Andy McNab - Avenger

'That's fine, Elena. Now do up your jacket and turn around so that I can check it doesn't show.'

Elena turned slowly in front of the blank TV screen, and as she did so, Pointer's eyes switched to the bank of small CCTV monitors on a shelf behind his computer.

Each monitor showed a light green picture from the night-viewing cameras dotted about the house and garden. The screens were covered with small see-through dots: motion detectors. If anything crossed two or more of the dots, the monitors set off their alarms. The alarms had begun to sound.

'Time to leave now, Elena. Don't forget the invitation, but leave the BlackBerry. You won't need that any more.'

Elena picked up the invitation from the bed and held it in her left hand; she was ready to leave.

'There's just one more thing I have to tell you,' said Pointer softly. 'And I'm sad that you have to learn this from me rather than from the people who told you they were your friends.'

He could see the questioning look in Elena's eyes but she said nothing.

'They've all been keeping a terrible secret from you, Elena.'

'Secret…?'

On the CCTVs Pointer could see two shadowy figures as they reached the western side of the house, having deliberately avoided the dim light coming from the study on the eastern side.

Pointer knew he had only minutes left as he revealed the final secret. 'Your dad is dead, Elena. Marcie killed him. I heard her talking about it with Watts. They all know but they chose not to tell you.'

For a second he almost panicked as he saw Elena's right hand clench into a fist, and he thought that she was about to explode the device. Her face was etched with pain and her legs seemed to almost give way as she sat down on the bed and stared at the blank TV screen.

Pointer spoke gently. 'They lied to you, Elena, they all lied, but I can't keep secrets from you. You deserve the truth. We've both lived with our pain; we'll both have our revenge as we die. I'll be with you through this, Elena, watching you all the way.'

Elena's fist relaxed its tight grip on the fishing line. When she spoke, her voice was deep and almost unrecognizable. 'Thank you,' she breathed.

'Thank you?' answered Pointer after a moment.

'For telling me. They're evil. All of them. Evil.'

'Yes. And there's so much evil in this world, Elena. It's time to go now. If they try to stop you, if anyone tries to stop you, you must detonate the device.'

Elena nodded. 'I will.'

'Goodbye, Elena. Very soon we'll both be at peace.'

Pointer watched his final Angel walk to the door and leave the room. He heard voices from the corridor; then the door closed and there was silence.

Outside Elena's room a large group of tourists were milling around, talking excitedly, some clutching Phantom of the Opera programmes. They were evidently gathering for a Broadway outing, but had just realized that two of their group had not turned up.

In the stairwell Fergus and Danny had ducked down beneath the window again to avoid being seen. Fergus cursed silently, counting the seconds, looking at his watch as he was forced to wait. He bobbed up to peer through the window, but his view was obscured by the mass of people. There was nothing he could do.

The tourists stood and chatted while the group leader went off to rouse the latecomers from their room. No one took the slightest notice of Elena, as she stepped into the corridor and started walking towards the lift.

Watching the CCTV cameras, Pointer could see the two figures checking windows and doors as they attempted to find a way into the house. Their faces were quite clear now and Pointer recognized them from the attacks on his Winnebagos.

Quickly he sent another message to Elena's Black-Berry, which was still in her room. He wanted to keep Marcie Deveraux guessing for as long as possible. Great goin. Ur doin well!!! Need 2 wait 30 mins now. Take a rest. U need it!!!

On his computer, Pointer watched Deveraux pick up her own Xda and punch in a number. He heard her voice clearly: 'He's making her wait for thirty. You can stop flapping now, Watts; it'll all be over before then. Wait out.'

Pointer smiled as Deveraux cut the call. 'Not quite over, Marcie,' he said. He clicked a link on his computer and closed down the connection to the Xda at the Four Seasons. 'No more clues for you,' he said as he looked at the CCTV monitors and saw that the two intruders were approaching the main door at the front of the house.

He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out an old.45 revolver, thinking again how impressive the operation to hunt him down had been. He opened the chamber to reveal six rounds. The weapon felt comfortable in his hands, even though he himself had never been a military man.

His grandfather had used it during the First World War, and his father had carried it during the Second. When he returned home at the end of the war he had handed it over to his son, confidently predicting that it would never again be used in a conflict and telling him to keep it as a family memento. The Pointers were businessmen and industrialists: they would never have any use for weapons of war.

But Charles Pointer II had a use for the.45 now.

He watched as the man and the woman pushed against the top and bottom of the front door and realized they were checking to see if it was bolted from the inside.

The man took off the bag he had on his back, delved inside and pulled out a cylinder of steel about twenty centimetres in length and similar in diameter to a Coke can. From one end protruded a small shaft; from the other, two short lengths of steel, like handles.

Pointer was intrigued. The man passed the cylinder to his partner, who placed the shaft end against the large cylinder lock on the door. As she did so, the man took a metal-headed mallet from his bag and stood back with the mallet head poised.

The woman nodded and the man smashed the mallet into the end of the cylinder. Pointer heard the noise but continued to watch in fascination as his two potential assassins worked quickly and efficiently.

The man dropped to his knees, grabbed the two handles, turned the cylinder and then kicked open the door. His partner had already taken out a strange-looking pistol. As they entered the house, Pointer's scientific brain was working out that the shaft of the cylinder device must be made of titanium so that it was strong enough to smash the keyway of the lock and the pins, obliterating the key code and enabling the cylinder to be turned easily. He was impressed.

But then he turned to look at the.45. He pulled back the hammer all the way so that it clicked into position and shifted the chamber a little, lining up a round to be fired when the trigger was pulled.

He could hear the pair approaching, running down the marble floors towards his study. He turned off the lamp on his desk so that only his computer and the monitors were casting their pale blue light in the darkness.

He was ready.

He thought of Elena, making her way towards her date with death.

As the door to his study burst open and the woman ran in, weapon up, Pointer thought of Chuck, and as the moment of death approached, he suddenly felt more exhilaratingly alive than he had for five long years.

The man was immediately behind his partner, but at first neither of them spotted Pointer in the dim light. But they both saw the flicker of movement as he pushed the revolver into his mouth, pointed it upwards towards his brain and pulled the trigger. Charles Samuel Pointer II had not let assassins take his life; he had been in control of events until the very end.

The small room resounded to the thunderous roar of the.45 as Fran and Mick dived to the floor, taking cover and firing towards the sound of the weapon's report at the same time.

There was no further noise; the silence told the story.