Red Station (30 page)

She frowned. ‘Why do you want to get to them?'

‘To set things right.'

Her face twisted. ‘Christ, Tate, what are you – a boy scout? Set things right? That's positively archaic. Are you on some kind of revenge trip?'

‘Maybe. But
you
owe it to Jimmy Gulliver.'

Her frown deepened. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? What's Jimmy got to do with it? He's lucky – he's out of this, safely back home.'

He didn't think twice; she had to know. ‘Actually, you're wrong. Jimmy Gulliver's dead.'

The words were like a slap to the face. Clare staggered, her eyes registering a rush of emotions. Harry saw doubt followed by denial, then anger.

‘Rubbish. He's back in London.'

‘Is that what they told you? Your open message back to Bellingham put Gulliver under the spotlight. He died not long after leaving here. A climbing accident. That's the official explanation, anyway. Odd that, because Jimmy suffered from chronic vertigo. He wouldn't go near a set of stepladders, much less a mountain.'

‘Wha— how can you know that? Who told you?'

‘Mace. Jimmy Gulliver was his nephew. He'd known him as a kid, but they'd lost touch.'

She said nothing, her expression dissolving inwards.

Harry moved towards the door. It was now or never. But he couldn't force her to do anything. ‘Are you coming? We don't have long. Kostova and Nikolai, the Russian army . . . or Latham. He's already here, by the way. Or we make a try for the airport, morning flight. Take your pick.'

She turned away, her face pale. ‘Can you give me five minutes?' She sounded desolate.

‘Make it four. Pack light.'

FIFTY-FIVE

F
ifteen minutes later, they entered the rear door to Red Station and walked up the stairs. Clare was carrying a dark green rucksack, which she'd said was all she needed.

Harry led the way. He had seen no signs of watchers lurking in the shadows, but he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as they reached the second floor. There was a steady pounding noise coming from the main office.

He took out his gun and slipped off the safety. Clare stepped quickly to one side, giving him a clear run.

Harry input the security code. As soon as it beeped, he shouldered the door open and stepped inside, covering the room. Rik was there, calmly smashing up a hard drive with a heavy length of piping. He had a dreamy smile on his face and was surrounded by fragments of plastic and computer components. He stopped when he saw the gun and went pale.

‘Have you done playing?' Harry asked him. He slipped the weapon into his pocket and beckoned Clare inside.

‘Almost.' Rik swallowed and looked surprised to see her. ‘The link to the server's gone forever, so even if we wanted to send a final message, we can't. That OK?'

‘It'll have to be.' Harry did a walk-through, making a final check and leaving Clare to do a sweep of her own workplace. There were a few files in Mace's desk, but nothing of benefit to anyone. The PC was a wreck, smashed beyond recognition. He dropped the paper files into a metal waste bin and doused them with the contents of a bottle of
chacha
. Found a box of matches in Mace's desk drawer and lit one, dropped it in and stepped back as the fumes went up with a
whoomph
.

He went down to the basement and lifted the panel in the floor. Lifted out the three handguns and spare ammunition. He hoped they weren't going to need them, but leaving them behind with Latham out there was unthinkable.

When he got back upstairs, the other two were waiting by the outer door.

He handed Clare one of the guns and a spare clip. ‘This could be hairy.'

‘Where are we going?' She gave the gun a quick check, hands moving with easy skill.

‘The airport,' Rik replied. ‘First plane out tomorrow morning.'

‘Isn't that the obvious place to go?'

‘That's why we'll make it,' said Harry. ‘The only people trying to stop us leaving are Latham and his team. Nobody else gives a damn – certainly not the locals; they've got bigger things to worry about. If we head out in any other direction, we've got mountains to cross or miles of empty road where we'll stick out like clowns at a funeral. Heading west takes us to the Black Sea, which is hopeless – and I doubt we'd make it, anyway. That whole area will be blocked. Going east is as bad. If we make it to the airport, we'll be fine.'

