Private Princess

Chapter 106

The time for playing dead was over.

Morgan pressed himself up and rolled Herbert’s limp body off him. As he looked at the body he saw that Herbert had been killed by a round in the skull. The bullets that had ploughed into his torso had been stopped by the bulletproof vest Morgan had pulled onto Herbert in Battersea. The man’s assurances that he be protected against Flex had ended up saving Morgan’s life instead. Without the barrier of Kevlar and flesh on top of him, Morgan would have been bleeding to death on London Bridge. For now he was alive, but time was running out for others.

Having lost his pistol in the struggle with Herbert, Morgan now stood empty-handed, his mind struggling to take in the chaos of the scene around him: Rider lay dead in a pool of his own blood. The dirty police officer was dead and slumped behind the car’s wheel. Herbert was no more than a bag of chewed flesh and bone. Flex was gone.

And Knight...

Morgan ran to the bridge-side and peered down. There was no sign of his friend in the swirling gray-brown waters.

Morgan swore, then looked left and right along the bridge. He saw panic. The bridge itself was a rout of abandoned vehicles. The center of the span was empty of civilians, the press of their running bodies cleared to the bridge’s ends. There sirens announced the arrival of the inevitable, London’s security services rushing to the point of attack like blood clots to a freshly opened wound. Morgan saw a flash of movement between the cars and vans that stood abandoned on the bridge — he saw Flex, using cover from view and fire as he fled to the south bank.

As he fled from justice.

On instinct, Morgan turned to follow, but his friendship with Peter Knight stopped him as suddenly as if they’d been attached by a chain. He looked down at the wind-churned waters once more. There was no sign of Private London’s leader. Morgan looked to his blood-smeared watch, and saw that the time was 5:33. Less than three minutes since Flex and his crew had arrived in the police car. In those short moments, at least three men had died. Morgan prayed that it was not four.

Knight could be alive, he knew. He could be alive, and if he was, there was no way Morgan could abandon him. Not when there was hope, no matter how slim.

Morgan took one last look at the fleeing shape of Flex. Knowing that his chance of bringing vengeance down on Jane Cook’s killer may be lost forever, he turned back to the river, and prepared to jump.