Authors: Graeme Cumming
“Stay where you are!” the Raven hissed. He glared at
the three people in the bedroom as if to underline his words.
Satisfied for the moment that they weren’t going anywhere,
he stepped backwards out on to the landing. His movements were
cautious. Not because he was afraid, or because he was concerned about
forewarning the new arrivals that he was on to them. They must have
realised that the noise they were making would alert everyone in the house to
their presence. It was more that he was surprised. After all, why
would anyone be stupid enough to think this was the way to defeat him?
There was that, and also he wanted to make sure the occupants of the bedroom
stayed where they were, so he was keeping his eyes on them as well as trying to
see down the stairs.
Which he couldn’t. They were too far away. He
checked to make sure no one had moved, then turned and strode across the
landing.
When he had entered the house, he’d come through the back
garden. The door opened into the hallway, a good portion of which was
beneath the landing. And that was where the noise seemed to be coming
from. He couldn’t see anyone at the foot of the staircase, so he took a
step down and leaned over the banister hoping for a better view. As he
did, there was a blast of gunfire and the carpet on the landing was shredded,
splinters of wood bursting up from it.
Sergeant Boyd was twenty three. Too young to have
fought in the Falklands, or any other major conflict for that matter. Two
tours in Northern Ireland had seemed to present him with an opportunity for
some action, but contrary to the popular view of the media, only small parts of
the country could be classed as truly dangerous. He’d spent most of one
tour looking tough with a gun in the city centre because the shoppers needed
protecting, and another tour had been spent acting as liaison with the
RUC. It had been interesting work, and had no doubt helped him to get his
stripes, but he’d never seen any real action.
To find two of his men had been killed was both shocking and
– though he’d never admit it to anyone else – exciting. At last he’d have
the opportunity for some action. And looking at the state his men had
been left in, he was in no doubt that he and the rest of his squad would be
facing some stiff competition.
Torrance had still been alive when they’d found him.
Fortunately, that had barely lasted long enough for them to watch him gasp and
expire. Boyd knew he’d regret thinking it was fortunate later, but the
reality was that there had been nothing they could do for him, and to simply
watch him suffer would have done no one any good.
So they’d left the two bodies and formed a huddle in the
shadows of the outbuildings. His men had looked to him for guidance and
he’d quickly begun to formulate a plan. When they’d been left behind, his
CO had been satisfied that eight would be enough. Now there were just six
of them. The obvious thing to do was to split into pairs and start to
search for whoever was responsible for the deaths of their comrades. But
whoever
was
responsible had easily dispatched two men, so pairs might
not be such a good idea.
Their best chance was to work as a single unit, though that
carried with it the risk that they’d head in the wrong direction. As it
was, three pairs would be limited in the scope of their search. But Boyd
reasoned that the intention had been to retrieve the van, and with the van no
longer there, the murderers – it had to be more than one – must have simply
left. Which meant they had almost certainly gone back down the track to
the main road.
So that was the plan. Until one of his men noticed a
curtain jerking unnaturally in one of the bedroom windows of the
farmhouse. His attention had been caught by flashing as the curtain let
out spasmodic glimpses of light.
They went in through the garden. The curtain had
settled down, and everything seemed to be peaceful. Boyd had hesitated,
not sure what to do. If they went charging in now, and it was just the
owners participating in some horseplay, it could get very uncomfortable.
Not just tonight, but later when the official complaints started coming
in. They’d even started backing away from the house as he considered his
next course of action. Then they heard a raised voice – “No you fucking
won’t!” – followed a moment later by a series of distinct thuds.
Decision made.
The door was locked, of course, so it took them a few
moments to break it in. Not as easy as they made it look on the telly,
and a lot noisier. Because they didn’t know how many they were up
against, Boyd’s tactic was essentially to go in making as much racket as
possible. With any luck it would startle and maybe even frighten the
people they were after. The fact that they were likely to be terrorists
also meant they would use the shoot first and ask questions later
approach. He might not have seen any action in Northern Ireland, but he
knew damn well that ‘shoot to kill’ was official policy, and he had no qualms
about using it now.
Inside, they’d found themselves in a large hallway.
The staircase was to the right of them, but they couldn’t see the foot of it
because it was facing the wrong way. Overhead, they heard the creak of
floorboards. Boyd gestured to two of his men to follow him. He was
going for the stairs. In the mean time, he wanted covering, and hopefully
they could take a few of the bad guys out at the same time. He pointed to
the remaining three, then lifted his finger so it was directed upwards. As
he ran for the stairs, the hallway was filled with the roar and chatter of
machine gun fire.
