All Fun and Games Until Somebody Loses an Eye Read online

‘Gimme the scissors,’ she demanded.

  ‘What?’ he asked blankly, clearly too dazed to respond. She reached to his chest and grabbed them from the pocket, then scrambled to the side of the Vectra and plunged them into the rear tyre. At first the blades just bounced off the tread. Then she remembered that the side wall was less protected. She dug the scissors in with both hands, her fingers white and her arms taut as she applied all the pressure she could summon. Suddenly the tips burst through and air came rushing from the gash. She pulled the scissors out and was about to make for the front tyre, but by this point the driver had completely extricated himself from his airbag and began to reverse once more. The car was already listing as it drew back, but it would still be able to jolt the Civic again, maybe this time enough to open a gap wide enough to escape through.

  Jane ran back to her own car, threw open the door and plunged the scissors into the airbag, following his lead. It worked considerably faster than the automatic deflation process, but the Vectra had already ceased reversing and there was no way she’d be able to get behind the controls in time. Instead she reached across the seat, under the folds of the bag, and released the handbrake, then gave the steering wheel a sharp turn. The camber of the road sloped gently towards the building, causing the car to roll forwards and thus reclose the gap.

  Jane turned to see the Vectra roar towards her. She saw his face, determination in his eyes, blood streaming from his nose from the impact of the airbag. He was focused not on the Civic, but on her. Whichever way she ran, that’s where he was going to steer, and there wasn’t time for her to get back between the parked cars.

  She turned, placing both hands on top of the Honda, and vaulted on to its roof a fraction of a second before the Vectra smashed into the side for a third time. Jane felt the impact with a shudder that came from inside as much as the jolt from without. She was bounced off the roof on the passenger side, but was able to correct her fall so that her feet hit the ground before she tumbled to all fours. The palms of her hands were skinned pretty raw but, crucially, there were no impact injuries to her wrists.

  She got to her feet and looked to the cars. In trying to kill her, he’d ended up hitting the Civic straight on, which had maximised the damage to his own vehicle and failed to spin the Honda any further out of the way.

  People had begun to emerge from the building to investigate what all the noise was about: the woman from the counter, the male half of the podgy tracksuit-Tims, clients and staff from the salon. They stood in a line as though there was a glass pane separating the spectators from the combatants, their faces a mixture of curiosity and confusion. They didn’t yet know enough to evince due shock or concern, but mere caution prevented them rushing into involvement before they had a handle on what was going on.

  Jane heard a whine from the Vectra, which let her know the last crash had stalled it and that the driver was struggling to get it going again. She could also hear Rachel’s glass-muted screams, which served to clear her mind of all shock, all pain and all distraction. She knew only one thing: she had to get Rachel out of the car, and she couldn’t do this while that man was inside it; not while the bastard was conscious, anyway.

  Jane stepped to the rear of the Civic and popped open the boot, from which she removed Rachel’s buggy, neatly folded for transport, then ran around the back of the Vauxhall. The driver was hunched over the steering wheel, turning the ignition key and frantically pumping the accelerator. He looked up and to the side as Jane launched the buggy through his window, two wheels shattering the glass and continuing into his face, with all the strength and fury she could bring to bear. She pulled the buggy back and sent it in again, but this time he deflected it and pulled it right inside, Jane letting go before she could be dragged against the door towards that knife.

  ‘Here, that’s enough, calm it doon,’ said a male voice, and Jane felt hands gripping her shoulders tightly from behind to restrain her. ‘Just calm it doon, missus,’ he reiterated forcefully. The grip tightened as she struggled. She couldn’t see him, but he was pulling her against his ample body to hold her in place, while in front of her the driver resumed his attempts to restart his engine. It burst into life with an unhealthy sounding snarl, repeated twice as he gunned the revs to make sure it stayed alive. Jane could see his shoulder shift as he put it into reverse, this vigilante halfwit’s arms now around her chest. She sent her head back with a full-blooded jerk and felt the crunch at the back of her head as she broke his nose. She then sent a foot stamping hard into his instep and broke free of his embrace.

