Epilogue
England
The last time Eddie saw the English Channel, it had
been a brilliant blue beneath a sunny sky. Today, though, the sea
beyond the harbour entrance was as grey and leaden as the thick
clouds overhead, a stiff breeze stirring up whitecaps.
He watched as a boat
slowly approached the quay. The white motor yacht had left Poole
Harbour an hour earlier, heading a few miles out to sea on its
short, solemn voyage. Its screws reversed, churning up white foam,
and it came to a stop at the quayside. A crewman quickly tied it
up, then positioned a gangplank so the passengers could
disembark.
Eddie counted a
dozen, all dressed in mourning black. Most he didn’t recognise;
elderly people, friends of his grandmother’s. But four he knew. His
sister, his niece . . . and his father, accompanied by
Julie.
He checked that
nobody nearby was paying him any undue attention, then left the
doorway in which he was waiting and crossed to the quayside to meet
the group as they came ashore. Holly was the first to see him,
crying out ‘Uncle Eddie!’ in a mix of surprise and shock. Even
after several days, his bruised face still bore witness to the
beatings he had suffered in South America.
‘Hi, Holly,’ he said.
‘Lizzie. Julie.’ He deliberately didn’t acknowledge his father . .
. yet.
Elizabeth was just as
startled as her daughter, though far less enthused. ‘Eddie, what
the hell are you doing here? The police came round – they told us
to tell them if we heard from you. They said you killed
someone!’
‘I came to say
goodbye to Nan.’ Elizabeth was holding an empty cremation urn, the
family having carried out Nan’s wish to have her ashes scattered at
sea. ‘Was it a good service?’
‘As far as any
service can be said to be good, yes,’ said Elizabeth
tightly.
‘I’m sorry,’ Eddie
told her. ‘I wish I could have seen her before . . . before. You
know.’ Holly, red-eyed, tried to stifle a sniff as new tears
welled. ‘I should have been there. But . . .’
‘But you were busy,’
said Larry. ‘More important things to do.’ Sarcasm entered his
voice. ‘Saving the world, no doubt.’
Eddie rounded on him,
fists clenched. ‘No, I was watching a friend die.’ He looked at
Elizabeth and Holly. ‘Mac. Jim McCrimmon, you remember him?’ Both
women reacted in dismay. ‘He was murdered, shot in the back.’ He
faced Larry again, anger rising. ‘Because of you!’
‘What?’ said Larry.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You talked to Stikes
after I saw you in Colombia, didn’t you?’
‘Well . . . yes. But
he was a client, so I had every right. I don’t see
how—’
‘You told Stikes that
Nina was looking for El Dorado in Peru. And guess what, he turned
up at the site with a helicopter full of mercenaries and a
truckload of terrorists! A lot of people died – and it was your
fault!’
Larry bristled,
rising to his full height. ‘You told me
what Nina was doing. I hardly think you can put all the blame on
me.’ His mouth tightened accusingly. ‘I’m sorry about your friend,
but it’s your fault too.’
Eddie stared at him .
. . then a surge of fury overcame him. Before he even knew what he
was doing, he swung with his full strength and punched his father
in the face. Larry flew backwards and thumped down on the damp
dockside. Julie screamed.
Eddie moved as if to
kick him into the water – but Holly rushed forward to crouch in
front of her grandfather, looking up at her uncle in disbelief.
‘No, leave him alone!’
‘Edward! Elizabeth
shrieked. ‘What are you doing?’ People on the quay turned to see
the cause of the commotion. One of the mourners took out a phone
and hurriedly dialled 999.
Larry put a hand to
his face, stiffly moving his jaw before wiping blood from his
mouth. ‘Pretty good punch,’ he gasped as Julie knelt to help
him.
The burst of rage
that had fuelled Eddie faded as he took in Elizabeth’s and Holly’s
appalled expressions. He looked down at Larry. ‘I’m . . . ’ he
started to say, but even now he couldn’t bring himself to complete
the apology.
‘I think you should
go,’ said Elizabeth coldly. She clutched the urn protectively to
her chest. ‘Before you do anything else that Nan would have been
ashamed of.’
Eddie regarded all
the faces looking at him with horror, shock, disgust, then walked
away, disappearing into the port’s narrow streets.
Another day, another
funeral.
Eddie lurked in an
alley across the street from the small church as Mac’s coffin was
raised by the pallbearers and placed in the hearse. He knew several
of the mourners; Mac’s ex-wife Angela was among them, as were a
number of his former military colleagues. On the group’s fringe was
a man with whom Eddie had in the past had decidedly mixed dealings;
Peter Alderley. The MI6 officer’s drooping moustache made his
downcast expression look even more doleful. As Eddie looked on
Alderley twitched, then edged away from the others to take a
vibrating phone from his jacket. A brief conversation, and he
retreated into the church.