Martin remained standing in the same spot after the Raven
moved away from the doorway. He half expected to see the pale face
reappear around the door frame to catch him out, and daren’t move
immediately. He strained his ears, listening for the creak of footsteps
on stairs. If he heard that, he would try to escape. The blast of
gunfire came first.
In front of his eyes, the floor erupted, the carpet bursting
upwards in spurts that seemed to cover the whole of the landing. If the
Raven had been in the line of fire, he’d be dead by now. And if he
hadn’t, Martin realised that he wouldn’t be able to get back to the bedroom
without being hit by the spray of bullets. He had already worked out that
there was only one escape route. Even so, he looked around him, searching
for an alternative in that crazy way you do when you aren’t thinking
rationally.
Outside the room, the roar from the guns dimmed. He guessed
one of them had stopped firing. The volume of shots being fired told him
that it must be the Army downstairs. He’d known a group of soldiers had
been left behind to watch over the barns. What had brought them in, he
didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care. He was just glad they were here.
There was another blast, though that seemed to come from a
point to the right of the doorway rather than below. It didn’t
matter. He was moving now, heading for the window.
Tanya was cradling Ian’s head, stroking it with more
tenderness than he’d thought she was capable of. His initial thought was
to just get out on his own. Although it didn’t feel as urgent as it had a
few moments ago, he still had a strong desire to get to his parents’ cottage.
They’d treated him like shit since he was a child. He couldn’t let them
get away with that. And if he stayed here much longer, he was likely to
be caught in the crossfire, which would eliminate any chance of getting his
revenge. But seeing Tanya and Ian made him hesitate. Was it really
fair for him to just leave them here?
Behind him, the gunfire slackened. He didn’t know it,
but magazines were being ejected and replaced. The volume cranked up
again, shutting out all other sounds.
“We’ve got to go!” He’d bent down and was shouting
into Tanya’s ear.
Her reactions were slow. She seemed to be in a daze,
but Martin didn’t have time to be calm and understanding. He gripped her
arm and tried to pull her to her feet.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, resisting him.
“Getting us out of here!”
“What about Ian?”
Good question. Martin’s head turned rapidly between
the window and the unconscious figure on the floor. If he could get Ian
to the window, how was he going to get him out and down to the ground without
killing him or – at best – leaving him seriously injured? He let go of
her, and headed for the window. A glance at the door told him the Raven
was still preoccupied.
The window frame was about eight feet across, and divided into
three individual panes of glass. In the centre was a fixed pane, which
was maybe five feet wide. On either side of it the other two opened
outwards. He opened the nearest one and peered out into the
darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out that there was a
garden. It was predominantly lawn, with flower borders. Paving
stones formed a pathway that ran diagonally across the lawn, disappearing into
gloom. Directly below was a patio area that extended maybe six or eight
feet. There didn’t appear to be any furniture there to cause additional
hazard. He estimated the drop to be about twelve feet. If he went
out backwards and held on to the ledge with his arms fully extended, his
landing would be reasonably safe. Getting an unconscious man out was a
different matter altogether.
Somewhere in the house, he heard an agonised scream.
The bursts of gunfire stopped. For a moment, he was afraid that the Raven
had killed all the soldiers. Then he heard more shots. These were
spaced out more, as if they were going for accuracy now rather than spraying
bullets indiscriminately. He hoped they were successful, but he doubted
it. As if to underline that thought, he heard a strangled cry, closely
followed by rapid firing.
Whatever was happening down there, he realised he had to
move swiftly. He glanced to his side. Tanya was staring up at
him. She still had a dazed look about her, but he could see it was
clearing, and with that clarity came fear.
He hesitated a moment, his gaze passing quickly between the
open window and the couple on the floor. If he left now, he’d probably
get away. He could let the Sentinels know what had happened, and they
could decide what to do. It would almost certainly be too late for the
McLeans
, but there was a bigger picture here. That
was how the Sentinels would approach it. But would he be able to live
with himself?
Tanya had shown herself to be hard-headed from the first
time he’d met her. She was in control of her life and took what she
wanted. He’d seen her for what she was straight away. And yet here
she was, desperately afraid but clearly unable to leave Ian behind.
Something shifted inside him. Knots had been forming
in his stomach. At least, he assumed they must have, because he was
suddenly aware of them loosening. Tension eased and interior barriers
began to fall away.
Bending down, he took Tanya’s hand. “We have to go,”
he said softly, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear.
