Stephen Leather - Dead Men

Salih grinned. ‘Abdal Jabbaar bin Othman al-Ahmed,’ he said. ‘And Abdal Rahmaan. You are to die hearing those names.’

‘Screw you!’

Salih grunted and slashed the knife at her legs. The tip nicked her ankle, drawing blood. Button yelped and pulled her legs close to her body.

She shuffled to the left and he moved with her, waving the knife menacingly. He lunged at her but as he did so she lashed out with her right foot and caught him in the groin with her heel. Salih grimaced and stabbed at her thigh. The blade went in deep and Button screamed. She screamed again as he pulled it out and blood spurted down her leg. She shuffled back to the wall and pushed herself up against it, then almost fell over as her injured leg gave way beneath her. She staggered along a bookcase, scattering books on the floor. She grabbed at a book and threw it at her attacker as hard as she could. It hit his forehead and spun across the room. He laughed. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ he snarled. He stabbed at her with the knife and she jumped away.

The door was to her left, a few yards away, but Salih realised that too and took a step to the side, blocking her escape. As he moved she saw Shepherd at the window, a machine-gun in his hands. For a brief moment they had eye contact. ‘Down,’ he mouthed.

As Shepherd raised the carbine, Button grinned at Salih. ‘No,’ she said. ‘This is the best I can do,’ and she dropped to the floor.

Shepherd brought the UMP to his shoulder as Button fell. He was firing through glass so he knew there was no guarantee that the first or second shot would hit the target. He pulled the trigger, the gun kicked in his hands and the window shattered into a thousand shards. The Arab turned, the knife raised above his head. Shepherd fired again, and saw him lurch as a bullet hit his shoulder. Glass was falling to the paved path outside the window, tinkling like wind chimes.

The Arab’s face was contorted in a mask of rage. He yelled something in Arabic and Shepherd fired a short burst into his chest. The man fell backwards, a red rose blossoming on the front of his shirt.

Shepherd rushed forward and leant through the window. The Arab was sitting on the floor, his back to the door, his left hand clutched to his chest, the knife still in his right hand, his mouth working. Shepherd fired twice at his head and his face imploded. He sagged forward and the knife fell to the floor.

Shepherd used the butt of the UMP to clear the glass that was still in the window frame, then tossed the weapon on to the desk and climbed inside after it. ‘Charlie, are you okay?’ he shouted. There was no answer. He scrambled across the desk, knocking over several framed photographs. Button was on the floor, curled into a ball, not far from the dead Arab. Another man lay on his back, a bloodstain on his shirt.

Shepherd rolled off the desk and rushed to Button. Her shirt was sodden with blood and there were cuts on her legs, but she was breathing and her eyes were open. Shepherd checked her out, running his fingers along the length of her body, then checked for a pulse at her wrist. She’d lost a lot of blood but none appeared to be arterial and her pulse was strong and steady. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ he said.

She didn’t appear to hear him and stared into the middle distance, eyes glassy with shock.

‘Charlie, you’re going to be all right,’ he said.

Button blinked. She turned to look at her husband’s body. ‘Graham?’ she whispered.

Shepherd knelt in front of her. ‘Charlie, come on, snap out of this.’

Button frowned. ‘I didn’t even get to wear the underwear,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘I bought underwear and he didn’t even see it.’

Shepherd put his hands on either side of her face and stared into her eyes. ‘Charlie, stop this,’ he said. ‘I need you with me.’

Her eyes were filling with tears. ‘Graham’s dead,’ she faltered.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got to get you to hospital. Do you understand?’ Button nodded slowly but there was no recognition in her eyes. Shepherd shook her. ‘Come on, Charlie, stay with me. Focus.’

She nodded. ‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘I’m okay.’

Shepherd helped her into a sitting position, and pulled her back against the wall. ‘You’ve got to get to hospital,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she said. She took a deep breath and winced.

Shepherd stood up and went to the desk. He picked up the phone and dialled nine-nine-nine. A woman who sounded as if she had better things to do asked him which emergency service he wanted. ‘Ambulance,’ he said.

‘What’s the nature of the emergency?’ asked the woman.

‘A heart-attack, I think,’ said Shepherd. Button frowned and he made a patting motion, telling her to relax. ‘She’s on the floor and in a lot of pain, her breathing’s ragged and she’s as white as a sheet.’

‘I’ll transfer you to the ambulance service,’ said the woman. She put the call through and this time it was a man. He asked Shepherd for his name and address, then the nature of the problem. Shepherd repeated what he’d told the first operator and hung up. He went to Button and knelt in front of her again.

‘What was that about?’ she asked.

‘If they know shots have been fired or knives used the paramedics will stand back until they’re sure the area’s safe. That means waiting for an armed-response vehicle, and who knows how long that’ll take? This way the paramedics will be right here and by the time they see what the damage is they’ll already be treating you.’

‘You know all the tricks,’ she said.

‘I know what the rules are, and I know how to get around them,’ he said. ‘I need towels.’

‘Down the hallway. First on the right, there’s a loo,’ she said.

Shepherd hurried out and returned with three small cotton towels. He knelt down beside her. Her shirt was sodden with blood at her right hip and he pulled it gently away from her skirt and pressed a towel to the wound. ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.

‘Like I’m bleeding to death,’ she said. ‘I’ll be okay, Spider.’

‘Where does it hurt?’

‘My side. My shoulder. My hand. My legs. Pretty much all over, really.’

Shepherd eased her forward and looked at her back. The shirt was soaked with blood there too. He placed a towel over the wet patch and leant her against the wall. He took her right hand and examined it. A deep cut ran right across her palm and blood was dripping from it on to the carpet. Shepherd got her to hold her hand up while he wrapped a towel round it. ‘Keep it high, if you can,’ he said. The wounds on her legs were superficial. ‘No arteries cut but you’ll have a few nice scars.’ He took the towel from her side and examined the wound there. Blood was trickling out but there was no pulsing. He replaced the towel and kept up a light pressure on it.

‘I’m going to have to put my hand down,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’ She put her towel-wrapped hand into her lap and looked past Shepherd at the body by the desk. ‘My husband,’ she said. ‘Graham.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Shepherd.

‘It’s so bloody unfair,’ she said. ‘He never hurt anyone in his whole life.’ Her eyes closed.

Shepherd shook her. ‘Stay with me, Charlie, don’t sleep now. Wait until the paramedics get here.’

‘I’m so tired,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.

‘Open your eyes, Charlie. Come on.’

She did as he asked. ‘He’s dead. The bastard’s dead, isn’t he?’ she whispered.

‘Absolutely,’ said Shepherd.

‘I suppose I was lucky he wanted to use a knife and not a gun,’ she said. Tears ran down her face. ‘I was so scared, Spider.’

‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s over now.’