Greed (29 page)

Maybe she has a point, thought Matt. The only difference between what I did in the Regiment and what I did in the last two countries, was that I got properly paid for risking my life for my country.

Why not take the cash and walk away? Right now, I'm a free, wealthy man. Press this trigger, and I'm a fugitive for the rest of my life.

He glanced across at Ivan, but could see only an intense anger in the man's eyes: it was as if a fuse had been lit within him. 'Saving one person doesn't justify sacrificing another one. Who are we to make that choice? Who are you?' he said.

'Then what were you doing in the IRA, Ivan?' Alison snapped back. 'They made those choices all the time. What were you doing in the SAS, Matt?' She fixed both of them with a hard stare. 'Both of you already made the decision when you were a lot younger that lives were sometimes worth sacrificing for a cause. It's too late to go back now.'

'I don't need a philosophy lecture, thank you,' said Ivan. The muscles in his neck were bulging as the blood pumped to his head. He looked towards Matt, a question playing in his eyes. 'Let's give it to her and get out of here.'

Alison looked towards Matt, the fear creeping back into her eyes. She held out the diamond that was slung around her neck. 'Look,' she said softly. 'I had it set, and wore it. I've been wearing it every day since you gave it to me.'

Ivan held the trigger in his hand, his thumb poised on the button. 'Cut the violins,' he snapped. 'Press the button and go.'

In the middle of combat, a soldier trusts his instinct and only his instinct.

When there is no time to think with your head, you act with your heart.

Matt raised a hand. 'I say we let her go,' he said slowly. 'She has a point – we're soldiers, we get paid. Let's collect the cash and clear out of here.'

Matt noticed a smile starting to spread across Alison's lips – but it wasn't a smile of gratitude or relief. She was pleased, not to have survived, but to have won the argument. 'I always knew you were a man who could listen to reason, Matt,' she said. 'That's why I chose you.'

'Wait.'

Ivan lowered his hand, looking directly at her.

'What about Cooksley's kids?' Matt continued. 'And Reid's kids? They were just children, but you put them in the line of fire as well. How do you justify that?'

Alison shrugged, her expression suggesting that she was losing interest in the debate: her triumph had been secured, and now she had better things to do with her time. 'They were collateral damage,' she said coldly. 'I may have said this before, but I'll say it again. If you want to play softball then go to the park.'

Sometimes people say the wrong thing, thought Matt. And it costs them their lives.

'Collateral damage?' he said. 'No. They were just an innocent group of children.' He looked towards Ivan. 'I was wrong. Let's blow the fuse, and get out of here. The world will be a safer place without her.'

'Hold it,' she snapped.

'No! Enough!' Matt roared. 'Sometimes it is worth sacrificing one life for the good of everybody. Well, this time it's yours. Press the button, Ivan. Press it.'

'Please!' Alison shouted, her voice turning ragged. 'You have both made many mistakes, but the greatest one is to think me a fool.'

The wind had picked up speed, curling itself around the trees. Somewhere behind him, Matt could hear branches creaking in the gale. It was a dark and miserable place in which to die. But then, few have the luxury of choosing the places in which they die. Certainly not when it's an execution.

'Press it!' Matt snapped, glancing at Ivan.

Why doesn't the man blow her away?

'Because,' she said, 'only a fool would come here alone.'

Matt froze. The moment the words had escaped her lips, he'd known exactly what she'd meant by it. Inwardly, he started cursing himself. Naturally she would have some protection with her. A woman such as Alison made every calculation and checked every angle before she made a single move. She didn't make mistakes. That was what made her such a formidable opponent.

For half a second he resisted looking towards Ivan. He already knew what he would see, but wanted to delay the moment of confirmation. He saw it first in Alison's expression. A smile of smug satisfaction had spread on to her lips. Slowly he turned his head to the right. Pinky was standing a yard behind Ivan, a pistol in his outstretched hand, the barrel of the gun resting gently on Ivan's ear. Matt looked behind him: Perky was standing two yards behind, a gun lodged into the palm of his hand, pointing directly at his head. From that distance, it would be impossible for him to miss.

You had to hand it to them, they were good.

'Be very careful,' said Pinky, his voice so low it was barely more than a whisper. 'And hand me that trigger.'

