‘Who else?’

  They hadn’t spotted us yet, but it was a foregone conclusion that they would. Maura looked at me with an air of helplessness. I shook my head, indicating we had to plough on and take it; throwing ourselves flat would have made us more visible.

  The chopper was closing fast, still zigzagging, suggesting we hadn’t been seen yet. I contemplated shooting at it. Even as I reached for the rifle it changed course, coming straight at us and rearing up almost vertically like a startled horse. By the time I got the gun to my shoulder it had veered off and was out of range. Whoever was flying it wasn’t stupid. They knew that to stay low was to invite retaliation.

  We moved off at a clip towards the nearest trees. It was our bad luck that they had arrived on the scene while we were away from the shield the usually ubiquitous trees provided. They would have located us anyway on another of the treeless stretches if not this one, but we might have been closer to safety. If safety existed for us at all in this wild, primeval part of the country.

  The woods appeared extensive, which was a blessing. If they were going to dismount and hunt us down on foot, they would only be minutes behind.

  ‘Can’t we fool them by creating a false trail?’ Maura asked as we trotted, swerving constantly to avoid the trees.

  ‘There isn’t time. They’re too close.’

  We jogged without pause for fifteen minutes. It was hard going with the uneven ground and frequent obstacles, and the weight of our packs.

  ‘Let’s take five,’ I proposed, stopping and unstrapping my pack. We wouldn’t need the sleeping bags again, or most of the food, or the stove and the kerosene. I chucked them away, and redistributed the remnants of our supplies unevenly in Maura’s favour. I also relieved her of the revolver.

  Far off a shout, so faint you could almost have imagined it. Maura needed no encouragement. She was off while I was still slinging the rifle over my shoulder.

  The break had revived us. We kept up our jog for longer this time, settling into a sort of rhythm despite the frequent need to alter course to avoid rocks and trees and gulleys. Now and again I looked back at Maura, gave her a smile of encouragement that she invariably returned. She was a tough one. Feminine to the core, but the core itself was encased in steel.

  Another pause. A few sips of water apiece. A bar of chocolate to share. My stomach protested at the meagre diet of the past twenty-four hours. The trees crowded around us, silent sombre observers, resentful of our intrusion and the violence that travelled with us.

  ‘Why are they bothering with you, and especially with me?’ Maura said as she munched. ‘There’s no profit in it. On the contrary, mounting an operation like this involving all these guys is costing them money and manpower. Not only that, the police could get to hear about it. What’s the point?’

  ‘The point, in warped minds like Maxim’s, is that they can’t – daren’t – let someone get away with flouting their wishes. Disrespecting them, in mob talk. I was supposed to kill Wharfe, and I didn’t. They killed Jacqui, as a punishment. Or thought they’d killed her. You would expect that to satisfy them. But, you see, honey, they rely on intimidation to keep the coffers full. Fear of death, torture, harm to loved ones … They used it on me, to get me to do their bidding. To begin with it was all about staying alive. Just lately the threats have shifted to you and Lindy. I cooperate because I’m afraid for you.’

  ‘Even so –’

  ‘Even so, nothing! Suppose they were to let me off the hook. All the poor saps who toe Maximov’s line because they’re shit scared would see an opening. If I can stiff finger him and walk away, anyone can do it. The domino effect will take hold and their whole empire, built as it is on terror, will start to crumble.’

  She shuddered. ‘It’s horrible. Jeff kept the nasty side of the Heiders’ business dealings from me. I thought it was just about rigged roulette wheels and marked cards, stuff like that.’

  I took another sip of water, offered the bottle to Maura. She declined. I screwed the cap back on, and straightened up.

  ‘Let’s move it.’

  Restarting was harder than after our previous break. We soon loosened up though and were making steady progress towards our goal. Another hour at this pace should see us in Pokka.

