Simon Kernick - Ultimatum

Ten yards away he could see the black-clad figure of one of the ambush team. He was lying on the ground clutching his leg, his face covered in black camouflage paint. Fox had been told that there’d be a minimum of three of them in the team, but this was the only one he could see right now.

‘Help me, for Christ’s sake,’ hissed the shooter as Fox ran towards him, keeping to the undergrowth.

He recognized the Northern Irish accent immediately. It was Cecil Boorman, the man whose name he’d given to Tina earlier. He was no good to any of them, not now that he’d been shot.

Cecil sat up and put out a hand as Fox reached him.

Fox grabbed the hand to lift him up. ‘Good shooting,’ he said. ‘Thanks for that.’ Then he brought up the police-issue Glock and shot Cecil through the eye with his last bullet.

As Cecil fell back down, Fox grabbed his pistol — a Browning semi-automatic — from his waistband and turned and ran through the woods towards the front of the convoy. In many ways, this was the most dangerous part of the whole operation. If his rescuers were planning on killing him, then they were going to make their move now.

He heard movement to his left, and a silhouetted figure shot out of the darkness. His face might have been painted black, but Fox could see that the man coming at him out of the darkness was Cain. He’d recognize those pale, dead eyes anywhere. They’d known each other a long time through their association with The Brotherhood, but had always been rivals rather than friends, and Fox knew Cain wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in him if it came to it.

But Cain’s gun was down by his side, which had to mean that, for the moment at least, he didn’t mean him any harm.

Even so, Fox kept his finger tight on the trigger of the Browning as the two men stopped in front of each other.

There was a moment’s pause, and then Fox grinned. ‘I knew you’d make it.’

‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep,’ said Cain, with a humourless self-righteousness that instantly reminded Fox of why he didn’t like him. ‘Have you seen Cecil?’

‘He took a bullet in the leg. I had to finish him off.’

Cain nodded grimly. ‘We’ve got to go. This place is going to be crawling with cops soon. Our car’s over here.’

He turned and started running through the trees, with Fox following close behind.

‘Haven’t you got anyone else in the team?’ Fox asked him.

‘No. It’s just you and me now,’ answered Cain as they emerged on to a narrow single-lane track where a black BMW 5 Series was parked. He ran round to the driver’s side and jumped in.

Fox could hear no sound of sirens or approaching helicopters and, as he got in the passenger side and Cain started the engine and pulled away, he briefly considered shooting the other man then and there, chucking his corpse out on to the road, and simply driving away himself. It would be a clean break and save any problems later if Cain chose to double-cross him. But he decided against it. It was best to put a few miles between him and the massacre here without complicating matters.

Cain roared on to the road and made a hard right away from the convoy. Behind them, the flames shooting up from the lead car dominated the view, illuminating the bodies of two cops lying nearby, one of whom was still on fire. As Cain hit the pedal and the BMW accelerated away, Fox felt a huge, all-consuming elation. For the first time in over a year he was getting a taste of freedom, and by God it tasted good.

And then the rear windscreen exploded in a hail of gunfire, and suddenly the BMW was veering out of control as Cain desperately turned the wheel. But the tyres had been blown out and he no longer had control as the car left the road and mounted the bank, giving Fox only a couple of seconds to brace himself before it smashed headfirst into a tree.

21.34

Tina saw the whole thing.

Having radioed Control to call for urgent assistance, she’d reloaded the Glock and was walking along the side of the road towards the front of the convoy, holding it in both hands as she tried to locate Fox and his rescuers, when a black BMW saloon lurched out of the woods twenty yards in front of her in a screech of tyres and accelerated away in the opposite direction.

She’d known straight away that Fox was in the car and that she was too late to stop him. Even so, she’d assumed a firing position, aiming at the rear windscreen, when from somewhere to the left of the burning armed response vehicle she heard an intense burst of automatic gunfire that sent her diving to the ground.

When she looked up, the BMW had left the road and was heading straight for a tree. It struck it with a loud bang, and she could see the airbags deploying inside. The engine stalled, and an eerie silence descended on the woods.

Tina was on her feet in a second. Through the smoke and flames, she saw one of the armed officers emerge from behind the lead car and advance on the BMW, holding his MP5 in front of him. He looked shocked but unhurt.

Tina shouted over to him, and he turned round, recognizing her instantly.

‘I’ve called for help, but for the moment we’re on our own,’ she told him as they walked slowly towards the BMW, weapons at the ready, keeping a few feet apart so they wouldn’t make such an easy target.

‘Jesus,’ he said, and she noticed that he was very young, mid-twenties at most. ‘Is everyone else down?’

‘I think so. Look, I know this is going to be hard, but we’ve got to try to take Fox alive. He has information we need.’

‘If he tries a damn thing, I’m going to take his head off,’ said the cop, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. ‘He’s just killed some very good friends of mine.’

Fifteen yards ahead of them, the BMW’s front doors slowly opened, and Tina’s finger tensed on the trigger. She had no idea how many gunmen were in there, or what they were armed with, but she knew they weren’t going to come quietly. The adrenalin was making her hands shake, and she had to fight to stay calm as they continued to advance on the car, step by slow step.

The first sirens cut across the night sky, still some distance away.

Nothing moved inside the car.

Tina and the cop exchanged glances, stopping five yards short of the vehicle.

‘Stay calm,’ she told him. ‘We can stay like this until help gets here. It’s not far away.’

Before the cop could answer, there was movement from inside and two men slowly rolled out of the car, one from either front door.

‘Get your hands where I can see them!’ yelled the cop, who was covering Fox.

Tina was covering the man who’d rolled out the driver’s-side door. He was now lying on his side facing her, one of his arms squashed beneath him. He was dressed entirely in black, with black face paint covering his features, and even from some distance away she could see that his eyes were cold and alert. She didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t see the hand that was squashed beneath him, and she shouted at him to bring it out from under his body, working hard to keep the tension out of her voice.

He didn’t move. Just stared at her with those cold eyes.

‘Do it!’ she snarled, aiming the Glock directly at his chest.

The sirens were getting closer now.

The man smiled at her.

And then, in one whip-like movement, he brought the gloved hand up from beneath his body, already pulling the trigger.

Tina fired back twice, hitting him in the chest, leaping out of the way at the same time as his bullets whipped past her, conscious of the sounds of automatic weapon fire and shouting coming from the other side of the car.

As she hit the ground, landing on one shoulder, the man was already bringing his gun round to fire again, the two bullet holes in his chest smoking from where they’d struck his body armour. There was no fear on his face, simply a look of contempt, as if she was little more than a fly to be swatted away.