Assassin

Carver nodded in acknowledgement and gestured to Tyzack to keep moving. Then he turned to the men behind him and started signalling more orders, his hands moving like a tic-tac man at a racecourse betting stall.

The six men now split into three pairs. Carver took one man and moved to secure the bridge and take control of the vessel. Tyzack and his back-up were tasked to enter the superstructure to clear the cabins and engine-room. The final pair would secure the holds and start the search for the drugs that were the justification for the entire operation.

When Carver and the man behind him reached the bridge, it was deserted, the boat moving forward on automatic pilot. So where was the third crewman?

The question had no sooner crossed Carver's mind than it was answered by a burst of gunfire from the cabin below. The last echoes died away. Then there was another short, sudden blast of firing. Then silence.

'Stay here,' Carver said to his partner. 'Keep an eye out. Make sure we don't bump into anything.'

Then he went back out of the bridge, stepped over the dead body now lying on the deck at the foot of the steps, and made his way towards the sound of the guns.

57

'Very interesting,' said Tyzack. He was standing a couple of paces from Carver, looking down on him. He'd adopted the attitude of a QC cross-examining a witness. Carver wondered how long he'd been dreaming of this moment, working on his delivery, polishing up his questions.

'So you admit that Trench knew that I had superior military skill to you?' Tyzack went on.

'That was his opinion, yes. You were good under training conditions. I always felt combat would be a different matter.'

'And yet, when we landed on that boat, we advanced together and both of us took out our designated targets.'

'Yes.'

'And those were certainly combat conditions.'

Carver nodded. 'Yes, you were doing a good job at that point.'

'It was my first kill, you know. Do you remember your first kill?'

'Yes.'

'Did you enjoy it?'

'Not particularly.'

'Really?' said Tyzack. 'I thought it was an amazing moment. I'd heard all about that sort of thing, of course. Growing up in my family, I could hardly avoid it. But it's a bit like sex, isn't it? Until you've actually done it, you really have no idea…'

'If you say so.'

Tyzack ignored him. 'I can still see the way the rounds hit their target. There was much more blood than I expected. I'd allowed for the wounds going in, you see, but not for the mess coming out the far side. The poor chap I hit, his body sort of rippled with the impact; it was the most extraordinary sight, filled me with absolute, pure pleasure. But you say it wasn't the same for you?'

'No.' Carver leaned back a fraction and the open wounds on his back touched the frame of the chair. He gasped with pain.

'I'm so sorry,' said Tyzack with exaggerated concern. 'Painful, is it? Well, concentrate on what you're saying, why don't you? Take your mind off it. Tell you what, I'll give you a little drink just to wet your throat. I really can't say fairer than that.'

Tyzack walked across to the table and poured a dribble of water into the bottom of the paper cup. He gave it to Carver, who gulped it down in one swallow.

'There,' said Tyzack, 'we've got a little system going, water for talk. So let's talk some more. Answer me this: if you hate killing so much, why do you keep doing it?'

Carver smiled wearily. Tyzack was not best pleased.

'Did I say something funny? I wasn't aware that I'd been trying to amuse.'

'No,' said Carver, shaking his head. 'I've just heard that one before.'

He thought back to a clinic by the shore of Lake Geneva and the sessions he'd had there. Carver's mind had been torn apart by unendurable trauma. A psychiatrist called Karlheinze Geisel had helped to put it back together. He'd harped on about Carver's deadly profession, too. So Carver gave Tyzack the same answer he'd given the shrink.

'I do it because it's the thing I can do. I look on it as a curse, for what it's worth. I wish I had another saleable talent. And if you want to know how I justify it, I'll tell you. The people I take out have got it coming. The world is a better place for them not being there.'

'Not always, it isn't,' said Tyzack, a teasing smile playing around the corners of his mouth. 'Dear old Percy Wake told me how you once killed a certain well-known woman in Paris. That was hardly a service to mankind. And all those poor people at the hotel last night. Did they have it coming?'

'No, they didn't. But both those times, I was set up, and you know it.'

'Oh, I see. They were unintentional killings?'

'Yes.'

'What about all the people who've died just because they happened to get in the way? How do you justify it when you trot off to Canada and take out a plane with someone on it you think deserves to die and – oh dear! – the pilot dies too, and the chap next to him, and the poor little trolley-dolly, and a couple of passengers too? This is an actual case I'm quoting…'

'I know.'

'You were trying to get a man named Waylon McCabe.'

'That's right.'

'But he was the only person who walked away. Dearie me, that was a bit of a mistake.'

'Yes… yes, it was.'

Tyzack stepped forward till his mouth was just inches from Carver's right ear. 'So why, when I make a mistake, just one mistake… a mistake which harmed far fewer people… why did you have to ruin my entire… fucking… life?'

58

Carver took a second gulp of water and went back to the story of the Maid of Dumfries.

'Even when I was topsides I knew that the weapon I'd heard was an MP5 set to automatic fire – one of ours. So I went below decks, came through the door of that cabin and your oppo, McWhirter, was standing there saying something like, "Oh Jesus… what the fuck have you done?" This tough Glasgow bastard, seen it all, done it all, and whatever he'd just seen, it had shocked him to the point he was almost in tears. Then you caught sight of me and said – no, that's wrong, you whined: "He had a weapon."'

Tyzack stepped back, away from Carver's chair, and started pacing up and down the floor of the barn. He looked agitated, twitchy, on the brink of another loss of control.

'Would you like me to stop?' Carver asked, the victim briefly inflicting more damage than his torturer.

'No,' snarled Tyzack. 'Keep going. Tell me the lies you told Trench and the rest.'

'Whatever you say. So, I was looking for a man with a weapon. And I was puzzled, because I couldn't see him anywhere. And then I noticed something. There was a padded bench, ran most of the way round the cabin wall. And something had been flung on it. At first I thought it was a pile of dirty rags. And then I realized that the dirt was blood and the pile of rags was this little kid. God knows how many rounds you'd put into him because you'd practically cut him in two, poor little beggar.'

Now the anger was rising in Carver too and it was emotion that constricted his voice, not the collar round his neck as he said, 'And next to the kid was the weapon, except it wasn't a weapon, was it, Tyzack? It was a plastic toy gun. And in front of the kid, on the floor, was a woman, the mother. She'd tried to protect her baby, and you'd given her a burst too. Once I'd seen that, what else did I need to know?'

'You could have asked me what happened?' said Tyzack, still pacing up and down. 'You could have let me explain.'

'All right then, explain. Tell me why you couldn't tell the difference between a grown man with a gun and a small child with a toy.'

'Because it was dark down there. We were all using goggles, remember? No lights on at all, just the flame from that gas hob in the corner. There was a cooking pot on top, so I reckoned there had to be someone there. Plus, we'd been told to expect a minimum crew of three, and there were only two down, both of them armed. And I didn't see a kid. I just saw something moving across the room, I saw a gun barrel, and I heard the sound of firing-'