The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  The doorbell rang. He tried to untangle her arms from around his waist but she tightened her grip and wouldn’t let him go. The doorbell rang again. ‘I have to get it,’ said Cramer. Su-ming reluctantly released him and Cramer went back to the sitting room to answer the door.

  It was the Colonel. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  Cramer nodded. ‘How’s Allan?’

  ‘The paramedics said he’ll be okay. Allan keeps insisting that it’s just a flesh wound, but he’d say that if his arm had been blown off. You know what he’s like.’

  ‘Yeah. He saved my life.’

  ‘He did his job. You both did, Joker. You should be proud of yourself.’

  ‘I fucked up,’ said Cramer. ‘I fucked up big time.’

  ‘We got the guy, and that’s what counts.’

  ‘I froze. I pushed Su-ming out of the way, then I froze. I did everything wrong.’

  The Colonel tapped his walking stick on the wooden floor. ‘Stop playing the martyr, will you? We took out a professional killer, the best in the business. And we did it with the minimum of casualties. No one’s blaming you, Joker. No one. How is Su-ming?’

  ‘She’s in shock,’ Cramer answered.

  ‘The doctor’s on his way. He’ll give her something.’

  Cramer nodded, but he wasn’t convinced that it was tablets that Su-ming needed. ‘What about Martin?’ he asked.

  The Colonel grinned. ‘Just a bump on the head. He was in the boot of the Mercedes, bound and gagged. He’s embarrassed more than anything.’

  ‘He’s lucky they didn’t kill him.’

  ‘There was no need. Vander Mayer was the target, and Martin wasn’t a threat. Allan was.’

  Cramer rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. He was sweating. ‘That’s what I can’t figure out,’ he said. ‘Why did he hesitate?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked the Colonel.

  ‘He had the drop on me, Colonel. He had me bang to rights. But he waited.’

  ‘It was bedlam, Joker. He was in the middle of a firefight. Richards was there, Allan had his gun out, it wasn’t going the way he’d planned.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s always been such a pro in the past. Nothing’s fazed him before.’

  ‘No one had set him up before.’ The Colonel put a reassuring hand on Cramer’s shoulder. ‘You’re worrying too much.’

  ‘Post-traumatic stress syndrome?’ said Cramer, sarcastically. ‘I don’t think so. Been there, done that. This is different. Something’s not right. He was trying to say something. Before he pulled the trigger, he wanted to tell me something.’

  The Colonel squeezed Cramer’s shoulder. ‘Forget it. You’re worrying about nothing. You did a good job, Joker. A hell of a job.’

  ‘Thanks, Colonel.’ Cramer shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘I’m winding down the operation here. We’ll run the killer’s prints through the Fingerprint Bureau and we should have an ID by tonight.’

  ‘I meant, what happens to me?’

  There was an uncomfortable silence as the Colonel considered Cramer’s question. ‘What do you want to do?’ asked the Colonel eventually.

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

  ‘Why don’t you sleep on it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s not as if I have many options, is it?’

  ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ the Colonel repeated firmly. ‘Okay?’

  Cramer nodded. He showed the Colonel out and then went back to the study. Su-ming didn’t appear to have moved. He put his arms around her. She’d stopped trembling, now she was as stiff as a tailor’s dummy. They stood together in silence, looking out of the window.

  It was Su-ming who broke away first. ‘I have to call Mr Vander Mayer,’ she said.

  ‘Sure. He’ll be glad to hear that he’s in the clear.’

  Su-ming picked up the phone and looked at Cramer. The message in her eyes was obvious. She wanted to make the call in private.

  Cramer shrugged and walked disconsolately back to the sitting room. He stared out of the window, deep in thought. A few minutes later she reappeared carrying a mobile telephone. ‘He wants to speak with you,’ she said, holding it out.

  There was static on the line and a short satellite delay. ‘Mike? Congratulations. First class.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Cramer. He didn’t think that two men in hospital and a dead SAS trooper was something to be congratulated on. And he was still embarrassed about his own performance, or lack of it.

  ‘Mike, listen. Remember the conversation we had before? About the Russian consignment?’

