Pencil Neck dropped to the floor, convulsing violently as he started to foam at the mouth like a rabid dog, but Cole was already moving past him to confront the Bull, his arm cocked to deliver a second lethal blow. Where is he? Cole wondered in rising panic. He looked around the small corridor, up and down the stairs, but saw nobody.
Just then, he heard the sound of a door opening on the opposite side of the parking sector. Damn! The agents had split up, hoping to move in on him in a pincer movement. He should have anticipated it, but Cole knew now wasn’t the time for self-recrimination.
For a split second, across the twenty rows of vehicles that now separated them, Cole’s eyes met with those of the second agent. The Bull realised in an instant that his partner was down, and immediately raised his right arm. Instinct took over Cole’s actions, and he dived for the floor even as he heard the light phht! of a silenced pistol. The echo of the reverberating ricochet as the subsonic bullet struck the metal door just inches from Cole’s head was much louder, and Cole hoped that the CCTV cameras weren’t wired for sound.
It was clear that subtlety was now out of the equation. The man wanted Cole dead, however he did it.
Cole looked down at the body of Pencil Neck in front of him, spread-eagled on the floor, the thick metal door trying to close itself by crushing his chest. Beyond, Cole saw the man’s own silenced handgun at the foot of the stairwell. Keeping low, he ducked down to grab the weapon and retrieve it from the doorway.
The same phht! was followed by the same metallic kerang! as the Bull fired again. Cole reared back out of the way, again narrowly missing being shot. The man was good, Cole gave him that.
So, he couldn’t get the gun. But Cole was faced with another problem — the open door would soon register with the ship’s security centre. Meant to be kept shut against flooding, if the door was held open for too long an alarm would soon start sounding in the operations room.
Cole held his breath, centring himself. Over the beating of his own heart, he heard movement. The Bull was advancing. Cole used the opportunity to reach out and grab Pencil Neck’s legs, pulling him violently backwards into the parking sector. As the door finally released him and clanked shut, Cole fell over backwards with the force of his pulling. It didn’t matter though — the body was out, the door was shut, and Cole regained his feet instantly.
He had lost his awareness of the other man’s position, though, and hoped that the man or woman tasked with watching the security cameras would not be studying the screens too closely. The notion didn’t worry him unduly, however; experience had taught him that such cameras were seldom monitored very effectively. They were, in fact, mainly for use if and when a crime was reported, at which stage the films would be played back and potentially used as evidence. A useful tool to be sure, but due to a lack of manpower to monitor the multitude of images, it was rare for that tool to be used to prevent an incident in real-time.
Deciding to play it safe nevertheless, Cole slipped quietly to the floor and dragged himself underneath and past the first two lines of cars, heading for the line he thought the Bull would be approaching from.
As he pulled himself along the cold, wet floor towards the centre of the parking sector, a noise made him pause. It was the rustle of clothing against metal, and it had come from the right hand side. Cole slowly eased out from his position, trying to see exactly where it had come from.
He saw it and pulled his head back under the car at almost the same instant, as the Bull fired another subsonic bullet towards his prey. The man started running then, Cole saw, eager to capitalise upon his attack. Cole rolled in the opposite direction, out from under the car, and stood up in a low crouch, revealing himself to the hunter.
The Bull, now only twenty feet away, saw Cole’s head pop up and immediately turned to fire, this time a two round double-tap. But Cole had already ducked back down and was rolling under the same car back the way he had come.
He popped up on the first side of the car again just as the Bull reached the opposite side, gun aimed down at the floor where he expected Cole to be. It didn’t take long for him to realize where Cole was, and he instantaneously turned to fire, but it was already too late. The knife that Cole had taken from the agent in the bathroom earlier, thrown with great force and accuracy, entered the Bull’s skull via the eye socket before he even had the chance to squeeze the trigger. The tip of the blade pierced the agent’s brain, and he fell to the floor dead.
Breathing a weary sigh of relief, Cole’s head snapped around just instants later as a sudden noise caught his attention. A buzz of static, then a voice — the ship’s electronic PA system.
By the time the voice was halfway through its announcement, Cole was already in motion. Apparently they were almost at France, the passengers were being instructed to return to their vehicles — and Cole had just minutes in which to hide two more dead bodies.
20
Sitting across the polished wooden desk in the White House office of Richard Jenson, Hansard sipped at his third brandy of the day, an unusually refined almanac. Ignoring the jug of iced water set to one side, Jenson joined him with the brandy, and they raised their cut-crystal glasses to one another in toast.
‘It went well,’ Jenson said happily, referring to his latest meeting with President Abrams. ‘Just like you said it would.’
Hansard nodded his head sagely. He had not been overly surprised; but reality was fluid, and Hansard was all too aware that nothing could ever be set in stone. He did, however, have contingency plans for most variations. How could a plan hope to succeed otherwise?
‘Let’s not count our chickens just yet, Richard. Much can go wrong in the next few days,’ Hansard advised. ‘We need to follow a fine balancing act with our allies. But, yes, this morning went well. We just have to keep on top of it and make sure it keeps going well.’
Jensen nodded, and took a sip of brandy. He held the glass up in front of him, examining the rich, honey-coloured liquid. As he did so, his face grew pensive. At length, he looked up at his friend and advisor.
‘Do you really think it will work, Charles? Do you think we’ll do it?’ The question was hushed, worried, a cry for reassurance.
Hansard regarded Jenson with his cool grey eyes. If you don’t let me down, he answered silently. But he knew the man he’d chosen all those years ago wouldn’t fail him. Perversely, the weakness and vulnerability that Jenson displayed when alone translated to great strength when on the public stage, almost as if he was able to feed off his own fears and worries and imbue himself with a power he wouldn’t otherwise have.
‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think the outcome was achievable, Richard,’ Hansard answered at last. ‘It is by no means certain — there are always too many external imponderables to ever be certain about anything in this game — but it is most definitely achievable.’
Jenson smiled, and took another sip of his drink.
21
Sarah made her way through the Jackson Mall as nonchalantly as she could, seeming to idle from boutique to boutique with no real direction. Her tight hold of her children’s hands was entirely subconscious, and betrayed the fact that she was actually a harried bundle of nerves, totally on edge.