Michael Parker: A Covert War

Cavendish acknowledged that; he didn’t expect anything less but it had been worth a try. He did realise that McCain had no authority, other than his police authority to prevent people from working, so it was a lame effort on Cavendish’s part.

‘You think Lieutenant Berry may be up to something over here?’ McCain asked him.

Cavendish had no reason to think so. ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but I have an uneasy feeling now, knowing that Hudson has turned up here unexpectedly. Seeing the two of them on my list, and knowing that they are here gives me a gut feeling that it’s no accident; no chance thing.’

McCain sighed deeply. He had the sense of Cavendish’s worries, having often experienced them himself; that same, gut feeling; a policeman’s ‘nose’ for something untoward. He could only see one way to settle the Englishman’s nerves.

‘What would you say if I arrange for you to speak to Berry, would that help?’

‘Yes,’ Cavendish replied demonstrably. ‘I think that would be a great help.’

‘You realise that the lieutenant has every right to refuse? Cavendish nodded. ‘And I can only ask, not demand?’ Cavendish nodded again.

McCain picked up the phone. ‘Reaper Flight please.’

He waited. Cavendish looked on. Eventually McCain’s body language altered.

‘Lieutenant McCain here, Military Police. Could you let me know when Lieutenant Berry will be on duty next?’

Cavendish felt confident about McCain’s way in dealing with things, and believed that he had found an excellent contact that he could use in the future. He wasn’t about to tell McCain that though.

McCain was nodding his head, his eyebrows lifting in a show of surprise. He thanked whoever he was speaking to and put the phone down.

‘Berry has been asked to cover for a sick officer. He’s going on duty in five minutes.’

Cavendish felt a sliver of tension run through his body and he suddenly felt helpless. He had a feeling something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, and he couldn’t expect McCain to understand.

But he was wrong.

‘You want to speak to Berry.’ It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. McCain had sensed the dilemma affecting Cavendish. ‘But you don’t know how you’re gonna do it because this is our patch and not yours, correct?’

‘I could not have put it better myself,’ Cavendish admitted.

McCain stood up. ‘In that case we’ll go over to the Reaper Flight and have a chat with the man. We can say that you want to make an appointment to see him; something like that. OK?’

Cavendish knew now that he and McCain were on the same wavelength, and McCain was going along with Cavendish’s fears. The last thing McCain wanted was trouble on his patch.

He came round from behind the desk, business-like.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and talk with Lieutenant Berry.’

Marcus stood still in the passageway. He put his AK47 on the floor and held his arms out to show his empty hands. He could feel his heart beating solidly in his chest, but it was not through fear; it was the adrenalin beginning to course through his veins.

Maggot took the pistol away from Susan’s head and pointed it at Marcus. He was about to pull the trigger when he had to do a double take.

‘Marcus?’ He lowered the gun and peered along the length of the corridor. He let Susan go. As soon as she was released, she ran towards Marcus who grabbed her and pulled her in close. Then he made a kissing motion on the side of Susan’s face, but he didn’t kiss her, instead he whispered.

‘I don’t think he knows that David is here. Don’t say anything.’

‘Marcus?’ Maggot called out to him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Abdul is going to take us to see Susan’s brother.’ He hoped that might persuade Maggot to think that they were on their way somewhere else. ‘What are you doing here, Maggot?’

‘You don’t want to know, Marcus. But I’m going to search all these rooms, including those down there, so you had better move away.’

Marcus said nothing and didn’t move.

‘Move out of the way, Marcus!’ Maggot ordered.

‘I’m going nowhere, Maggot,’ Marcus insisted. ‘Nowhere.’

Maggot smiled, his teeth showing white beneath his parted lips. ‘Marcus, you don’t want to do this.’ He pushed his gun into his waist belt. ‘You never could beat me, Marcus. And you are not going to this time.’

Marcus tensed and pushed Susan to one side. It was true what Maggot had said; all the time the two of them had fought in the gym. Marcus had never got the better of Maggot. Never.

Maggot came towards him, walking slowly on the balls of his feet, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Marcus wriggled his fingers in a crab like motion, trying to get the tension out of his hands.

Maggot came closer.

Marcus pushed Susan away, towards the empty room.

Maggot stopped a few feet from him.

‘Make up your mind, Marcus. Concede now or you’ll never leave this building alive.’

Susan gasped. ‘You’re supposed to be friends.’

‘He’s a hit-man, Susan; he kills. It’s what he’s paid to do.’

Marcus waited and watched carefully because he knew it would come. It was just a case of being ready for it. Maggot was so quick, Marcus had never seen anybody with faster reactions and reflexes.

When Maggot’s arm shot out it was like the long tongue of an Iguana lizard; fast and instantaneous. Marcus moved his head to one side as the ends of Maggot’s curved knuckles slammed into the edge of his cheekbone.

As Marcus ducked and felt Maggot’s arms sliding painfully past his ear, he turned in towards Maggot’s outstretched arm, dropping quickly and pushing up with one, outstretched hand.

It caught Maggot beneath the armpit and forced his arm up. This gave Marcus the space he needed to duck beneath Maggot’s arm and move behind him.

Maggot spun immediately, but as he did, it gave Marcus a micro second of time to aim a kick at Maggot’s kidneys. His foot connected, but Maggot’s body was turning and this had the effect of allowing the kick to glance off his body and not do much damage at all.

They were now facing each other, but their positions were reversed. They stood square to each other and waited briefly. Then all hell was let loose.

From the room where Susan had been pushed into by Marcus, she could hear the awful sounds of bone on bone, gristle on gristle, shouts and groans as the two men fought in the confines of the narrow passageway.

She edged herself closer to the open door, compelled to see what was happening but not wanting to see Marcus being hurt. She peered round the corner and saw Maggot being lifted up bodily by Marcus, and then being slammed down on to the hard floor like a wrestler slams his opponent down.

Maggot hit the floor but immediately kicked his leg out straight, catching Marcus in the crotch. Marcus cried out in agony and doubled up as Maggot leapt to his feet and grabbed Marcus round the neck. He then began to throttle the life out of him.

Susan screamed out and ran out into the corridor. She began to pummel Maggot as hard as she could, but it was ineffective; Maggot appeared to ignore her, oblivious to the punches.

But Marcus knew that Maggot would not put up with it for long; soon he would lash out at Susan and it would be over. Just one, swift blow to her throat would crush her windpipe and she would be dead. He had to stop her, but how?

Marcus screamed out at her, his voice almost choked. ‘Get out of the way, Susan! He’ll kill you!’

But Susan kept raining blows on Maggot’s back, ignoring Marcus’s pleas.

Marcus tried shouting at her again, but no sound came from his throat. His eyes were blurring and he was vaguely aware of Susan’s legs with his fast, diminishing vision. He knew that this would be the only way he could stop her and save her life.