Gallery Whispers

99

Karen was racked by sobs as she burst out into 'the foyer. As she fought them back, and wiped the tears from her eyes, she saw Inspector Jack Good, the officer on duty at the door, staring across at her. The two security men sat on the ground beside him, but she had no time to think anything of it.

'Has anyone gone out of here?' she demanded.

'I don't know,' Good replied. 'I've been looking after these people.

What's up anyway? Mr Skinner came tearing in here a few minutes back, these two tried to stop him and he just laid them out.'

She ignored him and called across to the two constables who were flanking the door. 'You two, have you seen anyone leave?'

The taller of the men, on the right of the entrance door, looked over his shoulder. 'Three guys went out of here a couple o' minutes back,' he said. 'A well-dressed bloke with a beard, another fella, scruffy like; both of them big chaps, and an Arab guy wi' a turban thing on his heid. Ah asked them if they'd had enough; the scruffy bloke said "Just about". They went along there.' He pointed to his left.

Neville turned back to the Inspector. 'Find Mr Martin, or DI McGuire,' she ordered. 'Tell them the targets have gone to the car park, and that I'm off in pursuit.' He looked after her, bewildered, as she ran through the doorway, and out into the street.

The Centre car park was by no means full, but it was busy nonetheless, most of the spaces taken up by suppliers' vans and staff cars. She looked over the low wall as she approached the gateway, but saw no sign ofVentnor or Hawkins. The constable whom Skinner had almost run over was still at his post. 'Three men, recently?' she gasped.

He understood. 'Away over there, at the back,' he said, pointing to the furthest corner of the park, tucked behind the east wing of the Centre.

She nodded and ran down the roadway, scanning the rows of vehicles, realising how difficult it is to spot a single car among dozens of production-line clones. At last she caught a glimpse of a metallic green roof, and a flash of white material. A second later the soft 'clunk' of a closing door reached her ears.

Drawing her pistol, she stepped into the rank of parked cars; holding it in both hands, arms outstretched. As she approached the green vehicle she saw that the bays on either side were vacant. 'Wayne,' she shouted, almost a scream, as she reached it. 'All of you! Get out of that fucking car!'

Hawkins was behind the wheel, Ventnor was in the front passenger seat, while the third man sat in the back. She stood directly in front of the vehicle, her pistol levelled at a point between them so that she could react to any sudden movement. 'Out!' she called again. 'This is loaded, the safety's off, and I will fire.'

Her lover grinned at her, as he opened his door, calmly and stepped out. On the other side, Hawkins did the same. He no longer wore his heavy glasses, and for the first time she caught a resemblance to the man in the photographs she had been shown weeks before.

'You're not going to shoot me, Karen, love,' Wayne drawled. She saw that he was holding a small box in his right hand.

'Don't bet your life on it, you bastard. Right in the balls if I have to. The other man: I want him out too.'

'Shapoor's harmless, love. Don't you worry about him. Old Hencke and me, we're the dangerous ones. Now just you stand aside and let us drive on out of here.'

'No way.'

He held up the box in his right hand, and pressed downwards with his thumb. She frowned for a moment, then gasped in horror as a compressed, booming, rolling sound came from within the Conference Centre. 'You're too late, Karen,' he said, still smiling as he dropped the box. 'The rest of the Iranian delegation is cosmic fucking dust by now, the Paddies, the Israelis and every one else for yards around them have all bought it. Within an hour there will be a new Government in Iran and a whole new Middle Eastern power structure.

'That's if there's any Middle East left. Sometime in the next thirty minutes CNN will have a call from a so-called Iraqi source claiming responsibility. There's a fair chance they'll take Baghdad right out in response.'

His smile disappeared, and a look which might have been a plea came into his eyes. 'Now, come on, stand aside and let us drive out of here. You've been a great help to us, so far. Don't screw it up now, otherwise Hencke might have to break his promise to me.' She realised that the man she had known as Crombie was holding a gun, and in the fraction of a second which it took her to register the fact, Wayne's right hand came into view and she saw that he had one also.

'Please, Karen,' he said, 'do the sensible thing. Like I said, we both know you can't shoot me.'

'No, but I can.' The voice calm and deadly.

Twenty yards away, Andy Martin stood, barely in their line of sight, his pistol drawn and aimed. Instinctively the two bombers looked towards him. Wayne's right arm moved: and that was it.

Martin fired twice, inside a second, both shots hitting Ventnor in the middle of the forehead. In the same moment, Karen swung her pistol on to Hawkins and pulled the trigger. Only once, but it was enough; her bullet took out his right eye and exited through the back of his head.

The Iranian inside the car screamed and raised his hands. 'Out, out, out!' she yelled at him.

As the man opened the back door and threw himself on to the ground, the chief superintendent was aware of another cry. Softer, terrified, female. He turned towards its source as she stared at the figures on the ground, at the spreading pools of blood.

'What the hell are you doing here, Estelle?' he shouted.

'I slipped our escorts,' the little journalist whispered. 'I wanted to find out who you really were.'

He frowned, grimly, as he re-holstered his pistol. 'Well, now you know. I told you to stick with me if you wanted a scoop… if they let you tell the story, that is.'