  When the shots came they were from an unexpected quarter, on our left flank. Not only that, but it was machine gun fire. We sprawled among the pine needles while someone expended a whole magazine chewing up tree trunks. It was wild shooting. We couldn’t see daylight between the trees, therefore they couldn’t see us. Still, we couldn’t continue on our present course. If they had split into two groups, one on our flank to the south and the other behind us to the east, we would have to veer northwest and hope to keep out of range of both. I got up and helped Maura to her feet. The compass needle swung round the dial, settled, and showed us the way. We got into our strides and even upped the pace. An exchange of calls behind spurred us to greater efforts.

  Light pierced the massed ranks of trees ahead of us. We were coming to open ground, my worst fear.

  ‘Shall we double back?’ Maura said, immediately sensible of the danger.

  ‘If we do, we might run into them.’

  As it turned out, the treeless stretch before us was our salvation. Less than a half kilometre from the trees’ boundary was a knoll, crowned with rocks from which the snow had been blown. A natural bastion. An ideal position for a sniper with a rifle, equipped with a telescopic sight.

  ‘We’ll hold them from there,’ I said. ‘Behind those rocks.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ She sounded defeated.

  The challenge was to reach the rocks before the pursuing mob burst out of the forest and mowed us down.

  ‘Maximum speed,’ I said.

  The snow lay a foot deep and running was out of the question. We loped through the snow, Maura following in my footprints. I glanced over my shoulder; she was keeping up, face flushed with the effort, wearing a frown of concentration. No pursuers in sight yet.

  A hundred metres or less to go. The fusillade of fire behind us sounded like cloth ripping. We were out of range. Only a rifle could bring us down now.

  I staggered through a slender gap in the rocks, crashed into the snow, utterly spent. Maura fell on top of me, wheezing in my ear. I heaved her off. I was in no state to shoot accurately. My aim would be all over the place until my breathing and pulse returned to normal.

  From behind the rocks I sized up the opposition. Six strong, three hundred metres away, all armed with submachine guns. They lingered on the tree line to strap on snow shoes. I checked my store of rifle ammunition. A ten-round magazine, full. Two twenty-round magazines, each about half full. I thumbed the shells out of one of them and fed them into the other. In total I had maybe thirty rounds. My shots would have to be made to count.

  They were on the move. The range shortened to about two hundred metres. They began firing again, to keep our heads down. They were nervous, for sure.

  ‘Some of these guys are going to have to die,’ I said as Maura crawled into position beside me, the Beretta already in her unmittened fist.

  She nodded. ‘I know.’

  Just then a second band of brothers emerged from the woods, over to the right. Six, no, seven in number. I focused the binoculars on them. A face leapt out at me – Maximov! The Big Man himself was coming to administer the coup de grace. I was honoured.

  This second group was at extreme range for my rifle. I decided to deal with the nearer group now, and save the others for dessert.

  I went down on my belly between the two rocks, unscrewed the silencer from the rifle, set up the bipod. Squinted through the scope. No obvious leader. They were all intermittently firing short bursts. The occasional bullet ricocheted off a rock. They might get lucky and score a hit. And the longer I left it, the greater the chance.

  My chosen target filled the scope. I breathed in, held the air in my lungs, squeezed the trigger. The crack of the rifle didn’t sound much but the guy whose head had been centre of the flashdot went down, sinking to his knees in slow motion, as if he were tired. Then he toppled into the snow. His companions all stopped dead. Two of their number bent over the body. I took both of them out in the space of five seconds – head shot, heart shot. If they still lived, they weren’t going anywhere. The three survivors dived into the snow and set up a hail of automatic fire. It wasn’t accurate but that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t raise your head,’ I warned Maura.

  My next shot targeted the guy on the right. His head was hidden by snow and I had to estimate its position. I estimated right. Blood spurted and stained the snow.

  By now the second group were coming within range. They were bunched up, with Maximov in the middle, protected by other bodies. That was okay by me. After what he had done to Jacqui I wanted to confront him man to man, just the two of us.

  Putting on ice the two survivors from the first group, I lined up Maximov’s lot. My first shot took out the guy on the extreme right, my second the guy next to him, opening up the top of his head like a flap. Goo spurted over the next guy in line, and he stumbled, going down in an ungainly sprawl. The others dithered to an uncertain halt. Six shots, six dead or at least disabled. A couple knelt and opened up with the submachine guns. Bullets rattled against the rocks, one actually leaving a scar a few inches above my head.

