James checked a panel of video screens, showing the garage empty except for the two cars, and entered a code into a keypad next to a door. The screen for the stairwell was blank. James’ brow creased, his forefinger hovering over the keypad, then he entered the final digit. ‘Stand back. I will go first,’ he said.
As soon as the door mechanism buzzed, James yanked it open. The sound of a shotgun at close range blasted into the hallway. James was thrown upwards and backwards, his chest-cage ripped open.
Nadia fired at the half-open steel door, her bullets ricocheting down the stairs to the garage. Jake slid across the floor and unloaded a complete magazine from the semi-auto, the noise deafening. Nadia poked her head around the corner. Two men on their backs, too many bullet holes to be alive. The ringing in her ears eased off, replaced by the sound of three people breathing heavily, and the panting dogs standing faithfully by their master.
Jake snatched up James’ semi-auto. ‘We have to go. Hanbury, send the dogs downstairs.
Hanbury was bereft, breathing heavier than the dogs. Nadia didn’t really know anything about him, perhaps he’d just seen the closest thing to his family gunned down in the space of a minute. And now Jake was asking him to send his dogs into a potential kill zone.
Hanbury held out his upturned palms and the two Dobermans approached. He stroked each of them. One of them licked his hand. He said something soft in Chinese, as if he was talking to his children.
Obediently they broke away from him and bounded down the stairs. Jake followed close behind. Nadia grabbed Hanbury by the arm, and they descended.
The garage appeared to be clear. Jake stalked to the nearest Range Rover, turning three-sixty, rifle at eye level, ready to fire. The dogs ran and sniffed around the basement garage, not sensing anyone. Jake checked under the cars, then Hanbury bleeped the closest one unlocked. They stole inside, Nadia and Jake in the front, Hanbury behind. The dogs leapt into the back with their master.
Jake started and gunned the engine. ‘How do we open the garage door?’
Hanbury held up a remote. ‘They’re probably waiting just outside.’
‘This thing’s bullet-proof, right?’
‘Yes. Like the glass upstairs,’ he replied, his voice weak.
Jake passed Nadia the semi-auto. ‘But this time we can return fire.’ Again, he made eye contact with her. ‘Ready?’
A drop of sweat trickled down the nape of her neck. Something nagged at her, something wasn’t quite right, but there was no time to delay.
‘Go,’ she said, opening the side window just enough to shove the barrel through the gap.
The metal doors rolled apart, floodlights revealing an empty ramp. Jake floored the pedal. The tyres shrieked and the car sped off and hit the ramp hard, banking up the curved driveway as if on rails. A searchlight shone down from the chopper, bushes and trees whipping as if in the grip of a hurricane, the sound of the rotors drowning out everything else, making it hard to think let alone speak. But it didn’t open fire. Why? An idea began to form. First the maid. Then James. Statistically speaking …
Jake crashed through the entrance gate, and they skidded onto the dark road. Nadia fired off a few rounds at the chopper to let them know this wasn’t going to be a turkey-shoot. It backed off. Why? It could easily pick them off, fire at the tyres or through the roof of the Range Rover. Later. Just as she thought they might get away, they hit a straight piece of road, and the headlamps lit up a large man standing in the middle of it.
Salamander.
‘Take him!’ she screamed. ‘Kill him now!’ But it was too easy, and she suddenly understood what was going on. ‘Wait!’ she shouted.
Jake was accelerating, and for one tantalising moment she thought she might achieve her goal ahead of schedule. But a Humvee burst out of the bushes and blocked the way. Jake slammed on the brakes but the distance was too short, and Nadia barely had time to bring her arms up in front of her face. She was catapulted forward, her head cannoning into the windscreen, as the Range Rover slammed into the tank-like vehicle, bounced upwards and then came to a stop, its engine dying.
Before she could recover, the car was swarmed by men. She felt something prick her neck, and was hauled through the open window of the car. Her limbs began to turn to jelly, though not before she’d kneed one of her captors where it hurt most. She struggled to get free, but felt herself slipping away, and the last thing she saw was Hanbury on his knees, and Jake unconscious and bleeding from cuts on his face. The dogs attacked, barked, bit, and ripped skin from two of the attackers, but there were too many, and she heard Hanbury screaming, begging ‘No!’ as the Dobermans had their throats slit.
The strategy was clear to her now. For whatever reason, Salamander wanted all three of them alive.
Nadia’s first thought was that she was dead. But there was too much noise. She creaked open an eyelid. Fluorescent skyscrapers sailed past, to the ear-crushing roar of rotors spinning above her. The chopper swooped down towards the bay. She spied a double-decker Star Ferry as it chugged its way to Kowloon across the thin stretch of black water.
She was on her side, barely able to move in the cramped area on the floor next to Jake and Hanbury. Why wasn’t she out cold like they were? The radiation sickness. It was affecting her biochemistry, attacking her organs. But it also meant that whatever neuro-paralytic they’d pricked her with wasn’t effective. The thing that was killing her might just save her life, at least for a while.
Her hands were by her sides. Men she couldn’t see without giving herself away sat on benches above her, the white tick of a Nike trainer close to her face. Was Salamander there? Unlikely, the chopper wasn’t that big. It was dark inside, the men no doubt gazing out the windows, assuming their three captives to be unconscious. She slid her right hand slowly into her pocket. As the helicopter weaved its path to wherever it was headed, she breathed a silent thank you – her phone was still there. Nudging the tiny bar that pushed it into vibration mode, she activated the call sequence to dial the last number. The Chef. She waited thirty seconds for him to pick up and listen. He’d hear the rotors, and would realise she couldn’t speak. Her middle finger was over the speaker hole, just in case he said anything. But that wasn’t their code, wasn’t what he’d taught her years ago. Always wait to hear who is calling.
With the nail of her forefinger she tapped a short sequence, dat-dat-dat, dar, dar, dar, dat-dat-dat. SOS. Idiot’s Morse. She waited. And waited some more. Her phone buzzed against her fingers. He’d clicked off and rung her again. Three rings, and then it stopped. Their own code. It meant the only thing she needed to know.
I’m coming.
But her ride didn’t cross the bay to Kowloon. The chopper swung back towards Hong Kong then around to the darker, less touristy side of the island, with fewer glitzy skyscrapers, towards Port Stanley. The chopper banked hard to the right and reared up as it slowed, ready to land. She glimpsed trees, a lone mansion, and a single figure standing outside. Large, bear-like, unmoving. The man who had been seconds away from nuking London. The man who had ended her sister and father. Without thinking about it, she clenched her fists.
One of the men noticed. ‘Fuck, she’s awake! The boss’ll kill us!’
‘Not if he doesn’t know,’ said another.
Nadia saw the Nike trainer rise, and then she saw nothing.
When she awoke she was on a chair, facing Jake and Hanbury, both still out cold. She wasn’t handcuffed to hers like they were. Her head ached, and her right cheek felt swollen. A man in a white coat knelt in front of her, a syringe in his hands.
‘She’s awake.’
He moved to Hanbury and injected him. Slowly he roused.