The look of anger on Ivan's face intensified: the flame within him had just been turned up. For a brief second Matt wondered whether Ivan was about to blow them all away. His hand dropped away, but his grip on the trigger remained just as tight.

'Give us that trigger right away,' said Perky, his voice booming around the woods. 'Or both of you die. Instantly.'

'Do it!' barked Alison. 'Give him the trigger.'

It's in the tone of her voice, noticed Matt. It doesn't matter what we do. We've threatened to kill her, and that's our death warrant signed, sealed and delivered. She doesn't need us wandering around the world somewhere, with time to plot and plan our revenge. She'll finish us now. If I were her, I'd do the same thing.

'Don't do it, Ivan,' he said.

Matt was surprised by how calm his own voice sounded. Maybe I have reached the point where I don't care any more.

The noose is already wrapped around my neck
–
I may as well tug at the chord myself.

'She's going to kill us anyway, whether we drop the trigger or not,' he continued, his tone getting harder as the sentence unfolded. 'Hell, if we're about to die, we might as well take her and these two bastards with us.' He chuckled. 'I always wanted the smell of Semtex in the air at my funeral anyway.'

Alison raised both hands, her eyes concentrating on Ivan. 'He's wrong,' she said calmly. 'Put the trigger down, take your money, and go wherever in the world. All debts are paid on both sides. You are free, wealthy men.'

'Don't listen to her,' Matt snapped. 'I've heard a thousand different stories from her lips, and they've all been lies.'

Ivan looked first at Matt, then at Alison. Matt could see he was starting to hesitate.

'The mission was a success,' said Alison. 'Now, let's all pack up and go home.'

We've lost.

The trigger was still sitting in the palm of Ivan's hand, but his thumb had moved away from the button. A single bead of sweat was dripping down his forehead, past his temple and across his cheek. His mouth was turned down and there was a blank, empty expression on his face: as if, decided Matt, he was all out of tricks.

'I put this down, you'll let us both go, and we'll collect our money and get out of here,' Ivan said, looking directly at Alison. 'That's the deal, right?'

Alison nodded. 'I understand the anger of both of you,' she said calmly. 'But I don't resent it. Like I said, our work is finished and it's time to call all debts paid in full.'

Matt could feel a few drops of rain on his face. He glanced up into the sky. The clouds had grown darker now, obscuring the sun. 'Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?' he said, pronouncing the words slowly and deliberately. 'That's from Corinthians – although I suppose a good Catholic boy would already know that.' He turned to look at Ivan directly. Rain was spitting down from the clouds, lining his face with a thin film of water. 'Funeral psalms. Yours is coming up pretty soon, mate, if you do what she asks. I just thought I'd see what you'd like read out at the service.'

'Don't listen to him,' Alison snapped. 'He's lost it.'

The words passed across Ivan as if he hadn't heard them. 'There were five men when we started this mission, Matt,' he said slowly. 'Now there are only two of us. There's been enough killing. It's got to stop somewhere.' He tossed the trigger into the mud at his feet. 'In a few minutes you and I will be dead as well,' he said. 'It's not an acceptable casualty rate.'

Matt could see Alison flinch as the trigger settled into the mud: it was as if a thousand volts had been shot through her, and every nerve in her body had suddenly jumped. She stepped quickly forwards, moving away from where the bomb was buried. Behind him, Matt could see that Pinky was still holding his gun level with his head.

Alison rushed towards him.

'Do it!'

As the words spat out of her mouth a shot rang out, the noise of the bullet leaving the barrel echoing off the tree trunks all around them. Instinctively, Matt threw himself into the mud, shielding his face with his hands. He waited, counted to three, then realised the bullet had not been aimed at him. He looked up. Five yards ahead of him, Ivan was lying face-down in the dirt, his body crumpled up in agony. The bullet from Perky's gun had impacted just over his left ear, splitting open a wound on the side of his face. Blood was pouring out of him.

You fool. I told you not to trust her.

Matt reached out to grab the trigger device. It was four feet away, lying next to Ivan's fallen body. Alison was six feet to his right. His hand shot through the mud, his fingers stretching to collect the tiny bundle of plastic and wire. Only one thought was racing through his mind: to get to the trigger and to blow the Semtex. Take them all to hell.

Right now, that's the only place I feel like going.

