Cramer crawled over to Allan. Blood was oozing from the wound in his shoulder but it didn’t look fatal. He took off his overcoat, rolled it up and stuck it under Allan’s head. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Allan, his eyes still closed. For a wild moment Cramer thought Allan was delirious but then he opened his eyes and grinned up at him. ‘I got him, huh?’ asked Allan.
‘And some,’ said Cramer. ‘It’s his blood I’m wearing all over my face.’
‘Su-ming?’
‘She’s okay. Now lie still and shut up.’
‘Okay, but tell me one thing first.’
‘What?’
‘What happened to all our fucking training, Mike? You stood there like a rabbit caught in headlights.’
Cramer felt his cheeks redden. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You froze.’
‘Yeah. I froze. I’m sorry.’
Su-ming came up behind Cramer. She took off her shirt and gave it to him. ‘Use this,’ she said.
Cramer used the silk shirt to stem the bleeding from Allan’s shoulder. It looked as if the bullet had gone straight through. ‘Can you move your fingers?’ Cramer asked. He watched Allan wiggle the fingers of his right hand. At least the nerves weren’t damaged.
‘Do you think I’ll be able to play the piano again?’ Allan asked. Cramer couldn’t help smiling.
‘Will he be all right?’ Su-ming asked.
‘He’ll be fine.’
‘Now it’s over?’
Cramer looked at the body of the killer, sprawled on the ground, the head surrounded by a halo of congealing blood. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’ As he said the words he was aware of a nagging doubt at the back of his mind.
Cramer took off his tie and threw it onto a chair. He stared out through the picture window at the sprawling city. Six million people, give or take. He wondered how many would ever be aware of what had happened in the underground car park. Half a dozen, maybe. It wasn’t the sort of operation that would be trumpeted to the press. The bodies would be taken away; the trooper buried in Hereford with the minimum of fuss, his name added to the plaque on the regimental chapel wall where the SAS remembered those who had died on active service; the assassin probably cremated with no memorial to mark his passing. There would be no inquest, no investigation, no publicity. It would be as if it had never happened.
The Walther was still in its holster but Cramer was reluctant to take it out. Removing the gun would signify that the operation was over, and that was something that Cramer wasn’t yet prepared to deal with. It had all happened so quickly that he hadn’t had time to think about the future. His future.
He rubbed his stomach. The pain was pretty much constant, though occasionally it felt as if a knife was being twisted deep inside, a reminder that he shouldn’t be complacent, that there was worse to come. While he was being trained, and while he was waiting for the assassin to make his move, Cramer had managed to blot the pain out of his mind, but now it was over it had returned with a vengeance.
He realised that Su-ming wasn’t in the room with him. He went in search of her and found her in Vander Mayer’s study, standing by the desk. She looked up as he walked towards her. ‘Cramer. .’ she said, her voice trembling.
She was shaking as if she had a fever and there were tears in her eyes. Cramer stepped forward and held her tightly, pressing her against himself as if his life depended on it. Her small hands slipped around his waist as she buried her face in his chest. Cramer stroked her black, silky hair with his right hand as she sobbed. ‘Hey, it’s all right,’ he soothed.
He caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored wall. Su-ming looked like a child next to him and he suddenly felt big and clumsy. Cramer saw that he still had the killer’s blood on his face. He looked like he’d just walked away from a traffic accident; there were black circles under his eyes, his hair was in disarray and there was an unhealthy pallor to his skin. He hadn’t realised until then how sick he looked. She squeezed him but there was hardly any strength in the movement and she continued to cry softly. Cramer wondered if it was the first time she’d seen anyone killed. Flying first-class around the world with an international arms-dealer was one thing, seeing the effects of the tools of the trade close-up was a different matter all together.
The doorbell rang. He tried to untangle her arms from around his waist but she tightened her grip and wouldn’t let him go. The doorbell rang again. ‘I have to get it,’ said Cramer. Su-ming reluctantly released him and Cramer went back to the sitting room to answer the door.
It was the Colonel. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
Cramer nodded. ‘How’s Allan?’
‘The paramedics said he’ll be okay. Allan keeps insisting that it’s just a flesh wound, but he’d say that if his arm had been blown off. You know what he’s like.’
‘Yeah. He saved my life.’
‘He did his job. You both did, Joker. You should be proud of yourself.’
‘I fucked up,’ said Cramer. ‘I fucked up big time.’
‘We got the guy, and that’s what counts.’
‘I froze. I pushed Su-ming out of the way, then I froze. I did everything wrong.’
The Colonel tapped his walking stick on the wooden floor. ‘Stop playing the martyr, will you? We took out a professional killer, the best in the business. And we did it with the minimum of casualties. No one’s blaming you, Joker. No one. How is Su-ming?’
‘She’s in shock,’ Cramer answered.
‘The doctor’s on his way. He’ll give her something.’
Cramer nodded, but he wasn’t convinced that it was tablets that Su-ming needed. ‘What about Martin?’ he asked.
The Colonel grinned. ‘Just a bump on the head. He was in the boot of the Mercedes, bound and gagged. He’s embarrassed more than anything.’
‘He’s lucky they didn’t kill him.’
‘There was no need. Vander Mayer was the target, and Martin wasn’t a threat. Allan was.’
Cramer rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. He was sweating. ‘That’s what I can’t figure out,’ he said. ‘Why did he hesitate?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the Colonel.
‘He had the drop on me, Colonel. He had me bang to rights. But he waited.’
‘It was bedlam, Joker. He was in the middle of a firefight. Richards was there, Allan had his gun out, it wasn’t going the way he’d planned.’
‘Yeah, but he’s always been such a pro in the past. Nothing’s fazed him before.’
‘No one had set him up before.’ The Colonel put a reassuring hand on Cramer’s shoulder. ‘You’re worrying too much.’
‘Post-traumatic stress syndrome?’ said Cramer, sarcastically. ‘I don’t think so. Been there, done that. This is different. Something’s not right. He was trying to say something. Before he pulled the trigger, he wanted to tell me something.’
The Colonel squeezed Cramer’s shoulder. ‘Forget it. You’re worrying about nothing. You did a good job, Joker. A hell of a job.’
‘Thanks, Colonel.’ Cramer shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. ‘What happens now?’
‘I’m winding down the operation here. We’ll run the killer’s prints through the Fingerprint Bureau and we should have an ID by tonight.’
‘I meant, what happens to me?’
There was an uncomfortable silence as the Colonel considered Cramer’s question. ‘What do you want to do?’ asked the Colonel eventually.
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’
‘Why don’t you sleep on it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
‘It’s not as if I have many options, is it?’
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ the Colonel repeated firmly. ‘Okay?’
Cramer nodded. He showed the Colonel out and then went back to the study. Su-ming didn’t appear to have moved. He put his arms around her. She’d stopped trembling, now she was as stiff as a tailor’s dummy. They stood together in silence, looking out of the window.