His eyes were closed. He was dazed and confused. The sound of rattling gunfire was only barely recognisable to his brain. After a short spell, the gunfire ceased, replaced by an uneasy silence. He tried to open his eyes but quickly shut them again when a pulsing pain stabbed at the front of his head.
As he lay there on the cold, hard ground, eyes squeezed shut, slowly becoming more aware of where he was and why, he started to feel the pain ease and the fog in his brain clearing. He finally opened his eyes again when he heard a voice and felt tugging on his arm.
‘Evans?’ the voice said. ‘Are you okay? Evans? Come on, man, get up.’
Paul Evans looked up and saw Mason kneeling over him. He pushed himself upright, bringing his knees up toward his chest, grabbing his legs to keep his heavy torso from falling back down. A rush of dizziness washed over him. He put his head between his knees and looked down at the ground, hoping it would pass. He saw drops of blood falling from his face onto the white surface below.
‘Shit,’ he said, lifting his head back up to stop his nose dripping.
He felt at his nose, pulling it left and right, up and down. It was sore as hell from Logan’s head-butt, but it didn’t seem to be broken. It was oozing blood, though, and he could feel a laceration further up, between his eyes.
‘I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute,’ Mason said.
‘What’s happened?’ Evans said.
He lowered his head just a little, peering over his cheek bones toward where his two other guards were standing, near to the Jeep belonging to Fleming’s men.
‘They’re all dead,’ Mason said.
Evans began to scan the bullet-ridden and bloodied bodies that lay on the ground. There were two by the Jeep: Maksat, whom Evans had managed to pay off beforehand, plus one of Fleming’s other men. Ilya, who’d similarly turned against his former boss at the offer of a measly sum of money, was the first of three bodies that Evans spotted over by Fleming’s four-by-four.
That was only five.
Evans got to his feet slowly. The world seemed to sway in front of him. He took a step forward, cringing in pain.
There was the sixth body, he realised. He’d thought there were just two bodies next to the four-by-four – Butler and Fleming’s remaining loyal guard. But there was actually another there, the one Evans had most wanted to see: Fleming. Butler was on top of him, his face buried in Fleming’s belly. The two bosom buddies laid to rest together.
Fleming and Butler, the SAS heroes. Yet they and their four guards had been felled so easily by just two of Evans’s men. Granted, two of Fleming’s men had betrayed their boss only to be betrayed themselves, but it was still a damned impressive feat. Evans wondered whether Fleming and his crew had even managed to fire off any shots before they were taken out. They simply wouldn’t have been ready for the ambush, too caught up in their own greedy moment. Too focused on Logan and Grainger and the money they thought was on offer for handing the runaways over.
‘Tell them to come over here,’ Evans said, crouching back down on the ground.
Mason shouted over to the two men, who were casually chatting among themselves. They turned and began to walk toward Evans and Mason.
‘I told you they would be good,’ Mason said.
‘You did,’ Evans replied.
The two men were Russian. Mercenaries, much like Fleming and his crew. In reality, there was nothing special about them. They had been soldiers once, but so what? In an even fight, Fleming and Butler may well have had the upper hand. But it hadn’t been an even fight. It had been a simple snare. A cheap shot.
‘Good work,’ Evans said to the two men. ‘Pack up your weapons, then get ready to head out.’
The men nodded, then turned around to head back to the car. As they did so, Evans reached into the pocket of his puffer jacket and took out the Glock handgun that had been there throughout the whole of the planned exchange of Grainger and Logan. He lifted the gun and fired two shots.
A bullet struck each of the Russians in the back of their heads. Spatters of flesh and blood flew into the air. The bodies slumped to the ground almost in unison.
Evans lowered his gun and looked over at Mason, who simply shrugged.
‘It’s a shame, I guess,’ Mason said. ‘They were good.’
‘They were replaceable,’ Evans said.
‘Probably. And expensive. No one likes to pay if they don’t have to.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Evans said with a wry smile.
‘Now let’s get your face sorted out.’
