Gerald Seymour - Condition black

"Wouldn't have thought a hero from the Bureau would have noticed a drop of rain, a little breeze… "

"Notice? I can't even notice the face of my wristwatch."

"It's eight minutes to two o'clock."

"That's all you know. I reckon your watch got drowned an hour ago. It feels more like time to go back to bed to m e. "

The wind crowed in the treetops and the rain fell steadily. For a long time neither spoke, nor moved. Only watched. Once, twice, the bedroom lights came on. And the second time Rutherford watched the old man go down the staircase and the kitchen light went on and when he went back upstairs the kitchen light stayed on.

Erlich suddenly said, "I rang my girl this afternoon. She's with C.B.S. in Rome. Sorry, but you're paying for the call…"

" I f we do all that's expected of us, young Buffalo, I don't suppose they'll kick up much of a fuss."

"She wanted me to go to Ruane, tell him that I needed a vacation, get myself down to Mombasa. I mean, that is just idiotic. Wasn't even friendly when I said I was tied up here. Do you know what I'll do when this business is over? I'll go into the mountains. My Mom is up in the mountains. Got a hardware store and a diner with my stepfather. Do a bit of walking, bit of shooting, never read a paper, put the television in the garbage."

"They all say that. It's impossible… Heh."

"We haven't gone on vacation together in months…"

"Heh, Bill."

"Never her fault when she can't synchronise with me, always my fault when I'm working and she's free. That's women… "

"Bill, shut up…"

Erlich stared out into the night. The rain was on his nose and in his eyes. And the kids going all the way down to Naples and having the game scratched because it rained. Can't have been rain like this. He saw the car headlights coming slowly, then almost to a stop. He saw the lights swing and they caught at the big trees. Erlich rose to the crouch on his knees.

"Got me, Bill?"

"Got you."

"We struck lucky, Bill?"

"Right."

Erlich drew the Smith and Wesson,. 38 calibre, from his waist holster. He checked it, he could do that by feel in the darkness.

A clean bill for the Smith and Wesson.

" Y o u okay, Bill?"

"Never been better."

They left the tree line. They came out into the force of the wind and the teeth of the rain. They started walking. Down the long field sloping to the Manor House. Lights coming on downstairs in the big building. They walked to the first hedgerow.

They trotted to the second briar and thorn line.

" Y o u got him, Bill."

"Damn right."

Both of them running, both sprinting through the mud to the Manor House ahead, to the target man.

"You'll deal with the dog?"

"I'll do the dog," Rutherford said.

They were at the wall of the vegetable garden. Rutherford showed his watch; on the luminous dials it was 25 past two. He didn't know why Rutherford had to show him the time of night.

He clipped the revolver back into its holster. Rutherford made a stirrup with his hands and Erlich slid a boot into them. Rutherford heaved, levered Erlich up. It was an old wall, and the mortar came away as Erlich steadied himself on the top. He reached down, took Rutherford's hand and dragged him up. They were both on top of the wall and bent low.

" Y o u ready, Bill?"

" A s I'll ever b e. "

He turned and took Rutherford's outstretched hand and lowered himself down a carpet of ivy to the ground. Rutherford was beside him, crouching, in a second. He unholstered his revolver and Rutherford motioned him to follow. Rutherford was a pace ahead of him when they reached the kitchen door. He was flattened against the wall beside the door with the Smith and Wesson up close to his ear.

His hand was tight on the revolver handle. His breath came in great controlled surges. His heart was going like a hammer and he thought that if the wind hadn't roared through the trees around the house the dog would surely have been alerted by now. Rutherford's hand was on the door handle.

" L o c k e d? "

"We'll try the front… "

"Where he came in."

Again Rutherford was in front. First they withdrew 20 yards into the kitchen garden and then looped along the back of the house, past old flower pots, past an overturned wheelbarrow.

They stepped through the loose coil of a watering hose. They came up the side of the house, along a narrow path. He was at Rutherford's shoulder, as if it were important to him to be close to the Englishman. They were at the corner of the house. He thought that the front light's bulb, the light above the front door, must have blown, because the front door was in darkness. There was a small car parked near to the door, but it was outside the crescent beam thrown by the skylight above the door. And across the lawn beyond the gravel there was a narrow shaft of light where it pierced poorly drawn curtains upstairs.

"Upstairs…?"

"Where his mother is."

Rutherford turned the door knob. The door eased a fraction of an inch. Rutherford was looking at him. It was his choice.

There was the dead weight of the Smith and Wesson in his hand.

He could go inside fast, he could leave Rutherford to handle the dog, he could finish it. Rutherford was waiting on him. His choice, because he had the weapon. He could feel the shake in his hands and the hard panted breathing in his lungs. He knew his breathing was too hard, too fast. He held his breath, on his terms and in his time he let the breath hiss from his lips. That was what they taught on the StressFire course. That was what they taught when the student was going into Condition Black.

One more time. Hard in… and wait… slowly out. Then he drove his shoulder into Rutherford. He push-punched the front door open.

He was on his way.

He was going.

He was committed to shooting Colt, to killing Colt.

Across the hallway, the bloody great animal seemed to fly at him off the wall. Erlich ducked, the loose carpet scudded from under his feet. There was the moment he stumbled. He caught at the end of the bannister rail for his balance. He was on the bottom step of the staircase. Behind him he heard the first barked shout of the dog, from the kitchen. He went fast up the stairs, stamping his feet for speed. He could see the blood pool in the rain where Harry Lawrence had fallen. He pulled himself with his free hand on the bannister round the corner hallway up the stairs. He could see the pale and hollow cheeks of Harry Lawrence on the stretcher in the Athens mortuary. He hit thetop of the staircase. There was the door ajar, with the light behind it, ahead of him. The dog was making pandemonium, blocked at the bottom of the stairs by Rutherford.

He went in fast and crouched and turning

"Safety" off. Isosceles stance. Finger hooked beside thr trigger guard. His arms were out to their limit, hr, body was bent forward, slight angle. His legs were loose, not locked, so he could turn right, turn left. His eyeline was over the sights He saw the man beside the window. He saw the woman sitting in the chair beside the bed. He saw the woman frail shape, eyes shut, lying propped by pillows on the bed

Holy God…

Christ, no…

He saw the man, Major Tuck, guest at the Reform Club, father of Colt, stare at him, unable in shock to speak He saw the woman, dressed like a nurse, rising from her chair, and her fury had bitten at the plumpness of her face.

"Who are you?" The snarl of the woman's voice.

"Where's Colt?"

"I'll have you know there's a patient in this house."

"Colt came, his car."

"Nonsense… Put that ridiculous thing down. It's my car, and I came alone."

Holy God, Christ, no… He saw that the woman in the bed was conscious, gazing at him in horror, perhaps in disappointment, her mouth fallen open, her eyes searching past him. He eased the hammer of the Smith and Wesson down. His thumb flicked the Safety upwards.