The Double Tap

‘Unlikely in the extreme,’ said the Colonel.

‘Ah,’ said the chief inspector. ‘So, did Lynch have a personal reason for going after your man?’

‘I’m afraid so, yes.’

‘So it’s an unfortunate coincidence, that’s all?’

The Colonel sighed. ‘Yes. Just bad luck. The worst sort of luck. Anyway, thanks for letting me know so promptly. We were in the process of standing down. Obviously, in view of what you’ve told me, the operation is still live. I’ll inform my opposite number in the States.’

The Colonel thanked the chief inspector and cut the connection. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Dan Greenberg. He was about to tap out the FBI agent’s number when he realised that Mike Cramer was still unaware of the latest development. And with Allan and Martin in hospital, the Colonel would have to provide alternative protection. He punched out the number of Vander Mayer’s apartment.

Su-ming jumped as the telephone rang. ‘Leave it,’ said Jackman. He kept his gun pointed at Cramer’s head. ‘Let it ring.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ Su-ming asked.

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ said Jackman.

‘It’s all right, Su-ming,’ said Cramer. ‘It’s not you he wants.’

‘Really?’ sneered Jackman. ‘So tell me, Mike, what exactly is it that I want?’

Cramer stared at Jackman. Jackman stared back. ‘I don’t know,’ Cramer admitted. ‘It’s not money, is it?’

‘I’ve all I need,’ said Jackman. ‘More than I need. It was never about the money.’ The telephone continued to ring.

‘So it’s what? The challenge?’

Jackman shook his head. ‘There’s no challenge, not really. Not for someone like me. It’s all in the planning. You know that. You’re a soldier.’

‘Was,’ said Cramer. ‘I was a soldier. Not any more.’

‘Sit down!’ Jackman shouted at Su-ming. She had been edging towards the door but she stopped dead.

‘I, I. .’ she began but Jackman waved the gun at her.

‘Sit down,’ he repeated. Jackman covered them both with his gun until she’d dropped into a leather and chrome armchair, then he levelled it at Cramer. ‘How many people have you killed, Mike?’

‘I don’t know,’ Cramer answered.

‘Like fuck you don’t know.’ The telephone stopped ringing. ‘How many?’

‘Nine.’

Jackman smiled broadly. ‘Yeah? Nine? I’ve killed fifteen.’

‘It’s not a competition, Bernie,’ said Cramer. There had only been twelve in the files. He wondered if Jackman was lying about the number of kills.

‘It’s Bernard,’ said Jackman, with the emphasis on the second syllable. ‘Bernard. Not Bernie.’

Cramer shrugged as if it made no difference to him. ‘Fifteen? All for money?’

‘Mostly. Like I said, it’s not about the money. It’s power. The power of taking a life. Isn’t it the most unbelievable feeling, Mike? To take another human being’s life?’

Cramer rubbed the back of his neck, trying to massage away the tension that was building there. ‘No. I never felt that way. I never did it for kicks. It was my job.’

‘Killing isn’t a job,’ said Jackman. ‘It’s a vocation.’

‘You’re sick.’

Jackman smiled tightly. ‘No, I’m not sick. I’ve interviewed psychos, Mike. I’ve spent time with them. I’ve rooted around inside their heads, I know what makes them tick. I’m not crazy.’

Cramer held his hands out, palms uppermost. ‘Hey, okay. You’re not crazy.’

Jackman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t humour me, Mike. You’re not smart enough to play mind games with me.’

Cramer didn’t reply. The telephone started to ring again. ‘How do you feel when you kill someone?’

Cramer thought about the question for a few seconds. ‘At the time, nothing. It’s what I was trained to do.’

Jackman frowned as if he didn’t understand. ‘You don’t get excited? You don’t get a rush from it?’

Cramer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d never enjoyed killing. Ever. And he’d never met anyone in the SAS who did. There was nothing thrilling about taking another person’s life, even in the heat of battle. He’d been in fire-fights in the Falklands and in Northern Ireland and he’d killed men to save his own life, but there had been no feelings of elation, no adrenalin kick. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I never enjoyed it.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Jackman. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world. It’s the ultimate power. And to do it close up, to stand in front of someone and watch them as they die, that’s the absolute best. It’s better than drugs, better than sex, better than anything.’ Jackman shook his head animatedly. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t get a kick out of it, Mike.’