  The Vectra reversed laboriously along the cul-de-sac, its engine whining and its rear driver-side tyre grinding metal on concrete, accompanied by a flapping wup-wup-wup noise. She went after it, not running, but striding along the centre of the lane, keeping her options open. She looked him in the eye through the windscreen. He looked at her, then at the Civic, then at the gathering crowd.

  The car stopped, but this time it didn’t come forward again. He opened the door and stepped out, brandishing the knife: no Saturday-night chib from mammy’s kitchen drawer, but a long, thick, serrated weapon that looked like it was specifically designed and intended for killing people. Jane reached into a pocket in her jacket and pulled out the hairdresser’s scissors. They stood fifteen, maybe twenty feet apart, close enough to see into each other’s eyes. He continued to scan his surroundings, but never lifted his gaze from her for long. She saw desperation but not fear, anger but not rage, and his expression was coldly dispassionate.

  Jane gripped the scissors, curling two fingers and a thumb around the steel loops. She heard a voice bellowing with fury, with fire, with certainty, its words echoing off the walls.

  ‘I’LL KILL YOU. I SWEAR I’LL KILL YOU.’

  It took a moment to realise it was coming from her own mouth.

  The man looked at her for one more cold second, then looked away. He opened the rear passenger-side door and pulled a briefcase from within, then turned and began to run. He held the case in his left hand, the knife and a mobile phone to his ear with his right as he headed for the path to the supermarket, before disappearing out of sight behind the fence.

  His retreat had barely begun before Jane was sprinting towards the car. She dived in through the still-open rear door and clambered across the upholstery to where Rachel was strapped into the child-seat.

  ‘Gra-an, Gra-aaan,’ she was howling, tear-streaked and terrified.

  Jane unclasped the buckle, yanked the straps free and hauled her into her arms. She let herself collapse against the leather of the back seat, held her granddaughter tightly to her chest, breathed in the smell of her hair, then cried and cried and cried.

  Abduction: how to do it properly

  Lex had sat up that bit straighter and felt herself tense as she saw the man emerge carrying the little girl. At that point and from that distance, she couldn’t identify the child (and an adult hurriedly toting a raging kid through a car park was not in itself a remarkable or alarming sight), but the very possibility that it was Ross Fleming’s niece presented every last ramification she had feared about this job. The emergence of her target a few seconds later told her she didn’t have to worry about what might happen any more: her worst-case scenario was now thoroughly in progress.

  Bett’s instructions, often infuriatingly elliptical, had been extremely clear on one thing: she was not to intervene in any situation involving the target unless, as a last resort, it was the only way of preserving the mission. Nonetheless, her first reaction upon seeing this situation unfold was to grab her mobile. There was a two-button speed-dial combination that would get her Bett immediately on a dedicated line that he kept clear for when any of them absolutely needed to speak to him. She now had confirmation that another party most definitely was involved, and they were in the process of abducting a three-year-old, either as bait or leverage, proving them to be as direct and ruthless as Willis had implied.

  Her finger hovered over the keypad as she watched Flemi
ng’s mother dash across the cul-de-sac, the kidnapper pulling out of a parking space further along the lane. She remembered Bett’s typically stern advice regarding the speed-dial ‘White Line’, as he called it.

  ‘As a rule, in any given situation, the first three times you want to use it, you’ll already know the answer. Don’t waste my time.’

  Lex watched Jane Fleming’s car drive across the kidnapper’s path and stop dead, then moments later the black Vectra buried its nose in the Honda’s flank. She put the phone down. She did already know the answer. Things were nowhere near last-resort stage, particularly if Bett was right about this ‘specialist’; and as she knew only too well, Bett was always right.

  His description echoed around her as she remained in the hire car and witnessed the duel unfold. A man began trotting after the Vectra as it reversed. Fleming ran across the tarmac to push him clear as the car shot forward again.

  Someone fearless …

  The woman grabbed something silver from the bystander – looked like scissors – and began digging it into one of the car’s tyres. Moments later she would be using a child’s pushchair to smash the window and bludgeon the kidnapper.

