Thunder (48 page)

One thing was certain. The moment his errant agent deemed fit to report in he’d fucking well give him what for...

The office door mechanism opened with a metallic clank and he jolted round from his screen.

Deuce surely couldn’t have come back without calling in?

It wasn’t Deuce.

“What are you doing here, sir?” he asked carefully.

~~~~~

Sentinel watched as Greere slid one hand across to his keyboard, and toggled his screen blank. “Nothing much,” said Sentinel flatly. “I have a meeting over here. Thought I’d pop in on my way to it.” He sauntered further into the room so he could see over the small partition to Ellard’s workstation. It was switched off. “Any word from Tin or Mercury yet?” he asked casually.

“Nothing, sir.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re pleased that they’re missing,” he observed. “Where’s your sidekick? On a day off? Do you know, I’ve never actually met him in person yet? Seems strange doesn’t it?”

“Not really, sir. You’re usually far too busy to come over here.”

Greere was fishing too. Sentinel had never been in this office before. At least, not when Greere or Ellard had been here. He smiled flatly, “So where is he?”

“On leave, sir. Family crisis or something,” said Greere. “I’m covering his duties.”

‘Lies come
so
easily to us’ thought Sentinel ruefully. ‘At times it gets difficult to remember where fiction ends and the truth begins.’

Greere’s cellphone suddenly sprang into life behind him and Sentinel watched as Greere span toward it. Such a slime-ball. Since his conversation with the PM, Sentinel couldn’t help but wonder whether the recommendations and citations he’d received about Greere, before he employed him into his team, hadn’t also been coerced or, more likely, motivated by other unit commanders looking for a convenient way to rid themselves of this insidious wretch.

~~~~~

‘At last!’ thought Greere. It was Ellard’s cellphone number.

“Yes,” he said curtly. Sentinel thought his caller was on leave. He’d need to be careful with what he said. “Where have you been?”

~~~~~

“Busy,” I say.

~~~~~

Despite the warmth in the room, Greere felt his face go cold.

It wasn’t Ellard.

~~~~~

“You should see all the little goodies your dog has been collecting, here in his kennel,” I rumble. “It’s like a veritable Aladdin’s Cave. Did you know about it?”

“Perhaps,” says Ace.

“I need a little more than that,” I growl. “It’s important for
you
. Let me guess: you have company – yes?”

“Yes.”

“Well. How nice for you to have company. I, unfortunately, do not. Your dog has seen to that. Very comprehensively. Sadly for you, I had to put him down. With animals like that, it’s the most humane thing to do...”

~~~~~

Greere hunched over his desktop, painfully aware of Sentinel standing behind him, and listened as Mercury gave him Ellard’s secret address in northern France. Mercury went on to briefly describe what it looked like – just how Greere remembered it from his own little reccy. So Mercury wasn’t bluffing about being there.

“I’m aware of that address,” he said.

~~~~~

“So it’s not just us then,” I say. “Not just Jack that you’ve had followed. That you’ve planned to hunt down?”

~~~~~

Greere ignored the question. “What now?” he asked as calmly as he could.

~~~~~

“Seems to me, that you’d much rather I didn’t just turn myself in. I suspect that, if I was to end up in custody, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from chattering about all the strange places I’ve been, and obscure things I’ve been doing. Goodness knows, it’ll make an interesting tale.” I’m guessing, of course. Everything might well have been sanctioned and authorised sufficiently to make my threat hollow, but somehow I doubt it. Deuce had come on his own. His mission had been as covert as every other action I’ve been involved in. Someone, somewhere, and most likely code-named Ace, was still trying hard to keep a lid on things. “I think it would be much better for us to find a mutually satisfactory way to conclude this.”

“Go on,” I hear him murmur.

“Meet me here. I’ll give you twelve hours to arrive. There will be no second chances. Don’t be late. Come on your own. If you don’t, I’ll vanish again. I want a fresh set of identity documents. Make sure you have some with you. You have my pictures. You can chose whatever name you like.”

“That might be difficult,” said Ace.

