Rider (18 page)

He was sweaty and bloody and shaking, one eye bruised and closed, his other darting around, panic clearly visible on his face. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he said, his voice broken. He raised his arms in supplication, his thumb still on the button.

‘Jesus,’
Wilson
said. To his radio, he said, ‘get a BD team down here fast.’

He adopted a firing stance, his gun trained on Kane.

‘Kane? What’s going on, mate?’

Down the street, Margaret was straining in her wheelchair to see what was happening. She was too far away and there were too many obstacles in her way to allow her a clear vision of the club.

‘What’s happening? I can’t see.’

Dixon
stepped up beside Simpson and said, ‘It’s all right, I’ve got her from here.’

‘She’s under my protection detail,’ Simpson said.

‘Someone tell me what’s going on,’ Margaret said.

Dixon
took the handles of Margaret’s wheelchair and said to Simpson, ‘You’re relieved of your duties, Officer.’

‘It’s Detective,’ Simpson said. ‘And you have no authority.’

‘Man,’
Dixon
laughed, ‘I’m Interpol. I have authority over everything. Step aside.’

Along the street,
Wilson
was saying, ‘Come on, Kane. Talk to me. What’s the deal?’

Kane said, ‘I can’t. Let go. Explode.’

Margaret said, ‘I can’t see what’s going on. Where’s Kane? Where’s David. Get me up there.’

Dixon
put a staying hand on her shoulder. ‘We’re just going to sit here and watch the show for now, love.’ He wheeled Margaret away from the others and he leaned in close, whispering, ‘Listen, sweetheart. That husband of yours—we sort of have a little understanding. I want you to tell him something for me, okay?’

From behind her cover, Ann Clark aimed her gun, sighting it between Kane and the club’s door. Bernhard still had to be inside.

Trained for intense situations, she quickly took in the scene without losing her focus. The club was surrounded, front and back. Snipers were stationed on rooftops and the police had cordoned off the street and ensured neighbouring buildings were evacuated. A crowd had gathered at either end of the road, intent on viewing whatever spectacle there was to be seen.

To one side,
Dixon
had taken on babysitting duties of Margaret Bernhard, and
Clark
was grateful that, from Margaret’s position, she could see very little. She had only ever seen Ryan’s mother in photographs before now. She had known her to be a strong-willed woman with an independent mind.

NCIS had ruled Mrs Bernhard out of their inquiry almost a year ago, months before Ryan ever came forward as a witness and potential asset. They had been following Bernhard and his associates for some time. He had long favoured himself as the family man and often brought Margaret along to his meetings, speaking in code and displaying her like a prize while ensuring she knew nothing of the true nature of his business affairs.

Interpol’s
Northern Ireland
team assigned to the operations reported on Margaret’s whereabouts for months before they marked her as non-threatening. They were told by
London
to maintain observations throughout but to assume a relaxed view of her involvement. It was recent events, particularly the murder of her son, which proved her innocence and ultimately led to Pat Wilson’s decision to bring her over now.

Clark still wasn’t sure about the idea—using a civilian for negotiations went against everything she had been taught, everything she had learned—but Wilson was her superior and she bowed to his better judgement.

With her peripheral vision alert to change, she kept her gun raised and stared at Kane and the doorway behind him.

Kane was clearly panicked, his body tense, and he was using all his concentration on keeping the detonator in his hand depressed.

She watched as he kept his hands in the air, his arms wavering slightly, and she saw tears in his eyes. Whatever Bernhard had used to beat Kane’s face with, he had done a good job.

Wilson
said, ‘It’s all right, Kane. I know you’re not going to let go of the release.’

‘What do I do?’ Kane begged.

‘Keep your finger down. You can do it. We’ll get you out of it in a minute. Where’s—?’

David Bernhard loomed in the doorway, breaking shadows and hovering on the threshold. His greying hair was dishevelled and sweat beaded his face. He raised a gun and pointed it at the back of Kane’s head.

‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘Anyone moves, I put a hole in the back of his skull and we all go up.’

Clark
tightened her grip on her handgun and kept a steady aim.

Wilson
took one sideways step, closer to the front of the car he had been tucked behind. ‘All you’ll succeed in doing is blowing him and yourself up, Bernhard. Where’s the fun in that?’ He had seen similar explosives used in the past and the blast radius was confined.

David laughed, cold and harsh. ‘Not with three pounds of ball bearings encased in the C4,’ he said. ‘You know the kind of damage that can do?’

Clark
cursed, quickly clocked up the number of people around her, most of them secreted behind vehicles. It really wasn’t looking like a good idea to have Margaret Bernhard in the middle of it all and she could see from Mickey Brown’s face that he felt the same way.

Wilson
’s radio burst to life and a sniper said, ‘I have the shot.’

Wilson
raised a hand. ‘Hold off. Let’s talk this over, David.’

‘You gonna boil the kettle?’ David asked. ‘I could murder a brew.’

‘Mate,’
Wilson
said, ‘if you want to come and talk, I’ll make you a cup of tea myself.’

‘I have nothing to say to you,’ David said.

Wilson
took another step. ‘I didn’t think you would.’

‘Stay where you are,’ David shouted.

Into her radio,
Clark
said, ‘Easy, Pat. Now’s not the time.’

Wilson
ignored her, signalled down the street to
Dixon
. ‘I have someone you might want to talk to.
Dixon
, bring her up. Not too close.’

