A Silent Death

by Peter May

  She knows that they have come to Gibraltar. Or, at least, that’s what he has told her, so now she assumes they are somewhere high up on the Rock. That great monolithic limestone promontory that so characterized the southern skyline of her childhood. She can picture it. It is exhilarating. And were she not so afraid, she would feel almost exultant to be standing here on the roof of the world.

  Cleland’s hand has never left her, fingers firmly wrapped around her upper arm. She is not quite sure how, but she feels another presence, as if they are not alone. But with all her senses so assailed by the wind, she cannot be certain. Neither can she escape the feeling that if he let go of her, she would blow away. Fly off into the void, an escape to some gentler place.

  ‘Are we on the Rock?’ she asks, raising her voice because she knows that otherwise the wind will drown it. She holds out a hand for his response. He takes it. A single tap for yes, two for no, the code that has somehow evolved in the last twenty-four hours. He taps once.

  ‘Describe it for me.’ She wants to picture it in her mind, for him to paint that picture with words traced on her palm. But she can feel his hesitation. ‘Please.’

  – We’re close to the top. 400 metres up. Dawn. Clear sky. A wall to our right, then a sheer drop to the sea. An old watchtower. Below and left, trees hide the road up from the town. In the distance . . .

  But he breaks off now, and she feels his sudden tension.

  With dread in her heart she asks, ‘Is she here?’

  – She’s coming.

  ‘Don’t harm her, please. Kill me instead.’

  He does not respond and she breathes deeply, attempting to calm the inner turmoil. She tries to complete the picture he did not finish. In the distance she imagines the lights of Algeciras. Her parents took her there once as a child, when they went to visit the windblown beaches of the south coast. She knows that a short way across the water, the Dark Continent lies brooding in mystery. She has seen the distant Atlas Mountains. She has breathed the smell of Africa in the heat of the wind.

  She says, ‘I saw you last night.’

  And the tightening of his fingers on her arm signals his surprise. Then his touch on her palm.

  – How?

  ‘In a dream.’

  – You can see in your dreams?

  ‘And hear. Just as if I was a normal person. Except that I can also fly. Last night I flew with you.’ She is lost for a moment in thought. ‘You cannot begin to know how it feels to wake up and remember that you are deaf and blind, to have your sight and hearing taken away from you every single day of your life. When I am asleep I never want to wake again.’ She smiles, a tiny sad ironic smile. ‘Maybe this is my dream. Or my nightmare. Maybe I will wake up and see you again and not feel sad.’

  – What did I look like?

  ‘Hard to describe. Kind, I would say. Yes. Kind.’

  But she has lost his attention. She feels his whole body stiffening next to her, and she knows that Cristina has come to die for her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Mackenzie had little head for heights at the best of times. And this was not the best of times. As the cable car winched higher into the dawn, the wind sent it swinging wildly. He could barely bring himself to look at the distant horizon as it tilted one way then the other.

  The far mountains were fully lit now, bathed in early morning sunlight, although he and Greene were still in the shadow of the Rock, and it seemed almost impenetrably dark here. A glance at the other man told Mackenzie that Greene was no happier with this perilous ascent than he. Both men clung to the bars set along the windows, pressing themselves against the walls, listening to the whine and clatter of the cables, willing the car up to the summit.

  When finally it slipped into the shelter of its concrete dock, and the door slid open, they tumbled out with shaking legs on to the deck, and a new kind of fear displaced the old.

  ‘Which way?’ Mackenzie said.

  Greene pointed south. ‘You can just see the Skywalk set into the dip between the peaks.’ Mackenzie followed his finger and saw low sunlight glinting off the glass walls of the distant observation platform. Then, some way above it, a light flashing on the dark side of the Rock.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘No idea. We need to get down on to the road.’

  They scrambled down steps and through bushes to jump finally on to the single-track road that dipped along the crest of the summit. In the shadow of the rock again, Mackenzie saw the silhouette of a figure leaping from the wall above them. Greene spun around, drawing his weapon from a shoulder holster to level it at their attacker.

