Manhunter by Chris Ryan (the false prince series .TXT) 📗

Sophie. Amy. Now he had the blood of two more innocents on his hands.

You should have been protecting them, the voice at the back of his head told him. Watching for threats.

Instead, you were shoving drugs up your nose.

And now two people are dead.

‘Get some men out there,’ Mallet ordered Colonel Lubowa. He gestured towards the grounds overlooked by the terrace at the rear of the estate. ‘Cover the treeline before any other fucker gets the same idea. If they see anything moving that’s not friendly, drop it.’

Lubowa shot Bowman a scolding look before he hastened back down the corridor.

‘You two.’ Mallet addressed Casey and Webb. ‘Back to work. Get those defences in shape.’

Once they had left the room, he swivelled his gaze round to Loader.

‘Did you find a safe room for the rest of the family?’

He nodded quickly. ‘The wine cellar. They’ll be safe down there, John. Only one way in or out. Strongest point of the house.’

‘Take this lot down there now,’ Mallet said, indicating the family. ‘Tell the colonel to stick one of his guards in the cellar with them. Make sure he understands not to leave them under any circumstances. Tell him not to answer the door until the fighting is over.’

‘What about the girl? The president’s brother?’

‘Get them out of this room. I don’t care where. Just get them out of here.’

‘This means trouble.’ Loader sucked in a deep breath. ‘The Machete Boys will know where to find us now. They’ll figure it out, once they realise their mate ain’t coming back.’

‘Not just them,’ said Gregory.

Casey looked up at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The Boys and the KUF are allies,’ Gregory explained. ‘The Boys will alert General Kakuba’s men as soon as they know where we are. They’ll want to pass on the message.’

‘Bloody great,’ Loader muttered.

Mallet’s hard blue eyes lingered on Bowman. ‘You. Sort your fucking head out. Give Tiny a hand. Then get outside and help the others.’

He marched out of the room, rifle at his side. Gregory followed him. Loader gently pulled the sister-in-law back from her dead daughter, Bowman ushered the boys and the other twin girl to their feet. Seguma’s wife gathered her belongings, and then Bowman and Loader ushered the family down the hallway. The children wept softly, the sister-in-law made a deep keening noise in her throat.

They reached a door off to one side of the central atrium and descended a spiral staircase to the basement. Loader led them down a cobwebbed corridor, past a plain metal door, into a spacious wine cellar with a vaulted ceiling. Rows of wine bottles were arranged in timber racks, the necks coated in a patina of dust. Boxes of wine yet to be unpacked had been stacked against the walls. In one of them Bowman glimpsed a set of electric cattle prods. He wondered what they were doing in the cellar. A mistake, probably. One of the household staff putting the wrong package in the wrong place.

The family sat around the oak table in the tasting area. Bowman jogged back upstairs, and left Loader to watch over the family while he fetched the staff. The two maids, the chef. The gardener. He led them down to the basement. Left them with the family, hurried back up to the ground floor and ran outside. He beckoned over one of the presidential guards, led him into the cellar. Loader told the guard not to leave the room, no matter what. He made sure the guard understood his job, demonstrated the knocking code they would use when it was safe to emerge. Then he stepped out into the corridor with Bowman, closing the door behind them.

‘What the fuck was that all about?’ Loader hissed.

Bowman kept on walking. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.’

‘Yeah, you do. Upstairs. Leaving the family alone. What were you thinking?’

Bowman stopped and rounded on his mucker.

‘Have you got something you want to say to me, Tiny?’

Loader gritted his teeth. His face seethed with rage. ‘You’ve lost your edge. You’re a joke. That girl’s dead because of you.’

Bowman half-closed his eyes. ‘It was a mistake. I didn’t know that shooter was out there. No one did.’

‘Don’t take the piss. I’ve heard the stories doing the rounds at Hereford.’

Bowman tensed. ‘What stories?’

‘Everyone knows you ain’t the soldier you used to be. All the lads at camp have been saying the same thing. They reckon you’ve got sloppy. Turning up late for briefings, losing bits of kit, getting the basics wrong. I didn’t believe them at the time, but now I’m beginning to see what they meant.’ He wrinkled his nose at Bowman, as if he carried a bad smell. ‘John should never have recruited you to the Cell.’

‘Those lads should mind their own business. And so should you, Tiny.’

‘Fuck off, Josh. We’re about to get hit by a swarm of rebels. This is no place for a washed-up Blade. Christ, we can’t even rely on you to guard a few civvies.’

‘I’ve got what it takes,’ Bowman insisted.

‘Bollocks. This ain’t the first mistake you’ve made on this op. Is it?’

Bowman said nothing.

‘Patrick told us about what happened in Monte Carlo,’ Loader went on. ‘Raiding Lang’s medicine cabinet when you should have been doing a bog-standard room clearance. Almost blowing your cover story with the concierge. And to top it off, you’re bang out of shape. You’ve been sweating non-stop since we left London. I’ve seen slop jockeys on Selection in better condition than you.’

‘It’s not what you think,’ Bowman said.

‘How’s that, mate? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re a fucking liability.’

Bowman stared at the floor for a long beat, trying to find the words. Ashamed to look his friend in the eye. Ashamed of himself, his failure to protect the little girl. Then he sighed and looked up at his old Regiment mucker.

‘I’ve got a problem. A habit. A bad one.’

‘What is it? Booze?’

Bowman shook his head.

‘Gambling, then? You spunked all your hard-earned cash down at the bookies, is