Rider (19 page)

David brought the gun up, the cold muzzle hard against Kane’s jaw.

‘Go on, shoot me, you bastard,’ Kane said. ‘Blow yourself up.’

‘You want to take everyone else down with us?’

David’s body was twisted, his arm across his chest as he pressed the gun firmly into Kane’s flesh.

‘Not with you shielding the explosion,’ Kane said.

David said, ‘Those ball bearings will rip right through me and still take everyone else out.’

Wilson
took another step, kept his gun aimed and ready. ‘Let him go, Kane. You don’t want to do this.’

‘He killed Ryan,’ Kane said to Margaret.

Clark
said, ‘Kane.’

‘I know, love,’ Margaret said. ‘But let him go.’

‘He killed him.’

‘It’s all right, Kane. Let him go.’ Margaret rocked once in her chair as though the motion would propel her forward.

‘No,’ Kane said.

‘Go on,’ David growled. ‘Be a good little boy. Do as you’re told, son.’

‘I’m not your fucking son.’

Margaret raised an arm, her hand upturned, beseeching. ‘Let him go.’

‘I’ll kill him,’ Kane said.

Another step from
Wilson
. ‘Don’t do it, Kane. We’ll end this a better way.’

Kane wavered, felt the anger leave him like the tide of a burst dam. He loosened his grip on David but didn’t want to let go. There was no other way, why couldn’t they see that?

David pulled away from him and turned. He grabbed Kane’s hair, yanked his head back and jammed the gun up under his ear. The force twisted Kane’s head further.

‘Bad move…son,’ David said.

‘Easy now,’
Wilson
cautioned.
Clark
had stepped out from behind her cover and Kane felt like every gun in the world was pointed straight at him.

‘You see what we have to deal with, honey?’ David said. He nodded at the multitude of officers. He jerked Kane’s head further still. ‘All this is his fault. If it wasn’t for him, you and I could be away somewhere.’

‘Leave Kane alone,’ Margaret said. ‘This is between us now. Let him go.’

David took a step towards her, dragging Kane with him.

With the pressure on his body and the sweat in his hands, he was sure his thumb would slip and the bomb would explode.

‘I loved you and look what happens,’ David said.

* * *

Margaret quickly realised that changing the way she spoke to him might affect how he reacted. In her ear, the negotiator had told her she needed to calm him down, needed to get him to see sense. At the very least, they needed Kane removed and dealt with by the bomb disposal team. With the threat of the bomb eliminated, they could do more to stop David.

The negotiator said, ‘Whatever it takes, we need to keep him cool.’

She could forgive herself later. ‘You love me,’ she said, smiling. ‘That’s all that matters.’

‘But love isn’t going to fix this,’ David said. He twisted harder on Kane’s head. ‘Love isn’t going to help any more.’

She felt like a fraud. ‘We can make it work.’

‘You love me, too?’ David asked.

‘Of course I do.’

‘We can go away somewhere.’

‘Anywhere you want,’ she told him.

David took another step towards her, removed the gun from Kane’s neck and flicked it in the direction of Wilson and Clark. ‘But they won’t let me.’

‘You got yourself in some trouble,’ she said. ‘That’s all. We’ll get through it.’

‘How?’ David asked.

‘We always do, don’t we? We’ll find a way. Let Kane go. Everything’s going to be just fine.’

‘No,’ David said. ‘As soon as I let him go, they’ll shoot me.’ The look on his face was one of impudence mixed with childish fear.

‘I won’t let them,’ Margaret said.

David stared at her, his eyes glassy. For a long moment, she thought he might kill Kane anyway. She smiled at him, forced her face to remain calm and her lips turned.

‘I won’t let them,’ she repeated.

What went through his mind at that moment, she had no idea. Perhaps he had been so affected by his actions that his brain no longer worked the way it should. She was convinced her words would not have been enough to make him turn himself in.

He released his hold on Kane, but kept his gun raised at his face. Kane took a step backwards, his thumb still on the detonator.

‘Come here, honey,’ Margaret said, one arm raised for an embrace.

