‘Did you love her?’
Doyle smiled humourlessly.‘What difference does it make?’ he said scornfully.‘We were … alike.There was something between us. I don’t know what the fuck you’d call it. But it doesn’t matter any more, does it?’ He looked at Mel. ‘You remind me of her in some ways.’
‘Is that a compliment?’
He nodded.
She reached out and gently touched his hand.
He looked down and she slowly withdrew it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mel told him. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I just—’
‘Forget it,’ he said, cutting her short’No harm done.’ He adjusted two of the cameras scanning the grounds then looked back at Mel.‘What about you? How come the right bloke hasn’t turned up yet?’
‘Married to the job, I suppose.’
‘And if he did? Would you give it all up to play the little woman?’
‘Maybe. I’m not even sure what I want out of life any more.’
‘Looks like we’re both fucked.’
Mel grinned. ‘Kindred spirits,’ she chuckled.
Doyle focused on one of the monitors. His eyes narrowed.
‘Perhaps you and I should—’
Doyle interrupted. ‘Look at that,’ he said, pointing a finger at the screen that held his attention. ‘Is it a shadow?’
‘Which camera is it?’ she wanted to know.
The one near the swimming pool.’
A dark shape was clearly visible now, scuttling quickly along the side of the pool then back into the welcoming darkness.
‘Zoom in,’ Mel said. That’s no shadow.’
Doyle hit the necessary button. The image became larger rather than sharper.
‘The sensor lights around there are motion activated,’ Mel said.‘How come they haven’t been tripped?’
Doyle squinted at the shape. ‘It’s definitely a man,’ he said. He reached forward and drew his index finger around the outline of the shape. ‘And he’s carrying something.’
They both recognised it immediately. The outline of the AK47 assault rifle was unmistakable.
The shape moved, its motion fluid.
‘Stay with him,’ Mel murmured.
There was movement on another monitor. Two more shapes.
‘By the stables,’ Doyle said.
‘And on the drive,’ Mel added.‘Four of them, at least.’
Doyle pulled the Beretta from its holster and worked the slide, chambering a round. ‘You’d better get Hendry,’ he said.‘It looks like we’ve got some work to do.’
On the bank of monitors Doyle counted six figures moving quickly and furtively around the grounds, all heading towards the house.
‘I’ll call the police, get some help,’ Mel said, snatching up the phone.
The line was dead. ‘No calls tonight,’ she said. They’ve cut the wires.’
Try your mobile.’
She dialled but a shriek of static forced her to move the Nokia away from her ear. They’ve jammed the frequency,’ she told him.
‘Party time,’ Doyle murmured under his breath.
The dark figures continued towards the house.
Get upstairs now,’ Mel said, gesturing towards the Duncans who looked on helplessly.
‘We could help you,’ William Duncan offered.
Mel shook her head.‘Please do as I say,’ she insisted. ‘Lock yourselves in your room and stay down. Don’t go near the windows.’
Duncan slid an arm around his wife’s shoulder and the two of them made their way hurriedly through the hall and up the broad staircase to the first storey of the house.
Mel was holding the small automatic that she’d taken from her shoulder
holster. Doyle glanced at it and saw how comfortably it fitted into her slender hand. It was a Heckler and Koch VP70. He knew it held eighteen 9mm rounds in its magazine.
‘Still coming,’ shouted Hendry who was posted before the screens. ‘I can see eight of them now. All armed as far as I can tell.’
‘How do you want to play this?’ Doyle said.‘Go out to meet them or let them come to us?’
‘Let them come,’ Mel said. ‘It’ll be more difficult for them to get inside. We can cover the entrances.’
‘Not all of them,’ Doyle said warily.
Mel looked at him for a moment then headed off towards the sitting room.
The first burst of automatic fire raked the building.
Doyle spun round in the direction of the shots.
Two windows shattered and part of one frame was blasted to matchwood by the impact of the heavy-grain bullets.
‘Put the interior lights out and all the exterior ones on,’ he called to Hendry, moving towards one of the broken windows. ‘We’ll be able to see them but they won’t be able to see us.’
Hendry nodded and hit a number of switches. Immediately the area within a hundred yards of the house was illuminated by the cold, white glare of more than a dozen security floodlights.
Doyle saw several of the oncoming figures freeze, caught like moths in a torch beam. He took his chance.
The former counter terrorist swung the Beretta into position and pumped the trigger. The sound was deafening as the 9mm spewed its deadly load towards the attackers.
Two went down. There were shouts of anger and surprise from the others. Doyle fired again. Another of the men was hit, his body spinning round violently as the slug caught him in the shoulder, pulverised his collar bone and dropped him like a stone. He tried to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Another burst of automatic fire tore into the house. Doyle ducked as several bullets ripped over his head and drilled into the wall of the room, blasting chunks of plaster free and sending more broken glass showering on to the expensive carpet.
He could smell cordite and gunpowder. Just like old times.
There was more firing from another part of the house. He recognised the sound of the VP70. Mel chose her targets as carefully as she could and shot down another of the furious attackers.
More automatic fire. Doyle heard fresh glass shattering.
This was fucking crazy.There was no way three of them could cover every part of a house this size.
He glanced out of the window and fired again, the muzzle flash from the 9mm momentarily searing his retina. Spent shell cases spun into the air and landed on the carpet beside him.
‘There’s more of them over by the stables,’ Hendry shouted, gazing at a monitor. ‘Another two at least.’
Doyle himself had shot three. Mel another two.
‘How many of these bastards are there?’ Doyle hissed under his breath.
Doyle was about to snatch another look at the garden when a concentrated burst of fire sent him diving for the floor. Bullets blasted holes in the walls and obliterated ornaments. Several hit a sofa and stuffing exploded from it like innards from a gut-shot body.
More firing. Part of the garden was plunged into darkness. ‘They’re shooting out the lights,’ Hendry yelled.
‘This is bullshit,’ snarled Doyle. Then, into his microphone, ‘Mel, they’re going to pin us down in here.’
No answer.
‘Mel,’ he shouted.
He heard a thunderous blast in his earpiece and winced.
