Assassin (29 page)

The driver breathed a muted sigh of relief, angry with himself for letting his true feelings show. He glanced at his watch.

'We'd better move,' he said.

Mitchell got to his feet, lifting the attaché cases.

'We'll be waiting,' Carter said as they reached the door.

Harrison nodded and glanced at his own watch.

10.38 p.m.

He drained what was left in his glass then crossed to the cabinet on the wall. From it he took a .357 Magnum. He flipped the cylinder out, checking that each chamber was full. Satisfied, he laid the weapon on his desk.

He glanced again at his watch.

Waiting.

The wind whipped across the car park of St Katherine's Dock, tossing pieces of newspaper before it, rattling empty cans across the tarmac. Piles of litter had been blown up against the low concrete walls like heaps of mouldering autumn leaves. The chill breeze stirred these putrid mounds and scattered their contents in all directions.

There were less than a dozen cars in the glistening car park. The lights which surrounded the place were dull, glowing with a sickly yellow light which barely illuminated an area five feet around the concrete poles.

Mark Paxton squinted at his watch, tilting it this way and that in an effort to see the time in the gloom.

Beside him in the passenger seat of the stolen TR7, Maria Chalfont shuffled nervously and peered into the night.

'He's late,' she said.

'No he isn't, it's not one o'clock yet,' Paxton told her. He yawned and stretched, his bones cracking from the pro-longed bout of sitting. They'd been there for just over forty-five minutes and Maria in particular was becoming more restless by the second.

'What if he double-crosses us?' she muttered.

'He wouldn't dare.'

The explanation didn't seem to pacify her. She tried to look at her own watch, remembered she didn't have one and grabbed Paxton's wrist, pulling the time-piece towards her.

12.32 a.m.

She sighed.

'He'll be here,' Paxton assured her, squeezing a spot on his chin. 'We won't have to wait much longer.'

Carter had cramp.

He flexed his right foot, stepping on the floor of the car as hard as he could to relieve the muscular discomfort.

In the back seat, Mitchell was slumped low down, glancing to his right and left, eyes seemingly able to penetrate the gloom which surrounded the Austin Princess. He was watching for the slightest sign of movement from the TR7 that was parked about two hundred yards away.

He and Carter had seen it arrive, park and extinguish its lights but there had been no movement from its occupants.

Both men were convinced that the TR7 was the car they sought.

'If we find Tina, be careful with those bloody cannons of yours, Mitchell,' Carter said quietly, still trying to restore some circulation in his leg.

`Let's just hope she doesn't get in the way,' the hit man answered and pulled the 9mm Beretta from its holster. He checked that the magazine was full then slammed it back into the butt of the pistol. He repeated the procedure with the Browning.

Carter checked his own automatic.

'
You
be sure you can pull the trigger when you have to,' Mitchell said.

Carter didn't answer, he merely cradled the Smith and Wesson in his hand tracing the sleek lines of the pistol with his eyes.

The wind blew with increased ferocity, whipping a whirlwind of waste paper up around the car like a miniature monsoon before dying away and leaving only the silence behind.

Both men stayed low in their seats, eyes fixed on the TR7.

'There.'

Mark Paxton nudged Maria Chalfont and pointed as the Daimler moved slowly into the car park, its headlamps on half-beam.

'That has to be him,' Paxton said, watching the elegant vehicle finally come to a half about fifty or sixty yards away.

The lights were switched off. The car was in darkness.

It was almost one a.m.

Frank Harrison put a cigarette in his mouth but, when his lighter wouldn't work, he tossed the Dunhill out of the side window in frustration. He drummed on the steering wheel, eyes flicking back and forth over the darkened car park, glancing at each vehicle in turn. Coming to rest finally on the Princess which he knew contained Mitchell and Carter.

He murmured something under his breath but it was lost as another powerful gust of wind shook the car.

He looked around once again.

