Footsteps pounded outside the window. Seconds later, the door splintered from its frame.
‘Armed police!’ the masked men called as they flooded into the room. Cook, having guided them to the hostages, came in with them.
Morgan dropped his blade to the floor and looked to the dirty, threadbare sofa.
He saw the young woman there, her eyes wide. He knew she would struggle to come to terms with what she had witnessed, and the ordeal she’d suffered, but Abbie Winchester was alive.
Knowing as much, Morgan finally let the pain overwhelm him, a sheet of white covering his sight as he slipped into unconsciousness.
EPILOGUE
THE COHORTS OF red-coated troops moved as if they were part of the same organism, gleaming black boots crunching into the gravel of Horse Guards Parade as the columns marched past the royal dais. The Queen and members of the royal family stood to take the salute.
The Duke of Aldershot was not among them. For now he was in the care of Private’s London headquarters, a pair of police officers waiting on their orders to issue the arrest warrant as soon as the detectives were happy that they had a watertight case. According to Inspector Elaine Pottersfield, Aaron Shaw had already offered to testify against his former employer and co-conspirator in return for a lighter sentence.
‘How did you know he was alive?’ Knight asked. He was seated in a wheelchair, his wounds bandaged by paramedics. Beside him, Morgan sat in his own wheelchair and bore his own dressings. Cook had called the men a pair of ‘stubborn, stupid bas
tards’, but Morgan had been adamant that he would see the parade. Knight had refused to leave his friend’s side, and so the two men had been wheeled onto the gravel of the parade ground, painkillers and the precision of the soldiers’ drill distracting them from their wounds.
‘We saw a lot of blood, and expected a body,’ Morgan answered. ‘But Aaron Shaw’s corpse never materialised. It was only when Jane picked up on the kidnapper’s slang that we knew there must be a second kidnapper, and if they displayed Grace’s body as a lesson, then why wouldn’t they have done the same with the bodyguard’s, and put that message out from the get-go?’
Knight filled in the blanks. ‘He probably built up the blood collection over weeks. The Duke said that Shaw was under the weather leading up to the incident. He’d have been weak from it all.’
‘Which is why he needed Waldron to do the heavy lifting,’ Morgan agreed.
‘He gave me a scare,’ Knight admitted. ‘Thought I was going to be gutted twice in one morning.’
‘Hooligan says you owe him a crate of Carling.’ Morgan smiled. ‘It was him that found you. When I told him I thought Shaw was our second guy, Hooligan raided databases and search engines for any links Shaw had within a three-mile radius of where the truck crashed.’
‘That was his place?’ Knight asked, shocked.
‘It was six months ago,’ Cook explained, a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. ‘They condemned the building, and Shaw had to move out. But he kept a key.’
‘He’s a soldier.’ Morgan shrugged. ‘He wanted to know he had a fallback position.’
The trio lapsed into silence, watching as the final company of troops made their way by the Queen. Her Majesty retired to Buckingham Palace, awaiting the fly-past of the Royal Air Force.
When it arrived, Knight broke into a grin. ‘This is my favourite bit,’ he said.
First came the helicopters, their blades beating against the air. Morgan’s stomach tightened as he remembered his own days at the stick, and the men and women he’d flown with. Then came the historic Lancaster bomber, flanked by a pair of purring Spitfires. Next it was the turn of the RAF’s jets, the transports escorted by sleek-winged Typhoon fighters. Finally, the crowds gasped in awe as the Red Arrows flew over the parade ground in formation, trails of red, white and blue smoke billowing out behind them.
‘That was impressive,’ Morgan beamed.
‘I’m glad you liked it,’ came a familiar voice from behind them.
Morgan turned and saw the outstretched hand of Colonel De Villiers.
‘I owe you an apology, Mr Morgan,’ the Guards officer admitted with remorse. ‘I’m sorry I doubted your talents. Rest assured that we will be re-examining Private’s bids for other royal events.’
Morgan was surprised by the admission, but he suspected there was more behind it than gratitude for saving the life of Abbie Winchester.
‘I appreciate that, Colonel, but right now our only interest in the royal family is the full recovery of Abbie.’
The Colonel smiled, his face seeming to strain with the effort. ‘Ah, yes. About Miss Winchester,’ he began. ‘I’m sure you can appreciate, Mr Morgan, that affairs such as these are best handled behind closed doors. A scandal involving the Duke is to no one’s benefit, and I’m sure that your discretion in the matter will go a long way in securing the very lucrative security contracts for royal events.’
Morgan held the Colonel’s gaze. When the American spoke, the officer’s stretched smile faded to a grimace. ‘Abbie Winchester is the victim of a serious crime, Colonel, and it’s down to her what action she wants to take against the people who committed that crime, including her own father.’
‘I don’t see that—’