Chapter 41
He knew he couldn't outrun them, especially on a straight road and this was a very straight road. Cursing the Romans, he knew if he stopped to engage they had all the advantages. When he saw the sign, it was all he had. Stomping sharply on the brakes, he threw the Cambridge left into the entrance to the forest; the Zephyr sailed on past, smoke coming from contact of tyres and tarmac.
Slipping from side to side on the dusty track, he regained control and remembered what the military guys had told him. The rapid increase in speed took him into the metal barrier popping it open like a bag of crisps. Gears racked from third to second, he stomped on the accelerator, slewed around the first bend out of view and threw the steering wheel left as he yanked the handbrake, spinning the car around to almost face back towards the main road, a cloud of dust filling the air. Out, he dragged the rear door open and pulled her from the footwell.
"In the ditch! Get in the ditch! Keep down and crawl as far as you can then go left into the bracken and keep going to the trees. Wait for me there. Don't come out until you hear me calling you!"
He took the Smith and Wesson out, checked his pocket for the speed loaders and reached the engine block just as they swung around the bend and skidded to a halt, surprised at what confronted them.
Up over the bonnet, he let loose three shots into the passenger side of the windscreen but the doors still opened. Cherney and his mate weren't giving up. Seconds later, the Cambridge's side windows shattered and the door skins plinked as rounds penetrated them. He spun around and rolled between the tyres to the boot, up again, three more then rolled back to eject the spent cases and reload. He was in trouble, who knew how many magazines they had yet he was saving the British public on the inconvenience of the cost of defence. He had to make them count and tried to calm himself.
He knelt up and fired one at the driver's door then lay flat as the reply thudded into the car and spat up dirt behind him. He reverse crawled a few feet in the hope they wouldn't be able to see him beneath the vehicle.
His heart thumped in his ears as he watched their feet approaching. Prone, he pulled the hammer back silently and pulled the trigger. The figure on the left yelped and went down. He fired two more as they struggled to recover their dropped weapon then rolled to his right, tumbling backwards into bracken as he tried to get to his feet, letting one loose as a figure came running, firing as it did so.
Ignoring the pain of his landing in the deceptively deep ditch, he righted himself and scrambled into the overgrown ferns out of view. Cautiously kneeling, he raised his head just enough to see through the undergrowth and catch a glimpse of the man reloading behind the open rear passenger door of the Cambridge. Up, he fired the remaining round then ran left, back into the ditch. Crawling rapidly several feet, ditching the empty cases from the revolver as he did so, with trembling hands he reloaded with his last speed loader. Facing towards the direction of the threat, he lay waiting for the inevitable. It didn't come. He used his legs to propel himself away on his back. After ten feet or so, all the time the weapon pointing in readiness, he stopped and warily rose.
The figure who'd been reloading at the rear door was now lying on his back, arms outstretched, gun still in hand. Gallagher scrambled from the ditch and tentatively approached in a wide arc, weapon out in front of him. Swiping the sweat from his eyes, he flicked the PPK with his foot then slowly bent down to recover it, putting it in his jacket pocket. Blood from Cherney's head formed a dusty pool on the ground, Gally's last hopeful shot had struck him through his right eye, killing him outright.
Where the other figure had gone down he wasn't exactly sure, he couldn't see it, maybe it had been closer to his car than he'd realised. Slowly, revolver thrust before him, he edged around the bonnet. There was nothing but a disturbance to the dust track and a small, dark damp patch. He squatted down, catching his breath, quickly checking the dead man's gun; round in the chamber, rounds in the magazine.
The sound of the engine startled him. A brief crunching of gears and it began to reverse away as the sunlight glared off the windscreen. He knew it had to end here. One down was messy but one down and one getaway was even messier in his line of business.
He got to his feet, firing all six rounds two-handed at the glare. Dropping the empty weapon, he dragged out the PPK and disengaged the safety. The car rolled back across a culvert and slid gracefully through the bracken, struck a large conifer and stalled. He could feel the acid in the back of his throat as he fought to control his breathing.
Advancing towards the driver's side, there was too much damage for him to see through the windscreen clearly but a figure was slumped to their right.
When he opened the door, she fell out. Previously concealed by the narrow brimmed, straw hat that now lay beside her, her hair had fallen over her face hiding her features. He felt her wrist then her neck, no pulse. He brushed her hair to the side. It was the girl who'd mined his history with a simple look.
He quickly searched the car and found her gun in the driver's well where it had fallen as she took the impact of his bullets. He made it safe then dragged her further into the ferns, out of sight, arranging her decently and covering the traces as best he could. He did the same for Cherney, kicking dust over the evidence of blood, then called Marion from the undergrowth. It took a while before he could convince her it was safe. Under his instruction, they piled the biggest ferns and fallen branches they could find over the Zephyr until, to the casual observer, it almost wasn't there. Taking a smaller branch he broke off a portion and, as a marker, forced it into the ground at the edge of the track roughly opposite the Zephyr and the body it guarded; then he did the same for her husband.
He rummaged under the front passenger seat and pulled out the 502 radio and gave it a try; nothing. It could be the set or it could be the trees. He'd no idea. Surprisingly, the Cambridge fired up on the second attempt and after he'd changed the flat front tyre they were able to drive back to the road and the telephone kiosk that sat in the lay-by two hundred yards further along.
He found some small change in the glove box and made the call to the number on the rear of his identity card. After 40 seconds, the engaged signal ceased and a voice answered. "Cleaning Services."
The word of the day was given then the phone number, a brief description of the location, markers and requirements. The reply was a simple, "Understood. Someone will be with you shortly. Go back to the track and wait." They did.
He told Ward to call him Gally then sat and debriefed her as best he could. As he looked at her closely for the first time, he thought she had a pleasant face but it gave away just a hint of apprehension of the future when he informed her of their suspicions about her lover, Wendy. He complimented her on her bravery and she replied, "I wasn't brave, it was just exciting. Do you do this all the time, Gally?" He smiled and waved her away in mock modesty, "Shucks, no ma'am," he said in his best cowboy voice. "We usually take Wednesdays off." Marion filled the rest of their time by telling him all about the plants that surrounded them until they were interrupted by the blue 'Gas Board' van bouncing up the track.
Several tumbled out of the back and Mick nodded briefly to Marion as Billy said, "Sorry, Gally. There was no way we could keep up when we sussed what was going on. We came across Sandy and Clive on the way. They're ok, a bit beat up but they'll survive. Clive's done his collarbone in and I reckon Sandy has a cracked rib but I left a couple of the lads with them, trained medics. Where are they then?" His head swivelled from side to side.
"Follow the markers."
Billy threw a couple of hand signals out and the others waded through the ferns.
"You not got any body bags, Billy?"
He shook his head. "Nah. We'll wrap 'em in a groundsheet when they're in the back."
Gallagher watched him inspect the Cambridge and then the ground, kicking over the empty cases.
"What about their vehicle?" Gally asked.
"What? Oh, recovery'll be here shortly." He looked up. "You did well, mate. I'm proud of you. You look like a bag of shite though."
Bodies placed in the back of the van, they set about picking up the empties, kicking glass away and covering any obvious marks on the track. A Thames Trader transporter turned up and they all helped load the Zephyr and cover it with a tarpaulin.
From start to finish it took them twenty minutes before they reclosed the barrier, draping the chain over so it looked as if it were locked, and parted ways. Tich and another escorted Gally and Marion to the safe house.
On the main road heading southeast, the transporter and its cargo passed a car in a ditch then joined a short queue of traffic that waited as a sister recovery vehicle hauled a Triumph Herald from a field. One down, one to go.