Authors: Dan Latus
I
started the Land Rover, drove along the track and stopped near the entrance from the main road. My short-term tactic was to hold them off as long as possible, and as far from home as possible, while Sasha got clear. Then we’d see. That might be when I called Bill Peart.
I parked at a point where the Land Rover filled the track. To either side were drops of a few feet into soggy ground. Not even a big 4 x 4 would be able to get past without shunting me out of the way.
I switched the lights off but kept the engine running. I checked the shotgun and laid it across my knees. Then I waited.
When I saw headlights approaching and heard the sound of a vehicle slowing down, I got out and walked a few paces up the track and off to the side.
The approaching vehicle turned onto the track, its headlights bouncing wildly until they lit up the Land Rover. Then it came to a stop a few yards away. It looked like one of the big BMWs I’d seen at Meridion House. Definitely not equipped for rough, cross-country travel over boggy ground.
I stepped up to the driver’s door and rapped on the window with the shotgun barrel. It was hard to see who was inside the car but there were several people there.
A face turned towards me. I rapped again, harder. The window slid down. A man I hadn’t seen before stared out at me.
‘Back up,’ I told him. ‘Back up, and get out of here.’
‘We have come for something that is ours,’ he said in a heavily accented voice.
I shook my head. ‘You’ve come to the wrong place. Get out while you can.’
I sensed movement the other side of him and in the back of the car. I jammed the barrel into his face, hard. ‘Both barrels,’ I said softly. ‘In your face.’
‘What do you want?’
He wasn’t phased at all. Tough guy.
‘This is private property. Back up and leave!’
‘What are you going to do if I don’t?’
I could hear the smile in his voice now.
The rear door swung open on my side. I saw a leg protrude beneath the bottom of the door. I slammed the door with my foot. A crack like a snapping stick, together with the resultant scream, suggested serious damage to the intruding leg.
‘Back up!’ I said again.
Nothing happened. I reached inside and pressed the button in the roof for the interior lights. I could see now there were four of them. They had come mob-handed. Two I recognized, one yowling in the back with what I hoped was a broken leg, and one in the passenger seat.
‘That’s better!’ I said. ‘Some of us have met before, haven’t we?’
The guy in the passenger seat glowered at me. He must be the one who had phoned me.
‘The answer to your question about my house,’ I told him, ‘is no. I didn’t like what you did to it. I didn’t like the work you did on my elderly neighbour either. So it’s good to see you both again.’
I racked the shotgun, angled it slightly and pulled the trigger. The windscreen exploded. Glass everywhere. I held the barrel against the driver’s face a moment, the heat from it scorching his face. Then I stepped back and pulled out the Glock.
Almost at the same time the Land Rover’s headlights came alight on high beam. That was a shock but I recovered quickly and shouted at the man emerging from the far side of the car. He stopped in mid-stride.
‘Get back in,’ I told him.
He got back in.
‘Now what?’ the driver said.
‘Like I said, back up.’ I swung the barrel of the shotgun against the rear side window, smashing it. Then I pushed it into the driver’s chest and prodded hard. ‘Now!’
He reached for the gear lever and found reverse. The car began to scream backwards. I stepped out of the light and ran alongside in a pool of darkness. I could see them but they couldn’t see me. More important, they had no idea how many of us there were.
Nor had I.
The BMW backed on to the road and sped off. It was a temporary reprieve. I knew they would be back. Probably very soon.
Sooner than I’d expected, in all probability. I heard the screech of brakes. When I turned round, the BMW was doing
a three-point turn fifty yards down the road. It completed the turn and stopped, pointing this way. We weren’t going to be able to get out by road. That was clear.
I trotted back towards the Land Rover, shielding my eyes until the high beams dipped. Sasha was in the driving seat. She slid across to the other side when I arrived.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘But you weren’t supposed to be here. What happened?’
‘You needed help,’ she said simply. ‘I knew you did.’
