The Bombmaker (43 page)

His aim was off and bullets raked the ceiling above her head, shattering the tiles. Chunks of polystyrene cascaded around her like a heavy fall of snow. The man with the handgun fired at the troopers and hit one in the respirator.

The trooper slumped to the floor, blood pouring from around his face mask.

Andy dropped to the floor and rolled over, broken glass cutting into her flesh. She slammed into something soft and yielding and found herself face to face with the Wrestler, his eyes wide and staring, blood congealing between his teeth.

Andy groped for his gun. Her trembling hand made contact with the handle of the weapon, but when she pulled it wouldn't come free of the holster. She remembered the strap around the hammer of the gun and felt around with her thumb. There was a rat-tat-tat of silenced gunfire followed by two distinct shots, and she heard a body crash to the floor. She looked up. The man was only feet away from her. His face split into a malevolent grin and he fired at her, point blank. Andy twisted to the side, throwing out her hands for balance, and felt the bullet sear along her outstretched arm and into her shoulder. She screamed in pain and fell backwards.

The SAS troopers were shouting staccato commands at each other, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. There was another burst of automatic fire and the sound of bullets hitting metal.

As Andy hit the ground she saw the man fire at an SAS trooper and hit him in the neck. The trooper twisted around as blood sprayed from the wound.

Andy rolled, pain lancing through her injured shoulder,

came up on all fours and crawled under one of the tables.

Ahead of her was Green-eyes, blood pooling around her chest,

her head twisted grotesquely to one side. Andy saw her gun and grabbed for it as another burst of bullets sprayed along the ceiling above her, ripping out tiles in a shower of polystyrene.

The handle of the gun was wet with blood, and Andy seized it with both hands, rolling over until she was on her back. The man was bent low, the gun turned almost upside down so that the handle was pointing up at the ceiling. Andy squeezed the trigger, praying that the safety catch wasn't on. Her ears roared as the gun fired, again and again as her finger tensed instinctively on the trigger. Blood spurted from the man's chest and Andy kept firing. The man staggered backwards. He tried to straighten up but his body began to twitch as if electrocuted. As the room began to spin around Andy, she became dimly aware of the sound of multiple gunshots coming from all around her. The upper half of the man's body turned scarlet and the phone shattered as bullets raked across what was left of his chest, then 35O THE BOMBMAKER his face disappeared in a shower of red and white and he pitched sideways.

The last thing Andy saw was three troopers with goggles and respirators staring impassively down at her like giant insects considering their next meal.

The loudspeaker was suddenly silent. Then there was a man's voice. A gruff Scottish accent. 'Area secured!'

'They're in,' said the captain, relieved.

'Thank God for that,' said Hetherington.

'Andy. What about Andy?' Martin peered at the monitor closest to him. There were three figures sprawled on the ground.

Around them moved a dozen or so flickering green shapes.

Captain Payne put his phone to his ear and listened, nodding and grunting. He turned to Patsy. 'Tango One and Tango Three are dead, Tango Two is dying. Tango Four is wounded but will survive. You can send in the explosive officers now.'

Martin's mind whirled. Tango Four was alive, the others dead or dying. But which was Andy?

Patsy came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. 'It's okay,' she said. 'Andrea's alive. Your wife's okay.'

McEvoy took the mobile phone away from his ear. 'Shit,' he said.

'What happened?' asked Canning.

'Gunfire. Then the line went dead.'

Canning glowered. 'Gunfire? Are you sure?'

McEvoy looked contemptuously at his partner. 'I've heard guns before, Mick.'

Canning ran his hands through his unkempt hair. 'Maybe he'll call back.'

'I don't think so.' McEvoy put the phone down on the coffee table. 'I think it's over.'

Canning paced up and down. 'Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck are we going to do?'

McEvoy looked at the .38 Smith & Wesson which was hanging in a nylon shoulder holster on the back of the sofa.

Egan's instructions had been crystal clear. If the connection was cut, kill the girl. But Egan was probably dead. 'We go,' he said quietly. 'We pack up and go.' He picked up the holster and fastened it across his chest.

'You clear the cottage, I'll check the girl's okay.'

'I'll do it,' said Canning. 'She's still scared of you.'