  When the gunfire petered out, I risked a snap shot at another guy. My first missed, my second struck home at gut level. Not immediately fatal, just incapacitating. The two survivors from the first group were crawling away through the snow. I decided to let them go for now. Someone was shouting, from the second group: Maximov. As I watched he ripped a submachine gun from the grasp of the guy with the gut wound, and blasted the two crawlers. They subsided, hit or terrified, I couldn’t tell which.

  Smart move, Maximov. Saved me the trouble.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Maura said, her voice tremulous.

  ‘Maximov’s shooting his own men,’ I told her.

  ‘Good. That means you won’t have to.’

  I reckoned I had twelve left in the magazine, plus the ten in the smaller magazine. My expenditure of ammunition had been very economic.

  Now for the rest. I lined up the flashdot. They were all prone, therefore made small targets. I went down the line, omitting Maximov who was identifiable by his white fur donkey jacket. Three certain hits, some maybe fatal. It scarcely mattered any more, they were just targets, just numbers. After the third, a guy behind Maximov leapt up and made a dash – as best he could in snowshoes – for the woods. I spared him only to spare my ammunition.

  Maximov was still unhurt, as far as I knew. Just how I wanted it. I put a bullet in the snow on either side of him. He wasn’t about to submit. As long as he was armed he was dangerous. I was just letting him know I was in charge.

  ‘Maximov!’ I yelled.

  His head lifted, but not much.

  ‘You’re on your own. Throw your gun away and walk towards me.’

  He was probably muttering the Russian for ‘Not bloody likely’.

  I placed two more shots, closer to him than before.

  ‘I can kill you whenever I like. And if you stay where you are, I will.’ A whimper from Maura behind me. ‘Now get up and come here – without the gun.’

  He would, of course, have a handgun stashed about his person. That could wait. I was down to six shots at the most. I switched to the ten-capacity magazine. If that wasn’t enough in hand for odds of one-to-one, I should find a new profession.

  Another shot that plucked at his hood, tearing a chunk of material from it. Finally, he stood. A long moment of hesitation, then he flung the submachine gun from him. Through the scope I could see his mouth working, no doubt heaping curses on my ancestry.

  ‘Now walk!’ I shouted.

  He walked. I was going to enjoy dishing out his just desserts, avenging Jacqui’s murder. However many bullets I had left, all of them would be used to finish him off. His was going to be slow death.

  * * * * *

  The snowflakes were falling thicker and faster, the wind increasing in strength and beginning to moan. It was a bleak setting, just as it should be for sending Maximov to hell where he belonged.

  He squatted on his haunches in the semi-circle of rocks. His wrists resting on his knees, his gloved hands dangling. Nonchalant. His mouth twisted in a sneer, as if he, not I held the upper hand. I had him covered with the revolver. I was expecting him to make his play sooner or later. I would welcome it. It would provide the just cause I needed to execute him.

  I was a jury of one. The verdict was already passed, the sentence shortly to be carried out.

  But first …

  ‘Why did you kill her?’ I asked him.

  ‘Because you didn’t kill Wharfe,’ he replied in that worn-out recording voice that was at such odds with his rugged physique. The shrug that went with the words told me how little the taking of Jacqui’s life meant to him.

  ‘That’s your idea of a fair quid pro quo, is it?’

  The Latin was wasted on him.

  ‘It’s the way things are, Henley.’

  ‘You’re a pig!’ Maura snapped, flinging a handful of snow at him in her frustrated rage.

  ‘I am a man of my word. You –’ He flapped his hand at me ‘– promised to kill Wharfe, who is a spy.’

  ‘So are you, aren’t you?’

  ‘That is true.’ He smirked. ‘But I spy for my own country, I am not a traitor.’

  ‘Neither is Wharfe,’ I said.

  The smirk faded. He actually seemed displeased.

  ‘Is that what he told you?’

  ‘That and other things. There is a traitor, but it’s not him.’

