Last Light (42 page)

CHAPTER 86

10.25 p.m. GMT
Shepherd’s Bush, London

They sat together in the ransacked lounge, illuminated only by a couple of scented candles Jenny had found in a kitchen drawer. Andy and his family were gathered together on Jill’s leather sofa, slashed and stained, and Mike sat opposite them on the one wooden kitchen chair that hadn’t been smashed to pieces.

‘There’s some fresh blood at the bottom of the stairs. I think you hit something,’ he said.

‘He just kept coming closer,’ whispered Jenny.

‘You did the right thing,’ Mike replied. ‘If you had let him come another step closer you and your children would be . . .’ He looked at Jacob’s wide-eyed expression. ‘Well, he would have acquired his target.’

‘Me?’ muttered Leona.

Mike nodded.

Andy shook his head. ‘Look Mike, if that’s really your name—’

The American smiled, ‘Mike’s my first name, yeah.’

‘I really don’t know who the hell you are now; I thought I did, back in Iraq . . . but I haven’t got a clue now. All I know is that some very powerful bastards want my girl. Who are they Mike? And for that matter where do you,’ he shot a glance at one of Mike’s men standing guard in the hallway, ‘and your sidekicks, fit into all of this?’

‘I can tell you a lot more about us than I can about them,’ he replied. ‘Which is why your daughter is so important to us.’

‘Let’s start with you then.’

Mike shrugged. ‘I work for an . . . let’s call it an
agency
. A small operation, once upon a time part of the FBI, that was a long time ago. Now we’re privately funded, which allows us to stay off the radar. We do one thing in this agency Andy, just one thing . . . we try to find
them
.’ He stroked his beard as he considered how to continue.

‘They . . .
they
. . . don’t even have a name; they’re that smart. They don’t have a logo, or a motto, they don’t have a headquarters, they don’t reside in any particular country, they don’t have any political allegiance, or ideology; they are just wealth and influence. They’re a club. We . . . my little agency was set up forty years ago Andy, in 1963 to be precise, after this club decided they’d put the wrong man in the White House.’

‘My God . . . Kennedy?’

Mike nodded. ‘It was his brother, Robert, that put us together in the aftermath. And that’s why the bastards nailed him too. And we’ve had to operate off the grid since then.’

‘Shit,’ Andy whispered.

‘Yeah. Eight years ago you did some work for a bunch of very dangerous and powerful people. Breaking through the secrecy around them has been virtually impossible. In forty years we’ve learned little more than they number 160 members, and twelve who make the big decisions.’

‘You must have an idea who these people are, right?’

‘We can guess. That’s pretty much all we’ve been able to do. We’ve only ever had one informant; if you’re up on European politics you’d probably recognise the name . . . he talked to us twice, briefly, before they got to him.’ He looked briefly from Andy to Leona.

‘And then we come to you two,’ he sighed. ‘Andy, you did business with
Them
- you actually dealt directly with the Twelve. Did you have any idea what you were dealing with?’

Andy shrugged, ‘I guessed they were oil execs.’

Mike chuckled. ‘The world’s a pyramid of power. Everyone makes the mistake of thinking the apex of the pyramid is government. That’s the big mistake.
Governments
are merely a tool for them to use. You have corporations, and they’re owned by bigger corporations, who in turn are owned by even bigger corporations. The bigger they get, the less familiar people are with the corporate names. Ultimately these huge corporations are owned by banks that in turn are controlled by bigger banks, again, with names that aren’t commonly known . . . and ultimately these bigger banks are owned by shareholders; very rich, very reclusive shareholders. If I was to hazard a guess at who the Twelve members are, I’d start there.’

‘But, it seems,’ he smiled at Leona, ‘you actually saw some of them. More importantly, you recognised one of their faces; someone who was on the television just before things went screwy, right?’

Leona nodded. ‘I don’t know who he is though, I don’t know the name.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Because what we’re going to do is get you out of here to somewhere safe, and then we’ll show you a whole bunch of photographs, and all you’ve got to do is say which ones you saw.’

