Nasim wasn’t keen.
‘Lona no order,’ he said. ‘We leave now. Go back to Tunis.’
‘I don’t care what Lona ordered you to do,’ Silva said. ‘I’m telling you we’re going to the compound. You can wait here and we’ll take your car or you can drive us there.’
‘I no go and the car no go.’
‘Yes you fucking do.’ Itchy had loaded the equipment into the rear of the Land Cruiser and now he stood behind Nasim, the SIG in his hand. ‘You go, we go, the car goes.’
Nasim protested again, but climbed into the car. They set off back down the mountain track. It was a mile to the end of the ravine where they joined the main road, and then almost immediately they turned off up the track to the farm. The dust from Taher’s rapid exit still swirled in the air as they bounced along, Nasim growing increasingly agitated.
‘I don’t like it, I really don’t like it,’ he said. He glanced in the mirror as they pulled up and stopped at the battered gates to the complex. ‘We stay only five minutes, OK?’
‘Sure.’ Silva got out, reached in through the driver’s window and snatched the keys from the ignition. ‘But just in case we go into the red, I’ll take these.’
Nasim raised his hands in a gesture of despair and resignation.
‘We’ve only got the one weapon.’ Itchy patted the SIG. ‘Let’s be careful.’
They slipped in through the front gates, Itchy in the lead. Silva pointed to the right and Itchy nodded. He moved to the side of the yard. A small dust devil spun up and danced for a few moments before dying back down. Other than the gentle hiss of the wind and the occasional snap of the canvas awning at the side of the house, there was silence.
They reached the main building. A low wall ran from the building and ancient olive trees stood behind the wall in a small grove. Itchy jerked his gun in the direction of the grove.
Silva nodded. There was an opening in the wall and they could cross the grove and get to the veranda without having to go into the house.
They went through the opening and crept along the wall to where a series of steps led upwards. When they reached the steps they stopped again. Still no sound. Silva held out her arm. She’d go first, Itchy would cover.
She eased up the steps and onto the veranda. Karen Hope lay in the centre. She’d fallen backwards, her right leg contorted beneath her, the left stuck out at a weird angle. One hand clamped the pistol tight while the other hand had risen to her chin, a finger gracing her lower lip as if she was attempting to wipe away a morsel of food. The upper part of her face round the right eye had gone. Everything from there backwards had been ripped apart by the bullet. She was dead all right.
Silva paused for a moment, but she was still pumped. This wasn’t the time for reflection. She moved to the edge of the veranda and looked over. Bare earth and some olive leaves that had been knocked off when the two men had fallen. She swung back to the house where an arch led into the building proper. No door, just a dark shadow.
‘I’ll go first.’ Itchy had his hand on Silva’s shoulder. ‘You stay back.’
Itchy moved along the veranda towards the arch while Silva checked nobody was sneaking up behind them, before they slipped into the relative cool of the house. After the brightness outside, the interior was like ink. She slid her feet across the tiled floor and turned a corner. Ahead Itchy was waiting in another doorway, light flooding through from some sort of central courtyard behind him. As Silva approached, he held out a clenched fist, thumb down.
Enemy spotted…
Itchy pointed to the upper storey where a series of windows overlooked the courtyard. A shadow passed across one opening and then another. Itchy placed his hand in front of his face and pointed to the right of the door where a corridor ran parallel.
Form ambush…
Martin ‘Harry’ Palmer walked down the corridor towards them. Taher’s AK-47 was cradled in his arms, the finger of his right hand on the trigger. Holm stepped back, aware of his damp shirt, the sweat cold and clammy on his back.
Palmer. Harry bloody Palmer.
The chill on his skin brought forth a shiver as realisation set in. How could he have been so stupid? So blind? All those briefings at Thames House, Palmer there with his dinky little visitor’s pass bearing the highest security level. Worse than that, the years of personal friendship between the two of them. The curries, the nights out together, the drunken chats on the state of the security services or on the progress Holm was making in catching Taher.
I can’t understand it, Harry. We were so close. He just seemed to slip away without a trace.
Never mind, Stephen. There’s always a next time, eh?
Not with Palmer there wasn’t. Not with Harry bloody Palmer.
