Vaughn looked at Howe.
‘What are we doing here?’ he asked.
‘Killing two birds with one stone,’ Howe said. ‘In a manner of speaking.’
Washington opened his eyes. He looked at me. I forced myself to meet his gaze. Turning away was a coward’s way out. One way or another, this was going to end badly for him. A train of events that had been put in motion the second I’d put the note in the cigar case and left it in the dead drop.
‘Cook,’ Howe said. ‘I’m sure you’ve been racking your brain trying to think of a way to prove your loyalty to Vaughn. Well, it’s your lucky day.’
‘Killing him doesn’t prove anything,’ I said. ‘I’ve killed scores of men for all kinds of reasons. It doesn’t give you any indication of my allegiance.’
The Blackshirt tossed me the knife. It spun in the air and I stepped away, letting it land in the leaf litter. I picked it up and cleaned the blade on my sleeve.
‘What if I won’t do it?’ I asked.
‘I’ll get Vaughn or Freddie to do it,’ Howe said. ‘You’ll be next.’
‘Generally, we don’t kill prisoners of war,’ Vaughn said. ‘It’s bad form.’
Williams groaned. He shook his head. Nobody wants to die.
I was thinking furiously, trying to run through the options. I could kill Howe and the Blackshirts, overpower Vaughn and Freddie, and free Williams. The right thing to do.
Bunny’s voice echoed in my head:
Whatever it takes.
Kill one man to save thousands, or save the man and worry about the thousands later.
‘I’ll do it,’ I said.
I walked to Williams, forcing myself to look him in the eye. I could see confusion on his face. He was trying to work out what the angle was. How I was going to square the circleand get him out of this situation. He thought I was the hero of the story. He thought there’d be a twist. A way for us both to end up running through the woods, the villains hot on our heels, escaping by the skin of our teeth.
He was wrong.
‘I’ve got a wife,’ he said, looking into my eyes and seeing what was going to happen.
I could have said I was sorry. I could have told him he was dying for his King, making the world a safer place. I could have told him I’d get a message to his wife. Tell her he’d died bravely. But none of those things would have kept him alive any longer.
‘All of you,’ Howe said. ‘Vaughn, Freddie, Cook. I want three hands on the knife.’
Vaughn and Freddie joined me. Vaughn looked like he was going to be sick. Freddie was vibrating with nervous energy. He smiled at me, his teeth chattering.
‘Hands on the knife,’ Howe ordered. The Blackshirt who’d led us into the woods took the rifle from his shoulder and cocked the hammer. A theatrical move, but it broke the deadlock.
Vaughn put his hand over mine, on the hilt of the knife.
Freddie didn’t need persuading. He put his hand over Vaughn’s.
The three of us held the knife, the blade vertical, like a candle, the tip half an inch below Washington’s throat.
With three hands on it, the knife had a life of its own. I held it down, but it wanted to rise. Freddie’s influence,
I suspected.
‘Please,’ Washington whispered.
‘On the count of three,’ Howe said. ‘One.’
