The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (41 page)

       
Lynch licked his lips. His mouth was dry with anticipation. He could scale the wall within seconds; it had been built merely to mark the perimeter of the school grounds rather than to keep out intruders. He could cover the distance between the wall and the main school building in less than a minute and would reach the two men on the croquet lawn in half that time. The problem was, what then? The security cameras would spot him as soon as he was out in the open, and even if Cramer and his companion weren’t armed, the patrolling guards definitely were. Maybe he’d be able to kill Cramer there and then, but it would be a suicide mission and Lynch was in no mood to throw his life away, no matter how strong the urge for revenge. No, there had to be a better way. He watched as the two men made their way to the front of the school and disappeared inside. Lynch hung the binoculars around his neck and climbed carefully to the ground.

       
The Golf was parked almost a mile away in a copse close to the road and he jogged, more to keep warm than because he was in a hurry. He figured that the men had gone to bed so there was nothing he could do until morning. He needed a way into the school, some ruse that would allow him to breach their defences. The headlights of an approaching car pierced through the night and he dropped into a ditch until it had gone by. There was brackish water in the bottom of the ditch but he managed to stay dry from the knees up. His wet feet slapped on the tarmac as he ran towards the copse. Luckily there were no other cars and he reached the Golf in just over six minutes. Marie was asleep – she’d reclined the front passenger seat and wrapped herself in a tartan blanket. Lynch smiled as he looked at her through the window.

       
She’d wisely locked the doors so he knocked gently on the window to wake her. She smiled sleepily at him and unlocked the driver’s door. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

       
‘He’s there.’

       
Marie’s eyes widened. ‘He’s there? Now what?’

       
‘Now I have to think.’ He leaned down and took off his wet boots and socks.

       
‘What happened?’ she asked.

       
‘I had to hide in a ditch.’

       
Marie gave him the blanket and Lynch wrapped it around his legs. It was cold in the car but they couldn’t risk running the engine to use the heater. ‘What do you think he’s doing in Wales?’ Marie asked.

       
‘Marie, love, it’s a bloody mystery, right enough. He’s being guarded by some very heavy characters. There are security cameras all over the place, and he’s dressed like he just stepped out of a Savile Row tailor’s. God, I’m starving.’

       
Marie reached into the back of the car and picked up her green and gold Harrods carrier bag. From the bag she took out a pack of Marks and Spencer sandwiches and a can of Coke and handed them to Lynch. He pulled the tab and drank.

       
‘Have you thought it might be a set-up?’ she asked. ‘Some sort of trap?’

       
Lynch shook his head emphatically. ‘Why in Wales? Why hide here, miles from anywhere? And why is the security so obvious? When he was in Howth, now that looked like a trap. No, I think something else is going down here, but I’m fucked if I know what it is.’

The water that gushed out of the showerhead was cold and even though Cramer let it run for several minutes it didn’t get any warmer. He stepped under the freezing spray and gasped, washed quickly and then jumped out. He rubbed himself with a fresh towel and dressed, choosing one of the suits he hadn’t worn before.

       
Allan and Martin were walking out of the dining hall just as Cramer arrived. ‘Briefing in the headmistress’s study,’ said Allan. ‘You hadn’t forgotten, had you?’

       
Cramer shook his head. No, he hadn’t forgotten. Today was the day he became the Judas Goat. Mrs  Elliott followed Allan and Martin into the hallway. She beamed as she saw Cramer. ‘Ah, Mr  Cramer. Can I fetch you something?’

       
‘No, thanks, Mrs  Elliott. I’m not hungry.’

       
Mrs Elliott glared at Cramer as severely as Allan had done whenever training hadn’t gone well. ‘The Colonel said I was to be sure that you ate something,’ she said. ‘It was an order.’

       
‘An order?’ repeated Cramer, amused.

       
‘Better do as she says, Mike,’ said Martin. ‘We don’t want you up on a charge.’

       
‘How about some sandwiches for later?’ Mrs  Elliott asked. ‘Cheese and pickle?’