Cramer folded his arms across his chest. He felt something hard press against his right hand. The stiletto. He’d forgotten that he still had the blade strapped to his left forearm. ‘I don’t know anyone in the SAS who does enjoy the killing. They might enjoy being in combat, but that’s because it’s what they’re trained to do. But the act of killing, no. No one enjoys that. Only sadists and madmen kill by choice.’

Jackman grinned. ‘Yeah? And which am I, Mike?’

Cramer let his hands fall to his sides. The telephone stopped ringing again. Jackman was standing fifteen feet away, his back to the window. Out of reach of the stiletto. ‘You wrote the profile,’ said Cramer.

‘Yeah, I did, didn’t I? That was half the fun, you know? Being close to the investigation, watching the idiots chase their tails, knowing that they’d never come close to catching me.’

‘Unless you wanted to get caught.’

Jackman shook his head. ‘No, that’s not what this is about. It’s not a case of me wanting to be stopped. I don’t want to be caught and punished to satisfy some inner need for retribution. I fully intend to spend the rest of my life as a free man. I’ve enough money tucked away to live wherever I want. South America. Africa. There are plenty of places for a rich man to hide. And I’m a very, very rich man, Mike.’ He smiled at Vander Mayer’s body, sprawled on the polished wooden floorboards. ‘Not as rich as him, but then he’s dead, isn’t he? And you can’t take it with you, right?’

Jackman was waving his gun around like a conductor with a baton. Cramer took a step forward, but Jackman immediately levelled the gun at his face. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Jackman warned. ‘I can put a bullet in your skull before you get anywhere near me.’

Cramer said nothing. He could reach Jackman with three steps but that would be more than enough time for Jackman to shoot. Cramer needed a distraction, something to give him the time to pull out the knife and get in close. He looked across at Su-ming. She was staring at Jackman, fear etched into her face. He willed her to look across at him, but her eyes remained fixed on Jackman and the gun.

‘What was it like for you, the first time?’ Jackman asked.

Cramer was concentrating on Su-ming so intently that he almost didn’t hear the question. ‘What?’ he said.

‘The first time. What was it like?’

Cramer shrugged and didn’t answer. ‘Why did you kill Vander Mayer?’ he asked. ‘Why did you kill him when you knew that you’d be caught?’

‘I haven’t been caught, Mike. I’m in control here, not you.’

‘But it’s over now. Your cover’s blown. We know who you are.’

Jackman pursed his lips. ‘It was always going to happen,’ he said. ‘It was just a matter of time.’ He licked his lips and they glistened wetly. ‘Anyway, I’ve nothing to lose now, have I?’

Cramer took a step forward, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. ‘Let the girl go.’

‘Maybe I will. What was it like for you? Your first kill?’ Cramer felt his teeth clench involuntarily. Jackman looked at Su-ming and gestured with the gun. ‘I’m waiting,’ Jackman pressed.

‘The first person I killed was my mother,’ said Cramer.

Jackman’s jaw dropped. Then his expression changed, from amazement to admiration. He whistled softly.

The Colonel went over to the window and looked across at the tower block opposite. Most of the floors were in darkness, but the lights were on in Vander Mayer’s apartment. He could make out a figure standing by the study window but it wasn’t possible to see whether the figure was looking in or out. The Colonel couldn’t even tell who it was. He looked around for his binoculars but they’d been packed away, along with his transceiver and the rest of the equipment he’d been using. The Colonel tapped his lips with the flat of his hand as he considered his options. The figure in the window hadn’t moved.

The Colonel picked up the telephone and tapped out the number of the doorman in the main lobby.

Jackman put his head on the side as he looked at Cramer. ‘Your mother? You killed your own mother? Why, did you want to go to the orphans’ Christmas party or something?’

Su-ming turned to stare at Cramer. Cramer looked at her, wishing there was some way to communicate with her, some way to tell her to cause a diversion so that he could get the stiletto out, because if they didn’t do something Jackman was going to kill them both. Jackman needed time to get away, and the only way to buy it would be to leave two more bodies on the floor next to Vander Mayer. ‘She was dying,’ said Cramer flatly.

‘Cancer?’ said Jackman.

‘Brain tumour. Inoperable.’

Jackman nodded and there was something almost sympathetic about the gesture. ‘Tough.’

‘Yeah. If it had happened today they’d probably have saved her. Back then, there was nothing they could do. They sent her home to die.’

