But Cole knew that there would be a delay in those orders being carried out, a brief window of opportunity in which he could act.
Without another thought, Cole started to scramble across the slick, icy rooftop, the steeply sloped surface making his progress even more difficult. But he struggled on at a steady pace, heading towards the end of the long terrace. Being in the middle of the terraced row as he was, there was a formidable distance to cover, but Cole figured that his best bet was to head for the busy thoroughfare of the main park road at the end of the street. The security team would be unlikely to use weapons so close to so many civilians — there were operating in what was essentially a foreign country, after all — and once at street level he hoped to make his escape through the heavy traffic. But first he would have to get to the end of this row of roofs, and there were still fifty metres to go.
42
He heard the sound of the men climbing out onto the roof behind him not even a minute later; he hadn’t even managed to get half way. Spinning round into a crouch, careful not to lose his footing on the treacherous ice, Cole fired four shots at the emerging agents. His aim was to pin them down as he made a run over the peak of the roof to the far side, and he wasted no time with his plan, scrambling up the tiled slope as fast as he could, fearful that the men would open fire before he got to safety.
As he reached the long peak of the roof, he looked down and saw men spilling into the streets on both sides of the house, weapons aimed up at him. Ice was churned up just inches from his feet as the men on the roof started shooting, but then he was over the other side, the bulk of the roof providing relative safety, at least for a few precious moments.
He started racing towards the end of the roof, but trying to keep his body low to avoid fire from the snipers now stationed in the street below. A bullet shot past his ear, and he lost his footing on the ice, sliding down to the edge of the roof. He dug in with his heels and his free hand, just as his body passed the edge. He barely had time to pull himself back over before the ledge erupted with gunfire from below.
Not able to even catch a breath, he saw the first two agents come over the roof peak. Firing wildly, he hit one in the leg and missed the other entirely. The second man ducked back on the other side of the roof, as his colleague lost his balance and started an inexorable slide towards a four-storey drop, the wound in his leg leaving an ugly red stain on the slick ice. Unable to stop himself, the man slid straight over the side, screaming all the way down until the sickening crump silenced him forever.
Cole realized he was running out of time; fatally slippery or not, he would have to sprint the last twenty metres across the icy rooftop. Seeing the faint outlines of heads coming over the roof peak again, he emptied his pistol at the vague targets, dropped it as he regained his feet fully; then pulled out two more pistols from his belt, waiting just two seconds before the agents tried again. He saw plumes of red spray high into the winter sky as he loosed off all thirty rounds from both guns, but had no idea how many agents he had hit; he was off and running before the empty pistols had dropped to the roof and skittered down to the street below.
43
Edwards was watching in disbelief. How was the man still alive? He couldn’t see him now, as he was on the other side of the roof; he could, however, see his own men pinned down, three of them hit. What the Hell was going on up there?
‘Wilson!’ he barked into his tactical mic. ‘What’s going on up there? Give me a sit rep!’
The reply came moments later, crystal clear through the helmet earpiece, the panic in the voice evident. ‘He’s pinning us down sir, we’ve got men down … He’s heading towards the end of the roof, he’s … Holy shit!’
‘What?’ Edwards almost screamed.
‘He’s jumped! The crazy bastard’s jumped off the roof!’
44
Cole had seen the truck travelling along the road when he’d been just feet from the edge. He knew the agents would be coming over this side and opening fire at any second, and soon heard the staccato blasts of automatic fire, felt the snow and ice churning around him. There was only one option open to him, and he took it without a second thought.
Leaping from the edge of the roof out into fresh air, as bullets raced towards him from behind, he doubted that he could make it. The big, dull grey haulage truck seemed so far away now, travelling so fast, it seemed impossible.
But then his body crashed onto the wide, slightly curved roof, and he was scrambling for a secure hold, sliding over the roof, but he had made it, he had landed safely, now all he had to do was stay on the roof, stay on the roof …
But then the truck turned for a bend in the road, and he found himself sliding inexorably over the side. Try as he might to get a grip, to hold on, it was no use; the roof was too icy, the turn too tight, and Cole found himself being flung viciously from the top, once more sailing through the air.
The landing was hard, and Cole gasped for air, pain erupting all the way down the left side of his body. He knew how to fall, but it was a long way down from the moving vehicle, and the concrete had been unforgiving. He tried to breathe again, and the pain worsened. He figured the ribs were bruised at least, possibly even broken.
‘Whoa, you alright mate?’ asked a stunned passer-by, helping Cole unsteadily to his feet.
Cole shook his head to clear it. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, I’m — ’ Over the Good Samaritan’s shoulder, Cole saw half a dozen agents racing out towards him. There was heavy traffic between them and Cole, as he was now on the far side from the row of houses, but he had no time to waste.
Adrenaline successfully numbing the pain in his side, Cole turned and ran for the roundabout straight ahead, heading for Regent’s Park. He would lose them there, he was sure.
Edwards could simply not believe what was happening. He’d lost half his men, and they still hadn’t managed to catch the bastard.
What could he do now? The man was out in the open, loose on the streets of London. They couldn’t risk a gunfight around here, that was for sure. But they needed to take the man down, and quickly.
They needed help, and Edwards knew it. And so slowly, reluctantly, the security team leader reached into his pocket and extracted his phone. It was not a call that he was looking forward to making.
45
Cole started to breathe more easily, and allowed himself to relax ever-so-slightly into the small plastic seat on the train in which he now travelled. The pain was still there, but less now. He started to think that may be it was just bruising; he certainly hoped so. Bruising would cause discomfort, but wouldn’t hamper his performance as much as a true break.
He had entered the park with the remaining agents hot on his heels. They no longer sported their submachine guns, but Cole knew they would still be armed, and out for blood. Although he had been acting in self defence — they had tried to execute him, after all — Cole was in no doubt as to how his pursuers would be feeling. They would only see that Cole was an enemy of the state who had murdered several of their friends and colleagues in cold blood. So whatever the current policy on using firearms near British civilians, Cole wasn’t entirely sure that protocol would be followed.
It was a simple enough task to lose them in the vast expanse of Regent’s Park, however, especially with the head start that he’d had, and so after leading them along a false route, he had doubled back and left the park near Baker Street.