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  Natasha flipped the safety catch of the Glock off, concealed it beneath her wrap, and set off after them. But the rapidly growing throng of humanity streaming towards the main entrance barred her way. Trying to push through it would be impossible. It was clear that she couldn’t go through the crowd surging towards her; she would have to go around it. Slipping her heels off, she made her way to the very edge of the lobby, squeezing herself tight against the wall and slowly, painfully edging her way around the bustling throng. By the time she made it to the other side of the lobby, though, her targets were long gone.

  She rushed into the corridor she had seen them heading for, following the illuminated, green emergency exit signs; there was nobody to be seen in the corridor. Casting aside her wrap, she bent down, grasping the hem of her dress and ripping it apart, clean up to her thigh. With the constraint of the slim skirt removed, she broke into a full sprint, the Glock in her right hand, ready for action. Natasha was extremely fit, and was now covering ground very quickly indeed. Still following the signs, she rounded a right-hand corner – and there she saw them. Mandelson was about twenty yards from the emergency exit and the other two perhaps ten yards behind him.

  She skidded to a halt, diving onto a doorway to ensure that she would not be seen. Fighting to control her ragged breathing, she peeped around the edge of the doorway, checking once again that the safety catch was off.

  ‘Professor Mandelson,’ called out the woman in the white dress.

  Mandelson spun round, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘I need you to give me your laptop.’

  ‘My laptop? No … you don’t understand … it’s very important.’

  ‘I believe it’s you who doesn’t understand.’ She took several paces towards him, closely followed by her partner. ‘You see, this isn’t a polite request.’

  ‘No,’ he said, clutching the laptop to his chest.

  She reached into her handbag. It was not the Gucci evening bag she had stolen from Natasha; this one was a little larger, all white, and devoid of any brand markings. She withdrew a tiny handgun. It looked like a double-barrelled Derringer: not an effective weapon where any significant distance was involved but capable of killing when used at close range. In any event, it was clearly sufficient to terrify the professor, whose eyes bulged wildly as he shook his head violently from side to side.

  ‘Now, then,’ she said, her voice low and threatening, ‘… the laptop.’ Their faces were now barely four or five feet apart as her partner stepped past her holding out his hands to receive the machine. She kept the miniature pistol trained firmly on the professor.

  ‘Please,’ pleaded Mandelson, ‘don’t shoot … I have two children who—’

  ‘Just give it to my friend here, and no-one will get hurt.’

  He handed over the machine; the man took it and quickly stepped back a few paces.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Very wise.’

  ‘B-but why …?’ stammered Professor Mandelson.

  ‘Oh, it’s a long story … one which I really don’t have time to share right now.’

  She stepped forward, levelling the pistol and shooting him in the heart, from a range of just two feet.

  He didn’t utter a sound as he clutched at his chest before slumping to the ground.

  Chapter 39

  ‘OK,’ said the assassin’s partner, holding out the laptop, ‘what shall we do with this?’

  ‘Put it on the ground,’ she said.

  He laid the machine down.

  ‘Step back.’ She pumped a shot through the part of the machine where the hard drive would be located.

  With both rounds now fired, the woman set about reloading the diminutive weapon.

  This was the perfect time to strike. Natasha stepped out of the doorway, firing a shot over their heads and calling out, ‘Hands on heads – NOW!’ The two of them froze, slowly raising their hands. ‘Now turn around … very slowly.’

  As they turned to face her, Natasha could detect no emotion in either of their faces – she was definitely dealing with a professional hit team here.

  ‘You,’ she said, jerking the gun towards the man, ‘take off your jacket … slowly.’ He did so; there was no shoulder holster. ‘Now turn right around and then back to face me again.’ There was no weapon tucked into his waistband. ‘Let me see your ankles.’ He reached down and hoisted up his trouser legs sufficiently to show that there was no ankle holster concealing a small firearm.

  She turned her attention to the woman. ‘Put the handbag on the floor.’ The woman bent down, slowly, and laid the bag down. ‘Now pull your dress right up to your waist … I want to see your thighs.’