He turned back to Andy. ‘Your daughter has in her head, right now, the most important nugget of information in the world. And that makes her very precious to us, and dangerous to them.’

‘What about the man who was here?’ asked Jenny. ‘He was one of them then?’

Mike was cautious. ‘He’s gone, but maybe not too far. We’ll sit tight until we’ve got daylight.’

‘What if he comes back?’ asked Andy.

‘I’ve got my men covering the front and back doors. They’re well-equipped and well-trained; they’re packing night scopes and body armour, both very capable men.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘You know I almost let him up. He was so believable.’

‘And he’s lethal too,’ cut in Mike. ‘I think he’s someone we know of. Well, at least, we know of his work. He’s their best field-operative, I’m certain they’ve used this same man many times before. He works on his own, completely autonomously. I’ve never seen him but I’ve seen his handiwork.’ He stopped himself. ‘Not nice. I just wish we had more information on him.’

Jenny turned to Andy, ‘We’re safe aren’t we? I mean the kids . . . you and me?’

Andy squeezed her hand, ‘I think we are now,’ he replied tiredly. ‘We’ve survived the worst of it, Jen.’

Mike got up and patted Andy on the shoulder. ‘Your husband turned out to be a real alpha-male back in Iraq, a sharp thinker - a good field-man,’ he said. ‘If you still don’t think you can trust me, you can certainly trust him.’

Jenny nodded and looked up at her husband. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry that I didn’t, you know, before this.’

‘You guys might want to get some sleep, if you can. We’re all leaving here at first light,’ said Mike. ‘We’ll take you somewhere safe.’

‘Okay. We’ll sleep down here, if that’s okay?’

‘Fine. That’s nice and close where I can keep an eye on you,’ he said with a reassuring nod. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll go and check on my fellas.’

Mike stepped out of the room, and left them to snuggle down together on the sofa. There were a couple of sleepy questions from Jacob that neither Andy nor Jenny could answer adequately. Then they curled up together, and after a few more whispered words, and some more shared tears of relief, Jenny, Leona and Jacob were fast asleep.

Andy felt a week of fatigue creeping up on him quickly. The chorus of rustling, even, untroubled breathing of his family asleep, and the distant murmur of Mike conferring with his colleagues outside, was comforting enough that he finally allowed himself to join them.

CHAPTER 87

11.36 p.m. GMT
Shepherd’s Bush, London

The lucky bitch had caught him with one of those three shots. It cracked his collarbone on the way in and tore a bloody exit wound from the rear of his shoulder on the way out.

He would have carried on up the stairs, finished her off with a quick swipe of his blade, and gutted the two children in two blinks of an eye. But he knew the sound of the gun would have those men outside running.

He would have been trapped upstairs with nowhere to go.

Ash beat a retreat out through the front door and crouched amongst the clutter on the avenue. The father, Sutherland, passed within a few feet of him and then those three men, seconds later. None of them saw him squatting down in the middle of the avenue, visible amongst the mess to anyone who bothered to look closely enough. He remained absolutely motionless, knowing movement would draw someone’s eye, and watched them from the darkness.

When finally the big American man,
Mike
, had won over Mrs Sutherland, they went inside . . . and he could move. He let himself into the house opposite, pulled some clothing out of a wardrobe and ripped a length of material to use as a bandage. He bound it diagonally and tightly round his neck and down under his left armpit, grimacing with every movement of his left arm. It wasn’t going to stop the bleeding, but the compression would slow it.

The bullet had sheered some nerves or tendons in his left shoulder, and he found his arm dangling uselessly by his side. If it had been the other side, his knife arm, that might have presented a bit of a problem.

Sitting in the darkness of the house, he assessed the situation.

Three on one.

They were all packing guns with night scopes and wearing vests, whilst he had a knife.

Ash smiled; they didn’t stand a chance.

