Honour Bound (33 page)

-57-

In
contrast to their jubilation earlier in the flight, both Harvey and Leach sat
in silence. Both were thinking about their newfound wealth, and how they would
spend it. Harvey occasionally interrupted his monetary thoughts as he scanned
the digital readouts on the control panel, but he had already accounted for
twenty thousand pounds. Leach on the other hand was absently watching the
bright yellow fields of rape passing below while toying with his seat harness
and wondering how many acres he could buy with his share. Neither man was aware
of the timer on the package beneath Harvey's seat that was steadily counting
down to zero. A single electronic pulse had activated the timer when Leach had
pressed the winch release button over the lake.

Harvey
had mentally spent twenty five thousand pounds when the count reached zero and
a circuit opened allowing the current from a small battery to flow into the
detonator. The ten ounce charge exploded, but failed to kill Harvey instantly.
Not that it mattered. The initial force of the blast travelled along the
metalled underside of his seat neatly severing both his legs at the knees. The
mounting pressure severed the bolts holding the seat to the frame allowing it
to be rocketed upwards by a mighty force of rapidly expanding gases. Harvey's
helmet smashed through the Perspex at the top of the cockpit followed by his
shoulders and the top of his seat. The leading edge of a rotor blade smashed
into the seat tearing it in half and throwing flesh and metal in all
directions. A shattered section of Harvey's flying helmet, guided unerringly
along the fuselage by the slipstream, rattled into one of the turbine air
intakes. The hardened plastic segment smashed the turbine blades into millions
of fragments that in turn were sucked into the second stage compressor. The
vanes in the compressor, designed to deal with nothing harder than compressed
air, also shattered, sending more and more fragments into the gearbox. A jagged
piece of metal severed the fuel inlet pipe at just about the same time as the
massive turbine seized.

The
body of the helicopter started to spin faster and faster on its axis propelled
by the still spinning tail rotor. Leach, deafened and knocked unconscious by
the blast, came round to a crazily spinning, eerily silent world. His shocked
and numbed mind could not understand why the centre console had suddenly moved,
pinning his legs against the side of the cockpit, and why his eyes were having
difficulty focusing on anything outside. The crazy rollercoaster ride lasted for
eight more seconds before the dying machine slammed into the ground. The rotors
smashed repeatedly into the dry earth raising a thick, choking cloud of dust
before the second turbine finally ripped itself apart. The helicopter lay
quiet, just the tick-tick of rapidly cooling metal breaking the silence. Fuel
trickling steadily from a shattered valve hungrily searched out the heat of an
exhaust pipe and exploded in a huge ball of flame.

-58-

The
roadside cafe a mile or two from Langdon Manor was quiet. The other two
customers, a woman and a young child occupied a booth by the window. The child
seemed to be asleep while the woman was smoking and reading a newspaper. Only
the hum of passing vehicles and the subdued strains of a radio playing in the
kitchen at the rear invaded Norton's personal calm.

He
had made good time from the ambush site but had decided to stop for food and
caffeine. He had ordered from the cafe's all day breakfast menu, and the hot
food which was a little more substantial than the sandwich he'd eaten earlier,
made him feel less hollow inside. He was now in the process of demolishing a
third cup of coffee, absently blowing the steam that rose from the hot liquid
as his mind sifted through the events of the past few days.

Ever
since Vance had given him the case, things had happened quickly, far too
quickly. It was as if there had been an unseen hand, smoothing out the usual
difficulties, and filling in the pitfalls of a normal investigation. Things had
fallen into place far too easily. Everything had pointed to Peter Holmes, it
was as if the man was holding a neon sign above his head saying ‘I am guilty,
come and get me.' The bombings at Heathrow, and therefore the hoax calls were
linked to him through Joey Williams. The use of the same codeword had pointed
the finger for the Tower Bridge and Tower Hill bombs. He had personally ordered
Norton's death at the car show room, and he had been fairly and squarely linked
to the hit team by the mouth of one of the assassins.