       
‘Cheese and pickle will be just fine,’ agreed Cramer, knowing that further resistance was futile.

       
‘And tea?’ she pressed. ‘I could make a flask of tea, no bother.’

       
‘And tea. Thanks, Mrs  Elliott.’ Cramer headed down the corridor towards the headmistress’s office before Mrs  Elliott could add to the menu.

       
‘How are you feeling today, Mike?’ asked Allan.

       
‘Better,’ lied Cramer. He’d lain awake most of the night, bathed in sweat. The pain seemed to be worse at night, even when he was lying in bed. Cramer wondered if it was because his adrenalin levels were higher during the day, stimulating the body’s natural painkillers. Or maybe it was because he was always kept busy by Allan so that he didn’t have time to dwell on his illness; at night he had nothing else to do but worry about the cancer that was eating him up. If the pain got much worse he’d have to ask the doctor for something else. Nothing strong enough to slow down his reflexes, just enough to take the edge off the pain. ‘When are we setting off?’

       
Allan looked at his Russian wristwatch. ‘Thirty minutes.’

       
‘Where did you get the watch from?’ Cramer asked.

       
‘Off a dead Cuban in Angola,’ Allan replied.

       
‘Come on, if he was dead, how did you know he was a Cuban?’

       
Allan grinned and mimed shooting a gun with his right hand. He blew away imaginary smoke, knocked on the door to the study and opened it, allowing Cramer and Martin in first. The Colonel was sitting behind the desk, reading a file. Cramer was surprised to see Su-ming in the room, standing by the fireplace. She was dressed formally in a dark blue skirt and jacket with what looked like a Chanel handbag on a golden chain over her right shoulder. She smiled at him, but there was little warmth in her eyes.

       
Three straight-backed wooden chairs had been lined up facing the desk and Cramer, Allan and Martin sat down. Martin looked across at Cramer and Cramer realised that they’d had the same thought – they were like schoolboys being summoned for a caning. Both men grinned. The Colonel looked up from his paperwork as if he’d just noticed that they’d walked in. ‘Everything ready?’ the Colonel asked Allan.

       
‘All set, boss,’ said Allan. ‘The plane has already arrived at Swansea and we’ve a flight plan filed for ten-fifteen.’

       
‘Flight plan?’ queried Cramer. ‘I thought London was our first stop. Aren’t we driving?’

       
‘Vander Mayer always flies into London on one of his private jets,’ said the Colonel. ‘He has three at his disposal, one based in the UK, one in the States and a third presently in the Philippines. According to the details we sent to Zurich, Vander Mayer left Miami in the early hours of the morning and is now on his way to Heathrow.’ The Colonel leaned across the desk as if trying to narrow the distance between himself and Cramer. ‘You have to think like Vander Mayer from now on, Joker. You don’t open doors for yourself, you don’t carry anything, you don’t acknowledge strangers, you’re above all that. That’s what Su-ming and your bodyguards are for. The killer is going to be watching you and if he sees anything out of the ordinary, he’ll run like the wind.’

       
‘No problem,’ said Cramer, rubbing his hands together.

       
‘Once you’re on the jet, you’re in play. You have to live the part, you have to be Vander Mayer, and you have to be ready for the killer to strike at any moment. You’ve read the files, you know how he’s got close before. In a wheelchair, dressed as a waiter, as a pilot, as a delivery man, the only thing he hasn’t done is dress up as a woman. You have to regard every stranger as a threat, but you mustn’t overreact. If our man sees you pull out a gun he’ll know it’s a trap. You must be sure, one hundred per cent sure.’

       
‘You mean I don’t shoot until I see the whites of his eyes,’ Cramer said.

       
The Colonel pursed his lips. ‘No. You don’t shoot until you see a gun in his hand. He has to make an attempt to kill you, or we’ve wasted our time. I want to be quite clear on this, Joker. There are no short-cuts. We only have one chance and I don’t want us blowing it. Instinct isn’t going to count for anything if we get the wrong man.’