He knew they were nervous, they’d be jumping at shadows. Ash’s reputation had a habit of preceding him, and he knew these men were well aware of his work. That always worked in his favour; their nerves would get the better of them. He knew what they would do - they would stay there until daylight, rather than risk moving out into the dark. There’d be a man posted at the rear of the house in that sun lounge, watching the back garden, and another guarding the front door.

They know I’m wounded.
There’d be fresh blood on the floor. That might make them a little more confident . . .
a little foolhardy perhaps?

He smiled. Even with the use of only one arm, they were going to be putty in his hands. He suspected that they - knowing he was wounded - might even be foolish enough to attempt to trap him, to capture him alive, if an opportunity presented itself.

That’s how they’d come unstuck, he realised. These boys were jumpy and keen to bag him as quickly as possible, of that he had no doubt.

He knew what to do.

‘It’s got to be the same guy that they’re using,’ Mike murmured quietly to the man standing beside him in the doorway. ‘I wish we had more on this sonofabitch.’

He scanned the street silently; the only noise the gentle murmur of a light breeze through the branches that arched over the avenue.

‘You think this guy’s coming back?’ asked Blaine in a hushed voice, sweeping the road outside through the scope on his pistol.

‘Of course he will. Come on, you know who we’re dealing with.’

‘Yeah, I guess I was hoping maybe they’d used someone else this time.’

‘Too much at stake, Blaine. They were only ever going to send this guy to clean up.’

Blaine nodded, and licked his lips nervously.

‘Just relax. The bottom line is, no matter how good he is, he’s only human.’

‘Sometimes I wonder.’

‘What?’

‘If he
is
just human,’ Blaine grinned sheepishly. ‘I mean in our dossier, somebody nicknamed this guy “the ghost”.’

‘Whoever decided to come up with that was a moron. He’s just a good freelancer who’s managed to stay lucky so far. Well, up to now that is. Andy’s wife got him at least once. My biggest worry is the bastard has scampered off and died somewhere out there. It would have been good to get a hold of him. God knows how much
he
knows about
them
.’

‘Kind of embarrassing that, eh? In the end it’s an untrained civilian, a woman at that, who finally nailed the ghost.’

‘Blaine, you call him that again, and I’ll shoot you dead,’ whispered Mike, not entirely joking. ‘Now shut up and concentrate.’

‘Right.’

They stood in silence for a full minute before Blaine opened his mouth to ask another question.

‘Shhh . . . less talk, more watching,’ whispered Mike.

‘Okay boss.’

It was then that Mike thought he saw a flicker of movement in the upstairs window of the house opposite. He tapped Blaine on the shoulder.

‘Straight ahead, first floor window on the left.’

The man raised the line of his night scope. ‘Shit, yeah . . . I saw something move.’

Mike had to evaluate quickly.

He’s upstairs in that house. He’s trapped, stairs the only way down - that or out the window with the chance of breaking a leg. He’s already been wounded, perhaps two or three hits. We’ve got a good chance of nailing this cocksucker tonight. Catch him alive, we might even get him to talk. Bonus.

‘We can trap him if we move right now.’

Blaine nodded, ‘Fuck it, you’re right.’

‘Cover!’ hissed Mike. He headed across the avenue, scooting through the rubbish, whilst Blaine kept his weapon trained on the window. Mike signalled for Blaine to join him against the wall beside the open front door. The man scrambled over quickly and quietly, and presently squatted down beside him.

‘There’s still movement up in that room. He’s up to something in there.’

‘Right, standard room-by-room procedure . . . only we know downstairs is clear. I’ll take point.’

Blaine nodded.

Mike entered first, his pistol and scope aimed up the narrow stairs to the first floor.

These houses are all built the same; small bathroom at the top, landing doubles round, three bedroom doors in a row on the left, boiler cupboard at the far end.