The
hit team had known his address. That linked Holmes with Langdon and that was
Langdon's first mistake. If he had asked Vance for the file in the proper way,
it would probably have slipped routinely through and aroused little or no
suspicion, but he hadn't. He hadn't known Vance well enough to appreciate that
he was a very meticulous planner, with a passion, bordering on obsession, for
proper backups.

Vance's
murder had been his second mistake. Probably sanctioned by Langdon and carried
out by one of Holmes' thugs. Langdon had been a fool to ignore the comradeship,
loyalty and trust built up between the field agents and their controllers.
Every member of an operational unit was honour bound by an unwritten code. The
murder of any field operative would be avenged. If Norton had been unable to go
after the killer, one of the other field agents would have taken his place. The
score would be settled, and there would be no time
limit.        

And
now this latest slaughter on the motorway. He had spoken to the first traffic
patrol officers to arrive they had told him the same codeword was used to
gridlock Acton as well as all the junctions leading to the M4. Every available
police mobile had cleared the areas around the suspect vehicles in an effort to
keep down the number of casualties when they exploded. The relief of finding
out they were hoaxes had been short lived when the real reason for their
presence became known.

The
most coherent witnesses to the attack had said a helicopter lifted the armoured
truck on to the back of a lorry that had driven away. What had Sarah said?
Holmes had bought a helicopter, something to do with his latest job. Things
were much clearer now, as always, hindsight is twenty-twenty vision.

He
knew where the answers to his problem would be. Langdon Manor. Not that it
would help the people who had already died. Langdon and Holmes had played the
game. Their cards were on the table, face up, and covered with blood of the
innocent. Norton would now lay his hand, a single card, a tarot card, the card
of death. The feared angel would soon reap a fresh harvest. The time had come
for them to pay.

-59-

Norton
left the café and shortly after turned off the main road onto the narrow
country lane that was now unwinding before him in a verdant blur of trees and
hedges. He was still annoyed with himself for overlooking the helicopter, it
had come to light, and he had failed to take notice. Maybe I'm getting to old
for this, he thought, peoples lives depend on me doing the right thing.
Mistakes like that, we can all do without.

When
the arched stone gateway proclaiming 'Langdon Manor' came in to view, he braked
and brought the car to a halt in a position that blocked the entrance. He locked
the doors, checked the load in the shotgun then crossed the gravelled drive,
cutting through the trees towards the house.

At
the edge of the trees he stopped. A large circular parking area lay between him
and the house. Two cars were parked side-by-side facing the drive as though
prepared for a quick getaway. Two men lounged against them, each wore a dark
suit and each had one hand pushed into a trouser pocket. The man on the right
held a tall glass in his free hand while the man on the left held a cigarette
in his. A third man stood between them with his back to Norton. They were
talking and laughing, appearing to take little interest in their surroundings.

Norton
scanned the front of the house. A large double door was closed; windows to
either side and above were surrounded by thick folds of ivy, giving them the
appearance of deep black holes. Norton grinned, a small army could be hiding
just inside the rooms and it would be impossible to see them.

He
turned his attention back to the cars, a Daimler standing next to an Aston
Martin. Only two, he thought, a handful of people at most, if I wait any longer
how many more are likely turn up. 

He
took a deep breath. Gripping the shotgun in his right hand, he activated the
laser sight and stepped out of the tree line. He had covered ten yards, half
the distance to the three men, before they became aware of his presence. The
man on the left dropped his cigarette, his hand diving inside his jacket.
Norton kept walking. He raised the barrel of the shotgun and fired two quick
shots, racking the action so fast they sounded as one. Two men died instantly,
falling into a tangled mass of arms and legs between the two cars as the ball
bearings smashed into their chests.   

The
third man had not had time to
turn,
he stood perfectly
still, his back towards Norton.

