The Lost Testament

83

No part of the man’s body was clearly visible from behind Stebbins. Bronson knew he couldn’t shoot until the other man moved.

‘I have to admit that we didn’t expect to see you here, Bronson — you are Bronson, I presume?’ the man said in fluent but accented English. ‘I admire the fact that you managed to track me down. How did you do it, by the way?’

Bronson kept his pistol pointing towards Stebbins, waiting for the opportunity to fire the shot that would end the stalemate. But the other man was taking great care to ensure that he was completely shielded by the body of the bound man.

‘I got somebody to hack into the mobile phone records and trace your location. It wasn’t that difficult, Pere. I’m assuming that’s who you are. Why didn’t you shoot me when I walked into this room?’

The other man smiled.

‘You’re right, I could have killed you a couple of minutes ago, but I don’t want you dead, Bronson — at least, not yet. First, we want the relic. Hand that over and you can take this man away with you, and the two of you and your wife can fly home as soon as you can book seats on a plane. You’ve proved to be resourceful, and I’m prepared to ignore my most specific orders to bury you both. You’ve already caused me quite enough trouble.’

He gestured towards the still shape lying on the floor on the opposite side of the office.

‘Who gave you those orders?’ Bronson asked.

‘It’s a business arrangement. The organization I work for has been retained by the people who own the relic. It was stolen from them decades ago, and they want their property back. I’m sure that by now you’ve guessed who they are.’

‘I have a good enough idea,’ Bronson said. ‘But what exactly does the text on that parchment say which is so dangerous to Christianity?’

The other man shook his head.

‘I have no idea,’ he replied. ‘The instructions I was given included a photograph of the parchment so I could be sure that we had identified and recovered the correct relic, but not what was written on it. Don’t you know what it says?’

‘No. The writing is too faded and indistinct to read it all.’

Pere gave what looked like a shrug.

‘It’s not important, at least not to me. To me this is just a job. But you can walk away from here if you do what you’re told. You have to realize that you have absolutely no chance of getting away with that parchment. My organization is simply too powerful and too widespread for that to happen, with adequate resources in every nation in Europe. My group of people here in Madrid is only a small part of the forces we’ve mobilized against you, and even if by some miracle you did manage to get out of here in one piece, there are others waiting to hunt you down.’

‘So who are you?’ Bronson demanded. ‘The Mafia?’

‘No. We never make the headlines like that organization, but we’re bigger and more deadly,’ Pere replied. ‘Now, the choice is yours. As I just said, if you give me the relic you can walk away. I’ll tell my contact in England that you handed over the parchment in a public place somewhere and I was unable to eliminate you and your wife. Once the relic is back in Rome, where it should be, the two of you will at least have a chance of living normal lives, because there’ll be no proof that the parchment ever even existed. Any photographs you’ve taken can be dismissed as clumsy forgeries if you were stupid enough to try to publicize them.’

The man shifted position very slightly, but still Bronson didn’t have a clear shot at him.

‘This is the end game, Bronson, and it’s your move. Agree to hand over the relic right now or George Stebbins will die and I’ll make sure you and Angela Lewis are hunted down and killed within days. So what’s it to be?’

As far as Bronson could see, there was only one option open to him.

‘You can have the relic,’ he said. ‘Too many people have died already over that scruffy piece of old parchment. It’s in my pocket. You can have it now.’

The man crouching behind Stebbins didn’t move, but Bronson guessed he was smiling.

‘I thought you’d see sense,’ the man replied. ‘Now, drop that pistol onto the floor and kick it away from you. Then you can put the relic on the desk behind you and just walk away. And don’t try anything stupid, or I’ll shoot you down where you stand.’

Bronson nodded, bent his knees and carefully lowered the Beretta to the floor, then kicked it a couple of feet over to his right, his movements stiff and controlled.

‘The parchment?’ Pere said. ‘Where is it?’

‘My right-hand-side jacket pocket,’ Bronson replied.

‘Good.’ Pere’s smile grew broader. ‘Now I know where to shoot you without damaging the relic.’

Bronson knew that either his gamble was going to pay off or he was going to die. As far as he could see there were no other possible outcomes.

And as those thoughts coursed through his mind, Pere swung the pistol round to point directly at him rather than at George Stebbins’s head.

‘I said you were clever, Bronson,’ he snapped, ‘but actually you’re a bigger fool than I took you for. Why on earth did you think I would let you walk out of here alive?’

And that was the gamble. It all depended on what the Spaniard did next.

Pere slowly straightened up from behind the bound man and stretched out his right arm, still smiling as he aimed his weapon directly at Bronson, relishing the moment.

‘I understood that you’d had a spell as an officer in the British Army, and that you’re now a police officer. I’m frankly surprised that you learned so little in your training for either organization.’

Bronson raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

‘What are you talking about?’ he asked.

‘The first rule of close-quarters combat. You never, ever, give up your weapon, no matter what the odds or the circumstances. I thought you would have known that. You certainly should have done.’

‘I do know that,’ Bronson agreed, ‘but in any combat situation you have to make a judgement as to whether whatever rules you’ve been taught really apply. And I decided that they didn’t, because I needed you to make a mistake, which you have done.’

‘I don’t think so. You’re unarmed, and I have both a pistol and a hostage. I’m going to live, and you’re going to die.’

Bronson nodded, and tensed his body.

‘In fact, that’s two mistakes you’ve made,’ he said.