I let it go. We didn’t have time to debate might-have-beens and what-ifs. We had to get out, and fast.
T
hey would be back. And soon. I didn’t have any doubt about that. They would regroup and return, bringing with them God knew what as reinforcements. A naval barrage from
Meridion
, perhaps? Meanwhile, we couldn’t escape in the Land Rover; The BMW was effectively a cork in the bottle. They might be minus a windscreen and carrying one or two injuries, but we couldn’t out-run them in the Land Rover even if they didn’t bring up reinforcements.
‘What will we do?’ Sasha asked.
‘I’m working on it.’ I threw her a smile and added, ‘Don’t worry so much!’
She didn’t smile back.
I stopped the Land Rover outside the cottage and threw the door open. The sleet had started again. And the wind was shrieking.
‘We have to get out on foot,’ I said. ‘We can’t stay here. We’d just be trapped.’
‘Where will we go?’
‘Back to the hut. They don’t know about that. But we need to collect a few things together first.’
I expected them to return in minutes, probably with more men. There was no way I could hold them off from inside the
cottage. My get-out-of-jail card was to call Bill Peart, but I wasn’t quite ready to use it. The police were too far away to help and these were desperate, ruthless people. They weren’t going to let Sasha’s friend Misha survive to tell his tale.
For the moment, though, I wasn’t thinking too much about Misha. Keeping Sasha and myself alive was a big enough challenge.
Back at the cottage I pulled a couple of rucksacks out of the cupboard and threw one to Sasha.
‘We’ve only got a couple of minutes,’ I told her. ‘Go upstairs and grab any clothes you think you might need. Pack this sleeping bag as well.’
She went off without question, which was a relief. We hadn’t time to debate anything.
I grabbed a sleeping bag for myself and an extra fleece. Then I started jamming food into the rucksack. Some extra cartridges for the shotgun and the Glock, as well. Matches and a knife.
‘I am ready,’ Sasha announced.
‘Good!’
I threw her a smile. I was impressed by her fortitude. Wherever did I get the idea that young art students, or art graduates, must be soft and fearful when thrown into the real world?
‘Let’s go,’ I added.
We were only just in time. As we left the house, I saw two vehicles turning onto the track. They would be carrying six or eight men, I assumed. We needed to move fast.
I had switched off the lights and locked the door although, if they wanted to get inside, a locked door wouldn’t stop them.
I ran round the back of the house and led the way into rough ground, where there was little risk of car headlights catching us. The trouble was it was also difficult to see where we were going. The driving sleet and howling wind were one thing; the low cloud, and the darkness it brought, another. I had a head torch with me but I didn’t dare use it. Still, this was my home patch. So I moved fairly quickly.
Sasha kept up with me, I was relieved to see. No whinging about the dark and the cold, or anything else. She was doing well. A tough girl.
I knew that already, of course. Doing what she had been doing the past few days, she had to be tough. Not just physically. Mentally, as well. Things hadn’t got to her. Despite the fear – the sheer terror! – and the hardship, she had clung to her priorities. Misha was a lucky guy to have a girl like this rooting for him.
I hit the top of the path and we began the descent, slithering fast down slimy rock coated with sleet. Caution was out of the question. I didn’t look back either. Whatever Borovsky’s men might be doing at my cottage, there wasn’t much I could do to stop them. Priorities again. My priorities.
A few paces down from what there was of a skyline, I paused and waited for Sasha to come to me.
‘This leads down to the beach,’ I told her, ‘but it’s not a proper path.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It is the way I come.’
I shook my head and gave a wry smile. Of course she knew this way down. There was no other.
We went on, with me no longer making allowances for her. There seemed to be no need for that, no need at all.
T
hat was one difficult journey, that journey in the dark. I dared not use a light even for a moment in case someone happened to be looking over the cliff at the time. So we slithered and groped our way down the track. And not once did Sasha complain. I heard her following close behind, as we clambered and slid across icy rock and floundered through wet patches of rotten shale, all the time with the wind and the sleet in our faces. But not once did I hear even a word of reproach, still less a wailed protest. This is some girl, I thought with admiration. Some woman.