‘Sounds good to me,' said Rik. ‘The sooner I get on that flight, the better. Won't we be noticed, though, driving at this time of night?' He held up his watch. It had gone one o'clock.

Harry shrugged. Time had slipped by quicker than he'd planned. ‘We'll get out of town and find somewhere to lie low, in case Latham comes looking.' It was a risk either way, leaving at any time. But years of operating in the open had left him with a familiarity for the dark; it was where he felt safest, especially when faced by dangers he couldn't see. Staying here would soon turn into a trap, because Latham would know where to find them.

He turned and led the way out.

Clare joined him by the Land Cruiser and held out her hand. ‘I'll drive.' She took the keys and he didn't argue. He was no wheelman and was pretty certain Rik had never taken the evasive driving course. Clare, however, undoubtedly knew the roads better than either of them and could drive accordingly. He climbed into the front passenger seat and left Rik to occupy the back with the bags.

Clare stamped on the accelerator and took them away like a rocket, narrowly missing an old BMW parked at the corner. Harry said nothing; she was reacting to the rush of adrenalin and leaning on her to take it easy wouldn't help. Besides, she could do with the practice; if things went belly-up and Latham found them, they would need all the hard driving skills she could muster.

He told her to head west at first, away from the airport. Deflecting attention away from their intended route might give them an edge. Clare took them through a series of back streets and rat runs, avoiding the main boulevards where the military patrols were concentrated. There were few other vehicles, and only an occasional pedestrian showing as a fleeting shadow between the buildings. From residential areas they sped through a series of small commercial zones housing light engineering works, leather workshops and trading depots. There were no lights in any of the buildings and the town already appeared to be shut up for the night.

Nobody spoke. The Toyota's heavy springs protested as they bounced across open gullies, potholes and fissures in the tarmac, and the noise of the fat tyres and the well-worn engine combined to make any kind of chat difficult.

Harry took out the second semi-automatic and handed it to Rik, and placed the third one under his seat. He kept his own in his pocket. The approved place to keep a handgun when travelling by car in a high-risk area was under one thigh for easy access. But with the way the Toyota was bouncing around, he didn't dare risk it for fear of shooting himself by mistake.

He kept a weather eye on their rear, even though he knew Clare would be doing the same. So far, he had seen no sign of pursuit.

‘Trucks.' Clare pointed ahead. They were just emerging on to an open beltway which curved round towards the south-west in the general direction of the airport. The road was wider here, designed to carry heavier traffic. Now, it seemed, from the long line of lights, it was given over to military trucks in convoys. And one of them was coming their way.

‘Blast on through,' said Harry. ‘They won't have orders to stop us.'

The lights grew larger. The drivers hogged the middle of the road but Clare refused to back down until the last second, when she was forced to use a flat section of verge to avoid being pulped by the oncoming vehicles. Then suddenly the trucks were upon them, fanning past in a blare of horns and the roar of heavy diesel engines. Seconds later, they were through and the trucks were vanishing into the night, leaving the interior of the car thick with diesel fumes and dust.

Ten miles out of town they came to a small village, a huddle of houses and farms clinging to the side of a hill. Clare slowed as they approached the first buildings, where the road narrowed and bent away out of sight. It was the classic situation for a road block or ambush.

‘Keep going,' Harry instructed her. He placed a hand on the gun in his pocket. If they were stopped here, there would be no easy way out. Behind him Rik tossed the bags into the rear compartment to leave the rear seat clear and lowered the windows.

They reached the bend and Clare flicked the headlights to full beam. The road beyond was empty. She stamped on the accelerator and took them past the remaining houses at speed, the engine's roar echoing off the walls like thunder.

A few miles later, as they bounced along a secondary road leading through open fields, Harry glanced in the wing mirror.

Twin headlights had appeared out of nowhere. They were some way back, but closing fast.

Latham.

FIFTY-SIX

‘
H
arry.' Clare had seen them, too.