"Let
me see your hands," Norton said.

The
man's hands went out at right angles to his body in his left he held a silver
tray. Norton took two steps closer. "Open the boot of the Aston and get
in."

The
man carefully stepped over the bodies obeying his instructions, not attempting
to look at his tormentor. As soon as he had settled himself in the boot, Norton
stepped forward and slammed it shut making sure it was locked.

"Three
down," he said, "how many more to go?"

He
threw a quick glance at two bodies on the gravel,
then
ran across a neatly trimmed lawn towards the side of the house to look for a
suitable point of entry.

-60-

The
sound of the shotgun blasts echoed around the building before dissipating in
the warm air. "What the hell was that?" Peter Holmes asked, looking
from Langdon to his two bodyguards, as though they were better qualified to
know. "Roger," he said, "
go
and check
it out.
Keiran
you stay here."

The
shorter of the two men stood up and went out of the door, pulling it closed
behind him. Holmes took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and began mopping
his forehead.

Langdon
said, "It sounds as though we have a visitor. The doggedly determined and
exceedingly annoying Sam Norton I presume."

Holmes
ignored the remark and continued the clean up operation with the handkerchief,
moving from his forehead to his face. The slight change of plan he had in mind
would have to wait until this annoying shit had been disposed of.

Keiran
O'Connell moved
away from the table and took up position by the patio door, his hand resting on
the butt of a Browning tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

Holmes
patted his forehead once more before looking at Langdon who was unconcernedly
sipping Scotch from a crystal glass.

"What
sort of security have you got around here?" he asked.

His
voice had reached a pitch that Langdon had not heard before and he realized
that Holmes was scared. There were just a handful of people between him, and
the man he had ordered killed, and it had started to get to him.

"Don't
worry Peter," Langdon said as he lit a cigarette, "he'll have to go
through your men and mine before he reaches us."

At
least, he thought, through the last two of your men if the shots were anything
to go by. Aloud he said, "And if he does manage to get in here, I have a
little surprise for him."

***

Peter
Greaves pulled the cone carrier off the road and stopped by the Ford parked
across the gates to Langdon Manor. The telephone call he had received at the
rendezvous point from Peter Holmes had been very explicit. Drive up to the
house, he had said, come and find me, and take out everybody who gets in the
way. It was clear that the only people who were going to leave this house today
would be Peter Holmes and his employees.

Greaves
had briefed the remains of the assault team on the drive down. To a man, they
wanted to get even with the person they believed responsible for the deaths of
their friends. Greaves half turned and rested his elbow on the steering wheel.
"I don't like this," he said, nodding towards the Ford, "there's
no reason for that to be there." He checked the magazine in his MP5 and
racked the action. "Come on, let's take this nice and slowly."

***

Norton
entered the house through a sliding glass door into what appeared to be a
library. He skirted around a large freestanding fireplace and carefully opened
one of two doors on the opposite side of the room. Through the crack, he saw a
short thickset man walking away from him along a wood panelled corridor towards
the double doors at the front of the house.

Only
sending one to investigate the shots, he thought, I've hit it just right, no
more than a handful.

He
drew one of the throwing knives from the sheath on his wrist, stepped into the
corridor and launched the gleaming blade with power and accuracy. Silent and
deadly, the razor sharp leading edge of the thin flat blade struck the man at
the base of the skull, penetrating the medulla where the stem of the brain and
the spinal cord meet, killing him instantly. The man dropped to his knees and
rolled almost gracefully onto his side before becoming still on the polished
floor.

A
low murmur of voices came from a room further along the corridor. Norton moved
quickly but quietly towards the sound and stopped outside a double door.
Recognizing Langdon's voice, he put the barrel of the shotgun against the
polished wood and pushed it open.

"I
wondered how long it would take you to get here," Langdon said, his voice
calm and confident, as the movement of the door caught his eye. 

