He faced Larry again, anger rising. ‘Because of you!’
‘What?’ said Larry. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You talked to Stikes after I saw you in Colombia, didn’t you?’
‘Well . . . yes. But he was a client, so I had every right. I don’t see how—’
‘You told Stikes that Nina was looking for El Dorado in Peru. And guess what, he turned up at the site with a helicopter full of mercenaries and a truckload of terrorists! A lot of people died – and it was your fault!’
Larry bristled, rising to his full height. ‘You told
Eddie stared at him . . . then a surge of fury overcame him. Before he even knew what he was doing, he swung with his full strength and punched his father in the face. Larry flew backwards and thumped down on the damp dockside. Julie screamed.
Eddie moved as if to kick him into the water – but Holly rushed forward to crouch in front of her grandfather, looking up at her uncle in disbelief. ‘No, leave him alone!’
‘Edward! Elizabeth shrieked. ‘What are you doing?’ People on the quay turned to see the cause of the commotion. One of the mourners took out a phone and hurriedly dialled 999.
Larry put a hand to his face, stiffly moving his jaw before wiping blood from his mouth. ‘Pretty good punch,’ he gasped as Julie knelt to help him.
The burst of rage that had fuelled Eddie faded as he took in Elizabeth’s and Holly’s appalled expressions. He looked down at Larry. ‘I’m . . . ’ he started to say, but even now he couldn’t bring himself to complete the apology.
‘I think you should go,’ said Elizabeth coldly. She clutched the urn protectively to her chest. ‘Before you do anything else that Nan would have been ashamed of.’
Eddie regarded all the faces looking at him with horror, shock, disgust, then walked away, disappearing into the port’s narrow streets.
Another day, another funeral.
Eddie lurked in an alley across the street from the small church as Mac’s coffin was raised by the pallbearers and placed in the hearse. He knew several of the mourners; Mac’s ex-wife Angela was among them, as were a number of his former military colleagues. On the group’s fringe was a man with whom Eddie had in the past had decidedly mixed dealings; Peter Alderley. The MI6 officer’s drooping moustache made his downcast expression look even more doleful. As Eddie looked on Alderley twitched, then edged away from the others to take a vibrating phone from his jacket. A brief conversation, and he retreated into the church.
Eddie shook his head at the disrespect, then watched as the coffin’s loading was completed. Angela spoke with some of the mourners, then she and a couple of others entered a Rolls-Royce, which followed the hearse as it slowly moved into the London traffic. He gazed after the cortege until it was out of sight. ‘Fight to the end,’ he said quietly.
‘Fight to the end,’ echoed a voice behind him.
Eddie whirled to find Alderley in the alley, rapid breathing suggesting he had got there in a hurry. ‘Well, look who it is,’ Eddie said, trying to cover his surprise that the MI6 man had managed to sneak up on him. ‘James Bore.’
‘I thought you might turn up here, Chase,’ said Alderley. ‘Once we knew you were back in the country after that contretemps with your dad, it seemed likely. I had a couple of spotters looking out for you.’
‘You did? Thought that was MI5’s job on home turf.’ Eddie glanced into the street, but saw no signs of large men moving purposefully towards him.
‘It is, normally. But I’ve got a personal interest in this one.’ He briefly looked in the direction of the departed hearse. ‘My men are hanging back – for the moment. I wanted to talk to you first.’
‘About what?’
‘A few things. First, how you managed to get from Peru back to England when Interpol has a red notice on you for murder.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘I know a few people.’
‘Like Bluey Jackson?’ A half-smile at Eddie’s discomfiture; the Yorkshireman had contacted the Australian, not for the first time, to obtain fake identity documents, which had then been couriered to Lima. ‘I thought so. One of these days, we really should tell the Aussies about his little false-passport factory. But . . . ’ Another humourless crease of his lips. ‘Not today.’
‘So what else is on your mind?’ Eddie asked, not sure where the discussion was leading. Alderley could already have had him arrested – and still might – but clearly wanted something first.
‘Mac. What happened to him?’
‘What did they tell you happened?’
‘That he was killed by Peruvian rebels, who also wounded an Interpol officer – the same man you later killed.’
‘Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks. Even Nina.’ He couldn’t keep bitterness from his voice.
Alderley noticed, but didn’t comment. ‘And you know differently?’ he asked instead.
‘Yeah. It was Kit – Ankit Jindal, the Interpol agent – who killed him. Shot him in the back, and then gave himself a flesh wound to make it look like the rebels did it.’
‘Why?’
‘You know that Alexander Stikes was involved too?’
