Ash (52 page)

Something heavy fell against his back, and he felt claws digging into his neck. He spun round, weaving the brush hook to and fro, trying to dislodge the animal. He had a vague vision of Delphine disappearing somewhere at the back of the summerhouse, and he thanked God for that, for all the attention was now on him, the wildcats’ instinct telling them that he was the one to deal with first, the greater threat.

Two more cats jumped on him, and although the one on his back was crushed when Ash fell, the gnashing teeth of the others were only inches from his face. It was hopeless, he was growing weaker by the second, his adrenaline drained, his will weakening. All he wanted now was to get it over with, the sooner the better.

And then, over their howling and spitting and snarling, came another sound, barely discernible at first amidst the clamour, but growing ever louder.

The wildcats became aware of it too, their attention distracted sufficiently at least for Ash to throw one off and begin to deal with another whose jaws were wrapped around his wrist. And above or amidst the commotion – he couldn’t be sure, for his senses were reeling – came the sound of . . . ?

An engine? Ironically, the purring sound of an
engine
!

He managed to get onto his knees and from the corner of his eye he saw Delphine drawing close. The wildcats scattered before her. In her gloved hands she held the long handles of a rotovator, pushing it before her as she made her way towards him.

He could see it was a lightweight machine, for Delphine was able to lift it to mash into the limbs or stomach of any cat that was within range. As she approached him through the milling, now thoroughly panicked animals, anything caught in the rotating blades was instantly torn apart. Paws, legs, even heads and lumps of furred flesh like the clods of earth for which the machine was originally intended sprayed messily in all directions.

She slowed as she neared him, becoming more cautious. Ash helped by pulling the wildcat round to face the rotovator, its jaw still locked on his arm. There was a scream as the sharp tines bit into its hindquarters, followed by an explosion of blood and fur as the crazed animal released its grip on Ash and tried to crawl away from the devastating machine, leaving a thick trail of shiny blood after it.

Ash scrambled to his feet as the wildcats scattered, terrified of the small but deadly machine. He limped to Delphine’s side and together – Ash wielding the brush hook and Delphine pressing on with the rotovator, sparks flying each time the blades touched the tiled floor – they moved backwards. The wildcats began to regroup outside the summerhouse, and more shadows appeared on the glass roof, but at least now they had the means to deal with them.

Then the machine began to sputter and cough. It gave one final hiccup, then shuddered to a halt.

‘Oh my God,’ cried a horrified Delphine, ‘There must have been hardly any petrol in its tank.’ She looked into Ash’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, David. I didn’t think . . .’

‘Looks as though it’s back to plan A, then,’ he said with a grim smile, bending to pick up the shiny new spade she’d been using earlier.

‘Take this,’ he said as calmly as he could, even though the adrenaline was again coursing through his veins. ‘Get behind me, back to back. They’re still scared, so we’ll walk out together and pray they’ll stay that way.’

The plan worked until they reached the main entrance. Outside, however, the wildcats, sneezing and spitting, gathered around them, gaining confidence in numbers, although keeping their distance for now. Their haunches were raised, their fur bristling and their heads close to the ground, and Ash realized they were preparing their final attack, ready at last to finish the hunt.

Suddenly, Delphine dropped the shovel, turned and threw herself into Ash’s arms.

‘It’s no use, David,’ she wailed in despair. ‘We can’t fight them all off and we can’t run.’

Ash knew she was right. The wildcats had them at their mercy. He squeezed her tightly, ready for the worst.

‘I love you, David,’ he thought he heard her murmur into his chest.

His free hand went to the back of her head, fingers working their way through the dark curls of her hair. He’d made up his mind. He was not going to allow this beautiful woman to die of a thousand cuts, bites, and slashes. No, he would never let anything like that happen again.

As the skulking wildcats crept nearer, he gripped the long-handled brush hook firmly in his right hand. They were both about to die, but he could at least make sure that, for Delphine, it would be comparatively painless. And then he would fight these beasts until his own death, taking as many as he could with him.

He readied himself to push Delphine away so that he’d have room to slash her throat as hard and as deep as possible; she would be dead before she even realized his intention.

Behind her back, Ash raised the long curved blade.

It would be over so quickly. Yet Ash hesitated.