He took the first few steps and then paused, listening for any sound of movement from up above. It was silent, except for the occasional gust of wind coursing through the broken windows of the house, moaning gently. He waved to Blaine, who climbed the stairs quietly, squeezed past Mike and went another half a dozen beyond him - nearly to the top.

They waited to see if they’d been detected, for some sort of reaction. However, it remained silent, except for the rustling of paper and plastic bags being teased gently across the avenue.

Mike overtook his man. Reaching the top of the stairs he whipped his gun one way then the other, staring intently through the scope.

If this was the ghost . . . then he was a very slippery sonofabitch. They knew painfully little about him, except he favoured a long thin knife, and had been described by the few people who had encountered him - and lived - as looking Middle Eastern. He had no name, and a million names; using a new alias on every job. And he was used exclusively by
them
. Mike knew of three jobs that had his unique signature on them. There was the fireman from Ladder 57 who claimed to have discovered un-detonated demolition charges amidst the rubble at Ground Zero and had died as the result of a
supposed
street stabbing. The minister in Saddam Hussein’s government who had a
world shattering
revelation to make, and then was supposed to have slit his own throat. And there was that Russian banker championing the sale of Tengiz oil in euros instead of dollars - all of them victims of a never-recovered, narrow-bladed knife. All of them victims, Mike was certain, of this guy.

He waved Blaine up and pointed to the bathroom at the top of the stairs. The man squeezed past him. And after silently counting to three, he lent deftly in to check the bathroom was clear.

‘It’s clear,’ he whispered.

Mike decided playing quiet was pointless. This man undoubtedly knew they were inside the house with him.

‘We know who you are,’ said Mike. ‘We know your work.’

There was no reply.

‘You’re
their
man, you only work for
them
. We’ve been watching you.’

Silence.

‘We will take you, and that will probably mean killing you in the process. If you come out unarmed, then we can at least talk.’

The only sound was the flapping of a curtain coming from a front room.

Damn.

Mike had hoped they could bag this guy alive. He was too dangerous to fuck around with. If they were going to
take
him, then they’d have to go in hard, and go for a quick kill.

He signalled to Blaine that he would take the next room. Again they counted down, he kicked the door, and stepped in, sweeping his gun frantically one way then the other. It was clear.

Blaine took the next, again nothing.

So by a process of elimination . . . the last room.

‘I’ll take this one,’ whispered Mike. ‘Watch my back, I want you right behind me as we go in.’

The man nodded. ‘Got it, Mike.’

He took a deep breath, counted down from five silently, sticking his hand up so that Blaine, crouched behind him, could see the fingers folding down one after the other.

Three . . . two . . . one . . .

Mike kicked the door, and barged into the front bedroom, rolling to a stop against the opposite wall. He whipped his gun around, left then right - scoping the room with rapid jerking movements. His aim was drawn almost instantly towards something moving near the bedroom’s window. It was a bed sheet, draped over what looked like a floor-standing lamp, the breeze was toying with it, fluttering the corners of cotton. That’s what they’d seen through the window from the front door of the Sutherlands’ house.

‘Shit!’ muttered Mike. ‘It’s clear,’ he called out.

It was obvious they’d been played with. The bastard had lured them out.

‘Blaine! Back to the fucking house! RUN!’

Mike turned on his heels to head out of the room. Out on the landing, at the top of the stairs he saw Blaine’s body, stretched out like he was taking a nap.

And that’s when he felt a vicious punch to his kidneys. There was an explosion of pain and his first thought was that the well-aimed punch had hit a vulnerable nerve-cluster. But reaching to grab his side, he felt a protruding shaft, and a wetness on his fingers.

‘Oh fuck,’ he grunted. Something had found the three-inch gap between the front and rear plates of his vest.

‘Yes,’ whispered a voice in his ear, ‘it’s fatal. You have no more than five minutes to live. If you lie still, maybe a minute or two longer.

Mike felt his legs buckle, and as he slumped down, he felt the knife come out, and a hand grabbed him under each armpit. He felt himself being gently lowered to the ground.