Their footsteps echoed off the tiled walls of the corridor as they headed towards the gymnasium. Martin pushed open the door and stood to the side to allow Cramer in first. ‘Cheers,’ said Cramer. He felt rather than heard the man behind the door, and as he turned his right hand reached for the PPK. His fingers were still inches from the butt when the first shot rang out, and he felt the heat from the explosion on his cheek. He carried on turning and he saw his assailant, a blond-haired man in his late twenties holding a Smith amp; Wesson. The second shot rang out, aimed at Cramer’s chest.
Cramer whirled around and pointed his finger at Allan. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he shouted.
‘We’re not playing at anything, Mike,’ said Allan calmly. ‘This isn’t a game. There’s no bell between rounds. The moment you accepted this job, your life was at risk. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Ever.’
Cramer calmed himself. He took a deep breath and nodded. He could hear his pulse pounding in his veins and his fists were clenched tight. He forced himself to relax. He knew that Allan was right, he was just annoyed at his own stupidity. Martin should have gone into the room first, to check that it was clear, but from the way he was grinning it looked as if he’d deliberately set him up. Cramer nodded. ‘Okay, Allan. You made your point.’
Allan slapped Cramer on the back. The man who’d shot Cramer with blanks was already walking back into the gymnasium. Three others were standing by the wall bars, dressed casually and wearing shoulder holsters. ‘You’ll be okay, Mike,’ said Allan. ‘I just want to make sure you get through this in one piece.’
Cramer’s ears were still ringing from the shots and he massaged his temples. ‘I know, Allan. I know. Let’s get on with it.’
‘I’ve got something I’d like to show you,’ said Allan. ‘You and the guys come at me and Martin, you decide who’s going to be the trigger man.’
Cramer grinned. It would be nice to be on the winning side for once. He went over to the four men at the far side of the gymnasium and explained what they were to do.
‘Ready?’ called Allan.
Cramer gave him a thumbs-up. Martin stood by Allan’s side and together they began to walk slowly across the wooden floor. Cramer and the four men fanned out, all keeping their hands swinging freely by their sides. One of them pretended to sneeze and Martin tensed as the man’s hands went up to cup his nose. Allan straightened his tie with his right hand, his eyes hard and watchful. Cramer waited until he was six feet away from Allan before pulling out his PPK. Allan reacted immediately, his right hand slipping inside his left sleeve and reappearing with a stiletto. He stepped forward, thrusting the knife upward towards Cramer’s chin. Cramer’s finger tightened on the trigger but he was too late, Allan’s left hand had whipped up, knocking Cramer’s arm to the side in a blur of blue blazer. The stiletto pricked Cramer’s neck. Allan froze, holding Cramer’s stare. He smiled. ‘What do you think?’ He removed the stiletto and handed the weapon to Cramer.
Cramer examined it, frowning. The spike wasn’t made of metal but of black plastic-like material. ‘You knew I’d be the one firing, didn’t you?’ he said.
Allan shrugged. ‘I guessed you’d want a crack at me, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. As long as I see you going for your gun, I should be able to get the knife out first.’ He held out his left arm and pulled back the sleeve. There was a leather sheath strapped to his forearm over his shirt. ‘With your hands down by your sides, it’s always going to be quicker to draw the knife than to pull a gun. But you’re going to have to move forward, towards the killer. Towards the gun.’
‘What’s it made of?’ Cramer asked.
‘It’s the latest thing from the States,’ said Allan. ‘I got a sample from a friend in Delta Force. It’s a composite carbon fibre mixture, a spin-off from the space programme, very lightweight, practically unbreakable and never loses its edge.’ He grinned. ‘You can even shave with it. The advantage from your point of view is that it’s virtually impossible to detect.’
Cramer nodded thoughtfully, his eyes on the stiletto. ‘Let me try it.’
Marie Hennessy put a jug of milk and a box of muesli on the kitchen table next to a plate of wholewheat toast, Flora margarine and honey. ‘I’m a vegetarian,’ she said as Lynch looked up.
‘Aye, well you look good on it,’ said Lynch, grinning. He wondered if he should say anything about the Charles Jordan shoes he’d seen lying in the hall but decided against it. They were clearly expensive and definitely not plastic. There were also several leather-bound books scattered through the two bookcases in the sitting room. Whatever else she might be, Marie Hennessy was obviously selective about her moral stances.
‘I’ll go and get your money,’ she said, taking a quick look at her watch. She slipped into a blue blazer and checked her hair in the gilt-framed mirror over the mantelpiece before leaving the flat.
As she closed the front door behind her, Lynch picked up the box of muesli and sniffed it. ‘Rabbit food,’ he muttered to himself and put it back down. Spreading honey thickly onto the toast, he ran through a mental list of what he still had to do. The only location he had for Mike Cramer was a map reference, lines of longitude and latitude, and for that to mean anything he’d need an Ordnance Survey map of the area. There was no doubt in his mind that he would kill the Sass-man. He had two guns, the Czech Model 75 in the bedroom and the Tokarev in the car, and he’d been well trained in the use of small arms. When in Ireland he generally preferred to use a Kalashnikov, but the handguns would be easier to conceal. He leaned over to go through the pockets of his jacket which was hanging on the back of a chair. He pulled out the two wallets which he’d taken from the hit team in Maida Vale. There was more than three hundred pounds in cash, along with the Barclaycard and driving licence. Lynch had been surprised to find the driving licence, as IRA volunteers on active service were instructed to remove all means of identification. He picked up the licence and looked at it. It appeared real enough, as did the Barclaycard, but Lynch doubted if they were genuine. He just hoped they would stand up to scrutiny when he went to pick up a rental car. But first he’d have to get rid of the Ford Sierra parked in the street outside.
Cramer was practising pulling the stiletto from its leather sheath when a helicopter roared overhead and rattled the gymnasium windows. He saw a flash of green through the dirt-streaked windows and then it was gone. ‘Ready, Mike?’ asked Allan.
Cramer nodded. He adjusted his sleeve and dropped his hands to his sides. Allan walked away, then stood facing Cramer with his hands on his hips. Martin joined him. Allan and Martin moved together as if some unspoken signal had passed between them, but whatever it was, Cramer missed it. They walked at a medium pace across the wooden floor. Cramer stayed where he was. Waiting. It was Allan who made the first move, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out his Glock automatic. Cramer’s right hand slid into his left sleeve and grabbed for the stiletto. As Allan swung up his arm to take aim with the gun, Cramer thrust out with the stiletto, but Allan swayed out of the way. The big man was deceptively light on his feet and moved as fluidly as a flyweight in an opening round, keeping the Glock pointed at Cramer’s face as Cramer lashed out with the knife again. Allan pulled the trigger twice in quick succession and Cramer was almost deafened by the explosions. ‘Shit,’ said Cramer dejectedly.
Allan ejected the clip and slotted in two more blanks. ‘You got it out all right, but you weren’t moving forward,’ he said, replacing the gun in its holster. ‘It’s only going to work if you get in close. In close and under the chin, straight up into the brain.’