‘Hello, sir.’ Javed, innocent of the true situation, smiled and put out a hand in greeting. ‘A timely arrival if I might say so.’
‘Farakh.’ Holm touched Javed on the shoulder. In his head he played back the conversation he’d had with Palmer at the cafe in Battersea Park. ‘There’s nothing timely about it. He’s been here a while. Isn’t that right, Harry?’
‘Yes.’ Palmer stopped a few steps away. ‘I was beginning to get bored of waiting for your call, to be honest.’
‘Taher got away with the weapons.’ Javed lowered his shoulders as if by way of an apology. He still hadn’t got it. ‘But the good news is we eyeballed him.’
‘That’s about the only good news though.’ Palmer raised the gun a little. ‘I mean, events have taken a turn, haven’t they, Stephen? You come here to catch Taher and instead a president ends up dead.’
‘She wasn’t a president,’ Holm said. ‘Not yet.’
‘But she would have been if somebody hadn’t meddled.’ The gun swung up and Palmer gestured for them to move down the corridor. ‘Now everything’s gone to shit.’
‘Boss?’ Javed turned to Holm for some kind of answer.
‘Harry’s not all he seems, Farakh.’ Holm shook his head. ‘He’s played us, played everyone. All this time Taher managed to keep one step ahead of us and I couldn’t work out how he did it. The answer is Martin Palmer.’
‘What?’ Javed looked at Holm. ‘Are you saying—’
‘Downstairs!’ The gun jerked again. ‘I don’t know what you’ve got to do with the death of Karen Hope, but you’ve caused a whole lot of trouble.’
‘Nothing, Harry.’ Holm spread his hands wide as he walked to the end of the corridor. ‘We’re unarmed. An old guy who will shortly need a Zimmer frame and a young ’un who thinks tradecraft is an ethical food company. What on earth would we have to gain by killing Karen Hope?’
‘I’ve no idea, but it’s a bit of a coincidence that you turn up and Hope is shot.’
Holm shrugged. He began to descend the spiral staircase. Javed and Palmer clattered down behind him. When he was halfway to the ground floor he realised he could make a run for it. Palmer wouldn’t be able to hit him, not with the tight angle and with Javed in the way. Of course Javed would take a spray of bullets in the back. Holm muttered a curse under his breath.
‘What did you say?’
‘I asked you why, Harry? Why Taher? Are you a convert?’
‘A convert? Don’t be crazy. I can’t stand Taher’s brand of Islam. To be honest I can’t stand any brand of it or any other religion. All of them are prejudiced and bigoted. There’s nothing worse than self-righteousness, and believers of any faith tend to have it in spades.’
‘So it’s the money.’ Holm nodded to himself. ‘Something for your retirement.’
‘Ask yourself, Stephen, if you’re happy with the way we’re treated. Here we are, defending the realm, and what do we get for it? Bugger all. No thanks, low pay, the chance of a tribunal if we cock up, a slow decline if we don’t.’
They reached the ground floor and Holm moved into the kitchen. Without being asked he went to the table and pulled out a chair.
‘How much did they pay you?’
‘You’re mistaken – the money was good but it wasn’t just about the financial rewards.’ Palmer aimed the gun at Javed and encouraged him to sit too. ‘I met Jawad al Haddad years ago and he offered me information on various terrorist groups. I used the information to save lives, understand?’
‘I bet Haddad twisted what he gave you. Everything was designed to strengthen his own position and promote his own factions.’
‘Sure, but the result was that individuals were taken out and plots were disrupted. Isn’t that the point of what we do?’
‘Means and ends, Harry. They have to match. Pocketing cash while looking the other way when some of the bombs go off doesn’t work for me.’
‘The problem with you, Stephen, is your idealism. This is the real world. Compromise. Two steps forward, one step back. Progress always has a price.’
‘Paid in bodies and cash, right?’ Holm shook his head. He was stalling, all the while trying to find some kind of angle. ‘Tell me how this is going to end. I assume you can’t let us live?’
‘Sorry, Stephen, no, but you’ll be heroes. You tried to save Karen Hope, but there were too many terrorists. In the end you went down in a blaze of gunfire.’
‘Taher’s AK-47.’ Holm looked at the assault rifle. ‘He left it for you.’