  ‘Stop!’ Mackenzie shouted, and Greene saw just in time that it was an ape. An adult male. Probably looking for food. Mackenzie’s bellow in the wind sent it scampering, and a jumpy DS Greene raised his gun, two-handed, to point at the sky before quickly reholstering.

  The two men set off at a run down the road, sending long shadows off to the west in the strangely cold yellow light. They passed a white Mercedes pulled into the side of the road where apes clustered around a semi-covered area set into the rock beneath a crumbling stone arch. A concrete base was littered with orange peel.

  ‘The remnants of last night’s meal,’ Greene said. ‘They’ll be up to feed them again soon.’

  The usually friendly Barbary macaques hung from wooden beams or balanced precariously on railings, gazing at them with dark, apprehensive, simian eyes. Perhaps they, too, sensed the fear that blew across the summit on this cold dawn.

  It took several more breathless minutes to reach the platform, only to discover that there was no one there. Mackenzie stepped out on to the glass deck and felt his insides fall away as he looked down. He retreated quickly to the safety of the stairs, and shaded his eyes against the sky to look up towards the southern peak that loomed over them. ‘That’s where the light came from. How do we get up there?’

  ‘Steps going up from the foot of the platform,’ Greene said, and he clambered back down to the stairs. Mackenzie went after him two at a time.

  *

  Cleland canted his head to one side and looked curiously at the slight figure of Cristina as she stepped out on to the tiny stone platform, breathless from the steepness of the climb. Her anorak seemed to inflate in the wind, and although her hair was tied back, strands of it had come free to dance around her head. He almost wondered how he had managed to harbour such hatred for someone so insignificant.

  Cristina glanced around, almost as if looking for some means of escape. The ruins of an old guardhouse stood off to her right. On her left, a low wall ran from a small round watchtower to the rocks and spiky maquis plants bordering the remaining steps to peak. The Rock remained dark on the west side, while sunlight sprayed early colour across the east face and sent diamonds coruscating away across the Mediterranean towards Africa. The wind was fierce and she had to plant her feet to avoid being toppled by it. It lent her a look of defiance that only served to enrage Cleland.

  Somehow Ana sensed her presence and called out her name, taking a step towards her. But Cleland held her arm firmly, a pistol in his free hand pressed against her temple.

  ‘Don’t hurt her, please,’ Cristina begged him.

  Cleland’s smile was rueful. ‘It’s not my intention. It was. But not any more. She’s a remarkable lady, your aunt. When this is all over I’m going to take her with me. I will do whatever it takes to restore her sight and her hearing.’

  Cristina regarded him with puzzled astonishment. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘I can do anything I like.’

  ‘Her condition is genetic. There is no cure. There can be no cure.’

  ‘It’s amazing what money can buy. And I have money to burn, Cristina. And no one else to spend it on since you killed my Angela.’

  ‘I didn’t!’

  But he wasn’t listening. ‘And my child.’

  Cristina frowned.

  ‘You didn’t know she was pregnant, did you? No one did. The test had o
nly confirmed it two days earlier. You killed them both.’

  Cristina shook her head vigorously. ‘No! You did.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not going to argue with you. I am assuming you have a weapon. I’d advise you to take it out very carefully and lay it on the ground.’

  ‘I’m not armed.’

  There was scorn in Cleland’s laughter. ‘Of course you aren’t.’ But the smile wiped itself from his face in an instant, to be replaced by a look so ugly that Cristina felt almost violated by it. ‘Put it on the ground or I’ll kill her.’ The bellow of his voice resounded around this tiny space, and he pressed the barrel of his gun into Ana’s temple.

  Cristina shook her head helplessly. ‘I swear. I don’t have a gun. Look . . .’ And carefully she unzipped her anorak to hold it open. She wore only a T-shirt beneath it, and felt cold air filling it and chilling her skin.

  It seemed to take Cleland several moments to absorb the fact that this woman had come, unarmed, to plead for the life of her aunt. In the full knowledge that Cleland would kill her. He almost admired her for it.