       
‘I understand, Colonel.’

       
The Colonel stood up and walked over to the window. ‘On the communications front, Allan and Martin will be utilising transceivers, but they will only be in communication with each other,’ he said. ‘That’s standard procedure for bodyguards. There’s no way Vander Mayer would be carrying a transceiver, so you won’t be in radio contact with them. I will be monitoring their transmissions, but on no account are you to acknowledge that we’re listening in. Our man is a professional and will almost certainly also be monitoring you. We will be able to transmit on your frequency, but I can’t envisage any circumstances under which we’d do that. We won’t be able to give you any warning, because if we did, he might hear us.’

       
The three men sitting in front of the desk nodded in unison. ‘We’re on our own,’ said Cramer.

       
‘I’ll have men close by, but yes, in effect you will be on your own. You must not depend on them to protect you because that’s not what they’re there for.’

       
‘Is there any way I can contact you?’ Cramer asked.

       
‘Absolutely not,’ said the Colonel tersely. ‘Phones just aren’t secure, cellular or otherwise. Under no circumstances are you to attempt to get in touch with me.’ He nodded at Allan. ‘That goes for you and Martin.’ The Colonel leaned back against the windowsill. ‘Don’t forget that we will be following you every step of the way. Even if you don’t see us, we’ll still be there.’

       
Cramer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’d be happier if there was some way we could reach you.’

       
‘You don’t need me to hold your hand,’ said the Colonel. ‘Any other questions?’

       
The three men shook their heads. ‘I have a question,’ said Su-ming from behind them.

       
The Colonel raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, Su-ming?’

       
‘How long do we wait?’

       
‘As long as it takes.’

       
‘But the itinerary only runs for two weeks.’

       
‘That was all that was asked for, which leads us to believe that the attempt will be made within the next fourteen days.’

       
Cramer twisted around in his seat to look at Su-ming. She looked worried but there was no trace of nervousness in her voice. ‘What about Mr  Vander Mayer?’ she said. ‘I have to be in regular contact with him.’

       
The Colonel shook his head. ‘Impossible. What would happen if the killer were to hear you talking to him?’

       
‘So I am not to call him?’

       
‘Not until it’s over.’

       
‘What if he tries to contact me?’

       
‘He won’t. He understands the position. Mr  Vander Mayer does have a number where he can reach me. In the event that he has to get hold of you, I will get a message to you.’

       
Su-ming shrugged. Cramer wondered why she was so worried about not being in contact with her boss. He turned back to face the Colonel. ‘About Vander Mayer,’ he said. ‘What’s he doing?’

       
‘He’s on his yacht,’ the Colonel answered. ‘It’s equipped with state of the art communications equipment so he’s able to carry on business as usual. He has a copy of your itinerary and will simply tell anyone he speaks to that he is at your location. Any faxes, telexes or computer transmissions he sends will also appear to be sent from your location. But he’s agreed to keep his activities to the absolute minimum until we have our man.’ When the Colonel saw that there were no further questions, he pointed at the door with his walking stick. ‘All that remains is for me to wish you luck,’ he said. ‘As of now we go our separate ways.’

       
‘How are you getting to London?’ Cramer asked as he stood up.

       
‘We’ll be using the helicopter. We’ll get to Heathrow after you but there are already men there waiting for you. You won’t see them, not if they’re doing their job right.’

       
Su-ming opened the door and went out into the corridor. The Colonel shook the three men by the hand as they left the room. Cramer was the last to leave. After they’d shaken, the Colonel held onto Cramer’s hand. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

       
‘Luck doesn’t come into it, Colonel. Besides, we both know what the end result of this is going to be, don’t we?’

       
The Colonel didn’t reply. He let Cramer’s hand slip from his own and then patted him on the shoulder, like a priest comforting the recently bereaved. ‘I wish there was  . . .’ he began.

       
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ interrupted Cramer. ‘I’m a big boy, I know exactly what I’m getting into and it’s my choice.’ He held the Colonel’s look for several seconds, then turned and left the room.