The Lethal Target(53)

Dazed, he lay on the ground and saw the dark shape of the helicopter, this one bigger than the last. And then he heard gunfire . . .





Chapter 30



The gunfire stopped abruptly. What had happened?

Jake pulled himself up from the ground and was stunned to see the Russians, including Professor Lemski, standing with their hands in the air. Lauren was there, as well, also with her hands above her head. Facing them were a group of men clad completely in black from head to foot, all wearing black helmets with black visors, and training automatic rifles on the Russians and Lauren.

Special forces! realised Jake. They’re ours!

‘Hey!’ called Jake, pointing towards Lauren. ‘She’s one of ours!’

Immediately, one of the black-clad soldiers ran over to Jake, his gun pointing at him.

‘Hands on your head!’ he snapped, his voice coming through a speaker system, giving it a mechanical, almost cybernetic tone.

‘I’m on your side!’ protested Jake.

‘Hands on your head!’ repeated the soldier, firmer this time.

Jake groaned and raised his hands to the top of his head.

‘That’s the best I can do,’ he said. ‘My fingers are broken.’



Jake sat in Dr Patel’s surgery as the doctor tended to his fingers, gently wrapping a long gauze bandage around them.

‘Only four of your fingers are broken,’ Dr Patel told him. ‘Unfortunately, it’s two on each hand.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Lauren from the couch where she was observing. ‘I can fetch and carry for him.’

‘I won’t be able to hold a knife and fork to eat,’ complained Jake.

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way round that,’ said Lauren.

The door opened and DS Stewart came in.

‘How’s he doing, Doc?’ he asked.

‘He’s fine,’ said Dr Patel.

‘I’m not fine!’ exclaimed Jake. ‘I’ve got four broken fingers!’

‘It could have been a lot worse,’ said Stewart. ‘How long will it take?’

‘This is the last one,’ said Dr Patel. ‘Twenty minutes.’

‘OK. When you’re ready, Mr Wells, there’s someone who wants to talk to you at the station via our Skype system.’

‘Who?’ asked Jake.

‘He didn’t give his name. He said you’d know who he was.’

Of course, thought Jake. Gareth Findlay-Weston. His boss at the Department of Science, and head of an MI5 section. Or, rather, his former boss. Although, according to the piece of paper that Gareth had sent to Pam Gordon, Jake had been reinstated. Was Gareth calling to renege on that? More importantly, was he going to renege on allowing Lauren permission to return to the UK?



Stewart drove them to the police station, Lauren in the front passenger seat, and Jake in the back, his plaster-encased hands cradled on his lap.

‘We thought you were dead,’ said Jake. ‘You and PC Frierson. We heard you groan when they shot you.’

‘The bullets hit the earth bank, which acted like a sandbag. I let out a groan to make them think they’d got us. I was hoping they’d then just go away.’

‘And if they hadn’t?’ asked Lauren.

‘I suppose I’d have had to shoot them,’ said Stewart. ‘But it wouldn’t have changed things much. We’d have still had a siege situation on the island. And there was a danger of both of you getting killed in the crossfire.’

‘How did those special forces guys know when and where to come down?’ asked Jake.

‘You tell me,’ said Stewart. ‘You’re the spooks.’

‘We’re not spooks,’ protested Jake. ‘We’re just innocent people caught up in this.’

‘Innocent people don’t get MI5 ordering the police to back off from them,’ countered Stewart.

‘What’s happened to Professor Lemski and the rest of his Russians?’

‘You’d better ask your chief spook,’ said Stewart. ‘All I know is that the special forces guys took them all away. Right now, I know nothing. But I’m sure I’ll be getting orders from on high shortly telling me what I can and can’t tell the media.’

‘OK, what about things you can tell us?’ asked Lauren. ‘How’s Robbie?’

‘He’s OK,’ said Stewart. ‘He’s been taken to the mainland to be treated, but there are no serious internal injuries. And Dr Patel did a good job patching him up temporarily.’

‘Pam Gordon?’

‘Also good, according to the medicos. In fact, the only fatality out of today’s chaos was your friend, Ian Muir. That dive he took over the cliff killed him. He broke his neck.’