David moved slowly towards her, his head flicking between her and Kane.

‘It’s okay,’ Margaret said. ‘We’ll get through this, you know we will.’

David smiled at her and for an instant, for just the briefest moment, she saw the old David, the man she fell in love with all those years ago, before the image was replaced by the vision of Ryan’s body in a coffin.

She kept her arm outstretched. She saw him worrying at his lower lip with his teeth, the way he used to do when he struggled with a Sudoku at the breakfast table. And then he lowered his gun, leaned into her embrace, and held her tight.

* * *

Instantly, Wilson, Clark, Brown and the rest of the officers swooped in to secure the situation. More officers stormed inside the building.

Mickey brown took Kane by the arm. ‘Easy now. This way.’

Kane heard
Wilson
say, ‘Drop the gun, Bernhard.’

Brown tried to lead him away from the scene but Kane refused. ‘Not until Margaret’s safe,’ he said.

‘She’s fine,’ Brown said. ‘There’s no time. We need to get that off you fast.’

David clung to Margaret as
Wilson
and
Clark
slowly approached, their guns aimed and ready to fire, just in case.

‘Drop it,’
Wilson
said.

David looked up, pointed his gun at
Wilson
. ‘Back off, I mean it.’

With Brown’s hand covering Kane’s thumb on the detonator, acting as extra pressure in case Kane’s muscles gave out, Kane saw Margaret reach out and touch David’s cheek.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ she soothed.

David kept his gun pointed at
Wilson
and he nuzzled Margaret’s neck. ‘I did it all for you,’ he said.

Kane pulled free of Brown’s grip, stepped forward. ‘Get away from her, you bastard. I swear I’ll blow us all up.’

Clark
swung round. ‘Stand down, Kane.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘It’s in hand,’ she said.

David twisted, wrapped an arm around Margaret’s neck and pointed the gun at her head. ‘Back off. All of you just back off.’

Margaret was expressionless.

‘Give it up, Bernhard,’
Wilson
said. ‘Don’t do this.’

‘Let her go or I’ll blow us up.’

‘I’ll kill her first,’ David said.

Kane raised the release cable in front of him. ‘I’m going to let go.’

‘Don’t be so foolish, Kane,’
Wilson
said.

Kane kept his eyes on Margaret. How could this have happened? What laws of chaos could allow for Margaret’s own husband to hold a gun to her head?

Perhaps unnoticed by everyone else, Kane saw Margaret slip a hand inside her clutch bag.

‘Just back off,’ David said again.

She pulled her hand back out and she was holding something.

‘Drop your weapon, Bernhard,’
Wilson
said. ‘There’s no way out.’

Brown took Kane’s arm again, stared at the scene in front of them. He stepped in front of Kane. ‘She has a gun!’

Her face still stony and unreadable, Margaret aimed upwards and fired off a round.

Blood rained on her head and her lap. David jolted, wobbled. He fell face down in her knees and his body twitched. The bullet had taken his chin and exploded from the back of his head.

Wilson and Clark shifted their aim to Margaret, but she dropped the derringer and slowly raised her hands above her head.

Kane lurched forward, attempted to go to Margaret, but Brown kept a tight grip on his arm. ‘Margaret!’ he shouted.

‘Easy,’ Brown said. ‘Keep your finger on that button.’

When Margaret spoke, her voice was as calm and dead as her face. ‘Get him off me,’ she said. ‘Get him off me.’

Clark
moved in, pushed David’s body to the ground and checked his pulse. She holstered her gun as
Wilson
looked around and surveyed the scene.

Some officers exited the Belgrave Gentleman’s Club with two burly goons. The rest of the building, they reported, was clear. Bernhard was dead—and they were going to have one hell of a report to file.

As bomb disposal officers surrounded Kane, he felt hot tears on his cheeks but hadn’t realised he’d been crying. When the men eased his thumb from the detonator and replaced it in one movement with thick black tape, Kane’s hand cramped and twitched. His legs gave way and they caught him before he fell. ‘You’re okay,’ one of the guys said. ‘Let’s get this thing off you, eh?’

