These thoughts flashed through his mind in a split second. Cashbone and Sunny were his main concern right now. Nothing for it. He moved slowly in their direction. If Charles Young was in the house, then Wilde and Sunny and Cashbone had to work together. He was no more than fifteen yards away when Sunny turned, recognising him in the grey predawn light. She put up a hand urgently, palm towards him, and he froze.

At that moment, the front door of the Weirs’ house was opening and a man was emerging. No more than a dark shape in this light. But one thing was clearly visible – the stark outline of a sub-machine gun, its barrel scanning the spaces between the trees.

Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

The moment he saw Wilde, Jung sprayed the forecourt and the trees. Wilde instantly dropped to one knee, pistol out, firing back as fragments of wood and stone cut through the air around him. Cashbone was firing, too. While Sunny seemed to be throwing herself towards Wilde.

Wilde only had a few rounds left. He tried to get the man with the sub-machine gun in his sights as he backed away from the porch, and fired again, but trying to hit a moving target from this distance with a handgun was virtually impossible.

Jung was retreating to his right, firing sporadically. At five hundred rounds per minute, the Sten’s 32-bullet box magazine was quickly spent. Slinging the Sten over his shoulder, he pulled his pistol from his waistband and held it at arm’s length. He fired at two-second intervals. First at Wilde, then Cashbone, then back again. The shots were wide or high, but they covered his retreat. Within moments, he was gone, into the undergrowth at the far side of the house.

The noisy havoc of gunfire was replaced by an eerie silence punctuated by a single sound. Sunny lay prostrate at Wilde’s feet, and was moaning softly.

He knelt at her side, realising with horror that she had been hit. As he touched her, he felt blood seeping through his fingers.

‘Cashbone!’

But Cashbone ignored his call; he was going after the shooter.

‘Cashbone – she’s been shot! Help me! We have to get her to hospital.’

The big American stopped in his tracks and edged back, all the while keeping his eyes and pistol trained on Jung’s escape route.

Wilde had his fingers pressed to her neck. There was still a faint pulse, but her eyes were closed and her breath was coming in short gasps. Blood was bubbling at her lips. Wilde gently rolled her on to her side to prevent her drowning in her own blood. He opened her coat and saw the entry wound on her back, close to the spine.

Please, God, let it have missed her heart.