“We agreed on a dozen stones,” he said, “for letting you handle this your way.”
Peck said nothing for a moment, then nodded.
I watched in disbelief as Marcus undid the straps and pulled out a black velvet pouch. He reached in without taking his eyes from Peck and came out with a handful of what might have seemed like chips of glass except for the way they sparkled as they caught the light. He let a couple drip back through his fingers, counted what remained, then put the pouch back into the satchel and handed it over without a word.
“This just gets better and better, doesn’t it, Joe?” I said, my voice oozing with contempt. “Now I know why you had to get rid of Kyle Stephens.”
Riley swore again, more quietly this time, and Hope’s breath hitched in her throat.
Marcus gave me a long stare that went right through me as if it found no resistance. “You don’t know anything for sure.”
“Oh, of course not,” I agreed, edged with sarcasm. “That’s why you wanted to leave me in that damn cellar and hope the building would silence me so you didn’t have to.”
He frowned but before he could speak Wilson broke in.
“What about me, eh?” Marcus and Peck both turned to look at him. Their expressions were not encouraging.
“You only received your cut if you obtained the gems first. You did not,” Peck told him. “That was our agreement.”
“Wait a bloody minute there, pal. If I hadn’t brought them here—” he gestured to Marcus and me, “—and tipped you off, you would never have got a hold of the stones.”
“You brought them here?” Peck queried mildly. “I thought my pilot did that. Just as my pilot made the radio call that summoned me as soon as you were in the air.”
The shock on the big Scot’s face tightened into outright fury as Peck turned away, dismissing him. He launched for the police commander’s back, managed to get his good arm around the man’s neck before Peck brought the butt of the rifle back, jamming it into Wilson’s ribcage.
I heard the air gust out of his lungs along with a grunt of pain. He tumbled backward, gasping. The effect of the blow surprised me. Either Peck was stronger than he looked or…
“Bastard!” Wilson got out between his teeth. “I put my career on the line for you. You owe me! You needn’t think I’m going to keep quiet about this, pal.”
Peck regarded him for a moment and then started to bring the HK up to his shoulder again.
I moved forward. Peck’s aim shifted slightly.
“Enough,” I said. “Killing a murderer is one thing. Killing a man because he’s threatening to expose you is quite another.”
And I knew when I spoke that Joe Marcus would not have missed the significance of the words, even if he did not react to them.
“What about killing a man who has tried to kill you?” Peck asked. “Who did you think was sniping at you from the end of this very street yesterday?”
I looked down at Wilson. He was clutching his side as though it would come apart without the support of his hands, and trying without success to move around the pain.
“All’s fair in love and war, eh?” he said with a grimace that tried to be a smile. “Couldn’t let you get to those gems first. Him—” he flicked his eyes in the direction of Joe Marcus, “—he’d already offered me a cut, but you? You would have handed ’em in, you daft bitch.”
I leaned over him, several other things becoming clear now. “How are the ribs?” I asked. “I should have booted you harder when I had the chance.”
“Hey!” Riley shouted, making all of us jump. He was still sitting trussed on the ground. “Hey, there’s—”
“Shut up!” Peck snapped, swinging the HK in his direction.
But even as he spoke we realised what Riley had been trying to tell us as the ground began to tremble, then to shake.
“Aftershock!”
But this one was not like the others. It was as if the whole of the surrounding area was being hit by intense artillery bombardment. It jarred and shuddered violently from each impact, except there were no explosions, no heat and blast waves, no shells raining down on us. I tried to drop to my knees, to get my head covered, only to discover the ground under me had already gone.
I screamed. A pure visceral cry of terror as my body lurched, leaving my stomach behind, and then I was falling feet first into the void.
EPILOGUE
I watched the Lockheed C-130 plunge towards the fractured runway with a feeling of relief that, this time, I was not on board. It was bad enough watching the tyres deform from the impact as they hit, seeing the puff of smoke and only afterwards hearing the chirrup, delayed by the distance between us.
“Your ride,” Commander Peck said unnecessarily.
“It is,” I agreed.
“It has been a pleasure to have you visit my country, Miss Fox,” he said, offering his hand. “Please do not come back.”
“They couldn’t pay me enough,” I said cheerfully.
His mouth twitched, almost a smile, although his eyes were hidden behind the usual Aviators. “Then we are in accord.”
I climbed stiffly down from the back of the police Eurocopter. A silent Wilson followed me out. I watched him struggle with the pair of crutches he was relying on, his foot and ankle encased in plaster.
“I hope this is the last time we meet,” I told him, not offering to help. “But if you ever decide to shoot at me again, pal, make sure you don’t miss. Because I won’t.”
“I was never trying to hurt you, just shake you up a bit. Thought I could put in for your spot, eh? Seemed like a cushy number.”
Wilson, I’d learned, was a man who could resist anything except temptation, the lure of easy money, at which point his scruples tended to take a holiday. I wondered what kind of a soldier it had made him, and what kind of a copper he’d since turned into.
“Ribs still hurting, are they?”
“Like a bastard,” he admitted, his voice rueful. “It was Peck put me up to—”
“Good,” I interrupted, meaning the ribs. “I don’t need to hear any more. And as long as you keep your mouth shut, nobody else does either, do they?”
I walked away from him, far enough to watch the Hercules taxi off the flight-line and slot into its designated space in a line of other heavy transport aircraft. The rear loading ramp was already lowering before the engines finished spooling down, forklifts and refuelling tankers converging.
As the crew emerged there were two figures among them who didn’t fit the usual mould. Manners dictated that I go to meet them. Surprise kept me static.
“Charlie,” Parker Armstrong greeted me without inflection as he drew closer. Those cool grey eyes skated over the cuts and grazes on my face, the way I held myself, and I knew he was assessing the damage — both what he could see and what he could not. “Glad you’re OK.”
“Sir,” I murmured, keeping it formal because alongside him was R&R’s sponsor — in effect my employer on this job — Mrs Hamilton. She looked as cool and elegant as ever, the rigours of a long-haul flight in steerage notwithstanding.
“It’s a miracle they got you out alive. It must have been terrifying,” she said, ignoring my proffered hand in favour of a light hug and a kiss to both cheeks. “My God, I never expected… How long were you buried?”
“Only about six hours,” I said, playing it down. It had felt like six weeks. “They had to stabilise the area before they could get to us.”
I did not add that the initial surveys and gathering of equipment had taken Marcus and his team over four hours, during which time neither myself nor Wilson, trapped nearby, had known if they were coming for us or not. It had been a sobering experience.