Page 62

Koenig jogged over to the Jag. One of the men in black stopped, raised his Spectre and loosed off a burst. The bullets missed him by a good five yards. Fell between the car and the now groaning fuel guy. Which was interesting. Koenig was a big enough target, and he hadn’t been sprinting. Perhaps the suits weren’t all mashed potato and gravy. Maybe the anti-flash goggles restricted the field of vision. Maybe the heavy armour reduced manoeuvrability. Slowed reaction time. It was something to think about.

He knelt by the open window. Margaret was lying on the back seat. Carlyle was hunkered in the footwell. They seemed alert. Margaret looked terrified. Carlyle looked angry.

‘You guys OK?’ he said.

‘We are, dear,’ Margaret said. ‘You?’

‘Having a great day, thanks.’

‘And your vexatious friend?’

‘In her element.’

‘What’s happening?’ Carlyle asked.

‘They’ve killed the pilot,’ Koenig replied. ‘Jen’s using him as a sandbag.’

‘I meant what’s happening now ?’

‘We have men in advanced body armour about to start spraying us with bullets from vastly superior weapons.’

‘What’s the plan?’

‘I’m going to annoy them,’ Koenig said. ‘As soon as they start shooting at me, I need you to get Margaret on the plane. Jen will lay down as much cover as she can.’

‘Leave me behind, dear,’ Margaret said.

‘Not a chance, Grandma. I gave you my word.’

‘Is there help coming?’ Carlyle asked.

‘Not unless Jen’s called in an air strike.’

‘Then why do you want us on the plane?’ Margaret asked. ‘The pilot’s dead.’

‘Ha! That’s what I said. But apparently transatlantic flights require two pilots.’

She took a moment, then said, ‘Gosh. Who’d have thought?’

‘You could have just shouted this, Ben,’ Carlyle said. ‘There was no need to expose yourself like that.’

‘I need your gun. The Makarov, not the derringer.’

He thought she’d argue. Tell him she’d seen active service too. That she could handle a weapon. But she didn’t. Instead, she handed over the Makarov without comment. Koenig knew she’d triaged their situation. He was expendable; she wasn’t. It was cold, but he admired her for it.

Koenig press-checked the Makarov. There was a round in the chamber. It was an unfamiliar weapon, so he’d use the SIG first. He tucked the Makarov into his waistband. Cowboy thing to do, but he had no choice.

He stood and walked away from the Jag.

Time to see how good these guys were.