The Increment Part 2

TWENTY-SEVEN

Matt looked up. The driver was still unconscious, and he had no idea how to revive him. The train was on automatic. Leave it, thought Matt. All we want to do now is get out of this tunnel, and get out of this train. Our work is done. Our work is done.He lifted himself up, and started running back towards the first carriage.The sound of a scream pierced his ears. A woman's scream.'Matt, look out!' cried Eleanor.Matt ran into the carriage and ducked. The pain in his left shoulder was intense, and his left arm was fast turning numb. Above him, he could see Lacrierre lunging at the wall.A flash of steel caught a ray of light beaming in from the tunnel lights. Christ, Matt realised, he's going for the swords. They might be two hundred years old, but they are still hardened, sharpened steel. And Lacrierre was a soldier once. In his hands, they will be as deadly now as they were when they were first used by Napoleon's cavalry. In his hands, they will be as deadly now as they were when they were first used by Napoleon's cavalry.Lacrierre grabbed the first of the blades. It shook free from the wall, its casing crashing down on to the floor. He lashed it through the air, curling it upwards high over his head. Matt rolled on to his side, sending a fresh jolt of pain up the side of his wounded shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lacrierre advancing two paces towards him. Using the muscles in his back, Matt drew up his strength, kicking out his legs and jabbing at the man bearing down on him. He kicked furiously, his legs spinning in the air as Lacrierre deftly danced out of the way.He might be older, but he's still capable of putting up a good fight.The blade slashed down, and as Matt tried to roll out of the way, it cut into his right leg. The steel tore through the denim of his jeans, and the blade sliced into the flesh at the top of his thigh. The metal felt cold and soft against his skin, digging into his muscle with the delicacy of a surgeon's scalpel. A gash six inches long and half an inch deep opened up down the side of his leg, the skin curling outwards as the wound opened up and started to breathe.A sharp stinging pain ran along Matt's side. He levered himself off the ground. 'You're going to die for that, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' he shouted.But in front of him, Lacrierre had flicked the blade upwards. It was now resting just beneath his chin, poised above the Adam's apple. A surgeon couldn't have placed it better, Matt reflected. One jab, and it would cut straight through the windpipe. I will be dead within minutes. I will be dead within minutes.'As far as I can see I am the only man here with a weapon,' said Lacrierre. 'So I'm afraid it's you that is going to die.'Matt could feel the blade digging harder into the skin on his neck. The blade was polished and sharpened, its edge as clear as a razor. A sword had to be looked after to stay that sharp. Lacrierre kept it on the wall for show, but also to defend himself.'Finish me now, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' snapped Matt. 'Matram's dead, that's all that matters to me.'He could see that Lacrierre's hand was wobbling. His fingers were trembling, and his eyes were dark and fogged. The man is on the edge, he realised. If that hand shakes any worse, he's going to take out my throat.'Tell that woman to lay down her weapon first,' said Lacrierre. 'Or else I kill you this instant.'Behind Lacrierre's back, he could see Eleanor advancing with G.o.dsall's MP-5.'Careful, Eleanor,' said Matt, watching her movements.Lacrierre stood still, his hand steady on the sword, a look of fevered pleasure sweeping across his face. 'Tell her to drop it.''I can handle him, Matt,' said Eleanor.At that moment, the train raced out of the tunnel. Matt heard the brakes slamming down on the wheels, and felt the train start to slow down. Eleanor was walking to the side of Lacrierre, the gun held in front of her. Matt could see she was releasing the safety catch, but he could tell she had done it wrong. The rifle wasn't going to fire, no matter how hard she squeezed on the trigger. Had Lacrierre spotted that?The train shuddered to a halt.'Take your d.a.m.ned blade from my throat,' said Matt. 'This train is in France. If you give yourself up here, at least you'll be in jail among your own kind. With your kind of money, you'll get your own cell. Probably be out in a few years.'Lacrierre laughed. 