~~~~~

Greere didn’t really think it was difficult. Ellard had been right about the amateurs all along. What good would a new identity do for Mercury if
he
was left knowing about it? Besides. He had no intention of giving Mercury anything, other than a preferably slow and painful death.

Mercury had given up his position.

Greere needed to get this whole nightmare tidied up, and quickly.

“You have twelve hours,” the deep voice snarled and the line went dead.

“Are you sure you need my assistance?” Greere continued into his handset. “When...? Really...?
That
urgent? Okay, I’d better get moving.” He looked up at Sentinel and raised his eyebrows. “Problems with one of the shell companies,” he splayed his hands. “Nothing I can’t sort out. I probably need to get on with it though, sir.”

~~~~~

Greere’s normally oily patina was speckled with beads of sweat. As it should be. Sentinel had only heard one side of the conversation. The one side that hadn’t generated a faint, yet mildly familiar, baritone reflex from the back of his cellphone.

“I suppose you better had,” he said, and walked out.

~~~~~

Sermiers

My preparations are long complete. I have little to do, other than wait.

I don’t know whether Ace will come alone. If he doesn’t, Deuce has thoughtfully provided me with a contingency, and I heft the suppressed sniper rifle to one side while I make myself comfortable in the edge of the orchard.

Deuce’s place stands as isolated as Jack’s. Away from villages and towns. Set well back from the main roads. It’s also not a big spread. A couple of bedrooms, a lounge, a kitchen, a large sunny conservatory. I suspect it’s a converted farmhouse and it appears to have its own smallholding fanning out around it; including various randomly shaped fields with untended hedges and a heavily overgrown orchard which leads to far spreading woodlands.

I’m lurking at the edge of these trees.

From where I am, it doesn’t look like Deuce was much of a farmer.

Europe has basked in summer-long sunshine which has baked the wild, untended fields into a parched-brown tapestry of ochre. The soil is now dry and dusty, and hard to dig. The sky remains cloudless-blue but a hot wind swirls around me, heralding the promise of a drought-breaking downpour.

I have a good view from here.

I can see all of the main approaches to the house.

Ace can arrive night or day.

I’m ready.

~~~~~

Eurostar whisked him to Paris, SNCF got him to Reims, and a cheap hire car got him to a country lane about half a mile away. Greere had elected to walk from there. Now he was crouching patiently, behind a clump of withering hedgerow, studying the front aspect of Ellard’s French hideaway.

It looked like it had seen better days; with its old stone walls, sagging gutters, and sash windows all in desperate need of renovation. Greere would much rather have something modern. Somewhere in the heart of the action. A plush penthouse on the banks of the Thames or perhaps on Brighton seafront? Either would do nicely. Maybe both?

Seeing no movement, he skirted around the overgrown fields to the rear of the property.

Mercury was presumably inside.

There was far too much glass on the rear-facing conservatory for him to approach directly from the back. There were, however, no windows on the side of the house. He would come in from that angle.

He pulled a small telescopic sight from one of his jacket pockets and switched it to infrared. The windows all looked clear. No telltale blobs of white heat to betray someone keeping watch. It had been the same at the front. Mercury was either a fool, or stupid, or both.

~~~~~

I watch, through the sniper scope, as the podgy slime-ball breaks cover and scurries round to the back of the house. I watch him scan the windows with his own, smaller, scope. I watch him make his way to the blind side of the property.

He’s moving just like I thought he would.

I can see him in tremendous detail through the powerful optics of this rifle.

His solitary movement verifies that he has come alone. There’s no need for me to shoot him.

Yet.

Let’s see what he does.

I wonder if he’ll try to kill me?

~~~~~

Greere pulled out his sidearm, and screwed the silencer into its barrel. Then he hurried across the open space and flattened himself against the house wall.

~~~~~

I continue to watch.

~~~~~

Slowly he eased himself along the wall, toward the conservatory, then he stopped at the corner. He gathered his breath for a second. Then he quickly leaned round so he could glance inside.

The old lean-to was a simple wooden affair. Through the grimy glass, he could make out the back of Mercury’s head. Sitting in some wing-backed armchair. Facing away from the window.

He risked another quick glance.

The chair was positioned toward the doorway. Mercury was probably waiting for him to walk up and blindly enter the room.

No chance of that.

He stepped out confidently from the corner, lined up, and emptied his magazine through the shattering windows.

