'It's a butler or some similar jerk,' I breathed. 'At least it shows the household's on the move.'
All three of us were kneeling in a line, Tony on the fight, then Farrell, then myself. I glanced sideways at Farrell and saw that his eyes were gleaming, his lips drawn slightly back from his teeth. Watch yourself, twat, I silently told him, you're in for a nasty surprise in a moment.
The butler figure disappeared inside again and the door closed. Now waiting became even harder. The hands on my watch barely seemed to move. By the time they had crawled to 0635 it felt like midday at least.
Temporary relief came with a short, sharp, sudden rushing noise. There, right in front of us, a buzzard was pulling out of a steep dive just above the ground.
Whether the bird had swooped at a rat or mouse and missed, I couldn't tell. After a moment he soared up again, talons still extended, his wings working furiously, and the roar of air through his pinions took me straight back to parachuting and free-falling.
All at once I was thinking of the first two training jumps I made, at Weston-on-the-Green. I remembered how somebody went past me, falling after my chute had broken out, with a load, hoarse roar, like that buzzard, only bigger…
More movement on the terrace jerked me back to the present.
Jesus, I thought. This is it.
The same door had opened again but a different man had come out. The binos clearly picked out the familiar figure: smooth grey hair, slightly long; pale face, spectacles glinting. He wore a big, sloppy, light- coloured sweater nearly down to his knees, and he was carrying something in his right hand — a small canister, no doubt to blitz the bugs on the roses.
'Begod! It's himself!' Farrell exclaimed.
'Come on then!' I snatched a glance at my watch: 0645. No hope of a reprieve from London now..
I snatched up the rifle and started forward, asking quietly over the radio, 'All clear your end, Whinge?'
'All clear,' came the answer.
I reached the bank and set the Haskins down. The target was moving slowly out into the terrace garden, turning back and forth as he peered at the rosebeds. I looked through the sight and saw that, although the scope was good, it wasn't like a pair of binoculars: it gave a clear general picture but not close details.
'Now!' I stood up and faced Farrell. 'There's a slight change of'plan. It's you to shoot, not me.'
'What the luck!' His face turned deathly white. Then a red flush of anger came up from the neck. 'What's this?' he croaked incredulously. 'What the fuck is this?'
'Get down and shoot,' I told him, 'or the chance will be gone.'
'Treacherous cunt!' he said out loud, and then, almost shouting: 'Fucking treacherous bastard!'
If his right wrist hadn't been cuffed to Tony's left I'm sure he'd have taken a swing at me. Then he saw the Sig levelled at his chest and stumbled backwards, heaving for breath.
'You're the shooter here,' he gasped. 'That's the deal.'
'You have the choice,' I said. 'Shoot or die. Simple as that. There'll be few enough questions asked afterwards.'
'I can't shoot that thing.' He flicked his right foot in the direction of the rifle. 'Holy Mary, I never saw a weapon like that in my life. I couldn't hit the house, let alone the target.'
'Bollocks! It was you who shot the British soldier with it at Crossmaglen last August. It was you who killed the man long-range on the border in February. It was this very rifle, and yourself firing it. I don't know how many murders you've got on your slate, but one more's not going to make much difference:'
From the way Farrell flinched I knew I was right.
'Get down and shoot,' I repeated.
'Never,' he said. 'If you're wanting your family released it's you to shoot, and that's all.'
'I'll give you ten seconds,' I said.
He took a step towards me and made a sudden movement with his free left hand, but Tony jerked him backwards so violently that he fell over and landed on his arse. 'Unless I give the codeword they'll never be let go,' he warned. 'They'll be dead by noon.'
'I'll take a chance on that,' I said. 'I'm counting now.
Ten, nine, eight…'
At six he made a gesture with his right hand, which I took to be one of capitulation.
'Christ Almighty!' he cried. 'How will I shoot trussed up like this?'
'You'll manage. Tony'll get down alongside you.
Now shift yourself, or the target'll be gone.'
Through all this Tony had waited impassively, poised for action. I'd told him beforehand what I was planning, and he'd agreed not to intervene unless he had to.
The rifle was already in a perfect position, its bipod sunk into the moss on top of the little bank. Farrell was shaking violently as he positioned himself behind it, and the ferret stink wafted all around us. Tony went down beside him, extending his left arm to give the rifleman freedom of movement at the end of the short chain.
Farrell gave one more curse — a long-drawn-out groan of 'Ah, you bastards!' — then gathered his concentration, settled his elbows into the leaf-mould on the forest floor, aimed through the scope, opened and closed the bolt, and clicked off one dry shot. The practised ease of his movements made it plain he knew the weapon well.
The target was still meandering about the terrace, but by now he'd moved nearly to the front of it, close to the right-hand summerhouse. In the clear early light his pale sweater showed up a treat.
'Let's have a bullet, then,' Farrell snapped.
I leant over between the two men and laid one of the six-inch rounds in the breech. As Farrell slammed the bolt forward I gave three consecutive double jabs on my pressel switch to warn Yorky that the shot was imminent.
Farrell had the rifle up and aligned, but the target was moving, alking slowly across to our right.
'Wait, man, wait!' I hissed. 'Let him stop. Now! No!
Wait again.'
Once more the target had ambled on; But at last he came to a standstill with his back to us, right in front of one of the trimmed box bushes.
'There!' I said. 'Take him now!'
I put my hands flat over my ears and held my breath.
BOOM!
I saw the big bullet go. At least, I saw the grey streak of disturbance in the air along its path.-I was aware of movement at my feet as the recoil jolted Farrell backwards, but I tried to keep my binos on the target.
For what seemed an age he remained standing. Then suddenly his arms flew half up, away from his sides, as if his hands had been lifted on strings, and he pitched forward away from us in a flat dead-man's dive. Once down, he was out of sight behind the box hedges, and we could see no further movement.
Weapon like that in my life. I couldn't hit the house, let alone the target.'
'Bollocks! It was you who shot the British soldier with it at Crossmaglen last August. It was you who killed the man long-range on the border in February. It was this very rifle, and yourself firing it. I don't know how many murders you've got on your slate, but one more's not going to make much difference.'
From the way Farrell flinched I knew I was right.
'Get down and shoot,' I repeated.
'Never,' he said. 'If you're wanting your family released it's you to shoot, and that's all.'
'I'll give you ten seconds,' I said.
He took a step towards me and made a sudden movement with his free left hand, but Tony jerked him backwards so violently that he fell over and landed on his arse. 'Unless I give the codeword they'll never be let go,' he warned. 'They'll be dead by noon.'
Tll take a chance on that,' I said. Tm counting now.
Ten, nine, eight…'
At six he made a gesture with his right hand, which
I took to be one of capitulation.
'Christ Almighty!' he cried. 'How will I shoot trussed up like this?'
'You'll manage. Tony'll get down alongside you.