Cramer looked at Su-ming. All he needed was for her to distract Jackman for a moment. As soon as Jackman pointed the gun at Su-ming and not at him, Cramer could make his move. One step. Pull out the stiletto. Another step. Drive the knife forward. The last step. Up into Jackman’s throat. It would take one second, two at most. Su-ming was staring at him, aghast, her hands up to her face, covering her mouth.

‘She was in pain every day. Every minute of every day. Pain like you wouldn’t believe. I used to hate getting home from school. I used to stay out of the house as much as I could.’ Cramer knew he had to keep talking, to play for time.

‘How old were you?’ Jackman asked. His interest seemed to be academic, as if he were a psychiatrist analysing Cramer’s case.

‘Eleven,’ Cramer answered. ‘I was eleven.’

‘How? How did you do it?’

‘The doctor had prescribed her strong painkillers. Really strong. My father kept them hidden from her because of what she might do. She kept begging me to get the medicine for her.’ Cramer took a step forward. Jackman appeared not to notice. ‘I got the tablets for her, and I watched as she took them. I knew she was killing herself, but I didn’t try to stop her.’

‘And how did you feel?’

Cramer massaged his temples with his knuckles as if he had a headache. He wanted Jackman to get used to seeing his hands moving. ‘She was in a lot of pain. And she was dying anyway. All I was doing was helping the process along.’

‘A mercy killing?’

‘Yeah. You might call it that.’

The Colonel tapped the receiver against his ear as he waited for the doorman to answer the phone. It was at least twenty rings before the doorman came on the line. He was out of breath and apologetic, explaining that he’d been helping a resident carry his cases to the elevator. The Colonel asked him if there had been any visitors to the Vander Mayer apartment.

‘Mr Vander Mayer himself arrived half an hour ago. And I just showed another visitor up.’

‘Who was that?’ queried the Colonel.

‘Hang on while I check the book,’ said the doorman and put down the phone. The Colonel looked across at the tower block. The figure was still standing by the study window. ‘Here we are,’ said the doorman. ‘His name was Jackman. Bernard Jackman. He wasn’t expected but Mr Vander Mayer said he’d see him. Is there a problem?’

‘No. Everything’s fine,’ said the Colonel. He replaced the receiver, frowning. Vander Mayer, Cramer, Su-ming and Jackman were apparently all in the apartment, so why didn’t they answer the phone? And what was Jackman doing up there?

Jackman kept the gun pointed at Cramer’s head, giving Cramer no chance of making any sort of threatening move. Cramer’s palms were sweating and he rubbed them on his trousers. His right hand was only inches away from the hilt of his stiletto. One movement and he’d have it in his hand, three paces forward and Jackman would be dead. All he needed was an opening. A distraction. Jackman moved away from the window, keeping his gun on Cramer. He went over to the mirrored wall and stood with his back to it. Now he was even further away from Cramer, well out of range. Cramer forced himself to relax, to conceal the signs that he was preparing to launch an attack.

‘What about you, Bernie?’ Cramer asked. ‘Why did you decide to leave the side of the angels?’ Cramer could see Su-ming reflected in the mirrored wall. She was sitting with her legs pressed together, her hands clasped in her lap.

‘For the kick. For the excitement.’

‘You gave up. .’

‘I gave up nothing, Mike. I was too good for the Bureau, I knew that within weeks of joining. Have you ever felt like that? Like Gulliver, surrounded by midgets? Intellectual midgets? It was like that for me at high school, and at college. I thought that when I joined the Bureau it’d be different, that I’d finally be among people like me. The G-men, the best and brightest of the country’s law enforcement officials. That’s what they like you to think, but it’s bullshit. They’re as dumb as the cops. Dumber sometimes.’

Jackman had begun waving his gun around again, but Cramer had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t shoot until he’d finished saying what he had to say. It was like a confession, thought Cramer. Except the confessor wasn’t planning to leave any witnesses. ‘If they were smart, they wouldn’t be cops,’ said Cramer.

‘Right,’ said Jackman eagerly. ‘The really bright people don’t go into law enforcement, or if they do, they leave pretty damn quickly. Like me.’

‘Better off working for yourself, right?’