His hand fell five inches short of the trigger, stopping in the pool of blood that was seeping from Ivan's head. He could see Alison moving swiftly towards him. Kicking with his legs, Matt thrust himself quickly forward. Another two inches . . .

That's all I need to destroy her.

He smashed his hand down towards the trigger. In the corner of his eye he could see the pale plastic sole of Alison's boot swinging delicately through the air. It caught his index finger, twisting it backwards, sending a sharp jab of pain down his arm. Matt flinched. Alison stamped hard, her boot forcing down the back of Matt's hand. His fist was pressed down into the dirt.

Looking down at him, her expression calm, Alison twisted her heel against the bones in Matt's hand.

He flinched as she bent down and picked up the trigger. She held it in her hand like a rare jewel, examining it with exaggerated care. 'Now, what was it you were saying, Matt?' she said, glancing down at where he lay in the mud. 'Something about how you thought Ivan should just finish me off?'

'Get on with it then,' said Matt, looking up towards Alison. 'You're a busy woman.'

At his side, Pinky jabbed a pistol into his chest. A snub-nosed German-made Walther P22 – the gun was instantly recognisable from the insignia stamped on the tip of its matt black barrel. Five yards behind him, Perky was standing with another Walther, this one aimed at Matt's head.

'I want to know where the money is,' said Alison.

Matt recognised the look on her face. A mixture of desire, passion and, yes, contempt – he had last seen it when they were in bed together in Bideford. He had failed to recognise it then, but he could see it clearly now. 'Get lost,' he spat.

'Tell me where the money is, or we shoot you right now,' she said.

'Stop threatening me,' said Matt, steadying his voice. 'I know you'll kill me anyway, whatever I do or say. We're all played out, Alison.'

She twisted her ankle again, grinding the sole of her boot into Matt's hand. The pain jolted through his arm and down into his spine. He took a deep breath, aware that he could endure whatever pain she might inflict on him in the next few minutes.

I have survived much worse in the past, and in a jew minutes I shall be dead. This will all be over soon.

Matt attempted a smile, aware that with the pain shooting down his arm it probably came out more as a twisted grimace. 'You never give up, do you?'

He could see Alison raising her right foot, holding it momentarily in the air, then stamping it down hard on his hand.

'Go fuck yourself,' he spat. 'I'm not telling you anything.'

'This is useless,' said Pinky, jabbing the gun harder into Matt's chest. 'I know these Regiment boys. It takes a long time to break them under torture. We'd need electricity, tongs, wires – the works.'

Alison nodded, glancing down at Matt. 'You hold him, I'll retrieve the money,' she said. 'It's got to be around here somewhere. Once we've found it, we'll finish him off.' She glanced downwards, meeting Matt's eyes. 'Anyway, it'll be useful to have a couple of holes in the ground. These two will be needing them.'

Escape, thought Matt – the word rattled through his brain. It was another lesson he had learned in the Regiment – a soldier who is still alive is a soldier who still has a chance of survival.

He watched as Alison paced about the clearing in the wood. She'd picked up a small spade from the bag Perky was guarding, and her eyes were rooted to the ground, examining it the way a doctor examines a patient, searching for any scratches or wounds in the surface. She knelt, picked up a piece of wet earth, and tossed it aside. She walked on a few more yards, stopping again, digging her fingers into the mud, turning it over.

Not there, thought Matt. You're not even warm.

The rain had picked up force now, and was spitting down into Matt's face. He could feel the water clinging to his hair and getting inside his clothes, dampening his whole body. The blood was still seeping from Ivan's head, the wound not yet staunched, and it was mixing with the rain, flowing away from his body. Matt could see some of it starting to seep into his jeans, staining them from blue to crimson.

'I'm going to enjoy the next few minutes,' said Pinky, grinning down into Matt's face. 'I always thought you were a difficult bastard.'

Matt could see Alison changing direction. She was walking towards one of the big oaks – not the biggest tree surrounding the clearing, but still a mammoth towering a hundred feet above them. She paused, examining the ground. There was a pile of leaves. Some were oak leaves, others were ash, all mixed together. The look on her face told Matt that she had seen something. If the ash leaves had fallen naturally they wouldn't be here; they would be a dozen yards away, at least. They were here only because someone had moved them. To hide something.

She's cracked it, thought Matt.

I can start reciting those psalms for myself.

