Assassin

72

Jack Grantham could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, the fire-engines and ambulances racing to the blazing barn and the casualties it had contained.

He looked around frantically, saw Ravnsborg talking to Morten, the anti-terrorist officer, and sprinted towards him shouting, 'Stop them! The emergency services – make them stop!'

Ravnsborg's face was a mixture of puzzlement and irritation. 'Why?'

'They mustn't see what's happened here. Not yet. If you want to catch the man who did all this, for God's sake stop them!'

Ravnsborg picked his phone out of his pocket, pressed a speed-dial button and snapped out an order. Seconds later the sirens fell quiet.

He looked at Grantham. 'You have one minute. Then they come. There are seriously injured men here. They cannot wait.'

'They're dead,' said Grantham.

Morten shook his head. 'Larsson, maybe. His injuries are terrible. He won't make it. But the other one, Carver. He'll live.'

'No,' said Grantham. 'That's the whole point. He's got to die. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, the man who bombed the Haakon Hotel died here. He killed himself when surrounded by the police. Case closed. Pats on the back all round.'

'But then the other man, Tyzack, will get away,' said Ravnsborg.

'There's no "will" about it,' Grantham pointed out. 'He already has got away. And he's not coming back. But if he thinks Carver's been blamed for the bombing, then he'll be feeling pleased with himself, a little bit cocky. So he won't take the precautions he'd take if he knew he was wanted for mass murder.'

Ravnsborg nodded. 'OK, so you will help us track him down, yes? If he returns to Britain, he will be arrested and deported back to Oslo for trial.'

Jack Grantham was almost certain that Damon Tyzack had recruited Bill Selsey and compromised the Secret Intelligence Service. He had no intention of letting him anywhere near a criminal court, particularly not one in a foreign country with no concern for British security. But there was no point getting into that now.

'Exactly,' he said in a spirit of international cooperation. 'That's just what I had in mind.'

'But what about Carver?' asked Ravnsborg. 'How can we say he is dead, when obviously he is not?'

'No, he isn't,' said Grantham, making Ravsnborg frown at the apparent tone of regret in his voice. Grantham's face brightened: 'But that's not a problem. The man who died in that barn isn't Samuel Carver at all. Samuel Carver doesn't exist. He's Paul Jackson, late of the Royal Marines and the Special Boat Service – just another twisted, embittered special forces veteran who came to a sticky end. There's a lot of it about these days. And Jackson certainly does exist. We'll give you all the paperwork you need: service records, photographs. Just say the word and it's yours. By the way,' he added, looking at his watch, 'it's been more like three minutes than one.'

'I know,' said Ravnsborg, with the faintest trace of a smile. 'And if we wait another three the fire will have destroyed the building completely. And, sadly, much of the forensic evidence will be destroyed, too.'

'What about Larsson?' Morten asked.

'Put him on your helicopter, fly him out,' said Ravnsborg. 'It will be faster, anyway.'

'And Carver?' Grantham asked. 'He's going to need treatment, but he can't go anywhere near a hospital. We need someone discreet who can be trusted absolutely…'

Ravnsborg made another call. When it was over, he said, 'It's done. There will be a doctor waiting for us, a man who has worked for the police for years. He is retired now, but only recently, and he was the best. He will meet us at his house. But we need a way of getting Carver there without attracting attention.'

'How about that?' said Grantham, nodding towards Larsson's giant Volvo. 'Lie him down in the back, there's plenty of room. The woman who came with Larsson, is she Carver's?'

'She has a relationship with him, yes,' said Ravnsborg. 'Her name is Madeleine Cross. She is American.'

'He gets around, that boy, I'll say that for him,' remarked Grantham. 'Come on then, let's go and have a word with Ms Cross.'

'No need,' said Morten. 'She is coming to us.'

Jack Grantham knew no more about the workings of the female mind than any other male. But he didn't need to be an expert to see that Madeleine Cross was one shocked, distraught and furious woman. She aimed for Ravnsborg, the only man of the three she recognized, and launched right in.

'What's the matter with you people? Where're the ambulances? I heard the sirens but they stopped and there are wounded men down there. They're going to die and you're just standing around doing nothing. What's going on here?'

Ravnsborg let her anger crash him like the waves against a cliff. Then he gently placed two huge hands on her shoulders and said, 'I understand your distress, Mrs Cross. But please, do not be concerned. Look, do you see the men near Mr Larsson?'

She turned to look back the way she had just come. Members of the anti-terrorist unit were placing Larsson on a stretcher. From beyond the main house came the sound of a helicopter engine.

'He is being airlifted to Oslo,' Ravnsborg continued. 'It is his best chance. We are getting Mr Carver treatment, too. And you, Mrs Cross, are going to help us. Come, let me explain…'

Ravnsborg led her away towards the Volvo. Grantham was just about to follow them when Morten grabbed his arm. 'Just a moment,' Morten said. He waited until the other two were out of earshot before he spoke again. 'Your plan is very clever, Mr Grantham, but you have forgotten one thing.'

'Really?' said Grantham with studied casualness. 'What might that be?'

'Larsson. Whether he lives or dies, he has to be explained. Armed personnel surround a building where a terrorist is hiding and not one of them is even scratched. But a civilian is killed while they all stand around doing nothing. How does that happen?'

Grantham chuckled condescendingly. 'Yes, I can see how that might be a problem… particularly for the man who commands those armed men. But don't worry, I think you'll find that Mr Larsson died a hero. He's some kind of weapons expert, as I recall. I dare say he was called in to defuse the booby-traps, something like that. Brilliant man, terrible loss, deeply missed, that's the big picture. I'll think of the details. Don't worry, Morten, that's what I do. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a Volvo to catch…'

Jack Grantham strode away towards the car. By the time he got there, Carver's unconscious body was already being lifted aboard.