the smile in his voice. It died fast. “Where the hell has Gilby got that kind of money from? The last financial info we dug out on him showed he was only holding himself out of the red by the skin of his teeth.”
“There’s no sign of the place being run on a shoestring,” I said. “The food’s too good. And someone’s spent a fortune restocking the armoury here.” I told him about the SIGs having replaced the old Makarovs he had told me to expect.
“I’ll get Madeleine to look into it, see what she can dig out,” he said. He paused, then, “There’s something else come up that I think you ought to know about.”
“What?”
“It would appear that we’re not the only ones taking an interest in Salter’s death. The Germans are in on it.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded. “I thought you said the police here weren’t bothered.”
I was aware then that I could no longer hear running water from the next room. At that moment the door opened and Elsa came out, wrapped in a pair of towels. She smiled briefly at me and began collecting up clean clothes from her locker.
“It isn’t the police I’m talking about,” Sean said in my ear. “It’s the security services. Apparently they’ve got someone into the school.”
“That’s interesting news, darling,” I said, my voice a purr, “do tell me more.”
For a moment there was utter silence, then Sean asked, “Do I take it that you’re no longer alone?”
“Unfortunately not,” I said. I gave a throaty chuckle. “But I can’t wait until we are.”
Elsa threw me a quick look of distaste. She gathered up her stuff and hurried back into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. I heard her hairdryer start up almost right away.
“Don’t make promises you’re not prepared to make good on, Charlie,” Sean said, and his voice was rich with promises all of its own.
“It’s all right, she’s gone,” I said, ignoring that last remark. “Do you have any idea who this German agent is? Male or female, even?”
Sean sighed. “No, not yet. We’re working on it. Do you have anyone in mind?”
I glanced at the closed bathroom door. “Possibly,” I said. “It might explain why I nearly caught someone searching my stuff this afternoon.”
“Did they take anything? Do you still have the round?”
“Yes, it’s safe, but they had a good look at the phone, so they’ve got your number,” I said. “You think that might be the Germans rather than Gilby’s lot?”
“Probably, but the real question is not who, but why? I can’t believe they’d be investigating Salter’s death unless it was connected to something else.”
“I’ll see what I can find out at this end,” I said, “although asking questions is not exactly making me popular.”
I told Sean all about Todd’s warning, and this time I didn’t gloss over the events leading up to it.
“Are you OK?” Sean’s voice was tight.
I shrugged. My chest was still sore. I could only hope that I hadn’t done any lasting damage. “I’m fine,” I said.
“Charlie, what did you mean earlier when you said they knew just which buttons to press? What did they do to you?” What could I hear in his voice? Weariness or anguish?
I had a brief, vivid flash of Todd holding me down on the desktop. An echo of the panic I’d felt then came clawing up my throat. It was a struggle to overpower it.
“It’s nothing, Sean, forget it,” I said quickly. “Don’t worry about me. I can cope.”
“How can I not worry about you, Charlie?” he asked gently, “I never realised when I asked you to go and do this that it would be so damned difficult.” And there were turns and folds in his voice like melted chocolate.
“Part of me knows full well that you were one of the best soldiers I ever trained,” he went on, “but at the same time part of me can’t help but remember another side to you – soft, vulnerable.” He broke off, took a breath. “If you want to give this up now and come home, I won’t think any less of you,” he said. “You’ve been hurt before because of me. I don’t want it to happen again.”
“That wasn’t your fault Sean.” I found to my horror that I was close to crying. “I’m OK,” I said, stronger. Wanting to believe it. “And now I’ve started I want to see this thing through. One way or another.”
Me and my big mouth.
Ten
“OK, Charlie,” Rebanks said. “Let’s see what you’re really made of.” He moved back, folded his arms around his clipboard, and raised his voice. “Watch and shoot. Watch and shoot.”
I held the SIG out in front of me, both hands clasped loosely round the pistol grip, and stepped out onto the Close Quarter Battle range. As I carefully advanced I was acutely aware of the eyes on me. Not just Rebanks, O’Neill, and Gilby, who’d turned up to watch this lesson, but the other pupils as well.
Those who’d already had their turn were lined up to watch the next victim. By now, they’d all found out about my army background. I’m not entirely sure how. Some, like Declan, took it all as a big joke. Others, like Hofmann, took it as a personal affront, as though I’d been trying to trick them. Even Jan and Elsa seemed more distant with me somehow.
So, this morning on the CQB range, I’d decided to drop the act. I was going to give it my best shot – literally as well as figuratively – and see where that got me. I didn’t think I could be doing any worse.
Eight metres away to my left, the first of the targets swung into view, a hardboard cut-out of a half-figure clutching a gun in both hands, his features hidden by a ski mask. I planted two rounds square in the centre of the forehead. By the time it folded away again I was already moving forwards, looking for my next target.
The Manor’s CQB range had been built in a small gully in the woods with banks that rose to provide natural cover for wild shots on either side. All told, it was about two hundred metres long and affected by a stillness that was unnerving.
Regular gunfire obviously kept the animal and bird population at bay. The lack of lifesigns gave the ground a contaminated feel to it. Even the weak pale sunshine seemed reluctant to climb over the banks and wash down onto the floor of the gully. It was a place shunned by nature and to be avoided.
Trying to suppress a shudder, I walked on. I concentrated on keeping my shoulders easy, keeping my breathing light. Rebanks walked a careful distance behind me, keeping score.
The second target had been placed low and left. It burst upwards out of a pile of pine needles less than three metres away, with a suddenness that took me by the throat.
I just had time to put another two rounds into the head before it fell away as though responding directly to the hit.
Rebanks had explained to us at the pre-shoot briefing that there would be six targets, appearing at a variety of distances, and for random periods ranging from four to eight seconds.
He’d been lying.
Whatever they’d been doing for the others, I knew damned well that for me they were only holding their upright position for a two-second maximum. I wondered why that should surprise me. I should have expected special treatment.
There was an old tree fifteen metres away to my right. The bark of its trunk was lacerated with pale scars. When the next target started to flip out from behind it I was already twisting into position. Even before it had locked flat I punched the first round through at an angle, raking out a two-inch splinter from the back board. Instinct told me the second was a clean hit, but the target wasn’t around long enough for me to check.
Three and four came up so close together in time and range I nearly didn’t get to them, but I was dialled in now. Utterly focused. And damned determined that they weren’t going to beat me at this game. The SIG wasn’t just in my hand, it was part of my hand, an extension of my arm, part of me.
By the time the targets dropped, Rebanks had another pair of kills to add to my total.
