First Strike

“Where are you going?”

But Chance was already gone.

Jade kneeled down beside the waitress. “He’ll be after the gunman,” she explained.

The waitress stared at her, mouth open.

“How’s Ralph doing?” Rich asked, joining them. There were people standing round watching now.

“How…” Ralph gasped. His breathing was ragged and noisy. A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth. “How…do you think…I’m doing?” he gasped. “Is my suit OK?”

His eyelids fluttered, then closed. Ralph sank back into Jade’s arms.

The assassin had made a mistake firing twice. The target—Ralph—was already down. The chances were that no one would have seen where the first shot had come from.

But Chance had seen the muzzle flash from the second. It had come from a small, raised wooded area that screened the restaurant car park from the main road beyond. The road was a busy dual-carriageway, so the assassin’s only realistic escape route was through the car park. He probably had a car ready.

Chance looked round as he sprinted from the restaurant. There was no sign of a car conveniently waiting. But there was movement in the shrubs along the car-park fence. The vaguest of dark silhouettes fluttered against the evening sky.

Zig-zagging to make himself a harder target, Chance ran for the silhouette. As he moved, he reached inside his jacket. Not because he had a gun, but because he wanted the assassin to think he did.

Ahead of him, a figure in nondescript dark clothing broke cover and pushed its way out of the trees and bushes. The figure was wearing a baseball cap pulled down low, but a long plait of black hair hung down its back.

It was a woman.

The would-be assassin was carrying a rifle with a telescopic sight attached. It looked like an LR153—accurate up to 600 metres. It was not the ideal weapon to defend herself with, though she swung it up in an arc and loosed off a shot at Chance.

He ignored it. The bullet was travelling faster than sound, and he’d heard the shot without feeling an impact, which meant he hadn’t been hit. He was close enough to the woman that she didn’t have time to stop and take proper aim. He kept running—in a straight line now, on a course to intercept her as she sprinted down the grassy bank and into the car park.

There was a car in the way, double-parked behind a large people carrier. Chance leaped over the car, sliding across the bonnet and back on his feet in an instant.

But there was no sign of her. The assassin was gone.

Chance kept moving, turning all the time, looking for any movement.

Then he spotted her. She was behind the people carrier, trying to use the large vehicle for cover, but he could make out her vague reflection in the side windows of another car. He smiled. If he couldn’t see her properly, then she couldn’t see him. He moved stealthily towards the people carrier.

Then suddenly, he was running towards the back of the vehicle. Round the people carrier, and increasing his speed. The woman had her back to him, peering round the front of the vehicle. Chance dropped his shoulder and slammed into the dark-clad shape on the other side, sending her flying.

The rifle skidded away, under another car and out of reach. The woman rolled as she fell and was immediately back on her feet, her hands raised and tensed in a classic karate stance. Her cap had come off, and Chance could see now that she was oriental..

She leaped at him, hands moving rapidly, chopping through the air.

Chance parried the blows and managed to get in a punch of his own. It connected with the assassin’s stomach and she doubled up, staggering away. Chance moved forward.

She looked up at him, still bent over in pain. Her face was contorted with hatred and anger. Her eyes, he saw, were different colours—one green and the other blue. He stepped towards her.

The sudden sound of the siren made them both glance away. A police car was turning across the oncoming traffic outside as it sped into the car park, headlights flashing in time with the blue lights on top. An ambulance was close behind it.

In that moment, there was another noise. An engine roared into life and a red Toyota shot out of a parking space nearby. It reversed rapidly, tyres screeching, right at John Chance. As it reversed, the back door swung open.

Chance leaped out of the way as the car skidded to a halt right where he had been standing. Seconds later it was moving again. It swerved round the approaching police car and accelerated past the ambulance out on to the main road.

Inside the car, Chance could clearly see an oriental woman with a long plaited pigtail of black hair.

Jade felt helpless. She stood back to allow the two paramedics to tend to Ralph. One of them replaced the wad of napkins, with gauze and bandages. The other readied a wheeled stretcher and set up a drip.

“This your dad?” one of the paramedics asked.

“No, my dad’s chasing the gunman.”

The paramedic raised an eyebrow.

Police were moving people back and starting to take statements. Chance pushed his way to the front and spoke quietly but urgently with the policeman in charge. Jade and Rich hurried across to join him.

“And put a guard on the wounded man’s hospital room.” Chance was saying. “I’ll have someone call your superiors with authorisation.” He turned to call across to the paramedics: “How is he?”

“Not good,” came the reply. “Right, everyone stand back please, stretcher coming through.”

“Did you get him?” Rich asked as they watched Ralph being loaded into the ambulance.

Chance shook his head. “Her, actually. I got the number of the getaway car, and called it in to Ardman, but they’ve probably dumped it already.”

Ardman was Chance’s boss. He ran a secret group of agents that handled missions deemed too sensitive for the main security services. Chance was one of Ardman’s senior operatives.

“I hope Ralph’s going to be OK,” said Jade.

“So do I,” Chance agreed. “He wanted to tell us something important. Important enough for someone else to try to kill him. But what was it?”

“And who was the assassin?” said Rich.

His father was staring past him, his attention suddenly fixed on one of the many TV screens. The music had stopped, and above the muted hubbub of conversation, the newsreader’s voice was just audible.

“As well as Marshal Wieng, there is also no sign of his second in command, Colonel Shu—who has already been indicted by the international courts for war crimes and crimes against humanity.”

The picture on the screen was of an oriental woman with long, jet black hair. One of her eyes was emerald green. The other was sky blue.

1 (#ulink_053a4341-7108-5a72-8bbd-c93ec3048df9)

They sat in the corner of the hospital caf? Visiting time was over for the evening and the place was quiet. Even so, John Chance and Hilary Ardman’s conversation was barely louder than a whisper.

Rich and Jade listened, but said nothing. Rich was eating biscuits. Jade had an unopened carton of orange juice in front of her. Chance was on his third black coffee and Ardman had a stainless-steel pot of tea that he seemed unimpressed with.

Ardman was holding the note Ralph had sent over to Chance with the champagne. “I’ll get this to the forensics people; they might be able to tell us something. Where the paper was made, how long ago it was written, if it’s actually Ralph’s handwriting. Something.”

“We can find all that out, but I’m not sure it will help. What we really need to know what is it means,” Chance pointed out.

“Yes.” Ardman sniffed. “He could have been more helpful.”