McEvoy sighed. 'You're a sad bastard, Canning. Okay, you sort the girl out, I'll put the gear in the car.'

Canning went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out three cans of Coke and a bottle of Ballygowan water.

His woollen ski mask was on the kitchen table and he pulled it on. He picked up the drinks, went over to the door leading to the basement and pulled back the bolts. He groped for the light switch and found it, but when he flicked the switch the light didn't come on. He cursed under his breath and moved slowly down the stairs, softly railing Katie's name.

He reached the bottom and peered into the gloom. 'Katie.

Come here. Stop messing about.' He could just about make out the bed in the light from the open door at the top of the stairs,

and he headed towards it. He heard a scuffling sound behind him and turned to see the little girl scampering up the stairs.

Canning dropped the cans and the bottle. The glass smashed and water splashed over his feet as he rushed after her. 'George,

she's coming your way!' he shouted. He took the stairs two at a time and hurtled into the hallway. McEvoy was standing there,

his arms outstretched. The girl was frantically trying to pull the front door open. She hadn't noticed that it was bolted. The bolt was high up, way out of her reach. She turned and tried to run to the kitchen, but McEvoy was too quick for her. She skidded to a halt and turned, but her face fell when she saw Canning. He strode over to her and picked her up around the waist. She kicked him and beat him around the head with her little fists.

'Stop it, damn you!' Canning shouted as he carried her back down the hallway to the basement door.

He took the stairs slowly, allowing his eyes to get used to the 352 THE BOMBMAKER gloom. Katie carried on kicking him, but she was tiring and the blows didn't hurt. His shoes crunched over the broken glass and he dropped her on to the camp bed. She lay there sobbing, her knees drawn up against her chest. 'Jesus, girl, no one's going to hurt you. We're going.' He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and glared down at her.

He heard McEvoy come down the stairs behind him. He turned to look at him. McEvoy's face was set hard and he had the .38 in his hand. 'What are you doing with that?' asked Canning.

McEvoy pulled back the hammer with his thumb. 'She's seen my face, Mick.'

'We'll be well gone by the time the cops get here. She's a seven-year-old kid -- she's not going to be able to tell them anything.'

'It doesn't matter,' said McEvoy, pointing the gun at the girl.

Canning stepped in front of the gun so that the barrel was levelled at his stomach. 'George, listen to me. If you kill her in cold blood, they'll never stop looking for us. We'll be branded as child-killers. If they catch us, they'll throw away the fucking key.'

'I'm not happy about this, but she saw my face. You shouldn't have let her get away from you.'

'So it's my fault, is it?'

'I just call it the way I see it,' said McEvoy. He moved to the side, trying to get a clear shot at the girl.

'You've wanted to off her from the fucking start,' said Canning. 'No way are you going to do this.' He grabbed the gun in McEvoy's hand, forcing his thumb between the hammer and the chamber.

'What the fuck are you playing at?' McEvoy shouted. 'Egan said do her. We've got to do her.'

'No,' hissed Canning. 'It's over.'

'She's seen me.'

'She's a fucking kid, George.'

McEvoy tried to pull the gun away from him, but Canning 353 STEPHEN LEATHER held firm, keeping the barrel pointed down towards the floor.

Katie was sitting up on the camp bed, watching them nervously.

'It's all right for you, you've got your fucking mask on. She's going to tell the cops everything. And you've just told her my name.'

Canning seized McEvoy by the throat and pushed him back against the wall. He put his masked face right up against McEvoy's ear. 'Walk away, George.'

McEvoy glared at him. 'They're going to be coming for us,

Mick. I heard what happened. Gunfire. Hecklers, Mick. The fucking Sass. Egan's dead. They're all dead - the Sass don't take prisoners. If we don't kill the girl, she'll identify us and the Sass'll be after us.'

'There's a big difference between kidnapping and killing If we leave the girl alive . . .'

'What? They'll forget all about us? Yeah, and maybe we can go and live with Elvis.'

'We've got enough time to run. They'll look for us, sure, but they'll be a hell of a lot more determined if we've killed her. It'll be no stone unturned if we're child-killers, George. You wanna be a child-killer, George? You want that on your conscience?'

McEvoy nodded slowly. 'Okay,' he said.

'We lock her in the basement, then we piss off back to Belfast,' said Canning. 'We can make a call on the way.'