'I'm not going anywhere. Not until I've killed you.''I can take him, Matt,' repeated Eleanor.Matt glanced at her nervously. She was certain of what she was saying, but it wasn't true. The blade was still rubbing against his neck, nicking the skin, sending small jolts of pain up through into his head. His shoulder was still throbbing from its gun wound, and blood was still weeping from the gash on his leg. I'm still standing, he told himself. But there's not much more punishment my body can take. But there's not much more punishment my body can take.'Put the sword down,' she said, looking straight towards Lacrierre. 'Put it down before I kill you.'A smile creased up Lacrierre's lips. 'Have I not made myself clear?' he said slowly. 'I intend to kill this man.' The sword wobbled dangerously in his hand, as he glanced back at Eleanor. 'Now you put that gun down, or else I will have to kill you as well.''d.a.m.n you, it's suicide,' snapped Matt. 'One shot to the head and you'll be dead.' Talk him out of it, thought Matt. Let the fear take hold of the man. Let it eat into his soul. That's my best chance. That's my best chance.But in the glint in his eyes, Matt could see the hint of madness within his opponent. 'I'm a braver man than I look,' said Lacrierre. 'Your threats mean nothing to me.'Eleanor looked across at him, a sudden look of professional curiosity on her face. 'You took the drug, didn't you? You took XP22.'Lacrierre glanced back at her, his eyes suddenly blazing. 'What man wouldn't take it?''You don't get courage from a pill,' snapped Matt. 'You've either got it or you haven't.'Lacrierre jabbed the blade, exploring and probing the skin of Matt's neck, like a butcher deciding the best way to sever a hunk of meat. 'Prepare to die,' he said, his tone soft and gentle, the same voice an anaesthetist might use before putting you to sleep. 'Close your eyes, compose your prayers, and let the pain take you away to a better, gentler place.'Somewhere he could hear the echo of a gunshot. The reverberations rattled through the confined s.p.a.ce of the carriage, and the unmistakable smell of sulphur started to drift under his nose. In front of him, Lacrierre was lying on the floor, a gunshot blast breaking though his hand, leaving a trail of blood on the floor.Matt kicked the sword free from his grip. He reached down, grabbing it in his fist, then slashing it through the air. The anger was alive within him, and he raised his hand back, ready to cut through the neck of the man lying prostrate before him.'No, Matt, no,' shouted Ivan. 'We'll deal with him.'Matt looked up. Ivan was stepping forward, a Glock in his hand and at his side was Sir David Luttrell, the head of the Firm.'You?' said Matt, the shock still evident in his voice. 'What in the name of Christ are you doing here?''Saving your skin, mate,' answered Ivan, stepping carefully across the corpses of Harton and G.o.dsall. 'I told you I'd gone down to Dorset to look after my family, but I actually went to see this bloke.' He grinned. 'I reckoned you might need some help.'Lutrell stepped after Ivan, trying to avoid getting any blood on his brown half-brogue shoes. He was wearing blue cotton chinos, and a white shirt open at the neck. A snub-nosed Springfield pocket pistol was still sitting in the palm of his right hand. 'It's like a d.a.m.ned abattoir in here,' he said, looking around at the bodies.Matt looked at Luttrell. 'So you two are old friends,' he said. 'From your time running the Firm's Belfast office. Ivan was one of your agents.'Luttrell smiled. 'Not friends, exactly. But we played the occasional hand of bridge together.' He nodded towards Ivan. 'He's good, if a little reckless. Sometimes overbid his hand.''When I knew Matram was coming after you, I figured you might need some help,' Ivan said. 'Matram and his boys are tougher than they look.' He paused, looking straight at Matt, his expression serious. 'We knew all along there were some rogue elements working inside the Firm and the regiment. We just didn't know who they were exactly, or what they were up to.''We?' said Matt. 'For f.u.c.k's sake . . .' He was struggling to control his surprise. He had experienced many different forms of betrayal. But not Ivan.Ivan shook his head. 'My old friend, didn't you ever wonder about the false pa.s.sports, safe houses, explosives, all the rest of it? Why do you think I agreed to blow up that factory in Belarus with you? I'm not just a guardian angel, you know.' He smiled sadly. 'In bridge, when you win the contract, then you play your partner's hand for him. So, think of it as a game of bridge.' Ivan moved closer to Matt. 