Free Love is a Stranger by John Wiltshire Page B

problem.”
     
    “Houston.”
     
    “I don’t—”
     
    “Never mind. Yeah. I’d say we have a problem. Heir to the throne upstairs, his much younger, pregnant wife is back at the ranch about to give birth.”
     
    “Exactly.”
     
    “Wow.” He looked up thoughtfully. “And she was his nanny?”
     
    “Don’t.” But Nikolas had begun to laugh. It was so unexpected and so uncharacteristic, such a beautiful sound, that Ben began to laugh with him. They both stopped dead when a shot rang out followed by screaming and a thump.
     
    “Fuck.”
     
    Nikolas turned to Ben. “Diversion.”
     
    “Fire.”
     
    They pulled bottles of whisky off the shelves and broke them over straw from the wine crates. Silently, they went up the steps to the door that led out into the spacious hall. They pushed their alcohol-soaked straw against the wood, opened the door a crack and set it all alight. Swiftly, they ran back into the hidden passage, closed the fake wine rack over the gap, and went up and into the priests’ hole, emerging in the bedroom. By the time they made it to the gallery landing overlooking the hall, there were shots and the sound of men’s footsteps. They peered through the banister to see two men trying to put out the fire. It was the work of moments to dispatch them both with silenced shots to the head and chest.
     
    It was time to turn from the defensive to the offensive. Ben felt something move deep within his belly—some final barrier to feeling he’d erected to protect himself. He rested his forehead on Nikolas’s. “I— Damn it! I want to tell you that I love you, but I can’t bloody well say it. I’ve never said it to anyone.”
     
    “And I have never heard it from anyone. But one day, I would like to hear it from you. Stay safe, Benjamin.” They rose and ran down into the hallway.
     
    §§§
     
    Ben was shot in the thigh and went down, but he rolled behind a large clock for cover, waving Nikolas on into the drawing room. Nikolas went down, and for a minute Ben’s heart almost stopped, but he saw the other man come out of the roll and begin shooting. Usama was behind the smouldering door to the basement. Ben sent a volley of shots towards him and made to follow Nikolas, but another bullet caught him in the shoulder, chipping the bone. He went down, saw Usama move into a better position, brought up his gun and shot him dead. In incredible pain, he pulled himself up and limped into the drawing room, flattening himself behind the door. Nikolas was kneeling by a bloodied body.
     
    Ben scanned the room with his gun sight. Nikolas said, “Allouni’s not here.”
     
    The dead man at Nikolas’s feet had been shot execution style. “Is it…?” Nikolas shook his head and flicked his eyes over to a couple by the Christmas tree. Ben instantly recognised the man holding Philipa. He was smaller and oddly balder than he looked on television.
     
    Suddenly, they heard a car. Nikolas left the dead body and they went to the door, Ben now struggling, dragging his leg. Ibrahim Allouni was reversing one of the Range Rovers, hitting other cars as he tried to turn. Nikolas and Ben laid down fire, but the vehicle’s strengthened sides and windscreen resisted their firepower. Suddenly, the car shuddered to a halt. It had hit the body of the dog, and the driver, obviously used to driving automatics, stalled the vehicle. Ben ran to one side, Nikolas to the other, and before Allouni could pick up his weapon, he had a muzzle pressed to his temple. He smiled slightly and laid his head back against the headrest, turning to look at Ben. “Mr Rider. I believe you now owe me another relative. Do you have another house I can burn?” His eyes flicked to Ben’s trigger finger, a smirk playing on his lips. “I have diplomatic immunity, as you are very well aware.” He saw something in Ben’s expression and added hastily, his guttural accent now mangling his English, “We come to an arrangement here, no? I am