The International Assassin A Sexy Times Crime Thriller (33 page)

There was no point in lying to her. We were stuck on a train moving at nearly two hundred miles per hour through the French countryside and there was no help that would reach her in time. It was far better to tell her the truth so she had time to pray and make amends with whatever God she believed in before she went.

“Fucking Roy,” she exhaled spitting blood.

“
Fucking Roy
,” I agreed squeezing her hand.

“Why?” she exclaimed. 

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Maybe when you see God you can ask him.” 

Charlotte gasped her last breath and lay still. I rolled her eyelids closed then laid her down on the floor. I slumped back against a seat and quite unexpectedly started sobbing. 

I am not sure if I was crying for me or for Charlotte. I had so wanted to hate her for so many trivial reasons back during our life in Chelsea and for her participation in Roy’s scam but through the course of our journey I had realised she was as much, if not more, a victim than I was of Roy’s treachery. I wiped the tears away from my cheeks with the back of my hand that was now covered in Charlotte’s blood.

I felt the anger well inside me. Never in my entire life had one man caused me so much pain, hurt, misery and most of all - aggravation. I just could not comprehend how a misfit bullshitting electrician from a miserable little provincial town had been so utterly difficult to deal with. 

Full of anger, fury and hatred I got up. I picked up the discarded M4 and quickly loaded the magazine into it. I slung the kitbag of spare arms over my shoulder, cocked the M4 and stepping over Charlotte’s corpse moved quickly down the train in pursuit of Roy.

He had already cleared through the next carriage with a paper trail of little red spots of blood staining the carpet. I quickened my pace. However much he ran he would eventually run out of train. As I entered the next carriage Roy revealed he had one final terrible trick up his sleeve. I could hear him shouting at the passengers that there was a bomb on the train before realising the purpose of his warning alarm as a stream of panic ridden passengers came running out of the carriage pushing me out of the way in their bid to escape.

I realised Roy must have detected the C4 rigged to the money bag and was prepared to make his last stand with it. Dropping to my knees I crouched into the end of the now empty carriage.

“Roy!” I shouted. “Give it up Roy. You’ve run out of train!”

“No chance!” Roy shouted back from the other end firing a shot to prove his point that he wasn’t going to surrender. 

I aimed where I believed he was holed up and unleashed five rounds of semi-automatic fire.

“You managed to get that bloody thing to work then!” he shouted laughing.

“Why don’t you come down here and I will show you?” I shouted back.

“I don’t think so! Email me the instruction manual.”

“You can’t possibly escape Roy. You’re going to run out of bullets before I do.”

“I don’t need bullets. I found your little surprise. Was that meant for me?”

“No.”

“Anatoly then I presume. Never mind. You realise your boyfriend is fucked in any case now. Because I’m not giving up the money and by the time you get back he will be dead.” I fired an angry, petulant burst of bullets at Roy. “Temper temper,” he said laughing sarcastically.

Roy fired three shots then I heard him run off out into the next carriage. I quickly ran after him then stopped at the end of the carriage realising what he had been busy doing. The block of C4 was rigged to the side of the carriage wall right above where the carriage bogey would be. The digital counter of the clock read fourteen seconds and was going down quickly.

Even the compression of the explosion in the carriage would be fatal but the effects on a train travelling at nearly two hundred miles per hour would be much worse. I ran as fast as I could backwards to the other end of the carriage. With the next carriage still full of panic-ridden commuters blocking the escape route I dived into the luggage rack for cover and hung on for dear life.

The explosion seemed deafening as a huge fireball blew the door off the carriage like it was made of paper before the entire compartment filled with acrid smoke and rocked violently. Deafened and dazed I hung on like a terrified passenger on their first roller-coaster ride as the carriage jolted from side to side. The carriage started to swing violently as the exploding structure shed wreckage under the wheels causing them to bounce, judder and then finally derail. 