'Remember what I said to you? One of these days a little light bulb is going to switch on inside your head, and you'll understand what's really happening.''And you would have let me die?''No, no, I got hold of Sir David and told him what was happening,' said Ivan quickly. 'There's a safety device on these trains which means they can be slowed down from a radio link that goes straight into the computer that controls the engine. It was built in so it could be stopped if anything happened to the driver. We activated that so we could climb aboard just after it emerged from the tunnel.'The blade was still hovering in Matt's hand. Down below him, Lacrierre was out cold.Matt looked back up at Luttrell. 'So this was planned all along?'Luttrell ran his fingers through his silver-grey hair. His eyes moved away from Matt, as if he was surveying the rest of the carriage. 'Like Ivan says, I suspected Abbott was a bad apple. Flash house in St John's Wood. A cellar full of fine vintage ports. It was more than most of us can afford. I just didn't know what he was doing wrong. I figured if you two were working together again you'd find something out.' A smug grin started to spread on to his lips. 'Looks like the whole thing has worked out quite well.''Thanks,' said Matt sarcastically.'Oh, don't worry,' said Luttrell, nodding. 'We'll make sure the account is paid. The Firm always makes sure its invoices are settled. In full.' He turned round. 'Now, let's get this place cleaned up,' he said briskly.Across the carriage, Matt could see Eleanor leaning across Orlena. 'She's still alive,' she said. 'I don't know how, but she is.''Kevlar,' said Ivan, ripping open the front of her coat. 'She's wearing a bulletproof Kevlar jacket underneath her blouse. These things are as strong as steel. The force of the gunshot must have knocked her unconscious, but none of the bullets have penetrated. A few bruises, perhaps, but she's going to be OK.''Lacrierre's going to live as well,' said Luttrell, checking the pulse of the Frenchman. He paused, looking first at Ivan, then at Matt. 'I'd rather take him into custody in Britain than in France.'From the floor, Matt scooped up the fallen sword, then walked six paces across the carriage. He stopped, holding the tip of the blade hovering over Luttrell's chest. 'He's staying right here.'Ivan started to reach out for Matt's arm.'Back off,' snapped Matt.The violence evident in his voice brought Ivan to a sudden halt.'Don't be stupid,' said Luttrell.Matt jabbed the tip of the sword forwards, cutting a small nick in the cloth of Luttrell's shirt. The b.u.t.ton dropped on to the floor, breaking the silence that had fallen across the carriage. 'Take a look at my face, and tell me just how stupid you think I am.'Luttrell sighed. 'I don't think . . .''How stupid?' roared Matt.'Matt, I . . .' Luttrell allowed the sentence to fade on his lips as Matt twisted the blade close into the few grey hairs sprouting on his chest.'Lacrierre was working with the Ministry of Defence,' said Matt, as the waves of anger washed over him. 'XP22 was a government-funded project. It went pear-shaped. Badly. That much is clear. And when the c.r.a.p started blowing up, he paid Matram and Abbott millions to clear it up for him.' Matt paused, becoming more measured. 'But you aren't going to put him on trial. He knows too much. You're going to get him off this train, give him a slap on the wrist, then send him home. But I'll tell you what, he was responsible for the death of my friend, and the death of my fiancee. There's a price in blood to be paid for that.''Don't be absurd,' said Luttrell.'Absurd?' questioned Matt. 'Then what are you doing here?''As your friend Ivan says, saving your ungrateful hide,' snapped Luttrell.Matt shook his head from side to side. 'The Firm doesn't care whether I live or die.' He nodded down to Lacrierre. 'You're here to get him out.''Hold your d.a.m.ned discipline, man,' said Luttrell. 'You're a soldier.'Matt grinned. 'Not for the past two years. I wish you people would get your heads around that.' Then he raised the sword to strike.'Hold it right there.' Luttrell's Springfield pistol was pointing straight at Matt. 'If I have to shoot you, I will.'Matt looked straight at him. 'You haven't got it in you, sir,' he said slowly. 'Some men can give the orders that send men to their graves, and some men can pull the trigger that sends them to the same wretched place. But not many men can do both.' He paused, grinning. 'And you're not one of them.''Ivan,' shouted Luttrell. 'Punch some b.l.o.o.d.y sense into his fat, ignorant head.'Ivan glanced back at him. 'Believe me, if I could, I would have done it by now.'Matt lowered the sword. Suddenly they both laughed.

