Jedson dragged Bethan to a short rope ladder down to the cruiser's bows. ‘Climb down!’
Bethan didn’t move. Jedson lifted his suitcase onto the rail, shouted to the man to catch it and tossed it at him. The man ducked out of the way as the suitcase bounced off the side of the boat, the impact smashing it open and it fell into the water along with its contents.
Jedson was livid. He faced Bethan with a snarl. ‘Get on that boat!’
‘No.’
‘If you don’t, I’ll throw you over.’
She stood defiantly, her tied hands clenched in solid fists.
Jedson lunged at her. She swung wildly at him, catching him on the side of his face. The blow stalled him. Out of the pain grew a very much darker Jedson. A murderous Jedson. He straightened up. This was her end.
Gunnymede ran down the pipe jetty and stopped in front of the flames. Bethan was the other side. So was Krilov and Saleem. He could wait for the police to arrive but that might be too late.
He went to the rails the opposite side of the road to the piping and looked along it. He could see the landing, on and off, between gouts of flame. He put down the rifle and emptied the pouches of explosive ordnance. He held the last grenade and decided he might as well use it. He loaded into the G36, raised the barrel and fired. As the shell sailed through the air, Gunnymede dropped the rifle, pulled the webbing up around his face, pulled down his helmet and charged into the flames.
The shell landed on the deck a few metres behind Jedson sending him flying. Bethan was knocked back by the explosion but was unhurt save a few scratches. The grenade had punctured several oil drums on the deck, at the same time igniting a pile of canvas beside a poorly maintained lifeboat.
Saleem and his men, in their room below, looked up at the sound of the explosion. Those with experience of war had no doubt what it had been. Saleem grabbed his backpack and hurried out of the room followed by the others.
A copy of the Koran remained on the table.
Saleem led the way along a narrow, dingy corridor to a set of stairs. One of the men realised he’d forgotten something and stopped.
‘What is it?’ a colleague asked.
‘I left my Koran.’
‘Leave it!’
‘No!’ he said and hurried back.
The colleague frowned and went with him.
Gunnymede ran through the blaze keeping a hand on the rail using it as a guide. Seconds later he emerged the other side, smouldering but otherwise undamaged. He pulled his pistol and aimed ahead as he panned left and right. The only people he could see lay still on the ground. Scattered around the landing, between the ship and the vehicles were boxes, some spilled open. Much of it was heroin.
He removed his helmet and moved closer to the ship. A shout came from above and he aimed his pistol at the bridge. It was the captain, directing his crew to deal with the fire. Several crewmen hurried across the deck towards the flames. Gunnymede saw someone beyond the fire. The far end of the deck. It was Bethan. A man was facing her.
Gunnymede ran to the ship’s side to climb over when four men hurried through a door at the base of the superstructure a dozen metres away and climbed over the side onto the landing. Gunnymede and Saleem stopped dead on seeing each other. Smoke drifted between them but they knew each other instantly. Their images were ingrained. Saleem couldn’t believe his eyes. It wasn’t possible. His colleagues also stopped. The man was holding a pistol towards them.
Gunnymede’s finger tightened on the trigger. Saleem’s head was in his sights.
Saleem could see it coming. He stood his ground, unable to do anything, refusing to run.
Krilov stood up from where he’d been crouching on the deck of the ship and with hatred in his eyes, sprang over the side hitting Gunnymede as he fired. The bullet missed Saleem by an inch and slammed into the body of a man behind him, killing him.
Krilov had hit Gunnymede like a charging bull. He could’ve chosen to shoot him but he wanted to tear him apart with his hands, break his bones, rip out his eyes, cut off his face, slice open his body, pull out his organs and watch him die slowly, knowing who’d killed him. It could be no other way for Krilov.
Gunnymede hit the ground beneath the weight of the Russian with such force it concussed him. His pistol bounced out of his grip and tumbled away. Russian spetsnaz were trained in the art of unarmed combat. Krilov’s speciality had been jujutsu and he relished it. As Gunnymede fought to recover, Krilov punched him in the face. Another blow struck his ribs. Krilov slipped around his back, gripped him with his legs and looped his arms around his neck to place Gunnymede in a powerful stranglehold while at the same time trying to push his eyes into his brain. Gunnymede grabbed one of Krilov’s little fingers and ripped it sideways, breaking it at the knuckle joint which released the grappling hands from his face. But it was a minor defence as Krilov’s muscular limbs tightened around Gunnymede like a boa-constrictor and he brought all his power to bear in order to suffocate and break Gunnymede’s bones at the same time.
Gunnymede could feel the life draining from him as he struggled to breathe. He grabbed at Krilov’s arm in a futile attempt to prevent it from crushing his throat. He couldn’t budge it. Krilov was too strong by far.
Saleem stood watching, enjoying the fight. Gunnymede’s eyes
