she’d interrogated Abdal Jabbaar while he was being tortured in the basement at the American embassy in London. It hadn’t been her idea, but she had played a part and she had always thought that one day her actions might come back to haunt her. That day had come, but the man with the knife was no ghost. ‘No,’ she said. ‘The name means nothing to me.’
‘Abdal Jabbaar bin Othman al-Ahmed? Abdal Rahmaan bin Othman al-Ahmed?’
‘Never heard of them.’
He stopped swishing the knife. ‘You’re lying,’ he said.
‘Why would I lie? Abdul what?’
‘Abdal Jabbaar bin Othman al-Ahmed. Abdal Rahmaan. Do not lie to me.’
Button shook her head again, more emphatically this time. ‘I don’t know why you think those names should mean something to me, but I can assure you they don’t.’
The man’s eyes narrowed.
‘You’re making a mistake,’ said Button. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about, I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m not the person you’re looking for.’
‘I know who you are. I have your photograph. There is no mistake.’
Button pointed at him. ‘I know who you are, and I know why you’re here. Your name is Hassan Salih and you’re a marked man.’
A look of confusion flashed across Salih’s face. ‘How did you . . .’
Button bent down, picked up her mobile phone and threw it hard at him. It hit his shoulder and shattered against the wall. Button moved forward, ready to grab the knife, but he was too quick for her and jabbed at her hand, just missing her. She jumped back, then rushed to the desk. There was a glass paperweight, a birthday present from Zoe to her father. She grabbed it. Salih lashed out with the knife again, catching her in the shoulder, cutting through her shirt and slicing into her flesh. She screamed and hurled the paperweight at him. It smashed into his jaw, breaking two front teeth. He glared at her as blood ran down his chin and he slowly raised the knife.
Shepherd’s feet pounded on the pavement, his breathing regular although he had run several hundred yards at full pelt. He hurtled through the gate and down the driveway towards the house. As he neared it, he heard a scream, followed by shouting. A man. He kicked at the front door, but it was solid mahogany and barely moved. He had the carbine in his hands but he knew it was only in movies that you could blow open a door with nine-millimetre rounds. The SAS used shotguns to shoot out the hinges of locked doors but the weapon he was holding was useless against the inch-thick wood. He stood back and kicked again. It barely moved.
Shepherd swore and ran to his left, round the house. A dog was barking and there were more shouts from inside the house. The shouts were a good sign. They meant that Charlie was still alive.
Salih stabbed at Button with the knife. She turned to the side and grabbed at his wrist with her right hand, but he was too quick for her and jerked the knife back. The blade cut into her palm and she felt blood spurt between her fingers. She screamed, more in anger than pain. Salih had killed her husband, the father of her child, but she was powerless to do anything. She wished with all her heart that she had a gun but she hadn’t been issued one by SOCA and she’d never carried a weapon when she’d worked for MI5. As blood dripped from her hand on to the carpet she looked for something, anything, to use as a weapon.
Salih said nothing as he slashed at her with the knife. Blood was pouring from his mouth where she’d hit him with the paperweight, but the only sound he made was a gentle whistling as he breathed.
Button glanced at the desk. There was a letter-opener that went with the paperweight, a steel blade embedded in a piece of carved crystal. It was next to the computer keyboard. She lurched towards it, but Salih anticipated her and slashed at her, screaming. The knife caught her side, slicing easily through her shirt and ripping into her flesh. The blade bit deep and she tried to twist away from the searing pain, tripped over Graham’s legs and went sprawling on her hands and knees.
She heard Salih grunt, then fell forward as something thumped into her right shoulder, followed by a sharp pain. She realised that the blade was embedded in her shoulder. She screamed as he pulled it out and the serrated edge ripped through skin and muscle. Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t want to die like this, cut to pieces in her own home. She didn’t want to leave her daughter. She didn’t want to die on the floor. She didn’t want the man who’d killed her to defile her as she bled to death. She rolled over. He was standing over her, blood dripping down his chin. Still he said nothing, though she could feel the hatred pouring out of him.
Button pulled her legs up and scrabbled away from him. She could feel blood running down her hip. It wasn’t life-threatening, she knew. There were no major blood vessels there, and the knife hadn’t gone deep enough to cut any organs. The wound in the shoulder was just muscle damage. She could still feel her fingers so there was no nerve damage. She was hurt but not dead yet.
Salih grinned. ‘Abdal Jabbaar bin Othman al-Ahmed,’ he said. ‘And Abdal Rahmaan. You are to die hearing those names.’
‘Screw you!’
Salih grunted and slashed the knife at her legs. The tip nicked her ankle, drawing blood. Button yelped and pulled her legs close to her body.
She shuffled to the left and he moved with her, waving the knife menacingly. He lunged at her but as he did so she lashed out with her right foot and caught him in the groin with her heel. Salih grimaced and stabbed at her thigh. The blade went in deep and Button screamed. She screamed again as he pulled it out and blood spurted down her leg. She shuffled back to the wall and pushed herself up against it, then almost fell over as her injured leg gave way beneath her. She staggered along a bookcase, scattering books on the floor. She grabbed at a book and threw it at her attacker as hard as she could. It hit his forehead and spun across the room. He laughed. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ he snarled. He stabbed at her with the knife and she jumped away.
The door was to her left, a few yards away, but Salih realised that too and took a step to the side, blocking her escape. As he moved she saw Shepherd at the window, a machine-gun in his hands. For a brief moment they had eye contact. ‘Down,’ he mouthed.
As Shepherd raised the carbine, Button grinned at Salih. ‘No,’ she said. ‘This is the best I can do,’ and she dropped to the floor.
Shepherd brought the UMP to his shoulder as Button fell. He was firing through glass so he knew there was no guarantee that the first or second shot would hit the target. He pulled the trigger, the gun kicked in his hands and the window shattered into a thousand shards. The Arab turned, the knife raised above his head. Shepherd fired again, and saw him lurch as a bullet hit his shoulder. Glass was falling to the paved path outside the window, tinkling like wind chimes.
The Arab’s face was contorted in a mask of rage. He yelled something in Arabic and Shepherd fired a short burst into his chest. The man fell backwards, a red rose blossoming on the front of his shirt.
Shepherd rushed forward and leant through the window. The Arab was sitting on the floor, his back to the door, his left hand clutched to his chest, the knife still in his right hand, his mouth working. Shepherd fired twice at his head and his face imploded. He sagged forward and the knife fell to the floor.
Shepherd used the butt of the UMP to clear the glass that was still in the window frame, then tossed the weapon on to the desk and climbed inside after it. ‘Charlie, are you okay?’ he shouted. There was no answer. He scrambled across the desk, knocking over several framed photographs. Button was on the floor, curled into a ball, not far from the dead Arab. Another man lay on his back, a bloodstain on his shirt.
Shepherd rolled off the desk and rushed to Button. Her shirt was sodden with blood and there were cuts on her legs, but she was breathing and her eyes were open. Shepherd checked her out, running his fingers along the length of her body, then checked for a pulse at her wrist. She’d lost a lot of blood but none appeared to be arterial and her pulse was strong and steady. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ he said.
She didn’t appear to hear him and stared into the middle distance, eyes glassy with shock.
‘Charlie, you’re going to be all right,’ he said.
Button blinked. She turned to look at her husband’s body. ‘Graham?’ she whispered.
Shepherd knelt in front of her. ‘Charlie, come on, snap out of this.’
Button frowned. ‘I didn’t even get to wear the underwear,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I bought underwear and he didn’t even see it.’
Shepherd put his hands on either side of her face and stared into her eyes. ‘Charlie, stop this,’ he said. ‘I
