Driven (31 page)

T
he Ptarmigan raiding party returned to the Supervising Solicitor’s offices in Leamington Spa where Stacey Krall and Straker set themselves up in Grumman & Phipps’s conference room. There, the two of them with some Grade C help from the local practice started going through the documents they had seized – arranging and indexing every item methodically into different piles, right across the expanse of the large table.

They ordered takeaway food and set about working into the night. Come two o’clock in the morning, Straker and Krall were the only people still there. Both were beginning to feel the effects of sustained concentration, and decided to call it a day.

Only on exiting the conference room, did they become aware of how late it was. The building was empty. Darkened meeting rooms haunted them from either side of the corridor on their way back to reception. It was also quiet. Nothing more than a background hum from the sleeping building. Krall turned off the remaining lights on the meeting rooms floor, before they walked down the stairs to the main entrance. A night watchman sat behind the reception counter, reading a copy of the
Racing Post
. Handing over their day passes, Straker and Krall walked towards the main doors. The guard pressed a button to let them out.

The night air was surprisingly warm – even balmy. There didn’t seem to be a breath of wind. It was particularly dark – a star- and moonless sky, encased by a high blanket of cloud. At street level, lamps bathed isolated patches of the road in pools of orange light.

It was deathly quiet. Two o’clock in the morning – and a school night – Leamington Spa was quite deserted. There was no sound, only an occasional bark from a lone dog somewhere off in the distance.

Straker and Krall emerged from the Regency stucco-fronted office in Newbold Terrace, and walked across the narrow strip of private parking – separated from the road by an elegant low balustraded wall – and out on to the street. On the far side was a long row of public pay-and-display parking bays, at right angles to the road facing onto the far pavement, a set of iron railings, and then a high wall-like overhang of dense foliage.

It was dark under the trees.

Only a handful of cars were still parked in the street, with dozens of empty spaces strung out in between, their white lines showing in the dim and patchy orange street light.

Turning half-left, Straker and Krall walked out into the middle of the road, towards their own cars – past a parked saloon.

Straker’s pulse started to quicken.

What was it? What was wrong?

Something wasn’t quite right.

He immediately put a hand on Krall’s arm, instructing her – silently – to halt and be alert at the same time. Straker scanned further down the street. It was not easy to see. There were plenty of shadows.

Straker sensed it again.

Wasn’t it a shape? The wrong shape? In the wrong place?

Krall’s Audi R8 was parked a short distance ahead. But the line of the car seemed wrong. Was one of its doors open?

That wasn’t all.

Straker was immediately on guard.

He became aware of movement. Fleeting movement. In any kind of breeze, he’d probably have missed it – easily confusable and lost against the background movement of leaves and branches. But in this stillness, he was absolutely sure.

Turning to Krall, he breathed: ‘Go back to Grumman & Phipps office,’ and hissed: ‘RIGHT NOW!’

Krall looked even affronted at the tone, not used to following such direct instructions – and certainly not blind. She hissed back: ‘Why?’

‘Someone’s breaking into your car,’ he said. ‘Now GO!’

Krall’s face registered instant alarm. Her attention was held. ‘
Breaking?
’ she repeated emphatically.

‘Sitting inside it.’

Krall cringed. Stepping back, she made to turn away. But doing so, she let out a squawk.

Out of the shadows from the other side of the road between two of the Regency office buildings, three dark figures came running at them – fast and purposefully.

Running straight at them.

Unexpected dark figures at night would alarm most people. Sinister thoughts of muggers immediately crossed their minds. Adrenalin surged. Whoever these people were, Straker’s hope of Krall getting back to the Grumman & Phipps building had gone.

Instinctively, Straker put himself between her and the rapidly approaching figures. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the rear end of the largish saloon, and tried to manoeuvre her in behind it – as some kind of cover or protection. Straker noticed the flashing red light on the dashboard of the car.

