A Good day to die

42

I started walking back in the direction of the village. Above me the sky was an angry morass of clouds skitting west to east, obscuring the light of the three-quarter moon at regular intervals. A hard wind whipped about my shoulders, colder than the one I'd left behind in London, and I pulled up my collar in a futile effort to curb the draught that threatened to whistle right through me.

The house next door to Thadeus's place was a wide single-storey ranch-style building, complete with a huge wagon wheel attached to an artificial rock in the driveway. There were four cars parked up and plenty of lights on inside, but the owners were obviously less security-conscious than Mr Thadeus, because the main gate was open.

I stepped onto the drive and made my way over to a path at the side of the house, keeping close to the wall that linked the two properties. I could hear the clink of glasses and the high-pitched laughter of middle-aged women who'd had too much to drink. It sounded as though there was a party going on in there, and I felt vaguely jealous that they probably had nothing more to worry about than hangovers the next day.

Halfway down the path, a newish-looking garden shed backed onto the boundary wall. I climbed on top of it as quietly as possible, and peered straight into the thick foliage on Thadeus's side of the wall. Not hearing any movement on the other side, I heaved myself up and over the wall, sliding down until I hit the ground with little more than a rustle of leaves and a grunt. Recovering, I pushed my way through the bushes and slowly poked my head out the other side.

I was about twenty yards from the corner of Thadeus's house. Between me and it was a neatly trimmed lawn that looked beautifully green, even in this light. There was a small single-storey gatehouse behind one of the gateposts, which was not visible from the road outside. A light was on in the gatehouse and I could see the balding profile of a man sitting in there. There were several screens in front of him, which were obviously the views from security cameras, but he didn't appear to be watching them very closely. From the angle of his head, I guessed he was reading a book and trying to look as subtle about it as possible, just in case the boss was watching. There was only one way of checking whether or not Theo was right about him being the only security, and that was to wait.

So that's what I did.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. I was on the verge of concluding that Thadeus was confident there was no way I was coming for him, so had not bothered beefing up his protection, when a guard in full uniform and a peaked cap ambled round from the back of the house, smoking a cigarette. He had an Alsatian dog with him. I'd half expected this. The guards had to have something to scare away intruders, since I suspected that neither of them had any weapons of their own. It's one of the quirks of British law that you can employ security guards to protect your life and property, but their powers of arrest and use of force are so limited that they're largely ineffective. Even if their dog bites you, they could be found liable in a civil court – but observing this hound, I didn't think he was going to present too much of a problem. He was obviously well-fed and looked fairly close to retirement. The guard with him, who looked pretty close to retirement himself, was having to pull on the lead just to get him to keep to the ambling pace. The dog stopped and I thought he might have caught a whiff of my scent, but he cocked his leg and took a quick leak, while the guard puffed loudly on his smoke, pausing between drags to clear his throat.

I slipped back into the cover of the bushes, pushed my scarf up so it was covering my face from the bridge of my nose down, and waited as the dog finished his business and they continued their walk. The keys on the guard's belt jangled loudly as he got nearer. The art of surprise had clearly never been a major part of his repertoire.

I watched as they drew level with me, about ten feet away. The dog still didn't seem to smell anything, but as he came within sight of the gatehouse twenty yards away, he began to speed up. Maybe it was dinner time.

I came out as silently as possible, took four quick strides and placed a gloved hand over the guard's mouth, pulling him back into a tight embrace. At the same time, I pushed the silencer into his cheek. The dog turned and growled angrily. It looked like he was going to attempt to earn his keep for once. I had to act fast.

'Call the dog off or it dies,' I told him in muffled tones, 'and keep very quiet. Now.' I removed my hand, but kept the gun in exactly the same position.

'It's all right, Prince,' the guard whispered nervously, leaning down to pet the dog, who relaxed his posture slightly. 'Calm, boy,' he said, then looked at me. 'I don't want any trouble, mister. I'm not going to resist, all right?'

'You do what I say, no one'll get hurt. I've got no interest in you.' I let go of him. 'Now keep walking and make for the gatehouse. When you get there, go inside as you would do normally, and I'll take over from there. And please don't try anything, because I will kill you. I guarantee it.'

My voice was calm, which in my experience is usually the best means of convincing someone that you're serious, particularly when you're threatening to shoot them. Come over all panicky and nervous and they'll think that maybe they haven't lost all control of the situation, and try and do something about it. Particularly old-timers like this guy. He might have been pretty crap at his work, but I'd bet he still took pride in it, and wouldn't want to be made to look a fool.

I gave him a push and he started walking. The dog continued to growl, but followed when he gave it a pull on the lead. I wasn't sure what I was going to do about old Prince. I couldn't very well kill him (not after seeing what the death of Tex had done to its owner), but I couldn't exactly leave him loose, either.

