Killing for the Company

At last he spoke. And if Luke had been encouraged by the way he’d stood up for him in front of the ambassador, now was the time to change his mind. O’Donoghue sounded fucking livid. ‘I don’t know what the hell you were thinking of, Luke,’ he said. ‘Frankly, there hasn’t been a fuck-up like this since Libya. I’m putting you in solitary.’

‘Boss, you’ve got to…’

‘Forget it, Luke. I haven’t got a choice. Wait here.’

The ops officer marched out of the room, leaving Luke alone with the OC and the ambassador. ‘This isn’t the end of it,’ the ambassador announced. ‘I won’t be steamrollered like this.’

Dawson ignored him. All his attention was on Luke and the look he gave him was bitter. The look of an officer who’d just lost men and was taking it hard. ‘Hope you didn’t have anything planned for the next ten years, Mercer,’ he muttered. ‘You’re doing time for this.’

Luke didn’t reply. There was no point, not with the footage from the Apache.

He eyed the door. His 53 had been taken off him while he was in the Puma, but his Sig was still strapped to his ankle. That at least was something.

At that moment O’Donoghue returned, along with four members of B Squadron that Luke recognised but didn’t know well. It only took one glance at them to realise word had spread that Luke had lost it — that everyone in that room thought they had a madman in their midst.

‘On your feet, Mercer,’ Dawson instructed, before turning to the four Regiment men. ‘Get him out of my sight.’

One of the guys — a short man who had shaved his head to hide his encroaching baldness — stepped forward. ‘I’ll need your weapon,’ he said.

Luke cursed inwardly. He looked towards Dawson. ‘Boss, I…’

‘ Do it,’ the OC told him, like a stern schoolmaster with an unruly kid.

A pause. ‘Right, boss,’ Luke said quietly.

He bent down to loosen the disco gun in its ankle holster. And as he did so, he checked out each of the other men in the room. Only the four new arrivals were armed, but their rifles were slung casually across their fronts — clearly no one expected to be using them. Two guys were standing by the door; the other two were about five metres from Luke’s position. Closest to him were Dawson and O’Donoghue — who were behind a desk — and the ambassador, who stood just a couple of metres from Luke, surveying the situation with a bleak expression.

‘Get a move on, Mercer,’ Dawson said impatiently.

‘Yes, boss,’ he murmured. He removed the gun.

Luke knew he had to move hard and fast. The ambassador might have been a soft target, but the other men in the room were as highly trained as he was and just as strong. What they didn’t have, though, was the element of surprise.

He did it all in a single movement: pulling the gun from the holster, stepping towards the ambassador, hooking his left arm around the man’s neck and pressing the handgun against the side of his head. The ambassador breathed in sharply and Luke could feel his body suddenly shaking.

‘Get away from the door,’ Luke instructed.

No movement.

‘ Get away from the fucking door! ’

The two Regiment men on either side of the door looked towards Dawson, who nodded. They stepped aside.

‘Hands on heads and get to the back of the room, all of you,’ Luke ordered.

‘Do it,’ O’Donoghue said. And then, as the men moved: ‘Put the gun down, Luke. Your career’s already over. Don’t make it even worse.’

‘Where’s Stratton?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that…’

‘You think I’ve lost it? You think I’m mad? I’ll fucking show you when I nail this piece of shit. Where’s Stratton? ’

It was the ambassador who replied, his words tumbling over themselves. ‘Airlifted to Ben Gurion. He’s taking a UN flight back to London tonight.’

‘Put the fucking gun down, Luke,’ O’Donoghue warned.

But Luke was doing nothing of the sort. The ambassador was still trembling, and wheezing now on account of the firm neck lock he was in. Luke pictured the area outside the ops centre. It was open ground, at least 100 metres before he could get to any cover in the main part of the camp. As soon as he stepped out of that door, he’d be a sitting duck. Unless…

He looked over at O’Donoghue. ‘Where’s the key to that door?’

The ops officer remained stony-faced, so Luke tightened his arm lock on the ambassador, who started to whimper like a kid.

‘ Where’s the fucking key? ’

O’Donoghue moved slowly, clearly worried that his actions would be misinterpreted. He pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket, selected one and then held it up.

‘I want to know it’s the right one. Lock the door.’

O’Donoghue’s face hardened. He examined the keys again, selected a different one and moved over the door. He inserted it into the lock and twisted it back and forth. Luke heard the lock click shut and open again.