The Bannerman Effect (The Bannerman Series) (47 page)

Also at Grassi's side stood Kurt Weiss, his driver. His left cheek bandaged but the wound not serious. Caused not by a bullet but by chips from a concrete planter. Tucker had fired wildly and with one hand; Bannerman's man McHugh spoiled his aim. Had Tucker been more competent and had it not been for Lesko, more might have died. Himself among them.

Many other cars leaving. Or preparing to leave. His own nephews were there, having solicited rides as far as Malaga, having been denied the second helicopter. There was a greater need for it.

It was lifting off now. It rose, over a maelstrom of sand, and banked immediately to the northwest. Fuel permitting, thought Urs Brugg, it should reach Lisbon within ninety minutes.

The departing cars again caught his attention. A few had turned east. But most were crossing the Cadiz road and climbing a hill that, as far as he could tell, led nowhere. Now he saw where they were going. Several had already stopped at a house halfway to the base of the mountain. He could see two men standing on the terrace, gesticulating to new arrivals. Their body language seemed to convey great enthusiasm. Urs Brugg could not think what the cause might be. The house was unremarkable. Except, perhaps, that its occupants used their terrace railing as a laundry line. Unusual for Marbella. Probably Italians.

From his place behind Urs Brugg, Lesko watched the scene below, without interest, his expression sad and distant.

Elena sat with him. She tried to soothe him.

“You did well, Lesko,” she told him. “Susan will understand.”

“
David?”

But they didn't shoot.

He almost wished they had.

In the second Bell Ranger, Billy McHugh's head snapped up.

”Wha—where we going?” he gasped, trying to rise.

Leo Belkin reached to restrain him, ease him backward.

“To Lisbon,” he told him. “To the Soviet Embassy. We have a surgeon there. A good one.”

“Where's Paul?” Billy asked, pressing forward against Belkin's touch.

“Behind you. Resting. You must both sit quietly.”

“Paul?” Billy ignored him. He raised his good hand to the space between the headrests.

“Right here, Billy.” Bannerman took the hand in his. His left. Bannerman's right hand and arm were also useless.

“How bad? You, I mean.”

“Not bad at all,” he lied. “Just a crease. You relax. We'll be there before you know it.”

“At the Russian Embassy? What for?”

“No police, no questions, a good doctor. Besides, there's something Colonel Belkin wants to show me there.”

Billy met the Russian's eyes. Trying, through his pain, to read them. He saw nothing that gave him alarm. Nor did the Russian look away. But he saw Billy's suspicion. He shook his head. “You are quite safe,” he said. “It is not at all what you must be thinking.” Belkin gestured toward the empty seat next to Billy. Billy's automatic was there. “You may keep it if you wish.”

Billy wished. And he wondered. What could be better than delivering Mama's Boy and Billy McHugh, wounded, mostly helpless, inside the walls of a Russian Embassy compound? But Paul showed no concern. Billy's mind turned to the last thing he remembered. The shooting, the chaos, at the Puente Romano.

“Paul?” he asked over his shoulder. “We lose any?”

“No.”

“You're sure? Any sign of—”

“Three towels,” Bannerman answered tersely. “Stay quiet, Billy. Try to sleep.”

“Carla and—”

“They're fine, Billy. Show's over.”

“He'll live.”

“Too bad.”

“Billy—not now.”

“It's his fault. Him and his games. If that dumb shit football player didn't pop him first, I would've before we left.”

“Billy—”

“Or you would've.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Billy—Susan's back here with me.”

“
Lesko?”

“
David
—
Leave me alone. ”

“
Just listen for once, okay?
^”

“
No. Go away.
^”

“
Lesko, I saw. You did good.

“
Bullshit.
^”

“
You saw how Susan looked at me?
^”

“
What about it?
^”

”
I would’ve done it. Shot Bannerman, I mean.”

“
You would have yelled first. I didn't. Maybe I
—
I don't
know
—
maybe I wanted him dead. Out of Susan's life.
^”

“
Will you stop?
^”

“
Stop what? Maybe it's true?
^”

“
Lesko
^”
—Katz shifted in the seat next to him—
“Anything involving your daughter, you wouldn't know the truth if
it bit you on your pecker. I have to draw you a picture?
^”

“
Just leave me alone.
^”

“
You're at this hotel right? No regular guests. Most of the
staff sent home except the ones in Grassi's pocket. Otherwise,
nothing but pros. Old pros. The kind who stayed alive because
they don't wait to yell warnings. ”

Katz
had a hand on his arm. Lesko tried to pull away.

“
Listen to me.’
⁹
The hand gripped him.
“Bannerman
knows this. He knows none of his friends
—
only his enemies
—
would run up behind him without letting him know they're
coming. So he hears a noise, his instinct says turn and shoot.
The guy's on autopilot. By the time he sees it's Susan, maybe
it's too late. ”

Lesko squeezed his eyes shut. It had been so close.

“
You did good. You also impressed a lot of people. Two
great shots. ”

“
David, ”
Lesko said patiently,
”I aimed at Bannerman's head. Any lower and I hit Susan myself. It was luck I got his
arm.
^”

“
So? One great, one lucky.
^”

”
I aimed for Tucker's head, too. I got his jaw. And a piece
of Billy.
^”

“
You want some advice? Shut up about luck. Let people
think what they want.
^”

He did not answer.

“
Lesko?
^”

He felt the hand on his arm. Squeezing it.

Wait a second.

Since when does Katz touch him?

“Lesko?”

He blinked. Elena's voice. Her hand.

“Yeah?” He straightened. “Sorry—what?”

“Do you understand what I've said?” she asked, gently.

“Ah—what part?”

“That Uncle Urs is right. You did well. You were very brave. And that, concerning Mr. Bannerman, you had no choice.”

“That was you? Just now?” He waved a hand as if to erase the question. “Never mind,” he said, embarrassed.

She eyed him curiously, but withheld comment. “What is important is that you believe it.”

“I'm more interested in what Susan believes,” he said, gathering himself. “Maybe you could call her. Talk to her.”

”I think Mr. Bannerman will do that.”

“Square me with Susan? Fat chance.”

She squeezed his hand, reassuringly. “May I rest against your shoulder?” she asked.

“You want a pillow? I could get you a pillow.”

He allowed his arm to embrace her, but he kept its weight from settling. He was barely touching her.

“Am I made of spun glass, Lesko?”

“Sorry.” He eased it down, finding the warmth of her arm. She closed her eyes.

“
David?”

No answer.

“
Were you here?”

”
A pillow?”

Oh, Christ.

“
Lady wants your body, so you'd give her a fucking pil
low?”

“
David—”

“
You're hopeless, Lesko. You know that?”

“
I know.”

. . . I know.

Susan had barely spoken to him. Nor he to her.

She had asked about his arm, how badly it was hurting him. He made little of it, saying hardly at all, but she knew better.

The right arm was broken, although not shattered. The bullet had entered at a shallow angle, just below his elbow, and drilled, toward his wrist, through several inches of muscle.