  Someone who can adapt and improvise …

  With the Vectra revving up for another attempt to barge past the Honda, she managed to roll it back across the path, despite the encumbrance of an airbag.

  Someone resourceful and cunning …

  Then she dived clear just in time, bouncing off of the Civic’s roof and down on to the tarmac, where she didn’t even dust herself down before charging back on to the offensive.

  Stoical in the face of pain and danger …

  With the Vectra limping backwards like a wounded beast, the kidnapper climbed out, holding a hunting knife. Fleming faced him down, brandishing a pair of barber’s scissors.

  Ruthlessly uncompromising in pursuit of the objective …

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ Lex heard, the words reverberating around the entire area with a mortal conviction. ‘I swear I’ll kill you.’

  … and utterly merciless in eliminating anyone who stands in the way.

  Chalk another one up to that son-of-a-bitch: it looked a hell of a good basket.

  Lex watched the kidnapper emerge from the path and into the supermarket car park. He had a briefcase in one hand – couldn’t leave evidence of his true purpose when he bailed – and was already on his phone, calling in the bad news. She could see him scanning the cars as he jogged. He needed an out fast and jacking a passing driver was his best shot in the short-term.

  Lex realised that a valuable opportunity was presenting itself, but it was way, way outside of mission parameters. It was a chance to get a handle on who they were up against, but would only come at the expense of dropping the target. This window would not be open for long, she knew. The question of deviating from the mission was ordinarily a no-brainer, but nobody, not even Bett, could have anticipated a potential break like this. She reached again for the phone. Again, her finger stalled above the keypad. Again, she already knew the answer. The target wasn’t going anywhere, and anyway, Lex had already made the principal drop back at that other supermarket. She slipped the nine-millimetre into a pocket on the inside of the door, put the car into gear and pulled away.

  In a few seconds she was parallel to him, one row distant, as he jogged between the lines of parked cars. She descended the passenger-side window with a touch of a button.

  ‘Get in, now,’ she called out.

  He looked around to see where the voice had come from.

  ‘Allez, allez,’ she insisted impatiently.

  At that, he bolted for the Renault and pulled at the front door, which he found to be locked.

  ‘In the back, you fucking idiot, and keep down.’

  He clambered hurriedly across the rear seats and pulled the door closed as Lex accelerated towards the exit.

  ‘Et qui êtes-vous?’ he asked, nestling uncomfortably across the rear footwells.

  ‘In English, dipshit,’ she answered, figuring they wouldn’t send someone who couldn’t speak it. She knew also that it was harder to lie in another language; or harder to hide it, at least.

  ‘I said who are you?’ he revised.

  ‘I’m back-up. I’m the Seventh goddamn Cavalry. Certain parties weren’t so confident you could pull this off without a hitch.’

  ‘What parties?’

  ‘Informed parties, it looks like.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘That’s on a need-to-know basis, dude, and, right now, you don’t need to know. In fact it’s best if you don’t.’

  Lex negotiated the car park’s one-way system quickly but without any conspicuous haste. She kept her eyes on the road, but did grab the occasional glance at her passenger, who remained curled across the cramped channel. She wheeled around the roundabout, then accelerated as she finally hit open road.

  A glance down behind her revealed that he was no longer on the floor. She suddenly felt cold steel held across her neck.

  ‘Now, how about you tell me who the hell you are, yes?’ he demanded.

  ‘Look, I gotta warn you, driving isn’t my specialty, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put me off, okay? Less of the fucking theatricals, jeez.’

  Still he kept the knife in place, pushing it a little harder against her skin.

  ‘Answer me,’ he growled, a throaty hiss.

  ‘I told you. I’m back-up, and my name is strictly need-to-goddamn-know. You want credentials? Look in the briefcase on the front seat. The folder,’ she directed.

  He tried grasping for it with the knife still in place, but didn’t have the reach. Lex tutted, like this was all a real drag to her. She reached a hand across and opened the dossier, revealing photographs of Fleming, his parents, his sister and her husband and kids.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘so I’m working the Fleming job, you’re working the Fleming job. Or rather you’re fucking up the Fleming job.’

