Fortress

58

‘Is there a problem?’

Tom maintained the dismayed-visitor pose but he knew it was timed out.

Colburn was keeping his weapon in his hand below the waist but his eyes fixed on Tom. ‘In the back, motherfucker.’

Tom raised his hands.

They reached the doorway of the back office, where a desk was piled with paper and a monitor showed the CCTV. Phil was already through the door so there was going to be a second pair of eyes and another weapon on him when he passed through.

This was Texas; their buddy was dead and they were looking at the reason. Tom knew there was no thinking about what he had to do, he just had to get on and do it — and maybe come out of it the other end. He kept his eyes down, focused on Colburn’s gut with the weapon in the right hand, down by the thigh. He slammed his shoulder hard into Colburn, who toppled over, taking Don with him. This gave Tom just enough space to get past and through the doorway. He started towards Phil.

Everything was now in ultra-slow motion. Phil and Tom had eye-to-eye. Phil should have known what Tom was going to do; he could have stopped, he could have put his hands up.

Tom heard shouts behind him. He caught the reaction in Phil’s eyes as he jinked to the left and out of sight of the other two just outside the office, his left hand reaching down. Tom kept looking at the target. With his left hand he grabbed a fistful of his own shirt front and yanked it up, his elbow held high to make sure he could clear the material from his stomach and expose the pistol grip of the suppressed Glock. He’d only get one chance.

They still had eye contact. Phil started to shout but Tom didn’t hear. He pushed the web of his right hand down onto the pistol grip. If he got this wrong he wouldn’t be able to aim correctly: he would miss and die. As he felt his hand make contact with the pistol grip, his lower three fingers clasped tight around it. His index finger was outside the trigger guard, parallel with the barrel. He didn’t want to pull the trigger early and kill himself. Phil was still looking, still shouting.

Phil’s hand was nearly at his pocket.

Nothing else mattered for Tom, apart from bringing his weapon into the right position all in a fraction of a second.

Their eyes were still locked. Tom knew he was faster, and he saw that Phil knew he had lost. There was just a curling of the lips. Phil knew he was going to die.

As Tom’s pistol came out he flicked it parallel with the ground. No time to extend his arms and get into a stable firing position.

His left hand was still pulling his shirt out of the way and the pistol was now just level with his belt buckle. There was no need to look at it: he knew where it was and what it was pointing at. He kept his eyes on the target and Phil’s never left Tom’s.

Now the muzzle was clear from his waistband, Tom simply brought the weapon up, twisting his wrist to raise the weapon’s barrel until it was parallel with the ground and against his hip, making sure he cleared his body away from the muzzle as much as possible.

Bend that hip back and he knew he’d have a firm position for the pistol.

He pulled the trigger.

The weapon report seemed to bring everything back into real time. The first round hit Phil. Tom didn’t know where; he didn’t need to. His eyes told him all he wanted to know.

He kept on firing low into Phil. There was no such thing as overkill. If Phil could move, he could fire. If it took a whole magazine to be sure, then that was what he’d fire. He took three rounds until he was down onto the ground, writhing in pain and shock as blood spurted out. Tom could no longer see Phil’s hands. He was curled up in a ball, holding his stomach. Tom moved forward and fired two aimed shots at the head, then spun round.

The other two were now in the room. Tom kept firing low until they, too, were down, in a lake of their own blood. As their legs flailed, they smeared it, like angel wings in the snow. The men’s screams sounded muffled for a moment; it wasn’t until Tom started to move that the volume bounced back up.

Colburn collapsed into the doorway, blocking it, but for now that didn’t matter. All that did was getting the weapons away from reach.

Colburn tried futilely to grab hold of him. Tom turned, brought the pistol down against his thigh and zapped off another round.

That one definitely hit the bone. He heard the thud and crunch. Colburn’s screams drowned out the others’.

Tom grabbed him by the feet and pulled him into the room. The expanse of blood on the floor made it easy. He closed the door.

Don was closest to him. Tom bent down into his face and screamed at him: ‘Why are we all fucked up because of the van?’

All Tom got was a mouthful of blood spat out at him. There was no time for this. Don got another round, this time into his gut, before Tom turned and went back to Colburn.

Colburn had got the message. ‘It’s been seen.’

‘By who? By Jefferson?’

He got a shaky nod.

‘Zuabi? You know who I’m talking about, don’t you? What about Zuabi?’

He didn’t give any indication whatsoever. Tom leaned down again. ‘What the fuck has it got to do with Jefferson? What was his problem with Zuabi?’

Colburn hesitated.

‘Yes, Jefferson’s dead. Want to join him?’

Tom could see it clearly in his face, even if it was screwed up in pain as he breathed in short, sharp pants: message received.

‘Mogadishu — Black Hawk down, man. He lost his brother. Those fuckers cut him into little pieces. Motherfuckers cut him up. And now they’re over here, taking over the country. That’s the fucking problem.’

Tom went over to the CCTV and ripped out the hard drive. Some wires were screwed in, some clipped. Leads dangled out of the back, like long, slim dreadlocks.

Then he grabbed hold of the cordless phone as the monitor started to pixellate and threw it through the door to join the weapons in the shop.

Colburn gave a sob and his breath came shorter and weaker.

Tom stuck his head back through the door. ‘If you fuckers tell anyone about what’s happened here, you know I’ll be back looking for you.’

He closed the door, then wiped the handle with his sleeve and headed for the van.