Despite the alternative of allowing Delphine to endure the torture of vicious claws and gnashing fangs, it was almost impossible for him to be her executioner. But he had no choice. He spun her round and the raised blade hovered for a second. The wildcats were already sprinting at them; the leading animal sprang at her and Ash knew it was now or never.

He raised the brush hook to administer the killing blow, but as he did so the beast’s body virtually exploded in mid-air, its high-pitched shriek lasting but a moment. Blood and chunks of flesh splattered over Delphine’s back as she fell against the investigator, who now clutched her tightly once more, the long blade resting in his hand behind her as he tried to understand what was happening.

Then he recognized the stuttering sound of automatic gunfire as the confused, panic-stricken animals tried to scatter, clawing at each other in their haste to escape. The guns were relentless though, bullets bursting through them, several cats’ bodies being tossed into the air by the force. Many tried to flee, yet still were caught in the barrage of gunfire. Others stayed still, paralysed by fear, and were carefully picked off by sniper fire. The luckier ones ran towards the rear of the walled garden, where they quickly dispersed into the avenues of plants.

Ash, clutching Delphine to him, looked up as the source of the barrage became apparent. Advancing towards them was what seemed like an army of black-and-grey-clad guards in well-drilled units of eight, each group of four pausing to kneel on the ground and blast off a volley of destruction while those behind remained on their feet, raising their Heckler and Koch G36 assault rifles to their shoulders, well clear of the guards kneeling in front, who fired off twenty-five rounds apiece. The rear quartet would then advance and kneel as the others stood behind them. The pattern repeated over again until every visible long-clawed creature lay dead on the ground. A number of the guards walked among the bodies with pistols, dispatching any wounded animals they found twitching on the paths.

Ash pointed at the roof of the summerhouse, where several wildcats still lurked. ‘Up there!’ he shouted over the general din, but he needn’t have worried, for those cats left behind on the glass roof had already been spotted. The marksmen, all of whom were exceedingly well armed, their equipment including handguns, two-way radios, bullet-proof Kevlar rubberized vests, small but tough-looking shields, black Kevlar helmets attached with goggles and a torch fixed on one side, roared as they came, and three or four stopped close to Ash and Delphine and sprayed the glass roof with more bullets. The summerhouse was quickly reduced to a mass of shattered glass and lifeless bodies.

One of the fearsome-looking guards came to a halt beside them. ‘Y’look like you’ve been through hell, laddie,’ he said loudly, appraising Ash first and then Delphine. ‘I’ll have two of my men escort you back to the castle.’ He indicated two dark-uniformed figures emerging from the ruined summerhouse.

‘No need,’ Ash assured him, without quite controlling the shaking in his voice. ‘We can get there by ourselves.’

He’d thought he was being helpful, but the Scottish guard snapped, ‘Y’ll do as I tell you.’ He then stalked off, going after his men who were disappearing through the open entrance to the walled garden.

‘Well,’ Ash said to Delphine, the ghost of a smile on his scratched face, ‘no point in arguing. I only hope those twins of yours made it back.’

‘Ach, aye,’ said a new voice at his shoulder. ‘Y’need nae worry y’selves about those two.’

Ash turned to see the smiling face of the yellow-haired chauffeur, Dalzell. His ‘other half’, had just arrived too, and both were still in blue overalls.

‘Hello again, Gordon, Graham,’ said Ash. ‘You don’t know how good it is to see you two.’

‘Dear God, man, y’look as if you’ve been in the wars,’ Hamilton said with genuine sympathy.

‘You could say that,’ Ash acknowledged.

Delphine spoke up, and the investigator could feel her trembling against him. ‘You said Petra and Peter were all right?’ she asked Dalzell.

‘Oh, aye, they’re fine. Came out the woods giggling, the pair o’ them. Lord knows what they’d been up to.’

‘Thank God, they’re safe,’ the psychologist breathed.

‘They said they’d left you in there,’ added Hamilton. ‘Said y’were making your own way back.’

‘We got distracted,’ Ash told him, remembering the bronze plaques. What did the figures on them mean? He felt they were important.

‘We were worried that you were mebbe lost in the woods,’ said Dalzell, with a more sombre face than usual. ‘Or worse. When we heard what we thought was a scream coming from some way off in the woods, we realized it was worse.’