Relieved of the burden, Kane finally dropped to his knees and sobbed.

Belfast
in September was dull but the air was calm and the sun still had some life in it. Wispy clouds scudded across the expanse above and the trees that bordered the western slope of the cemetery were tall and majestic sentinels.

The gentle breeze brought with it the smell of autumn and the pledge of an early frost. The winter would be a harsh one but for now summer was reluctant to give way.

Kane had overseen the installation of Ryan’s headstone only yesterday, the temporary wooden cross removed and the marble marker laid in its place. Today, walking between the neat rows of graves and carrying a large bouquet of flowers, he wondered about the future, a future without Ryan, a future without love. Last month’s events in
London
had taken their toll and haunted his dreams like they haunted his waking moments. Fearful of vendetta by David Bernhard’s associates, Interpol had placed him in the care of guards who watched him around the clock. Even now they stalked the perimeter of the cemetery. He felt like this was no longer his own life, as though he no longer had purpose and meaning. But he would learn to cope on his own.

He approached Ryan’s graveside and looked down at the marker. Inlaid above Ryan’s name was a photograph of him, a head-and-shoulder shot taken last year. Below that the words,
Cherished son and soul mate. Forever in our hearts.

Kane drew his upper lip into his mouth and breathed deeply through his nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers.

When Pat Wilson cleared his throat behind him, he turned and smiled. He and Ann Clark had come over from
London
a few days ago. They sat with him then and discussed his future, his options. Seeing them again brought the nightmare back to life.

What they had talked to him about when they first arrived had sent his head into a spin. The things they said, the offer they made, both repulsed and moved him in equal measure.

The Spanish team’s luck had run out and their target, Ramirez, had managed to get away. He had gone underground, they told Kane, and it looked as though operations were stepping up again. Lyon wasn’t happy with the outcome of the
London
debacle and the failure of those in
Spain
only added to their fury. The pressure was on to stem the war and protect the innocent—and Kane was a likely target.

‘How’re you holding up?’
Wilson
asked.

Kane shrugged. ‘I’ve been better.’

‘It’ll take some time to get use to,’
Clark
said, ‘but you’ll be fine.’

He nodded. ‘How’s the case going?’ he asked.

Clark
touched Kane’s arm. ‘Like we said the other day, operations have collapsed in
Spain
, but we’re still making headway in
France
and the
Ukraine
. Jim Dixon was tried last week.’

‘I’m sure he loves it in Wandsworth,’
Wilson
said. ‘Bent copper behind bars; they’ll be having a field day.’

‘Did he confess?’ Kane asked.

‘Still protesting his innocence,’
Clark
said. ‘But his house and his computer were searched and they found enough evidence to put him away for a long time.’

Kane nodded again. ‘She’s still coming, isn’t she?’

Wilson
checked his watch. ‘Should be here any minute. I told you, we have friends where it counts.’

‘I can’t believe,’ Kane said, ‘that this is how it ends.’

‘You can change your mind if you want,’
Wilson
said.

Kane flattened his lips. ‘No.’

When a police van drove into the cemetery and stopped a short distance from where they stood, Kane felt his chest constrict. Margaret was taken from a ramp at the back of the van, still in a wheelchair, and she looked tiny and feeble. She had been taken into custody after shooting David and transferred back to
Belfast
three days later. The date for her trial had not yet been set and being in remand was clearly doing her no favours. She had promised him that she was being treated well and assured him her solicitor said she had a good case.

A police officer wheeled her along the path and set the brakes. He nodded at Wilson and Clark and stepped aside, allowing them some privacy. Interpol had pulled some strings to have her here today and the PSNI were under strict instructions to comply.

Margaret took Kane’s hand in one of hers, Clark’s in the other. To
Wilson
, she said, ‘Thank you.’

Wilson
smiled.

‘Are you okay?’ Kane asked.

She squeezed his hand and looked down at Ryan’s headstone. ‘He’s at peace now.’ Her smile was delicate.