Evans followed Mason over to the saloon car. Mason opened the front passenger door and Evans sank onto the seat, leaving his feet outside so that he was at ninety degrees to the seat back. Mason went over to the boot of the car and came back a few moments later with a small medical kit.
As Mason began to delve into the supplies, Evans reached into his trouser pocket for his mobile phone. He lifted it up above his tilted head so he could see the screen and dialled the number. It took a while for the connection to hold, but when it did, the call was answered on the second ring.
‘Was it them?’ Jay Lindegaard drawled.
Evans wondered whether he had woken Lindegaard or it was just his awful accent that made him always sound half-asleep.
‘Yes,’ Evans said, knowing that the question had referred to Logan and Grainger.
There had been a niggling doubt in Evans’s mind as to whether Fleming and Butler were telling the truth or were playing a game with their request to do a deal over Logan and Grainger. It had been a real bolt from the blue when Butler had called Lindegaard to say that the two fugitives were staying at Fleming’s house near Aktobe in Kazakhstan. Prior to that, there hadn’t been a snip of the whereabouts of the two. Clearly, based on his question, Lindegaard must have had the same doubts.
In the end, Fleming had been telling the truth. But his greed had got the better of him. Following the call, Evans had done his own digging into the ex-soldiers. He found it immensely amusing that Logan had felt Fleming was someone he could turn to in his hour of need. As far as Evans could make out, Fleming was nothing more than a self-centred prick, driven by greed and his need to feel superior to everyone and everything.
Fleming had misplaced his trust, just like Logan had. If Fleming had known anything about Lindegaard and Evans at all, it was that they would never do a deal if they didn’t have to. And this time, they really didn’t have to. Killing the SAS men and their guards was by far the simplest solution really. No one was going to care about the deaths of two parasites who had been bleeding dry the local economy. Their deaths would be glossed over by the Kazakh authorities, who would be glad to see the back of them, as would the companies they had no doubt been fleecing.
‘And?’ Lindegaard said.
‘They got away,’ Evans said without any hint of regret.
Mason thrust an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball onto the cut above Evans’s nose. The pain caught Evans by surprise and he let out a yelp, his body jolting.
‘Evans?’ Lindegaard said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Just getting cleaned up,’ Evans responded through clenched teeth.
Mason came forward with a needle and thread. He paused, looking uneasy. He stared at Evans, waiting for the signal to continue. Evans nodded his head slightly and Mason began work. Evans winced as the needle pierced his skin, but he quickly focused his mind away from the pain.
‘So they’re on the run again,’ Lindegaard said.
‘Yes.’
‘And Captain Fleming?’
‘Dead. And Butler. And four Kazakh guards. And the two Russians we hired.’
There was a short pause on the other end.
‘Are you still there?’ Evans said.
‘Yes, yes, I just … I–’
‘I take it you’re a bit surprised?’ Evans said.
‘No, no. Well, I’m just surprised it was so easy, that’s all. I expected a bit more resistance, I guess.’
‘Who said it was easy? You should see my face. And anyway, the devil’s in the detail. All it took was a bit of planning.’
‘I know. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s excellent work.’
‘Thanks,’ Evans said, smiling at the unexpected compliment.
‘We may have a problem, though,’ Lindegaard said.
‘And what’s that?’
‘Our friend in London.’
‘Winter?’
‘It seems he might not be as useless as I’d hoped.’
‘That’s hardly a problem. In fact, he might play right into our hands.’
‘Maybe. But it does add some complications.’
‘Like what?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle myself.’
‘Okay,’ Evans said, frowning. He wasn’t sure why Lindegaard had bothered bringing up Winter if he wasn’t going to explain what the problem was.
‘So everything’s still going to plan,’ Lindegaard said.
Evans assumed it was a statement rather than a question.
‘Bang on,’ said Evans, smiling again.
Logan might be a warrior, a fighter, but Evans was a tactician. Logan was part of this, but the mission didn’t start and end with him. The more Evans could bring together the different elements, the easier it would be to finish the puzzle. Evans was already two steps ahead. He knew what Logan’s next move would be. And the one after that. And with each move Logan now made, Evans would be a step closer to completing his work.