Author's Note: thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your comments are greatly appreciated. The usual disclaimers apply. Apologies for the long chapter. Thanks for reading; reviews would be awesome.
Chapter Thirteen: No Hard Feelings
"So, George, you're a Doctor?"
The question sounded more like an accusation, and Harry wasn't about to make any apologies for that. He glanced into the review mirror, to where he could see George's reaction reflected back at him. He looked like a teenager meeting his girlfriend's dad for the first time.
"Er, I am," replied George. "For twelve years now."
Smug bastard. "That must be very rewarding," Harry added, forcing himself to smile nicely.
"Well, I like helping people."
You mean, you have a God complex. "How very civic minded of you."
Ros clicked her tongue – a quiet gesture of disapproval. "He's brought medical supplies, you know."
Harry had to give him that, at least. As far as their mission was concerned, Ruth's choice of partner had been impeccable and George was proving useful in more ways than one. Giving up on his interrogation of Doctor George, Harry distracted himself from the uncomfortable atmosphere by reaching into the glove compartment where he'd stashed a map of Famagusta. He unfolded it on his knee as best he could and studied it closely. A small fraction, marked in green, had reopened since the invasion. But the vast majority, marked in red, was the abandoned city. Over thirty hotels; scores of restaurants, cafes and tourist attractions. Hundreds of derelict homes. Ruth could be anywhere among that lot, along with Lucas's mystery assassin and Jason Belling. As for Oliver Mace, he'd long since ceased to care where he'd got to.
"How do you even know Ruth is in this place?" George asked, frowning at Harry in the mirror. "It's under surveillance continually; they would have seen her, surely?"
Harry's retort was cut off by Ros.
"We know Belling entered the demilitarised zone from the Greek side, but never emerged at the Turkish end. We're extrapolating from that, assuming that Famagusta would be the best place to hide two people. Once you're in, you have the run of the place."
"We're bringing you because you grew up there," added Lucas. "We need someone local to get us around, quick as possible."
George sighed. "You do realise I was six when we were forced to leave," he pointed out. "I'd been no further than the end of the street on a tricycle. How am I supposed to remember the whole city?"
Resisting the urge to stop the car and throw him out there and then, Harry decided to be charitable.
"That's still more than we know," he replied. "Anyway, we'll be needing your expertise."
That being said, the barbed wire fences of Famagusta reared up almost out of nowhere. Ros brought the car to a near crawl as they sought the way in, which they eventually found just off a beaten earth track. An armed soldier waved them down with one hand, in the other he aimed a Kalashnikov roughly in the direction of the windscreen between Harry and Ros, as though undecided as to who he would shoot first. Once Harry had produced the relevant documentation, the solider visibly relaxed and waved them through.
"He wouldn't have let Belling in," Lucas pointed out, looking back at the solider. "Do you think we should tell them there's a breach in their defences?"
"Later," Harry replied. "First, we do what we have to."
Ros parked the car near the razor wire fence. For a moment, all four of them sat in silence, looking out at the formidable task ahead of them. To their left, a vast network of hotels rotted away, while straight ahead the old town centre stretched into the near distance. To the left, roads crumbled away into the wilderness that had long ago started to reclaim the streets.
"Is it safe to call her name?" asked George. "With this place the way it is, she's bound to hear us, it's not like there's anyone else around-"
"Apart from her captor, who might kill her if they hear us coming," Ros cut over him, saying nothing of the mystery assassin who'd been tailing them for more than a day.
Harry noted the bite of irritation in her voice with a satisfied smile. Finally, they got out of the car and stepped into the warm, afternoon sun and took a long look around them again. Ros and Lucas drew close together, leaving George and Harry to partner up.
"Will you two be alright to head in town alone?" Harry asked, looking over his shoulder in their direction. Already, he and George were turning towards the abandoned coast line.
"It'll be quicker this way," Ros agreed. "You go, we'll be fine."
"Meet back here for a briefing in two hours," Harry said. "If there's still nothing, we'll come up with another plan."