O'Connell,
whose attention had been focused on the patio area, spun round on his heel. His
hand froze on the butt of his gun as he saw the red dot from the laser sight
centred on his chest.

Norton
looked at him. "Use it, or lose it."

The
guard appeared to have turned to stone. A craggier face than the silky smooth
one he possessed would have completed the illusion. His eyes fixed unblinkingly
on the dot on his chest. Several moments passed before he raised his head and
looked at Norton.

Keiran
O'Connell knew
he was not going to die, not here, not today. He was too good, too quick for
that, after all, he’d been trained by the best. And who was this, some fucking
peeler who thought he was better, the fucking fool. My actions will beat your
reaction, he said to himself, believing all he had been taught.

Norton
knew what was going to happen. Although the man's face was unreadable, his eyes
spoke in volumes.

O'Connell
moved, launching himself to the right, drawing his gun at the same time.

Norton
fired. The ball bearings slammed into O'Connell's shoulder, ripping flesh and
shattering bone. The massive force of the impact spun him round and punched
him, face first through the patio door. Cascading glass, smashed into
glistening stilettos, ripped into cloth and jabbed at exposed flesh.
O'Connell's unconscious body rolled across more and more razor sharp shards
before coming to a halt on the hard flagstone surface.

Langdon
sprang to his feet. "Jesus Christ, are you fucking mad!"

"Sit
down!" Norton ordered, and centred the laser sight on Langdon's chest.

Langdon
sat. Angry with himself for his outburst, a sign of weakness and he did not
like to appear weak. The man was nothing anyway, just a bodyguard, a hired
thug. He breathed deeply, trying to regain his composure.

"Never
been this close before,
shithead
?" Norton said,
"What's the matter, worried about replacing the door before it gets
dark?"

He
kept the laser trained on Langdon, and looked across at Holmes who was staring
at O'Connell's body lying face down in the remnants of the patio door. His face
had gone the colour of a ripe cherry. Small rivers of perspiration ran down his
face unabated, soaking into the collar of his shirt making the once white
material look a dirty shade of grey.

"Sam,"
Langdon said, "this doesn't have to end in a blood bath. I know you’re
prone to that sort of conclusion, but it doesn't have to be that way."

"What
way do you have in mind?"

"Peter
and I have just carried out an operation which has netted us a rich king’s
ransom. A percentage of that could be yours."

"What
sort of percentage are you talking about?"

"Take
fifty percent," Peter Holmes shouted, leaning forward in his chair to
stress his words. He could see a glimmer of hope, and unable to rely on the
Irishman, he clutched at it like a drowning man. Every man had his price, and
if he could buy this man, and get out of here with his life that would suit him
just fine. I have enough money, he thought, I don't fucking need this.

"Take
the fucking lot, the truck is in the lake. Take the fucking lot. Just let me
go."

"Peter,"
Langdon said, "getting hysterical is not going to help anybody. If you
can't be sensible, then please be quiet."

Holmes
slumped back into his chair as though his outburst had physically drained him.

Langdon
addressed Norton. "We could come to some arrangement, and then go our
separate ways. We could all be very rich."

"What
makes you think I want anything to do with money that has cost hundreds of
lives? Hundreds of innocent lives wasted, just to fuel your greed."

"Innocent
lives," Langdon said, waving a hand in the air. "Who cares about
innocent lives? That many are killed every month on the roads, who gives a fuck
about them. Nobody, that's
who
."

A
stony expression set in on Norton's face. A fire burned bright in his eyes as
he thought of Christine. Hatred for the two men before him became apparent, a
tangible, almost living thing. Langdon knew he had overstepped an invisible
line. He knew he was going to die unless he acted fast.

"Before
you kill me," he said quickly, trying to keep calm, "there is someone
here who you ought to meet. Then, perhaps, we can still do a deal."

He
pressed a button set into the edge of the table. "They won't be long. I,
at least, was expecting you."

