‘No. Fucking. Way.’
Joshua was trained to maintain silence when concealed and awaiting his shot. But this time – for the first time – he could not keep the words inside.
The sight of Anthony Haversume was one of the greatest shocks of Joshua’s life. He had prepared himself to discover Stanton’s identity. Had steeled himself for any eventuality. Or so he had thought. But Anthony Haversume? The scourge of Northern Irish terrorism? It had not even crossed his mind.
Now he wondered why, because it made perfect sense. The death of Neil Matthewson would clear Haversume’s path to high office; Matthewson was the only politician with approval ratings anywhere near Haversume’s. But to be behind that assassination and to make it look like a terrorist attack? That was a new level of wrong.
The shock did not last long. Joshua would not be where he was if he could not shake off the unexpected. But the feeling of betrayal was not so easily ignored. Joshua may have abandoned the army years ago, but he still had military sympathies. He shared the military’s distaste over the government’s treatment of its soldiers. Hated how they were sent into battle under-funded and ill-equipped. And he despised the way William Davies had struck political deals with terrorists. He had believed that Haversume was the answer. That he was the man to lead his country from the mire. He had put what faith he had in the man.
And now he knew it was a lie.
That feeling – that bitterness – clouded Joshua’s judgement. He despised Stanton and had vowed a terrible revenge once this was over. A vow to make Stanton pay for the threats he had made. But Joshua had also determined that it would not happen today. It would not be until his family were safe. Joshua would wait, and he would enjoy his revenge cold.
Except now he was not so sure.
Joshua watched as Haversume strode about the clearing, barking instructions. An occasional glance into the hills was the bastard’s only acknowledgement of Joshua’s presence. Haversume was obviously unconcerned that his gunman now knew his identity. He had no fear of the man he had repeatedly threatened. It was a dismissive complacency that only angered Joshua more.
That fury grew as Joshua continued to watch. It badgered him. He contemplated ending Stanton – Haversume – with a single bullet. But he could not win. Nothing would override Joshua’s duty to his family. He had already calculated the odds the moment he realised that Stanton would show up. And while he enjoyed the thought of taking Stanton’s life at this secluded spot, he knew that he could not.
It was Haversume’s ability to consider every possibility that protected him. A torrent of bad blood had passed between Joshua and ‘Stanton’ during their short relationship. Threat after unacceptable threat. It went without saying that Joshua would want his tormentor dead. Which meant that Haversume knew the risk of putting himself in Joshua’s sights.
It was this fact that held Joshua back. Haversume would not have placed his life in Joshua’s hands without arrangements in place for his own protection. Without the ‘bargaining chip’ of Joshua’s family. Both men knew that they were still under threat, and that the threat would only pass if Haversume came away unscathed. It was the ultimate insurance policy. The ultimate incentive.
It was what kept the smile on Haversume’s face, and a bullet out of Haversume’s brain.
Dempsey looked through his own hand-held telescopic sight. It gave him just the barest glimpse of a face he had not seen in seven years.
James Turner was concealed beneath a duvet of mud, dirt and arranged shrubs. Dug into the hill. The man would have been impossible to find, if Dempsey had not watched him arrive.
Dempsey had travelled alone after briefing the brothers. A police helicopter, arranged by Henley at Dempsey’s request, had covered the miles between Ulster and Wicklow at a speed unmanageable by land. It had allowed him to arrive in Avoca hours before Turner. He had then completed the journey with the same fast-paced trek up the hillside that Turner would later take.
All of which had allowed him to reach the McGale cabin by 3 p.m.
Just like Turner, Dempsey had taken time to identify the spot with the best lines of sight. The result was the same; Dempsey had settled on the spot his former sergeant now occupied. And then he had moved away, to a spot with the clearest view of Turner’s likely location.
It was in this second spot that Dempsey had then concealed himself. Just as effectively as Turner would later manage. The two men had the same training. The same techniques. The same natural talent. For the next ninety minutes Dempsey had lain motionless.
Invisible.
Waiting.
That ninety minutes had ended with Turner’s arrival, driving into the clearing in his newest hire car. Sunlight had broken through the gaps in the overhanging foliage, tracing a path from the vehicle’s front wheels to the cabin door.
The tall, brown-clad figure had stepped out of the driver’s door. It was the first time Dempsey had seen his old friend since Colombia. The years seemed to have hardly touched the man. Turner was as slim and as fit as ever. His pale face carried none of the scars that Dempsey had picked up in the years between. The eyes were as alert as ever.
Dempsey had watched as Turner moved to the car’s rear passenger door. Saw him pull a struggling figure from the back seat. Dempsey recognised the heavily bruised face of Sarah Truman.
With Sarah secure in the cabin Turner had climbed back into his car and driven away. But there was no doubt in Dempsey’s mind that he would be back.
Dempsey had calculated that it would take Turner a minimum of thirty minutes to return on foot, which would be his inevitable means of covering the distance; parking his car anywhere but in the town at the foot of the hills would risk giving his presence away.
Which would defeat the point of having him here, Dempsey had thought.
That thirty minutes had given Dempsey time, and he had used it wisely. By the time of Turner’s return Dempsey’s weapons were primed and ready for use. And they remained that way for the next few hours. Just as Dempsey had remained motionless and hidden, watching as his former friend selected the perfect spot for his particular task.
Turner’s ability to blend into his surroundings had not been dulled by the years. Dempsey had seen that for himself. After perhaps an hour of careful scrutiny, the older man had concealed himself exactly where Dempsey had known he would. He had done so with a skill that Dempsey shared but rarely witnessed, becoming all but invisible.
Dempsey had observed intently throughout, genuinely fearful that he would not find Turner again if he did otherwise.
Once Turner was settled, Dempsey had used a particular branch – part of Turner’s coverage – to mark the spot in his mind before forcing himself to look away.
He had not allowed himself to obsess about Turner. To do so would only heighten his anticipation and release long-buried emotions, both of which were a waste of valuable energy.
Instead he had used the time to survey the distance and terrain that separated them. What mattered today was how he could best protect Devlin, Casey and their men. And for that Dempsey needed to calculate how long it would take him to reach Turner without being detected.
Usually it wouldn’t be necessary to deal with Turner face to face. A bullet would make the journey in an instant. But that was not an option today. Dempsey had already determined that it was too much of a risk.
He could not have fired before Haversume’s arrival, while it had just been the two of them. Dempsey had no way of knowing what contact Turner had with Haversume, and so he could not have risked taking Turner out in case it had alerted Haversume. And he couldn’t fire now either, with the brothers yet to arrive. Not with Sarah Truman and the Lawrence family surrounded by armed men; they would surely die before Dempsey could finish Haversume’s full group. Even once Devlin and Casey did arrive, an immediate bullet would be too dangerous; the sound of gunfire, even a single muzzled shot, would almost certainly start a firefight in the clearing below, perhaps before Liam, Michael and their men were ready for the fight that would follow.
The situation had left him no choice. Turner – the most dangerous man Dempsey had ever met – had to be taken up close. Which meant that Dempsey had to reach him.
Keeping his body flat to the mud and the undergrowth, he began the long, slow crawl that would do just that.