Ultimatum

Seventy-six

21.33

Fox ran round the side of the van, then made for the cover of the trees. He hadn’t run properly in a while, and his legs felt stiff. But adrenalin was keeping him going. Adrenalin and excitement. This was what it was all about for him. The hot joy of battle. God, he’d lived for those moments in the army, and in his time as a mercenary since.

And now here he was again, having planned his escape from prison down to the last detail.

The ambush had been perfect. All the cops were either dead or too badly hurt to offer any meaningful opposition. He didn’t think he’d hit Tina Boyd, which was a pity. He’d like to have put a bullet in her. Not so much because of what she’d done to help scupper the Stanhope siege, more because it would be good sport to take out such an iconic figure, a woman who was a born survivor, and good at her job. But he’d defeated her. That was what mattered. He’d defeated all of them.

Ten yards away he could see the black-clad figure of one of the ambush team. He was lying on the ground clutching his leg, his face covered in black camouflage paint. Fox had been told that there’d be a minimum of three of them in the team, but this was the only one he could see right now.

‘Help me, for Christ’s sake,’ hissed the shooter as Fox ran towards him, keeping to the undergrowth.

He recognized the Northern Irish accent immediately. It was Cecil Boorman, the man whose name he’d given to Tina earlier. He was no good to any of them, not now that he’d been shot.

Cecil sat up and put out a hand as Fox reached him.

Fox grabbed the hand to lift him up. ‘Good shooting,’ he said. ‘Thanks for that.’ Then he brought up the police-issue Glock and shot Cecil through the eye with his last bullet.

As Cecil fell back down, Fox grabbed his pistol — a Browning semi-automatic — from his waistband and turned and ran through the woods towards the front of the convoy. In many ways, this was the most dangerous part of the whole operation. If his rescuers were planning on killing him, then they were going to make their move now.

He heard movement to his left, and a silhouetted figure shot out of the darkness. His face might have been painted black, but Fox could see that the man coming at him out of the darkness was Cain. He’d recognize those pale, dead eyes anywhere. They’d known each other a long time through their association with The Brotherhood, but had always been rivals rather than friends, and Fox knew Cain wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in him if it came to it.

But Cain’s gun was down by his side, which had to mean that, for the moment at least, he didn’t mean him any harm.

Even so, Fox kept his finger tight on the trigger of the Browning as the two men stopped in front of each other.

There was a moment’s pause, and then Fox grinned. ‘I knew you’d make it.’

‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep,’ said Cain, with a humourless self-righteousness that instantly reminded Fox of why he didn’t like him. ‘Have you seen Cecil?’

‘He took a bullet in the leg. I had to finish him off.’

Cain nodded grimly. ‘We’ve got to go. This place is going to be crawling with cops soon. Our car’s over here.’

He turned and started running through the trees, with Fox following close behind.

‘Haven’t you got anyone else in the team?’ Fox asked him.

‘No. It’s just you and me now,’ answered Cain as they emerged on to a narrow single-lane track where a black BMW 5 Series was parked. He ran round to the driver’s side and jumped in.

Fox could hear no sound of sirens or approaching helicopters and, as he got in the passenger side and Cain started the engine and pulled away, he briefly considered shooting the other man then and there, chucking his corpse out on to the road, and simply driving away himself. It would be a clean break and save any problems later if Cain chose to double-cross him. But he decided against it. It was best to put a few miles between him and the massacre here without complicating matters.

Cain roared on to the road and made a hard right away from the convoy. Behind them, the flames shooting up from the lead car dominated the view, illuminating the bodies of two cops lying nearby, one of whom was still on fire. As Cain hit the pedal and the BMW accelerated away, Fox felt a huge, all-consuming elation. For the first time in over a year he was getting a taste of freedom, and by God it tasted good.

And then the rear windscreen exploded in a hail of gunfire, and suddenly the BMW was veering out of control as Cain desperately turned the wheel. But the tyres had been blown out and he no longer had control as the car left the road and mounted the bank, giving Fox only a couple of seconds to brace himself before it smashed headfirst into a tree.