His attention was soon back on the group of approaching figures. There was nothing ambiguous about their intent; they were still closing in, striding menacingly – across the road – still coming straight towards them.

Krall squawked again.

Straker broke his gaze to look round to see what had alarmed her this time. Another figure had emerged, standing up from inside Krall’s Audi, a little further up the street.

That figure was now closing in on them too.

Then there was something else.

They heard an engine start – down to their left – back towards the Grumman & Phipps office building. A large black car pulled out. Even in the gloom it was very obviously a Range Rover. Ominously, it had no lights on – and was moving at little more than a walking pace. It, too, was closing in on them.

The dog, barking in the distance, seemed to up its frequency – perhaps even sensing the higher level of tension in the air.

Straker tried to do an immediate assessment – anxious to rationalize this scene. Whichever way he saw it, it wasn’t good.

What the hell did these people want?

It was all too clear that his tactical position was poor. Straker had three men in front of him, and both his flanks were covered – by a man on one side, and a car on the other.

This was nothing less than an ambush.

Straker cursed his vulnerability.

He had to go on the offensive – at least cause a distraction. Throw them off their stride.

But how?

Straker edged into the street, passing the end of the largish saloon. Raising his knee, he horse-kicked backwards, square onto the saloon’s boot, just above the bumper. The impact did exactly what he wanted. Against the silence of the night, the car alarm started screaming – blaring out its earpiercing screech along the street, reverberating off the white Regency buildings.

Straker was pleased. The noise immediately affected the three figures coming towards him. They seemed to hesitate at the alarm’s intensity, looking around as if to gauge what effect it might have on the neighbourhood.

Straker immediately exploited their hesitation.

Tipping forwards, to maximize acceleration, he sprinted, running straight at the smallest of the three figures – the one to his right. Suddenly dropping his head and shoulders, he aimed a punch at the man’s chest. His act of pre-emptive self-defence caught all three of them off guard, particularly his target. Before the latter could do anything, Straker had made solid impact. He heard breath forcibly exhaled as he caught him right in the solar plexus – the force of collision strong enough to knock the man backwards off his feet. Quickly disengaging, Straker watched the man buckle – doubling up – and collapse down onto the ground, wheezing for breath.

Straker rebalanced himself – straightening up – and tried to read the new situation. He was effectively through the line of the “triplets” – on the other side of the road – now with his back to the row of offices. He had the remaining two assailants between him and Stacey Krall. As far as he could see, there was no sign of the other figure over to his left – approaching from the area around Krall’s parked car – and in the other direction the darkened Range Rover seemed to have stopped – waiting? – watching? – some distance away, over to his right.

Straker wanted to act quickly, to keep the initiative – to maintain the element of surprise.

Still the shriek from the car alarm was blaring out into the night, its four yellow flashers keeping time with the noise. No one seemed to have been drawn by it – to come and check the car was all right. It didn’t look like it was going to attract any intervention or third-party help.

Their new positions in the street relative to each other changed the angle of lighting and shadow. Straker suddenly saw the bigger of the two men brandish something level with his chest. Shit – was that a weapon?

The figure started to move towards Straker. Not a weapon – not a firearm, at any rate. It was some form of bar – bat – or handle.

Straker took guard, ready to defend himself.

The figure started to rush him.

Straker had no idea how agile this guy would be.

As the handle – or whatever it was – was raised, Straker saw the man wield it with two hands from his right shoulder – to give it a double-handed swing across his front, aiming to hit Straker from the left.

Again taking the attackers by surprise, Straker charged
into
the attack. It seemed to work. It threw the attacker’s rhythm – forcing the man to hurry his stroke.

At the last minute Straker stopped and ducked.

That worked too.

The swing missed him – going straight by, clean above his head. But its momentum – undiminished by contact with the target – meant the assailant’s swipe continued round on its arc. Straker then, jumping up, landed a full-bodied kick in the assailant’s genitals.