At first he didn't see the girl walking towards the car. She seemed to blend in with the night, dressed, as she was, in black. Harrison thought about turning his lights on to get a better look at her but thought better of it. His hand went to his inside pocket and he felt the .357 there. A comforting bulk.

As the girl drew nearer he stamped three times on the floor of the Daimler.

Huddled in the boot, Damien Drake felt the vibrations, recognised the signal.

He eased the .38 from his belt.

The girl was less than ten feet away now and Harrison squinted through the night to catch a glimpse of her features. But at the last moment she turned and walked around the car to the passenger side.

Before Harrison realized what was happening she had opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat beside him.

'You're Harrison.'

It was a statement rather than a question.

He nodded slowly, looking at her more closely now. About twenty-two he thought, no make-up. Jeans. Sweatshirt. She might have been pretty.

He hardly had time to move as she pulled the knife from under her loose-fitting top and stuck it against his neck.

'Just because I'm a woman, don't try to be clever,' she said. 'We're being watched.' She studied him distastefully for a moment and then pointed with her free hand. 'Drive.'

'Where to?' he asked irritably.

'Where I tell you.'

Harrison smiled thinly.

'I could break your fucking arm and stick that knife up your arse before you could blink,' he hissed.

She moved the blade with practised skill, nicking his ear, slicing part of it away. A thin sliver of flesh fell onto the seat and he yelped in pain as he felt the cold steel cut effortlessly through the membrane. Blood spurted onto his shirt.

'Try,' she challenged.

He was about to say something when she pressed the knife to his throat once more.

'Now drive.'

Harrison started the engine, flicked on the lights and pulled out of the car park.

A moment later the TR7 followed.

Carter, who hadn't taken his eye off the Daimler, waited for several seconds before he pulled out, not turning on his headlamps until he reached the street.

The little procession moved slowly along.

It reminded Carter of a funeral motorcade.

He gripped the steering wheel more tightly.

There was little traffic on the roads. Insufficient to hide a tail thought Carter, careful to keep his distance from the TR7. The driver of the other vehicle, however, seemed too preoccupied with watching the Daimler to bother about what was behind him.

As Harrison swung the Daimler into Cable Street he glanced at his passenger.

Maria Chalfont jabbed the knife against his throat a little harder, the point digging into the soft flesh beneath his chin until a small orb of blood welled up and dripped on to his shirt.

She smiled and kept the blade where it was.

'When I get out of here I'm going to kill you,' hissed the gang boss.

'But you're not going to get out,' she told him. 'Not you or your girlfriend.'

'We made a deal. If I turned up alone then you'd let her go.'

'No one mentioned anything about a deal. We don't make deals with the rich.'

'Who's
we
?'

'You'll find out.'

'So you intend to kill us anyway?'

'You deserve to die. Just like the others did. All the rich do. You're all the same. Politicians. Personalities. Criminals. There's nothing to choose between you. All rich scum.' She prodded him again with the knife. 'Did you like what we did with your girlfriend's finger?' she chuckled. 'I watched while they cut it off.'

Harrison gripped the wheel tighter, his fury growing.

'She screamed a lot.'

Harrison tried to turn his head to look at the girl but the pressure of the knife prevented even that small movement.

'She's in a bit of a mess, really. Not how you're used to seeing her,' Maria continued, enjoying the verbal tirade.

'We'll let you watch when we kill her. Then we'll kill you.'

'Let her go,' snarled Harrison. 'You've got me, that's what you wanted. Let Tina go.'

'Let a parasite walk the streets? Never.'

She jabbed him with the tip of the blade as if to emphasise her words.

'You don't understand, do you?' she said. 'None of you rich bastards understand. You live your lives without a thought for others and until now you've been getting away with it. But not any more.'

'I swear to God I'll kill you if you touch Tina,' the gang boss hissed, his anger now becoming uncontrollable.

