Hybrid Page 20

  'And did she?'

  'I couldn't give a shit if she sleeps with donkeys, Mel. That's the first rule of this game, isn't it? The only thing that matters is the safety of the clients. What they get up to in their own time is their fucking business. Right?'

  Mel regarded him silently. 'It's ironic, isn't it?' she finally murmured. 'We're expected to protect people we probably won't like. Expected to risk our lives for someone we might despise.'

  'Does that bother you?'

  'It's the job, isn't it?'

  'And the job's all that matters?' It was Doyle's turn to look at her. 'Is this how you see yourself in ten years' time, Mel? Carrying a gun. Waiting for some mad bastard to try and kill the person you're guarding. Wondering if you're going to have to put your own life on the line to save them?'

  'I haven't thought about it. What are the options? Get married? Settle down?'

  'It probably wouldn't be so bad.'

  'Then why haven't you done it?'

  'I told you, this kind of thing's all I know.'

  'Even if the right woman comes along?'

  Doyle swallowed hard and returned his attention

  to the bank of monitors. 'I think she did, once,' he said softly.

  'Georgie?'

  Doyle nodded.

  'How did she die?' Mel wanted to know.

  'We were working together,' he said slowly. 'I can't remember all the details. It seems like a fucking eternity since it happened. She got shot. Simple as that. Occupational hazard.'

  'Did you love her?'

  Doyle smiled humourlessly.'What difference does it make?' he said scornfully.'We were ... alike.There was something between us. I don't know what the fuck you'd call it. But it doesn't matter any more, does it?' He looked at Mel. 'You remind me of her in some ways.'

  'Is that a compliment?'

  He nodded.

  She reached out and gently touched his hand.

  He looked down and she slowly withdrew it.

  'I'm sorry,' Mel told him. 'I didn't mean to pry. I just—'

  'Forget it,' he said, cutting her short'No harm done.' He adjusted two of the cameras scanning the grounds then looked back at Mel.'What about you? How come the right bloke hasn't turned up yet?'

  'Married to the job, I suppose.'

  'And if he did? Would you give it all up to play the little woman?'

  'Maybe. I'm not even sure what I want out of life any more.'

  'Looks like we're both fucked.'

  Mel grinned. 'Kindred spirits,' she chuckled.

  Doyle focused on one of the monitors. His eyes narrowed.

  'Perhaps you and I should—'

  Doyle interrupted. 'Look at that,' he said, pointing a finger at the screen that held his attention. 'Is it a shadow?'

  'Which camera is it?' she wanted to know.

  The one near the swimming pool.'

  A dark shape was clearly visible now, scuttling quickly along the side of the pool then back into the welcoming darkness.

  'Zoom in,' Mel said. That's no shadow.'

  Doyle hit the necessary button. The image became larger rather than sharper.

  'The sensor lights around there are motion activated,' Mel said.'How come they haven't been tripped?'

  Doyle squinted at the shape. 'It's definitely a man,' he said. He reached forward and drew his index finger around the outline of the shape. 'And he's carrying something.'

  They both recognised it immediately. The outline of the AK47 assault rifle was unmistakable.

  The shape moved, its motion fluid.

  'Stay with him,' Mel murmured.

  There was movement on another monitor. Two more shapes.

  'By the stables,' Doyle said.

  'And on the drive,' Mel added.'Four of them, at least.'

  Doyle pulled the Beretta from its holster and worked the slide, chambering a round. 'You'd better get Hendry,' he said.'It looks like we've got some work to do.'

  On the bank of monitors Doyle counted six figures moving quickly and furtively around the grounds, all heading towards the house.

  'I'll call the police, get some help,' Mel said, snatching up the phone.

  The line was dead. 'No calls tonight,' she said. They've cut the wires.'

  Try your mobile.'

  She dialled but a shriek of static forced her to move the Nokia away from her ear. They've jammed the frequency,' she told him.

  'Party time,' Doyle murmured under his breath.

