Fair Game (56 page)

‘A bit more, actually.’

‘But you’re a hired gun. You killed for money. Same as all the bastard soldiers and cops who work for the British. So which of us really has the moral high ground?’ She blew smoke, then leaned over to an ashtray and stubbed out what was left of her cigarette. ‘There’s no point in continuing this conversation,’ she said. ‘Just arrest me and have done with it.’

‘MI5 don’t have powers of arrest,’ said Shepherd. ‘I thought you’d have known that.’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘What’s the worst you can do to me? I’ll spend a few years as a political prisoner and then the negotiations will start and eventually I’ll be released. I might even be an MP one day. Join Martin and Gerry on the House of Commons gravy train. Now wouldn’t that be a fine thing?’

Shepherd said nothing but continued to stare at her, his eyes as hard as granite.

‘And the black looks don’t scare me, Shepherd. Just call the cops and have done with it.’

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ said Shepherd. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a black cylindrical suppressor, a professional job that bore little resemblance to the one that Tomasz had built in the
Athena
’s workshop but which was several times more efficient. Any shot, even in the confined space, would sound no louder than a muffled thud. He screwed it into the barrel of the Glock, then pulled the trigger and shot her in the chest, just below the heart. She gasped, put a hand up to the wound, which was pulsing with blood, then raised it to her face and stared in disbelief at the bloody palm. Then she sighed and fell sideways.

Shepherd stood up and went over to her. Bloody froth appeared at her lips and her eyes widened in panic. Her mouth began to move but no sound came out, just froth, redder and more liquid with each movement of her lips.

She was seconds away from dying, she knew it and Shepherd knew it. But it wasn’t about time, it was about certainty, about making sure, so Shepherd shot her again, once in the heart and finally between her disbelieving green eyes.

The Major was waiting for him outside.

‘It’s done,’ said Shepherd, climbing into the car.

‘It needed to be done,’ said the Major.

Shepherd nodded. ‘Thank you. Thanks for everything, yeah? For saving Liam and Katra, and for . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished.

‘No need for thanks, Spider. We’re beyond that.’

Shepherd took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He felt different, but he wasn’t sure in what way he’d changed. He’d crossed a line, he knew that, but it was a line that needed to be crossed. ‘She deserved it,’ he said.

‘Bloody right she did,’ said the Major. ‘Don’t give her another thought.’ He put the car in gear and drove away from the kerb. ‘She was fair game.’

Shepherd nodded, but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. He’d shot a woman in the heart and the head, a woman who had been no immediate threat to him. He wasn’t particularly worried about what he’d done, or what the repercussions might be. What worried him most was that he didn’t feel in the least bit guilty about killing her and he knew that his life would never be the same.

About the author

Stephen Leather is one of the UK’s most successful thriller writers. Before becoming a novelist he was a journalist for more than ten years on newspapers such as
The Times
, the
Daily Mail
and the
South China Morning Post
in Hong Kong. Before that, he was employed as a biochemist for ICI, shoveled limestone in a quarry, worked as a baker, a petrol pump attendant, a barman, and worked for the Inland Revenue. He began writing full time in 1992. His bestsellers have been translated into more than ten languages. He has also written for television shows such as
London’s Burning
,
The Knock
and the BBC’s
Murder in Mind
series and two of his books,
The Stretch
and
The Bombmaker
, were filmed for TV. You can find out more from his website,
www.stephenleather.com
.