Read Online Spider's Web: A Collection of All-Action Short Stories by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online

the explosion by locking the door and pulling down the steel shutters.
    The remainder of Ilyushin’s security team in the Rolls-Royce and Mercedes were now cut off from him by the pall of smoke. The traffic had ground to a dead stop as a panicking chauffeur pulled out from the kerb and collided with a taxi, and all around them the street was dissolving into chaos with horns and alarms sounding and people shouting, screaming and running around like headless chickens as they tried to escape.
    Tchorek, imperturbable among the chaos, walked over to the shop doorway and looked down at the heap of bodies protecting Ilyushin. He pulled out the Skorpion machine pistol and kicked one of the Russian bodyguards out of the way. Ilyushin lay on his back, staring up at Tchorek, his eyes wide with fear. ‘Whatever they are paying you, I will double it,’ he said.
    ‘That’s not how professionals work,’ said Tchorek, in Russian. He frowned as he saw the gun pointing up at him. It was a Glock and it was in the hands of one of the British bodyguards. It was a professional’s grip, the left hand cupping the right.
    Tchorek immediately switched his aim and targeted the bodyguard’s face. He was in hisrede was i late thirties, nondescript with dark brown hair, and didn’t have the normal bodybuilder’s physique of bulging forearms and a thick neck. ‘It’s over, Tchorek,’ said the man.
    Time seemed to stop for Tchorek as his mind raced.
    The man was English and armed. That meant he was a cop. Or MI5. Either way he wouldn’t be on his own, which meant that there were probably other weapons trained on him at that moment.
    The man holding the gun was a professional and unlike Ilyushin had no fear in his eyes. His finger had already tightened on the trigger and the merest increase in pressure would send a bullet into Tchorek’s brain.
    The fact that the man hadn’t pulled a trigger suggested again that he was a cop.
    The decision that Tchorek needed to make – and quickly – was whether or not to pull his own trigger.
    If he did, the bodyguard would die. There was no question of that.
    But as he died his finger would probably tighten enough to pull the trigger and Tchorek would also die.
    And even if the bodyguard didn’t fire there would be other armed officers, Tchorek was sure of that. They would fire because he had killed one of their own.
    Either way, Tchorek would die.
    If he didn’t pull the trigger he would be arrested. But on the plus side he hadn’t killed anyone and the bomb hadn’t been designed to hurt or maim.
    With no shots fired he was guilty only of carrying a loaded firearm. If he pleaded guilty and apologised and promised not to do it again, the absolute maximum penalty would be ten years and he would almost certainly only serve five. And five years in a British prison was no hardship, on a par with a three-star hotel in Moscow. With a choice of TV channels in his cell, a varied menu and regular sessions in the gym, he could do five years standing on his head.
    He smiled and slowly raised the gun above his head, then tossed it behind him. He clasped his hands behind his neck and slowly knelt down as the bodyguard got to his feet, keeping the gun aimed at Tchorek’s face. ‘I surrender,’ said Tchorek. ‘It is, as you English like to say, a fair cop.’
     
    Dan ‘Spider’ Shepherd ran a hand through his hair as he watched two uniformed officers bundle Tchorek into the back of a van, taking care not to bang his head on the door, which seemed very good of them considering what had just happened. ‘I really thought he was going to shoot me,’ said Shepherd. A fire engine had arrived and was dealing with the aftermath of the explosion. Uniformed police officers had cleared the pavements and sealed off the street.
    Shepherd’s boss, Charlotte Button, turned up the collar of her raincoat and flashed him a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re wearing your vest, aren’t you?’
    ‘In the head, Charlie. He was