  The dark figures continued towards the house.

  Get upstairs now,' Mel said, gesturing towards the Duncans who looked on helplessly.

  'We could help you,' William Duncan offered.

  Mel shook her head.'Please do as I say,' she insisted. 'Lock yourselves in your room and stay down. Don't go near the windows.'

  Duncan slid an arm around his wife's shoulder and the two of them made their way hurriedly through the hall and up the broad staircase to the first storey of the house.

  Mel was holding the small automatic that she'd taken from her shoulder holster. Doyle glanced at it and saw how comfortably it fitted into her slender hand. It was a Heckler and Koch VP70. He knew it held eighteen 9mm rounds in its magazine.

  'Still coming,' shouted Hendry who was posted before the screens. 'I can see eight of them now. All armed as far as I can tell.'

  'How do you want to play this?' Doyle said.'Go out to meet them or let them come to us?'

  'Let them come,' Mel said. 'It'll be more difficult for them to get inside. We can cover the entrances.'

  'Not all of them,' Doyle said warily.

  Mel looked at him for a moment then headed off towards the sitting room.

  The first burst of automatic fire raked the building.

  Doyle spun round in the direction of the shots.

  Two windows shattered and part of one frame was blasted to matchwood by the impact of the heavy-grain bullets.

  'Put the interior lights out and all the exterior ones on,' he called to Hendry, moving towards one of the broken windows. 'We'll be able to see them but they won't be able to see us.'

  Hendry nodded and hit a number of switches. Immediately the area within a hundred yards of the house was illuminated by the cold, white glare of more than a dozen security floodlights.

  Doyle saw several of the oncoming figures freeze, caught like moths in a torch beam. He took his chance.

  The former counter terrorist swung the Beretta into position and pumped the trigger. The sound was deafening as the 9mm spewed its deadly load towards the attackers.

  Two went down. There were shouts of anger and surprise from the others. Doyle fired again. Another of the men was hit, his body spinning round violently as the slug caught him in the shoulder, pulverised his collar bone and dropped him like a stone. He tried to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

  Another burst of automatic fire tore into the house. Doyle ducked as several bullets ripped over his head and drilled into the wall of the room, blasting chunks of plaster free and sending more broken glass showering on to the expensive carpet.

  He could smell cordite and gunpowder. Just like old times.

  There was more firing from another part of the house. He recognised the sound of the VP70. Mel chose her targets as carefully as she could and shot down another of the furious attackers.

  More automatic fire. Doyle heard fresh glass shattering.

  This was fucking crazy.There was no way three of them could cover every part of a house this size.

  He glanced out of the window and fired again, the muzzle flash from the 9mm momentarily searing his retina. Spent shell cases spun into the air and landed on the carpet beside him.

  'There's more of them over by the stables,' Hendry shouted, gazing at a monitor. 'Another two at least.'

  Doyle himself had shot three. Mel another two.

  'How many of these bastards are there?' Doyle hissed under his breath.

  Doyle was about to snatch another look at the garden when a concent
rated burst of fire sent him diving for the floor. Bullets blasted holes in the walls and obliterated ornaments. Several hit a sofa and stuffing exploded from it like innards from a gut-shot body.

  More firing. Part of the garden was plunged into darkness. 'They're shooting out the lights,' Hendry yelled.

  'This is bullshit,' snarled Doyle. Then, into his microphone, 'Mel, they're going to pin us down in here.'

  No answer.

  'Mel,' he shouted.

  He heard a thunderous blast in his earpiece and winced.

  'I can hear you, Doyle,' she said breathlessly.

  'I'm going outside,' he said.

  'No, stay in here.'

  'You want to die like a rat in a fucking trap?' he snarled.

  Silence.

  Doyle scrambled to his feet and, ducking low, he scuttled through the house towards the front door.

  He could see nothing moving in the darkness outside.

  Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there.

  More gunfire, from the rear of the house.

