Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
‘AYREH FEEK . . . YA IBN IL SHARMOOTA!’
The screams kept coming. The sheer violent despair. But another instinct overrode all others and prevented him from moving forward.
Survival.
Rifat was dead. Had that not been so clear then Mansour would have risked his life for his brother’s. But that was no longer possible. There was no reason for him to die as well. And one look at Romeo and his men, as they slowly registered who the bloodied and raging figure in the street actually was, told Mansour that death would be the inevitable outcome of all but one decision.
He stopped screaming.
For a moment no one moved. Not Romeo. Not his two companions. And not Mansour. All four, somehow frozen by shock and indecision. A moment that was ended by the aggressive ignition of a car parked one hundred yards away.
The explosion of noise kick-started Mansour’s adrenaline. He had been so focused on the men ahead of him that he had not considered the possibility of more. This changed the instant he heard the car.
Like a sprinter at the sound of a starter’s pistol, he reacted without a further thought.
‘CATCH THAT SON OF A BITCH!’
Mansour could hear Romeo’s shout behind him. He easily recognised the distinctive and intimidating voice. And he understood what the shouted instruction meant. If they caught him, Mansour was a dead man.
The sound of footsteps beat behind him. He could not tell how many sets – certainly two, maybe three – nor did he have a moment to turn and see. Instead he pushed himself onwards, as fast as he could run, towards the only place where he knew he would be safe.
Four hundred yards.
The adrenaline was still in full flow. Nature’s jet fuel.
Mansour had no idea how he was keeping his pace, even as he heard the footsteps racing ever closer. He pushed himself even harder.
Three hundred yards.
The sound of a car engine was coming closer, drowning out the sound of his pursuers on foot.
The car drew level. Between them was a line of empty vehicles, parked for the night along Stoke Newington High Street. They formed an accidental barrier of metal, preventing the car from mounting the kerb and swatting Mansour like a fly.
Two hundred yards.
Mansour risked a glance. In the front passenger seat was Romeo, a pistol in his hand.
Somehow Mansour managed to duck without breaking stride as he heard the first gunshot. He doubted he could do it twice, but then perhaps he did not need to; the bullet had missed even where Mansour would have been by maybe ten feet. It suggested that Romeo was struggling to aim from the moving car.
When the second bullet missed by even more, Mansour was sure.
One hundred yards.
The gunfire stopped as the car suddenly accelerated, driving off ahead.
Fifty yards.
The car came to a screeching halt up ahead. Romeo stepped out. And now Mansour understood. Romeo had ordered the driver to pull ahead, so he could take a static shot. A shot that could not miss, not with Mansour running towards him.