  He swung the gun away from Ana’s head and pointed it at arm’s length towards Cristina. She closed her eyes. ‘I have a young son,’ she said.

  ‘As I too might have had.’

  And she knew that there would be no reasoning with this madman. He would kill her, and orphan her son. And God only knew what would become of Ana.

  ‘Don’t fucking move, Cleland!’

  The voice was hard and full of menace, and came from behind. Cristina glanced over her shoulder to see Mackenzie and another man standing at the top of the steps, both of them breathing hard. The other man pointed a pistol directly at Cleland.

  Cleland immediately returned his gun to push it hard against the side of Ana’s head. His confidence was dented, but he still managed the hint of a smile. ‘Well, well, Mr Mackenzie. It seems I’m going to have to kill you twice. I was so sure I had sent that bullet winging its way straight to your black Glasgow heart.’

  Mackenzie struggled to contain his anger. ‘You did. It was my iPhone that saved me.’

  Cleland seemed vindicated by this. His aim had not been errant after all. ‘Apple has a lot to answer for, then.’

  ‘Lower your weapon,’ Greene shouted at him. ‘If you pull that trigger you’re a dead man.’

  A single gunshot pierced the pitch of the wind, and Greene looked down in surprise at the hole in his chest, his failing heart fighting immediately to pump blood into the dawn. He fell forward on his face, then toppled on to his side, and Mackenzie saw blood pooling around him on the stone flags. Less than an hour ago, as Mackenzie placed his call requesting help from the Gibraltar police, he had probably still been in bed.

  Mackenzie looked up as a familiar figure stepped from the shadows of the ruined guardhouse.

  ‘Jefe!’

  It took Cristina’s exclamation of astonishment to clear the fog of confusion and disbelief from Mackenzie’s mind, and he felt all hope slip away. He was bereft, debilitated by his own sense of failure. His father had ignored his superiors and failed. Mackenzie had put faith in his, and failed too. He was going to die. And so was Cristina, and Ana. And he had been unable to prevent any of it.

  He closed his eyes and pictured the Jefe’s melancholy as he sipped his Glenfiddich that night at the finca. A dead wife, a dead son. My only future here is looking back, he’d said. Loss stealing reason and purpose.

  He opened them again to stare at the somehow diminished figure of the chief of police. The gun still in his hand, regret still on his face. And everything fell into place. ‘Paco was your man,’ he said. ‘Obviously I just missed seeing you together at the golf club that day.’

  The Jefe shrugged acknowledgement.

  ‘That’s how Cleland managed to live here undetected all this time.’

  Cleland said, ‘It helps to have friends at court.’

  Cristina was bewildered. ‘I don’t understand. What are you talking about?’

  But Mackenzie kept his eyes on the Jefe. ‘Why in the name of God did you have to kill Antonio?’

  Cristina cast Mackenzie a look of disbelief, then turned her gaze on her boss. The Jefe seemed embarrassed.

  He said, ‘He overheard me and Paco having a row in the locker room. Paco was still pissed off at Cleland shooting him in the leg. And it hadn’t been any part of the deal, he said, for Cleland to kill all those Guardia.’ He threw a venomous glance towards Cleland. ‘And he was right.’ He sighed. ‘Antonio was incandescent. Said he was going to tell Cristina. Paco was sure he could talk him out of it. But I knew we couldn’t take the risk.’

  ‘You killed him!’ Anger and hurt and disbelief all conveying themselves in Cristina’s three words. She made a lunge for him, but Mackenzie grabbed her arm to hold her back.

  The Jefe couldn’t meet her eye. ‘Not directly.’ Then he looked from one to the other, as if soliciting understanding. ‘I never ever thought it would come to this. But . . . you know . . . when things go wrong you have to go where they take you. So much that can’t be undone.’

  ‘And where are these things that can’t be undone going to take you now?’ Mackenzie’s voice was laden with sarcasm.

  The Jefe inclined his head a touch. ‘To a yacht in the harbour down there, señor. Enough cash stashed aboard it to make sure I never have to worry about money ever again. A new identity. A new life. And no need to look over my shoulder.’

