Last Train to Gloryhole (83 page)

The large wooden gate lay busted open, hanging as it now did on just the one iron hinge, and rather disconsolately folded over itself, its component parts pointing in several different directions all at once. The muddy ground, churned up by flocks of sheep that had recently been siphoned through at this point for the summer shearing, had, by this time, become dried hard in the August sunshine. This meant that I was now able to drive my van through, which I quickly did, then, by steering it sharply to the right, and putting my foot to the floor, managed to negotiate in first-gear the grassy slope that rose up steeply towards the plateau to the west.

The mad, bumpy ride that ensued was such that Rhiannon decided the time had come for her to climb over the seat into the back of the vehicle, where she soon sat side-on, her back to the van’s metal side, clutching on to Chris’s neck, and watching fearfully our shuddering progress. I continued to accelerate hard, and, with little alternative open to me, used all my skill to force the roaring vehicle up and along the twisting tract of land which offered us the least hazardous gradient, a process which quickly saw us slewing left, then right, to best ensure that we made it. And made it we eventually did, the naked, summer-slim, newly-branded sheep staring over at us with inscrutable incredulity, before electing to scatter as one in an almighty ovine charge.

The van’s engine idling, its chassis vibrating madly, but sitting still at long last on a high, level tract, I climbed out of the driving-seat and looked about us. It had been months since I had ventured this high up, I thought, and nothing had really changed. This was a beautiful, but treacherous, landscape, that clearly favoured the walker over the runner, the bike-scrambler over the motorist, I mused, its only paths being narrow, twisted ones, that could only have been trodden out over the centuries by the sure-footed sheep for whom it had always been both sanctuary and home.

While Rhiannon climbed over and re-joined Chris again in the passenger-seat, I considered whether or not we were any closer to finding the kidnapped Carla Steel. Given our isolation, and the silence that now reigned all about us, I was forced to ask myself whether the SUV we had been pursuing, without once having caught sight of it, had actually driven up onto the plateau in the first place. I had a strong feeling that it had, of course, and soon, thankfully, my suspicions were to be confirmed.

What little breeze there was was blowing towards us out of the west, and, but for that, I certainly wouldn’t have been able to hear the high, buzzing sound of an engine a mile or so away from us. The young people soon jumped out of the van and ran round to join me, having heard the strange sound too, and, with the aid of his pair of binoculars, Chris was soon able to confirm that the black spot we soon saw moving left on the distant horizon was indeed the vehicle that we were desperately seeking.

‘Where on earth can that crazy man be taking her?’ asked Chris. ‘There’s nothing to speak of over that way, except masses of sheep, some tumbled rocks, and the vast limestone-quarry way beyond them in the valley. You know, I reckon Carla must be petrified.’

‘I know
I
would be,’ said Rhiannon, grabbing the field-glasses from the boy and, straightening up her slim back, peering deeply into the western horizon, her long, red hair fluttering behind her in the bustling breeze. ‘Hey! They’ve stopped, you know!’ she suddenly announced. ‘And - and I do believe that Carla is off running! Yes, she is you know! Go - girl! Yah!’

Within seconds of confirming that what my girl had seen was indeed true, we were all three back inside my van, and careering off westwards at speed, dodging boulders and thick patches of heather all the way, while carefully skirting the great, dark-green marsh that, barring a prolonged drought, or a fourth Ice-Age, would more than likely sit, perched on this sloping hillside, for the rest of time.

Whle still proceeding apace, we agreed that the singer had elected to flee up to the highest point of the land in order to evade recapture, and we watched admiringly as she clambered up the hill, which stood ahead and to our right, as nimbly and as swiftly as her legs could carry her.

‘Christ! They’ve decided to drive off!’ Chris suddenly yelled out jubilantly, staring through his binoculars. ‘So Carla has escaped!’

‘Let me see,’ said Rhiannon. ‘Yes, Dad - it’s true. Oh my God! Then let’s drive over there and pick her up, shall we?’

I didn’t require a second invitation. Veering away towards the north-west, I powered my van in the direction to which Carla was fleeing. Then, as we approached her, I rolled down my window and began screaming at her to stop, and instead to run across and join us. But it seemed that this wasn’t something the singer was at all keen on doing. And so instead I brought the van to a halt, allowing Chris to dash out and attempt to overtake her. But the boy wasn’t to know that she would ignore his repeated appeals too, and instead endeavour to climb higher and higher, until at last she had rounded the hill and completely disappeared from our sight.