  ‘Yes. I remember.’

  ‘Well I want you to stay with it until I get there.’

  ‘It’s in your safe,’ said Cramer. ‘It’s not going anywhere.’

  ‘I’d feel a lot happier if you’d keep an eye on it,’ said Vander Mayer. ‘The fee we spoke of, it’s still available. A quarter of a million dollars.’

  Cramer looked at Su-ming. She was pacing up and down in front of the window. ‘Where are you now?’ he asked.

  ‘I can be there in eight hours. Nine, max.’

  Cramer nodded slowly. ‘Okay. I’ll be here.’

  ‘Great, Mike. Great. Now put Su-ming back on will you?’

  Cramer handed the phone back to Su-ming. She pressed it to her ear and walked back along the corridor to the study, her shoes making no sound on the polished wooden floor. As she left the sitting room she whispered into the receiver but Cramer couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  The Colonel picked up the phone and tapped out Dan Greenberg’s private number. The FBI agent answered on the second ring. The Colonel gave him a quick rundown on the situation but Greenberg interrupted him before he could finish. ‘Hot damn, good job,’ said Greenberg. The Colonel heard him shout over to his co-workers that the Brits had got their man. ‘You guys deserve a medal,’ said Greenberg. ‘And you saved us the cost of a trial, huh?’

  ‘That wasn’t intentional, Dan,’ said the Colonel archly. ‘He was about to kill our man.’

  ‘Same MO as the previous killings?’

  ‘He was close in and going for a head-shot,’ said the Colonel. ‘He wasn’t working alone, though. He had a woman with him. She’s dead, too.’

  ‘It won’t be the first time he’s had help,’ said Greenberg. ‘Any idea who she is?’

  ‘No, and it’s unlikely we’ll ever know. Her car went up in flames. We’ll run a check on her dental work, but we don’t even know where she’s from. We’ll have more luck with the killer. His face was shot up but we’re running his prints through our records now. I’m sending copies to you.’

  ‘If he’s on file, we’ll match them,’ said Greenberg. ‘And thanks, Colonel, I owe you one.’

  The Colonel replaced the receiver. ‘Yes, Dan,’ he said to himself. ‘You certainly do.’

  The doorbell rang. Su-ming was still in Vander Mayer’s study so Cramer lifted himself off the sofa, grunting with pain as his stomach muscles tightened. He opened the door to find the doctor whom he’d last seen at the school in Wales. Dr Greene looked at Cramer over the top of his gold-framed bifocal spectacles. ‘Sergeant Cramer, you can’t believe how pleased I am to see you in one piece,’ he said.

  Cramer stepped aside to let the doctor in. He was wearing the same brown cardigan with leather elbow patches that he’d had on in Wales. Cramer wondered if it was some sort of uniform the man wore to put his patients at ease.

  The doctor put his black leather medical bag down on one of the marble coffee tables then turned to face Cramer. ‘How have you been?’ Dr Greene asked.

  Cramer was going to say something sarcastic, but he restrained himself. He knew that the doctor was sincere and only trying to help. ‘Worse,’ said Cramer. ‘Much worse.’

  The doctor nodded sympathetically. ‘What about your motions?’

  Cramer smiled grimly. ‘Motions?’ he repeated.

  �
�You know what I mean,’ Dr Greene said. ‘How are you in the toilet department?’

  ‘It’s painful,’ said Cramer. ‘And bloody.’

  ‘Constant pain?’

  ‘Constant dull pain, like a toothache. Then bolts of pain that come and go.’

  ‘Getting worse?’

  Cramer paused. He hated showing weakness but he realised there was no point in papering over the cracks. He was sick, and he needed help. He nodded. ‘Much worse.’

  The doctor bent over his bag. He clicked it open and took out a bottle of capsules. He held them out to Cramer. ‘Take as many of these as you need to kill the pain,’ he said. ‘But no more than eight in one day. They’re stronger than the others I gave you.’

