Page 145 of Everything That Kills Me
Evan rolled his chair around to Zeph’s side. “Or suspects it. Who’s that?”
“Tamaz Dolidze. Georgian banker. Robert just sent me his details. Are you watching the hotel?”
“Yep.” Evan rolled his chair back.
Was there a connection between Dolidze and Al-Talib? Dolidze handled bank accounts for a disproportionately large number of charities. Instead of thinking what a good guy he was, Zeph immediately suspected he was laundering money or siphoning it off to terrorist groups. The deeper he looked into the charities, the more convinced he became that he was right. Dolidze had entered the UK that morning with four minders, landing at City Airport on a flight from Paris. Zeph pushed away from his desk and then rolled his chair back in place.
Indecision. He’d been told if he was concerned about anything, he should report it because seemingly insignificant things could be critical. But what if he said something to Robert, fucked up Jack’s plan and caused the death of either Jack or Thomas? Zeph’s anxiety churned his stomach. He kept adding to the information he’d uncovered and waited for Robert to come to him.
Thirty-Eight
When Thomas arrived in Gravesend, he and Jack toured the site together, explored the building from top to bottom, found places to hide, identified possible escape routes. Since only one room had two chairs and a table that didn’t look as though they were going to collapse if touched, it seemed more than likely this was the meeting point.
“I wonder who found this place,” Jack said.
“Lovely, isn’t it. Leave now. You’re outside. I’ll be in here.
“If both guys’ minders come in here with them, there might be ten or more men to deal with. I can’t see any situation where we won’t have to leave in a hurry. Gunfire will draw attention, even though this is a derelict building. With those odds, why do you want me outside?”
“I can handle this.”
Jack wondered if there was some particular reason for the Saudi and his banker to meet here. Isolated and unobserved was all very well, but wouldn’t a hotel have been more comfortable, unless violence was planned? It would take time for an armed response unit to get here once shots were fired. Time to disappear. Did one side plan to kill the other?
“What if the Georgian is intending to take out the Saudi?” Jack suggested. “Or vice versa? I know the idea is for it to look like that’s what happened but maybe that’s the actual plan. If all hell breaks loose, the chances of you being hit by a stray bullet are high. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I want you outside. Go now before any advance group come to check things out.”
“I—”
“Now,” Thomas said. “It’s an order. Wait in the car until they arrive. Then you can get nearer. Don’t react unless necessary. But make sure no one leaves.”
Jack didn’t go as far as the car. It wasn’t parked close by. Near enough for escape purposes but not in view. Thomas would have done the same with his vehicle. Jack hid in one of the even more derelict buildings. If anyone came to look, there were plenty of places to maintain cover. He had a small gun strapped to his ankle, a knife at his other ankle. His main gun, a Walther, suppressor in place, was in his hand, two spare cartridges in his pocket.
He waited.
The first vehicle arrived thirty minutes before the meeting time. A big dark grey VW. The Saudi with five men. Two were sent to positions from where they’d watch those arriving. Once the other four were inside, Jack was able to deal with one man immediately who stood only metres from where he’d hidden. He crept up behind him and broke his neck. Fortunately, the guy wore no earpiece. Jack switched off the man’s phone, making sure to leave no fingerprints and hid his body.
The Georgian arrived next in an Audi and took all four men in with him. Nine men were now inside. One still outside. All of them undoubtedly armed. Thomas was a great shot but if he was seen, the odds were not good. If he had to fire first to start things moving, he might not be able to get out alive. Jack moved closer to the building, skirted round the outside and came up behind the man who waited outside. The stocky guy must have sensed something because he turned and saw him. Jack managed to kick the gun out of the guy’s hand, then pivoted, sweeping his leg hard across the man’s lower calves, knocking him over. He was faster to get back on his feet than Jack would have liked, and this time, Jack was the one who hit the floor, the breath knocked out of him. He was jerked upright and the man wrapped his arms around him, squeezing hard. While there was still room to manoeuvre, Jack slammed his head back into the guy’s face. It was enough to break the hold. Jack twisted round,his knife already in his hand, and saw blood pouring from a flattened nose and wrecked mouth. The man spat out two teeth and went for his gun. A knife in the neck put paid to that.
Jack wiped his knife on the guy’s suit jacket while he lay dying, and put it back in its sheath. There was no need to move the body. It couldn’t be seen by those in the building. He switched off the man’s phone and hurried back to the fire escape. The metal staircase was in poor condition and he didn’t like the way it creaked, but it gave direct access to every floor including the roof which was where he wanted to be.
Just as he reached it, gunfire sounded. He crouched behind the parapet and as two men burst from the building, he managed to take them out. Upper thigh and body shots for both. If they were wearing body armour, the gunshot to the legs would slow them down. He didn’t waste time aiming for the head.
Another man ran for the car, past the two lying on the ground. One of the Saudis. Jack shot him in the back, and when he was down, the head. Six inside. Guns were still being fired. Jack crouched down and took aim. As Al-Talib emerged with another man, Jack fired. He hit Al-Talib twice, one was a head shot, the other guy he hit once, but had to pull back when fire was returned.
He ran to the fire escape, went down one flight, wincing as it creaked even more ominously, and went in through the door he’d previously jammed open. Four men unaccounted for. He saw two on their backs at the far side of the room, Jack took down another and as someone fired at him, he threw himself behind an old desk. Jack had hit him but was he the last? He couldn’t see Thomas.Good and bad.Jack was close to the window, and risked a glance outside. Al-Talib wasn’t moving but the other guy had gone.Shit. Behind me?
Jack threw himself sideways and a bullet hit the wall in front of him, spraying plaster. Jack rolled, took aim and fired. The guydropped. A head shot made sure he stayed down. Jack counted. Thomas had taught him that. Keep count of bullets and people. The Georgian was dead and all of his men. All accounted for but no sign of Thomas. Maybe he’d run.
He searched again and found him at the back of a half-demolished shelving unit. He had his hand pressed against a stomach wound. Blood was seeping from his mouth.Oh fuck.He could hear sirens in the distance.
“We need to go.” Jack tried to lift him and Thomas cried out.
“No. Get out of here…before police arrive.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
More blood came from Thomas’s mouth. “Leave your gun with me. You weren’t here. Run. Now.” A twist of pain racked his body.