~~~~~

Well. That answers my question then.

~~~~~

The hooded figure slumped out of sight.

Greere felt a rush of elation as he released the spent magazine and slotted home a new one.

He moved up to the shattered panes and paused to listen. All seemed quiet. Not a sound... No... He was wrong. There was a faint hissing sound?

He crept around the house to the main door, which was on the side. He carefully turned the handle...

The door was unlocked.

He eased it open...

Still nothing.

Carefully, he crouched, and edged his head around the doorframe...

Clear.

He immediately threw himself into the doorway – his pistol brandished, ready, in front of him – and now he could see right through to the chair...

He could see right through to the crumpled heap of clothes slowly collapsing around a mortally punctured, wide-mouthed, crudely made-up, sex doll. A waft of rancid, stale-sperm scented, air drifted across to his nostrils...

~~~~~

I grimace behind my scope.

Deuce hadn’t been particularly hygienic in his self-gratification.

That was one disgusting mess of latex. With or without bullet holes.

~~~~~

Greere span round.

It wasn’t Mercury.

On the small hallway table was a note.

‘PUT THIS ON.’

Next to it was a small, comms, earpiece.

~~~~~

I hear the comms device crackle into life. Deuce’s collection of equipment was truly comprehensive. “Testing, testing, one, two, three,” I mutter.

“Mercury,” he responds.

“Shooting me in the back, Ace? Not particularly courageous. Not a fair fight.”

“Listen, Mercury, I
knew
it wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, right. Like you didn’t send Deuce to kill me either?”

~~~~~

Greere carefully swept his way around the ground floor.

“Kill you?” he whispered. “Why would I want to kill you? You’ve proven yourself to be highly talented. We could go a long way, you and me. If I wasn’t influential enough already, I’ve got promotion coming. I need good agents. Skilful,” he span into the last room. Empty. “...resourceful, agents.”

~~~~~

“Hmmm... where would a
‘resourceful agent’
hide, I wonder?” I say tauntingly, and can hear his footsteps on Deuce’s creaking staircase.

I swap weapons. This second rifle is more of a hunting device; its scope isn’t as powerful and unfortunately it’s not silenced. But I don’t think the noise will be a problem. Not given what I’m planning to do in the next few minutes.

“I wouldn’t come up here, if I were you,” I rumble ominously.

~~~~~

‘Upstairs then,’ thought Greere. This guy was off his head. Just like the others had been.

He cautiously continued upwards; approaching the building’s small landing.

Three doors. All closed.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, mo...?” Mercury prompted through the earpiece.

Was it a trap?

He moved toward the lockable door in front of him. It was likely to be a bathroom. He grabbed the door handle, thrust the door open, and spun his body away to one side.

Empty.

“Am I there?” asked Mercury. “Look carefully. I’m only
small
you know.”

He looked again.

Beyond the mildewed bath... below the stained and chipped white-crock sink... next to the battered, piss-splattered, toilet... was a package. A small package. A small grey cube with wires leading to a small black box...

He turned and ran down the stairs.

~~~~~

I hear his footfall, give him a moment, and then press the button on Deuce’s radio transceiver. It’s different to the one Jack had. There’s only one channel on this one.

The upstairs windows all light up momentarily. Then they’re compelled to exit their frames. Each one instantly atomised into clouds of tiny flying shards, which burst outwards as they surf on the front of violently brief flares of fiery plasma. The triple boom creates a tiny shudder through the earth. I feel it through my backside as I sit here, cross-legged on the dusty ground, aiming through the rifle sights at the doorway.

Yep, that was loud. Satisfying but loud.

I’d had no idea which door he’d pick. That’s why I rigged charges in every room. They weren’t there to kill him... Well, not unless I’d found myself in deep shit or something. No. They’re to make him do this...