We got there. We hit the beach at last. Not far to go now, thank God. Thankfully, the hut hadn’t moved, and we found it in the darkness. It was almost as cold inside as out, but at least we were out of the wind.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, wiping my face with my sleeve, ‘but it would be better not to light the stove tonight.’
‘No,’ Sasha agreed. ‘They might smell the smoke.’
‘Exactly.’ I smiled in the darkness and pulled out a small torch that I switched on and shaded with my hand. ‘You must have done this before.’
‘Many times.’
Well, three or four, I thought. It wasn’t that long since she had first turned up at my house.
‘You did well, coming down the cliff.’
‘It was not so bad,’ she said with a shrug.
Tough kid, I thought again. I wondered if there were many like her, where she came from.
‘Get some sleep,’ I told her. ‘You’ll soon get warm in the sleeping bag. I’ll keep watch for a while.’
No argument. She sorted herself out and got her head down. I donned my extra fleece, wrapped my sleeping bag round me and started to wait. It was going to be a long night but I couldn’t risk us both being asleep at the same time. Never underestimate your enemy, someone I admired had once told me. I’ve always believed that was good advice.
The wind began to shriek ever louder. The sleet rattled against the hut with increasing ferocity. The sea roared and did its best to compete. The hut was a noisy place that night. Just as well, really. It might have been difficult to stay awake otherwise.
So I had plenty of time to consider our situation, and to wonder about my companion. Companion, colleague, victim – what was she, really? She certainly wasn’t a normal victim, and no frightened young woman either. I was beginning to think Sasha was a bit special. Russian art schools must be formidable places if they produced graduates like her.
There were other possibilities beginning to edge into my mind during that long night but I resisted them. The time might well come when I would let them into the full glare of my consciousness, but not yet. We needed each other too much.
All the same, there were still things I couldn’t get my head
around. One question was, why were Sasha and her friend Misha so important to Borovsky? Sasha seemed to think it was because she and Misha were great painters. They made him money, presumably. So he didn’t want to let them go. Could that really be the answer, though – all of it?
But I could appreciate the nature of the equilibrium between them. Borovsky couldn’t dispose of Misha because Sasha would then be free to tell everything to the authorities. With the aid of the most expensive lawyers he could hire, Borovsky might well be able to survive police inquiries, and even a court case, but it would be the end of what he was doing.
All that would change if he could get his hands on Sasha. Then he could dispose of them both without fear of consequences, if that was what he wanted. Me, too, probably. So I had to keep her out of his hands. That had to be my priority for the moment.
I don’t know if Sasha really slept, but she seemed to. Then, after exactly four hours, she stirred and spoke to me.
‘Everything is well?’
‘So far,’ I told her, trying hard to put a smile into my voice.
‘Then you must sleep, and I will watch.’
I hesitated.
‘You must,’ she said softly. There was a rustling sound and then suddenly she was alongside me, her fingers stroking my face. She leaned down and pressed her own face against mine. ‘You need sleep, too. I will watch.’
She was very persuasive. I shrugged and trapped her hand between my cheek and shoulder for a moment. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course.’ She hesitated and added, ‘Trust me.’
And, strangely enough, I did.
A couple of hours’ sleep worked wonders for me. I came out of it ready to go. Sasha was by the window, her back to me.
‘Anything?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe I hear something. Maybe not.’
I was up and out of my sleeping bag immediately. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen through the window. I turned to the door and eased it open a crack. The view was of the track. I saw movement on it. I closed the door and scrambled for my things.
‘Someone’s coming!’ I snapped. ‘Get ready.’
She was already packed and set to go. She hadn’t wasted her time on watch. A minute later I was ready, too. It would have taken longer if I hadn’t slept in my boots.
