The Trespass(122)

“That is a most unflattering and inappropriate term.” Kadesh smiled benignly. “Although the terms ‘murder’ and ‘United States’ are familiar bedfellows. Now,” he told Potzner, “down with your weapons if you please.”

Potzner waved a signal to the waiting marines. The rifles clattered to the floor.

Dracup’s legs were shaking. He lowered himself slowly to his haunches.

“Don’t move again, please.” Kadesh spared Dracup a single glance. “Mr Potzner. Do you still believe you have the right to take what does not belong to you?”

“Ownership isn’t the issue here.” Potzner held a snub-nosed pistol in his right hand. The grip was steady.

“But it is, Mr Potzner. And you have no such rights.”

Dracup’s eyes scanned from left to right. Moran was five, maybe eight metres away. The DCI’s hands were empty, his gun holstered under his armpit.

Kadesh wore a disdainful expression. “In a way, this is better than I’d hoped.” He turned his attention to Dracup. “To personally pay the debt to my father is an additional – a richer, one might say – blessing.”

Dracup knew he had to play for time. “What debt?”

“Oh, please, Professor Dracup. By now, you know it all. My father died because of what happened in his generation. Because of what your family did.”

“My family? A geologist, working – no – coerced into working for the US federal government? That’s hardly culpable. Theodore Dracup was forced into a situation he would rather have left well alone. You know that.” Dracup snatched a glance at Potzner, his heart in his mouth. The American’s forefinger was stroking the pistol trigger, his eyes fixed, the pupils dilated.

“My father died a broken man, Professor Dracup. Your grandfather’s interference brought ruin and desolation upon our people.”

“Then I apologize on his behalf. What he did was wrong – even if he acted against his will.”

Kadesh shook his head. “It is too late for apologies.” He let the knife brush across Natasha’s cheek. “You have failed to return the sceptre.”

“You’re wrong. I have Alpha.” Dracup fumbled for his belt.

Kadesh’s eyes flashed a warning. “Keep your hands in front of you.” The knife moved to Natasha’s throat.

“I also have the diary.” Dracup tried to keep his voice even, reasonable. “It’s yours if you want it.”

Kadesh laughed softly. “Indeed? So, you overcame Mukannishum. Still, I regret that your efforts are sadly inadequate.” He tightened his hold on Natasha. “Besides, did you really expect me to show you any mercy?”

One of the jihadi squad laughed, a foreign, heartless sound.

Beside him, Jackson stirred, groaning. The marine’s arm fell loosely by his side, exposing the wrist. Kadesh drew a pistol and shot him through the head.

Dracup yelled, “No!” He stopped in his tracks as the pistol was levelled at him. His hands made fists then clasped his thighs in impotent fury, trying to repress the revulsion he felt at Jackson’s cold-blooded murder. Kadesh was enjoying himself, taking his time, studying his reaction. Think, Dracup, think. And then his pulse accelerated, a surge of adrenaline. What had Cannon said?

I can even fire this sonofabitch from around a corner, provided I can get a clear view. And the marine had shown Moran his wrist: Radio controlled. Effective up to distances of two hundred metres.

Dracup checked the angle of Jackson’s rifle. It was pointing towards the roof, way off centre for an accurate shot. He had to entice Kadesh to move. “You can’t kill an innocent girl.” Sweat broke out on his brow. “Kill me instead. Let her go.”

“Oh no, Dracup. I want you to see her suffer.” Kadesh took one further step into the chamber. “I want you to look into her eyes as she bleeds.”

“This is pointless. You have what you want. Let me hold her. Please.” In Dracup’s peripheral vision he saw a minute change in Potzner’s posture, a fractional increase in tension.

I hope you’re reading my body language now, Potzner...

And close behind came this thought:

But he doesn’t care about Natasha. It’s Kadesh he wants.

Dracup held out his arms to Natasha. Kadesh hesitated, moved a fraction closer. Behind Potzner, a muted muttering of protest; the marines, waiting for their chance. Dracup’s right hand crawled to Jackson’s wrist. He felt the buttons under his fingers. Which one? He murmured a prayer.

Natasha’s eyes, saucers of terror. He chose the first button and pressed it softly. A red dot appeared on Kadesh’s shoulder, just below the collarbone.