  Cramer took the bottle. There was no label. He wondered whether the doctor’s instructions were a subtle way of telling him how many he’d need to take if he decided to end it all. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  Dr Greene looked at him gravely. ‘They’ll only do the job temporarily,’ he said. ‘A week, maybe a little longer. Then I’ll have to give you something stronger, something in liquid form. I’ll come and see you next week and we’ll see how you’re getting on.’

  Cramer put the tablets in his jacket pocket. He wanted to swallow a couple there and then, but that would have been too much of an admission of what a bad state he was in. He forced a smile. ‘Hopefully it won’t be necessary,’ he said.

  The doctor looked at Cramer. He nodded as if he understood. ‘I wish there was something else I could do,’ he said.

  ‘You and me both, Doc, but I’m not complaining.’

  Dr Greene clicked his bag shut and picked it up. ‘I’m told that the girl might need my attention. What’s her name, Sue something or other?’

  ‘Su-ming,’ said Cramer. ‘I think she’s okay now.’

  The doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘I think I should be the judge of that,’ he said.

  Cramer nodded wearily. ‘She’s in the study. Down the corridor, on the right.’ He waited until the doctor had left the sitting room before taking the bottle out of his pocket. He swallowed two of the capsules dry, almost choking on the second one. He sat down on the sofa facing the balcony and poured the capsules out of the bottle and into the palm of his hand. There were thirty-six. More than enough, said a small voice in the back of his mind. He tipped the capsules into the bottle and screwed the cap back on.

  Dr Greene came back into the room. ‘She seems to have calmed down,’ he told Cramer.

  ‘Have you prescribed her anything?’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘The best thing for her is a cup of hot, sweet tea. And someone to talk to.’

  ‘I’ll take care of her,’ said Cramer. He stood up and showed the doctor to the door.

  On the threshold the doctor turned to face him. He put a hand on Cramer’s shoulder. ‘I hope I see you again,’ he said.

  Cramer looked at him levelly. ‘Don’t count on it, Doc,’ he said quietly.

  The doctor held Cramer’s look for several seconds. It seemed to Cramer that he was struggling to find the right words to say but before he could speak Cramer shut the door. He went back to the sofa and sat down. The bottle of tablets was on the coffee table and he picked it up and shook it. Eight, the doctor had said. Cramer figured sixteen would be better, to make absolutely sure. He began to unscrew the cap from the bottle, but suddenly stopped. He felt ashamed of what he was doing. There was no honour in swallowing tablets, it was a coward’s way out. Embezzling accountants or wronged wives took tablets. Soldiers didn’t. Soldiers fought like men and died like men.

  He took the Walther PPK out of his shoulder holster, ejected the clip and checked that it was fully loaded – an unnecessary precaution because he hadn’t used it since he’d left Wales. He smiled to himself as he remembered a joke he’d heard while on a surveillance mission in the Falklands, lying in a trench overlooking Goose Green for three days, drinking rainwater and shitting into a plastic bag. The joke involved the Argentinians playing Russian roulette with an automatic, and at the time Cramer had thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Now, with a loaded automatic in his hand, it didn’t seem so amusing. He slotted the clip back into the weapon and flicked off the safety. His throat was dry, but it was going to be easier to swallow the barrel of the gun than it would have been to swallow the capsules.

  Cramer took a deep breath. The dull ache in his stomach had begun to ease. He wondered if it was the medicine starting to weaken it or if the fear of what he was about to do was stimulating his body’s own natural painkillers. Whatever, in a few seconds he wouldn’t be feeling any pain. He took several deep breaths, then slowly brought the gun up so that the barrel was touching the tip of his nose. He could smell the lubricating oil that he’d used the last time he’d cleaned it. He licked his lips. They were as dry as his throat. He closed his eyes as if in prayer, but Mike Cramer had long since stopped believing in God or any higher power. It wasn’t heaven he was planning to visit, just a dark empty place where there would be no pain and no regrets. All it would take was to put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. He’d fired the gun a thousand times on the range in the school, with Allan shouting encouragement. He could pull the trigger one last time. He pictured Allan standing behind him. Point. Aim. Take a breath. Let half of it out. Squeeze, don’t jerk. He imagined Allan’s voice, calm and confident. Cramer slipped the barrel between his lips. He almost gagged on the metal cylinder as his thumb tightened on the trigger. He took a deep breath. Slowly he began to exhale.