  His roar of laughter was out of place here, in the wilds of Finland, soon to be his burial ground.

  ‘You fool! Here …’ He delved inside his donkey jacket. I tensed, ready to plug him if he was going for a gun. But he came up with a cell phone. He tapped on a button or two, then tossed it to me.

  It might have been the old distraction trick, so I let it fall in the snow. Then I picked it up, held it in front of me, watching him with one eye as I studied the photo on the screen with the other. It was of Wharfe and Maximov and another guy I didn’t know. They were posing in front of a log cabin of some sort, backed by a mountain with a crooked summit. They were smiling.

  ‘What does that prove?’

  ‘That Ivor Wharfe and I were on friendly terms. You can see the date of the photograph in the bottom right corner.’

  It read 12 September. Less than two months ago.

  ‘That’s not all.’ Another delve. Like a magician producing rabbits out of a hat, he came up with a long white envelope. He slung it across. It had been sealed, but the seal was broken. ‘Inside that envelope is a report of the capability of Britain’s next generation of nuclear submarines. It was delivered to me yesterday, at Helsinki Airport, by Ivor Wharfe.’

  Keeping one eye on Maximov, I used the other to scan the pages inside. They were headed TOP SECRET. The letterhead was Ministry of Defence, Whitehall, London. The subject was SUCCESSOR SUBMARINE PROGRAMME. What came after was a preamble stating the need and justifying the outlay, which was many billions, and a rundown of the specifications of the four vessels. I didn’t read beyond the first three paragraphs. The less I knew, the less I would be compromised.

  ‘Wharfe gave you this?’

  ‘Certainly. That is not all. He was photographed doing it. My principals always expect proof of the transfer of any secret documents before they will pay. They know Wharfe is a senior official at MI6.’ He flicked a finger at the cell phone. ‘Go back two or three pictures.’

  I slid a fingertip across the screen. A photograph of Maximov receiving an envelope similar to that resting on my lap, from Wharfe, had clearly been taken in an airport; the arrivals display was behind them, giving the illusion of being balanced on Wharfe’s cranium.

  Maura shuffled up to my side, peered over my shoulder.

  ‘Oh, my God. He’s the traitor after all, not your friend.’

  ‘It looks that way,’ I said, remembering my last text message to Tony.

  ‘I believed him,’ Maura said.

  ‘Yeah.’ I sighed. ‘Me too.’

  I slipped the document inside the envelope and the envelope into my parka inside pocket. The cell phone too. Snowflakes eddied around me, and the wind chilled the side of my face. It was almost as dark as night.

  ‘Well, thanks for putting me straight about Wharfe,’ I said to Maximov. ‘But it doesn’t buy you a reprieve. If you were just a stinking traitor, that would be bad enough, but that’s not all you are.’

  ‘No. I import girls for the sex market, among other things.’

  ‘How can you admit that with no remorse?’ Maura demanded.

  ‘What is this remorse? Can I spend it? Can I eat it? There is a market, I supply that market.’

  ‘You deserve to die for that alone,’ I said. ‘But I’m going to kill you for what you did to Jacqui.’

  I got up. He followed suit. His legs remained slightly bent at the knee, ready to launch himself at me. That opportunity was never going to come. He was three metres away, and my bullet would cover it quicker. The revolver was as steady in my hand as a stone carving. He looked at it, then at my face. The tension went out of his body. The legs straightened. A smile of resignation spread over his chiselled features.

  ‘Don’t do it, Drew,’ Maura said sharply. She caught my gun arm.

  ‘Let go, love.’ Talking to her, I kept my eyes on him. ‘This is between him and me. I made it possible for him to kill Jacqui. At the least I owe it to her to do the same to him. Think of it as an eye for an eye.’

  Maximov was looking from Maura to me, a flicker of hope in his piggy blue eyes.

  ‘Just for once, be merciful,’ Maura said.

  My gun was as steady as ever, the hammer cocked, my finger already starting to apply pressure without any help from me.

  ‘I can’t believe you honestly think this piece of shit deserves mercy. What do you really want, Maura?’

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40