He
heard a door bang somewhere in the vastness of the house. Soon after, the
dining room door opened and Sarah was pushed into the room, a crude gag tied
around her mouth and a fiery red bruise swelling on the side of her face. She
was closely followed by a man who had a gun pushed into her armpit, his free
hand holding on to the bonds securing her wrists.

Norton
could see the fear in her eyes, the deep seated fear of a person who believed
they were going to die. He had seen the look once before in the eyes of a
Russian intelligence officer, a military advisor, captured in a raid on a
desert command bunker. The Russian had been right. Sarah was wrong. He would
not let her die because of his mistakes, whatever the
cost.     

She
stared straight at him, her eyes pleading. He wanted so much to hold her, to
cradle her in his arms and tell her she would be all right. He had said that to
her once and now she was here, hurt and afraid. He would not let it happen
again.

He
dragged his eyes away from her when Langdon spoke. "You see Sam," he
said, "I tried not to leave too much to chance. When Vance was taken from
us in such a barbaric way, I did a little searching on his precious computer.
You had to hide her somewhere. It was just a matter of time before I found
which safe house you'd used. Now, if you want her to stay alive I suggest you
put that shotgun out of reach." Langdon reached under the table, his hand
reappeared holding a revolver. "I suggest you do it now, or you will both
die."

"Kill
him, for fucks sake, kill him now," Peter Holmes shouted, his courage was
returning fast now he could see a shift in the balance of power.

Norton
stood still, still pointing the shotgun at Langdon.

"She
will die Sam if you don't cooperate. I really did mean what I said about it not
having to end in violence. You could be a very useful asset to me. We can still
make a deal."

Norton
applied the safety catch and threw the shotgun onto the dining table. It spun
around on the shiny surface, leaving scratches like skid marks at the scene of
an accident, before coming to a halt in front of Langdon.

Langdon
smiled. "And the automatic you are so very fond of using. But please put
that on the floor and kick it over here. This is a rather an expensive
table."

Norton
followed the instructions and when the gun came to a rest, Langdon nodded to
Vousson
. "Sit her down at the table it is rather rude
to keep a lady standing."

The
Frenchman pushed her around the table and sat in the seat next to her.

Peter
Holmes raised himself from the chair. "Are you going to kill this shit, or
are you going sit here talking fucking pleasantries."

"Peter,"
Langdon said, "you really do annoy me. I would like to say it has been a
pleasure working with you, but I just can’t find it in me. I've had to stop
myself from vomiting every time I've seen your fat ugly face, and now that you
and your pathetic gang of thugs have totally outlived any form of usefulness,
we can finally say goodbye."

The
big revolver bucked in his hand. A muffled scream from Sarah was drowned by a
louder one from Peter Holmes as two bullets hit him high on the chest. He
staggered and thrust an arm out as if to fend off any further shots, a look of
total disbelief on his face. Langdon fired again, an unnecessary shot because
Holmes was already dead. He fell backwards onto a chair that pitched sideways
with the sudden weight, tipping his cumbersome body onto the floor.

"Sit
down Sam," Langdon said, as if he had just swatted an irritating fly
rather than ending a life. "Now we can get down to talking business."

Norton
sat down opposite
Vousson
, just six feet of wood
separating them, an impossible distance, at least for now.

"Remy,"
Langdon said, "put your gun away and come and stand by me. I can keep them
covered with this." He waved the revolver but kept it pointing at Norton.

Vousson
smiled and
stood up, slipping his gun into its shoulder holster. He walked around the
table and lightly brushed his thigh against Langdon's arm as he stood next to
him. Norton did not miss the smile and brief contact.

He
looked at Sarah. She was sitting with her eyes closed and trembling like a leaf
in a breeze. It will soon be over, he said to himself, wishing he could project
his thoughts to her.
To try to comfort her in some way, to
remove her fear, to see her smile again.
Soon, he thought, very soon.