‘I’ve no idea, but it’s a bit of a coincidence that you turn up and Hope is shot.’
Holm shrugged. He began to descend the spiral staircase. Javed and Palmer clattered down behind him. When he was halfway to the ground floor he realised he could make a run for it. Palmer wouldn’t be able to hit him, not with the tight angle and with Javed in the way. Of course Javed would take a spray of bullets in the back. Holm muttered a curse under his breath.
‘What did you say?’
‘I asked you why, Harry? Why Taher? Are you a convert?’
‘A convert? Don’t be crazy. I can’t stand Taher’s brand of Islam. To be honest I can’t stand any brand of it or any other religion. All of them are prejudiced and bigoted. There’s nothing worse than self-righteousness, and believers of any faith tend to have it in spades.’
‘So it’s the money.’ Holm nodded to himself. ‘Something for your retirement.’
‘Ask yourself, Stephen, if you’re happy with the way we’re treated. Here we are, defending the realm, and what do we get for it? Bugger all. No thanks, low pay, the chance of a tribunal if we cock up, a slow decline if we don’t.’
They reached the ground floor and Holm moved into the kitchen. Without being asked he went to the table and pulled out a chair.
‘How much did they pay you?’
‘You’re mistaken – the money was good but it wasn’t just about the financial rewards.’ Palmer aimed the gun at Javed and encouraged him to sit too. ‘I met Jawad al Haddad years ago and he offered me information on various terrorist groups. I used the information to save lives, understand?’
‘I bet Haddad twisted what he gave you. Everything was designed to strengthen his own position and promote his own factions.’
‘Sure, but the result was that individuals were taken out and plots were disrupted. Isn’t that the point of what we do?’
‘Means and ends, Harry. They have to match. Pocketing cash while looking the other way when some of the bombs go off doesn’t work for me.’
‘The problem with you, Stephen, is your idealism. This is the real world. Compromise. Two steps forward, one step back. Progress always has a price.’
‘Paid in bodies and cash, right?’ Holm shook his head. He was stalling, all the while trying to find some kind of angle. ‘Tell me how this is going to end. I assume you can’t let us live?’
‘Sorry, Stephen, no, but you’ll be heroes. You tried to save Karen Hope, but there were too many terrorists. In the end you went down in a blaze of gunfire.’
‘Taher’s AK-47.’ Holm looked at the assault rifle. ‘He left it for you.’
‘There was no time to work out a plan after Hope was shot.’ Palmer gave a flat smile. ‘But it’ll do.’
‘Others know about this, know we’re here, know you were instrumental in leading us to Taher. They’ll be able to work out what happened.’
‘Nice try, but you didn’t tell anyone. You were too scared about blowing your chance at catching Taher off your own bat.’ Palmer laughed. ‘Not duty or loyalty to your country, was it? Vainglory, that’s all.’
‘Martin—’
‘Enough,’ Palmer said. ‘Let’s go back outside. You’re going to be part of history. Your names alongside Hope’s.’
Holm slowly pushed himself up. Their last chance would be on the way back to the veranda. He let Javed go first, thinking perhaps the young lad could make a run for it. They walked from the kitchen along a narrow corridor, bright sunlight at the end where the corridor joined a small inner atrium. As they crossed into the atrium a voice shouted out from one side.
‘Stop there. And put your hands on your heads.’
Silva had slipped along the corridor and crouched behind a large carved wooden box. Then she’d waited. A minute slipped by and then another; then through an arch to her left she saw two men emerge into the glare of the courtyard.
‘Stop there,’ Itchy said. ‘And put your hands on your heads.’
The next few moments passed like lightning. As Itchy stepped forward to cover the two men, a shot rang out from the darkness of the arch. Itchy collapsed to the floor, his hand to his right leg.
‘Drop the fucking weapon!’ A tall thin man emerged into the courtyard. He had an AK-47 in his hands and his finger tightened on the trigger. Itchy was half slumped on the floor, one hand on his knee and the other holding the SIG. ‘Now!’
Itchy nodded and the gun fell from his hand, clattering on the floor.
‘Stephen, kick it away!’ The thin man thrust his own weapon towards the older man and made a sweeping motion. ‘Do it!’
Silva knelt hidden from his view behind the box, but she had direct line of sight to Itchy and the other two men. The older man moved his foot next to the gun and, as he did so, his eyes flicked to her hiding place. For a moment he hesitated, but then he kicked the gun and it slid over the floor towards Silva.
‘I’d say we’re another step closer to solving this mystery, Stephen.’ The tall man stooped out of the doorway. ‘British intelligence comes up trumps once again.’
‘Hope’s dead, Harry,’ the old guy said. ‘I wouldn’t count that as a success.’
‘Don’t knock it. The way this will play out, you’ll still be the hero of the hour. A dead hero, yes, but a hero nonetheless.’
As the tall man moved to cover Itchy and the others, Silva reached for the SIG.
‘Stop!’ she shouted, holding the gun braced in two hands.
The man froze, his finger still touching the trigger.
‘Or what?’ He didn’t seem surprised as he turned his head towards her. ‘This is a Mexican stand-off, right? If you shoot me, I’ll shoot at least one of them.’
‘I’ll take that chance if I
