muscle left to support him.
He saw the helicopter hovering above the field the other side of the lane and shakily aimed his gun towards it and then lost his balance and almost fell over. He steadied himself, got the gun on aim, and squeezed the trigger. But it wouldn’t fire. He checked the safety-catch, almost dropping the weapon. He pulled out the magazine, checked it for ammunition, and pushed it back home. He cocked it, aimed, and pulled the trigger once again. It fired, and on fully automatic!
Stratton had already unclipped his seatbelt and was leaning well out of the cab as the helicopter pulled up into the hover ten feet above the ground. At the sound of the gunfire he jumped, ripping the giro-steady cable from the consul. He hit the ground and jammed the rifle into his shoulder, searching for a target as the helicopter backed away from the fire.
Stratton saw movement beyond the hedge near the van but he was not about to shoot at anyone he could not positively identify.
The Gazelle landed not far behind him, its rotors remaining on full revs. Stratton ran forward, reached the hedgerow a few yards behind the van, dropped the rifle, and took out his pistol. He eased through a gap in the hedge and stepped down on to the lane. It was all very quiet but for the hiss of steam from the van’s engine. Stratton paused to tune his senses and then cautiously headed to the front of the van. He saw the windshield smashed out and Sean lying in the hedge. In the field just beyond a sub-machine-gun was lying in the grass. Stratton eased forward, eyes everywhere, and reached through the hedge to feel the gun’s barrel. It was hot. He then heard what sounded like a snapping stick some distance away and stood on the front bumper of the van so that he could see over the hedge. In the distance a man was limping heavily away.
Stratton stepped back down into the lane and made his way to the rear of the van. One of the doors had popped open on impact. He looked inside. There was some movement and the sound of strained breathing. Stratton climbed in to find the two Irishmen broken and bloody against the back of the seats. The one sandwiched between the crate and the seat was motionless and judging by the unnatural position of his head, twisted three-quarters of the way around, it looked as if his neck was broken. The other lay in an awkward position unable to move, watching Stratton, his every breath a painful effort. Stratton aimed his gun at the man who was in too much pain to care and remained staring at Stratton. A noise came from inside the crate that was lying on its side. Stratton ignored the broken man and pulled the crate over so that the lid was upright. He noticed the bullet hole in the top and its corresponding exit point in the side. He unlatched the lid and opened it expecting to find Spinks seriously damaged.
Spinks lay tightly inside the cramped space squinting up at Stratton, adjusting his eyes to the light, as frightened as he was hopeful.
‘You okay, Spinks?’
Spinks blinked hard as the images came into focus. He knew that voice.
‘Stratton?’
‘Can you walk?’
‘Stratton,’ he repeated, still afraid it was some kind of hallucination. ‘Tell me it’s really you.’
‘It’s me. Are you hurt?’ Stratton asked, then noticed the blood on Spinks’s jacket and crouched to get a better look. ‘You’ve been hit.’
‘They shot me,’ Spinks said.
Stratton raced through his options if he couldn’t move Spinks, none of which were good. This had all been about saving Spinks and there was no point doing anything that would put his health in jeopardy having got this far.
It was as if Spinks had read Stratton’s mind. ‘Where are we?’ he asked.
‘In the South.’
‘Then we’d better get going,’ he said as he raised his hands, gripped the sides of the box, and started to pull himself up. A pain shot across his chest and Stratton quickly grabbed him.
‘Easy,’ Stratton said.
Spinks took several short breaths. ‘I can do it,’ he said then pulled himself once again until he was sitting upright. Stratton inspected the entry and exit points high on his chest. ‘As bullet holes go, they’re in an okay place.’
‘That’s good,’ Spinks said, attempting sarcasm. He then braced himself for a major effort to stand with Stratton’s help and climb out of the box. His knees almost gave way as they took his full weight but Stratton held him. Spinks pushed them straight. ‘I’m okay,’ he said. ‘I’m okay.’
Stratton helped Spinks out of the box beside the broken man lying on the floor of the van, watching them.
‘What about ’im?’ Spinks asked.
‘What’s your name?’ Stratton asked the man.
‘O . . . O’Kelly,’ the man said, catching his breath. Spinks wondered if Stratton was going to kill him. He wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he did.That didn’t mean he knew Stratton well enough to know he’d do it. Quite the contrary. He didn’t know Stratton well at all, but the rumours about him left one in doubt as to his true character.
‘Looks like he’s paid a price for today,’ Spinks said, hoping that if Stratton was into executing the bloke he might change his mind. It wasn’t something Spinks was into, even after what he’d been through. He wasn’t a murderer.
The man’s eyes started to glaze and his breathing suddenly grew shallower, and then it stopped altogether.
Spinks stared at him with no sign of remorse or celebration. It was simply an event.
‘Come on,’ Stratton said and helped Spinks out of the van.They shuffled to the gap in the hedge and Spinks glanced back at the front of the van.
‘Fuckin’ ’ell!’ he said. ‘Good thing I was in that box.’ As Stratton helped him through the hedge he grabbed up his SLR and they made their way across the field towards the waiting Gazelle. The short walk helped Spinks’s circulation and he could almost support himself by the time they reached it.
‘I knew it was you. I fuckin’ knew it,’ Spinks said. ‘Soon as I ’eard the shootin’ I said to myself, that’s Stratton that is. Then we ’it a fuckin’ wall.’ Spinks chuckled until the pain made it difficult to laugh any more.
Stratton helped him into the back and laid him down on the bench seat. As he climbed into the exposed front passenger seat the Gazelle lifted skyward and turned North.
Stratton put on his headset, positioned the mic in front of his lips, and pushed the send button. ‘Zero alpha, whisky one. I have four two Charlie. He has a gunshot wound but he’s gonna be okay. I’m towards your location.’
A cheer went up in the ops room. Mike picked up the handset. ‘Roger that, whisky one,’ he replied. ‘Any other casualties?’
‘Two, possibly three dead, unconfirmed. At least one escaped.’
‘Understood,’ Mike said. ‘See you when you land.’ Mike put down the handset and sat back in his chair, looking a little spent. ‘Send a tow to pick up one three kilo,’ he said to Graham.
‘Already on its way,’ Graham said. ‘Nice one, boss,’ he added, grinning. ‘Not a bad ending, all things considered.’
Mike wasn’t feeling particularly celebratory. His thoughts were elsewhere. There was something he had queried the moment Spinks had been kidnapped but had pushed to the back of his mind. ‘This one is far from over . . . We’ve at least one major problem to figure out now.’
The second in command and the intelligence officer glanced at each other, unsure what Mike could be referring to.
‘If you mean the border excursion, I’d take that any day over a kidnapped operative,’ the int officer said.
‘That’s not what I’m talking about,’ Mike said. ‘This problem is even more serious than Spinks being kidnapped.’
The others looked at each other, unaware what that could possibly be. Mike saw the vacant look in their eyes and lowered his voice so that only they could hear.
‘Spinks’s kidnapping was a set-up from the start. It was elaborate, well planned and executed, and they almost got away with it.You don’t put something like that together in a few hours or overnight even. They knew he
