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.The best in the world.’‘Why?’‘I don’t know.But believe me – if Mossad have us in their sights, that’s as bad as it gets.’Footsteps, coming up the stairs.‘Go!’ Chet hissed.‘If you ever need any help, track down Luke Mercer, 22 SAS, tell him what you know.But only if you have to, Suze.If you don’t, stay anonymous.Remember what I told you before.Stay dark.’‘How long for?’‘Just stay dark.’He pushed her towards the window.‘Go.Don’t stop running.Find the cairn.’She made to kiss him, but he pushed her away.‘Go!’She nodded, and started to climb inexpertly out of the window.Just before she disappeared, she turned round to face him.‘Go!’Chet heard footsteps on the landing.His mouth was dry, his heart pounding.He headed towards the door.Towards the fight.If he didn’t dig deep, it could be his last.She had two weapons in her hands: the Beretta in her right, and in her left a brass poker that she had found beside the fireplace downstairs.It wasn’t heavy.But heavy enough.Her face hurt.Whatever this man had hit her with had been sturdy.She’d felt the cheekbone crack on impact, and now the pain was blinding.It wasn’t going to stop her from finishing the job, though.It only made her more determined to see this through.There was silence on the landing now.The light from the bedroom spilled out.No shadow, which meant neither of them was in the line of the doorway.She needed to be prepared for an attack from elsewhere.She looked into the room.The window was open, rain splattering in, and the latch knocked against the frame.An unpalatable thought came to her.Had they escaped her again?Carefully, she stepped inside.He came at her from behind the door, the figurine in his hand and a look of brutal concentration on his face.She was ready for him.One swipe of the poker at the leg he limped on was all it took.Metal met metal with a dull thud, and he crumpled immediately to the ground.She set about him with the poker, striking him first on the gunshot wound to disable him further.He gasped in pain as the blood started to flow more freely, not only from the wound, but from new cuts that were opening up on his face and neck; but he still attempted to grab her ankles and unbalance her footing.She was nimble enough to avoid that; nimble enough to stamp down on his hands before she whacked him again hard on his wound.Another gasp, and his body started to shake.It would have been so easy to shoot him, so easy to put a bullet in his head and be done with it, but she was clear-headed and professional enough, even in the middle of this struggle, to take the more sensible option.For the third blow of the poker, she raised her hand a little higher in the air.When she brought it down on the side of his head, there was a thump and his body immediately went limp.Silence in the room.Silence throughout the house.She looked at the figure at her feet.The scarred, ugly face was still contorted with pain; there was a puddle of blood oozing around his head, dark and sticky, and the right leg below his knee was jutting out at an angle.He barely moved – just the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he continued to breathe – and the life blood was draining from him.The woman walked to the window.Nothing except the rain and the darkness.No sight of Suze McArthur, and she felt anger at the thought that she’d escaped.‘Kalbah,’ she muttered.‘Bitch.’Silently she made her way down to the ground floor.She walked across the reception room, silent and dark, and propped open the door of the greasy old gas oven with a coal scuttle.She turned the oven dial on to full.It would be quicker, of course, to turn all the dials, but that would look less accidental.A hiss, and the smell of gas hit her nose.She took a box of matches from the worktop, removed a few pages from a newspaper and stepped over to the front door – edging round the dead dog – and waited.The smell of gas grew stronger.Stronger.It made her a little light-headed, but that was OK.She could step outside before it really harmed her.She gave it five minutes before opening the door and stepping outside.Standing in the porch with her back to the garden, she twisted the newspaper to make a torch and lit it.She waited for the flame to catch properly, then opened the door again, casually tossed the blazing paper inside and hurried away from the porch.The explosion was almost silent, but the heat was intense.She felt it against her back as she ran towards her car, and saw the reflection of the detonation in the vehicle’s windscreen, her own body silhouetted against it.And as she opened the car door, she saw flames licking from the windows: already fierce, despite the rain.She’d set enough fires to know that the house would be an inescapable inferno within seconds.Why, then, didn’t she feel pleased?She looked around.Darkness, rain and wind.The bitch could be anywhere out there.It was impossible to find her.A harsh look crossed the woman’s face as she got behind the steering wheel and started the car.It didn’t matter, she told herself.She would finish the job.Somehow.Somewhere.It was only a matter of time before Suze McArthur showed up [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]