Straker’s impact was well-timed. It caught the assailant completely by surprise. Testicular pain disabled him instantaneously, buckling him up, causing him to let go of the handle – still continuing round on its swing – which went clattering off across the road. The man fell into a heap on the ground clutching himself.

With two attackers down, Straker turned his attention on the third. But as he did so, he missed the fourth figure – the one over by Krall’s car. Out of the dark, this man smashed into Straker’s side, sending him twisting to the ground. Straker fell badly and rolled on the rough tarmac. He wasn’t badly hurt, but was momentarily disorientated.

Straker could still hear the infernal screech of the saloon’s car alarm.

He was scrambling up as quickly as he could to his feet, ready to face his new assailant, when a colossal thump crashed into his chest. A heavy-booted kick had been landed – solidly – in his ribs from the last of the triplets. It knocked the wind out of him.

Suddenly – over the commotion – and even through the noise of the car alarm Straker thought he heard a voice. A female’s voice. Straker panicked – was that Krall’s? He heard it was hers, but it didn’t sound distressed. It sounded deep and commanding. She was talking forcefully. He tried to look up to see that she was okay, but couldn’t see her. It sounded like her voice was coming from the far side of the saloon car.

Straker suffered another crippling blow to his side as the other assailant landed a powerful kick to his flank. The blow was fierce. Straker tried to roll away, desperate to regain his feet. But his problems were compounded. Not only was he winded – and his ribs burning in pain – but there were now two sets of kicks coming at him from two different directions.

Straker couldn’t regroup, not out in the open like this.

Alternating rhythmic blows soon thwarted any effort he made to get to his feet.

Kick followed kick.

Krall watched on in horror as Straker suffered blow after blow. She didn’t think she could do any more to help.

In what seemed like an agonizingly long three minutes, Straker was hammered by the thugs. All he could manage, having been overwhelmed, was to protect his face and neck.

Then, as if by wishful thinking, Straker heard a noise.

An alarm – but not the saloon car. No, not an alarm – a siren. He definitely heard a siren.

Krall heard it too. Coming from her left, down the street from behind the Range Rover.

She was not the only one to hear it. One of the assailants raised his head from the kicking. Then the other did the same.

The Range Rover honked its horn – urgently – several times, and revved its engine.

The assailants finally broke away from Straker.

The car roared some more, and Krall watched it accelerate towards the attack scene. All four of the thugs ran to converge with the Range Rover, two of them still partly doubled-up. The car braked heavily, dipping its bonnet. It stopped. The assailants pulled open the doors and dived inside.

Krall suddenly realized the danger Straker was in. She ran out into the road – towards his immobile form – and stood over him, facing the Range Rover down. All she could do was give the driver a dilemma. Would he have the balls to run them both over?

Krall stood there, behind Straker’s body, staring at the approaching car, bracing herself for the worst.

Blue flashing lights were now strafing the white stucco down the line of Regency buildings. Those in the Range Rover could see and hear that the police were closing in fast. Their sirens were deafening.

The Range Rover roared towards Krall.

She held her breath. At the last minute, the bulky black car
swerved violently, brushing past. She even had to jump to the side to miss being struck by its wing mirror as it sped away.

The police car screeched to a stop. Its headlights illuminated the foetal form lying in the middle of the road. An officer jumped out carrying a holdall and ran straight to Straker.

‘The attackers have just gone down there,’ shouted Krall to the driver, as she pointed down Newbold Terrace. ‘A black Range Rover,’ and rattled off the registration.

Without delay, the patrol car backed up, circled round them, and sped off in pursuit of the attackers – its siren blaring, and lights flashing angrily.

The policeman attending Straker was now kneeling down and shining a torch over his stricken form. Bending right down, he said: ‘Are you able to move at all, sir?’

Straker groaned negatively, tasting iron on his tongue. Blood was dribbling from the corner of his mouth. His nose, teeth, cheekbones, back, guts, ribs, and knees all hurt like hell. The policeman grabbed his radio and called an ambulance to Newbold Terrace, immediately.