Dancing With Mortality by Mark McKay Read Free Book Online

resisting arrest. But one
miraculously escapes, riding a horse no less. In an operation that was supposed
to be watertight. And you simply rode away. That’s a little too convenient for
the high command to stomach, Michael. You sold us to the enemy.’
    Michael found himself feeling very clear-headed and focused,
but certainly not relaxed. His body felt wound up like a spring. Ready to
uncoil, should that be an option. The effect of the wine he’d consumed was no
longer clouding his perception, adrenalin had overpowered alcohol. Still, the
situation was on a knife edge.
    ‘That is ridiculous. I’m owed the chance to tell my side of
it in person.’
    ‘Those aren’t my orders. You know what happens to
informers.’ He turned the gun directly on Michael.
    Then everything happened at once. The assassin fired as
Michael threw himself to the left. He felt the bullet rip through his jacket
and into his shoulder, then he hit the floor.
    The man’s aim had been distracted by Siobhan, who leapt from
the sofa and threw herself directly at him, screaming abuse and clawing at his
eyes. He stumbled back in surprise, his gun arm momentarily dropping to his
side. Then he recovered himself, delivering an uppercut with his left that sent
her reeling backwards. He lifted the gun and fired one silenced shot into her
stomach. She collapsed with a loud sigh, back onto the sofa.
     But the diversion had given Michael enough time to draw the
Browning from his jacket pocket. He aimed and squeezed the trigger, drilling a
neat hole straight through his assailant’s forehead. The man was dead as he
crashed backwards on to the wall, and slid down it to the floor.
    The Browning wasn’t silenced, and the echo of the shot
reverberated. It seemed to come off the walls like waves, and he knew it must
have been heard. His shoulder had gone numb, but that didn’t matter. He rolled
off the floor and knelt next to his sister.
    She sat with her head bowed, both hands clasped to her
stomach. Her breath was coming in sobs as he stroked her hair. He put his palm
under her chin and gently lifted her head. They looked at each other, and time
seemed to stand still.
    ‘It doesn’t hurt Michael, it doesn’t…’ There were tears in
her eyes, and in his.
    ‘Don’t move, Sis. Keep your hands there. I’m phoning for
help.’ He saw the blood seeping through the bars of her hands. ‘Why did you do
that, Jesus...’
    He rushed out into the hall, picked up the phone and dialled
for an ambulance.
    ‘It’s a gunshot wound, I need them now,’ he told the
operator.
    ‘Fifteen minutes sir, address please.’
    Michael swiftly finished the call and rushed back to the
living room. Siobhan was as he’d left her. He knew that the first hour after
being shot was critical. She was losing blood. He ran to the bathroom and
returned with a towel.
    ‘Need to put pressure on it now,’ he whispered. He held the
towel over her hands and gently applied pressure. ‘Breathe, just breathe for
me.’
    She managed to look up at him and almost smiled. He could
see the far away look in her eyes, and knew she was going into shock.
    ‘Love you,’ she whispered.
    ‘Shh, don’t talk.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘They’ll be here
soon.’ Nothing more to do now but wait.
     
    Fifteen minutes later he heard the
sound of an approaching siren, swiftly followed by a loud knocking on the front
door. He opened it to two burly ambulance men, who marched in with a stretcher.
They glanced briefly at his bloodstained hands then looked at each other.
    ‘Where’s the victim? Is it you?’ asked one.
    ‘Living room. Follow me.’
    ‘He’s dead,’ said Michael as ambulance man number two looked
at the balaclava clad gunman stretched out on the floor.
    ‘So I see.’ With no further conversation the two men
proceeded to get Siobhan off the sofa and on to the stretcher while keeping
pressure on her wound.
    ‘We’ll stabilise her as best we can in the ambulance,’ said
one. ‘You