The Last Queen of England by Steve Robinson Read Free Book Online

fire extinguisher: a big red one.   He grabbed it and ran inside, driven by the thought that this man had killed his friend and he’d be damned if he was going to stand back and let Jean Summer share the same fate.
    His resolve buckled when he saw the man again.   He was in the hallway.   The light was out but the sitting-room door was open and against the glow from the city lights beyond the window, Tayte saw a coal-black silhouette standing in the doorframe.   As the man turned around Tayte ran at him with the extinguisher.   He thrust it at him.   The gun went off and Tayte hit him with it again, knocking him down.
    “Jean!”
    She was there, hiding in the dark.   Even so, Tayte knew from the size of the apartment that it wouldn’t have taken long for the gunman to find her.   She came at him like a wild animal, leaping over the gunman and knocking Tayte back.   He looked for the gun but couldn’t make it out in the half-light.   Then the dark figure on the floor began to stir.
    “Come on!” Jean urged.
    Tayte backed away.
    Jean was already at the door.   “Here, take these.”
    Two crash helmets were thrust into his stomach and he felt like he’d suddenly awoken from a sleepwalking episode, wondering where he was.   He saw that Jean already had a leather jacket on.   She had a pair of boots in her hand and he heard a metallic jangle like she’d just picked up a set of keys.   Then they were heading for the lift.
    Inside, Jean began to pump the button for the basement parking level.   “Come on, damn you.   Come on!”
    The door began to close.   A shot was fired, wild and untrained.   It peeled the plaster from the wall outside and they moved away from the opening.   The gunman was out in the hallway now heading straight for them.   Tayte watched him run at the doors, eyes on the gun the whole time as he thrust the silencer forward, presumably in the hope of jamming it between the doors and forcing the safety mechanism to open them again.   It was a close call but he didn’t make it.   Tayte ducked back as the gun clanked against the doors.   Then they were descending.
    Tayte reacquainted himself with his briefcase and gave a nervous laugh.   “I changed my mind.”
    Jean was putting her boots on.   When she’d finished she took the smaller of the two helmets from Tayte and put that on, too.   “I’m glad you did.”   She nodded at the other helmet.   “See if it fits.”
    Tayte didn’t really care.   Attracting police attention for not wearing a helmet seemed like a good idea right now.   The helmet was an open face type.   It was tight but he got it on.
    “He would have seen the helmets,” he said.   “He’ll know where we’re headed.”
    “Then get ready.”
    They watched the countdown together.   Four, three, two.   They reached the lobby.
    “Next level,” Jean said.
    They ran as soon as they could fit through the gap in the doors and they were instantly lit up by the harsh overhead strip-lights.   The motorcycle area was off to the right and they kept running.   All Tayte could see were scooters and he hoped Jean hadn’t been teasing him about the kind of bike she had.   None of them looked big enough to carry him let alone both of them.   They passed a blue 4x4 and the view opened up.   He could see a few sports bikes now and something big with a yellow tank.   It had panniers and high mudguards and Tayte thought it looked like it belonged in a Dakar rally.   He watched Jean bend down and take a key to the U-shaped lock that was dangling from the front brake disc.   He eyed the BMW roundel and the letters R1200GS on the tank.
    “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
    Jean climbed onto the thing like she was mounting a horse, and somewhat disconcertingly Tayte noticed that her feet could barely reach the floor.   Behind them a door opened and slapped hard against a concrete wall.
    “Are you just going to stand there?”
    Tayte swung himself on, grabbed