as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 'It's me, Finbar, it's Dom.' He cradled him in his arms. 'It's OK, we're here.'
I tugged at Dom's arm. 'Come on, let's go, mate. Somebody will have heard that lot and called the police.'
He pulled gently on Finbar's arms and the mass of matted blond hair was moving off the cushion. 'It's OK, Finbar, it's all right, it's Dom. You're OK . . .'
The boy finally realized who it was.
'Dom, for fuck's sake, get him out to the wagon – we've got to go!' My shout echoed round the container.
A vehicle fired up behind me. I ran out as a Mondeo estate screamed past. The wheels lurched over Mr Green's head with two sickening thuds.
There was nothing I could do but fire. It was like someone crashing through a vehicle checkpoint. I stood, got a good position, and kicked off a series of rapid single shots into the fading shape.
Brake-lights came on and off.
I kept firing.
Finally it crashed into a post beside the cattle grid. I was already running.
The Mondeo's rear window was frosted; it had taken five or six strikes.
The Yes Man was crumpled against an airbag. Blood leaked from his neck; he looked like he'd just burst an extra big boil. His eyes were closed but he was breathing.
I wrenched open the door and reached in for the keys. He wasn't going anywhere.
I turned to see Dom staggering to the Seat with Finbar in his arms.
I ran back and helped lift the boy into the front seat, then threw my weapon into the back. I dragged out Mr Black and left his body where it lay.
Finbar was slumped forward against the dash. I helped Dom get a belt round him. I lifted the boy's chin. 'All right, mate?'
He looked, but he didn't see.
I concentrated on Dom. 'Take the weapons, soak them in bleach, get all the DNA off and dump them. Burn this fucking wagon, soon as you can. You ready to go? Turn right on to the main – don't head for the town. Every man and his dog will be heading this way. Go on, get on with it.'
'But, Nick . . .'
'I'm going to stay here, mate. The Yes Man's in that wagon. What's the point of getting the boy out if he can still come back and get us? Go on, fuck off, get Finbar back to his mum. We'll contact each other through Kate, OK?'
He put a hand on my arm. 'I still haven't said thank you.'
He went to hug me and I pushed him away. 'Get off, you soft bastard. If you don't get a move on, you'll be cuddling a five-hundred-pound cellmate, not me.'
He smiled and jumped behind the wheel, and I ran back towards the Mondeo.
The Seat rattled over the cattle grid and was gone.
I tried dragging the Yes Man from the wreckage by his arm, but his legs were trapped and he ended up hanging upside-down, his back arched, blood splattered across his shirt and tie.
His breath rasped through his blood-choked throat. The round hadn't gone all the way through his neck, just nicked him.
I dug out the snub-nosed .38 from my pocket and raked the hard steel fore-sight along his cheek.
He looked at me with no emotion. 'In the boot . . . Four hundred thousand pounds . . . In a diplomatic bag . . . Take it. Just leave me . . .'
I knelt beside him. 'You know what?' I dug the muzzle into his wound. He shuddered with pain.
'I've never known your name, but it doesn't matter, because I've never wanted to invite you round for dinner.' I thought about Pete and Magreb and all the other poor bastards who'd got in the Yes Man's way. 'You once called me arrogant and disrespectful, but you're a whole lot worse than that. You're responsible for a lot of innocent people getting fucked over and killed, and you don't give a shit.'
'And you do, Stone?' He almost spat the words.
I stood up. 'Yes,' I said. 'I do.' I walked across to a nearby stack of tyres. Lying across the top was a rectangle of flowery material that had once been a curtain. I grabbed it and dragged a length of hose across to the cattle grid. Then I went and turned on the tap.
He knew exactly what was going to happen. I didn't need to explain.
I threw the curtain over his face and gave him the good