'Okay,' said McEvoy.

Canning slowly released his grip on McEvoy's throat. 'Let's get our stuff together,' he said.

McEvoy drove his knee into Canning's groin and hammered the butt of the handgun against the side of his head. Canning staggered back, bent double. McEvoy hit him again with the gun, slamming it against the back of his neck. Canning fell to the floor, stunned.

'It's all right for you, you piece of shit,' McEvoy hissed. 'She hasn't seen your fucking face.' He turned and pointed the gun at Katie. She rolled off the camp bed and ran to the bottom of the stairs, but McEvoy moved to intercept her. 'Stand still!' he shouted.

Katie skidded to a halt. 'Please don't,' she said, her voice quivering with fear.

McEvoy aimed at her face and his finger tightened on the trigger. Canning lurched to his feet, roared and threw himself at McEvoy's gun arm. He kicked the man's legs from underneath him and McEvoy hit the floor, hard. The gun went off but the bullet went wide and buried itself in the ceiling. Canning dropped down on top of McEvoy, fumbling for the gun. He seized McEvoy's wrist with both hands and twisted, but he couldn't loosen the man's grip.

McEvoy bellowed like a bull in pain. He tore at Canning's woollen ski mask with his left hand and ripped it off Canning's head. Canning locked eyes with him. McEvoy grinned. 'Now she's seen us both, what are you going to do?' McEvoy hissed.

Canning said nothing. He grunted, twisting the Smith &

Wesson around, towards McEvoy's chest. Behind them, Katie edged along the basement wall to the stairs, her arms outstretched like those of a tightrope walker fighting to keep her balance.

McEvoy threw Canning's ski mask away and clawed at his face, hooking his nails into the man's eyes. Canning yelped and thrashed his head from side to side, continuing to hold on to the gun. He forced the barrel towards McEvoy's chin. The gun went off again, the bullet grazing Canning's cheek and slamming into the wall, where it sheared off a hand-sized piece of plaster.

Canning's ears were buzzing and he could feel blood dribbling down his cheek.

McEvoy stopped scratching at Canning's face and used both hands to struggle for the gun. He pushed Canning with his knee and the two men rolled across the floor and banged into the table. McEvoy got on top and used all his weight to force the barrel down towards Canning's neck. Spittle peppered Canning's face. McEvoy was breathing heavily and his eyes were wide and staring, all his efforts concentrated on the gun.

Canning twisted to the side, and as McEvoy lost his balance Canning pushed the gun into the man's chest. He managed to get his own finger inside the trigger guard and the gun went off twice.

McEvoy stiffened, then blood seeped between his teeth and he 355 STEPHEN LEATHER »

rolled on to his back. Canning lay gasping for breath. He pushed himself up off the floor, still holding the .38, and looked around the basement. Katie had gone. He heard footsteps running along the floor above his head and rushed up the stairs. He found Katie in the kitchen, trying to pull open the back door.

'It's locked,' he said.

She stopped fumbling with the handle and slowly turned to look at him. Her lower lip was trembling. 'There's blood on your jumper,' she said. 'And on your face.'

Canning put his hand up to the bullet wound on his cheek. It was smarting and still dripping blood. The blood on his pullover wasn't his. It was McEvoy's. He grabbed Katie by the shirt collar and led her back down into the basement. She didn't struggle or protest, and when he told her to sit on the bed she did as she was told.

Canning flipped out the cylinder of the .38. Two shots left.

More than enough. He clicked the cylinder back into place. He pulled back the hammer. 'Close your eyes, Katie,' he said.

'I won't tell anyone,' she said. 'I promise.'

'Yes you will.'

She shook her head firmly. 'I won't. You can run away. I won't tell the police what you look like. I won't tell them what you did to him.'

'They'll find out anyway.'

'You could bury him outside.'

'The police will find me, Katie. They'll find me and then you'll identify me.'

'I won't. I promise. Please don't kill me.'

Canning pulled one of the wooden chairs closer to the bed and sat down on it, facing the girl. 'Katie, you don't know what the world's like. You're just a kid.'

'I know that adults aren't supposed to hurt children,' she said sullenly.

'I don't have any choice,' he said. <

'It's not fair,' whispered Katie.