  Doyle could feel his heart thudding that little bit faster against his ribs.

  'What are you doing?'

  The voice made him look round. William Duncan was standing at the top of the stairs.

  'You were told to stay up there and keep your fucking head down,' Doyle called back.

  'I can help you,' Duncan insisted. He was already advancing down the stairs.

  'Doyle.' He heard his name in his earpiece.

  'I'm going out there, Mel,' he told her, his hand already on the lock of the front door. They'll box us in and blow the fucking place to pieces. It's only a matter of time before they get in.'

  'You watch yourself,' Mel told him.

  Duncan was at the bottom of the stairs by now. He saw Doyle lift his trouser leg and check the .38 tucked in the ankle holster there.

  There was another thunderous roar in Doyle's earpiece. More gunfire.

  'Let me help you,' said Duncan forcefully.

  'All right,' Doyle snapped. 'Lock this behind me.'

  The night air felt cool against Doyle's skin. He glanced quickly left and right to check it was clear. As he stepped away from the door he heard the bolts being slid into place behind him.

  At least Duncan was doing as he was told.

  There was little cover between the house and the trees that lined the driveway but Doyle sprinted towards them with a speed he'd forgotten he had.

  He reached the first and pressed himself up against the damp bark, looking back at the house.

  Apart from the odd bursts of fire from the attackers (who he guessed now numbered about six) and the occasional return shots from Mel or Hendry, the night seemed relatively still.

  Doyle pressed the magazine-release button on the 9mm and saw that he was down to three slugs. He slammed a fresh, fifteen-shot clip into the butt and worked the slide, chambering a round.

  Now. Think this through. Don't fuck it up.

  He peered through the gloom towards the house and beyond it in the direction of the swimming pool. Nothing moving.

  There were trees planted thickly around the path that led to the pool.

  A hundred, two hundred yards away?

  He could make it if he ran fast enough. And what bigger incentive was there than getting caught in the sweep of an AK47?

  Doyle drew a deep breath and sped off across the grass. He heard voices shouting in a language he didn't recognise. At first he couldn't work out which direction they were coming from.

  Straight ahead. Behind the trees and the low wall that ran alongside the path.

  Doyle reached the trees and dropped down, the Beretta gripped firmly in his fist. From his vantage point he could see four of the attackers gathered around the rear of the house. Three were attempting to clamber through a broken window into the building itself. There was another close to the swimming pool, apparently reloading.

  Where the hell were the other two?

  Doyle could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.

  Come on. Come on.

  He looked towards the house. One of the men was now inside. His two companions were attempting to follow him.

  Doyle held the pin microphone between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it close to his mouth. 'Mel,' he whispered, looking round.

  Silence.

  'Mel, can you hear me?'

  Still nothing.

  He watched as the second attacker slipped inside.

  'Mel, they're inside the house,' he said, raising his voice a little more. 'Check the fucking monitors.'

  Close to him he heard words barked in a guttural voice. When he turned he saw one of the remaining men.

  Two were inside. Another was about to join them. One more moving up from the direction of the swimming pool. A fifth just beyond the wall behind which he now crouched.

  Where the fuck is the other one?

  He wondered if the other attacker might be at the front of the building. Perhaps he was trying to break in there. Force the defenders to split up.

  The metallic rattle of a cocking lever cut through the night.

  Doyle turned to see the sixth man leering at him.

  The AK47 he held was levelled and ready to fire.

  Doyle knew he was going to die. From six feet away, even if he was a complete fucking idiot, there was no way his opponent could miss. Not with a submachine gun on auto. The weapon fired over seven hundred rounds a minute and the slightest pressure on the trigger could empty the thirty-round magazine in seconds.

  The barrel yawned before him, ready to spew out its deadly load.

  As if he were moving in slow motion, Doyle swung the Beretta up, preparing to fire.

  You'll go with me, you fucker.

  There was a high-pitched whoosh just above Doyle's head. It reminded him of the sound a bullet makes when it parts air. But there was no accompanying bang.

