the roiling flames and snaking over the inside of the roof. Carver’s eyes were watering and he was choking as his battered lungs tried to extract oxygen from the scorching, toxic atmosphere. The flesh on his back, exposed by Tyzack’s cane, felt as though it was cooking, basting in the sweat that poured from the pores of his remaining skin, the burns adding a whole new layer of pain to his torment.
At the end of the barn, by the doors through which Larsson had entered, a roof-beam gave way, eaten through by fire, and crashed to the ground, bringing a sheet of corrugated iron roofing down with it. Carver glanced up and saw that the beam from which he was hanging had caught fire. It would give way soon, and he would be directly underneath it.
‘Hurry up!’ he croaked.
Larsson grimaced. There were burning embers floating down on his head but he ignored them as the loppers tore all too slowly through a cord designed to resist the massive stress imposed by a human body falling hundreds of feet through the air.
The flames were creeping across the floor towards them, forming a predatory circle around the two men. The roaring fire and crashing timbers were now as loud as the chainsaw, but Carver just made out the words, ‘Almost there!’
Larsson’s demonic transformation was complete. He had become a creature of flame, all but consumed by the inferno his own incendiaries had created. The last strands of the cord gave way. Larsson threw the loppers away and shouted, ‘Go! Go!’
Carver looked around, searching for a way out, but there was none. The flames were everywhere. Their only hope was to race towards the doors and pray that they could get through to the outside world before the fire consumed them. Carver took a first tentative step towards the blaze, girding himself for the final effort.
And it was then that one end of the beam gave way. It swung downwards, as if on a hinge, hitting Larsson with a sickening impact, caving in the left side of his skull and dropping him to the ground before it crashed to a halt. Larsson lay motionless on the floor. The beam was angled over him, one end on the floor, the other jammed against the far wall. Calling up the last reserves of strength that adrenalin always provides, the berserker energy that is any fighting man’s last resort, Carver dragged Larsson’s long, spindly body out from beneath the beam. He got down on one knee and hauled Larsson over his shoulder, then forced his legs to straighten, pushing him upright.
As he faced the wall of fire, an image suddenly came into Carver’s mind. He saw Tyzack grinning at him and heard his mocking laugh. ‘Screw you,’ Carver said, and ran full speed into the flames.
It was only twenty feet to the door. Call it five racing strides, eight maybe with a man on his back. An Olympic sprinter could do it in a little over half a second. Carver took five. He had his head down and his eyes closed: a blind, broken man with an even more ruined creature on his back. The noise, the smoke and the heat seemed to engulf him as he charged on.
And then he was through, stumbling out into the cool, clear air and falling to the bare earth. He had just enough self-possession to land on his front, protecting both Larsson and his own griddled back. As the two of them lay there, side by side, Carver saw Larsson’s blistered right eyelid open a fraction, just for a moment, and his lips move as he whispered, ‘The sky. Look to the sky…’
Then the black-uniformed figures were on them. Someone was covering Carver’s body in a thick blanket. Dimly he realized that they must be putting out flames, but then there was a pinprick in his upper arm and oblivion wrapped itself around him in a blissful, soft cloak of darkness. And he was out.
72
Jack Grantham could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, the fire-engines and ambulances racing to the blazing barn and the casualties it had contained.
He looked around frantically, saw Ravnsborg talking to Morten, the anti-terrorist officer, and sprinted towards him shouting, ‘Stop them! The emergency services – make them stop!’
Ravnsborg’s face was a mixture of puzzlement and irritation. ‘Why?’
‘They mustn’t see what’s happened here. Not yet. If you want to catch the man who did all this, for God’s sake stop them!’
Ravnsborg picked his phone out of his pocket, pressed a speed-dial button and snapped out an order. Seconds later the sirens fell quiet.
He looked at Grantham. ‘You have one minute. Then they come. There are seriously injured men here. They cannot wait.’
‘They’re dead,’ said Grantham.
Morten shook his head. ‘Larsson, maybe. His injuries are terrible. He won’t make it. But the other one, Carver. He’ll live.’
‘No,’ said Grantham. ‘That’s the whole point. He’s got to die. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, the man who bombed the Haakon Hotel died here. He killed himself when surrounded by the police. Case closed. Pats on the back all round.’
‘But then the other man, Tyzack, will get away,’ said Ravnsborg.
‘There’s no “will” about it,’ Grantham pointed out. ‘He already has got away. And he’s not coming back. But if he thinks Carver’s been blamed for the bombing, then he’ll be feeling pleased with himself, a little bit cocky. So he won’t take the precautions he’d take if he knew he was wanted for mass murder.’
Ravnsborg nodded. ‘OK, so you will help us track him down, yes? If he returns to Britain, he will be arrested and deported back to Oslo for trial.’
Jack Grantham was almost certain that Damon Tyzack had recruited Bill Selsey and compromised the Secret Intelligence Service. He had no intention of letting him anywhere near a criminal court, particularly not one in a foreign country with no concern for British security. But there was no point getting into that now.
‘Exactly,’ he said in a spirit of international cooperation. ‘That’s just what I had in mind.’
‘But what about Carver?’ asked Ravnsborg. ‘How can we say he is dead, when obviously he is not?’
‘No, he isn’t,’ said Grantham, making Ravsnborg frown at the apparent tone of regret in his voice. Grantham’s face brightened: ‘But that’s not a problem. The man who died in that barn isn’t Samuel Carver at all. Samuel Carver doesn’t exist. He’s Paul Jackson, late of the Royal Marines and the Special Boat Service – just another twisted, embittered special forces veteran who came to a sticky end. There’s a lot of it about these days. And Jackson certainly does exist. We’ll give you all the paperwork you need: service records, photographs. Just say the word and it’s yours. By the way,’ he added, looking at his watch, ‘it’s been more like three minutes than one.’
‘I know,’ said Ravnsborg, with the faintest trace of a smile. ‘And if we wait another three the fire will have destroyed the building completely. And, sadly, much of the forensic evidence will be destroyed, too.’
‘What about Larsson?’ Morten asked.
‘Put him on your helicopter, fly him out,’ said Ravnsborg. ‘It will be faster, anyway.’
‘And Carver?’ Grantham asked. ‘He’s going to need treatment, but he can’t go anywhere near a hospital. We need someone discreet who can be trusted absolutely…’
Ravnsborg made another call. When it was over, he said, ‘It’s done. There will be a doctor waiting for us, a man who has worked for the police for years. He is retired now, but only recently, and he was the best. He will meet us at his house. But we need a way of getting Carver there without attracting attention.’
‘How about that?’ said Grantham, nodding towards Larsson’s giant Volvo. ‘Lie him down in the back, there’s plenty of room. The woman who came with Larsson, is she Carver’s?’
‘She has a relationship with him, yes,’ said Ravnsborg. ‘Her name is Madeleine Cross. She is American.’
‘He gets around, that boy, I’ll say that for him,’ remarked Grantham. ‘Come on then, let’s go and have a word with Ms Cross.’
‘No need,’ said Morten. ‘She is coming to us.’
Jack Grantham knew no more about the workings of the female mind than any other male. But he didn’t need to be an expert to see that Madeleine Cross was one shocked, distraught and furious woman. She aimed for Ravnsborg, the only man of the three she recognized, and launched right in.
‘What’s the matter with you people? Where’re the ambulances? I heard the sirens but they stopped and there
