Eight metres away to my left, the first of the targets swung into view, a hardboard cut-out of a half-figure clutching a gun in both hands, his features hidden by a ski mask. I planted two rounds square in the centre of the forehead. By the time it folded away again I was already moving forwards, looking for my next target.
The Manor’s CQB range had been built in a small gully in the woods with banks that rose to provide natural cover for wild shots on either side. All told, it was about two hundred metres long and affected by a stillness that was unnerving.
Regular gunfire obviously kept the animal and bird population at bay. The lack of lifesigns gave the ground a contaminated feel to it. Even the weak pale sunshine seemed reluctant to climb over the banks and wash down onto the floor of the gully. It was a place shunned by nature and to be avoided.
Trying to suppress a shudder, I walked on. I concentrated on keeping my shoulders easy, keeping my breathing light. Rebanks walked a careful distance behind me, keeping score.
The second target had been placed low and left. It burst upwards out of a pile of pine needles less than three metres away, with a suddenness that took me by the throat.
I just had time to put another two rounds into the head before it fell away as though responding directly to the hit.
Rebanks had explained to us at the pre-shoot briefing that there would be six targets, appearing at a variety of distances, and for random periods ranging from four to eight seconds.
He’d been lying.
Whatever they’d been doing for the others, I knew damned well that for me they were only holding their upright position for a two-second maximum. I wondered why that should surprise me. I should have expected special treatment.
All right then.
There was an old tree fifteen metres away to my right. The bark of its trunk was lacerated with pale scars. When the next target started to flip out from behind it I was already twisting into position. Even before it had locked flat I punched the first round through at an angle, raking out a two-inch splinter from the back board. Instinct told me the second was a clean hit, but the target wasn’t around long enough for me to check.
Three and four came up so close together in time and range I nearly didn’t get to them, but I was dialled in now. Utterly focused. And damned determined that they weren’t going to beat me at this game. The SIG wasn’t just in my hand, it was part of my hand, an extension of my arm, part of me.
By the time the targets dropped, Rebanks had another pair of kills to add to my total.
Kills. Somewhere out in these woods Kirk had been killed. Mown down either just as his back was turned, or when he’d already started running.
Running for his life.
Who shot you, Kirk? What did you see, or know, or do, that made you an unacceptable threat to them? My feet carried me forwards while my mind reached back, trying to understand the motivation of the men who’d gunned him down.
Target number five was a sneaky one, tucked away at the bottom of a log pile. I was almost at the far end of the range before six came up, a long walk designed to stretch and snap the nerves. This one didn’t drop away after I’d slotted it, but remained upright and quivering, signalling the end of the run.
I lowered the gun, but kept the muzzle pointing straight down the range, aware for the first time of the buzz of tension in my neck and upper arms. I hunched them, hearing my vertebrae click and pop as they settled.
Rebanks came up on my right with a peculiar little smile on his face. He made a couple of marks on his clipboard and started to turn. As he did so, I saw the alarm bloom in his face.
“Look out, look out!”
He grabbed for my shoulders, started to pull me over to the side towards him. I ended up falling onto his legs in a tangle, taking him with me. I twisted as I went down, keeping the SIG level. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the outline looming in from the left, recognised the threat as another target. Number seven of a supposed six. Another of their mind games.
The sun was in my eyes, making the target little more than a dark silhouette. I aimed by instinct as I went down, but in that split-second before I fired I realised there was something different about that target.
Something wrong.
I fought to twist my hand even as my finger tightened irrevocably on the trigger. The SIG twitched as it discharged with a force that jarred my whole arm. The moving parts locked back on an empty magazine.
Rebanks rolled out from under me and climbed to his feet without speaking. He batted the wet earth off his camouflage trousers before he glanced down at me.
“Congratulations, Charlie,” he said then, his voice ironic. “Weren’t you paying attention when we told you there’d only be six targets? That was your principal you’ve just hit, running to you for help and protection.”
He waved towards the target. Still lying on the ground I turned my head looked at the cut-out figure, less than four metres away.
I could now tell it was a fairly realistic picture of a frightened-looking young girl with long hair. She was not holding a weapon and did indeed seem to be running directly towards me, frozen in mid-stride.
The weak winter sunlight streamed through the hole I’d shot high in her right shoulder.
***
Nobody else managed to shoot the principal during the CQB exercise. Mind you, hardly anyone managed to hit all the other targets either, even though they stayed up for what seemed to me to be half an hour a go.
Declan was the last man down the range. His shooting was so wild that Rebanks stuck to his back like an overcoat in high summer, leaving no chance that the Irishman was going to swing round and clip him by mistake. Even Declan didn’t manage to hit the girl at the end, although that was more by luck than judgement. He fired at her when Rebanks jumped him, but he missed.
Afterwards, O’Neill collected up the SIGs and he and Major Gilby climbed into one of the Audis and disappeared back towards the Manor without any comments about our performance. Or lack of it.
The rest of us got to walk back. I trudged along at the tail end of the group, a dark cloud of gloom settling over me. They’d set me up and I’d fallen for it. The thought sat badly on my stomach like a heavy meal.
“They weren’t being fair on you,” said a voice to my left. I turned my head to find Elsa walking alongside and watching me. I remembered my last conversation with Sean. Was Elsa the German security service plant?
I forced a shrug. “You try and stick your head above the parapet,” I said, “you shouldn’t be surprised when people try and blow it off.”
“The targets stayed upright for much longer for everyone else,” she said, as though I hadn’t spoken, her voice thoughtful. “They weren’t being fair on you,” she repeated. “Yet still you managed to hit them all.”
“Yeah,” I said, casting her a tired glance, “even the one I wasn’t supposed to.”
“When that last one came up at the end for me, Rebanks just nudged my arm. He didn’t grab me and pull me over.” She was frowning now. “You never stood a chance of seeing that it wasn’t the same as the others. They expected you to fail – but you know that, don’t you?”
“They wanted me to,” I said, managing to find half a smile from somewhere. “But I don’t always do what people want.”
“They’re going to make it harder for you next time,” she said, her face serious. “What have you done that they’re trying to trip you up all the time?”
Now, there was a question. Did Gilby’s men know about my dual role, or did they just not like it when they came across a woman who showed a spark. And why was Elsa so interested all of a sudden?