Quayle paused before Holly and ran a finger down her nose. Then he looked around. The boat held no other threat. Scooping up the bodyguard’s gun, he threw it over the side and finally faced Fung Wa.
“You’ve killed four people in two minutes with your stupidity. Lie on the floor. Face down, palms upward. Do not look up until I tell you. If you do, you’ll be the fifth. Do you understand me?”
The man nodded impassively and dropped slowly to his knees, then forward onto his front, holding his face up out of the blood of his bodyguard. Holly began to cry then, slow deep sobs of relief, her shoulders heaving with each breath. Quayle turned and, in one fluid motion, picked her up and crossed back into the other boat, where he put her down on the rear seat.
“OK Alexi. Bring ‘em up,” he said without taking his eyes of Holly. “Be brave a few minutes longer, my love. Then we’re away and safe.” She didn’t acknowledge him with more than a tiny nod, but he wiped a tear from her cheek – and, fighting the desire to hold her close and cuddle her and make the world go away, he stood and watched the tender as the first of Fung Wa’s women came up from the cabin. Then he pointed to the tender alongside. “Thank you for your co-operation, ladies. There is your ride home.”
Fung Wa’s wife glared at Quayle and, ignoring the sight of the bloody body stepped, across the gunwales inelegantly, swearing coarsely in Cantonese.
On the other side, she was about to say something to her husband when he silenced her with a look that could wither gorse. Instead, she remained in silence and waited until her daughter and the wife of the mainland official had clambered over.
“You women sit in the bows,” Quayle said. “Fung Wa, you stand and move to the back of the boat, sit on the engine. Now!”
After they had done what he demanded, Quayle nodded to Kirov, who spoke into his microphone. Moments later, the red dot danced back across Fung Wa’s chest, now blending with the bodyguards blood down the front of his shirt.
“When the dot goes, you go. Understand?”
Fung Wa nodded imperceptibly. Realising he was going to be allowed to liv,e his eyes had lost their fear and were full of hate.
Kirov took the wheel.
*
“I’m so sorry Holly.”
They were sitting below in the master stateroom, Quayle holding her close as the big boat thundered her way round to Aberdeen Harbour. The tears had stopped and she gave him a last strong squeeze.
“It’s OK,” she said, her face snuggled into is chest. “I’m here now.”
“No it’s not. I promised you and I failed.”
“No you didn’t,” she told him. “You got me back.” Sitting up, she wiped the last tear from her eye and tried a brave smile. “I knew you would. How is Marco?”
Quayle smiled. How like her to ask. “Strong as a bull when I spoke to him. He’ll be fine.”
Smiling, she looked him in the eye. “When will this be over, Ti?”
“Soon, my love.”
“Can’t you hand over to Hugh now? Let them do it. They aren’t after us any more are they?” She had seen Cockburn on the bridge as they came aboard. “Or have you corrupted him too?”
“No. He’s here on the job. But there are a couple of things to tie up first…”
“Like what?”
“I have to finish it,” he said, looking away as he searched for the right words, wondering if he should tell her.
“I know,” she said.
No you don’t, he thought.
Two hours later, in the house overlooking the bright lights of Aberdeen Harbour, the men sat round the table in the kitchen.
“OK,” said Quayle. “You people head out to the airport. I’ll meet you there.”
Cockburn looked up. He had arranged for a helicopter to drop them on the air-side to avoid making targets of themselves on the trip out. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’ll see you there,” Quayle repeated, then turned to Kirov. “I’m going to leave Holly in your care, Alexi. Please…”
“Of course,” the Soviet interrupted, waving a hand like it was of no consequence.
Right now, Holly was with Chloe in one of the bedrooms of the safe-house, looking for something to wear. After she was bathed and ready, Quayle walked through to tell her he would see her later. She nodded, understanding.
As Quayle left the house, Kirov signalled to two of his men. Standing wordlessly, they followed him. At the window, she watched him leave. All she had seen of him recently and all Marco’s stories of his invincibility could not help her completely forget her fears, and she was pleased to see the pair of men follow.
*
The high white walls of the house stood back from the road and the main gates – wrought iron, heavy and gloss black in the moonlight – were recessed back a further ten feet. Quayle went over the top of the wall where the corners met, fifty yards from the gates and the security guard’s hut which seemed ominously quiet.
Stopping below the wall, he waited in the darkness, a half a smile on his lips.
Fifty seconds later, the two men thudded to the ground beside him and grinned ruefully, like two small boys caught out.
Quayle raised an eyebrow and one of them shrugged as if to say ‘Orders, what to do?’
Quayle shook his head. At least Kirov himself hadn’t followed. He was more use where he was now, looking after Holly. Indicating that they should follow, he set off across the silent lawns to the house, his new companions close behind.
The house was in darkness, all except for a dim light that crept from a curtained window further round. Quayle didn’t like that. The place ought to have been alive with servants and noises and the routines that households have. Turning to one of the Soviets as they arrived at