EPILOGUE

A mellow sunset was resting on the horizon, sending a pale orange light across the Mediterranean. Matt wiped the sweat away from his face, and sat down at the bar. His clothes were still dripping from the five-mile run along the beach he had just completed, but he felt cool and refreshed. The wounds to his shoulder and his leg had almost completely healed, and in the last month he had been well enough to start running again.'I need a beer,' he said, looking up towards Janey.The clipping from the newspaper was starting to fade, but it still caught Matt's eye as he knocked the cap from the bottle: six months later it still made him smile every time he looked at it. The clipping was pinned to the cork noticeboard, along with ads for a couple of second-hand SUVs and one from a Polish girl looking for some au pair work, EUROSTAR SUFFERS TWELVE-HOUR DELAY, EUROSTAR SUFFERS TWELVE-HOUR DELAY, ran the headline in bold 48-point type. ran the headline in bold 48-point type.A Eurostar was stranded ten miles outside Lille in northern France last night. A train in front was stuck on the tracks, its engine damaged, and trains were halted all day as workers struggled to clear the line. The carriages of the damaged train were empty according to the rail company. They were on a routine engineering exercise, and n.o.body was on board. Eurostar apologised to pa.s.sengers for the severe delays that could be expected to the service for the next forty-eight hours while the tracks were checked for any faults.Officials of the train company blamed the recent heatwave for the accident.

The wrong kind of heat, thought Matt with a grin as he took his beer towards the back of the bar.There's only one kind of heat, and you can either take it or you can't.A Christmas tree had gone up at the doorway, and some of the regulars had put presents around its base. A couple of rows of Christmas cards were hung up on some string behind the bar. The Last Trumpet was fully booked for Christmas lunch, and they'd already sold fifty tickets for the New Year's Eve bash. It promised to be quite a party: an Abba covers band was booked, and Janey had dreamt up a couple of new c.o.c.ktails. Matt took a sip of his beer, letting the cold alcohol soothe his nerves. It was this part of the day he enjoyed the most. He could kick back, let the fresh air rush across his skin and relax, without the stresses of running the bar that filled up the day. And he had a stunning woman to share his bed at night to look forward to.So long as I can stay awake, things aren't so bad.A wind was blowing in from the sea, but the skies were still clear, and the sunset was streaked red and blue. A couple of tables away, Penelope and Suzie were sharing another bottle of Chilean white, and dissecting the latest disasters in their personal life. Both of them were talking at the same time, making it hard for Matt to follow what was up, but from the snippets of conversation drifting across it seemed Suzie's new boyfriend had hooked up with one of the fitness instructors at a gym in Puerto Ba.n.u.s, and Penelope's ex-husband had shacked up with someone else and was trying to cut the maintenance for young Liam.Matt smiled and looked back towards the bar. Bob and Keith were looking at a two-day-old copy of the Daily Mail, Daily Mail, competing with each other to complain the loudest about tax rises they didn't pay anyway since neither of them had been back to Britain for a couple of years. Up on the plasma-screen TV that had just been installed, Sky Sports was getting excited about the Boxing Day clash between Manchester United and a.r.s.enal. Match of the season, Andy Gray was proclaiming, although so far as Matt recalled there seemed to be one of those every week. competing with each other to complain the loudest about tax rises they didn't pay anyway since neither of them had been back to Britain for a couple of years. Up on the plasma-screen TV that had just been installed, Sky Sports was getting excited about the Boxing Day clash between Manchester United and a.r.s.enal. Match of the season, Andy Gray was proclaiming, although so far as Matt recalled there seemed to be one of those every week.At the Last Trumpet, not much ever changes.His eyes drifted out to the horizon. The last embers of the sunlight were starting to disappear beneath the black surface of the waves. The sun never really sets, Matt reminded himself. That's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round. That's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.On the CD, a selection of Christmas songs was already playing: 'Let it Snow', followed by 'Rocking Around the Christmas Tree', 'White Christmas' and 'The Little Drummer Boy', until you imagined that reindeer and holly were all lyricists ever wrote about. Matt had tried to take the disk off, but Janey loved Christmas and put it straight back on again. I'm old enough to stop fighting losing battles, Matt told himself. If she wants the music, she can have it.He opened up yet another Christmas card, and smiled as he read that Eleanor had got engaged to one of the doctors at the hospital. It was good to see that things were working out for her.'Is this seat taken?'He looked up and smiled at Orlena, taking the cap off a fresh bottle of San Miguel. She had just returned from a day's shopping in Malaga. She was carrying a Zara, a Versace and a Chanel bag under her arm. 