Charlie shrugged and said, “He went down. Maybe he dived. I think I hit him.”
Then Charlie raised the gun again, urgent, leveling it at Dan. Neither had time to speak, but Dan understood instantly, and with time slowing down around his thoughts, he knew he’d been right, that there couldn’t have been just two of them—they’d been waiting for someone else to get into position.
Dan dropped like a deadweight even as Charlie was still trying to level the rifle. A shot, muffled but percussive, tore through the air, then another as Charlie fired. As Dan hit the floor, he rolled onto his back and caught sight of the shadowy figure who’d appeared in the same spot that Dan had used. Dan aimed, fired, and the figure staggered backwards and collapsed.
Dan fired another shot even as the body fell, then turned urgently, but Jack was lying almost motionless, and when Dan jumped up he saw that Charlie had the sniper rifle pointed at the prone man.
Dan moved over and checked the third guy was dead—the first shot had done it, hitting him in the neck, the second one not clearly visible, but perhaps lodged in his body armor. He didn’t look familiar.
As Dan walked back, Charlie said, “Have you got him covered?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, ’cause I’m hit.” He put the sniper rifle on the floor and held up his left hand which was slick with blood.
“Is it bad?”
He wiggled his fingers, grimacing the whole time, and said, “Motherfucker. Who was it?”
“I didn’t recognize him—no one I ever worked with.” He pointed then and said, “Do me a favor, Charlie, check the screen in there, make sure there’s no one else around.”
Charlie nodded, looked down at his hand, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d taken a hit, and walked inside. He was lucky that’s all it had amounted to, but Dan was even luckier, because that bullet had been meant for Dan’s back and only Charlie’s response had given him the edge.
He looked down at Jack now and said, “Jack.”
Grudgingly, Jack said, “Dan. Didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Clearly.”
“The guy you just killed is Rob Foster.”
“He was pretty good. New in?”
“Moved over from Military Intelligence two years ago.”
Charlie came back out and said, “I don’t see any more of them, and the guy I hit is long gone.” He looked down. “Jack.”
“Charlie.”
Dan said, “Okay, Jack, let’s make this easy. Who’s running this, where are you working out of, what’s the game plan?”
Jack tried to smile, though his face seemed reluctant to comply, and he said, “If you’re asking you probably know already, but I’ll tell you one thing, this isn’t some faction or rogue office—it goes to the top. Like I said, nothing against you guys personally, but your time’s up.”
Charlie was studying his hand which still looked worryingly sleek with blood, turning it one way and the other, but he looked to Jack now and said, “It’s Patrick White, isn’t it?”
Jack looked curious in response and said, “So you don’t know? Then you’re in even bigger trouble than you realize.”
Dan stood on his leg, immediately above the wound, pressing it into the decking. Jack gritted his teeth through a scream.
Dan took his foot off then and said, “This isn’t what I do, Jack, you know that, but I need to know. About Patrick, and about who’s running this.”
“Patrick White’s finished, gone. This is Brabham’s operation, so there’s no favors left for you to call in.”
Charlie said, “Bill Brabham?”
“Bill Brabham,” said Jack.
“Why? What’s the objective?”
Jack looked at Dan, but his mind seemed to leap through a few steps, seeing where this was going, what his chances were, and he simply shook his head and said, “You just don’t get it, do you, Dan? We’re housekeeping, and whatever happens here tonight, you’re both dead. At least Claudel had the grace to take it like a man.”
If he’d been trying to goad them, it had worked, because Charlie looked dangerously intrigued now as he said, “You killed Benoit?”
“I liked Benoit, but you know how it is. People like you, you’ve become a liability . . .” He gritted his teeth together and breathed hard as a jolt of pain ran through him. His teeth were still slightly clenched when he said, “You’re both dead. I killed Benoit Claudel, I killed Karl Wittmann. And you can kill me if you like, but there’ll be another me, and another, and another . . .”
Charlie looked at Dan, asking him the question, and it was little more than a courtesy because it was likely to happen anyway. Even so, Dan nodded his assent and held out the gun. Charlie took the gun in his good hand and pointed it at Jack’s face. Jack closed his eyes and Charlie pulled the trigger.
He looked at the mess of Jack Carlton’s face for a moment or two, then looked up at Dan and said, “This decking’s ruined—it’ll have to be replaced.”