Liz Carlyle - 05 - Present Danger by Stella Rimington Page B

right beside his gate. In fact it was partly blocking the road he was trying to back into. He was just starting to get out of the car and tell the driver to move out of the way, when he noticed that the driver was getting out. Then he saw there was another man getting out of the van as well.
    Alarm bells were ringing loudly in his head. ‘Excuse me,’ the driver shouted out, walking towards Jimmy. He had a smile pasted on his face which the policeman distrusted at once.
    ‘Would you happen to know,’ the man began to ask, then he stopped, standing about fifteen feet away, and Jimmy saw that the other man, also dressed in white overalls, was coming into the drive. This man had his arms down by his sides, but Jimmy Fergus saw that he held something in one hand.
    Reflexively, Jimmy reached for the Glock 9 mm pistol he always carried holstered under his jacket. As he grabbed its grip he saw that the man’s arm was now extended. Gun thought Jimmy, just as the man pulled the trigger.
    The bullet caught Jimmy Fergus high in the chest on his right side, next to his gun arm. He lost his balance and began to fall, knowing that he mustn’t let go of his gun – don’t drop it , he told himself, or you’ve had it .
    He hit the drive heavily, landing on his side, and tried immediately to roll behind the open car door for protection. But waves of pain were seizing him just below the shoulder, and his legs would not respond to his mental command to move. His fingers still gripped the Glock, but when he tried to lift the pistol and fire, his arm did not obey.
    The man with the gun was coming around the rear of the car now, and the van driver stood back to give him space. He turned to face Fergus, who was still lying sprawled on the drive. His gun was a semi-automatic, and as he raised his arm to fire, Jimmy could only think this is it .
    But nothing happened. The man stared at his weapon with disbelief. It must have jammed, thought Fergus. He tried to roll underneath the car but he couldn’t move, and he sensed his stay of execution would be short-lived.
    Calmly clearing the jam, the man stepped forward, lowering the gun to shoot the policeman.
    Suddenly a scream broke through the air, like the sound of shattering glass. Even through his pain, Jimmy Fergus realised it was Moira, coming out of the front door, still wearing the pink housecoat he had given her for Christmas.
    The man with the gun jerked back, obviously startled.
    ‘Get back,’ Jimmy tried to shout. He saw the man turn to face Moira, who was running towards them down the path, still screaming. To his horror the man raised his weapon. And then Jimmy found his fingers could move after all, and he managed to lift the Glock an inch or two off the ground with his hand, and with more hope than expectation, pointed it and fired.
    The gun kicked with enough force to fall from his hand. As its sharp crack echoed in the air, Jimmy heard a muffled shout – ‘ Agghh! ’
    He saw his would-be executioner reaching down, to where a dark stain was seeping through one leg of his pristine white overalls.
    In obvious agony, the man dropped his gun. The driver of the van ran forward and picked it up. Fergus prayed he would not finish the job. Instead the driver put a rough arm around his wounded accomplice, then half-ran with the hobbling, bleeding man to the cab of the laundry van. Seconds later the van’s engine started up. With a long squeal of tyres, it turned a sharp one-eighty degrees and shot off down the road.
    Then a hand was gently stroking his hair, and as he slumped down he heard Moira sobbing.
    ‘Jimmy, Jimmy,’ she was saying through her tears. ‘Can you hear me? Are you all right? Oh God, please God, tell me he’s alive.’
    ‘Leave God out of it,’ gasped Jimmy, ‘and ring the ambulance.’ Then he passed out.

18
     
    ‘How is Mrs Ryan working out?’ asked Judith Spratt. She was sitting in Liz’s office, waiting for Dave to join them and review where they had