Eddie shook his head
at the disrespect, then watched as the coffin’s loading was
completed. Angela spoke with some of the mourners, then she and a
couple of others entered a Rolls-Royce, which followed the hearse
as it slowly moved into the London traffic. He gazed after the
cortège until it was out of sight. ‘Fight to the end,’ he said
quietly.
‘Fight to the end,’
echoed a voice behind him.
Eddie whirled to find
Alderley in the alley, rapid breathing suggesting he had got there
in a hurry. ‘Well, look who it is,’ Eddie said, trying to cover his
surprise that the MI6 man had managed to sneak up on him. ‘James
Bore.’
‘I thought you might
turn up here, Chase,’ said Alderley. ‘Once we knew you were back in
the country after that contretemps with your dad, it seemed likely.
I had a couple of spotters looking out for you.’
‘You did? Thought
that was MI5’s job on home turf.’ Eddie glanced into the street,
but saw no signs of large men moving purposefully towards
him.
‘It is, normally. But
I’ve got a personal interest in this one.’ He briefly looked in the
direction of the departed hearse. ‘My men are hanging back – for
the moment. I wanted to talk to you first.’
‘About
what?’
‘A few things. First,
how you managed to get from Peru back to England when Interpol has
a red notice on you for murder.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘I
know a few people.’
‘Like Bluey Jackson?’
A half-smile at Eddie’s discomfiture; the Yorkshireman had
contacted the Australian, not for the first time, to obtain fake
identity documents, which had then been couriered to Lima. ‘I
thought so. One of these days, we really should tell the Aussies
about his little false-passport factory. But . . . ’ Another
humourless crease of his lips. ‘Not today.’
‘So what else is on
your mind?’ Eddie asked, not sure where the discussion was leading.
Alderley could already have had him arrested – and still might –
but clearly wanted something first.
‘Mac. What happened
to him?’
‘What did they tell
you happened?’
‘That he was killed
by Peruvian rebels, who also wounded an Interpol officer – the same
man you later killed.’
‘Yeah, that’s what
everyone thinks. Even Nina.’ He couldn’t keep bitterness from his
voice.
Alderley noticed, but
didn’t comment. ‘And you know differently?’ he asked
instead.
‘Yeah. It was Kit –
Ankit Jindal, the Interpol agent – who killed him. Shot him in the
back, and then gave himself a flesh wound to make it look like the
rebels did it.’
‘Why?’
‘You know that
Alexander Stikes was involved too?’
Alderley nodded. ‘I
read the statements Interpol took from everyone. Including Nina.
She told them what you told her.’
‘Stikes was in a
chopper that was about to take off, with these statues that
everybody’s so bloody keen to get hold of. Mac had an RPG lined up
on it – and Kit shot him to save Stikes and the statues. They were
working together. I don’t know if they were all along, but they
definitely were by the time they met up at that gas plant. And
there’s something else. Sophia’s involved too.’
Alderley’s eyebrows
rose. ‘Sophia Blackwood? I thought she was dead.’
‘So did I. Apparently
not. I don’t know what she’s up to or why she wants the statues,
but she and Stikes went off with them – and Kit tried to kill me to
cover his tracks. If I hadn’t done what I did, I’d be a charcoal
fucking briquette right now.’
Alderley rocked on
his heels, thinking. ‘So . . . what are you going to do about
it?’
‘Find Stikes and kill
him, mostly. I hadn’t thought much past that . . . ’ He tailed off
as he realised the subtext of the MI6 officer’s words. ‘Wait, what
do you mean, me?’
‘I can’t do anything
– officially, at least – until I have some actionable evidence. All
I have so far is your word, and you’re, well, a wanted fugitive.
Your stock isn’t at its highest at the moment. But if you get some
proof for me . . . ’
Eddie made a
disbelieving face. ‘You’re going to let me go? Why? You can’t stand
me!’
‘Just because I don’t
like you doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. Mac, God rest his soul,
always believed in you, one hundred per cent. And I always believed
in Mac.’ His expression became more mournful than ever. ‘You’re not
the only person who’s lost a friend, Chase. You say Mac was killed
as part of some conspiracy? I’m willing to take you at your word. I
want answers as much as you do. So go and get them. Find Stikes,
and he should lead you to whoever else is involved.’
‘Me, working for
MI6?’ Eddie said dubiously. ‘Christ, and I thought I was already
badly off!’
‘Amusing as ever –
i.e., not at all,’ said Alderley with a disparaging sigh. ‘But you
really should get moving, before my men come looking for
me.’
‘So are you going to
give me anything to help? An Aston Martin that turns into a
helicopter?’
‘Just a head start,
I’m afraid. When you run, go right; my men are in a car down the
street to the left.’ Alderley took a breath, then braced himself.
‘Make it look convincing. But try not to break my nose again. Oh,
and . . . don’t enjoy it too much, will you?’
Eddie managed a faint
grin. ‘I’ll do my best.’
It was the second
time in as many days that he had punched someone he knew. As
Alderley hit the ground, he sprinted out of the alley into the
world beyond to begin his hunt.