‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s shooting at us?’

‘You think I know his name? He’s a hunter. And I’m his prey. He’d probably have got me if Arto hadn’t stood up when he did.’ Aksden engaged the bolt on his rifle, craned round the corner of the chalet and let off a shot, then jumped back.

‘Can you see him?’

‘No. He’s hiding in the trees. That was just to keep him there.’

‘Who sent him?’

‘Did the American tell you about Olsen?’

‘The American? If you mean Brad, yes. He killed Olsen, right?’

‘Right. The Opposition didn’t like that. They lost a man they trusted and the dirt on me they expected him to deliver. Also they thought I’d arranged it. So, they took out a contract on me to force me to negotiate with them. Clever tactic. We talked. They agreed to cancel the contract if I killed Brad as a demonstration of my good faith, with a commercial partnership to follow. A better deal for me than I’d have got any other way, but it only takes effect when they get confirmation that Brad and his crew are dead. All I had to do was stay out of their hit man’s reach until then. Which I would have done, but for you and Arto leading him right to me.’

‘Who are these people – the Opposition?’

‘Businessmen, Eusden. The Russian kind. I’m beginning to win their respect for standing up to them. Pokkers også, now it looks like it might be too late.’

‘You think I’d care if this man killed you?’

‘No. But you should care about yourself. He’ll kill you too just for being here.’ Aksden pulled off his cap and blinked several times as if trying to clear his sight, then stepped to the corner of the chalet and fired another shot. ‘I saw something this time,’ he said as he moved back. ‘I think he’s edging closer.’

‘Can we phone for help?’

‘It would take hours to arrive. But go ahead – try.’ Aksden pulled a phone from inside his parka and tossed it to Eusden. ‘Dial one one two.’

‘There’s no signal.’

‘As I expected. The tracker incorporates a jammer. He’s a professional, Eusden. Don’t you understand? He knows we’re trapped. He’ll wait for us to make a run for the car. Then he’ll take us both. For Guds skyld, why did you come here? Why didn’t you just thank your stars when you escaped from the American and go home to England?’

‘I couldn’t let you get away with killing Pernille. You’ll burn in hell for that, Tolmar.’

‘You and Pernille?’ Aksden frowned at him, as if considering a point that had only now crossed his mind. ‘I should have guessed.’

‘You murdered her.’

‘I didn’t force her to go to Helsinki. She went because she thought she’d get her hands on the letters. She’s always wanted to know my secrets.’

‘She went for Michael’s sake.’

‘Hah!’ Aksden reached out as if to grasp Eusden by the throat, his size and bulk suddenly intimidatingly apparent. But Eusden had the gun up between them pointing at his chest. Aksden stopped and took half a step back. ‘Listen to me,’ he said, running his hand across his mouth. ‘While that sniper’s out there in the trees, we have to help each other. Together, we stand a chance. It’s the only one we’re going to get. Do you want to live or die, Eusden? It’s that simple.’

There could be only one answer to Tolmar Aksden’s question. ‘What do you suggest we do?’ asked Eusden. He eyed the older man doubtfully. His strength, of mind and body, counted for nothing in the cross hairs of a telescopic rifle sight. But in Aksden’s steady gaze and braced posture there was no hint that he was about to admit as much.

‘I can take him, Eusden. How far is he away? A hundred metres or so? I’ve taken elk at further. I need glasses to read. But at distance… I don’t miss. I have to see him first, though. I have to have a clear shot.’

‘You think you’ll get one?’

‘Not unless we draw him out. You have to do that, my friend. It’s the only way.’

‘I’m not your friend, Tolmar.’

‘Until that sniper’s dead, you are. And I’m yours. It’s about survival, Eusden. Him or us. You’ve got to make him show himself.’

‘How?’

‘Go to the other end of the veranda and run to the wood-store. The cars will cover you most of the way and there are trees behind you. He’ll take a shot at you. He’s bound to. But at that range with you moving fast and plenty of cover, he’ll miss. I won’t, though. Not a chance. We’ll have him.’

‘You expect me to go out there and get shot at?’

‘Yes. Unless you’re better with a rifle than I am.’

Eusden struggled to calculate the odds on being hit. He suspected they were much less favourable than Aksden claimed. But there was no alternative. Doing nothing was not an option. That at least was certain.

‘We need to do this now, Eusden. He’ll work his way closer and closer. He’ll cut down the margin of error until there isn’t any. We have to make our move.’

Eusden looked round the corner of the chalet at his route. It was as Aksden had said. He really should be able to make it. But he was aware that the judgement hinged on the hit man’s accuracy and alertness. All he could do was trust to luck. It had to be done. There was no way round it. And the longer he hesitated, the slenderer his luck would grow. He looked over his shoulder at Aksden and nodded. Aksden nodded back. It was time to go.

He stepped off the veranda, jogged alongside the wall of the chalet, then put his head down and ran for it, focusing on the log-store and the shelter he would find behind it. It was not far. It was close, in fact, very close. He heard a shot and the whine of a bullet somewhere behind him. He was going to get away with it, no question. When would Aksden fire? When-

The bullet struck his leading foot. He fell as if tripped, pain slashing up through his leg. He hit the snow and, glancing down, saw blood welling from his ankle. He heard another shot. There was a distant cry, at once cut off. He tried to rise. The side wall of the log-store was only a few feet away. But the ankle would bear no weight. His shriek of agony was so immediate that it seemed to come from someone else. He fell again and started crawling forward.

‘He’s down,’ Aksden shouted from the far side of the chalet. ‘Stay where you are while I check.’

Eusden reached the corner of the log-store and propped himself up against it. He was panting for breath. His lower leg felt hot from the blood leaking out of him. There was a trail of it in the snow behind him. He saw Aksden striding across the meadow towards the trees, clutching the rifle in front to him. There was a slumped figure by one of the maples. Aksden had got his man.

Aksden slowed as he approached his victim and stopped a few yards from him. He raised the rifle to his shoulder, took steady aim and fired. The figure jerked from the impact. Then Aksden stepped forward, pushed the sniper’s rifle clear of him with his foot and stooped to pick it up.

He started walking slowly towards Eusden. A minute or so passed. Then he called out. ‘Did he hit you?’

‘Yes,’ Eusden shouted back. ‘My ankle.’

‘Too bad. I guess you won’t be able to walk.’ Aksden was moving more slowly with every stride. ‘Or run.’ He stopped, laid his rifle carefully on the ground and grasped the sniper’s weapon in both hands.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What I have to, Eusden. This way it will look like he finished you before I finished him.’

‘Don’t come any closer.’ Eusden pulled the gun from his pocket and pointed it. He wondered if the tremor in his hand was caused by fear or weakness – and whether Aksden could see it from where he was.

‘I don’t need to be closer. I can kill you from here.’

‘Drop the rifle or I’ll shoot.’

‘Fine. Shoot. You’ll miss. But go ahead anyway. Prove me right.’

He was right. Eusden knew that. He also knew that once he started firing, Aksden would not hesitate to respond. He lowered the gun. ‘Wait,’ he shouted.