  He heard a dull thud and the man facing him dropped the Kalashnikov. For interminable seconds he remained on his feet, his bulging eyes still locked on Doyle.

  Blood ran in thin ribbons from both his nostrils. Only then did the former counter terrorist realise why.

  The arrow had pierced the man's throat just below the chin and erupted another foot from the back of his neck. Its 30-inch, fibre-glass shaft had penetrated

  to the flight. The pointed end dripped blood.

  There was another similar sound and Doyle saw a second arrow thud into the man's chest. He fell backwards and lay still.

  'What the fuck . . . ?' Doyle gazed at the corpse then heard the sound of movement close to him. He turned, the automatic pointed at the noise.

  William Duncan scrambled across the damp grass towards him, the longbow gripped in his fist, another arrow already held in position. 'I thought you needed some help,' the industrialist said, glancing at the dead man.

  'I told you to stay in the house,' said Doyle.

  'If I had you'd be dead now.'

  Doyle looked at Duncan but said nothing.

  There was an eruption of fire close to them. Bullets drilled into the wall behind which they sheltered and Doyle instinctively put out a hand to push Duncan closer to the earth.

  The smell of cordite filled the night air.

  Doyle motioned for Duncan to remain still as another burst of fire raked the wail. Splinters of stone flew up and showered the two men.

  Doyle heard a shout, then a metallic click as the hammer of the AK47 slammed down on an empty chamber. He swiftly rose to his feet and caught the fifth man in his sights.

  Doyle pumped the trigger five times. Bullets hit the man in the face, chest and shoulder, drilled through and erupted in several places leaving exit wounds the size of a man's fist. Blood sprayed into the air and the man toppled backwards, arms flailing.

  Doyle swung himself over the wall, scuttled across to the body and put one more shot squarely between the eyes of his opponent. The blast took off most of the back of his head.

 
The former counter terrorist snatched up the Kalashnikov and motioned to Duncan to join him.'Hey, Robin Hood,' he murmured, beckoning to the industrialist.'Follow me. And keep your fucking head down.'

  They scurried back towards the house.

  They're inside.' Joe Hendry spoke quietly and without panic.

  'How many?' Mel wanted to know.

  Three of them.'

  'Where's Duncan?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Jesus Christ, Joe. He could be dead by now. Contact Doyle. Find out if he's got him.'

  'Doyle went outside, remember? If Duncan's out there with him chances are we're all out of work by now.'

  Mel didn't answer. She hurried along the gallery landing that overlooked the main hallway of the house, glancing over the balustrade occasionally, the 9mm gripped tightly in her fist.

  Two of the intruders walked into the hall and Mel caught sight of the AK47s they were carrying. She swung the VP70 up and sighted it, pumping the trigger.

  The first two shots caught the leading man in the shoulder and cheek. He dropped like a stone, his companion spinning round, finger tightening on the trigger.

  A blast from the Kalashnikov deafened Mel and she dropped to her knees as bullets tore into the wall,

  pieces of plaster flying into the air all around her.

  She fired again. Three shots. All well placed. One in the stomach doubled the attacker up. The second slammed into the top of his skull and the third clipped his elbow, shattering bone and causing him to drop the assault rifle. He toppled backwards on to the polished wood of the hall floor, already awash with the blood of his companion. Both men lay still.

  Mel advanced slowly down the stairs.

  Where was the other one? Hendry had said three were inside.

  Her earpiece crackled and she put a hand to it as if to silence it.The door to her left was open. The third attacker could be there. Waiting.

  Mel moved a little further down the stairs, her heart thudding against her ribs.

  There were two thunderous blasts from her left. A muffled groan.

  She swung her automatic up and sighted it.

  The body of the third intruder fell face down at her feet, two bullets in the back of his head.

  Doyle stepped over the body, glanced at the other dead men then up the stairs in Mel's direction.

  She had him in her sights. He nodded and she lowered the weapon.