Dillon chose the moment to descend the ladder, but as he moved out into full view he saw that he’d been spotted. At the same time the police car pulled out into the midmorning traffic and drove away. He didn’t expect to be shot at even if the police had remained there. The angle was all wrong for both of them and the distance was not ideal either. The man who was stood in the street stayed where he was, but Dillon knew that there was a hand clasping over a gun butt in his overalls pocket.
What disturbed the gunmen was that Dillon was climbing through a landing window two floors below the penthouse. Dillon was inside the building in an instant and moving quickly down the staircase towards the main entrance hall when he heard the sound of many footsteps coming down from above. He ran down the stone steps, taking them two at a time to the next floor. He stood listening for a second and then heard the main entrance door slam shut. A moment later, the two men who had been standing in the street at the rear of the building, started up the steps towards him.
He backed through the emergency exit that led out to the third floor landing. At the same time the lift door pinged open and an elderly woman stepped out with two heavy-looking bags of shopping in her hands. Dillon ran up the landing and got into the lift, just before the emergency exit door burst open and two of Trevelyan’s men came through, much to the surprise of the elderly woman. Dillon pushed the penthouse button and the lift started to ascend to the top floor. As it neared the penthouse, Dillon crouched, gun held in both hands. As the doors slid back he came out fast and low, rolling midway and ending up lying prone, gun trained on Latimer’s door.
There was no one there. In their haste to follow him, Trevelyan’s men had not left anyone behind to stand guard, which was lucky. But he still had to be quick and also remain quiet. The door had been closed but the terrible damage caused by so much firepower was on full view. He stood to the side of the doorway and waited a few seconds before gently pushing the door open with the barrel of the Glock. Once he had satisfied himself that it was clear, he moved inside.
The hall looked like a warzone with the bodies of the dead men left where they’d fallen, their blood spattered up the walls and across the ceiling. Dillon stepped over them, went into the living room and discovered that Latimer was still out cold. He bent down and checked for a pulse. The politician was still alive. He left him where he was and quickly made his way back up onto the roof garden. He didn’t break stride as he went out through the still open French doors, and made straight for the gateway. He got to the platform and started down the stairs as fast as he could. About halfway down, he heard a yell from above. No way was he going to stop and pass the time of day with them. He was now taking the stairs two at a time, realising that it was one of the men who had been standing down in the street. He’d moved fast back up to the penthouse and was now back outside and coming after him with only one flight between them. He held a two-way radio in one hand that he was talking into, and what looked like an Uzi machine pistol in the other.
Dillon reached the bottom of the stairs at almost running speed, slammed himself into the side of the security cage and wrenched open the access door. As he stepped out into the street he saw that there were now three men coming down the stairs after him. At the same time, two more of them were walking round the corner from the front of the apartment building and were heading straight for him.
Time was fast running out. Dillon had two choices: stay and fight and run the very real risk of being simply shot in the head, or run as fast as he could in the opposite direction and still run the risk of taking a bullet in the back. Time up. He went with his gut instinct. He had shot two of them dead before the others knew what was happening and had darted behind a large metal waste bin on wheels before they’d even managed to get a single round off.
The other three men scattered to the far side of the street in search of cover in doorways. Dillon was thinking on his feet, adrenalin pumping around his body at lightning speed, his senses on high alert. He unlocked the wheel brakes and started to push the metal bin towards the end of the street. Bullets slammed into the side, Dillon returned the fire, which drove them back to cover. He was completely concealed behind the bin and had only to move slowly, keeping his back as tight as he could to the wall of the apartment building. As he passed them on the other side of the street, they could only look on with incredulity at what they were seeing. Dillon knew that his life depended on making it to the end of the street. He kept the Glock in his free hand and trained in their direction, right up until he let go of the bin, and rounded the corner at the end of the street.
Running flat out, he turned another corner and then another, found himself on a main road and raced for a passing bus which he just managed to catch. He’d return later for the Porsche in the hope that the remaining men would have got fed up and left.
He sat down heavily onto a vacant seat, whilst passengers barely took any notice. He was feeling his age — both lungs felt as if they were about to burst and demanded that he breathed in great gulps of air. And just for good measure, he was also sweating and feeling sick. He had no idea if Trevelyan’s men had followed him and if they had, how far behind they were. He hoped that he’d lost them for now and made a mental note to renew his gym membership at the earliest opportunity.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dillon was relieved to get back to the club. He went straight up to his rooms and poured the entire contents of a miniature brandy bottle from the mini bar into a tumbler. He let the amber liquid warm its way right down to the pit of his stomach; the calming effect was almost immediate. He walked across the room, placing the glass on to the bedside table, threw himself on to the bed and, clasping his hands behind his head, gazed up at the ceiling. He had escaped, but was angry with himself for thinking that he could so easily deceive a man who lived by deception. He knew nothing more than what he had already known before. But perhaps the events of the last two hours were not such a waste of time, as he now knew that there was some strange bond between the four men. But what? He should have known better than to have placed himself in such a dangerous situation, and had been extremely lucky to escape without as much as a scratch. It was not enough to convince himself that he had outwitted Trevelyan’s men. He should have informed Vince Sharp, who would have ensured a back-up team outside the apartment building. He’d broken his own rule and should not have placed himself in the position of having to do it in the first place.
He knew that if he pulled a stunt like that again he could expect the worst from both Trevelyan and his boss, Edward Levenson-Jones. He could not go on forever beating the odds. Trevelyan would not only be furious, he would now be even more determined than ever to get him, three more of his men were dead and another two had been wounded, although how seriously, it was impossible to say. He was sure that the three men he had let live would have gone back up to the penthouse and removed their three friends. As for Latimer, he could only guess what would happen to him.
Dillon showered and changed and consoled himself with another brandy. He was satisfied that he had been right about the names and addresses along the south coast. They had to have somewhere to store the gold bullion, and caretakers who were no doubt very well paid to watch over it — that much gold couldn’t be kept in one location. As for the art works, they were being stored, awaiting distribution to ships or more likely smaller boats that would take them across the English Channel to France. He was sure that this was merely a very small section of a much bigger pipeline, but he was still no nearer to understanding the real reason why these four men, all wealthy in their own right, would risk their liberty and fortunes.