With that, both Ros and Lucas set off down the main street towards what once were shops and businesses. Harry turned to look at George, appraising the younger man casually. Of all the differences between them, the most important thing of all was that they were united by an overwhelming desire to get Ruth back in one piece. That alone was enough for Harry to set aside any juvenile animosity. At least for the time being.
From inside her hideaway, Ruth listened to the distant waves crashing over the shore and sucking at the shingle beach. A slow, rhythmic cycle that could be heard at just about any point on the Island but seemed more amplified Famagusta. But hearing the restless oceans in the middle of a city still felt alien to her, like an oasis in the middle of London or snow in August. She breathed slowly and deeply to avoid jumping at every small noise she heard and started to form a rational plan. Wait for darkness to fall, follow the sound of the waves to the coast and then follow the perimeter fence until she reached a checkpoint. But, waiting there all day was not a realistic option. She would have to move, if only to put more distance between herself and Jason Belling - who she knew would be out there, looking for her.
After an hour, she was still sore and stiff, but she could once again walk. Her knees stung, where she had cut them following a fall during her escape. A sharp pain in her ankle informed her that there was a possible sprain. Apart from that, her first cautious attempts at moving were more than manageable. She walked, stiffly at first, to the old newspaper stand that was still stocked with newspapers bearing the date of 14th August 1974: the day the city was finally overrun by Turkish troops.
Once she was up, however, she felt the urge to keep moving. She gingerly stepped over some fallen masonry and, using the walls for support, made her way back to open ground. Outside, she looked both ways and set off again once she was satisfied that the coast was clear. The shop was a small newsagent, rather than a large central retailer, so gave out on to the private, residential street it once catered for. From there, it was two miles to the Turkish checkpoints and, in her current condition, it may as well have been two hundred.
Reluctantly, Ruth turned back the way she came and limped down the road. Every few minutes, the pain in her knees and ankle compelled her to stop and rest. But after half an hour, she had managed to find her way into the old town centre. A Cathedral rose up high in the middle of the square she found herself in. Its spires standing almost in defiance of its decaying surroundings. At its base, a set of broad, concrete steps swept outwards in the cool shade. A place to rest while she got her bearings.
Ruth finally eased herself down on the steps, almost dizzy as the weight lifted from her injured ankle and she took several deep breaths as she relished the release of pain. She lay back on the top step, eyes closed in a manner of meditation until the sound – like a dry twig snapping under human foot – snapped her back to attention.
Instinctively, she shuffled backward towards the wall of the Cathedral and pressed herself into an alcove that formed part of the porch work. Holding her breath, she listened, trying desperately to rationalise the sound to herself: animals couldn't be kept out, after all. Then, the sound came again. Heavier, this time, a footfall on a gravel path. Frantically, she looked around for somewhere to hide that wasn't on the other side of the street. She wouldn't be able to run, not even if the armies of hell were at her heels. All she could do was press herself flat against the old doorway, squeezing herself into the alcove and pray, silently but furiously, that it was just a stray dog or wild boar from the nearby woodlands.
Moments later, it was impossible to deny that the footsteps were human. With her heartbeat racing again, she had half a mind to just jump out reveal herself to end the agony of the wait. She shut her eyes as the man walked ever closed, she braced herself for the sound of Belling's voice. But, it never came and the footsteps carried on walking. Slowly, Ruth opened her eyes again and clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from gasping. It wasn't Belling; it was a man much slighter than he and with dark hair, dressed in equally dark clothes. He had walked past the Cathedral and carried on going, muttering to himself in rapid Russian. He would only see her if he turned around, something that could have happened at any moment.
Not taking any chances, Ruth edged around to the side of Cathedral and watched until the strange Russian had vanished from sight as he ducked down a side street. Alone again, Ruth released the breath she hadn't realised she was holding and crept sideways, looking for somewhere more sheltered from view.
"This place is insane," Lucas murmured as they kicked in the sixth door of the day. That one in particular opened onto a private apartment, inside which the table was still set for breakfast; old family photographs still sat on the mantelpiece. "It's like someone pressed a pause button and deleted all the people," he added, casting a wary eye over the scene.