Unarmed and unprepared, Collins had done what every right
thinking man would do when the machine guns had gone off. He’d thrown
himself back out into the yard, slamming the door behind him. Even with
the door shut, the racket was more than anything he’d experienced before.
In nineteen seventy-seven, he’d been involved in foiling a raid on a security
van. A sawn-off shotgun had been fired at him from close range.
Fortunately, the shooter was panicking and the blast went wide. But the
noise had reverberated in his head for days after. That paled into insignificance
by comparison to the din coming from the farmhouse.
His first thought was to return to Adam, Claire and the
others. But they had sent him here knowing he’d be in danger, so he
didn’t imagine he’d be met with much sympathy. Instinctively, he wanted
to call for back up, but he didn’t have a radio with him. Even if he had,
he suspected this whole thing would be over before any back up arrived.
So his options were limited. He could go back into the
house, but that would be suicidal. Or he could go round the house and see
if there was a safer way in. Or he could head for the other side of the
yard and run down the track to the village. There, he could knock on
doors until he found someone who’d let him use a phone to call for help.
If he did that, he’d have to hope he got there before the Hawthorns caught him,
or whoever was shooting the hell out of the farmhouse.
He jogged to the gate that led out to the track.
There, he cursed his own sense of duty and turned left instead of right,
heading up towards the old outbuildings. Earlier in the day, when he’d
gone up to see the crime scene, he’d noticed that there was access to the back
of the house through a garden. The garden itself was surrounded by a high
wall, but there had been an open gateway. And it was still open when he
reached it. From the opening, he took a moment to take in the scene in
front of him.
At ground level, he could see flashes of light coming from
what could only be an open doorway. Those flashes were accompanied by the
cracks and bangs he recognised as gunshots, though by now they were more
sporadic than they had been.
On the first floor, slightly to the right of where the
doorway was, curtains had been pulled back and a window was open. And
Martin Gates was there with Tanya McLean next to him. The house was a
good hundred yards away, but he could tell from their body language that they
were hesitating. And he could understand why. It was potentially a
long drop if they just jumped out. Without thinking, Collins ran across
the lawn, veering away from the doorway. There was no point in risking
being hit by a stray bullet.
As he reached the patio, he saw Tanya’s legs were half way
out the window.
“Let her out as far as you can!” he called up.
Martin’s head appeared, squeezed between the window frame
and Tanya’s shoulder. He peered down for a moment, squinting into the
gloom. Apparently recognising Collins, he gave a curt nod then
disappeared again. As he did, Tanya began her descent. There was
little finesse about the operation. As soon as her upper body was clear
of the ledge, Martin let her drop as rapidly as his arms would allow.
Then Collins was gripping her legs, steadying her, and pulling her
down. He took her weight as Martin released her, and helped her to the
ground.
She turned and gave him a puzzled look. “Inspector?”
But he didn’t have time to respond. Another pair of
legs was slipping over the window ledge. He gently pushed her to one
side, further away from the door, and reached up.
From inside the house, he heard a sickening yell, filled
with pain and anguish. The gunshots had fallen away now. There was
an occasional crack and pop, but it sounded as if there were only two or three
guns in play. What he didn’t know was which side had them.
He caught hold of the feet and worked his hands up the legs,
steadying them as he had with Tanya. Then she was alongside him, helping
to take the weight. Even with her assistance, he was surprised at how
heavy the body was. Then he realised it was her husband, and he was out
cold. They dragged Ian away from the house. He knew it was
necessary to keep the patio clear if they were going to help Martin down.
They were laying Ian down on the grass when there was a
crashing noise to one side. He looked up to see a soldier lying face up,
half in and half out of the doorway. His face was battered and
bloody. The features were still recognisable, but only just. Blood
poured from his forehead and nose. His eyes glittered briefly in the half
light. For a moment, Collins felt they were looking at him. Then
the body was jerked back into the house. The soldier opened his mouth to
scream, then the back of his head bounced against the threshold and he was
gone.
From just beyond the doorway, Collins heard a squelching
sound and then silence. The guns had stopped. Above him, he heard
heavy breathing from exertion, and in the sudden peace of the night, it seemed
to reverberate around the garden and the house. He watched the doorway,
terrified that whoever – or whatever – was inside would be able to hear
Martin’s breathing and would come to investigate.
Further inside the house, he heard footsteps on wooden
floorboards. He strained his ears, trying to gauge whether they were
coming nearer or moving away.
A sharp slapping nearby made him jump. He leapt back,
further on to the lawn, hoping to God that he was far enough away. There
was a blur of movement in front of him, then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on!” Martin said urgently. “Let’s go!”