Jackman narrowed his eyes as if he was wondering whether or not Cramer was humouring him. ‘It’s not about money, if that’s what you’re implying,’ Jackman said. ‘That’s not why I left. If I’d wanted money I’d have gone into business. I could have made a fortune, Mike. I could have been as rich as Vander Mayer. Richer. I’ve met a lot of rich people in my time, and most of them aren’t much brighter than cops. You don’t need brains to make money, you just have to work your balls off. Look at all the Vietnamese and Chinese who move to the States. They start with nothing, but they make fortunes. Fortunes. And they’re not all geniuses, I can tell you.’

Cramer nodded vaguely. Jackman was rambling. It was as if he didn’t often get the opportunity to explain himself, and now that he had a captive audience it was all tumbling out. ‘So why did you leave?’ Cramer asked.

‘I finally met a man who was my intellectual equal,’ said Jackman. ‘A man called Anton Madeley. He’s a genius, Mike. A true genius. It was like meeting a soulmate.’

Cramer glanced at Su-ming’s reflection in the mirrored wall but her attention was fixed on Jackman.

‘I was sent to interview Madeley to update our VICAP report. At first he wouldn’t open up to me, but even at our first meeting I knew that the guy was special. He knew stuff. He knew how people’s minds work, what made them tick. He could get inside your head and find out exactly what you wanted. What you needed.’

‘He was in prison?’ asked Cramer.

Jackman’s eyes flashed. ‘I know what you’re getting at,’ he snarled. ‘If he was so smart, how did he get caught? Right?’

Cramer shrugged uncertainly. He just wanted Jackman to keep talking.

‘I’ll tell you why he ended up in prison. Because he trusted someone. Someone he thought was a friend. He opened up to this person and this person betrayed him. That’s why. That’s the only reason he was caught. The FBI hadn’t a clue who he was, he’d never left any evidence, there were never any witnesses. He made one mistake, and that mistake was to trust. I’ve never trusted anyone, Mike. That’s why I’ll never be caught.’

Cramer nodded. ‘Madeley was a killer? Is that why he was in prison?’

‘Yeah, he killed. Killing is the ultimate power, Mike. That’s what he taught me. I hadn’t realised what killing really meant, not until I met Anton. I’d interviewed dozens of murderers, from wife-batterers who went further than they intended to serial killers, and they’d all had their own reasons for doing what they did. Anton was the first one to explain the psychology of it. The thrill of it. Not right away, of course. It took a long, long time before he opened up to me. And I had to pass a lot of tests along the way. I had to prove my worth, I had to show that I was a worthy disciple. But I did it, Mike. And then he let me inside his head.’

‘He seduced you, Bernie.’

‘Seduced? Maybe, but I was willing. More than willing. He explained things to me, things that I’d half known, half appreciated. It was like being short-sighted and getting glasses.’

‘Didn’t the Bureau realise what was happening?’

Jackman shook his head. ‘I told them I was building up a relationship with him with a view to expanding our profile and they took that at face value. The reports I turned in contained just enough new information to make them think I was making slow progress. They’re not too bright, Mike. Intelligent, yes. But not smart. There’s a difference. Anton taught me that. And stop calling me Bernie, will you. My name’s Bernard.’

‘Are you saying that you never thought about killing before you met Madeley?’

Jackman’s upper lip curled back in a sneer. ‘Don’t try to analyse me, Mike. You don’t have the mental capacity.’ He pointed the gun at Cramer’s face. His finger tightened on the trigger.

‘Answer me one thing, though,’ said Cramer. Jackman didn’t say anything, but Cramer saw his trigger finger relax. ‘Why the head-shot? Why did you shoot them in the head and then in the chest? It wasn’t just a signature, was it?’

Jackman grinned. ‘It was a tribute,’ he said. ‘That was how Anton killed his victims. It locked in their souls, he said.’ He saw the look of disbelief in Cramer’s eyes and his grin vanished. ‘That’s what he said. I’m not saying I believed him. It was just his theory, that’s all.’

‘So what was the real reason? You must have wondered.’

‘Of course I wondered.’ Jackman paced up and down, but he kept the gun aimed at Cramer.

‘So tell me.’

Jackman stopped pacing. He stared at Cramer. Cramer held the look. Jackman was three paces away. Within range. Cramer put his hands together. It was a non-threatening pose but his right hand was just inches away from the stiletto again. ‘He was abused by his father as a child,’ Jackman continued. ‘Physical abuse of a particularly vicious kind. His mother used to watch. She’d watch and she’d encourage her husband. Sometimes she’d hold Anton down so that her husband could do what he wanted. That’s what he remembered most. Not the buggery, not the pain, but her eyes. Watching him.’