At his side, Ros shivered. She had been the one eager to come to Famagusta, whether the occasion called for it or not. Now, she looked pale and tense as she took in the devastation the invasion had caused. So far, they had seen an ancient amphitheatre, passed a museum built in exquisite gothic style that still housed various exhibits, as well as countless derelict shops. Even an old branch of Barclays Bank. But no sign of Ruth, Mace, Belling or mystery assassins anywhere.
Back out in the street, Ros stopped and turned to face him.
"Harry expressly forbad it, I know," she said. "But it'd be easier if we split up for half an hour and searched separately."
"I won't tell if you don't," he replied. "I'll meet you back here."
If the worst happened, they were both armed and knew well enough how to look after themselves. In any case, if there was someone else around, they'd know about soon enough. Their very footfalls echoed off the derelict buildings that surrounded them. So, for the time being, they separated. Ros took off down a street containing a theatre and rows of diners. While Lucas headed for the Cathedral that dominated a square not two hundred yards away. For protection, he kept close to the walls, trying not to step out of the shadows as he checked every building he passed.
He was about to walk straight past the Cathedral until something finally caught his eye. On the concrete steps leading up to the door, drops of fresh blood spattered darkly against the sandstone. He knelt down to get a better look and brushed his finger against one of the droplets to get a proper look.
"Finally!" he said to himself as he wiped his finger and reached for his mobile. He called Ros immediately, explaining what he had found and giving his precise location.
"Is that in the town square about five minutes from where we were?" she asked.
"Do you want me to wait? Or can I go on without you?"
"You go on," she replied. "I'll be there soon enough."
Whoever was injured wasn't bleeding so heavily that a convenient trail was left, so Lucas began by circling the Cathedral. He edged along the rough stone walls until he reached the rear of the building, where he paused at the corner. As he got his bearings and assessed the ley of the land, he rounded the corner and collided violently with something hard and solid. Pain exploded across his jaw, the metallic tang of blood making him gag as it trickled down the back of his throat. Dazed, he staggered backwards, trying to get his assailant in view.
"Don't touch me!" Ruth yelled at him, her pale blue eyes wide with terror. "I mean it! Stand back! I can kill you, you know."
Lucas swiped at his mouth with the back of one hand, while the other he held up in a gesture of surrender. Luckily, he recognised her instantly.
"Ruth," he gasped back, still reeling from the punch she'd landed. She barely looked strong enough to stand, but then she dropped the rock she was carrying and all was suddenly explained. "Ruth Evershed, isn't it?"
She slowly backed away, but was clearly impeded by more than one injury.
"How d'you know my name?" she breathlessly demanded, then she stopped and pointed at him accusingly. A look of recognition lighting her eyes as she reached for another loose rock to batter him with. "I know you; you were at the hotel-"
"Ruth please, listen," he pleaded, fearful of another rock in the jaw. "I'm from Section D; Harry Pearce sent me and my name's Lucas North. My colleague, Ros Myers, will be here any minute. I'm not going to hurt you, believe me."
Ruth fell still again, but then swayed dangerously on the spot. Her eyes slid out of focus, as though she were staring at Lucas through a thick cloud of confusion, and a smile of relief spread across her face.
"Harry," she whispered, struggling for the strength to speak. "Harry sent you?"
Lucas nodded. "He's here, looking for you in another part of town."
He caught Ruth just in time, before she could fall in a dead faint and do herself even more injury. She clung to him as best she could, collapsing against his chest as he eased her to the ground, where he also sat beside her. Even propped up against the wall of the Cathedral, her head still drooped to the side. He took a bottle of water he had in his back pack and handed it to her after twisting the cap off himself.
"Is Harry really here?" she asked, more dazed than seemed normal. "Is he really here?"
Lucas grinned and nodded, then prompted her to drink before she passed out from dehydration. He'd quite forgotten he was reuniting two old lovers. Ruth almost downed the water, but Lucas didn't care. She handed the near empty bottle back and looked at him, horror struck.