I took another look through the door. I could see three, possibly four, figures now. They were descending the track steadily. Another five minutes, I estimated, and they would be on the beach. I wasn’t in any doubt as to who they were, and I wasn’t about to hang around to discuss the weather with them.
‘We will go?’ Sasha said.
‘We must.’
There was no way we could hold them off for long from inside a ramshackle wooden hut. With a mobile that worked down there, I might have called Bill Peart at that point. As it was, we had to get out fast – while there was still time. I grabbed my rucksack and the shotgun, and opened the door.
We broke cover and were spotted immediately. I led the
way, jogging south along the beach. The tide was well in but there was still a narrow strip of firm, wet sand.
Sasha ran beside me. She had no questions, which was just as well. I needed to think ahead rather than engage in conversation. Fortunately, she seemed to understand, and there were no signs of panic for me to worry about.
We reached the end of the little beach. I looked back and saw there were four of them following us. Already they were on the sand, and perhaps only two hundred yards behind us. Too far for them to shoot, probably, and certainly out of range of my shotgun.
‘We must go across the rocks and round the headland,’ I shouted.
‘There is a way?’
‘Perhaps. I mean, yes!’
I was thinking aloud, and not altogether coherently. If we could get round the headland, there was a possibility of escape, but no certainty. Stay where we were and there was certainly a certainty. I didn’t want to tell her that, though.
The tide was already raging across the rocks in front of the headland. Spray was sweeping overhead in vast, hissing sheets. I hesitated. It was too late, really. Far too late. But it was too late to go anywhere else either.
I plunged through the shallows, heading for the first of the rocks. I hoped Sasha would follow, and she did. Her confidence in me was astonishing, not that I was thinking that at the time. I was soon up to my knees, and then my thighs, in swirling water that sucked and pulled, trying to bring me down. Spray was arcing overhead in bigger sheets than ever. I glanced round. Sasha was still with me.
I went on. Now we were threading our way between large boulders, with fierce currents of seawater pulling at our legs, and sending us first one way and then another. A massive wave hit the rocks. I ducked and reached back to grab hold of Sasha’s coat. We stood still, holding on until the water level receded from our chests. Then I forged on. There was no going back. Either we got through or we’d had it.
We got through.
I tramped through shallower water and made it to the beach, still hanging on to Sasha. On the sand, I doubled over for a moment, catching my breath, spitting out volumes of sea water. When I straightened up, Sasha was looking back anxiously.
‘Come on!’ I urged.
We started running again, heading for the next obstacle. That was the shallow depression that ran all the way up to the foot of the cliffs. I hoped to God the water wasn’t too deep yet. We had to cross that hollow or we were done for. No way either back or forward then. We had to get through.
I didn’t hesitate. I ploughed straight in, towing Sasha after me. Every second counted. Twenty yards to cross. The water was up to my waist, and even higher on Sasha. More waves were lining up to hit the beach. The next one would probably take the water over my head.
We made it. I hauled Sasha up out of the water onto sand. Before we started off running again I glanced back. Two of Borovsky’s men had followed us round the headland. From a distance one of them looked like part of the pair that had trashed my house and beaten up Jimmy Mack. His pal was lucky. I’d given him a broken leg, and he hadn’t been able to come.
The two still following were racing towards us, with about fifty yards to go to the depression, entirely oblivious of the danger ahead. I thought of holding them up with a warning salvo from the shotgun, but that was when I realized the shotgun had not made it round the headland. The sea had taken it, and I hadn’t even noticed it going.
It didn’t matter anyway. They couldn’t get across to us. Not any more. The surging water was too deep to wade through and too violent to swim.
They couldn’t get back either now, of course.
I touched Sasha’s arm. ‘Come on!’ I said.
She turned unquestioningly and we began to run again, jogging along the water’s edge. I didn’t bother looking back. There was no need. Borovsky was now two men down, if not four.