Lifting the Lid(83)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE



Until the day before, Trevor’s experience of firearms had been almost non-existent, but he had little doubt that the cold, hard object which he now felt being pressed into the back of his neck was the muzzle of a gun.

‘What’s going on?’ he said as the drummers in his chest begin to limber up.

‘You’re my hostage.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Look,’ said Sandra, ‘for all we know, this Patterson guy might already be on his way up here, and I for one have no intention of being caught in a flat with a dead MP who’s been strapped to a chair.’

Trevor could appreciate the logic of this statement but still had no idea what she was proposing. He didn’t have to wait long for an explanation.

‘We have to get out of here sharpish,’ said Sandra. ‘The lift’s not working, and there’s only one lot of stairs. Even if there’s a fire escape, you can bet your life he’ll have that covered as well as every other way out of the building.’

The light finally began to dawn in Trevor’s mind, and he turned to face her, assuming he was no longer in imminent danger of having his brains blown out. ‘So you’re suggesting we pretend you’ve taken me hostage and you’re going to shoot me if anyone tries to stop us.’

‘Precisely,’ she said and lowered the gun to her side.

‘But we don’t even know for certain who this Patterson is. Okay, so he might be Secret Service, but he might just as easily be one of the bad guys. Either way, he might not give a toss whether you shoot me or not.’

Sandra shrugged. ‘I guess that’s a risk we’re going to have to take.’

‘We?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Trevor, I’m not actually going to shoot you whatever happens.’

‘Well that’s very reassuring, I must say,’ said Trevor, and then another thought occurred to him. ‘But they might.’

Sandra rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. ‘Will you please just stop with the arguing and start looking scared?’

Scared could be tricky, thought Trevor. On the other hand, pants-pissingly terrified would be a doddle. He looked down as she jammed the barrel of the gun into his ribs with what he considered to be an unnecessary excess of force.

‘You sure the safety catch is on?’ he said.

Sandra grabbed him by the arm and marched him towards the door of the flat.



* * *



They were both surprised not to come across Patterson or anyone else on their way down the stairs, but as soon as they reached the ground floor they spotted him standing just inside the main entrance talking to a man in a blue denim jacket. Sandra raised her gun and pressed the muzzle against the side of Trevor’s head, making sure the weapon was clearly visible to Patterson. With her other hand, she held him firmly by the hood of his fleece.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ she shouted when the two men instantly thrust their hands inside their jackets.

They froze and then obeyed Sandra’s barked instruction to put their hands in the air and keep them where she could see them.

‘Now move away from the door,’ she said with a sideways nod of her head.

The man in the denim jacket started to move but stopped again when he realised that Patterson had stayed exactly where he was.

‘How do we know you’re not bluffing?’ Patterson said.

‘Try me,’ said Sandra and pushed the gun barrel harder against Trevor’s cheekbone.

Trevor managed to stop himself saying ‘Ow! That hurt!’ and simply winced instead. He was determined to play his part in convincing Patterson that Sandra meant business, and if the pounding of the taiko drummers in his chest and the unpleasant gurgling sensation in his bowel area were anything to go by, he was doing a pretty good job of looking terrified.

‘You want me to count to three?’ said Sandra when Patterson continued to stand his ground, and she gave Trevor another jab with the gun.

‘I do wish you’d stop doing that,’ he wanted to say, but he decided to save his complaints for later – if there was going to be a “later” of course. The likelihood that he would be having any kind of conversation with anyone in the future diminished dramatically when he heard her say ‘One’ and Patterson failed to move so much as a muscle.

‘Two.’

Oh bloody Nora. Trevor closed his eyes and braced himself. Surely she wasn’t going to go back on her promise. What would she have to gain? Patterson or his mate – or probably both – would take her out a nanosecond after she pulled the trigger.

‘Thr—’

‘Okay, okay, but I don’t know how far you think you’ll get.’