"Oh shit!" she cried, suddenly realising what she had just done to him. "I am so sorry for hitting you; I mistook you for that Russian bloke I thought I saw earlier."
Although Lucas knew he was being tailed, it still sent a thrill of fear down his spine. He stopped fussing over his backpack, turned to look at Ruth who instantly noticed the sudden change in his demeanour.
"I remember Harry talking about you," she whispered, bringing a hand to his face, where a small trickle of blood still leaked from a cut lip. "You were misplaced in Moscow."
He confirmed her memory with a nod. All those years of isolation in which he thought Harry had forgotten him, and it turned out that he'd even mentioned him to his love interests.
"It's a long story," he said, by way of explanation of the strange Russian presence in their midst. "But we need to get out of here, now."
The sound of approaching footsteps alarmed them both. They turned sharply in the direction they were coming from, and both gasped with relief when Ros came running round the corner and crashing to a halt. She looked down at them both, turning to Ruth with a vague smile. "Well, well," she said. "Fancy seeing you here."
Ruth let out a feeble laugh. "Hi, Ros. Don't worry, there's no hard feelings."
From a distance, the corpse looked like a fallen log. Broken and bent; completely out of place in the middle of the road. At first, that was exactly what Harry thought it was. It was only a leg, sticking out an impossible angle and a flap of loose fabric – a stray shirt tail – blowing in the soft breeze that enticed him to take a closer look. That's where he and George found the body of Oliver Mace. As they drew nearer, Harry thought he looked like a doll that'd been discarded from the window of a passing car. When they drew level with the body, both Harry and George looked down at it, suppressing a grimace. Broken glass surrounded the corpse, clearly having been thrown from one of the windows.
Either through deeply rooted professional thoroughness or soaring, optimism George knelt down beside Mace's remains and felt for a pulse. After a few minutes with the tips of his fingers buried in the gore, he looked up at Harry apologetically. "He's dead."
Harry raised a brow. "You don't say."
"He was alive when he hit the ground, though. You can tell," said George. "The blood's been pumped everywhere."
Unsure of what to do with that particular gem of information, Harry took a few backwards steps to get a better view of the upper storeys of the hotel it seemed he had been thrown from. Many of the windows were broken, through years of neglect or the invasion itself, or whether because a man had just been hurled through one of them, it was impossible to tell. It was only the possibility of Ruth still being in there and alive that kept as bait for him that dominated Harry's thoughts. Just as he was about to discuss the possibility with George, his mobile phone began ringing with Ros's name highlighted on the caller display.
"Ros, where are you? Mace is dead."
"Head back to the car right now, we've got Ruth. She's alive but injured," replied Ros. "She wants to talk to you."
Harry was able to take in just enough of that information for his heart to soar as the line crackled as the phone was passed to another person. When, a second later, he heard Ruth's voice, he began to feel at weak at the knees with relief.
"Harry!" she said, sounding breathless but undeniably the same as good as ever she sounded. "Harry, where are you? Are you at that old hotel?"
For a second, he couldn't think what to say: a rare moment of genuine speechlessness on his part.
"Ruth, thank God you're alright," he replied, at length. "Can you find your way back here? Tell Ros and Lucas the way and we'll meet by that old theatre."
He could hear their footfalls in the background, along with Ruth's laboured breathing. She sounded weak, like she was struggling and he inwardly urged Ros and Lucas to get a bloody move on.
"Harry," she said his name again and, unless he was much mistaken, she sounded as emotional as he. "It's so wonderful to hear your voice again."
Harry glanced over at George, who was listening in from a few feet away looking anxious and unwell. He still didn't feel guilty for still loving Ruth.
"I cannot wait to see you again," he said, deploying all his steeliness to keep his feelings in check. "I've missed you terribly…" his voice trailed off for a moment, before adding: "Do you want to speak to George, he's been helping us?"