  ‘Really, sweetie … I’d hardly have had you down as a girl who swings both ways.’

  A surge of anger rose within Natasha. She clenched the gun a little tighter and lowered it to point at the woman’s right leg. ‘Just do it, or I’ll take your fucking kneecap.’ She resolved to make this bitch suffer once she had retrieved the memory stick.

  The woman shrugged, reaching down to grasp the hem of her dress, lifting it until her stocking tops, garter belt, and tiny white panties were on full display. As a woman who worked very hard herself to maintain a perfect figure, Natasha could not help but be impressed by this woman’s slim, shapely legs and slender figure. They wouldn’t help her now, though.

  There was no sign of any weapon. ‘OK, you can drop the skirt now.’

  ‘You don’t want a longer look, darling?’ goaded the woman, striking a pose, with hips thrust to one side. Infuriating, but you had to admire her guts when staring death in the face.

  Natasha did not react – the bitch would pay for her insolence soon enough.

  ‘OK, which of you has the memory stick?’ said Natasha, pointing the gun at each of them in turn.

  ‘Neither of us,’ retorted the man. ‘We passed it to the third member of our team, and he’s already gone.’

  Natasha didn’t believe it for one moment. ‘Nice try, but not good enough.’ She raised the Glock, grasping it in both hands and aiming carefully before squeezing the trigger; the bullet grazed the man’s cheek before ripping through his left ear, evoking from him a blood-curdling scream. ‘Now, before I take the other one, are you going to tell me where it is?’ She emphasised the threat by moving the gun to point at his right ear.

  ‘No, don’t,’ he screamed, holding out both hands in a defensive gesture. ‘She has it!’

  Natasha smiled as she levelled the gun at the woman in white, who didn’t look anywhere near as arrogantly smug now. ‘So, where is it?’

  She stared back sullenly, but all the bravado had gone; now Natasha could see the cold glint of fear in her eyes.

  ‘OK,’ said Natasha, ‘you want to do this the hard way? That’s just fine by me. Now then … which knee would you like to lose first?’ She underlined her intent by lowering the gun and slowly playing it back and forth to cover both of the woman’s knees.

  That was enough to do it.

  ‘OK, back off … it’s here,’ she said, slowly lowering one hand to point at her own cleavage.

  ‘Show me.’

  No smartass comments this time. She reached down into her cleavage and withdrew the memory stick from a small compartment disguised as a front fastening of her deep-plunge bra. She held the tiny flash drive aloft, offering it to Natasha. Meanwhile, her partner was whimpering like a baby, his hand clamped to the mutilated spot where his ear had been.

  ‘Put it down there … next to the handbag.’ The woman knelt down and laid the memory stick on the floor. ‘Now step back … both of you.’

  As the two of them moved back a couple of paces, Natasha stepped forward, slowly bending down, while all the time keeping her eyes – and the gun – trained on her opponents.

  But there had to come a point where she momentarily looked down to pick up the memory stick, and that was the precise moment that the man had been waiting for. He ste
pped forward, with lightning speed, and launched a vicious, high kick which snapped the ulna bone in her forearm and sent the gun spinning from her hand.

  The pain was excruciating, and she was ill-prepared to counter his next move. He grabbed her good hand and spun her around, pinning both hands behind her back and pushing his knee, painfully, into the small of her back. Natasha struggled fiercely, but he was too strong, and the pain from her broken arm was rapidly sapping her strength.

  ‘Grab the gun and finish her off,’ he growled. ‘Just don’t fucking well shoot me in the process.’

  But the woman did not pick up the gun; instead she picked up the memory stick, slipping it into her handbag, which she then slung over her shoulder.

  ‘Get on with it!’ yelled the man. ‘This bitch is livelier than a fucking eel.’

  The woman reached into her bag and withdrew a small stiletto – Natasha’s stiletto. She held it up in front of Natasha’s eyes, with one finger resting lightly on the needle-sharp point while slowly twirling it with the other.