‘So when he started killing, he shot them in the face?’

Jackman nodded. ‘You got it.’

‘And you decided to do it the same way. .’

‘So that he’d know,’ finished Jackman. ‘He’d know that I was as good as he was. Better even, because he was in prison and I was on the outside.’

Jackman stopped speaking as if realising that he’d already said too much. He stretched his arm out, the gun levelled at Cramer’s face. ‘Enough talking,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

The Colonel screwed up his eyes and peered up at the windows of Vander Mayer’s flat. Whoever had been standing there had moved away. He turned and picked up the phone. He was about to tap out the number to Vander Mayer’s flat but he changed his mind and called the doorman again instead. ‘Do me a favour, will you?’ he said once the man answered. ‘I’m having trouble getting through to Mr Vander Mayer’s apartment. Will you go up and see if there’s a problem with his telephone?’

‘Of course,’ said the doorman. ‘Though it was okay when I called up before.’

‘Well, try again. If you get through, ask him to call me at this number.’ The Colonel gave the doorman the number of the apartment he was using. ‘If you can’t get an answer, pop up and see if there’s something wrong with the phone.’

The Colonel replaced the receiver and sat down in front of the desk. He tapped his walking stick on the floor, deep in thought. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

‘Let the girl go,’ said Cramer. ‘This is between you and me.’

‘It’s nothing to do with you and me,’ said Jackman. ‘I’m taking care of business, that’s all.’ He started to squeeze the trigger. ‘You know what I like best of all?’ Jackman asked. Cramer said nothing. ‘The look in their eyes when they realise they’re going to die.’

Cramer stared back at Jackman. ‘Just do it, Bernie,’ he said quietly. ‘Pull the trigger and get it over with.’

Jackman frowned. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’

‘No.’

‘If you beg me for your life, I might not kill you.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jackman, flatly.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Cramer.

‘Cramer, do as he says,’ said Su-ming.

Cramer turned to look at her. He’d almost forgotten that she was still in the room. ‘He’s going to kill me anyway, Su-ming.’

Jackman looked at Su-ming and smiled cruelly. ‘What about you, little lady? Why don’t you beg for his life?’

‘Su-ming, don’t,’ said Cramer. Jackman had switched his attention to Su-ming, though the gun was still pointing at Cramer’s face. Cramer moved his hand a fraction and the fingers of his right hand probed inside his left sleeve and found the hilt of the stiletto.

Jackman suddenly switched his attention back to Cramer. Cramer let his hands fall to his sides. ‘You think you’re better than me, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yes, you do. They picked you to go up against me, and you figured you were good enough to take me on. That was the plan, wasn’t it?’

‘Are you going to talk me to death, Bernie? Or are you going to pull the trigger?’

Jackman’s eyes hardened. ‘That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? I’ve got the drop on you, shooting you cold wouldn’t prove anything, would it?’

‘Just do it, Bernie.’

Jackman studied him for several seconds. ‘Why?’ he said eventually. ‘Why are you doing this? No one wants to die.’

‘He does,’ said Su-ming quietly.

Cramer whirled around and glared at her. ‘Shut up!’ he hissed.

Su-ming wouldn’t look at him. She stood up and faced Jackman. ‘He’s dying. He’s got cancer. He wants to be killed, it’s an easy way out for him.’

‘Su-ming, shut the fuck up,’ Cramer shouted.

‘If you kill him, you’ll be doing him a favour,’ said Su-ming as if Cramer hadn’t spoken.

Jackman began to chuckle. His shoulders shook as he laughed, but his eyes remained hard. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘Who’d have thought it? A death-wish.’

He backed away from Cramer and took the Walther off the desk. He weighed it in his hand. ‘It’s a small gun, not much stopping power,’ he mused.

‘It does the job,’ said Cramer.

There was a coffee table to Cramer’s right, black marble with white veins running through it. Jackman walked over to the table and put the gun down on it, the butt facing Cramer. Jackman slowly backed away until the gun was midway between them. Cramer looked at the gun. The safety was off. It was two paces away from him, and Jackman was a further two paces away from the table.

