‘The woman you love?’ Nurse Bryant said. ‘Oh, Lucien,’ she cooed, as only a woman in love would. Beckman’s eyes softened and he walked towards her. She threw Claire a scathing look. ‘Her?’ she snarled, ‘turn me against you? She didn’t. She couldn’t.’ Nurse Bryant put her arms around his neck, lifted her right knee and drove it into his groin. ‘You did that when you murdered your secretary and put my fob-watch under her body,’ Bryant screamed.
Beckman’s knees buckled, but he didn’t go down. He lifted his hand with the gun in it. He was about to strike the nurse when Mitch, already on his feet, kicked the gun out of his hand. It went spinning across the floor. Both men dived for it. Mitch got to it first. Beckman jumped on him and pushed his face into the carpet. Mitch brought his elbow back and jabbed Beckman in the ribs. He fell backwards, the wind knocked out of him. Mitch rolled over and, making a fist of his right hand, thrust it upwards until it connected with Beckman’s jaw.
Beckman howled. He threw himself at Mitch. He put his hands around Mitch’s neck and squeezed. Mitch reached out. The carpet chaffed the back of his hand as he thrashed about in search of the gun. Gasping for breath his fingers found the gun’s hand-grip. In a frenzy, Beckman grabbed Mitch by the lapels and rabbit-punched him on the nose. Mitch’s head shot back and struck the floor. He cried out in pain, lifted the gun, and slammed the barrel into Beckman’s ribs.
The German rolled off Mitch. On all fours he scrambled to his feet. He put up his hands and took a staggering step backwards. He lost his balance and shook his head like a man who was drunk. He staggered again, stopping only when his legs met the arm of the settee.
Half sitting, half lying, his nose pouring with blood, Mitch pointed the gun at Beckman.
‘All right!’ Beckman said, panting.
Without taking the gun off Beckman, Mitch got to his feet.
Beckman lowered one hand, gasped, and clutched his side. Mitch approached him and Beckman screamed in pain. Turning his back on Mitch, Beckman began to lower himself onto the settee.
‘Don’t sit down!’ Mitch shouted. ‘Stand up!’
‘Okay!’ Beckman grabbed the arm of the settee. Then, using it as a lever, he hauled himself upright and toppled forward. Before Mitch could reach him, Beckman seized the nurse. Mitch lifted the gun, then quickly lowered it. Beckman was holding a small, very sharp blade at the nurse’s throat.
‘So,’ Beckman said, turning to face Mitch, holding the nurse as a shield, ‘are you going to shoot me?’
‘No,’ Claire said, ‘I am.’ She felt Beckman tense as she pressed the cold steel of her small Beretta on the back of his head.
Beckman twitched. He didn’t speak. No one spoke. Then Beckman gave a nervous laugh. ‘I searched you,’ he said. You don’t have a gun.’
‘I didn’t when I came in through the front door, but I did earlier when I came in through the back door.’ Beckman’s top lip curled in a snarl of disbelief. ‘When I set the hostages free. Oh, didn’t I say?’ Claire said, mimicking the German’s earlier sarcasm. ‘After I’d let them out of the basement I hid the gun in the flour barrel. If you hadn’t insisted on coffee, I wouldn’t have been able to retrieve it.’
‘You lying bitch,’ he hissed at the nurse. He tightened his grip on her and pressed the blade of the knife into her neck.
The nurse cried out. It was a shallow cut, but deep enough for blood to trickle down her neck onto the collar of her dress.
‘I do wish you hadn’t done that,’ Claire said, and shot him in the back of the knee.
Beckman roared. His head jerked back, his hands flew up, and the knife fell to the ground. Mitch picked it up. Claire, keeping the small gun aimed at Beckman, pulled the nurse from his grasp.
Beckman’s face was running with sweat and contorted with pain. He took a stumbling step towards her. ‘Don’t come any nearer,’ she warned. Lifting the gun, she aimed it at his head.
‘Schlampe Frau, ich werde dich töten.’
‘Kill you? Is that what you want? Sorry to disappoint you, Herr Doktor Professor.’
Beckman laughed. ‘These - games - you English - play.’
‘I’m warning you. Don’t come any nearer,’ Claire said. Beckman ignored her. She tightened her finger around the trigger of the Beretta and began to squeeze. ‘If you think I’m going to kill you you’re wrong.’ She lowered the gun until it was pointing at his groin. ‘I have no intention of putting you out of your misery,’ she said looking into Beckman’s eyes. ‘That pleasure will be the hangman’s.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The sound of hammering on the front door broke Claire’s concentration for a split second. It was long enough for Beckman to throw himself at her. He grabbed the gun and forcing it up, pointed it at his stomach. Using all her strength Claire tried to push the barrel of the gun down. Even with a bullet in him he was stronger than her. She brought her foot up and kicked him in the shin. She heard the bone crack, but he didn’t let go.
He wanted her to shoot him, but she was damned if she was going to let him off a trial and the punishment he was due. She held onto the gun. Mitch took his shot. And Beckman went down from a bullet from his own gun.
Claire and Mitch were helping the hysterical nurse from the settee when there was an almighty crash. The front door burst off its hinges. Men in uniform
