Matt recognised the look on her face. A mixture of desire, passion and, yes, contempt — he had last seen it when they were in bed together in Bideford. He had failed to recognise it then, but he could see it clearly now. 'Get lost,' he spat.
'Tell me where the money is, or we shoot you right now,' she said.
'Stop threatening me,' said Matt, steadying his voice. 'I know you'll kill me anyway, whatever I do or say. We're all played out, Alison.'
She twisted her ankle again, grinding the sole of her boot into Matt's hand. The pain jolted through his arm and down into his spine. He took a deep breath, aware that he could endure whatever pain she might inflict on him in the next few minutes.
I have survived much worse in the past, and in a jew minutes I shall be dead. This will all be over soon.
Matt attempted a smile, aware that with the pain shooting down his arm it probably came out more as a twisted grimace. 'You never give up, do you?'
He could see Alison raising her right foot, holding it momentarily in the air, then stamping it down hard on his hand.
'Go fuck yourself,' he spat. 'I'm not telling you anything.'
'This is useless,' said Pinky, jabbing the gun harder into Matt's chest. 'I know these Regiment boys. It takes a long time to break them under torture. We'd need electricity, tongs, wires — the works.'
Alison nodded, glancing down at Matt. 'You hold him, I'll retrieve the money,' she said. 'It's got to be around here somewhere. Once we've found it, we'll finish him off.' She glanced downwards, meeting Matt's eyes. 'Anyway, it'll be useful to have a couple of holes in the ground. These two will be needing them.'
Escape, thought Matt — the word rattled through his brain. It was another lesson he had learned in the Regiment — a soldier who is still alive is a soldier who still has a chance of survival.
He watched as Alison paced about the clearing in the wood. She'd picked up a small spade from the bag Perky was guarding, and her eyes were rooted to the ground, examining it the way a doctor examines a patient, searching for any scratches or wounds in the surface. She knelt, picked up a piece of wet earth, and tossed it aside. She walked on a few more yards, stopping again, digging her fingers into the mud, turning it over.
Not there, thought Matt. You're not even warm.
The rain had picked up force now, and was spitting down into Matt's face. He could feel the water clinging to his hair and getting inside his clothes, dampening his whole body. The blood was still seeping from Ivan's head, the wound not yet staunched, and it was mixing with the rain, flowing away from his body. Matt could see some of it starting to seep into his jeans, staining them from blue to crimson.
'I'm going to enjoy the next few minutes,' said Pinky, grinning down into Matt's face. 'I always thought you were a difficult bastard.'
Matt could see Alison changing direction. She was walking towards one of the big oaks — not the biggest tree surrounding the clearing, but still a mammoth towering a hundred feet above them. She paused, examining the ground. There was a pile of leaves. Some were oak leaves, others were ash, all mixed together. The look on her face told Matt that she had seen something. If the ash leaves had fallen naturally they wouldn't be here; they would be a dozen yards away, at least. They were here only because someone had moved them. To hide something.
She's cracked it, thought Matt.
I can start reciting those psalms for myself.
Alison started scratching away at the pile, pushing the leaves aside roughly. She threw her hand into the mud. Matt could see her leaning over, then saw the spade chucking out piles of mud.
'It's here!' she shouted, her voice carried on the wind. 'I've found it!'
Another shot shattered the peace of the clearing, a single bullet cutting through the air.
'Don't!' shouted Alison from across the wood. 'I want to fire the bullet that kills him.'
Blood smeared across Pinky's face. Saliva drooled from his lips. His eyes bulged from his skull, his knees wobbled, and for a few brief seconds he tried to regain his balance. Then he fell forwards, his body crashing into Matt's chest. The wind was knocked out of him and it took half a second for him to recover his breath and to open his eyes to see what had happened. Pinky was lying flat across him, blood jetting from the back of his head like water from a tap. A hole, about the size of a penny coin, had been opened up — and it looked as if the bullet had travelled right through his brain, emerging just below his left eye, blowing open a square inch of his cheek.
Matt's first thought was a strange one: Whoever the hell fired that was a heck of a fine shot.
Using his forearms and summoning all his strength, Matt heaved Pinky's body directly on top of him. In the next few minutes, if he was any judge, there was going to be a lot more shooting. Pinky wasn't the best raw material for a shield: but right now, he was all Matt had available, and he would have to do.
The body was warm and sticky on top of him, a few final breaths still spluttering from his mouth as the last remnants of life ebbed away from him. The blood poured from his wound on to Matt, running over his neck. Matt closed his mouth tightly shut to make sure he didn't swallow any. There was some resistance in Pinky's arms, but the damage done to his brain stopped him from co-ordinating his movements.
Matt swivelled his eyes beneath Pinky's body. Five yards ahead of him he could see that Perky had thrown himself behind a tree, taking cover from the gunfire. His head and the barrel of his gun were just peeking out from behind the trunk, the pistol pointed in Matt's direction.
What the hell is going on?
Matt looked up. Alison had dropped two of the yellow canvas bags, and was running towards where Perky was stationed behind a tree. 'What the hell happened?' she shouted.
'How in the name of Christ should I know?' Matt heard Perky snap, his voice raw and ragged.
'Finish Browning now!' Alison shouted. 'Finish him!'
Matt could just see Perky, twenty yards away, holding the pistol in two hands, steadying himself and squinting to take aim. He rolled backwards, splashing into the blood and the mud. Using all his strength he held Pinky tightly to his body, making sure he covered every inch.
Two shots rang out. Perky stepped back with the gun's recoil. Pinky's body jumped as the first bullet slammed into his torso, and as the second sliced through his right leg.
If he wasn't dead already, he is now.
The clearing fell silent, and for a moment all Matt could do was smell the smoke of the bullets and feel the rain washing against his face. His hand inched forward, picking up the Walther that had fallen from Pinky's hand. Matt held it tightly checking the magazine. There were six bullets still inside. If he needed to, he could shoot both Alison and Perky three times.
He peered up carefully. From the shadows playing on the ground he could tell that both Perky and Alison were still stationed behind the tree, about twenty-five yards from where he was lying. They were whispering to each other, but the rain made it impossible to hear a single word. He glanced behind him. Thirty yards back there was a ridge in the ground, where the woods hit the fields. It was from somewhere behind there that the shot that had taken Pinky down had come from.
With Pinky's body as a shield, he started inching backwards toward the ridge. Progress was painfully slow. He had to shuffle an inch at a time, mainly using the strength of his stomach muscles, all the time dragging the corpse.
But if I can get behind that ridge, my chances of survival are going to dramatically improve.
Another bullet slammed into Pinky's body, making it jerk. Then another one. Matt buried himself tighter into the mud, the corpse above him. He could see both Alison and Perky leaning out from the tree, firing into him. It was impossible to raise his own gun to get a clear shot back at them without exposing himself to murderous fire.