flesh but not hard enough to draw blood. The man glared at him, his eyes wide and fearful, his mouth open. ‘Gotcha!’ screamed Cramer.
‘Yes!’ shouted Martin, leaping to his feet and punching the air.
Allan’s praise was more muted; he stood up and patted Cramer on the back. ‘Well done, Mike,’ he said.
Cramer stepped away and slid the stiletto into its sheath. The man in the leather jacket rubbed his chin and smiled ruefully. ‘I almost got you,’ he said.
‘Almost is what it’s all about,’ said Cramer, sitting down again. His heart was racing and he took several deep breaths to calm himself down. He looked up to see Su-ming standing at the kitchen door, a large bowl in her hands, a look of horror on her face. He realised she must have seen the attack. Before he could explain what had happened, she disappeared back into the kitchen.
Allan stood looking down at Cramer. ‘Now we’re getting there, Mike. We’re definitely getting there. One thing, though. Why did you use the knife, why didn’t you go for the gun? You had time.’
Cramer grinned. ‘Jesus, Allan, won’t you ever be satisfied?’
Allan shook his head. ‘Not until this is over.’
Cramer stood up and went into the kitchen. Su-ming was chopping asparagus spears but she stopped when she saw Cramer. ‘We were practising,’ he said before she could speak. ‘We don’t know when or how he’s going to strike, so Allan is testing me all the time.’
‘You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?’
‘The man has been paid to kill your boss,’ said Cramer. ‘He’s an assassin. A hired killer. He’s paid to kill people, we can’t just pull out a warrant card and tell him he’s under arrest.’
‘You scared me,’ she said, avoiding his eyes. ‘Not just what you did, but the way you did it. You were like a machine. A killing machine. There was a blood lust in your eyes.’
‘I was in control, Su-ming. That’s what Allan is doing, he’s training me to react instinctively. I won’t have time to think, it’ll be him or me.’
Su-ming put down the knife and folded her arms across her chest as if hugging herself. She looked absurdly young in the oversize pullover. ‘You’ve killed before, haven’t you?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Several times.’
‘And that doesn’t worry you?’
Cramer didn’t answer for a few seconds. ‘No, it doesn’t worry me,’ he eventually replied. ‘Not any more.’
‘When you kill this man, this assassin, I’ll be there, won’t I?’
‘Probably. Yes.’
‘So either I’m going to see you kill a man, or I’m going to see you killed. That’s not much of a choice, is it? Either way, I’m going to have a man’s death on my hands.’
‘We’re doing this to save your boss’s life, Su-ming, and the rest of the people this maniac could end up killing. This man has never failed. If we don’t stop him, there’s nowhere that your boss can hide, nowhere he can go where he’ll be safe. We have to take him out.’ Su-ming shuddered as if she was standing in a draught. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. She shrugged. ‘Didn’t the Colonel explain what was going to happen?’
‘I was told that I was to accompany you, that we were to follow Mr Vander Mayer’s itinerary.’
‘You must have realised what was being planned?’ He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she edged away from him.
‘I suppose so. But I don’t think anyone actually said the words. No one actually said that we were setting up a man to be killed.’
Cramer rubbed his stomach softly. He wasn’t sure whether she meant that he, or the assassin, was the one being set up, or whether she cared either way. ‘We’ll make sure that you don’t get hurt,’ he said as soothingly as he could. ‘Allan and Martin will do everything they can to keep you out of it. And it’s me that he’ll be after. Not you.’
‘That’s not the point,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘What do you mean?’
She narrowed her eyes and shivered again, then quickly turned her back to him and picked up the knife. She chopped the asparagus spears with slow, precise movements. Cramer watched, not sure what to say. Su-ming continued to cut the asparagus into small chunks, the knife making a soft crunching sound. Cramer stood watching her in silence, but realised that the conversation was over. She’d shut him out, like a clam closing itself up for protection.
Sandra Worthington looked at her watch for the hundredth time and pursed her lips, wondering if Philip would be at the office yet. She couldn’t call him at home, the last time she’d done that he’d hit the roof and made her promise not to do it again. It had been a stupid thing to do. They were both married and both had a lot to lose if their affair was discovered, but there were times when she just had to hear his voice. A hurried ‘I love you’ or ‘I miss you’ was all she wanted. She checked her watch again.
‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’ asked her husband. He was sprawled across the sofa in front of the television set, watching Sky Sports and scratching himself.
‘Sure,’ she said and went into the kitchen. Their liver and white cocker spaniel followed her, wagging his stub of a tail good-naturedly. Her husband was nothing like Philip. Philip was tall and well-muscled, Philip was good- looking and kind, Philip made her laugh. Her husband just bored her, and had done for the past five years. If it wasn’t for the children, she’d have left him long ago, but her own parents had split up when she was eight and she’d promised herself that she would never put her two children through the same emotional roller-coaster.
Philip had children too, three boys, and he’d made it clear that his wife would never give him a divorce, and that even if she did the alimony and child support would consign him to a dingy bedsit for the rest of his life. They had to settle for what they had: hurried couplings in the back of his Volvo, lunchtime walks in the park, the occasional luxury of a hotel room, stolen moments when her children were at school. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Now even what little she had was under threat. Her husband had been made redundant and had spent the last three weeks lying about the house, watching television and only leaving to visit the pub or the betting shop. He was driving her crazy.
Sandra poured him a mug of tea and spooned in two sugars on autopilot. Philip didn’t take sugar. He looked after his body. She glanced at her watch again. She had to hear Philip’s voice, just to know that he cared, that he was thinking about her. The dog whined and put his head on one side. ‘Stop trying to look cute, Robbie,’ she said. The dog wagged his tail faster and made a soft growling noise. ‘Ah, I get it,’ Sandra whispered, and she winked conspiratorially at the dog.
She put the mug of tea down on the coffee table next to her husband. He grunted his thanks, his eyes fixed on the screen. ‘I think I’ll take Robbie for a walk,’ she said.
‘No need, I’ll take him to the pub with me,’ said her husband.
‘It’s a walk he needs, not a pint of lager,’ said Sandra, picking Robbie’s lead off the sideboard. Robbie rushed over, barking.
‘Shush!’ shouted her husband. ‘Can’t you do something about that damn dog?’
‘I’ll take him out,’ said Sandra, grabbing her coat. She checked that she had change in her pocket and hurried to the door. ‘See you later.’ Her husband grunted again and she slipped out, clipping the lead to Robbie’s collar as she walked down the stairs to the ground floor. Her heart was racing. There was a telephone box a hundred yards down the road but she decided against using it as it could be seen from their sitting room window. Robbie headed towards the park but Sandra pulled him back with a jerk. ‘Let me call Philip first, then you can play to your heart’s content,’ she said.
As she walked along the pavement, Sandra wondered what she’d say to Philip. Until her husband got off his damned sofa and went looking for a job, it was going to be practically impossible for her to slip away for a few hours. Perhaps he could come around in his car and she could take Robbie for another walk in the evening? It wouldn’t be the first time that the dog had sat on the front seat of Philip’s Volvo while they made love in the back. She smiled at the thought.
Robbie began pulling to the gutter. ‘Oh, Robbie, wait, can’t you?’ The dog pulled harder and Sandra relented. She let him step off the pavement. His nose was down and his tail was twitching. His feet scrabbled on the tarmac as he tried to pull away from her. ‘Oh come on, Robbie, don’t give me a hard time,’ Sandra moaned. The dog headed towards a blue Ford Sierra. Sandra yanked on the lead but Robbie wasn’t in the least deterred. He began to
