J.F. Kirwan - 88° North

This piece had been her father’s favourite. He used to sit her on his lap and tell her Cossack stories while she listened. She envisioned soldiers marching, then running into battle on the front line, most to their doom, a few to glory, cannons belching smoke and thunder all around. The cadence arrived, an ashtray vibrating noisily on the glass coffee table. Hanbury pushed off from the window and activated a button on a remote he had in his pocket, and the music diminished to a whisper. His rusty-grey hair was brushed to one side, masking the beginnings of a bald patch, making him look like an ageing hippy-turned-diplomat. He had the look of someone who had been a bit of a rebel in his youth, probably a hit with the girls, back in the day. He had that been-there-done-it-all air about him. Not in a boasting way, more like he’d seen enough, thank you very much.

He turned to them. ‘What on earth were you doing on Tonnochy Road?’

So, he’d had them followed.

‘Personal,’ she replied. He probably knew what had happened, and might think she and Jake wanted a threesome with the girl. She didn’t care too much about what he thought. But then she realised she did. Somehow, he made her care. He was an unusual man. The type who led from behind. Someone who didn’t judge you, because he didn’t have to. He made you judge yourself.

‘There are two ways to change the world,’ he said. ‘People will tell you that you need to see the bigger picture.’ He stared down at his whisky, then at her. ‘In my not-so-humble opinion, they are wrong. I’ve watched such people – politicians and so-called leaders – come and go, getting others killed or thrown in prison, while practically every revolution or victory leaves society more or less as it was before, or worse off. You see, the world turns, and, well, history recycles us.’ He smiled, a benevolent – if a little preachy – uncle.

‘The small picture, that’s what you need to see. That’s how to change the world.’ He walked forwards and raised his glass. ‘My dear Nadia, you changed a small picture this evening, and though in the larger scheme of things it doesn’t matter one jot, I salute you.’

Nadia felt her cheeks flush. ‘ Spasiba ,’ she said quietly.

Hanbury swirled the whisky around in its chunky tumbler, rattling the melting ice cubes against the glass, and took a swig. His smile faded. ‘Salamander’s here,’ he said. ‘In Hong Kong.’

Nadia’s insides tensed, and all her sleepiness vanished. She wanted her Beretta back. Now. ‘Where?’

Hanbury plumped himself into a leather armchair, depositing the tumbler on the table. The butler appeared out of nowhere and placed a coaster underneath, wiping up a drop of the alcohol.

‘He was seen disembarking from a junk in Port Stanley early this morning. Difficult for a man that size to hide. One of ours tried to tail him, but …’ His eyes glazed over, and he picked up the tumbler.

Nadia understood. The tail had disappeared. Dead, if he was lucky, still alive and begging for it by now if not. A thought struck her. ‘The tail, did he know about us?’

Hanbury suddenly looked sheepish, like an overgrown schoolboy caught out. ‘We’re safe here. It’s a fortress. The glass is bulletproof, in case you were wondering. Besides, he’s been here on and off for decades. He’s never interfered with the embassy or its staff.’

Nadia’s gut begged to differ. She suddenly thought about Jin Fe back at the hotel. What if Salamander or Blue Fan turned up there? ‘Jake, we should leave.’

‘Just a minute,’ Jake said, glancing down and then frowning at his mobile phone. ‘Hanbury, can you make a call?’

‘To whom?’

‘It doesn’t matter. My phone shows no signal. It was fine when we arrived.’

Hanbury put the glass down, spilling a few more drops onto the table. He’d clearly had a few. He picked up the cordless phone, went to dial, and then stopped.

Nadia guessed why. No tone. She dug out her mobile. No signal.

‘Our guns, Hanbury,’ Jake said. ‘Now!’

Hanbury looked momentarily confused, but then he grabbed the armrests and heaved himself up.

‘James!’ he yelled.

Then he shouted two names Nadia couldn’t untangle, and the Dobermans beat the butler into the lounge, skidding on the parquet.

‘Lock everything down, James. Give them their guns and break out ours.’ The maid trotted in, then disappeared into another room. James ran back out and returned with their weapons, the maid with two assault rifles.

Nadia spotted it – a faraway light hovering between the two nearest skyscrapers.

‘Get down!’ she shouted.

But at that same moment there was a loud rat-a-tat-tat , as a series of bullets peppered the exact same spot on the glass, and then one broke through. The maid was punched off her feet by a round that took the top of her skull off.

Nadia dropped to the floor on her back and shot out the two lights in the room, leaving just the gloom from the entrance hall. Hanbury crawled towards the maid, while Jake rolled and snatched up one of the assault rifles. But they couldn’t fire outwards, due to the glass. James made it to the other assault rifle while the dogs barked at the window, then ran to their master.

‘Hanbury, we have to get out of here,’ Jake said. ‘The sniper probably has a night-sight. The garage. It’s underground, right?’

Hanbury was on all fours, crouched over the maid. He seemed to only half-hear. Maybe the maid meant more to him than hired help. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We have two bullet-proof Range Rovers.’

‘Lead the way.’

Nadia heard the chopper, the one carrying the sniper. It was moving in, now it had played its advantage of surprise.

James spoke to Hanbury in Cantonese. Hanbury nodded, then crawled flat along the floor, beneath the shelter of the furniture. Like snakes evacuating a sinking ship, the four of them and the two dogs made it to the corridor, where the chopper had no line of sight. Nadia stood up.

James checked a panel of video screens, showing the garage empty except for the two cars, and entered a code into a keypad next to a door. The screen for the stairwell was blank. James’ brow creased, his forefinger hovering over the keypad, then he entered the final digit. ‘Stand back. I will go first,’ he said.

As soon as the door mechanism buzzed, James yanked it open. The sound of a shotgun at close range blasted into the hallway. James was thrown upwards and backwards, his chest-cage ripped open.

Nadia fired at the half-open steel door, her bullets ricocheting down the stairs to the garage. Jake slid across the floor and unloaded a complete magazine from the semi-auto, the noise deafening. Nadia poked her head around the corner. Two men on their backs, too many bullet holes to be alive. The ringing in her ears eased off, replaced by the sound of three people breathing heavily, and the panting dogs standing faithfully by their master.

Jake snatched up James’ semi-auto. ‘We have to go. Hanbury, send the dogs downstairs.

Hanbury was bereft, breathing heavier than the dogs. Nadia didn’t really know anything about him, perhaps he’d just seen the closest thing to his family gunned down in the space of a minute. And now Jake was asking him to send his dogs into a potential kill zone.

Hanbury held out his upturned palms and the two Dobermans approached. He stroked each of them. One of them licked his hand. He said something soft in Chinese, as if he was talking to his children.

Obediently they broke away from him and bounded down the stairs. Jake followed close behind. Nadia grabbed Hanbury by the arm, and they descended.

The garage appeared to be clear. Jake stalked to the nearest Range Rover, turning three-sixty, rifle at eye level, ready to fire. The dogs ran and sniffed around the basement garage, not sensing anyone. Jake checked under the cars, then Hanbury bleeped the closest one unlocked. They stole inside, Nadia and Jake in the front, Hanbury behind. The dogs leapt into the back with their master.