'How was your run?' she asked. 'Those wounds starting to heal?''There's still some pain in my leg and my shoulder,' said Matt. 'I'll be OK. I don't take bullets as well as you do.' That was one of the things he liked about Orlena. She was a real fighter. She understood. understood.Orlena laughed. The Kevlar jacket she had been wearing on the train had protected her: she had been badly bruised with a nasty swelling beneath her left breast that had taken a month to clear, but otherwise she had not been harmed. Her ability to survive a bullet had become a standing joke between them.'That time at Petor's house back in Kiev. I would never have shot you, you know.'Matt looked at her quizzically.'But if you ever shoot me again,' she said with a smile, 'then I'm going to be really cross.''There's something I've always wanted to ask,' he said. 'Why did you shoot Petor that day in Kiev?''He developed the drug that damaged my brother. Not just him. Many good men died because of him, lots of families were destroyed. He deserved to die.'Matt nodded. Right now, one explanation was as good as another. She wanted to kill Petor for the same reason he felt Lacrierre had to die. 'Have you heard from your brother recently?' asked Matt.'Roman seems to be fine,' said Orlena. 'Did Eleanor give the antidote to the other men?''To all the survivors, yes,' replied Matt. 'There have been no more reports of side effects. They all seem to be doing OK.' He smiled, more to himself than to her. 'So some good came out of the whole d.a.m.ned job. Are you staying after Christmas?'Orlena had arrived three months ago. Her contract at Tocah had been terminated by the new management that took over after Lacrierre's death. Shooting the chairman was not the sort of thing human-resources departments approve of, she'd noted wryly. But they had been generous with the settlement, as big companies always are when they want to cover up an embarra.s.sing incident. At first she had just planned to stay for a few weeks, but that had turned into months.Matt could see a look in her eyes: her eyelashes lowered, and her lips moved together seductively. 'I wanted to ask you something.''I'm. just sitting around listening to Christmas songs,' answered Matt.'Back in the Ukraine. A business proposition. I thought it might interest you.'Matt smiled and rubbed his shoulder. 'I'm trying to limit myself to one shooting a year,' he said. 'That and eating more home-delivered pizza. Those are my two New Year's resolutions.'Orlena's hand reached out across the table. Matt could see a ring on her left hand, a sparkling creation of diamonds, emeralds, gold and platinum, all woven together into an elegant crescent design. A few thousand dollars' worth of finger candy, reflected Matt. 'It could be worth a lot of money,' she said softly. 'And we could work together again.'Matt grinned. He wouldn't say he wasn't tempted. Life was quiet by the sea. He didn't know how things would work out with Orlena but he was happy just to wait and see. 'I just want to run a restaurant,' he answered. 'The only trouble I want to deal with is a dodgy shipment of olive oil.'

NOW AVAILABLE IN ARROWGreedGreed is an explosive story of what happens when terrorism, money, love and jealously combust.Five men. One Robbery. A deadly game of greed, revenge and betrayal is about to begin.Fresh out of the SAS, Matt Browning is down on his luck. He owes 500,000. If he doesn't get the money soon, he dies. From nowhere, he is offered a lifeline. A hit on Al-Qaeda, sanctioned and helped by MI5. Matt gathers a small team of former SAS men to steal $10 million in gold an ddiamonds from the world's most deadly terrorist organisation. MI5 will give them all the equipment and information they need. No charges will ever be pressed.Matt thinks it's the perfect crime. Safe, quick, and patriotic. But after the money is stolen, the killing starts.Someone is taking down the members of the team one by one. A silent, expert a.s.sa.s.sin is stalking the team, gruesomely murdering both them and their families. And Matt knows that he's next.'lean prose delivers all the action with the usual trenchant force . . . The plot moves like proverbial express train'

The Good Books Guide'Hard as nails'

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