Greed

by Chris Ryan

  Alison rushed towards him.

  'Do it!'

  As the words spat out of her mouth a shot rang out, the noise of the bullet leaving the barrel echoing off the tree trunks all around them. Instinctively, Matt threw himself into the mud, shielding his face with his hands. He waited, counted to three, then realised the bullet had not been aimed at him. He looked up. Five yards ahead of him, Ivan was lying face-down in the dirt, his body crumpled up in agony. The bullet from Perky's gun had impacted just over his left ear, splitting open a wound on the side of his face. Blood was pouring out of him.

  You fool. I told you not to trust her.

  Matt reached out to grab the trigger device. It was four feet away, lying next to Ivan's fallen body. Alison was six feet to his right. His hand shot through the mud, his fingers stretching to collect the tiny bundle of plastic and wire. Only one thought was racing through his mind: to get to the trigger and to blow the Semtex. Take them all to hell.

  Right now, that's the only place I feel like going.

  His hand fell five inches short of the trigger, stopping in the pool of blood that was seeping from Ivan's head. He could see Alison moving swiftly towards him. Kicking with his legs, Matt thrust himself quickly forward. Another two inches . . .

  That's all I need to destroy her.

  He smashed his hand down towards the trigger. In the corner of his eye he could see the pale plastic sole of Alison's boot swinging delicately through the air. It caught his index finger, twisting it backwards, sending a sharp jab of pain down his arm. Matt flinched. Alison stamped hard, her boot forcing down the back of Matt's hand. His fist was pressed down into the dirt.

  Looking down at him, her expression calm, Alison twisted her heel against the bones in Matt's hand.

  He flinched as she bent down and picked up the trigger. She held it in her hand like a rare jewel, examining it with exaggerated care. 'Now, what was it you were saying, Matt?' she said, glancing down at where he lay in the mud. 'Something about how you thought Ivan should just finish me off?'

  'Get on with it then,' said Matt, looking up towards Alison. 'You're a busy woman.'

  At his side, Pinky jabbed a pistol into his chest. A snub-nosed German-made Walther P22 – the gun was instantly recognisable from the insignia stamped on the tip of its matt black barrel. Five yards behind him, Perky was standing with another Walther, this one aimed at Matt's head.

  'I want to know where the money is,' said Alison.

  Matt recognised the look on her face. A mixture of desire, passion and, yes, contempt – he had last seen it when they were in bed together in Bideford. He had failed to recognise it then, but he could see it clearly now. 'Get lost,' he spat.

  'Tell me where the money is, or we shoot you right now,' she said.

  'Stop threatening me,' said Matt, steadying his voice. 'I know you'll kill me anyway, whatever I do or say. We're all played out, Alison.'

  She twisted her ankle again, grinding the sole of her boot into Matt's hand. The pain jolted through his arm and down into his spine. He took a deep breath, aware that he could endure whatever pain she might inflict on him in the next few minutes.

  I have survived much worse in the past, and in a jew minutes I shall be dead. This will all be over soon.

  Matt attempted a smile, aware that with the pain shooting down his arm it probably came out more as a twisted grimace. 'You never give up, do you?'

  He could see Alison raising her right foot, holding it momentarily in the air, then stamping it down hard on his hand.

  'Go fuck yourself,' he spat. 'I'm not telling you anything.'

  'This is useless,' said Pinky, jabbing the gun harder into Matt's chest. 'I know these Regiment boys. It takes a long time to break them under torture. We'd need electricity, tongs, wires – the works.'

  Alison nodded, glancing down at Matt. 'You hold him, I'll retrieve the money,' she said. 'It's got to be around here somewhere. Once we've found it, we'll finish him off.' She glanced downwards, meeting Matt's eyes. 'Anyway, it'll be useful to have a couple of holes in the ground. These two will be needing them.'

  Escape, thought Matt – the word rattled through his brain. It was another lesson he had learned in the Regiment – a soldier who is still alive is a soldier who still has a chance of survival.

  He watched as Alison paced about the clearing in the wood. She'd picked up a small spade from the bag Perky was guarding, and her eyes were rooted to the ground, examining it the way a doctor examines a patient, searching for any scratches or wounds in the surface. She knelt, picked up a piece of wet earth, and tossed it aside. She walked on a few more yards, stopping again, digging her fingers into the mud, turning it over.

  Not there, thought Matt. You're not even warm.

  The rain had picked up force now, and was spitting down into Matt's face. He could feel the water clinging to his hair and getting inside his clothes, dampening his whole body. The blood was still seeping from Ivan's head, the wound not yet staunched, and it was mixing with the rain, flowing away from his body. Matt could see some of it starting to seep into his jeans, staining them from blue to crimson.