Having overheard the question, George crossed over to Harry who held out the phone. As he went to pass it over, however, a gunshot shattered the eerie silence of the city. The bullet smashed into the tarmac and ricocheted off into the unknown. Both Harry and George instinctively ran for cover by lunging into an old car showroom. Ruth's panic stricken voice could be heard emanating from Harry's phone as they both ducked behind one of the 1970s Ford Chevrolets.
"Jesus Christ," George cursed aloud. "He's hiding in the hotel. He must have been waiting for us in there."
Harry had worked that much out for himself, but now he needed to ensure that Ruth wasn't being led back into the firing line. Ros was back on the line by the time he brought the phone back to his ear, sounding increasingly skittish.
"Harry, what the hell's going on?" she asked. "Ruth's seen our Russian friend, so it could be him."
In the background, he could hear Ruth giving them directions as they hurried to the scene.
"The Russian only wants Lucas," Harry managed to reply. "That bullet was meant for me. It was Belling. He's in the hotel. I'm sending George to the end of the road to meet you and I'm going into the hotel to end this."
"Harry no! Wait for us, at least-"
"It's too dangerous for any of you to come down here, so I'm going in alone, Ros. It's the only way," he cut over her. "If he has me, you can all get back to the car safely."
There was no time to think of a logical plan, just act on instinct alone. If the rest of the team tried to reach him, they would be gunned down. He hung up the call before Ros could argue the point any further and turned to George.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Nothing for at least five minutes," he replied, drawing his gun and making sure it was loaded. "I'm going into the hotel. Give me five minutes to get Belling's attention, then it should be safe for you to meet up with Ruth and others."
George's jaw dropped. "But he'll kill you!"
"Not if I shoot him first," he retorted drily. "When you get out of here, stick to the roads. Take Ruth back to the car, but send Lucas and Ros here."
Harry had no way of telling how far away the others were, so he wasted no more time and got up from behind the car. Outside, all was silent again. He hugged close to the wall and made straight for the door of the hotel where he could then see where it had only recently been kicked in again. If he hadn't been so immersed in the detail of Mace's death, he would have seen it. But, it was too late to dwell on what he could have done differently as he successfully made it through the entrance. He had to stay focused on taking out one of their assassins. Before going in, Harry cast one final look at the battered corpse of Oliver Mace and actively suppressed all thoughts of ending up the same way.
Between them, Ros and Lucas supported Ruth as they ran as best they could down the road. All three of them together looking like competitors in a particularly brutal three-legged race as the two on the outside drew their guns and Ruth shouted directions. The sound of the waves crashing against the distant shore drew louder, so they knew they were heading in the right direction at least. They had already passed the old houses that Ros and Lucas had kicked in earlier that day. They reached the old shops and swerved violently, almost piling up on each other, as they swung down the street containing the abandoned hotels Ruth had been held in.
"There!" Ruth panted, breathless and perspiring. "There it is!"
All three stopped for a moment as they looked down the street, spotting Oliver Mace's body crumpled in the middle of the road. Then, Ruth spotted George hunkered down beside the walls of the hotels he passed, trying to reach them. They each breathed a sigh of relief, taking a moment to catch their breath.
"Where's Harry?" Lucas asked, the physically strongest of the three and the first to recover. "Who fired that shot we heard?"
As George caught them up, Ruth disentangled herself from Ros and Lucas and went over to him, almost collapsing into his arms.
"Are you alright?" she asked, before repeating Lucas's question.
George didn't need to answer the question. He helped Ruth sit down on a nearby low wall and explained to the three of them what occurred during the phone conversation, as well as Harry's plan to hold off Belling while they all made their escape in the Jeep. Ros sighed as she double checked the ammunition in her gun.
"Typical bloody Harry!" Ruth retorted.
"You didn't think he'd actually change did you?" Ros asked, glancing over at her former colleague. "All we need now is for you to go charging in after him, wait for all hell to break loose and then it'll be just like old times."
Ruth almost laughed; would have done had it not been for the seriousness of their predicament. From where she sat, she looked up at Lucas who, in turn, already had his eye on the hotel door.
"Ros," he said, still looking at the hotel and assessing the way in. "Take Ruth back to the car, I'll go in for Harry."