‘What's up?' Rik twisted in his seat and looked back. ‘Who is that?'

‘Could be anybody,' said Harry calmly. But his heart was thumping. He took out his gun and checked the clip.

Clare increased speed, the engine howling in competition with the furious drumming of the tyres over the roughened surface and the machine-gun clatter of stones hitting the underneath of the chassis.

Harry checked the petrol gauge. They had plenty of fuel as long as they weren't forced to abandon the airport idea and drive for miles through the night. At this demanding rate, that could become a problem and he suspected petrol stations were few and far between . . . and not all likely to be operating.

‘Slow down,' he suggested to Clare. ‘Fake a burst tyre. See what they do.'

‘OK. Hold tight.' Clare took her foot off the accelerator, allowing their speed to drop sharply as if they were experiencing problems. She dabbed the brakes a few times, the red glow flashing in the dark behind them, and hauled on the steering wheel causing the car to fishtail across the road.

Harry looked back. The other car hadn't slowed. In fact it was approaching way too fast to be anything but a threat. Any normal driver on seeing their brake lights would have backed off immediately. But the lights were growing at a frightening rate, and when the other driver flicked on his full beams, Harry knew they were in trouble.

‘Go!' he shouted. But Clare had already floored the pedal, the Land Cruiser's engine roaring in response.

He glanced at Rik, who was sitting upright in his seat, holding his gun in his lap. The younger man was staring through the side window with no expression, but he seemed calm enough.

‘You OK?' said Harry, and received a terse nod in return.

‘We should take him,' Clare said. ‘There's nothing ahead; we're in the open.'

Harry considered it. Their options were limited. If the car behind them contained Latham and his team, stopping to argue in this relative wilderness would be a short form of suicide. The Hit would be trained for this kind of terrain and this scenario, and spoiling for a fight. The odds of three comparative amateurs gaining superiority over them was therefore minimal. But staying on the road at this rate was merely prolonging the inevitable. And if Clare lost control of the car because of a burst tyre or a mechanical fault, the end would come just as quickly and with less chance of fighting back.

He signalled ahead. He would have to trust Clare to know what she was doing. ‘Choose your spot.'

‘What are we doing?' Rik leaned forward between the seats to make himself heard over the noise.

‘Get ready to bale out,' Harry warned him. ‘The moment we stop, go left and find cover off the road.
Don't
stay with the car.'

Rik nodded and sat back, swallowing hard.

Moments later, Clare shouted, ‘Now!' Then she stamped hard on the brakes, bracing herself on the wheel.

For a moment nothing happened. Not even the engine noise diminished. The car's velocity continued unabated, the tyres drumming on the gravelled road and dust billowing around their tail, glowing red in the aura of the brake lights. Then the tyre treads began to grip and they were thrown forward against their seat belts. Another release as the vehicle skidded and lost traction, but Clare adjusted smoothly with a spin of the wheel and pointed the nose of the car at the side of the road. They thumped against the grass verge and over, taking them in a crazy slide, the headlights throwing up a whirlwind kaleidoscope of bushes, saplings and rocks, and a family of skinny goats leaping out of their way.

Harry thumbed his seat belt release and leapt out of the car as it came to a stop, vaguely aware of Clare doing the same. He stumbled as his shoes skidded on damp grass, then pitched forward, his momentum overtaking him. He rolled instinctively, one shoulder crunching against a series of small stones and one hand scraping across the rough ground. His head brushed a large, solid object and he closed his eyes, tucking himself into a tight ball.

He came up the right way and threw himself to one side, away, he hoped, from the car and the glare of lights. If he stayed too close, he would be backlit for anyone to take a shot at him. He hoped Clare and Rik had done the same.

The Toyota's lights went out.

He turned away and stared into the night, eyes still holding the echo of the glare. Loss of night vision was the last thing he needed.

There was no sign of the other vehicle.

‘Clare?' He peered towards the Toyota. She was either close enough to it to have leaned in and doused the lights, or was now keeping very still nearby.