain, reaching down and picking it up from the floor. He grabbed the hand that Dav was using to stem the blood from his wound and slammed it down hard on the desk. ‘Tell me where the weapon is or I’ll start on your fingers and by the time I reach your head you’ll have told me every secret you’ve ever had.’

Dav looked up at him, saw the cold look in his pale eyes, and his expression weakened. ‘It’s out the back. We were always going to give it to you. I just didn’t trust this bastard. I still don’t.’

‘Cecil. Check it’s there.’

Cecil disappeared through the door.

‘You know I trust you, Cain,’ said Dav as they waited, trying unsuccessfully to hide the desperation in his voice. ‘I wouldn’t have fucked you up. You let me go, yeah, and no one’ll ever mention this again. I’ll get rid of the bodies of my friends.’

Cain didn’t say anything. He was still holding the cleaver above Dav’s hand.

Cecil came back into the room. ‘It’s there, and it’s still in the box.’

Cain nodded. ‘Good.’ He turned to me. ‘He’s all yours. Prove to him you’re no cop.’

Dav’s eyes widened. ‘I believe you! Please!’

I pushed the end of the barrel into his forehead, while he wriggled beneath it. It was only a minute since he’d been threatening to cripple me for life and yet my anger had dissipated. I almost felt sorry for him.

A bead of sweat rolled down my temple and suddenly I was back in Afghanistan on that single terrible day when I’d killed in cold blood for the only time in my life. Strength. I needed strength. Because if I didn’t shoot him, there was no way I was walking away from here.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cecil staring at me, his face taut with tension.

For a long, drawn-out second we all waited.

Then I pulled the trigger.

17.45

I watched the body slide slowly to the floor, then dropped Dav’s gun into his lap and pulled my wallet from his pocket before turning away, having no desire to look at what I’d just done. For a few seconds the room was silent, bar the incessant ringing in my ears. I rubbed my neck where the cord had bitten into it and fought down a rising nausea.

‘Where the hell were you?’ I asked Cecil.

‘It’s a good question,’ said Cain. ‘We almost ended up dead in here.’

‘They had another guard posted near the fence. I had to get past him.’

‘Where’s he now?’

‘I was waiting for him to move. Then I heard you shout from inside, so I took him out with a knife, then came over as fast as I could.’ He was bouncing on his toes like a flyweight boxer as he talked, the adrenalin from the fire fight making him hyper. He looked round at the bodies littering the room. ‘What the hell happened in here?’