By early evening, he was on the bike heading to Devon at 120 miles per hour in the outer lane of the M4. It had been dark since three and was bitterly cold, a light snow starting to fall as he hit the M5 junction. At Exeter, he left the motorway and began the familiar wind through country lanes toward Barton Combe, the nearest village to the house. Instead of turning into the gatehouse, he took the alternate route to the river and left the bike secluded at the edge of the woods. In black, well armed, he made his way on foot toward the house, coming at it from the grounds. At a suitable distance, he took cover and aimed his night-vision scope across the darkened façade of the building. There were a number of expensive cars parked on the gravel in front of the house. Something was lying by the front door. He held still and let his mind form the pattern to make sense of it. It was a body, but not a man. Nothim. It was a dog. He scanned each window in turn and could detect a faint trace of light from the hallway. He retreated back into the trees and began to move around the house toward the back. He’d only gone a few hundred yards when he heard the unmistakable click of a lighter and saw the glow of a cigarette illuminating a face and top half of a man. He had a rifle slung over one shoulder. Ben didn’t recognise him. He waited for a moment and was rewarded by the man’s phone ringing and a conversation in rapid Arabic. “No, no sign of him yet. I can see the whole house from here.”
Ben then knew what this was about. It was about him. Ibrahim Allouni had missed him at the cottage and had killed an innocent man instead, but now he was back. Unable to find him, he’d found Nikolas. Ben cursed himself silently for being so distracted he’d not followed through his suspicion that his assassination of Allouni’s son had been a compromised operation. Someone in the department had betrayed him and now Nikolas. Ben filed it away. He had other concerns just now. He gathered himself into the right frame of mind, approached the smoking man, and silently cut his throat, noting with utter detachment how the smoke rose from the throat for a moment before dissipating in the cold December air. He dragged the body into the bushes and took the phone, checking the weapon to see if it was worth keeping. It was vastly inferior to anything he carried, so he left it with the body. Mindful of the possibility of other sentries, he continued on his way to the back of the house and took up position where he could see in through the large windows to the kitchen.
Nikolas was sitting at the table, looking directly at him. Ben assumed he was just staring into the dark, but it was uncanny, nevertheless. Behind Nikolas at the counter were three men: Allouni, his brother Usama, and another man with a rifle held loosely across his arms. Nikolas said something; Usama came over and punched him in the side of the head. His brother pulled him back. Nikolas ran his fingers through his hair to tidy it and once more stared out of the window. Ben saw a slight smirk on his face, which made him immensely relieved.
By the number of cars, Ben reckoned there must be at least Philipa’s usual number of weekend guests, which meant possibly two guards left with them. Allowing for miscalculation, there were at least five to kill. Ben felt a surge of hope for the first time that night. As he watched, Ibrahim and Usama left the room. The remaining thug brought his gun up to the ready, its sights fixed on Nikolas’s head. The odds were falling in Ben’s favour. He couldn’t approach the kitchen from the gardens at the back because there was an automatic intruder light, something that had often woken him when a stray fox or cat crossed the lawn. He retreated to the offices, checked them through one by one, and then took the back stairs to the first floor landing. From there, he eased silently down the servants’ stairs to the rear passage. He could hear voices in the drawing room but ignored them and slipped into the kitchen. Silent and fast, he broke the neck of the man watching Nikolas. He hefted the body into his arms, noted that Nikolas was immediately up and following him, and they went up the stairs to the very top of the house and into what had once been an old nursery. He dropped the body behind a bed, pulling off his balaclava.
“You took your time.”
“You’ve had new fucking codes installed on the armoury. I had to break in. New Year’s Eve? Hello?”
Nikolas smiled. “Do not swear at me, Benjamin. It is good to see you, though.”
“What’s the situation?”
Nikolas was relieving the guard of his weapon and checking it over. Ben handed him a handgun and a knife as well, slightly surprised at how professionally Nikolas was handling the rifle. “They have everyone in the drawing room. Philipa and eight guests. Ibrahim Allouni, his brother, and they have four men with them that I have seen.”
“Two now.”
Nik smiled. “Good. They will know I am gone very soon and realise that you are here. I do not think they were convinced by my call to you.”
“Yeah, well, you said please. Totally suspicious.” Ben turned to the door. “Why don’t we give them what they want?”
Nikolas froze. “You?”
“Go down and offer me for all the hostages. You drive them out, and I celebrate the New Year by finishing off the rest of the Allouni family.”
“No.”
“It’s what you’ve trained us—”
“I said no.”
“Sir, it’s standard operating—”
“I do not care about standard operating procedures, Benjamin. This isyou. Come, I have an idea.”
“But—”
Nikolas came right up to him. “Shut the fuck up for once, and do as I say.”
Ben shut up.
Nikolas led the way cautiously back to the second floor and toward the oldest part of the house. He moved like a cat, silent and graceful. Ben couldn’t help an inappropriate surge of desire, or his thoughts spiralling to how he would like to explore that innate grace. They entered a bedroom, working as a silent, effective team. Ben’s eyes swept the room, and he knew immediately despite the dark that it was Nikolas’s. It was austere but intensely personal at the same time, like the man. The furniture was minimalist, bleached woods and white coverings, one wall covered in black-and-white photographs of, as far as Ben could see, empty, windswept beaches. “Stop gawping and help me, Benjamin.”
Ben came back to himself, frowning, as he helped Nikolas move a large bookcase. Behind it there was a panel, which Nikolas slid to one side, revealing a dark space beyond. “Priest hole.”
Ben chuckled. “I’ve always avoided priests’ holes, especially in my bedroom—hell and damnation and all that.”
“And Benjamin manages the inappropriate comment.” But Nikolas was smiling as he spoke. They stepped in, crouching, and Nikolas slid the panel back.
Ben murmured, “Great plan. We hide up here until everyone gets bored and goes home?”
Nikolas snorted and began to press on the back wall. There was a click as he turned on a flashlight, and then the wall slid to one side, revealing a long passage. Ben shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding. Where are Timmy and George? What will Julian say?”
“I do not understand that ref—”
“Never mind. Where’s this lead?”