  ‘Shame to do this to such a pretty thing,’ she crooned, as she brought the tip of the weapon up under Natasha’s chin, slowly increasing the pressure she applied.

  Natasha felt the sharp point puncture the skin on her neck, but it was still the pain from her shattered arm which overwhelmed her senses. The woman’s eyes – just inches from Natasha’s – gleamed with a sadistic fervour, as she slowly drove the weapon deeper into Natasha’s neck before angling it upwards until it pointed almost vertically. Bit by bit, she began to force it upwards, alongside Natasha’s spinal column. Now the pain was utterly agonising.

  By the time the tip of the stiletto penetrated the base of Natasha’s brain, she had already lost consciousness.

  ***

  Stephen was sprinting along the corridor at full tilt. He had no idea who these two people struggling with Emma were – or now, even who Emma really was – but when he saw the big man holding her, at the mercy of the woman with the knife, he was consumed with a primeval desire to save her. His rational mind told him she was a cold-blooded murderer, but on some subconscious level, she was still his beautiful wife – the love of his life. He propelled himself forward with every ounce of strength he could muster.

  He was too late. As he sprinted forward, he saw Emma’s head slump forward as the other woman withdrew the weapon, releasing a copious flow of blood which streamed down Emma’s neck and the front of her dress.

  ‘Nooo!’ he screamed.

  At the sound of Stephen’s anguished cry, the man let go of Emma and allowed her lifeless body to fall to the ground. He turned to face Stephen, tensing in what looked like a well-practiced martial arts stance.

  Stephen launched himself forward, surprising himself at the ease with which he evaded the sharp, jabbing punch which his opponent aimed at his neck. Now, in the heat of combat, all the forgotten skills of his former trade came right back to him. He came around behind the man, encircling his neck in a head lock. He was about to perform the lethal wrench which would snap the man’s neck when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the woman in the white dress – now streaked with blood – advancing with the stiletto thrust forward. He swung around so as to place the man’s body between himself and the menacing tip of the weapon. The woman hesitated, feinting this way and that as she sought to find a way past her partner’s body. But Stephen matched her every move, using his captive as a human shield. The exertion of hauling the big man back and forth was taking its toll, though; the lactic acid build-up in Stephen’s arms was becoming almost unbearable, and his breath came in desperate, ragged gulps. But he kept hanging on. He had to: his life depended on it.

  Just when he felt he could last no longer, he detected a change in the woman’s facial expression: the intense gleam in her eyes abated and the determined creases in her forehead relaxed a little.

  ‘Sorry, Brett, but the mission comes first,’ she said, stepping back and slipping the weapon into her handbag.

  The man tried to cry out, but succeeded in producing only a strangled gurgling sound, as the woman turned and strode off towards the emergency exit.

  Wrong-footed by this unexpected turn of events, Stephen must have let his grip relax a little, for the man succeeded in delivering a crushing blow with his elbow to Stephen’s solar plexus. The wind was driven from him in an agonising rush and he doubled up in pain, dropping to the floor as his captive wriggled free.

  By the time Stephen recovered enough to look up, he found himself staring straight into the muzzle of the pistol which had been kicked aside in the struggle.

  ‘Now, you fucker,’ growled the man with the gun, his furious scowl rendered all the more menacing by the blood streaming from his ruined ear and down his cheek and neck, ‘you’re going to the same place as your pretty partner … but I’m gonna make it slow and painful.’

  Stephen’s brain went into overdrive as he sought a means – any means – of escape. It took but a second for him to realise there was none.

  ‘Think I’ll start with your knees … one at a time … then maybe a stomach shot … let you bleed out slow. Of course, I won’t have time to stay and watch – I have to go after my double-crossing partner, you see.’

  Stephen was still too winded to speak, and what would be the point, anyway? He looked into his tormenter’s eyes, with as much defiance as he could muster but, in truth, Stephen knew that this was the end.