  'I'm going to enjoy the next few minutes,' said Pinky, grinning down into Matt's face. 'I always thought you were a difficult bastard.'

  Matt could see Alison changing direction. She was walking towards one of the big oaks – not the biggest tree surrounding the clearing, but still a mammoth towering a hundred feet above them. She paused, examining the ground. There was a pile of leaves. Some were oak leaves, others were ash, all mixed together. The look on her face told Matt that she had seen something. If the ash leaves had fallen naturally they wouldn't be here; they would be a dozen yards away, at least. They were here only because someone had moved them. To hide something.

  She's cracked it, thought Matt.

  I can start reciting those psalms for myself.

  Alison started scratching away at the pile, pushing the leaves aside roughly. She threw her hand into the mud. Matt could see her leaning over, then saw the spade chucking out piles of mud.

  'It's here!' she shouted, her voice carried on the wind. 'I've found it!'

  Another shot shattered the peace of the clearing, a single bullet cutting through the air.

  'Don't!' shouted Alison from across the wood. 'I want to fire the bullet that kills him.'

  Blood smeared across Pinky's face. Saliva drooled from his lips. His eyes bulged from his skull, his knees wobbled, and for a few brief seconds he tried to regain his balance. Then he fell forwards, his body crashing into Matt's chest. The wind was knocked out of him and it took half a second for him to recover his breath and to open his eyes to see what had happened. Pinky was lying flat across him, blood jetting from the back of his head like water from a tap. A hole, about the size of a penny coin, had been opened up – and it looked as if the bullet had travelled right through his brain, emerging just below his left eye, blowing open a square inch of his cheek.

  Matt's first thought was a strange one: Whoever the hell fired that was a heck of a fine shot.

  Using his forearms and summoning all his strength, Matt heaved Pinky's body directly on top of him. In the next few minutes, if he was any judge, there was going to be a lot more shooting. Pinky wasn't the best raw material for a shield: but right now, he was all Matt had available, and he would have to do.

  The body was warm and sticky on top of him, a few final breaths still spluttering from his mouth as the last remnants of life ebbed away from him. The blood poured from his wound on to Matt, running over his neck. Matt closed his mouth tightly shut to make sure he didn't swallow any. There was some resistance in Pinky's arms, but the damage done to his brain stopped him from co-ordinating his movements.

  Matt swivelled his eyes beneath Pinky's body. Five yards ahead of him he could see that Perky had thrown himself behind a tree, taking cover from the gunfire. His head and the barrel of his gun were just peeking out from behind the trunk, the pistol pointed in Matt's direction.
/>   What the hell is going on?

  Matt looked up. Alison had dropped two of the yellow canvas bags, and was running towards where Perky was stationed behind a tree. 'What the hell happened?' she shouted.

  'How in the name of Christ should I know?' Matt heard Perky snap, his voice raw and ragged.

  'Finish Browning now!' Alison shouted. 'Finish him!'

  Matt could just see Perky, twenty yards away, holding the pistol in two hands, steadying himself and squinting to take aim. He rolled backwards, splashing into the blood and the mud. Using all his strength he held Pinky tightly to his body, making sure he covered every inch.

  Two shots rang out. Perky stepped back with the gun's recoil. Pinky's body jumped as the first bullet slammed into his torso, and as the second sliced through his right leg.

  If he wasn't dead already, he is now.

  The clearing fell silent, and for a moment all Matt could do was smell the smoke of the bullets and feel the rain washing against his face. His hand inched forward, picking up the Walther that had fallen from Pinky's hand. Matt held it tightly checking the magazine. There were six bullets still inside. If he needed to, he could shoot both Alison and Perky three times.

  He peered up carefully. From the shadows playing on the ground he could tell that both Perky and Alison were still stationed behind the tree, about twenty-five yards from where he was lying. They were whispering to each other, but the rain made it impossible to hear a single word. He glanced behind him. Thirty yards back there was a ridge in the ground, where the woods hit the fields. It was from somewhere behind there that the shot that had taken Pinky down had come from.

  With Pinky's body as a shield, he started inching backwards toward the ridge. Progress was painfully slow. He had to shuffle an inch at a time, mainly using the strength of his stomach muscles, all the time dragging the corpse.

  But if I can get behind that ridge, my chances of survival are going to dramatically improve.

  Another bullet slammed into Pinky's body, making it jerk. Then another one. Matt buried himself tighter into the mud, the corpse above him. He could see both Alison and Perky leaning out from the tree, firing into him. It was impossible to raise his own gun to get a clear shot back at them without exposing himself to murderous fire.

  Nothing to do but dig, shuffle and pray.