  ‘Well, anyway, that was the plan.’ Cleland spoke for the first time in a while. He had been listening with interest. And now he swung his pistol away from Ana’s head and shot the Jefe in the face. The force of the bullet jerked the chief’s head back, and he spun away across the stone flags, dead before he hit them. A pale smile lit Cleland’s face. ‘Loose ends,’ he said. ‘Hate them.’ And he brought his weapon around to point towards Cristina and Mackenzie. ‘Who’s first?’

  *

  Ana has felt both shots. Even in this wind, the firing of a gun deforms the air. A physical sensation. An acrid whiff of propellant caught in a gust. She is too late to save Cristina, and a large part of her dies with the realization. She cannot explain the second shot, but has the scent of death in her nostrils, can almost smell the blood.

  And now she feels Cleland’s grip on her arm relaxing. She has an extraordinary sense of them both, up here in the sky, battered by the wind, drenched by early morning sunlight. A great void beneath them.

  His descriptions traced on her palm have brought images to mind from long-ago school days. Photographs of the Rock in history books, Spanish outrage at British theft. The long ridge that sweeps between peaks, and the sheer fall to the sea below.

  A sense of freedom from the chains of her disability infuses her whole being. She is an angel. As in her dreams, she can fly. But it is the thought of poor Sergio, and her anger at the death of Cristina, that fuels the ferocity with which she throws herself at Cleland. She feels her face strike the bone of his shoulder. He staggers, taken by surprise, the full weight of her body and her fury driving him towards the void. His panic, arms flailing, as they join in unbalanced union to tip into the abyss.

  And now they are flying. Together. She reaches blindly into space to find his hand, holding it in hers as they seem to soar into the morning. It feels wonderful. Transcending all the years of darkness. Winging their way to eternity, and a final reckoning with her maker.

  *

  Cristina and Mackenzie watched frozen in horror as the unexpected weight of Ana’s lunge caused Cleland to stagger sideways, his leg catching on the low stone wall to propel them together over the edge.

  At the last moment, Mackenzie dived to try and catch her. But his fingers closed only around fresh air. And all he could do was watch as Cleland and Ana fell together, hand in hand, towards the tiny strip of beach below. She fell in silence, the same silence with which she had lived for all these years. His scream echoed into the early light, carried off by the wind from Africa.

  And
Mackenzie felt as bereft as his father must have done before him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The sounds of a thousand passengers milling in the departure hall rose high into the void, lost in a fog of brilliant sunshine flooding in through tall windows.

  Mackenzie had no need to check a bag. The clothes he had bought, laundered by the Totana, fitted easily into the overnight bag he had brought with him. It seemed like an eternity since he had left Glasgow on that wet Tuesday morning after his aunt’s funeral. And yet it was only a few days. How his life had changed in that short time.

  Cristina walked with him to security. Neither of them was in any hurry.

  They had shared the ordeal, singly and together, of a remorseless debrief. Forty-eight hours of it. And the emotional hits just kept on coming. Nuri’s discovery that Paco was dead. His betrayal. And his complicity in the death of Antonio. How she and Cristina would ever get over that, Mackenzie could not begin to imagine.

  At least Lucas still had his mother. It was the sole consolation.

  The bodies of Cleland and Ana had been recovered from a grassy slope just above the narrow road that followed the contour of the coast below the Rock. Neither recognizable after the fall.

  Ana had been buried the following day.

  Delgado, Rafa, Vasquez and others had been arrested, and nearly two tons of cocaine recovered, along with almost forty million euros. The Spanish and Gibraltarian authorities would doubtless fight over custody of both for the foreseeable future.

  Mackenzie couldn’t have cared less.

  They reached the queue for the security gates and stood awkwardly at the moment of parting, not sure how to accomplish it without embarrassment.

  ‘What will you do?’ he said.

  She shrugged. ‘What all survivors do, I guess. Carry on, and wonder why I’m the only one left standing.’

  ‘Lucas needs you.’

  ‘I know. That’s all that keeps me going.’ She paused. ‘And you?’