‘There was no time to work out a plan after Hope was shot.’ Palmer gave a flat smile. ‘But it’ll do.’
‘Others know about this, know we’re here, know you were instrumental in leading us to Taher. They’ll be able to work out what happened.’
‘Nice try, but you didn’t tell anyone. You were too scared about blowing your chance at catching Taher off your own bat.’ Palmer laughed. ‘Not duty or loyalty to your country, was it? Vainglory, that’s all.’
‘Martin—’
‘Enough,’ Palmer said. ‘Let’s go back outside. You’re going to be part of history. Your names alongside Hope’s.’
Holm slowly pushed himself up. Their last chance would be on the way back to the veranda. He let Javed go first, thinking perhaps the young lad could make a run for it. They walked from the kitchen along a narrow corridor, bright sunlight at the end where the corridor joined a small inner atrium. As they crossed into the atrium a voice shouted out from one side.
‘Stop there. And put your hands on your heads.’
Silva had slipped along the corridor and crouched behind a large carved wooden box. Then she’d waited. A minute slipped by and then another; then through an arch to her left she saw two men emerge into the glare of the courtyard.
‘Stop there,’ Itchy said. ‘And put your hands on your heads.’
The next few moments passed like lightning. As Itchy stepped forward to cover the two men, a shot rang out from the darkness of the arch. Itchy collapsed to the floor, his hand to his right leg.
‘Drop the fucking weapon!’ A tall thin man emerged into the courtyard. He had an AK-47 in his hands and his finger tightened on the trigger. Itchy was half slumped on the floor, one hand on his knee and the other holding the SIG. ‘Now!’
Itchy nodded and the gun fell from his hand, clattering on the floor.
‘Stephen, kick it away!’ The thin man thrust his own weapon towards the older man and made a sweeping motion. ‘Do it!’
Silva knelt hidden from his view behind the box, but she had direct line of sight to Itchy and the other two men. The older man moved his foot next to the gun and, as he did so, his eyes flicked to her hiding place. For a moment he hesitated, but then he kicked the gun and it slid over the floor towards Silva.
‘I’d say we’re another step closer to solving this mystery, Stephen.’ The tall man stooped out of the doorway. ‘British intelligence comes up trumps once again.’
‘Hope’s dead, Harry,’ the old guy said. ‘I wouldn’t count that as a success.’
‘Don’t knock it. The way this will play out, you’ll still be the hero of the hour. A dead hero, yes, but a hero nonetheless.’
As the tall man moved to cover Itchy and the others, Silva reached for the SIG.
‘Stop!’ she shouted, holding the gun braced in two hands.
The man froze, his finger still touching the trigger.
‘Or what?’ He didn’t seem surprised as he turned his head towards her. ‘This is a Mexican stand-off, right? If you shoot me, I’ll shoot at least one of them.’
‘I’ll take that chance if I have to.’
‘It’s Ms da Silva, isn’t it?’ He smiled. ‘You see, Stephen, there is actually no mystery at all, no global conspiracy to assassinate a president, rather a cheap and dirty personal vendetta.’
Silva wondered how he knew who she was, and in that split second the man swung the machine gun and fired a burst. Silva was already moving, diving behind the wooden box and letting off a single shot as she rolled out the other side. This close she went for the body. This close there was no chance of missing.
The man staggered back as the bullet hit him in the chest, stopping his heart instantly. For a moment some part of his sympathetic nervous system continued to work and he stood balanced like a statue. Then he toppled backwards and folded to the floor.
Silence.
Silva stood and walked over to the body, gazing down. She had no idea who the man was except he was something to do with the weapons smuggling, something to do with Taher, ultimately something to do with the death of her mother. Yet, staring at the husk at her feet, she felt nothing. Neither was there much relief that Karen Hope was dead. There was no feeling of triumph, no sense of celebration. A sudden wash of despair overcame her and she wished she was away from here, away from everyone, up on the moor, just running, running, running until she’d sweated all the anger from her body.
She was brought back to her senses as Itchy uttered a groan. He grimaced and held his leg and turned to Silva. The grimace became a smile and he gave her a nod of respect.
‘Shot,’ he said.