The entire carriage slammed forwards and disconnected from the front of the train before starting to overtake it. As the wheels dug into the aggregate alongside the tracks it slowed violently before tipping over onto its side and sliding along the banking, windows shattering and metal crumpling like it was made of cardboard. The carriage lurched violently as the kinetic energy of the following train spat the carriages into one enough folding like a concertina as the entire one hundred and eighty miles per hour train descended into the banking before eventually slowing to a sickening halt.

I lay dazed and shell-shocked covered in suitcases and debris. All sense of orientation utterly lost from the barrel rolling carriage. There was a momentary silence apart from the tinkling of broken glass, tortured moans of twisted metal, electric cables sparking and then the cries of passengers as the shock subsided and the pain of their injuries from the horrific ordeal was realised.

I tried to move but every part of me hurt. Blood poured down the side of my head from a cut sustained when it collided with the crumpled metal work of the luggage frame. I tried to pull myself free from the mountain of heavy suitcases that had buried me. In the thick acrid smoke I desperately clawed to find a way out of the horrific mess. Eventually spotting a chink of daylight I pulled myself towards it. Realising the carriage was on its side at a sharp angle pointing down the banking I climbed up to the gap of the broken window trying to find footholds on the twisted seat frames. I grabbed the frame of the window and with every ounce of energy I pulled myself up onto the topside of the carriage.

Sitting on the side of the carriage which was now upturned I pressed hard against the cut on my head to stop my eyes filling with blood. I looked out to see a scene of utter devastation. The entire once pristine, glistening pride of French railway engineering was now a twisted mess of scrapped metal and furrowed earth, the carriages stacked over each other like a pile of matchsticks, overhead electric cables were bouncing around sparking against the carriages and a burnt out destroyed shell bore witness to the power of the explosion that had caused the derailment.

I tried to focus, the searing pain in my head blurring my vision as I willed the adrenaline to take hold and force me into action.

To my utter amazement and horror I saw a single lone figure trudging out of the carriage next to the engine. Unlike the rear most carriages the explosion had disconnected the front engine and carriages which had, with the power of the engine managed to outrun the ensuing train wreck enough to escape relatively unharmed. Roy picked his way down the banking throwing the bag of money over the fence before climbing over and casually limping off across the field of long grass seemingly oblivious to the wanton carnage he had just unleashed on eight-hundred terrified passengers many of whom having been spat out of the broken windows were now strewn in body parts across nearly a kilometre of railway track.

 I tried to get to my feet. The head injury making me dizzy, I felt around in my pocket for the trusty Glock and took it out and steadied my aim. Roy was now more than nine hundred yards from the wreckage. It would be a difficult shot with a sniper rifle let alone using a pistol. Remembering Nick’s advice to aim for the biggest part of the target I lowered my aim to the small of his back.

I squeezed the trigger three times, moments later two of the rounds found their target in the middle of Roy’s spine. He dropped the bag, staggered forward a few hesitant uneven steps then collapsed face first into the long grass. I drew a long sigh of relief.

I had finally got the bastard.

Chapter 27

THE LIGHT
breeze whipped around the train. It was a surreal scene. I couldn’t quite credit how one man, one simple unimportant man had unleashed such utter mayhem.

I clambered off the overturned carriage wreck and tumbled to the floor picking my way through the debris. I walked down the embankment and climbed over the fence then walked across the field to where Roy had fallen.

When I reached him he was lying on his stomach desperately pawing at the ground trying to escape. I announced my presence with a swift kick to his ribs. He cried with pain and rolled over clutching his wounded chest covered in blood and soil.

“End of the line Roy,” I said calmly. Roy coughed and spluttered gasping for breath. “You really should have stayed in Luton.”

Roy laughed. 

“You think you have won?”

“Look at yourself Roy. All beat to shit. Was it worth it?”

“Whatever happens your boyfriend is going to die, so you still lose.”

“Why Roy? That’s the only question.” I gestured at the train wreck. “What did you ever hope to achieve with all this?”

“Money. Power. I would have got away with it too.”