Dixon
raised the police tape and wheeled Margaret inside the barrier. ‘Remember what I said,’ he told her, his voice low. ‘Tell him to keep his mouth shut or it’s going to be bad for everyone.’

Margaret settled her clutch bag in her lap, allowed
Dixon
to wheel her forward and, barely moving her lips, said, ‘Fuck off.’

* * *

He had no idea what to do. When David had carefully strapped the bomb to his chest, Kane hadn’t expected this. What he
had
expected, what he had hoped for, was that David would set a timer, leave Kane in the building, and flee the scene. But now, with his thumb on a detonator and the risk of killing other people, innocent people, Kane was beyond terrified.

A few minutes ago, inside the club, he had hoped for an end. He had nothing left to live for—Ryan had been his life for eight years and despite the doubt, despite the recent revelations, he knew that he could never love another. When the government put its backing behind civil partnerships, they had even discussed the possibility of getting married, of making it official. Before all this, Kane would have been willing to give up his life for Ryan. Because of all this, he was willing to give up his life to
be
with him.

When he saw Margaret being wheeled forward, he sobbed. ‘Margaret,’ he cried.

Behind him, David said, ‘Jesus, what is this? “This is Your Life”?’

‘Let’s put the guns down and chat, eh?’
Wilson
said.

‘Hi, honey,’ David said. ‘I would have called but…I’ve sort of had my hands full here.’

Kane kept his eyes on Margaret, kept his shoulders taut, kept his thumb on the detonator.

Standing behind Margaret,
Dixon
put a firm hand on her shoulder.

‘
Dixon
,’ David said, smiling.

‘Tell him,’
Dixon
whispered to Margaret.

‘I thought I smelt your disease,’ David continued. ‘Had any more kids since I paid off the last whore for you? Get your grubby hands off my wife.’

Wilson and Clark snapped their heads round to
Dixon
but
Wilson
just as quickly trained his gun back on David. Clark aimed firmly at
Dixon
.

‘
Dixon
?’ she questioned.

‘What? The man’s a lunatic.’

Clark
nodded to Detectives Simpson and Parker. ‘I knew you were a weasel,’ she said, ‘but a rat?’

Simpson and Parker were on him instantly, restraining him, removing his weapon and radio, and they cuffed him.

David laughed. ‘Never trust a copper. They’re all bent,’ he said.

Wilson
said, ‘I’ll deal with you later,
Dixon
. Mrs Bernhard, are you all right?’

Dixon
protested his innocence but
Clark
said, ‘Save it for the inquest.’

Margaret nodded, said, ‘Get me closer.’

‘Stay where you are, love,’ David called to her.

‘Don’t call me love.’

‘What do you say we go on a holiday when this is over, eh? Just you and me.’

‘Somebody take me closer,’ Margaret said. ‘He’ll listen to me. I can make him see sense.’ She looked directly at
Wilson
. ‘Trust me. I know him better than anybody.’

An officer stepped up behind Margaret and looked to
Wilson
for clarification.
Wilson
nodded, said, ‘Not too close.’

‘Stay where you are,’ David said again.

Kane took a deep breath, said, ‘No,’ and pressed his lips together.

‘Come on, David, let’s not be foolish here,’
Wilson
said.

* * *

‘I’ll blow his head off, I swear I will.’ David stepped out of the gloomy doorway and pressed his gun to Kane’s head. ‘Margaret?’ he said, half questioning, half commanding.

Margaret gripped the small bag in her lap and from her earpiece, the negotiator said, ‘Keep your voice calm, love. I’m with you. Tell him you’re here to help him sort this out.’

‘What the hell are you playing at, David?’ she said.

‘Cool it,’ the negotiator advised her. ‘Tell him it’s all right, there is a way out.’

‘I did this for us,’ David said. She could see the anger and the strain on his face.

She took a deep breath. ‘You killed my son.’ Saying it aloud, finally acknowledging the fact, created a pain in her chest. She knew it was a psychological pain rather than a physical one, but it hurt nonetheless.

‘It was an accident,’ David said.

‘He was stabbed,’ Margaret told him. ‘What kind of an accident is that?’

‘We were in
Spain
,’ David said. ‘They were only supposed to rough him up, not kill him. Margaret, please.’ She detected a slight crack in his voice. ‘You have to believe me. I could never do something to hurt you.’

From his position by a parked car,
Wilson
took another step.

‘Stay where you are,’ David said. ‘I mean it.’

‘He was my son,’ Margaret told him.

‘I love you,’ David said.

‘Don’t you dare say that. You love no one but yourself, you selfish, pigheaded, evil bastard.’

* * *

Kane felt the gun against the back of his head, felt the rivulets of sweat on his back. Margaret was uncomfortably close if the bomb on his chest was going to go off and he was convinced he couldn’t keep his finger on the detonator for much longer. He could already feel the nerves twitching in his hand, feel the muscles cramping.

Sweat and fear stung his eyes and his legs were weak.

When David had said he loved Margaret and she retaliated with obscenities, Kane felt the pressure of the gun on his head slacken, knew that David was turning to face his wife.

‘How can you say that?’ David asked. ‘You know I love you.’

Impulse brought life to Kane’s limbs. Sensing David’s attention shifting, he turned, grabbed David’s arm, swung himself around and pulled David in tight to him, David’s back against Kane’s chest, against the bomb.