She stopped, the gun still pointing at Harry. Her legs bent fractionally and her finger curled around the trigger. The body language of the shooter. He wasn’t going to have time to bring up his own weapon, and he felt annoyed at not being more prepared for this outcome.
Then a piercing whistle cut through the air, carrying across the park and the open parade ground. It was shrill enough to stop everyone and make heads turn; close enough to drag Joanne’s attention momentarily away from Harry.
Rik was sitting up, elbows resting on his knees, gun cradled in his hands. There was blood on his shirt and a red smear across one cheek. He was gritting his teeth, no doubt fighting against the shock of his wounds.
‘Don’t do it, Jo,’ he croaked, imploring her. ‘Please. You can’t win-’
But Joanne wasn’t listening. She hesitated, then screamed in fury and spun round, firing twice. It was probably her over-reaction that saved Rik’s life. The first round ripped a chunk of bark off a tree just behind his head; the second gouged into the ground by his foot, kicking up fragments of grass and dirt.
Harry wanted to close his eyes, but couldn’t. She was now sideways on to him. He knew Rik’s ability with a handgun, knew what was about to unfold. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
With a feeling of infinite sadness, and before Joanne could fire again, he brought up his gun and squeezed the trigger.
Rik did the same, their shots merging into one.
FIFTY-SEVEN
The sirens were all around them now, cars converging from all points. Men in uniform were running towards them with weapons raised, moving crab-like as they identified potential threats and prepared to retaliate. Some were shouting, telling them to drop their guns and to get down on the ground. Others were urging shocked onlookers to safety. The official machinery of armed response was in full swing.
Harry saw Rik drop his weapon and lie back on the ground, then roll with difficulty on to his belly with his arms wide as a policeman stood over him with plastic cuffs. He did the same, knowing there was no choice. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rafa’i sink to the grass. The man looked shocked by the turn of events, and he wondered how long that would last. The former cleric no doubt had a fallback plan in mind.
Through a veil of grass stalks in front of him, Joanne’s face was turned towards him, eyes open but unseeing. The snarl was gone now, leaving her calm, void of expression. Then an armed officer in a dark jumpsuit moved across his line of vision and placed one booted foot on her arm before stooping to remove the gun from her hand.
Ballatyne arrived minutes later with a brace of helpers. He singled out Rik and Harry, ordered them to be released from their cuffs, and told two of his men to get Rafa’i out of sight. He looked around at the scene, taking in Joanne Archer’s body and the two dead soldiers, which were being covered with dark sheets, and shook his head.
‘What the hell happened here?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you two get enough greens? This is a blood bath.’ He lifted a corner of the cloth away from one of the soldiers and bent to peer at his face. ‘Yeah — that’s one of them. Clever move, coming in uniform. Who would have thought, eh?’
He turned as a constable approached holding Joanne Archer’s rucksack. Inside was a plastic bag full of money, Euros of every denomination.
‘Someone had a good pay day,’ Ballatyne murmured. ‘I think we can guess where that came from, and the banknote number you found at Jennings’ place should confirm it. She probably got Dog’s pay-off as well. Jennings didn’t take any chances; cash payments to hide the trail, then everyone disappears into the sunset. Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong people.’ He told the constable to bag and tag the rucksack, then stared at Rik, who was being examined by a paramedic. The gunshot wound had been to his shoulder, but other than some blood loss and looking sickly, he seemed to be coping. ‘You were bloody lucky, Ferris,’ he said mildly. ‘That girl could shoot the eye out of a gnat, according to her record. Still, I suppose we all have our off days.’ He turned to Harry. ‘I need to speak to you — alone.’ His expression was unfriendly and Harry reflected that Marshall had left behind a tough and capable replacement.
‘Just a second,’ he said, and walked over to Joanne’s body. He lifted the cloth and studied the wounds, then dropped it back in place.
He followed Ballatyne across the grass to the lakeside path. Two armed policemen walked a few paces behind and stood by, silently watchful. A crowd of people from the lakeside cafeteria had gathered near the entrance and Ballatyne delegated one of the officers to push them back fifty yards.
‘Bloody people think it’s a tourist show. Ferris’ll be arrested, you know that, don’t you?’ He was watching Rik being led to an ambulance with a paramedic supporting him and two armed officers close behind.
‘Don’t talk wet,’ said Harry bluntly. ‘If you arrest him, you’ll have to arrest me, too.’
‘It doesn’t work like that and you know it.’ Ballatyne watched a duck swimming past a few feet away. ‘You’re one of the privileged few, authorized to carry. He’s not.’ He peered sideways at Harry. ‘Your record makes interesting reading.’
‘Rik was helping me. He saved my life — ask any of that lot.’ He gestured towards the crowd of onlookers who were being marshalled into a line by officers, ready to be interviewed.
‘We intend to, don’t worry. Not that it’ll help. You know how unreliable witnesses are: they’ll all remember something different and nobody will recall the good guy doing a heroic deed. To them, anyone with a gun is a villain — even the cops. Ferris will do time and there’s nothing I can do to help.’ He paused for effect. ‘Face it, Harry, he shouldn’t have been armed. What the hell were you thinking?’
Harry felt like pushing him into the lake, but controlled his anger. For someone spouting the law, Ballatyne didn’t seem all that serious, in spite of his expression. It was as if he were leading up to something.
‘If Rik hadn’t been armed,’ he said quietly, ‘I’d be dead. So would Rafa’i and possibly a fair number of innocent tourists. You’d have an international incident on your hands and half the Islamic world shouting about how one of their leaders had been kidnapped out of Baghdad and assassinated in a royal park just a spit away from Buckingham Palace and Downing Street. Oh, and the assassin? A member of the British Army, hired by members of the Coalition and helped by two other members of the British Army. That’d make great press.’
‘Former members,’ Ballatyne corrected him. ‘Those two bozos handed in their papers a while back. And records will show that Joanne Archer died heroically in Baghdad trying to protect an Iraqi VIP. Anything else?’
‘So how do you explain a dead female assassin in the centre of London?’
‘Who cares? If we have to, we lie. Haven’t you heard of spin? It’s been all the rage since ninety-seven.’
Harry felt hollow. Ballatyne seemed to have all the answers. But he wasn’t about to roll over just yet. ‘Before you do that,’ he said, ‘you might want to think how it will run in tomorrow’s media.’
Ballatyne blinked and studied Harry’s face. ‘You’d never do that.’
‘Is that what my record says? A lot’s happened since then. The story’s already written. Somebody would print it — if not here, then elsewhere or on YouTube. Throw in what went on when Paulton and Bellingham tried to kill us both in Georgia and there’ll be a feeding frenzy.’
‘Like I said, you’d never do it.’ Ballatyne’s jaw was firm, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
‘You’ve known my status long enough. Yet you still chose to use me — and Rik — because it suited you to have Rafa’i’s killers taken out without official involvement. Try screwing me on this and it’ll come back and bite you on the arse.’