Rhiannon and I decided to remain in the van and wait, but it must have been fully five minutes before Chris finally reappeared, this time pulling his famous friend along by the arm.

As confused as I was, Rhiannon snatched up the binoculars again and began studying their approach, and then, to my horror, announced, ‘Dad - it’s not her!’

It certainly wasn’t a cave, in fact it seemed little more than a small, insubstantial fracture in the creamy-coloured, limestone landscape, that the three males and one terrified female approached at a trot from the Range Rover, that they had minutes before left behind them, locked up securely and hidden, in the small barn of a long-abandoned sheep farm.

‘Where on earth are you thinking of taking me?’ implored Carla, surveying with horror the small, dark crack that lay beside her foot. ‘It’s little more than a hole in the ground if you ask me. I’d have as much chance of squeezing myself down the toilet as of getting down there. What the hell’s down there anyway? A fox? Someone’s grave? Purgatory? All three, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Well, it’s very tight to start with, and you certainly won’t be able to turn round, but it gets bigger and wider the further you descend,’ said Jake. ‘I found it for us a long while ago, and now all three of us know it well, so don’t get alarmed, O.K.? This is definitely not a time to panic.’

‘Then I’ll have to have a word with my psyche,’ said Carla. ‘Tell it it’s a wendy-house, maybe.’

Volver ignored the singer’s sarcastic aside. ‘You’re going down it second, incidentally,’ he told her, ‘with Steffan at the front, leading the way, and myself bringing up the rear. I’ve got the weapon you see,’ he added, placing his hand in his jacket-pocket. ‘So just do as you’re told and keep moving along, O.K.? And if anyone were stupid enough to think about coming down there after us - well -’ Volver didn’t need to tell Carla, or anyone else, another word.

Below them, a kneeling Steffan poked his head and shoulders through the tight gap and was soon gone. Then, with a stifled call, he beckoned Carla to follow him. The singer got down on her knees, zipped up her jacket, smoothed back her hair, and then leaned forward and slowly edged her slim frame into the hole before her, through which she soon found she needed to slither like a snake so as to progress. When Carla had disappeared, the other two quickly followed, and very soon the south-facing slope of the green hillside was as empty as it had been just minutes earlier, its utopian silence broken only by the intermittent bleating of the sheep, both from round about the hidden aperture, and, more high-pitched again, from off the mountain.

‘If I put my shoulder to it, then I reckon it should open,’ I told the three young people, and sure enough, one great thrust and we were inside. The black Range Rover stood before us in the shadows of the barn, its wheels still warm, its engine as hot as burning coals. Let’s leave the door open for the cops to see it, shall we?’ I suggested. Rhiannon liked the idea and nodded.

‘If they ever get here,’ said Chris, a glum look on his face, and still firmly holding onto his diminutive, dip-dyed, female prisoner, as though she had just murdered his celebrated next-door neighbour rather than simply impersonated her.

‘You’re hurting my arm, you know!’ yelled Leone. ‘Mister - tell your son to leave me alone.’

‘Chris isn’t my son,’ I told her, recalling straightaway how just weeks before I had been almost certain that he was. I looked into the handsome boy’s face. ‘Though one day I have serious hopes that he might be,’ I added, turning to smile at Rhiannon, and noting the blush that swiftly claimed her.

Once we had forced the barn-door as far back as it would go, Chris said, ‘I feel we should get back in the van now and drive south after them.’

‘Really?’ I replied. ‘But do either of you know this area?’ The blank faces told me all I needed to know. ‘Then I suggest we wait here until the police arrive,’ I said. ‘We’ve rung up twice now and told them where we went, so I guess the helicopter should be flying over here soon, even if the cops don’t actually get here on the ground until a little later.’

‘Dad - I think Chris is right,’ said Rhiannon. ‘When was the last time we saw the helicopter? When we were back by the reservoir, right? But that was ages ago. Hang round here, and we could find ourselves waiting here for hours, don’t you think? I feel we’d be mad if we don’t do something ourselves, and soon.’

