Palmer cast around and grabbed a sweatshirt hanging on a hook behind the door. He gestured to a small sink on the other side of the room. ‘You might want to wash your hands and put this on. I’ll watch your back while you change.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘Glad to see it’s not your blood.’ Then he turned away to watch the door, suddenly awkward.
Riley nodded, feeling nauseous at the sight of the blood, but oddly touched by Palmer’s concern. ‘Thanks.’ She stripped off her jacket and shirt, unselfconscious about him turning round and seeing her in her frillies. Now, she figured, wasn’t the time for girlish modesty. She washed her hands and arms thoroughly, turning the water pink, then dried them on a handful of paper towels. ‘What were the shots I heard?’
‘You mean apart from the ones they were firing at you?’ He handed her the sweatshirt. ‘No idea. I think they were getting nervous and making noises for the sake of it.’
‘There was something burning when I got here. Was that you?’
‘Guilty, m’lady,’ he admitted. ‘By the fiendish application of paper, old leaves and rubbing two sticks together, I created a diversion and Henzigger sent one of his gunmen to investigate. We bumped into each other, but he didn’t want to dance.’
‘Bumped?’ She wanted to ask if the man had got up and walked away again, but decided against it. If Palmer was still on his feet and unharmed, it seemed doubtful.
He hefted an automatic pistol she hadn’t noticed before and smiled regretfully. ‘Only bumped, I’m afraid. He was too quick on his feet. Have you seen Myburghe?’
‘I had to leave him on the roof. Henzigger shot him.’
‘Christ. How bad?’
‘He needs a hospital, but I don’t think he’ll last long enough.’ She described where she’d left Myburghe and the Colombian, and told him of her brief exchange with the man outside.
‘Damn,’ Palmer said calmly. ‘I must be getting deaf — I didn’t hear that one coming.’ He checked the magazine of the automatic and said, ‘So we’ve got one man — possibly two — and Henzigger.’
‘And Mitcheson. He’s armed, by the way.’
Palmer nodded, unsurprised. ‘I had a feeling he was out there. Thanks for the warning.’
‘I also called Weller. He’s on his way in with an armed response team.’
‘How much time have we got?’
‘Fifteen minutes, at a guess. Why?’
‘Too long. Henzigger’s not going to sit around waiting. They had a plane arranged to take them out, but it failed to turn up. That’s why he’s so pissed. He’ll want to finish this, and the longer we leave him, the more likely he is to find us. The odds aren’t great.’
‘Why won’t he run?’
‘He will, eventually. But we’re not dealing with rational men; he’ll want to silence us, and his Colombians won’t dare go back without knowing Myburghe is dead.’
‘What do you suggest?’
He took the shotgun out of the cabinet and loaded it, then handed it to her with some spare cartridges. He jerked his head towards the roof. ‘You’ll be better off back on the roof watching Myburghe. Try to keep him awake. I’ll see if I can hook up with Mitcheson without him blowing me away. Anyone comes over the roof or through the door without singing out who they are, point and pull.’
Riley resisted the idea. ‘But-’
‘But nothing.’ John Mitcheson’s voice came from right outside the door. ‘This isn’t your thing, Riley. It’s ours. We need to know you’re safely out of the way. Go now. We’ll watch your back.’
Riley did as instructed, waving at Mitcheson’s dense shadow against the wall as she passed.
Palmer watched Riley go, ready for the first sign of movement by the trees. He waited for her to disappear among the scaffolding, before turning towards Mitcheson.
‘You heard?’ he said. ‘We’ve got company coming.’
‘Yeah. Not soon enough, though. Let’s finish it.’
Palmer nodded. ‘It might be best if you aren’t seen here.’
Mitcheson grunted. ‘I’ll deal with it when it comes, don’t worry.’
Palmer scanned the gardens for signs of activity. But if Henzigger was out there, he was keeping his head down. And probably becoming more desperate by the minute. Men like Toby Henzigger were resourceful, and with a briefcase full of money, there would be plenty of takers with boats and small aircraft willing to provide an escape route, no questions asked.
For the moment, though, he knew Henzigger wanted to finish it on his terms. Without Riley, Palmer or Myburghe to testify to his involvement in the drugs shipments, the American probably reasoned on having a good chance of getting away free. He also had to satisfy his Colombian watchers that he had control of the mopping-up, otherwise they might have orders to demonstrate their displeasure in an extreme way.
Which made Riley and Myburghe the main targets for his anger.
The only spoiler was he and Mitcheson being stuck here clutching weapons when, any minute now, Weller’s men might come swarming down out of the night sky. Awkward wouldn’t even come close.
‘Lead the way, Hawkeye,’ he called. He hoped Mitcheson would have the sense to keep his head down when the shit hit the fan. With his past record and his previous involvement in Colombia, the last thing Mitcheson needed was to be found in the middle of a drugs scam originating from the same corner of the world. ‘I’ll take the stable,’ he added. ‘You watch the trees.’ He waited for an acknowledgment, but there was silence. ‘Hello?’
Palmer swore softly and slid outside. Everything was quiet, save for a soft breeze ruffling the foliage in the trees. An owl hooted somewhere and a night creature gave a high-pitched squeak. Without all the shooting it could almost have been a normal evening.
He made his way across the lawns to the stable block. Being out in the open set all his alarm bells screaming, but there was no alternative. Going round via the trees would be noisier and take too long. And Henzigger wasn’t going to wait forever. He also had help, which gave the American a considerable edge when it came to hunting in the dark.
He reached the corner of the stalls and paused. If he’d been in Henzigger’s shoes, he would have been waiting outside, knowing there were others out here who had to make the first approach. But as he’d said to Riley, Henzigger wasn’t rational.
A sound came from a stall halfway along the opposite block. Nobody showed themselves, so he slipped back and round to the rear of the accommodation block and found an open window into one of the rooms. It was a tight fit, but he took a deep breath and hoisted himself onto the ledge. He slid through and waited to see if someone would come and investigate. Nobody did.
As short as the corridor was between the room and the anteroom where David Hilary had died, it was the longest walk of Palmer’s life. He stepped carefully along the cold floor, checking each room was clear. Each tiny sound he made seemed magnified a hundred times. Every step of the way he expected Henzigger or one of his men to appear. His shoes crunched on minute dirt particles as he emerged into the anteroom, and he felt his stomach lock tight at the idea that he might be walking into a trap.
It was too dark to see if the anteroom had been cleaned. He could smell the sickly aroma of blood overlaying the sharp tang of chemicals, and guessed the forensic teams hadn’t yet finished. This was confirmed when he saw the fluttering outline of plastic crime scene tape stretched across the open doorway.
He peered through the gap between the door and the jamb. It gave him a narrow view out across the yard. If Henzigger’s men weren’t in here, they must be out there somewhere. And being very patient.
He checked his watch. There wasn’t much time left. Any minute now, a helicopter would be dropping armed men behind the trees. Anyone moving would be spotted through image intensifiers. No doubt they would have been alerted about the shooting, and in spite of their rules of engagement, Palmer didn’t place too much reliance on first warnings. In a hot fire-zone, anyone with a weapon would be classified as the enemy and taken out.