"Lucas, you know you can't-"
"Ros, just do it," he snapped back.
Ruth expected Ros to unleash her inner demon on Lucas for backtalk like that. But, to her surprise, Ros remained perfectly calm, even subdued. "I'm not letting you go in alone," she finally said.
"We all go in."
It was Ruth who broke the impasse. They all turned to look at her while she dragged herself upright again.
"We're all on the same team, so we all go in," she added with an air of finality.
She expected Ros and Lucas to protest, but Lucas was already walking away and Ros merely instructed George to get back to the Jeep and get his medical kit.
"Ruth, you can't be serious?" said George.
The superficial cuts she had were beginning to clot, but she was still in pain. The sprain in her ankle was slowing her down, but not stopping her completely. Countering all that, was the knowledge that she could no more sit back and watch from a distance than she could fly without wings. She tried to be reassuring, but she knew she could also never fully explain her bond with these people. Even after an absence of two years, MI5 was still in her blood.
"I'll be fine," she replied, rather lamely.
Ros led the way, with Ruth close behind as they made their way back into the hotel. Lucas was already in there, waiting for them. George, meanwhile, had already gone from her sight as he went to get the equipment Ros said they would need. Ruth thought of the Russian on the loose, but if that person only wanted Lucas, then he wouldn't risk blowing his cover to harm anyone else. Assassins were paid for their hits and they weren't known for providing extras.
Inside the hotel, the three of them convened in the old lobby where they stood in a small group. Each facing the other as they strained their ears for even the smallest of sounds from within. After a few agonising minutes of deathly silence, they moved as one, with Ruth still occasionally leaning on the walls for support as she dragged her bad foot. First they swept through an old bar and restaurant area, before going through the lobby, and coming to pause at the foot of a staircase.
"Can you remember the way to where you were held?" Ros whispered in Ruth's ear as they began the ascent.
Ruth nodded, but didn't risk a verbal reply.
Lucas led the way, gun aimed and ready to fire. As they passed a window, Ruth thought she caught a glimpse of someone else passing along the road outside. However, by the time she drew Ros's attention to it, he'd gone from sight. However, she moved to that she was standing behind Ruth, keeping them covered from the rear on the off chance that they had been tailed and caught by their new friend.
On the first floor, they could finally hear sounds from nearby. The passageway at the top of the stairs intersected to the left and right. They paused at a corner, each lining up behind the other as they listened intently. Footsteps approached from the left hand corridor, then came to a halt as theirs did at the same time. A standoff, ended when a familiar voice whispered from behind the wall:
"Lucas, that you?"
"Harry!" Lucas breathed, sagging with relief.
The moment of danger passed and Harry rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes fell on Ruth. A number of expressions chased themselves across his face: relief, elation and then a reproving disapproval.
"Hiya Harry," she said, sheepish and blushing deeply at having openly flouted his instructions despite the fact he was no longer her boss. "Didn't think I'd let you have the fun on your own, did you?"
She could see that he was torn between concern for safety and relief at having his old team back together. For a moment, she thought his bothersome worry was going to win the day, but then that dazzling grin spread across his face. That one he wore when he cast caution to the winds and took a massive risk and the consequences be damned.
"Welcome back, Ruth," he said, a twinkle in his eye.
Three became four as they all grouped around Harry with Ruth pushed into a protective centre. Lucas, Ros and Harry all had guns, while Ruth whispered directions as low as she could, manoeuvring them successfully through the dilapidated hotel.
"Are you sure Belling's in here, Harry?" Ros asked as they climbed up to the second floor.
"The shot definitely came from in here," Harry replied. "He's in here somewhere."
"We were kept on this floor," said Ruth, recognising the corridor immediately. There was a distinctive lattice work of fallen masonry that she could recall having to jump when made her escape earlier that morning. "He must still be here, somewhere."
