Best nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Did you know anything about that?’ Leary wanted to know.
Best shook his head.
‘Lying bastard,’ snapped Leary. ‘Who killed them?’
‘Do you know what every member of your organisation is up to twenty-four hours a fucking day?’
‘I just want to know if it was the UVF that killed them.’
‘And what? If I tell you, you’ll let me go?’
‘Was it the UVF?’
‘Yes it was, and I’m glad it was.’
‘How did they know where that minibus was going to be? There were a dozen different routes it could have taken from Maghaberry to the border. Who had access to that kind of information?’
‘It’s fuck-all to do with me.’
‘Just a soldier then, are you? Just do what you’re told?’
No answer.
‘Who told you to ambush that fucking minibus and kill all the men on it?’
Leary snapped.
Best gritted his teeth.
‘Who’s your section commander?’ Leary persisted, pressing the gun harder against Best’s cheek.
‘If you kill me, the car’ll crash. We’ll both die,’ Best said.
‘Stop the car. Now.’
Best continued driving.
‘You heard me,’ hissed Leary. ‘Stop the fucking car’ He smacked the barrel of the Glock into Best’s temple. Powerfully enough to hurt him but not so violently as to make him lose control.
He stepped on the brake and looked round at Leary.
‘How many men took part in the ambush?’ the younger man demanded.
‘Four.’
‘Including you and him?’ said Leary, nodding in the direction of the bullet-blasted body of Kelly.
Best nodded.
‘Give me the names of the other two.’
‘Fuck you,’ Best snarled.
Leary struck him hard across the face with the Glock. The impact loosened two of his front teeth and burst his bottom lip. Blood ran down his chin.
Leary reached across the front seat and grabbed Best by the hair, hauiing him upright. He pulled the flick knife from his pocket and freed the blade.
With surprising gentleness, he pressed the needle-sharp point against Best’s left lower eyelid.
The names of the other two men,’ he hissed. ‘Or I’ll take your fucking eyes out, one by one.’
Best was breathing heavily now, his tongue occasionally flicking across his split lip to lick at the red stream flowing from the cut.
Their names,’ Leary snarled, pressing harder with the knife point. ‘You think either of them would give a fuck about saving you if they were in this position?’
‘I can’t tell you. They—’
Leary pushed the knife forward. The point sliced through the soft flesh of Best’s eyelid with ease then parted muscle and punctured the base of the eyeball itself. Blood and vitreous fluid spurted from the socket.
Best shrieked in agony and tried to escape the probing steel.
Leary held the weapon with remarkable dexterity and expertise.
As yet less than an inch of the blade had penetrated the lower part of the socket.
Tell me,’ Leary said more loudly.‘Another two inches and your fucking eye is out.’
‘No,’ screamed Best.
‘Their names.’
‘George Mcswain and Daniel Kane,’ Best shouted frantically. ‘For God’s sake—’
Leary struck swiftly.
He drove the knife deep into the left eye, putting all his force behind it.
Tore it free and did the same with the right orb.
Both blows penetrated to the brain.
Best’s head slammed back against the side window with each impact, the shrieks of agony dying in his throat.
Leary pressed the Glock to the man’s temple and fired once.
He waited a moment then clambered out of the car, checking that none of the blood and pieces of brain matter had sprayed his clothes.
They hadn’t.
He slid the Glock back into its shoulder holster then wiped the blade of the flick knife on his handkerchief, closed it and dropped it back into his jacket pocket. He turned and headed back down the street.
It was beginning to rain.
LONDON:
This is bullshit.’ Doyle stared angrily at Melissa Blake.
‘It’s the job,’ she told him sternly.
He sucked in a deep breath.
‘Prince Hassim has requested that you guard his room tonight,’ Mel continued.
‘He’s doing this on purpose, the little bastard.’
‘It doesn’t matter why he’s doing it, Doyle. If that’s what he wants, that’s what he gets. Like I said, it’s the job. If you don’t like it you know what you can do.’
Thanks.’
She could only shrug.
‘Where’s the little prick now?’ Doyle wanted to know.
‘He’s upstairs in his room.’
‘Hendry said the little shit was testing me,’ Doyle mused. ‘It looks like he was right.’
‘Perhaps he just likes having you around,’ Mel smiled.
‘Yeah, Mr Popularity, that’s me. Is there anybody with him?’
‘One of the servants.’
Doyle glanced at his watch. 8.30 p.m.
He made his way towards the flight of stairs that led to the first floor.
‘I’ll bring you some food and drink about ten,’ Mel told him.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Doyle called without turning round.
He turned left at the top of the stairs and made his way past several oak-panelled doors until he reached the one he sought. A single wooden chair had already been placed outside it. One of the Sheikh’s servants was standing opposite the door. He regarded Doyle warily as he approached.
‘You stay here tonight,’ said the Arab.‘Guard Prince.’
Doyle nodded. ‘Why can’t you do it?’ the former agent wanted to know.
‘Prince ask for you.’
The door opened and Doyle saw the boy standing there. He looked Doyle up and down. ‘You will bow in my presence,’ he said quietly.
Doyle glared at the boy.
Don’t push it, you little bastard. I might need a job but not that fucking bad.
‘Bow,’ Hassim repeated.
Doyle nodded his head swiftly.
‘Come inside,’ the boy said in his perfect English accent.
Doyle hesitated for a second then stepped into the boy’s bedroom. It was vast and high ceilinged.The floor was covered in plush carpet. Doyle saw a stack system and a DVD player. Every electrical appliance imaginable. The television was on in the corner of the room,
so too was the computer, its screen flickering. There was a large bed, several upholstered chairs and a chaise longue.
‘These are only some of the things I have,’ Hassim told him.
‘Great,’ said Doyle uninterestedly.
‘My father is a very rich man.’
‘I gathered that.’
‘He is very powerful. I will be even more powerful when I am older. I have power already. The servants in this house must do whatever I wish.’
Doyle merely held the boy’s gaze.
‘You must do whatever I wish,’ Hassim continued.
‘That’s not strictly true. Your father owns the servants. He doesn’t own me.
He just employs me. If I want to walk away I can.’
‘You would not dare.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’
There was a moment’s silence, broken by Hassim. ‘I will show you how much power I have,’ said the boy. He called something in Arabic. The words sounded harsh.
The servant who had been outside stepped into the room and bowed in the direction of the Prince. The boy snapped something else and the man stood in the middle of the room, arms at his sides.
Doyle looked on silently as Hassim crossed to his bedside table and slid open one of the drawers.
‘Do you know what real power is?’ Hassim said, his back to Doyle.