he saw there. He felt his SIG and saw the light from the Cherokee headlights and the mist that bubbled around the Chechens’ feet. He saw death, treachery, and deception.
He saw a double cross.
“Shall I tell you how it all began?” asked Dmitry. “This whole thing?”
“By all means,” answered Shelley. He glanced behind. The three men were closer but appeared to have drawn to a halt.
“It was your friend Corporal Johnson,” continued Dmitry. “He came to us, did you know?”
“I thought as much.”
“Oh yes, he had learned of our involvement in the Foxy Kittenz enterprise and so he came to us with a plan—a suggestion, you might say. It was a rather short-sighted suggestion but nonetheless, he wanted to know if we were interested in, what’s the word, ‘bagging’ an SAS man. Johnson knew, of course, that your regiment has interrupted the activities of our organization many times in many different countries over the years, and especially with regards to our supply lines in Afghanistan. And he was right to ask if I was interested in a little prize to show my bosses in Grozny, because as I was saying, we all want to please our bosses, don’t we? We want to do the best we can to earn their praise and avoid their displeasure. There was bad blood between you and Johnson, I hear.”
“You might say that.”
“This was his mistake, you see,” continued Dmitry. “He let it all get so personal. Perhaps he might not have missed the bigger picture were he not so intent on revenge. A lesson for all in your camp, you might say.
“So anyway, I spoke to my superiors about this SAS man that Johnson said I could bag. ‘Who is this SAS man?’ they wanted to know, because one SAS man is pretty much like any other SAS man.
“Except later, when your friend and mine Guy Drake decided that a sensible course of action was to have his old and out-of-shape ex-soldiers attack me, and Corporal Johnson emerged as nothing more significant than an irritating man chancing his arm and meddling in affairs he really did not understand, I gave your name to Grozny and we looked harder at this Captain David Shelley. We looked at him and we realized that Captain David Shelley wasn’t just your average run-of-the-mill SAS man. Oh no. We learned that you served with something called Special Projects.
“You weren’t just any old dog, were you, Captain? You were top dog.”
CHAPTER 60
THERE WERE EIGHT of them. Eight of them, one of him. And he was out in the open with no cover. He was dead. He had no chance. But if he could save Susie . . .
Sergei pocketed his phone and moved his hands to rest on the butt of his pistol; Karen’s fingers fidgeted at her Beretta. Shelley stayed in position with his hand on the grip of his SIG. Every one of them, it seemed, was ready to draw apart from Dmitry, who was lost in the enjoyment of his reminiscences. “Bagging the most wanted man of all the wanted men! The leader.”
Shelley’s mind was racing. So they had his name as leader, but not the other two. And that was why Dmitry was clapping like a seal and talking about the most wanted “men,” when in fact, one of these “most wanted men” had been at the mercy of his guys just a few hours earlier.
“You are what they call a person of interest, Captain,” continued Dmitry. “You worry about my men coming up behind you, and of course, being so gallant, you worry for the safety of Mrs. Drake. But your concern is misplaced. You have been right to assume that I will hand over Mrs. Drake in return for the provision of the money, because that is exactly what I intend to do. However, I do intend to take a prize. And that prize is you, Captain David Shelley of the SAS. That prize is you.”
“Okay, Susie, this is what we call a double cross,” said Shelley calmly, knowing there would be combat, and ready for it.
“I’m sorry,” said Dmitry. “If it makes you feel any better, Mrs. Drake, it is only the captain that we are double-crossing. You may be on your way escorted by my men and with my blessing.”
Susie was looking from one player to another, trying to understand a nonsensical situation.
“But you only have half the money,” said Shelley. “You can’t seriously tell me that some SAS grunt is worth ten million.”
“Quite right,