  He stared straight into the man’s eyes, bracing himself for the excruciating pain which would result when the first bullet shattered his knee. As his executioner lowered the gun to point at Stephen’s left knee, a slow, humourless smile spread across the man’s face. Stephen tensed for the impact of the bullet. And then he saw the muzzle flash.

  The agonising pain which he had anticipated never came. The bullet tore into the marble floor tiles at least a foot wide of its target. How could he miss from that range? Looking up at the man’s face, Stephen saw that the malevolent smile had been replaced by an expression of startled surprise. His hand dropped to his side and the gun fell to the floor with a loud clatter. He stood there, unmoving, for what seemed like several seconds, that mask of astonishment fixed on his face. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor. Behind him stood Carla, holding Derek Schultz’s gun in a double-handed grip, the muzzle swaying unsteadily.

  Chapter 40

  Stephen and Carla had taken a room in the Lago Mar Hotel in Fort Lauderdale, around thirty miles up the Gulf coast from Miami Beach. Although the police had initially assumed the bomb blast at the Palm Grove Hotel was a terrorist attack, their investigations would surely soon reveal that a very different scenario had, in fact, unfolded that fateful evening. Stephen and Carla didn’t want to be in Miami when the police really started digging, particularly once Derek Schultz, the security chief, had been interviewed and would have provided detailed descriptions of the two of them.

  They sat opposite one another in their hotel room, either side of a glass-topped coffee table.

  ‘So what really did happen back there?’ mused Carla.

  ‘Hard to say for sure,’ said Stephen, his mood sombre, ‘but one thing’s for sure: that man and woman were a professional assassination team, just like Emma and I were. Just look at the facts.’ Stephen laid the forefinger of his right hand on the little finger of his left. ‘First off, Emma – I don’t know what else to call her – was a trained killer. Only other trained killers would be able to take her out like that.’

  ‘Secondly’ – he counted out another finger – ‘that woman was prepared to leave her partner to his probable death for the sake of what she called “the mission”.’

  ‘And finally,’ – he counted out a third finger – ‘they shot Professor Mandelson.’

  Carla nodded, thoughtfully. ‘So, you think it was a rival assassination team, also aiming to steal Professor Mandelson’s research and make sure that it never became available to the world at large.’

  ‘I can’t think of
any other explanation,’ replied Stephen, ‘… and what’s more, I think they have succeeded. The fact that they destroyed Mandelson’s laptop means it’s almost certain that they had a copy of his work. I’d lay bets that woman walked off with it.’

  ‘But who else would want to suppress Professor Mandelson’s discovery?’

  Stephen shrugged. ‘Who knows … maybe a pharmaceutical company which realised its own, relatively ineffective, drug addiction treatments would be rendered obsolete?’

  Carla’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘A medical drugs company? But surely no reputable company would stoop to such depths?’

  Would they? Stephen really didn’t know how far the bosses of such companies would go to protect a multi-billion-dollar industry.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe it was some other criminal network … perhaps a rival drug cartel, anxious to protect its own illegal trade.’

  ‘Seems more likely,’ opined Carla.

  Suddenly, a wave of guilt and self-loathing swept over Stephen. ‘Oh Christ, Carla, this is all my fault. If Emma and I hadn’t taken on this Godforsaken mission in the first place, Doctor Holt and your friend, Sylvia, would still be alive today.’ He hung his head in despair. ‘And maybe Professor Mandelson would still be alive too. Perhaps his breakthrough would have been released to the world, saving thousands of lives.’ He looked up at Carla, gazing intently into her dark brown eyes. ‘And now? It’s all just totally … fucked.’ He paused for a moment, trying to control the tears which threatened to burst forth. ‘Just what kind of monster am I, Carla?’

  She rose from her chair, skirting around the coffee table to sit beside him, encircling his neck with her arms and pulling him to her. After days spent in the same, unwashed clothes, they had both now enjoyed the luxury of a hot shower and some new clothes. She smelt good, the fragrance of shampoo still lingering in her hair, blending with her own feminine scent. In spite of his dark, morose mood, Stephen felt the stirrings of sexual desire in his loins.