Stephen Leather - The Double Tap

‘Left leg,’ agreed Martin. Allan arrived, wearing a dark blue blazer and grey flannels, looking for all the world like an Olympic referee. Allan stood behind the Colonel, his arms folded across his chest. He nodded a silent greeting to Cramer, then studied the screen.

‘This is the Egyptian Hall,’ said the Colonel as the screen flickered again. The killer walked by a life-size copy of the Rosetta stone and past a display of small statues. Cramer put down his fork. There was no doubt about it, the man was limping. Again it was impossible to identify the man, his head was turned away from the security camera. As he passed out of the camera’s field the screen flickered and was replaced by a shot of the stationery department.

‘He’s really camera-shy, isn’t he?’ mused Martin as he assembled another bacon and sausage sandwich. No one seemed to be paying attention to the killer as he walked purposefully to a stock room door, even though he was still holding the silenced gun. He opened the door and disappeared behind it and the screen flickered once more.

The next shot was of the underground tunnel. This time the killer was wearing a warehouseman’s coat and there was no sign of his gun. He walked past two workmen but they ignored him. The limp seemed to be less pronounced, Cramer noticed.

The final section of the video showed a young security guard on the telephone. The guard looked to his left, opened his mouth to speak and then fell back, blood pouring from his throat. The killer appeared briefly at the bottom left of the screen, revealing nothing more than the back of his head and his shoulders. The Colonel used the remote control to switch off the television set. ‘That’s the only time our man has been captured on film,’ he said. ‘I want you all to play it as many times as it takes until you get a feel for the way he moves.’

‘The limp,’ said Allan. ‘He was faking it?’

The Colonel nodded. ‘We had an orthopaedic surgeon take a look at it and he says it’s not genuine. It’s redirection. You spend so much time looking at the limp that you’re not aware of his other characteristics.’

‘He knew where all the security cameras were,’ Cramer pointed out. ‘He must have staked the store out first.’

‘Agreed,’ said the Colonel, ‘but the security tapes are wiped regularly. We have tapes for the forty-eight hours prior to the assassination and we’ve gone through them, but there’s no sign of him.’

‘Well, we know he’s white and we know he’s right-handed,’ said Martin. ‘And he’s cool.’

‘Cool? He’s ice,’ said Allan. ‘There’s no nervousness about him, no tension. It’s like he’s on a Sunday afternoon stroll in the park. I’ve never seen anything like it. He takes out three bodyguards and his target and then he walks away without even looking back.’

‘It’s like he doesn’t care,’ said Cramer.

Martin shook his head. ‘No, he’s a real pro. He knows that hurrying or looking around will just draw attention to him.’

Allan put a large hand on Cramer’s shoulder. ‘Ready, Mike?’

Cramer drained his mug and stood up. The Colonel raised an eyebrow at Cramer’s unfinished breakfast but said nothing.

‘We’ll run through some moves in the gymnasium,’ said Allan. Cramer walked out of the dining hall with Allan and Martin either side. The suit felt like a straitjacket, even though it was a perfect fit. He would have much preferred to have been wearing a bomber jacket and jeans, but he realised how important it was to dress the part. It was camouflage, as vital to the role he was playing as the green and brown fatigues he’d worn in the Falklands and in the border country of Northern Ireland. He reached inside his jacket and touched the butt of his PPK as if to reassure himself it was still there.

Their footsteps echoed off the tiled walls of the corridor as they headed towards the gymnasium. Martin pushed open the door and stood to the side to allow Cramer in first. ‘Cheers,’ said Cramer. He felt rather than heard the man behind the door, and as he turned his right hand reached for the PPK. His fingers were still inches from the butt when the first shot rang out, and he felt the heat from the explosion on his cheek. He carried on turning and he saw his assailant, a blond-haired man in his late twenties holding a Smith amp; Wesson. The second shot rang out, aimed at Cramer’s chest.

Cramer whirled around and pointed his finger at Allan. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he shouted.

‘We’re not playing at anything, Mike,’ said Allan calmly. ‘This isn’t a game. There’s no bell between rounds. The moment you accepted this job, your life was at risk. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Ever.’

Cramer calmed himself. He took a deep breath and nodded. He could hear his pulse pounding in his veins and his fists were clenched tight. He forced himself to relax. He knew that Allan was right, he was just annoyed at his own stupidity. Martin should have gone into the room first, to check that it was clear, but from the way he was grinning it looked as if he’d deliberately set him up. Cramer nodded. ‘Okay, Allan. You made your point.’

Allan slapped Cramer on the back. The man who’d shot Cramer with blanks was already walking back into the gymnasium. Three others were standing by the wall bars, dressed casually and wearing shoulder holsters. ‘You’ll be okay, Mike,’ said Allan. ‘I just want to make sure you get through this in one piece.’

Cramer’s ears were still ringing from the shots and he massaged his temples. ‘I know, Allan. I know. Let’s get on with it.’

‘I’ve got something I’d like to show you,’ said Allan. ‘You and the guys come at me and Martin, you decide who’s going to be the trigger man.’

Cramer grinned. It would be nice to be on the winning side for once. He went over to the four men at the far side of the gymnasium and explained what they were to do.

‘Ready?’ called Allan.

Cramer gave him a thumbs-up. Martin stood by Allan’s side and together they began to walk slowly across the wooden floor. Cramer and the four men fanned out, all keeping their hands swinging freely by their sides. One of them pretended to sneeze and Martin tensed as the man’s hands went up to cup his nose. Allan straightened his tie with his right hand, his eyes hard and watchful. Cramer waited until he was six feet away from Allan before pulling out his PPK. Allan reacted immediately, his right hand slipping inside his left sleeve and reappearing with a stiletto. He stepped forward, thrusting the knife upward towards Cramer’s chin. Cramer’s finger tightened on the trigger but he was too late, Allan’s left hand had whipped up, knocking Cramer’s arm to the side in a blur of blue blazer. The stiletto pricked Cramer’s neck. Allan froze, holding Cramer’s stare. He smiled. ‘What do you think?’ He removed the stiletto and handed the weapon to Cramer.

Cramer examined it, frowning. The spike wasn’t made of metal but of black plastic-like material. ‘You knew I’d be the one firing, didn’t you?’ he said.

Allan shrugged. ‘I guessed you’d want a crack at me, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. As long as I see you going for your gun, I should be able to get the knife out first.’ He held out his left arm and pulled back the sleeve. There was a leather sheath strapped to his forearm over his shirt. ‘With your hands down by your sides, it’s always going to be quicker to draw the knife than to pull a gun. But you’re going to have to move forward, towards the killer. Towards the gun.’

‘What’s it made of?’ Cramer asked.

‘It’s the latest thing from the States,’ said Allan. ‘I got a sample from a friend in Delta Force. It’s a composite carbon fibre mixture, a spin-off from the space programme, very lightweight, practically unbreakable and never loses its edge.’ He grinned. ‘You can even shave with it. The advantage from your point of view is that it’s virtually impossible to detect.’