  ‘Cramer?’ Su-ming’s voice pierced his thoughts like a lance. He opened his eyes. Before he could react she had put her hands over his and pulled the gun away from his face. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘How dare you?’ she said angrily. She twisted the gun out of his grasp. He was much stronger than she was but she took him by surprise. ‘How dare you do this?’ She stood in front of him, her eyes flashing.

  Cramer was genuinely confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  She held the gun in front of his face. ‘You’d do this, with me here? How do you think I’d feel? You’d kill yourself with me in the next room? Just what was I expected to do, Mike Cramer? Wait for the ambulance to come? Have you die in my arms?’

  ‘Hey …’

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t hey me, don’t you dare hey me.’ She slammed the Walther down on the coffee table.

  ‘Jesus, Su-ming, be careful,’ said Cramer. ‘It could go off.’

  She glared at him and Cramer couldn’t help but smile. ‘Don’t laugh at me,’ she said. ‘This isn’t funny.’

  He held up his hands in surrender. ‘I’m not laughing at you,’ he said. ‘It’s just ironic, that’s all. There was I going to … you know … and now I’m worried that it might go off accidentally.’

  ‘English humour?’ she said dismissively. ‘Well, I don’t think there’s anything funny about trying to kill yourself.’

  Cramer sat back in the sofa and looked away. She picked up the bottle of capsules. ‘What are these?’ she asked.

  ‘Painkillers,’ he said.

  She frowned and sat down on the sofa next to him. She put a hand on his leg, her touch as soft as a child’s kiss. ‘How sick are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Very,’ he said. He finally turned to look at her. ‘Why else do you think I’d … ?’ He left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise.’

  ‘I thought you were psychic,’ said Cramer, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  ‘I have feelings, that’s all. But I always found it difficult to read you, Cramer.’

  ‘Yeah? Why’s that?’

  Su-ming lowered her eyes. ‘I was confused,’ she said.

  ‘Well, now you know,’ he said. He looked across at her. Her hair had fallen across her face like a black veil. ‘What do you mean, confused?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.r />
  Cramer snorted softly. ‘Not that it matters now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m dying, Su-ming. I’m not going to get better, there’s nothing anyone can do. I’m going to die and I’m going to die in a great deal of pain.’

  ‘Isn’t there … ?’

  ‘There’s nothing,’ he interrupted sharply. ‘There’s no miracle cure, no operation, no nothing.’

  Su-ming held up the bottle of capsules. ‘Don’t these help?’

  ‘A bit. But they’re not a cure, they just dull the pain. They’re only temporary. Su-ming, I really don’t want to talk about this. Just go. Leave me alone.’

  ‘So you can kill yourself?’

  Cramer shrugged half-heartedly. ‘Don’t make this harder than it is.’ She pushed her hair behind her ears. There were tears in her eyes but she blinked them away as if she didn’t want him to see her cry. ‘Remember when you gave me the I Ching reading?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I had to ask a question, remember?’ Su-ming nodded. ‘And you remember the answer?’

  ‘An end to sadness,’ she said softly.

  ‘That’s right. An end to sadness. And I had to bring about that end myself. That’s what the I Ching said. The change must come from within. That was the answer to my question.’

  ‘And what was the question, Cramer?’

  Cramer rubbed his hands together as if trying to keep warm. ‘I wanted to know how I’d die,’ he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  Su-ming said nothing for a few seconds, then she impulsively put her arms around him and held him close. He felt something soft brush against his cheek and he realised that she’d kissed him.

  The Colonel sat down at his desk as two troopers carried large cardboard boxes out of the apartment. The telephones and fax machines were still in place. The Colonel had hoped to receive confirmation of the assassin’s identity before leaving for Hereford, but it appeared that it wasn’t going to happen. He thought about calling Dan Greenberg to see if the Bureau had managed to obtain a match through their files, but decided against it. He was sure that Greenberg would notify him if he’d come up with an identification.