Assassin

60

'Oh I see, you were doing me a favour, were you?' Tyzack sneered. 'And I'm the amateur, am I? But even I know that a true fighting man doesn't let his brother warriors down. That's why I was willing to let the matter rest. All right, so you humiliated me in front of the men and risked my life making me set up the charges and swim to the boat. But never mind, I'd have let bygones be bygones. But no, you felt obliged to deliver a full report to Trench. And that meant he was obliged to have a court martial. He didn't want to, but you left him no alternative. Trench told me that in a letter. I've still got it. He even said he'd put in a good word for me with my old man…'

'Did he really?' Carver gave a weary, humourless laugh. 'Sounds like Trench. Hope you didn't believe him.'

'Didn't make any difference either way. My dear old daddy just did what he'd always done. He got out his horsewhip and thrashed me… rather like I've thrashed you, actually. I always thought to myself I'd pass on the favour one day, so that's one resolution kept. My mother, of course, just stood there, doing nothing, just fiddling with her pearl necklace while he beat the hell out of me. I should have killed him then, of course. I don't know why I didn't, because I was more than strong enough, but I… I…' Tyzack sighed. 'For some reason I couldn't fight back. Why was that, do you suppose? I just stood there and took my beating like a man. That was my father's great phrase: Take it like a man. Oh well, I made him take it a few years later. I thought about my darling parents and made an executive decision. I had to let them go.'

'You killed them?' asked Carver.

'No, I sent them on holiday to Barbados. Oh, for goodness' sake, do I have to spell it out?'

'I just wanted to make sure. And by the way, in case you've ever wondered what happened to Trench, he tried to have me eliminated, but I got to him first.'

'Really?' asked Tyzack, genuinely interested. 'What did you do to him?'

'I fired a flare gun into his face at point-blank range and turned him into a human torch.'

A smile crossed Tyzack's face. 'And you loved it, didn't you? I can tell.'

'Yes, I admit, that one did give me a certain satisfaction. So there have been times when I've gone too far. Innocent people have died. But if you think that makes me anything at all like you, you're wrong. I may cross the line, but you don't even know the line is there.'

Tyzack laughed. 'Do you have any idea how absurd you sound, giving me your little lectures?'

Carver cracked a battered smile. There was something he needed to know from Tyzack. This might be the chance to get it.

'You think I'm absurd? You spend years obsessing about the harm I'm supposed to have done to you. And all the while, you know what? You never even crossed my mind. Not once. I just didn't give a toss. Why would I care about a loser like you?'

Tyzack's jaw tightened. His breathing became heavier. The mask was cracking again as he fought to contain the rising tide of rage.

At last, after everything he'd been through, Carver had pushed Tyzack to the brink. Come on, he thought. Spit it out. Tell me just how great you are.

'You really shouldn't say things like that,' rasped Tyzack. 'You should know by now what I can do. Just look at yourself. You're a murder suspect in three different countries. Your friends don't want anything more to do with you. You're hanging by the neck from a bloody great rubber band, like a Thunderbird puppet gone spastic… I put you there, and I'm going to leave you there. And while you're busy dying, I am going to…'

Yes, yes! the voice in Carver's head was shouting. What are you going to do?

Tyzack stopped dead. A smile crossed his face, his air of superiority suddenly restored.

'Oh, very good,' he said, as though he had been able to hear the screaming in Carver's brain. 'You nearly had me there. Almost got me to spill the beans about… the big one. Well, I've changed my mind. I think it's more amusing to leave you in suspense.'

Tyzack glanced at the cord from which Carver was hanging. 'No pun intended,' he added. 'Don't worry, though, you will be kept fully in touch with my success, and your failure, as it all unfolds. Watch!'

He removed a remote control from his trouser pocket and aimed it at the nearest television, which sprang into life, as did all the other sets ringing Carver. They were all tuned to the BBC News channel.

'Well, I thought that was only right, don't you think? Mother country and all that. Still, I think it could be a bit louder. I wouldn't want you to miss anything.'

He pressed the volume control and suddenly Carver was assaulted on all sides by a voice promoting a forthcoming Hardtalk interview with an Israeli politician. Wherever Carver turned, he couldn't escape the screens, all carefully positioned just beyond his reach.

'Excellent,' said Tyzack, raising his voice above the television babble. 'But I do think that you need to be taught one last lesson before I go. I've done my best, but I fear you've failed to grasp some of what I've been trying to teach you. I suspect you're not very bright, to be honest. Our relative positions still don't seem clear to you. So let me explain. I've beaten you once…' Tyzack picked up the cane and walked up to Carver's chair.

Carver couldn't help it. He flinched. That was all the encouragement Tyzack needed.

'… I…' He swung the cane, hitting the arms that Carver raised in a desperate bid to protect himself.

'… can…' Carver had bent forward, leaving the raw, hamburger meat of his back exposed. So that's where Tyzack aimed the second blow.

'… do it…' As Carver howled in pain, Tyzack kicked the chair away again, swinging the cane at him and grinning in delight as his desperate attempts to escape only forced him to the limit of the cord's tolerance, gagging him and forcing him back within Tyzack's range as he shouted, '… again!'

The last blow hit Carver just below the diaphragm, doubling him up, and then jerking him back up again as the cord rebounded, a wounded marionette at the mercy of a sadistic puppet-master.

Tyzack stepped back and examined his handiwork. Carver's refusal to accept his version of events had angered and frustrated him, but he had exacted a more than satisfactory price. He was going to have to leave soon. Visar wanted him working on the Bristol job and he couldn't afford to disappoint the Albanian.

He took another look at Carver, who was scrabbling around, trying to reach his chair, which was lying on its back, several feet away from him. Tyzack walked round the barn until he was standing right by the chair, paying very close attention as Carver – now apparently oblivious of his presence – fought the choking power of the cord.

Yes, Tyzack thought. It would be hard and it would hurt a very great deal, but Carver would get the chair. And if he had the chair he could live – or exist at any rate – for a few more days, being driven mad by the pain of his back, the choking frustration of his collar and lead and the unstinting blare of the TV sets. That was perfect. And so, feeling happier than he had done in years, Damon Tyzack walked out of the barn, leaving Carver to his pathetic struggles and padlocking the door behind him.