“It’ll take them the best part of a quarter of an hour to get out here unless there’s a prowl car near by. If these punks rush us…”
Conrad crawled over to where Mallory was sitting.
“You bleeding?”
“A little. It’s okay. Just nicked me. I wish I had a gun.”
Conrad caught a movement at the window. He swivelled round, his arm coming up. He fired as a shadowy figure moved away. He heard the thunk of lead against bone, and then the sound of a body slumping to the ground.
“Well, that’s one of them,” he said grimly.
The still night was made hideous by machine-gun fire. Plaster came down on top of him as he hurriedly flattened out on the ground. Slugs sprayed against the opposite wall: glass and wood splinters joined company with ricochetting bullets.
“Like Tunisia all over again,” Mallory muttered as he flattened out beside Conrad. He never let a chance go by of reminding anyone of his war service.
“Got headquarters yet?” Conrad called over to O’Brien.
“Just about. The goddamn phone’s gone dead, but I got through in time.”