‘I don’t know
She snorted, glaring at him, her temper rising fast. ‘Yeah, it’s easier just to close your eyes. Anyway, I don’t care if you believe me or not. You wanted to know why we tried to kidnap Maximilian, and now you know. So maybe now you’ll let me go back home.’
‘To do what? To sell pottery? Or to pin your little Nazi badges back on and try to kidnap him again?’
‘We’re not going to stop trying. This is important.’
‘I don’t like what you’re doing. What if someone had been hurt, or killed? You weren’t shooting blanks that day.’
‘It wasn’t meant to go that far,’ she said. ‘I swear it.’
‘You’re throwing away your life.’
‘I don’t need your approval.’
‘You might think you got away because you were clever, well trained and well rehearsed. The fact is, you were just lucky. If I’d been properly in charge of a close protection outfit that I’d had the opportunity to train and equip the way
‘And that’s not all,’ he went on. ‘While you’re running around playing your little games and dabbling in things that should be left well alone, people are being kidnapped and murdered for real. Julia Goodman, the woman you tried to contact?’
Ruth frowned.
‘Dead,’ Ben said. ‘Along with another of her colleagues who was heavily into this Kammler stuff, someone by the name of Michio Miyazaki.’
She’d clearly heard the name, from the way she flinched.
‘And have you heard of a man called Adam O’Connor? He’s missing, and so is his young son. Whoever’s out there doing this stuff is armed and means business, and it’s clear that someone is paying them to take an interest in all this.’
‘Someone like who? Maximilian?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But I do know that anyone connected with this Kammler research is a potential target. Which includes you and your cronies, too. You’re way out of your depth. You need to back right off.’
‘Thank you for the lecture. But I’ll take my chances. I can look after myself. I’ve done it for long enough. And I’d rather believe in something, and suffer the consequences, than not believe in anything at all.’ She looked up at him hotly. ‘So can I go now? Or am I your prisoner?’
‘I ought to keep you locked up until you see sense.’
‘Fuck you. You’re just as bad as him.’
He could see the look in her eye. The argument was spiralling out of control, and the last thing he wanted to do was alienate the sister that he’d only just found again. He stepped towards her, put his hand on her arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You know I’d never stand in your way. If you want to go, go. Call Franz and tell him where you are. Or take the Mini. Here. It’s yours.’ He dangled the keys out in front of her.
She snatched the keys furiously out of his fingers, and he realised he’d already pushed her too far.
‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘I’m going to get some rest, and then I’ll leave tonight.’
He pointed over to the trainee accommodation block. ‘Pick any room you want. The sheets are all fresh.’
Without another word she turned away from him, wrenched open the office door and slammed it shut behind her. He watched her strut angrily across the yard, then powered down the laptop and left the office too.
There was no sign of Storm outside. Ben walked alone to the house, feeling frustrated. He was hoping to find Brooke sitting reading in the kitchen. She was becoming more and more part of the place. But there was no sign of her there, nor in the living room.
Then he heard the sound of someone moving around upstairs. Following the sound, he found the door to his quarters open. Brooke was crouched down on the rug, sweeping shards of glass into a dustpan. He saw that she’d been clearing up the debris. Broken chairs were piled in the corner, and the pictures that hadn’t been destroyed were back on the walls. She’d gathered up the bits of broken glass from the smashed frames and propped them up neatly and safely out of the way against the wall near the sofa.
She hadn’t seen him, and he watched her from the doorway. Kneeling there with her thick hair tied back loosely over her shoulders, she looked so serene and calm. He thought of the last time they’d been here together in this room, that evening spent sitting on the rug eating Marie-Claire’s chocolate cake and drinking wine. It seemed so long ago now.
‘Hi,’ he said.
She looked up, and smiled back.
‘Clearing this place up is my job,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have.’
‘Something to do while I stayed out of your way for a while.’ She stood up, dusting off her hands. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. She didn’t wreck quite everything.’
He walked into the room, closed the door behind him.
‘You look shattered,’ she said.
He sat on the sofa, and she walked over and sat next to him. He leaned back, closing his eyes, and for a few precious moments he was able to switch off and enjoy the soothing atmosphere of her presence. When he opened them, Brooke was watching him with a pained expression, like someone bursting to make a confession.
‘Ben, I have something to say.’
He straightened up. ‘What?’ he asked, suddenly worried.
‘I’ve been thinking – and maybe this isn’t the right time to say it – but I’m not sure I should come here any more.’
He was silent as her words sank in.
‘What I said to you in London. About the way I felt. The way I feel. I shouldn’t have said that. But I can’t pretend I didn’t say it, any more than I can pretend it’s not true.’
‘I don’t want you to stop coming here,’ he murmured. He looked in her eyes. Very slowly, he reached out and stroked her soft cheek. Then, even more slowly, with his heart beginning to thud faster, knowing he was crossing a bridge he couldn’t uncross, he leaned forward and kissed her.
This time, Brooke didn’t pull away from his embrace. They moved closer together. The kisses started off gentle and soft. Then, as their breathing quickened, the kisses became deep and passionate. She reclined back on the sofa, clutching at his clothes, pulling him down on top of her.
And then the door burst open with a juddering crash and two men in black tactical gear carrying silenced Skorpion machine pistols stormed into the room.
In the split second before anything else happened, Ben was already reacting. As he whipped round he locked on to the two pairs of eyes in the black tactical masks and he saw the intent in them. He’d seen that look plenty of times, the deliberately unthinking stony look, like the expression of a shark, that passes across a paid killer’s eyes in the instant before he does his job. The clearing of the mind, removing all doubt, all hesitation, any last vestiges of humanity. No prisoners, no discussions. Gloved fingers were on triggers. Actions were cocked, safeties set to FIRE. The fat, stubby silencers were trained right on them.
The silence of the room gave way to a flurry of muted gunfire, like the ripping of corrugated cardboard, as both shooters opened up simultaneously. But by then, Ben had Brooke shielded with his own body and he was kicking out with his legs while hurling his weight against the backrest of the sofa. Bullets thunked into its wooden frame as it toppled over backwards. Their bodies sprawled on the floor as a swarm of splinters and ripped pieces of foam flew around them.
There weren’t many good things about being on the wrong end of a Skorpion Vz61 submachine pistol in the hands of a man who knew how to use it. But even the most effective shooter couldn’t do much about the combined