Jackman gestured at the gun. ‘Go for it,’ he said.

Cramer shook his head. ‘I’m through playing games,’ he said.

Jackman stared at him menacingly. Then slowly and purposefully he pointed the gun at Su-ming. ‘If you don’t, I’ll shoot her first. In the gut. Then I’ll shoot you.’

Su-ming wrapped her arms around herself as if giving herself a hug. Cramer glared at Jackman. ‘If I try for the gun, will you let her go?’ he asked.

Jackman sighed wearily. ‘What do you think?’ he said.

‘I think you’ll kill her anyway.’

Jackman nodded at Cramer’s gun. ‘At least if you go for it, you’ve got a chance of saving her life and yours.’

Cramer looked at the gun. Two paces. More than enough time for Jackman to aim and fire. He wasn’t being offered any sort of chance. He put his hands on his hips and stared at Jackman.

‘Well?’ said Jackman. ‘Shall I count to three or something?’

‘You’ve never worried about shooting an unarmed man before, have you?’ said Cramer. ‘You’ve shot women and children and old men so why this sudden urge to give me a break?’

Jackman pursed his lips as if considering how to reply. ‘The kick,’ he said. ‘The challenge. Everything so far has almost been too easy.’

‘You want to prove that you’re better than me, is that it? The shoot-out at the OK Corral?’

Jackman nodded slowly. ‘Maybe.’

‘Go to hell,’ said Cramer. He took a step away from the marble coffee table. And another. It put the gun well out of reach but Cramer was now closer to Jackman. But not close enough.

The doorman tapped in the code for the Vander Mayer floor on the lift keypad and the doors began to close. He heard a shout and he pressed the button to open the doors again. Mrs Carey, a fifty-something divorcee, barrelled into the lift with her Yorkshire terrier clasped to her ample bosom.

‘Good evening, Eric,’ she said. She nodded at the security keypad. ‘Can you press my floor, please? You know the code, don’t you?’

‘Of course, Mrs Carey,’ said Eric. He punched in the code and the doors closed again. ‘And how’s little Janie today?’ He put out a hand to pat the dog but it snarled and Eric pulled his hand away.

‘She’s got a poorly tummy,’ said Mrs Carey, planting a kiss on the dog’s neck.

‘Poor thing,’ said Eric, who would quite happily have strangled the bad-tempered dog.

Mrs Carey lived on the floor below Mr Vander Mayer and was one of the richest residents in the tower. She could always be relied on for a big tip at Christmas, unlike Mr Vander Mayer who was rarely around during the festive season. Eric wondered what all the fuss was about, why it was so important that he go up and check on Vander Mayer. There’d been something strange going on for the past few days, what with the security guys changing, and the new face who’d been staying in the apartment with Vander Mayer’s assistant, and two hefty bodyguards acting as if they owned the place.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ asked Mrs Carey.

Eric realised he must have been thinking out loud. ‘Nothing, Mrs Carey,’ he said. The lift stopped at Mrs Carey’s floor.

Cramer suddenly felt light-headed. He wasn’t sure if it was the painkillers he’d swallowed earlier or the adrenalin rush kicking in. He’d have to make his move soon and his body was gearing up for action. He took a deep breath.

‘It’s not much of a choice, Mike, I know, but it’s more than I normally give my targets.’

‘Targets? Is that what you call them? That’s so you can distance yourself from what you’re doing, isn’t it? That’s why you shoot them in the face. Because then they stop being people. It dehumanises them, doesn’t it? So that you can deal with it. You know you’re sick, Bernie. You know it but you can’t face it.’

Jackman ignored him. ‘One,’ he said.

Cramer flexed his fingers. He looked at the Walther on the table. Then he looked at the gun in Jackman’s hand. ‘This isn’t fair,’ Cramer said.

Jackman’s lips formed a tight line. ‘Two,’ he said.

Su-ming stood up. She took a step towards Jackman, her hands pressed together in front of her as if in prayer. ‘Don’t kill him,’ she said. ‘Please don’t kill him.’

Jackman didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on Cramer.

‘We won’t say anything,’ Su-ming pleaded. ‘You can just go. You’ve done what you’ve been paid for. You’ve fulfilled your contract.’

‘Don’t beg, Su-ming,’ said Cramer.