'We'll kill her like we killed the others,' Maria told him. 'Slowly. She'll scream a lot. She'll probably beg for her life. That's the best part, when they beg.' Her breath was coming in short gasps and she could feel the growing wetness between her legs. 'Some of them try to be quiet but most shout out in pain. It takes some of them hours to die.'

'Shut up,' snapped Harrison.

'It depends where you cut them you see.'

'Shut up.'

'How deep the knife goes, how much they bleed.'

'I'm telling you.'

'It'll take a long time for your whore to die.'

'NO.'

He roared at the top of his voice, twisting the wheel of the Daimler so that the vehicle skewed across the road and skidded to a halt.

The sudden violent movement caused Maria to over- balance, and she slammed heavily into the side of the car and Harrison felt the pressure of the blade against his neck relieved. With lightning speed he turned in his seat, grabbing Maria's wrist in a vice-like grip, slamming her hand against the dashboard until the knife fell from her grasp.

She lashed out with her other hand and gouged the skin of his face, tearing three deep furrows with her nails. But Harrison ignored the attack, pressing forward his advantage. He gripped a handful of her hair and slid across towards her, driving her head against the side panel of the door with crushing force.

'Where is she?' he roared, smashing Maria's face into the panel once again.

Her nose splintered under the repeated impact, the bones disintegrating. Blood spilled down her sweatshirt but Harrison kept up his maniacal pounding. A split opened below her hairline and a fresh crimson stream began coursing down her face. Two of her front teeth broke, one of them tearing through her upper lip.

'Where's Tina, you fucking bitch?' he roared, pulling the .357 from his belt.

He drove Maria's head against the window with a force that threatened to smash the glass, blood smearing the clear partition. She merely burbled feebly, blood and pieces of shattered tooth filling her mouth.

Harrison pulled her hair hard, yanking her back so her head lolled against the seat. He shoved the barrel of the revolver into her mouth and thumbed back the hammer.

'Tell me where she is,' he snarled, his face purple with rage.

Maria tried to speak but her throat was full of blood and bile.

'Cunt,' roared Harrison and pulled the trigger.

The close range impact was devastating.

The bullet blew most of her head away, showering the roof of the car with brains and pulverized bone. It was as if a charge of dynamite had been detonated inside her skull. The top of it merely erupted, spewing its sticky contents upwards like a reeking fountain.

He still had the gun pressed to the back of her throat when he saw the TR7 overtake him.

Mark Paxton had heard the shot and as he drove past he saw Maria's dead body.

He knew what had to be done.

Carter and Mitchell also heard the shot, but the driver was more concerned about the fact that the TR7 was streaking away into the night.

`We've got to catch him,' he said, pressing down on the accelerator. The Princess shot forward, speeding towards the Daimler where Harrison was struggling free, waving the other car to slow down, to pick him up:

Carter ignored his boss's frantic gestures and continued in pursuit of the fleeing TR7.

Harrison bellowed something at the swiftly moving car but soon it was nothing more than a blur of rear fights in the gloom.

Carter pressed down harder on the accelerator, coaxing more speed from the Princess, anxious not to lose Paxton as he sped through Whitechapel.

In the back seat, Mitchell checked his pistols once more.

He knew that they would soon be needed.

Carter hunched low over the wheel, squinting through the darkness to catch sight of the TR7's tail lights. Even if the driver of the vehicle had realised he was being chased, Carter was determined that he should not escape.

But, as they sped through the night, Carter was gripped by the unshakeable feeling that if Tina were not already dead, she shortly would be.

The cars roared on.

Mark Paxton knew he was being followed and, as he drew nearer the house in Whitechapel he became more afraid. He knew that he should have led his pursuers away from the house but his instinct had been to reach safety, to surround himself with his companions and destroy those who were chasing him.

He spun the wheel violently. The car skidded, slamming into the kerb. It bounced back into the road and he regained control knowing that he was less than half a mile from the house.

There was no way of warning Grant and the others, no way of telling them that things had gone wrong, that Maria was dead.