48 Hours

I stood and walked to the door. He followed.

“You want me to go back to the UK and be tried for my crimes, don’t you? That’s what this whole exercise was all about.”

I smiled, because he still had not worked it out.

“Arthur, nobody wants you back. You are already in a prison of your own making. You’re stuck in the northern half of a small island. Even worse than that, you have no money and no earnings and you’re living in a down market holiday apartment where you wouldn’t have dreamed of staying overnight two months ago.”

The truth hurt, and he remained silent.

“I think it’s safe for me to give you these now.”

I handed over half a dozen 9mm parabellum bullets.

“Enjoy your freedom, Arthur.”

He slammed the door behind me as I left, and I walked down the street. I hadn’t gone far when a young MI5 operative stepped out of the shadows.

“All done?” he asked, and I nodded.

Chapter 90

Thames House, Millbank, London November 20th 2010, 3pm.

Timothy Madeley stood in his second floor office looking out over the Thames with his mobile phone to his ear. He listened as one of his operatives checked in from Turkish Cyprus, one of the favourite destinations in the sweep, won by Audrey in administration.

“Mr Hammond has done his part, sir. Hickstead is now in possession of the means and he has sufficient motive.”

“But does he have the courage, Boyle, or will he need helping along?”

“Hard to say, sir. I guess if he doesn’t do it this evening he might rally tomorrow and start considering his options.”

“We can’t allow that to happen, Boyle. Either he goes himself or someone will have to help him along. But it must look like he took his own life, or Hammond will smell a rat. Giving the old man the means to take his own life was one thing, but knowing he had participated in his execution might just be more than Hammond’s morality can take.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll be in touch again before you retire for the night.”

Madeley clicked off his phone and sat down at his desk. In his view, Hickstead had two options. First, accept that he was pe

The second option was unacceptable. Lord Hickstead would be reported as having taken his own life in Madeley’s report to the Prime Minister tomorrow, one way or another.

Chapter 91

The Janus, Northern Cyprus. November 20th 2010, 5pm.

Dee climbed off the jet ski onto the jetty and removed her life jacket. She was still laughing. I suspected that she had used jet skis before when she continued to circle my jet ski and spray me with surf as she banked. I tried banking my jet ski just the once, and fell off. I wondered if the whole of our married life would be as competitive as this, or whether two weeks after the whitest of weddings her affection for me was waning.

I had to admit, however, that for a wedding arranged at just four weeks’ notice, Dee, Jayne and Lavender had done an amazing job. We tied the knot in a historic chapel which had probably looked much the same nine hundred years ago when it was built in the grounds of Falsworth Hall near Reading. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Dee in the dress for the first time. She looked spectacular. When I heard that Jayne’s friend, and Avant-garde fashion designer, Li Li Sung, was making the dress, I had imagined something offbeat and probably weird. I was wrong. It was a traditional white bridal gown, decorated with white Swiss embroidered love symbols from every continent.

Now to be honeymooning on a private yacht – well, my parents would be boasting about it to their friends in the Midlands for years to come.

Dee lay on the recliner, covered with a towel to dry off. I sat on the recliner beside hers. I stared at her but couldn’t tell if she had her eyes open or closed through her densely tinted sunglasses. My eyes were drawn to her recent wounds; the scarring would diminish over time, but she had refused reconstructive surgery. Her arm had circular scars front and back, but her thigh had only one noticeable scar, at the front. The emergency surgery in the Tottenham Press office had been done so well that there was now just a small line of scarring where the stitches had been.

Dee wasn’t worried about the world seeing her scars, and had been moving around the deck in her swimsuit the whole voyage. She had seen me looking and beckoned me closer, pulling me onto the recliner and pressing her lips to mine.

“Josh, it seems to me that you’ve done your job for Queen and Country, and now is the time for some recreation.”

“We’ve just been jet skiing,” I pointed out.

“Bedroom based recreation,” she said coyly, before sitting up and nodding towards the stairs to the lower deck.

***

Arthur Hickstead fully understood the message that the Establishment wanted him to take from Hammond’s visit. Essentially, it was expected that he would take the quick way out, drink the Clés des Ducs Armagnac, watch his last sunset over his panoramic window view, and blow his brains out with his service weapon.

He had to admit they had given him little option. With just a couple of thousand Euros left to his name, he would be pe

It had crossed his mind to go to town and use his gun to rob a bank, but he knew he would be no good at it, and on this small part of the island they would probably track him down inside an hour. There was nowhere to run to.

But Arthur Hickstead had come up with a different plan. The Establishment hadn’t won yet.

***

Stuart Boyle rang Thames House. He needed instructions. Madeley answered the phone.

“Sir, Hickstead in on the move, and he is carrying.”

“Hell’s teeth! Can’t he take a hint?” Madeley said impatiently. “OK, you’d better follow him. He might have decided to make his exit sitting on the sand watching the sun drop over the horizon. If he doesn’t take care of it himself, you’ll have to make the message a little clearer. Use his own gun, if you can.”

Boyle strode off in the direction Hickstead had taken.

Chapter 92

The Janus, Mediterranean Sea. November 20th 2010, 6pm.

We were still making love when the engines started up. We were both surprised because we had expected to cast off after dark.

“Shall I see what’s going on up there?” I teased.

“Don’t you dare. Your duties down here aren’t even close to being completed yet.” She was becoming excitable, and I was inclined to stay the course.

***

“Lord Hickstead, this is insane. Put the gun down and we’ll talk this out,” Boyle shouted from the jetty.

Hickstead held the gun steady against the first mate’s head as he shouted back. “Radio me when we have a deal that lets me live my life out in luxury. I will kill everyone on this boat if I have to, but this is just to show that I’m serious.”

Boyle took his gun from his holster, but by the time he raised it he had taken a bullet from Hickstead’s gun. At this distance the Browning Hi Power had sent a 9mm bullet through Boyle’s stomach and out of his back, just missing his kidney. Boyle fell to the floor cursing, as uniformed men poured onto the jetty. As one of the men pressed a pad onto his wound, Boyle used his mobile to stutter out a brief report to Thames House.

***

I was lying on the bed with Dee beside me; we were both covered with a sheen of perspiration and feeling dozy when we heard shouting. Dee sat up, immediately alert, and signalled for me to remain silent. A shot rang out. It was unmistakable, and it was very close. A powerful handgun had been discharged from the deck.