‘But. .’ Su-ming began. Before she could finish, the doorbell rang. Cramer tensed. Jackman looked towards the front door. Cramer’s right hand edged towards his left. He steadied his breathing. He felt a sudden elation. This was it. His one chance.

The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. ‘Are you expecting anyone?’ Jackman whispered to Su-ming.

She shook her head. Cramer slipped his fingers inside his sleeve. He touched the hilt of the knife. Now, now, now, his mind screamed, but he held himself back. Jackman’s gun was still pointing at his stomach and all he had to do was tighten his trigger finger and he couldn’t miss. Cramer started breathing tidally so that his chest hardly moved. Jackman’s gun wavered. It was just a few degrees but it was enough. Cramer started to move.

He went up onto the balls of his feet and took a step forward as his hand grasped the stiletto. It came out of its sheath smoothly, with the barest whisper of plastic against nylon.

Jackman noticed the movement and began to turn towards Cramer. Su-ming also saw Cramer move. Her mouth opened in surprise. She was closer to Jackman and she threw herself forward, trying to grab hold of the gun.

Cramer took another step, the stiletto low, ready to drive it upwards into Jackman’s throat. He was conscious of Su-ming launching herself at Jackman but he remained totally focussed on what he was doing. He held out his left hand ready to grab Jackman’s jacket, knowing that he’d get more leverage if he could pull him onto the blade as he thrust it forward.

Su-ming tried to catch hold of Jackman’s arm, but he was too quick for her. He swung the gun at her face and clipped her under the chin. Her head snapped back. Instantly Jackman brought the gun back to bear on Cramer.

Cramer was still two steps away from Jackman, but he’d built up a momentum and he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to. Cramer’s left hand was outstretched and Jackman kept his gun low, unable to go for the head-shot. The gun looked huge in Jackman’s hand but Cramer ignored it. All he cared about was the stiletto.

His left hand brushed the lapel of Jackman’s jacket. Jackman’s eyes had narrowed so that they were almost slits. Cramer stared into them and he knew that Jackman was about to pull the trigger. He clawed his left hand and grabbed Jackman’s jacket. The gun went off and Cramer felt a sudden kick to the stomach that knocked the breath out of him. The noise was deafening. Cramer pulled Jackman towards him and drove the stiletto up with all his strength. The point of the blade sliced up through Jackman’s chin and then crunched through cartilage and bone. The gun went off again and Cramer screamed, partly in pain but more out of hatred and rage.

Jackman fell backwards and Cramer kept hold of him, forcing the stiletto higher up into Jackman’s skull. They hit the ground together. Jackman’s gun tumbled from his lifeless fingers and rattled across the wooden floor.

Cramer heard Su-ming scream but it sounded as if she was miles away, at the end of a long, long tunnel. Cramer pushed himself up off Jackman. He almost passed out with the pain. Jackman’s eyes were wide and staring but there was no life in them. Blood was pouring down the blade and over Cramer’s hands and red froth bubbled up from between Jackman’s lips. Cramer let go of the stiletto. It stayed buried up to the hilt in Jackman’s throat. Cramer was on his knees, fighting to stay conscious. He felt Su-ming’s arms around him. She’d stopped screaming and now she was wracked with sobs.

Cramer could feel blood draining from his head. It took a long time to die from stomach wounds, he knew. A long time. And even if they managed to put him together again he’d only have to face the cancer that was eating him up. He clasped his hands to his stomach. He bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from screaming, the pain was so bad. He tried to fight it, to push the agony away, but each wave was stronger than the previous one. He tasted blood in his mouth and realised he’d bitten through his lip. He felt something warm and wet trickle through his fingers. He looked down. His thighs were soaked with sticky red blood, his own blood mixing with Jackman’s. Su-ming put her head against his, as if trying to share his suffering.

‘Su-ming, you have to help me,’ he said. Another wave of pain washed over him and he grunted. Even with the painkillers he’d taken, the pain was almost more than he could stand, and he knew it was only a taste of what lay ahead of him.

‘I will,’ she promised.

‘It hurts,’ he moaned. ‘It hurts so bad.’

‘I know,’ she said.

Cramer watched Su-ming in the mirrored wall as she went over to Jackman’s body and picked up his gun. She stood staring at the weapon as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She looked up and for a second their eyes locked in the mirror. She was crying. Cramer looked away. ‘There’s no need to cry,’ he said.

She nodded. A tear rolled down her left cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. ‘I know,’ she said.