Hamilton continued: ‘Gordon ran to the edge of the trees—’

‘I didnae go in though. I listened, hoping I could get a rough idea of where the racket was coming from,’ Dalzell interrupted.

‘—and I rushed in to the foyer where the guards were assembled for their briefing.’

‘But it was only when we all were outside that we heard more screams and the smashing of glass, which directed the guards to the old pavilion.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Ash. He felt Delphine going limp in his arms and he held on to her. Her pallor had returned, and her long eyelashes fluttered as if she were about to faint. Ash hoped she hadn’t realized what he’d intended to do with the brush hook as the wildcats prepared for their final, fatal attack.

And he also wondered whether he would have carried out the deed. He remembered again his eye-gouging tactic on the Serb who had tried to kill him in the lift. Was there something about Comraich and its estate that was inspiring such savagery? Would he have acted so coldly towards Delphine in any other place, even though he thought he was sparing the psychologist an agonizing death?

There was something very dark in Comraich that brought out cruelty in those who stayed there. And what had called to the wildcats? What had brought such evil creatures here from the Highlands?

‘Dr Wyatt looks as if she could do with a large brandy,’ remarked Hamilton.

‘I’ll get her back to the castle,’ the investigator told him as Delphine began to droop.

But Delphine snapped her eyes open wide and stood gamely upright. ‘I’ll be okay,’ she said. ‘I suddenly felt overwhelmed, that’s all. I’m all right now.’

‘No, you’re not,’ said Ash firmly. ‘Your face has nasty scratches. Look at your arms.’

They all inspected her arms and saw the tears in her clothes.

‘We’ll escort you, Dr Wyatt,’ Dalzell assured her. ‘We need to get you to the infirmary and have your injuries looked at. You too, Mr Ash.’

‘I can’t argue with that, Gordon.’ Ash looked round at the two armed guards, who could not help but look sinister in their dark uniforms. ‘Though I guess we’ll be safe enough with our minders.’

Yet more than just reason told him he shouldn’t go back to the castle. His intuition – his sensing – was active again.

It was all harsh light and gleaming chrome in the high-tech medical unit of Comraich. Ash and Delphine did not have to walk far to reach the infirmary. They’d walked through the gardens, both still wary, even though they were escorted by armed guards and had the two chauffeurs with them.

Ash and the psychologist were still in a state of shock, and both knew exhaustion would soon set in. One of the guards had radioed ahead that they were bringing in two ‘lightly injured’ (
Well, that’s a matter of opinion
, mused Ash) people, and to their surprise, they found Dr Pritchard himself waiting for them at the top of the steps to Comraich.

‘Dear, dear, what a bedraggled sight you make,’ said the senior doctor, sympathetically light-hearted.

There were several guests seated in the comfortable armchairs and sofas that furnished the hospital unit’s waiting area, some of them, Ash noted, looking particularly well medicated.

Downstairs in the small hallway on the lower ground floor, an anxious-looking Senior Nurse Krantz was waiting by the reception counter. The investigator was ashamed to find he had to stop himself grinning at the large wedge of white gauze taped across her broken nose. He wondered how she’d explained it. There were dark patches under her eyes where bruises were beginning to announce themselves. She glowered briefly at him, but her main concern seemed to be for Delphine.

After the dull grey daylight, the unit’s bright fluorescent lighting hurt his eyes and he noticed Delphine was holding one hand flat across her forehead, as if afflicted with a headache. She still clung to him with the other hand.

‘Migraine coming on, Delphine?’ said a concerned Dr Pritchard. When she nodded he said, ‘We’ll get that seen to before we examine those nasty scratches.’

The other patients in the treatment area either moved or sat like zombies, providing Ash with an uncomfortable reminder of his experience in the containment area. There was something special about Comraich today, a feeling of . . . what? Just a feeling, he told himself silently. Maybe he was still traumatized by their narrow escape from the wildcats.

‘First thing for you both,’ said Pritchard, ‘is to get you cleaned up. The showers are down the hall, Mr Ash, and you’ll find a robe there to slip into. Your wounds don’t look too serious. But one never knows. Have you had a tetanus jab in the past few years?’ Ash shook his head. ‘No? Then the sooner we give you one, the better. We don’t want you coming down with lockjaw, do we? No, most certainly not.’