The Marching Season

and West froze, but their hands remained wrapped around their Uzis.
    "Drop the guns, now!" the voice repeated.
    Camping on the beach near Blakeney before the operation, Craig and West had decided that if there was trouble they would rather fight than be taken into custody. They looked at each other.
    "Looks like we've been set up," Craig whispered. "For God and Ulster, eh, Lennie?"
    West nodded and said, "I'll take the one behind us."
    "Right."
    West fell to the ground, rolled over, and started firing blindly in the darkness. Alex Craig fell to his stomach and fired wildly at the east wing, shattering glass. A second later he saw the reply in one of the shattered windows, the muzzle flash of a silenced submachine gun.
    West saw the same thing, low in the deep grass of the deer park, but it was too late. A burst of rounds obliterated his head in a flash of blood and brain tissue.
    Craig had no idea what had happened to his comrade. He turned his fire on the gunman in the window, but a second
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    appeared, and then a third. He realized that West's gun had fallen silent. He turned and saw a headless corpse lying next to him on the gravel.
    He emptied the first clip, shoved another into the Uzi, and started firing again. A few seconds later the gunman inside the mansion found his mark, as did the man behind him in the deer park. Craig's body was torn apart by gunfire. His final shots, fired by a spasm in his dying hands, shattered the magnificent clock in the cupola of the east wing, freezing the hands at 4:01.
    Gavin Spencer, sprinting across the gravel drive toward the south porch, heard the intense firefight in the deer park. For an instant he considered turning away and heading back to the sanctuary of the North Wood. He had no idea what had just happened to any of his men. Had they penetrated the mansion? Had the Special Branch bodyguards stopped them?
    He paused for a moment, mind racing, breath ragged. He listened for more gunfire but heard nothing except wind and rain. He started running again. He passed between the ornate columns of the south porch and leaned against the door.
    Again, Spencer paused to listen. The gunfire seemed to have stopped for good. The door was locked. He took a step back and opened fire, closing his eyes against the shower of splintered wood. He drove his foot against the door, and it crashed open. Spencer stepped into the entrance hall and paused, Uzi at the ready.
    A figure appeared in the doorway to the great hall: tall, broad shoulders, helmet, and night-vision glasses. SAS, Spencer thought, no question. He spun around and took aim with the Uzi. The SAS man tried to fire his own weapon, but it jammed.
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    He reached for a handgun, holstered beneath his armpit, but Spencer fired a burst from his Uzi.
    The gunfire blew the soldier off his feet. Spencer moved forward and snatched the handgun from the holster. He crossed the great hall and started up the staircase.
    The radio operator in the command center said calmly, "Base to Alpha Five-three-four, base to Alpha Five-three-four, can you hear me? Repeat, can you hear me?"
    He turned around and looked at Michael.
    "He's off the air, Mr. Osbourne. I think we have a Brigade gunman loose in the house."
    "Where's the closest SAS man?"
    "Still in the east wing."
    Michael removed the Browning automatic from his coat pocket. He pulled the slider, chambering the first round.
    "Get him up here, now!"
    Michael slipped through the doorway, into the darkened corridor, and closed the door behind him. He heard Gavin Spencer, clambering up the great staircase, and crouched, holding the Browning with both hands, arms extended. A few seconds later he spotted Spencer, mounting the last flight of stairs.
    "Drop the gun, now!" Michael yelled.
    Gavin Spencer turned and leveled his Uzi in Michael's direction. Michael fired two shots. The first sailed past Spencer and shattered one of the classical busts along the staircase. The second hit Spencer in the left shoulder and drove him back.
    Spencer kept hold of the Uzi and fired a burst along the
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    corridor. Michael, armed only with the Browning and with nowhere to take cover, was no match for a terrorist with an Uzi. He turned the knob of the door behind him'and dived back into the command center.
    He slammed the door and locked it.
    "Get down!"
    Graham Seymour and the other officers in the room hit the floor as Gavin Spencer, standing outside in the