‘Who said I was virtuous?’ Ben said.
He reached down. Unsnapped the retaining catch of the tactical holster that was double-strapped to his right thigh. He closed his fingers around the rubber-gripped butt of the nine-millimetre pistol and drew it out. The Browning Hi-Power was stock military issue. The exact same model he’d carried with the SAS. Probably the same model that was still issued to the men from the Increment.
It seemed fitting, somehow.
The Browning was already cocked and locked, with a round in the chamber and thirteen more in the magazine. He wasn’t going to need the extra thirteen. He clicked off the safety. Then he pointed the pistol at Falconer.
‘You wouldn’t bloody dare,’ Falconer said. ‘Not like this.’
‘Didn’t you teach us that who dares, wins?’
Ben aimed the Browning at Falconer’s head. With the fat tubular silencer attached, the sights were obscured. But that didn’t matter at this range. He curled his finger around the trigger. He’d polished and honed the internal mechanism until it had a light, crisp pull of just under four pounds. He had three and a half pounds on it when he paused.
‘You were my mentor, Liam,’ he said. ‘I loved you like a father. What happened to you?’
A nerve in Falconer’s face started twitching. ‘Do you want money? I have over a million pounds cash in the safe upstairs. It’s yours if you let me live. You walk away. We say no more about this. Nobody will ever know it was you.’
‘No deal.’
‘Don’t do it, Ben. Please. I’m begging you. Show me mercy.’
‘Mercy,’ Ben repeated. ‘If she had begged you for it, would you have shown her any?’
‘You’ll never get away with it. They’ll hunt you down like a dog.’
‘They’ll try,’ Ben said. ‘But they’ll fail. I was never here. There won’t be a trace for anyone to follow. You taught me well.’
‘Don’t kid yourself. You’re a dead man. You might as well put that gun to your own head.’
‘I’m not the one who has it coming,’ Ben said.
‘We all have it coming,’ Falconer said.
‘You first,’ Ben said. He brought the gun closer to Falconer’s forehead.
Falconer’s eyes blazed up at him with anger. ‘I’m a senior member of the British establishment,’ he hissed.
‘Then all the more reason,’ Ben said. And pulled the trigger.
The silenced pistol’s report echoed through the cellar. Blood flew up the wall behind Falconer’s head. His body lurched, gave a heave, then keeled over sideways and lay still.
Ben put the pistol back in its holster and turned away from the dead man.
When he stepped outside a few minutes later, the night sky had clouded and snow had started to fall thickly. He looked at his watch and saw it was two minutes after twelve.
Christmas morning, 2004.
The glen was in complete silence, just the soft patter of the spiralling snowflakes layering themselves on the frozen ground. Ben pulled the hem of his hat down tight, zipped his jacket collar up to his chin and started off on the long walk back.