'How many in the house?' I asked him. 'And answer quietly.'

'I don't know. This is my first night here. We only got called up on short notice.'

'But you were met by someone?'

'Yeah, the guy who owns the place. He's the only one I've seen.'

'OK, keep quiet now.'

As we reached the gatehouse, he opened the door and stepped inside, just like I'd told him to. Prince squeezed past him.

'All right, Bill?' said the one sitting down with the book, still obscured from my vision. 'Anything happening?'

I took that as my cue to come in and point my gun at him.

He turned round, saw me with my face hidden by the scarf, and adopted an expression of alarm that was so dramatic, it looked comical. He raised his arms quickly, then froze like a kid in a game of Mr Wolf. The book dropped loudly to the floor. It was a hardback with a title I didn't recognize. He started to speak, but I cut him off with a snapped 'Be quiet!' I turned the gun on Bill and told him to secure the dog.

Bill was sensible. He didn't argue. Neither did he ask me what I thought I was doing, or tell me I was making a big mistake. He just connected Prince's lead to a hook on the wall. There was still enough slack for the dog to move around, but not to get at me.

'Now muzzle him.'

Bill found a muzzle on the worktop, beside a kettle and a couple of mugs, and leant down to do the honours.

I turned back to Bill's colleague. 'Move away from the desk and face the wall.'

He paused, staring at me like he knew it was the end, and I had to tell him again, adding that if he co-operated nothing would happen to him. I motioned with the gun towards the wall. Finally, he did what he was told, but he still didn't look too sure about it, even with my words of reassurance.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bill move his hand towards the hook. He was going to try something. I couldn't believe it. I swung round and his hand stopped six inches from its target. He tried to put on an innocent expression, but it didn't really work. I started to tell him that it wasn't worth dying a hero, but before I could finish, his friend lunged forward and rugby-tackled me round the waist with surprising speed, one hand grabbing wildly for my gun arm, before clamping over my wrist with a strength driven by adrenalin.

'Help me, Bill,' he shouted, panic in his breath.

Bill went for the hook again, and I fell back hard against the door frame under the weight of the assault, my gun arm forced skywards.

Reflexively, I pulled the trigger. It might even have been completely accidental, I'm not sure. Either way, the result was the same. The silencer spat and the bullet caught Bill in the head. At least, I thought it did. He cried out and fell backwards, tripping over Prince before landing on his arse, both hands clutching at the side of his head.

'I'm hit!' he wailed, as blood seeped through his fingers. Prince jumped on him, whining balefully. 'I'm down, help me.'

As Bill's colleague turned round to see what was going on, he relaxed his grip on my wrist and I took the opportunity to pull my arm free and shove the silencer against his cheek.

'Oh God,' he said, at which point I kneed him very hard in the bollocks and pushed him away. As he doubled over in pain, I grabbed hold of him and pushed him back into the seat he'd been occupying until a few seconds earlier.

I turned to Bill. He was wailing, and Prince was now licking the blood running down his fingers with worrying enthusiasm. 'You've shot me,' he said, sounding like he was going to be with us for a few seconds yet.

'In the ear,' I replied. 'I shot you in the ear, and it was an accident. If you want to blame anyone, blame your friend,' I said. 'Now get up and muzzle that dog, like you were meant to do in the first place.'

At first he didn't move, but when I threatened to shoot him in the other ear he finally managed to take his hands away from the wound and do as he was told. It was still bleeding but, unlike Jamie Delly's, the ear remained largely intact.

I got Bill's colleague to open the drawers of the desk in front of him, and located a pair of plastic handcuffs in the second one down. I sat them both in the corner, next to Prince, and got Bill's partner to cuff them both together at the wrist and throw me the key. They assured me that they wouldn't do a thing if I left them as they were, but they were hardly immobile, or likely to be true to their word, so I hunted round until I found a ball of thick green string and a pair of scissors in another drawer, and bound them together back to back, before tying a double reef knot at the end. You wouldn't have to be Houdini to get out of it, but it would take a while, and a while was all I wanted.

'I need an ambulance,' said Bill when I'd finished. 'I'm losing a lot of blood. I feel faint.'

He wasn't losing a lot of blood. The bullet had somehow only managed to cause a minor flesh wound, but I was beginning to feel sorry for them both, so I found a clean rag, wet it in the sink and wrapped it round his ear.

I removed a small bunch of keys from Bill's belt and asked him which one opened the house.

'I don't know,' he answered. 'He never told us. This cloth's really cold. It's dripping water everywhere.'

I got back to my feet. 'Remind me never to hire your security outfit,' I said, and left them there, explaining that I'd call an ambulance shortly so long as they were quiet. 'Make a noise and you can stay like that all night.'

When I was outside, I found the key for the gatehouse door and locked it. Then I turned and, as quietly as possible, began making my way towards the house, keeping close to the foliage.