Stephen Leather - The Double Tap

‘Women drivers,’ sighed Martin, putting the Mercedes into neutral and applying the handbrake. He got a side view of the woman as she walked around to the passenger side of her car. She was a brunette, attractive, with an aerobics figure. Mid to late twenties, and almost certainly out of Martin’s class. She put her hands on her hips and glared at the damage, then kicked the front wheel, hard. Martin smiled at her display of petulance, completely out of character with the designer clothes and Vogue make-up. He opened the door and climbed out. ‘Not too bad, is it?’ he asked.

The girl turned to face him, smiling pleasantly. ‘Just perfect,’ she said.

It was only when Martin felt the gun press into the small of his back that he remembered it was the same car that had been behind the Mercedes when they drove into Chelsea Harbour the previous evening.

Cramer was staring out of the window when Su-ming walked into the sitting room. She was wearing a cream silk suit, the trousers loose and the jacket with a mandarin collar, and she was carrying a black leather handbag. ‘Good morning,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ said Cramer. ‘Did you finish your homework?’ She frowned, not understanding. ‘The paperwork,’ he explained. ‘Did you read it all?’

‘Ah. Yes. Eventually. Are we ready?’ She sounded curt and business-like, and Cramer wondered again if he’d imagined the stolen kiss.

Allan came in from the kitchen. ‘The car should be downstairs,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

They walked together to the elevator. Su-ming stayed two paces behind Cramer as if trying to distance herself from him. Allan pressed the elevator button and smiled at Cramer. ‘Sleep well?’

Cramer made a so-so gesture with his hand. He’d hardly slept at all.

Marie Hennessy wiped her hands on her skirt. They were damp with sweat and she couldn’t afford to have them slipping on the steering wheel. She smiled to herself as she realised how strange it was that her hands were so wet and yet her mouth was bone dry. She swallowed but the muscles in her throat didn’t seem to be working properly. Her hands began to tremble and she gripped the steering wheel tightly to stop the shaking. She was actually going to do it. She was going to go through with it. In a minute or two she was going to help kill the man who’d been responsible for the death of her parents. The anticipation was almost sexual. She’d waited so long for vengeance, and now Dermott Lynch was going to help her get it.

She pressed down on the accelerator, gunning the engine to make sure that the Rover didn’t stall. The engine roared, echoing off the concrete walls of the subterranean car park, and she flinched as she realised that she risked drawing attention to herself. Soon, she thought. Soon it would all be over. All she had to do was to keep her nerve and to do exactly as Dermott had told her. She stared at the entrance to the apartment block, her heart racing. A figure appeared, walking through the double doors. It was the bodyguard, the one with the square jaw and the wide shoulders. Marie put the car in gear. It was time.

The Colonel looked at his wristwatch. It was nine o’clock and according to the schedule they should just be leaving the apartment. On the windowsill stood a transceiver. It was switched on, but only static crackled from the loudspeaker. The Colonel had insisted on radio silence until the moment that the assassin made his move. One of the Colonel’s troopers came up behind him. ‘Coffee, boss?’ he said.

‘Thanks, Blackie,’ said the Colonel, taking the mug of black coffee. ‘Everything ready for New York?’

‘Kit’s all packed.’

The Colonel tapped his stick on the bare floor. ‘Tell the lads to be nice to the Yanks when we get there. No cracks about friendly fire, you know how sensitive they can be.’

The trooper grinned. ‘Sure, boss.’

The Colonel turned back to the window and sipped his steaming coffee.

It was a cold morning but Cramer was sweating in the cashmere overcoat. Su-ming was still following in his footsteps. He stopped and waited for her to catch up. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

She jumped as if startled. ‘What?’

‘I asked if you were okay.’

She shivered. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You looked miles away.’

‘I’m fine,’ she replied. This time there was a hard edge to her voice as if she resented his intrusion into her thoughts. ‘Where’s the car?’

Cramer looked around. She was right. The Mercedes wasn’t outside. Allan was standing on the pavement, looking around and stamping his feet impatiently. ‘Stay where you are, Mr Vander Mayer,’ he said. Cramer backed into the foyer with Su-ming. The doorman looked up, then visibly relaxed as he saw who it was. ‘Okay,’ Allan called. ‘Here he comes.’

Lynch edged the Mercedes out of its parking space. Ahead of him he saw Marie in the Rover, a slight dent in the rear door on the passenger side. White smoke plumed from its exhaust. She looked apprehensive, staring straight ahead, her hands tight on the wheel. He wanted to nod or wave, to let her know that everything was all right, but he’d told her not to look at him, because any sort of acknowledgement would tip off the bodyguard.

‘It’s going to be okay, Marie, love,’ Lynch whispered to himself. He had the peak of the chauffeur’s cap pulled low over his nose and he was wearing the chauffeur’s jacket. On the passenger seat lay the gun the chauffeur had been carrying in an underarm holster, but Lynch was planning to use the Czech 9mm he’d brought with him. The ten bullets in the clip would be more than enough, so long as Marie kept her nerve. Lynch turned the Mercedes to the right and headed towards the apartment entrance. On the pavement the bodyguard was waving to Cramer and the girl, urging them out of the foyer.

Allan swivelled around, checking the surroundings for possible threats. Most of the parking spaces were occupied by expensive cars, including several Rolls-Royces and a Ferrari. A young woman was sitting at the wheel of a Rover and was preparing to drive out of the car park. She seemed to be alone in the car. Cramer and Su-ming joined Allan on the pavement.

The Mercedes was about fifty feet away and Allan moved to the edge of the pavement, preparing to open the door for Cramer and the girl. The Rover accelerated. Allan frowned. She wasn’t heading for the exit, she was heading directly for the apartment entrance. Something was wrong.

Allan stepped between the car and Cramer, holding his left arm out to the side, ready to push Cramer back. He kept his eyes on the Rover. He half expected to see a man with a gun appear from the back seat but the young woman was definitely alone in the car. ‘Stay back,’ Allan said to Cramer. The Mercedes was still heading towards them and Allan beckoned it with his hand. If Martin put his foot down he’d get in front of the Rover and the threat would be neutralised. The Mercedes continued to crawl towards them.

‘Back in the foyer,’ said Allan, but as he spoke the Rover’s tyres squealed and the car leapt forward. Su-ming screamed. Allan reached for his gun with his right hand and pushed Cramer with his left. His fingers touched the butt of the gun, but before he could pull it out the Rover was upon him. He threw himself to the right but the wing clipped him and he heard his leg snap above the knee. The pain followed a second later as if his whole leg was on fire and he bit down on his lip to stifle a scream.

The Rover veered to the left and sped away. Allan rolled across the pavement in agony, the gun falling from his fingers. The Mercedes accelerated towards them, its engine roaring in the confines of the car park.

The Colonel blew across his coffee mug. The steam condensed on the window pane and he rubbed it away with his hand. Down on the luxury motor yacht, the trooper was washing down the decks with a bucket and sponge.