He levelled the gun, using his other hand to steady himself. Miles had the crazy notion that he looked like Dirty Harry.
‘Why? What the fuck are you doing this for, Michael?’ he shouted desperately. ‘Do you want money? I can get you millions in cash, jewels, whatever you need!’
‘I don’t want your money,’ spat Michael. ‘But I want you to pay.’
At the edge of the mangrove, Alex stopped suddenly. He was walking in front of Philip and had seen Miles and Michael on the beach before him. Crouching down quickly in the bushes, he instructed Philip to do the same. They could see Michael standing over Miles, pointing down at him, his body turned away from them.
‘Shit, I think he’s got a gun,’ Alex whispered.
The two men stayed low in the undergrowth. Between them and the boathouse was a hundred feet of sand and scrub, completely open ground.
Alex felt his palms sweating. He knew instantly they were all in danger, Miles more immediately, but would Marshall stop with him?
> ‘What are we going to do?’ he said.
He hoped Grace had called the police but wondered how long it would take them to arrive – if they could get here at all in this awful weather.
Philip puffed out his cheeks lightly. ‘I could tackle him from behind but he could fire at Miles before we got halfway to the boathouse. He could fire at us too, for that matter.’
‘Tackle him?’ hissed Alex incredulously. ‘Who are you? The SAS?’
He watched Philip’s eyes scan the ground around him. Then he crawled across and picked up a small rock the size of a squash ball.
Alex looked at him cynically. ‘You are kidding me?’ he hissed.
‘Nope,’ said Philip, moving into a crouch.
‘Tell me you’re a good shot.’
‘As well as my rugby, I was in the England Under-Eighteen cricket team,’ he said.
‘Under eighteen?’ said Alex. ‘I hope you’ve kept in practice.’
Knowing he had no time to argue, Phil stood up and threw the rock. It sliced through the air in a perfect arc, hitting Michael Marshall on the back of the neck. He slumped forward, the gun going off with a bang.
‘Fuck me,’ whispered Alex. ‘Great shot!’ But Philip wasn’t listening; he was already sprinting across the open ground. In a flying leap he landed on top of Michael, forcing his arm across the lawyer’s throat. Without stopping to think of the danger, Alex followed him, struggling for speed across the cold, wet sand.
‘Where’s Sasha?’ shouted Philip. ‘Tell us!’
‘Fuck you,’ growled Michael.
Alex spotted Michael’s gun a few feet away from him on the beach. He scrambled over to it, pausing for a moment before he picked it up, heavy, menacing in his hand.
He pointed it at Michael as Philip repeated his question.
Michael hesitated.
The gun felt alien in Alex’s grip but he kept his hand steady. ‘You’ve got three seconds to tell us. Be quick, I was almost sectioned once, no telling what I’ll do. One, two, thr—’
‘At Nelson’s old place.’ Michael winced.
‘Miles, get some rope from the boathouse,’ said Alex.
Miles struggled to his feet and obediently followed his instructions. Philip bound Michael’s arms and legs together and the three men lifted him into the boathouse, where a third length of rope tied him to a cast-iron table.
‘That should keep him quiet,’ said Alex. ‘Now let’s get back to Grace.’
‘No, we have to find Sasha,’ said Philip urgently. He pulled his phone out and handed it to Alex. ‘Call Grace, make sure she’s OK.’