  He withdrew the knife as he leaned over to try and pick up the folder, but she slammed shut the briefcase.

  ‘Hands off, ami. You don’t have that kind of clearance, believe me, and I ain’t telling you any shit that I’m not certain you’re authorised to hear. So how about we establish your credentials, find out what you do know and then I’ll decide whether it’s worth us trying to help you redeem this situation. We’ll start with where you’re headed.’

  ‘This way is good,’ he said, settling back into the seat. He looked slightly relieved, slightly pissed off, which was what she wanted. He was grateful that someone had saved his ass from the authorities, but was beginning to contemplate that no one could save it from his bosses. ‘I have someone waiting. We were supposed to change cars. It’s secluded. Woodland. About three miles.’

  ‘Then you’ll meet as planned and we’ll work out the next move from there. The important thing right now is to get clear of this mess.’

  ‘Oui,’ he grumbled.

  ‘So what’s with the big blade? Don’t they trust you guys with guns?’

  ‘We had to move at short notice. Can’t take guns on a flight and the alternative was to drive. Takes too long.’

  ‘Plus you figured you wouldn’t need ‘em, huh?’ she chided. ‘So when did they scramble you? Yesterday? Or have you been on this from the start? Was it you guys went for Fleming at his apartment? Made quite a mess.’

  Lex checked the rear-view to see his expression. It was irritated.

  ‘Someone else handled that. Our job was just the child, after they didn’t deliver.’

  ‘So who’s supposed to bring Fleming in once you’ve got the kid?’

  ‘I don’t know. Lucien, I guess. It was he who went to Chassignan.’

  ‘Lucien?’ she bluffed, turning around and taking her eyes off the road for dramatic effect. ‘God help us,’ she continued, braking as she approached another roundabout. She was actually finding it easier to handle driving on the left during this discussion because it kep
t her from thinking too much about what she was doing. ‘Please don’t tell me Lucien’s supposed to bring in the other stuff too.’

  ‘What other stuff?’

  ‘What this whole thing is about. The goods, man.’

  ‘As far as I know, Fleming is what this whole thing is about.’

  ‘Hmmm. Well, yes and no.’

  ‘You know different?’ he asked, sitting up.

  ‘Keep your head down, man. I can’t discuss it, but it’s to do with the Marledoq materials, and I don’t know how much you’re authorised to hear. I mean, have you seen the video files, for instance?’

  ‘Jesus, yes. Of course. Everybody’s seen the video files.’

  ‘Well, exactly. I can only talk about what everybody already knows, so what’s the point, right? Unless … hey, what name do you call your boss, the main man?’

  ‘You don’t know who my boss is? I thought you said …’

  ‘I know who your fucking boss is, I asked what name you call him. He has more than one. What you call him denotes your level of clearance; it’s shorthand code.’

  ‘I call him Parrier. And I’ve never heard of this different name shit.’

  ‘Which, unfortunately, tells me exactly what level you’re cleared to. Sorry.’

  ‘Hey, who the hell are you anyway?’ he snarled, sitting up again. ‘You look like you’re just out of fucking high school and you’re talking to me like—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Just remember who came to whose rescue back there if you need a sense of perspective. If you had done your job properly, you wouldn’t have even needed to find out I existed. But we’re both here now, so let’s just deal. Hey, we’re coming up on another roundabout. Straight on?’

  ‘No, right,’ he told her, looking up again.

  She turned and accelerated on to a dual carriageway.

  ‘Where the hell’s secluded around here?’ she asked.

  ‘Woods. You’ll see. Left at the next roundabout, and then another mile. One minute it’s town, the next it’s countryside.’

  Lex drove on, holding in the left-hand lane despite being stuck behind a slow-moving dump truck. A silence began to grow between them, which she knew would make her uneasy. So far she’d succeeded in practising what Bett had taught her about situations like this, the first trick being to get the other party to justify himself to you and establish his credentials, rather than the other way around.