Alison started scratching away at the pile, pushing the leaves aside roughly. She threw her hand into the mud. Matt could see her leaning over, then saw the spade chucking out piles of mud.

'It's here!' she shouted, her voice carried on the wind. 'I've found it!'

Another shot shattered the peace of the clearing, a single bullet cutting through the air.

'Don't!' shouted Alison from across the wood. 'I want to fire the bullet that kills him.'

Blood smeared across Pinky's face. Saliva drooled from his lips. His eyes bulged from his skull, his knees wobbled, and for a few brief seconds he tried to regain his balance. Then he fell forwards, his body crashing into Matt's chest. The wind was knocked out of him and it took half a second for him to recover his breath and to open his eyes to see what had happened. Pinky was lying flat across him, blood jetting from the back of his head like water from a tap. A hole, about the size of a penny coin, had been opened up – and it looked as if the bullet had travelled right through his brain, emerging just below his left eye, blowing open a square inch of his cheek.

Matt's first thought was a strange one: Whoever the hell fired that was a heck of a fine shot.

Using his forearms and summoning all his strength, Matt heaved Pinky's body directly on top of him. In the next few minutes, if he was any judge, there was going to be a lot more shooting. Pinky wasn't the best raw material for a shield: but right now, he was all Matt had available, and he would have to do.

The body was warm and sticky on top of him, a few final breaths still spluttering from his mouth as the last remnants of life ebbed away from him. The blood poured from his wound on to Matt, running over his neck. Matt closed his mouth tightly shut to make sure he didn't swallow any. There was some resistance in Pinky's arms, but the damage done to his brain stopped him from co-ordinating his movements.

Matt swivelled his eyes beneath Pinky's body. Five yards ahead of him he could see that Perky had thrown himself behind a tree, taking cover from the gunfire. His head and the barrel of his gun were just peeking out from behind the trunk, the pistol pointed in Matt's direction.

What the hell is going on?

Matt looked up. Alison had dropped two of the yellow canvas bags, and was running towards where Perky was stationed behind a tree. 'What the hell happened?' she shouted.

'How in the name of Christ should I know?' Matt heard Perky snap, his voice raw and ragged.

'Finish Browning now!' Alison shouted. 'Finish him!'

Matt could just see Perky, twenty yards away, holding the pistol in two hands, steadying himself and squinting to take aim. He rolled backwards, splashing into the blood and the mud. Using all his strength he held Pinky tightly to his body, making sure he covered every inch.

Two shots rang out. Perky stepped back with the gun's recoil. Pinky's body jumped as the first bullet slammed into his torso, and as the second sliced through his right leg.

If he wasn't dead already, he is now.

The clearing fell silent, and for a moment all Matt could do was smell the smoke of the bullets and feel the rain washing against his face. His hand inched forward, picking up the Walther that had fallen from Pinky's hand. Matt held it tightly checking the magazine. There were six bullets still inside. If he needed to, he could shoot both Alison and Perky three times.

He peered up carefully. From the shadows playing on the ground he could tell that both Perky and Alison were still stationed behind the tree, about twenty-five yards from where he was lying. They were whispering to each other, but the rain made it impossible to hear a single word. He glanced behind him. Thirty yards back there was a ridge in the ground, where the woods hit the fields. It was from somewhere behind there that the shot that had taken Pinky down had come from.

With Pinky's body as a shield, he started inching backwards toward the ridge. Progress was painfully slow. He had to shuffle an inch at a time, mainly using the strength of his stomach muscles, all the time dragging the corpse.

But if I can get behind that ridge, my chances of survival are going to dramatically improve.

Another bullet slammed into Pinky's body, making it jerk. Then another one. Matt buried himself tighter into the mud, the corpse above him. He could see both Alison and Perky leaning out from the tree, firing into him. It was impossible to raise his own gun to get a clear shot back at them without exposing himself to murderous fire.

Nothing to do but dig, shuffle and pray.

Two more shots rang out, then two more. This volley of fire came from behind the ridge. Splinters of bark split away from the trunk of the oak that hid Alison and Perky, and they disappeared behind it.

They're giving me covering fire, thought Matt.
Whoever they are, they are good men.

He inched further backwards, straining every muscle to move another yard towards the ridge. I've got to get back there, he realised. Alison's going to be calling up reinforcements on her mobile. Another twenty minutes and we'll have a battalion of marines descending on us.