As a cool breeze stirred around them, Kane removed his jacket and draped it over Margaret and she pulled it around her shoulders. He looked at Wilson,
Clark
.

Wilson
nodded.
Clark
smiled.

He turned back to the grave and looked down. ‘Happy birthday, Ryan.’ He crouched, touched the headstone, and placed the bouquet of flowers at its base. ‘I love you.’

‘Are you ready?’
Wilson
asked. ‘It’s time we should go.’

Kane looked at Margaret. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

Staring at Ryan’s headstone, she said, ‘Honestly? I’ve no idea. But Ryan isn’t here any more. The only thing left is his memory. And we can take that with us.’

Three days ago, sitting in Kane’s living room with coffee and sympathies,
Wilson
had told Kane their plan. As long as Bernhard’s associates were running free, they could never guarantee his safety, could not guarantee the safety of Margaret in her cell.

Kane had held his coffee mug between numb fingers and listened as
Wilson
said, ‘Witness protection.’

Clark
had specified, ‘There’d be certain conditions. You’d be given a new name; we’ll get you some start-up money; a new job. But you can’t come back here. Not until it’s over. You can have no contact with anyone.’

Kane had thought about it before asking, ‘What about Margaret? I can’t leave her. I’m all she has.’

Wilson and Clark had shared a look, a smile. ‘It’s highly unethical,’
Wilson
said, ‘but we’ve already broken so many rules.’

‘What are you saying?’ he asked them.

‘She’s going with you,’
Clark
said.

‘How will you get her out of prison?’

Wilson
drank the last of his coffee and said, ‘Leave that to us.’

Now, he reached into his back pocket and withdrew a photograph, unfolded it, stared at it: he and Ryan, arm in arm, on Ryan’s seventeenth birthday. He placed the photograph beside the flowers and stood. It had been taken eight years ago when they were newly in love and felt that they had the whole world at their feet. And eight years ago, as they lay in bed together that night, they knew their love would last forever.

Kane put a hand to his chest as Margaret touched his back.

‘I’m ready now,’ she said.

Kane looked around, saw the police officer scuffing his shoe in the dirt, and recognised him as Officer Richards, the policeman who had watched over him that first night in his flat, a time that felt so long ago now.

Richards smiled at him, turned his back on them.

Wilson
smirked. ‘Richards is one of ours,’ he said. ‘I told you we were watching you before you came to
London
.’

Clark
checked her watch. ‘Look, if we’re going to give you a new life, we need to do it now.’ She waved her arm and Kane’s guards stepped from shadows and trees.

‘Ready?’
Wilson
asked.

Kane nodded.

And looking down at the photograph, at Ryan’s smiling face, he began to remember.

* * *

Margaret had kept Ryan in the kitchen when Kane had come in through the front door carrying his birthday present, a five-foot by three-foot rectangle wrapped in silver paper.

When Ryan burst through the kitchen door and into Kane’s arms, wearing a silly party hat, Kane laughed and said, ‘I didn’t realise it was your
fifth
birthday!’

‘You love it,’ Ryan said, and he forced Kane to wear one, too.

Kane gave him the present and said, ‘When I saw it, I had to get it for you.’

‘What is it?’

‘Open it.’

They settled together on the plush sofa and Ryan tore at the paper. When he had exposed the present and turned it the right way up, he smiled wider than Kane could ever think possible.

‘I love it!’ Ryan said and threw his arms around Kane’s neck. Eight years later, that canvas painting of Bette Davis still hung in their flat.

Ryan kissed him and Margaret backed her way in from the kitchen. She turned, grinned, and held up a cake with ‘Happy 17th Birthday’ iced onto it and seventeen candles glowing and flickering like a fence around its edges.

She began to sing. ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…’

Kane stood and pulled Ryan to his feet as he joined in with the song.

Ryan was grinning and singing and laughing.

And Margaret was singing and dancing and twirling.

And Kane put his arms around Ryan and pressed his forehead to his temple. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said.

And they kissed.