Stephen Leather: The Bombmaker

'Who's that? Who's been shot?'

'I don't know,' said Payne. 'We've no radio contact.'

Martin peered over the captain's shoulder. 'Is it Andy?'

'I don't know,' said Payne sharply. Two single muffled shots barked from the loudspeaker. The sound of a silenced handgun.

– «»-«»-«»Green-eyes was in spasm on the floor, though she was obviously dead. The right-hand side of her head was missing, exposing white skull and pink brain matter, and there were four blossoming red patches on the front of her overalls. Her gun, unfired, lay close to her twitching right hand. Andy stood transfixed, unable to comprehend what was going on around her, her ears still ringing from the stun grenades. To her left, two men dressed in black overalls and with black submachine-guns strapped to their chests were swinging in through one of the broken windows. They had respirators and dark goggles on and black webbing belts around their waists. The man in the ski mask was facing the other way, both hands on his pistol. He'd fired twice at three more SAS troopers who had come swinging in through another window in the wake of the grenades. He'd hit one in the chest with one of his shots, but the bullet had made a dull thudding noise as it had smashed into the soldier's body armour. The troopers were bringing their submachine-guns to bear on the man, but he threw himself to the side, rolling behind a desk.

There was a crashing sound from reception and the stamping of boots. Andy held her hands up in surrender, the remote control still clasped in her right hand. 'Don't shoot!' she screamed. Her voice sounded far away, as if it belonged to someone else.

The man in the ski mask rolled again and came up in a half-crouch, taking aim at Andy's chest. With his free hand he ripped off his ski mask. He had, Andy realised, a very ordinary face, devoid of distinguishing features. There was no expression of anger on it, nor fear. His features were totally blank as he pointed the gun at Andy's chest and tightened his finger on the trigger.

Andy sprang to her right and fell against one of the ovens. The two men who'd just piled in through the window to her left were unclipping themselves from their ropes. One of them swung his submachine-gun towards her. She wanted to scream that she wasn't a threat, that the man was about to kill her, but the only sound she could make was a low growl.

The man's silenced gun coughed and a bullet zipped by her head as she fell to the ground and scrambled away on all fours. The remote control dropped from her hand as another bullet thwacked into the ovens behind her. Four more soldiers came hurtling down the corridor from reception, guns at the ready, their boots beating a rapid tattoo on the floor.

She stood up, and one of the SAS troopers fired his submachine-gun. His aim was off and bullets raked the ceiling above her head, shattering the tiles. Chunks of polystyrene cascaded around her like a heavy fall of snow. The man with the handgun fired at the troopers and hit one in the respirator. The trooper slumped to the floor, blood pouring from around his face mask.

Andy dropped to the floor and rolled over, broken glass cutting into her flesh. She slammed into something soft and yielding and found herself face to face with the Wrestler, his eyes wide and staring, blood congealing between his teeth.

Andy groped for his gun. Her trembling hand made contact with the handle of the weapon, but when she pulled it wouldn't come free of the holster. She remembered the strap around the hammer of the gun and felt around with her thumb. There was a rat-tat-tat of silenced gunfire followed by two distinct shots, and she heard a body crash to the floor. She looked up. The man was only feet away from her. His face split into a malevolent grin and he fired at her, point blank. Andy twisted to the side, throwing out her hands for balance, and felt the bullet sear along her outstretched arm and into her shoulder. She screamed in pain and fell backwards.

The SAS troopers were shouting staccato commands at each other, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. There was another burst of automatic fire and the sound of bullets hitting metal.

As Andy hit the ground she saw the man fire at an SAS trooper and hit him in the neck. The trooper twisted around as blood sprayed from the wound.

Andy rolled, pain lancing through her injured shoulder, came up on all fours and crawled under one of the tables. Ahead of her was Green-eyes, blood pooling around her chest, her head twisted grotesquely to one side. Andy saw her gun and grabbed for it as another burst of bullets sprayed along the ceiling above her, ripping out tiles in a shower of polystyrene.

The handle of the gun was wet with blood, and Andy seized it with both hands, rolling over until she was on her back. The man was bent low, the gun turned almost upside down so that the handle was pointing up at the ceiling. Andy squeezed the trigger, praying that the safety catch wasn't on. Her ears roared as the gun fired, again and again as her finger tensed instinctively on the trigger. Blood spurted from the man's chest and Andy kept firing. The man staggered backwards. He tried to straighten up but his body began to twitch as if electrocuted. As the room began to spin around Andy, she became dimly aware of the sound of multiple gunshots coming from all around her. The upper half of the man's body turned scarlet and the phone shattered as bullets raked across what was left of his chest, then his face disappeared in a shower of red and white and he pitched sideways.

The last thing Andy saw was three troopers with goggles and respirators staring impassively down at her like giant insects considering their next meal.

– «»-«»-«»The loudspeaker was suddenly silent. Then there was a man's voice. A gruff Scottish accent. 'Area secured!'

'They're in,' said the captain, relieved.

'Thank God for that,' said Hetherington.

'Andy. What about Andy?' Martin peered at the monitor closest to him. There were three figures sprawled on the ground. Around them moved a dozen or so flickering green shapes.

Captain Payne put his phone to his ear and listened, nodding and grunting. He turned to Patsy. 'Tango One and Tango Three are dead, Tango Two is dying. Tango Four is wounded but will survive. You can send in the explosive officers now.'

Martin's mind whirled. Tango Four was alive, the others dead or dying. But which was Andy?

Patsy came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. 'It's okay,' she said. 'Andrea's alive. Your wife's okay.'

– «»-«»-«»McEvoy took the mobile phone away from his ear. 'Shit,' he said.

'What happened?' asked Canning. 'Gunfire. Then the line went dead.' Canning glowered. 'Gunfire? Are you sure?' McEvoy looked contemptuously at his partner. 'I've heard guns before, Mick.'

Canning ran his hands through his unkempt hair. 'Maybe he'll call back.'

'I don't think so.' McEvoy put the phone down on the coffee table. 'I think it's over.'

Canning paced up and down. 'Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck are we going to do?'

McEvoy looked at the.38 Smith amp; Wesson which was hanging in a nylon shoulder holster on the back of the sofa. Egan's instructions had been crystal clear. If the connection was cut, kill the girl. But Egan was probably dead. 'We go,' he said quietly. 'We pack up and go.' He picked up the holster and fastened it across his chest.

'You clear the cottage, I'll check the girl's okay.'

'I'll do it,' said Canning. 'She's still scared of you.'

McEvoy sighed. 'You're a sad bastard, Canning. Okay, you sort the girl out, I'll put the gear in the car.'

Canning went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out three cans of Coke and a bottle of Ballygowan water. His woollen ski mask was on the kitchen table and he pulled it on. He picked up the drinks, went over to the door leading to the basement and pulled back the bolts. He groped for the light switch and found it, but when he flicked the switch the light didn't come on. He cursed under his breath and moved slowly down the stairs, softly calling Katie's name.