‘Rhiannon’s right,’ said Chris. ‘We’re the ones who saw the kidnappers last, and now that we’ve found their car, and they’ve got no transport of any kind, then we might still be able to overtake them before they get to wherever the hell it is that they’re heading.’

‘Well, O.K., then,’ I told them. ‘But the surface-rock is limestone fom here on, remember, and the boulders and blocks lying about look like they’re getting thicker and thicker, so I know I shall have to drive very, very slowly.’

Ten minutes later, the sound of a pierced and deflating tyre came as absolutely no surprise to me. The four of us climbed out of the stricken van and prepared ourselves for the long walk that we fully expected lay ahead. The route we four followed was a southerly one, and, quite soon we encountered a tract of limestone-pavement, on which even walking was hazardous, and, for the two females amongst us, well nigh impossible.

Chris now permitted the girl we had captured, whose name she had eventually told us was Leone, to walk along on her own, and quite soon she began to drop behind us, claiming she was getting weary. But turning to help her, Rhiannon spotted the girl picking something up off the ground close to a small crevice in the rock, and quickly brought the matter to my attention.

‘Dad - Leone has found something!’ she told me. ‘Look!’

Chris walked back to where the girl was standing and snatched the item from out of her hand. He then approached me and showed me what it was she had found. ‘It’s Carla’s own purse,’ Chris announced. He opened it up. ‘Her photo-ID is in it and everything. You know, this means we must be getting closer. In fact -’

Chris knelt down and thrust his hand inside a large, shiny crack in the rock. ‘You know, I do believe they may even have gone down here,’ he announced, smiling strangely.

‘What!’ yelled Rhiannon, arching her body right over. ‘Down there? But that’s impossible.’

‘Wait,’ the boy replied, ducking his head and shoulders inside it, then poking his head out again to speak to us. ‘I’m sitting in the opening to a cave,’ he told us. I’m sure they must have gone down here - they must have. Come on you lot - get in and join me. I’ll try and lead the way.’

‘You won’t catch me going down there,’ said Leone.

‘Then we’re going to have to leave you here, I’m afraid, young lady,’ I told her. ‘And don’t worry too much about that ram over there.’ The two girls turned swiftly to study it. ‘I doubt that it’s brave enough to charge a whole group of people.’

Rhiannon smiled at me, then knelt down and slithered into the cave-opening in the limesone bedrock, if only to be with Chris. Then Leone quickly hurried ahead of me and did exactly the same. When she was gone, I stood upright and looked about me. Thick clouds were gathering. There was no sign of a helicopter anywhere that I could see, and no sound of an engine either.

So we had made our decision and had chosen our route, I told myself. ‘Is it the right one, old boy?’ I enquired of the ram, gazing in admiration at the hoary old fellow’s stolid, obdurate stance, his unshorn flanks, his strangely unmoving skull, and the two gnarled, asymmetrical horns that projected, spiralling forwards and upwards, from out of a tangled mane of coarse wool round his head, that oddly reminded me of what I, as a young male, used to look like first thing in the morning.

The moment of shared understanding between the two of us was brief but uncanny. I repeated my question to him and waited. ‘Is it the right one, old man?’ But the only response I received came, not from the ram, but from the thickening clouds above us, as rain suddenly began to pelt down all around. And so I quickly got down and clambered on all fours, and before long, albeit with far less ease than anyone ahead of me, eventually succeeded in squeezing, first my shoulders, then the rest of my body, all the way inside the shiny, tight crevice in the rock.

Whirring like a dervish above the uniformed group, the black and yellow helicopter completed its wide, sweeping circle about the green hillside, then set off westwards to search for the second, larger vehicle it had been despatched to find.

‘O.K. So here is Dyl’s van, but where the hell is the man himself?’ Jeff Dawson asked the other policemen who were gathered round him. ‘And where on earth is the vehicle he was supposed to be pursuing? If it is in fact a Range Rover. And why the hell did he stop phoning?’

‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’ replied Vic Shah. ‘He and his daughter and her boyfriend have gone and got themselves captured by Volver too, the twats. And didn’t we tell the man repeatedly to sit tight and wait for us to get here?’ He spun round. ‘I remember you voicing your opinion that he was a stable sort of chap, didn’t you, sergeant?’