As soon as she said, she heard something from lower down in the building. A door closing; footsteps on the first floor stairs. She thought she might have been imagining things, but the others all looked, too. Their guns immediately trained on the stairwell behind them as the noise came again. Finally, Harry lost his temper as he called Belling's name out. At first, he was met only with an echo and a shower of dust as some loose plaster fell from the walls. Startled, Ruth whirled round as a shadow flashed across the wall behind her.
"Lucas! Watch out!" she called, as Belling lunged at the Senior Case Officer from behind.
They had all been looking in the wrong direction and Lucas was dragged to the ground in a rugby tackle that saw both him, as well as Belling, toppling backwards down the stairs they had just climbed up. Ros was the first to react properly, but her shot missed Belling by inches. Lucas dropped his gun as they hit the landing. Ruth tried to throw herself on top of it, only for it to be snatched away by Belling at the last minute.
Belling pulled Lucas to his feet, both men panting heavily, his own gun now pointed at his own head. Lucas tried to say something, but Belling punched him hard in the back, knocking the breath out of his already strained lungs. Now unable to do anything without getting Lucas shot; Harry, Ros and Ruth all back off with their hands held up in a gesture of surrender.
"Jason," said Harry, firmly. "Jason, it's me you want. Let Lucas go; he has nothing to do with this."
Ruth, still reeling from the shock of the sudden fight, looked from one man to the other as she eased herself back to the floor. She could see that Belling was beyond reason. The look in his eyes was manic and his grip on Lucas was getting so tight, she thought he might faint from lack of oxygen. Ros had lowered her gun and backed up against the wall, from where she also tried to reason with Belling. However, he looked back at them both, grinning in triumph.
"You can't kill me without killing him," he panted between laboured breaths. "Why would I let you go when I can wipe out the fucking lot of you and have done with it?"
Belling moved his arm so that Lucas was now in a headlock and struggling for breath. Ruth could tell Lucas was also thinking fast, despite the pain he must have been in. He brought his hands up to where Belling's arm stretched at his neck, ready to pull some move to throw the gunman. But before he could do that, another gunshot tore through the corridor. Ruth squealed in alarm and hastily grabbed Ros's gun from it had been placed on the floor near her feet. A figure charged up the stairs from below but her shot misfired and slammed into the wall behind the second assassin's head.
A third and fourth shot rang out almost simultaneously and the running figure was suddenly struck and blown by the bullet's velocity, clean off his feet. Ruth could see he was dead before he hit the ground.
"Lucas!"
Ros screamed his name in such a way that a fresh wave of panic washed over Ruth. Harry whirled around to where Belling and Lucas now lay tangled up in each other's limbs on the floor. The assassin's bullet had passed through Lucas's chest and into Belling's throat. Belling was still conscious, but a quick bullet to the head from Harry's own gun soon put paid to that problem. Without missing a beat, Harry grabbed hold of Lucas from beneath his armpits and started dragging him away down the stairs. Ros followed suit by grabbing his legs and help Harry with the burden.
"Ruth run ahead as best you can and get George," Harry instructed. "He should be back by now."
Ruth could no longer give a toss about the pain from her sprained ankle. She virtually threw herself down the stairs, making sure she kicked the assassin's corpse to make sure he really was dead as she went. Despite her haste, it seemed to take twice as long to get back out as it did to get in, as tough the hotel had stretched itself out to make her task that little bit harder.
Mercifully, the Russian assassin entered the hotel while George was still fetching his gear from the Jeep and the two clearly hadn't met. She saw George running full pelt down the road with the kit bag slung over his shoulders.
"I heard the gun shots from down the road!" he called out, breathless from running so hard. "Is anyone hurt?"
"Lucas is shot," she shouted back. "On the second floor. Hurry!"
He swept past her and made for the first flight of stairs he reached, Ruth straggling behind on her bad foot. They met Ros and Harry on the first floor, where they dropped Lucas as soon as they saw George and his kit. Without saying another word, George got straight to work on Lucas, while Harry took the car keys from Ros so he could bring the Jeep round. Once Harry had left, Ruth reclined back into the corridor, careful to keep out of the way while George stemmed the blood loss coming from Lucas while Ros cradled his head, watching as they battled to save their colleague's life.