  Two more shots rang out, then two more. This volley of fire came from behind the ridge. Splinters of bark split away from the trunk of the oak that hid Alison and Perky, and they disappeared behind it.

  They're giving me covering fire, thought Matt. Whoever they are, they are good men.

  He inched further backwards, straining every muscle to move another yard towards the ridge. I've got to get back there, he realised. Alison's going to be calling up reinforcements on her mobile. Another twenty minutes and we'll have a battalion of marines descending on us.

  He heard another shot and a bullet flew past him, hitting the mud a couple of feet from where he was lying. A different direction tins time – Perky had moved, and was hiding behind a tree ten yards to his right.

  He's going to get behind me, Matt realised. Then he's got a clean shot, straight into my back. If I don't move quickly, I'm buggered.

  'Give me cover!' he roared.

  He stood up, his arm gripped tightly around Perky's chest. The corpse was heavy, at least two hundred pounds, and the lead that was filling up inside it was making it bulkier still. Matt stumbled backwards, struggling to hold his balance. From behind the ridge, a volley of shots rang out. Matt held his pistol in his right hand, firing four shots towards both Perky and Alison. The sound of gunfire filled the air, the noise of each shot bouncing off the trees, the echoes giving the impression of a hundred different guns being fired at the same time.

  Matt waited until he had stumbled back to within five yards of the ridge. Then he dropped Pinky. He turned and ran, the adrenaline pumping furiously into his heart as his legs drove him forwards. Throwing himself into the air, Matt hurled himself at the ridge. His shoulder caught the edge of the mud, knocking him sideways. With a crash he fell into a pile of leaves and roots, his head smashing into the wood, which tore a cut down the side of his face.

  'Remember Miss Christina?' said Damien. 'That French bird who used to take ballet class back at our nursery school? She always said you had rubbish coordination. I reckon she was right.'

  Damien. He was wearing a black leather trenchcoat, the collar turned up around his neck, and he was holding a Czech-made VZ-52 rifle: a particularly rare but high-prized armament he had taken a liking to after being introduced to it by eastern European gangsters in London.

  Next to him, Gill was holding a rifle. She was wearing a blue waxed jacket, high leather boots, and the rain had washed through her hair and was dripping over her face. She looked magnificent.

  'You're meant to be dead,' said Matt.

  'Out of fashion, maybe, mate. But not dead,' said Damien.

  'And still getting you out of scrapes,' said Gill.

  A volley of bullets flew past the ridge, and they all ducked. 'Our money's just down there,' said Matt.

  He paused, peering above the line of earth. The rain was hitting him in the eyes, blown into his face by the wind, making it difficult to see anything. Alison was behind the same oak tree, Perky had moved to another one five yards away. There was a good chance that reinforcements were about to move in on them anytime. Fortune, Matt, decided, was about to favour the brave. This was a moment for maximum speed, maximum aggression.

  'You know how to use that thing?' he said, looking towards Gill.

  'Try me,' she replied.

  Matt grinned. 'OK,' he said. 'Just give us plenty of covering fire. Damien, you take Alison, I'll deal with Perky. Gill, you pump as much ammunition as you can into the air. It doesn't matter if you hit them, it's just to keep them pinned back.'

  His heart was beating furiously and the blood was pumping through his veins. He peered over the ridge. Their position had not changed.

  He felt a momentary twinge of fear. My friend has just come back to me, he thought. So has my fiancee. And now I'm about to risk losing them again.

  'Go!' he roared to both of them, bellowing above the wind and the rain.

  Gill took up position behind the ridge. The rifle was gripped tight to her shoulder, a fresh magazine slotted into place, and five spare cartridges lay at her side. She pointed the weapon in the direction of Alison's tree and started firing. Then she turned it towards Perky, loosening off another round of bullets.

  Matt tightened his grip on the Walther. There were just two rounds left in the magazine, and he knew he would have to make them count. It was maybe twenty-five yards to where Perky was standing. There was some cover from the trees, but he would have to move about ten yards across open ground.

  An armed moving target is always difficult to hit.

  Let's hope he's not a good shot.

  Matt started to run. His feet were beating against the ground as he threw himself across the open space. The sound of gunfire rattled through his ears, but through the rain he couldn't tell where it was coming from. Gill was firing off round after round, so were Alison and Damien. Matt pushed forwards, keeping his head bowed: if a bullet did strike, it would be better to keep it away from the head or the chest where it would do most damage. He could see Perky loosening off a round, swerved, and managed to survive. He pressed forward five yards. The man was running now, switching from one tree to another. Matt hurled himself behind a tree trunk ten yards in front of him. A piece of bark splintering off the tree hit him in the face just below the eye, colliding with the wound that had already opened up on his face. The pain stung him hard, blurring his vision.