THE TUNNEL: A Ben Hope Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

trail snaked over the concrete floor, between the wine racks to where it terminated in a spreading pool in a corner. In the middle of the pool, sitting slumped against the wall with his legs splayed out in front of him, his chest heaving, his head lolling on his shoulder with a grimace of pain etched on his lean face, was Brigadier Liam Falconer CBE, former Director of UK Special Forces.
    ‘You shot me,’ he breathed.
    Ben looked at him. Falconer stared back, his teeth slightly bared, like a trapped wild animal. His right hand fingers were still loosely curled around the handle of his Colt 1911 automatic pistol, but he could no longer raise it. His right arm was broken and useless, the sleeve of his white shirt almost black with blood. His left hand was clamped to the more severe wound in his stomach, the one most of the blood was coming from. Penetrating a solid oak door wiped some velocity off a nine-millimetre bullet. But not enough to prevent it from doing real damage to anyone who might be standing on the other side.
    ‘You’re not looking so good, Liam,’ Ben said, walking up to him. He kicked the .45 auto from Falconer’s hand. It clattered across the concrete floor, far out of the wounded man’s reach. Ben stepped back again. Falconer was in serious trouble. But he was also probably one of the hardest men to kill that Ben had ever known. It wouldn’t have been a good idea to get too complacent, or too close.
    Falconer laughed, then broke into a cough. He spat. The spit came out red. ‘Benedict Hope.’
    Ben shook his head. ‘Come on. You know I hate being called Benedict. By the way, your guard dogs are dead. It’s just you and me now.’
    ‘Why are you here, Major?’ Falconer tried to move, and his face clouded with pain. He winced.
    ‘Don’t call me that either. Just Ben will do fine. And I think you know why I’m here. I came to find out if what I’ve heard is true.’
    Falconer glared up at him through eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. You broke into my house. You killed my men. What the hell are you playing at, Hope? Is what true?’
    ‘Don’t waste time you don’t have,’ Ben said. ‘You should have guessed that Operation Solitaire would catch up with you, sooner or later. You’ve had seven years to atone for it. Have you?’
    ‘Operation what?’
    ‘You heard me,’ Ben said.
    ‘I heard you. I’m not aware of any mission of that name.’
    ‘Then let me be a little more specific, to refresh your memory,’ Ben said. ‘Twenty-three minutes after midnight on the last day of August, 1997. The Pont de l’Alma road tunnel on the banks of the Seine River, in Paris. I was in Bosnia at that time, chasing down war criminals. Where were you? Did you oversee the operation in person, or did you just run things from a cosy little office somewhere?’
    Falconer pressed his left hand more tightly against his stomach. Blood leaked out from between his fingers. He groaned. ‘I won’t talk.’
    ‘Yes, you will. Because I don’t take silence for an answer. And because you’re a dying man. If you don’t get to a hospital, that bullet in your belly is going to make you bleed to death. You don’t have very long, so you’d best get started.’
    ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Falconer said. ‘Do yourself a favour and walk away now. Call me an ambulance on your way out. No reprisals. It’s over.’
    Ben took another step closer. ‘We’ve gone from “I don’t remember” to “no comment” to “let’s make a deal”. So far, I’m not hearing any hot denials.’
    Falconer spat again. Redder this time. ‘Would it do me any good?’
    ‘None whatsoever,’ Ben said.
    ‘What if I were to plead my case? Lay out the evidence to prove to you that whatever it is you think we did, you’re making a huge mistake?’
    Ben shook his head. ‘I’m not here to listen to more evidence, Liam. The official version of events has become a matter of historical record now. If