I shook my head. 

“No Roy. You never would have got away with it. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you are a
nobody
. You are a loser. You were born to be a loser and that’s what you should have stayed. Losers like you never win. You’ll die here in this field, in the middle of nowhere and nobody will ever care.”

“Maybe. But you will never forget this, when the Russians post your boyfriend back in pieces to you… it was all down to me. So here we are. Both equally fucked,” he laughed at me in-between coughing blood.

“You are a very sad, sad man.”

I raised the Sig and pointed it at Roy.

“Goodbye Roy.”

I pulled the trigger and fired three shots into Roy before firing a last, final, life-ending shot into his head. I discarded the empty Sig. With no more bullets it was now a useless ornament. 

I stood staring at Roy’s lifeless body wondering who he really was and why fate had put our paths on the same course to bring us here to an empty Provençal field. 

As the sun began to set with the light breeze blowing over the tall grass I felt a strange sense of peace and serenity that he was finally dead. He had given no answer to the questions I had. Perhaps I didn’t really want any answers. Maybe it was better to not try and make sense of the
why
that had unleashed such a violent chain of events, for whatever the reason, nothing would change.

I walked over and bent down and carefully opened the bag checking Roy hadn’t left a partial charge to protect his swag but he hadn’t. I let out a long frustrated sigh. My entire plan so carefully constructed was in tatters. I had no more C4 left, I had used the entire arms arsenal in my pursuit of Roy and here I was stuck God-knows-where without transport and without hope of getting back to the rendezvous in Monte Carlo.

I looked at my watch. It was 5:57pm, given the TGV’s impressive turn of speed prior to its violent departure from schedule we had been travelling for nearly forty minutes so I had calculated I could be more than one hundred miles from Monte Carlo and had a little over one hour and twenty minutes to make the meeting. The situation was hopeless but as long as I had breath in my body I was determined to fight to the end.

I zipped up the bag then picked it up and started walking to the gate from the field onto a dusty track. I walked for more than fifteen minutes and nearly a mile before reaching a main road that was little more than a country lane. In the middle of farming land there were no houses or cars to be seen. I didn’t even know which direction to walk in. I decided left. It felt like it made little difference whatever I chose.

As I walked down the long empty road finally killing Roy felt like a hollow victory. I had spent so much energy pursuing him but the current situation hardly felt like I had won, rather it felt as if I had simply not lost. I walked for fifteen more minutes until I reached a small roadside café bar. I went inside and slumped at a table.

“Madame?” the owner asked.

“Un biere,” I said. He nodded, poured a large glass and brought it over.

I downed it in one shot to his surprise. He smiled.

“Thirsty?”

“It’s been a long day,” I told him.

“Another?”

I nodded. There seemed nothing else to do but get drunk. As he went to fetch the refill I took out what was left of my Blackberry from my pocket. I must have crushed it during the train crash. The screen was smashed beyond repair and the case was broken in two. No matter what I did I couldn’t revive it. I had no chance to contact Anatoly and explain the situation. The owner brought another beer over.

“You look like you have lost something important,” he said.

I nodded. The owner sat down. He was a kind looking man in his fifties. He took out a packet of cigarettes and offered me one. It seemed a bad day to think about quitting so I took one and the bar owner lit it. I dragged on the strong French cigarette and felt my head go light from the combination of alcohol and nicotine. The owner frowned as he noticed the deep cut on my head. He got up and picked up a towel, filled it with ice from the bucket, returned then sat down and handed it to me.

“Here, it will stop the bleeding and numb the pain. What happened to you?”

“I was in an accident.”

“Do you need me to call you an ambulance?”

“No, I’m okay. At least physically… emotionally, well…that’s another matter.”

I dabbed the ice on my head feeling the cold numb the pain.

“Are you married?” I asked him.

“No, widowed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was some years ago.”

“Does it hurt less now?”

“It never hurts less but with age my memory gets worse so it becomes easier to forget,” he said and smiled softly.