Authors: Graham Storrs
“The river’s that way,” he said, pointing.
“Right,” said Sandra, mistaking his intent, and shot off in that direction. Almost falling over, he managed to make the turn at full speed and follow her.
“What then?” she called over her shoulder.
Jay was about to ask her for suggestions when he heard booted feet clattering on the pavement behind them. He turned quickly and saw three men pounding along the street. At least one of them had a machine gun in his hands.
“They’re on our six,” he said.
“Will you stop talking like that?” Sandra shouted back. “You sound really stupid.”
He scowled back at her. “Just run faster. Okay?”
They came out of the street onto a busy road. Huge glass office blocks loomed over them as they dodged the slow-moving traffic. They crossed over a canal and followed the curve of a road that arced around a semicircular block. Then they struck out east again, toward the river. They found themselves in a broad avenue between older buildings, exposed and vulnerable. Up ahead was an open space and beyond it some low, red-roofed buildings.
“Keep going. The river must be right in front of us, past those buildings.” As soon as he’d said it, Jay wondered what the hell he was talking about. It was Sandra’s idea that they were heading for the river, not his. He started looking about for somewhere else to go.
“Isn’t that the Fusimax Building?” Sandra pointed to a large, multi-turreted, post-Adjustment monstrosity just visible dead ahead of them.
“That’s right. They built it where the old Millennium Dome used to be, in North Greenwich, on the other side of the river from here. That means the Blackwall Tunnel is over to our left.” If they could get to the tunnel they could cross the river. What good that would do them, Jay had no idea, but it was an objective of sorts.
They were both already panting from running so fast for so long, yet the river itself must still be at least as far away again and the tunnel would be a couple of hundred metres farther still. A bullet ricocheted off the road five metres ahead of them and all thoughts of exhaustion were gone. Sandra looked over her shoulder and said “Shit!” which told Jay all he needed to know. Together, they leapt a safety barrier onto a huge, busy roundabout and cut across its grassy centre, heading for an exit to the left, vaguely following Jay’s notion of getting to the tunnel and across the river. From the honking of horns and squealing of brakes that followed just fifteen seconds later, Jay could easily tell how far behind their pursuers were. They reached the far side of the roundabout and plunged into the traffic. At the same time they heard cracking noises from behind them, like distant fireworks. A car window shattered as Jay dodged past it. Two holes appeared in the bodywork of a BMW ahead of him. With reckless determination, the two of them sprinted around the slow-moving cars and leapt the barrier at the other side. Jay hoped that stopping to shoot at them would slow their pursuers enough for him and Sandra to get off these long streets and out of the line of fire for a while.
But the road they had run onto was elevated and stretched out in a long slow curve for hundreds of metres ahead.
“Look!” Sandra was pointing to their right where the system of canals that characterised the area opened into a large body of water—a marina. Roughly oval, it had a long jetty at one side, following the curve of the oval, with what looked like twenty or so houseboats moored along it, all pointing the same way, with their noses to the jetty. In the morning sunlight, the colourful boats and the sparkling water were pretty and, to Jay’s eyes, jarringly peaceful. He could not see why Sandra had pointed it out. By the time he’d had a good look, they were almost past it.
“Come on,” Sandra said and swerved across to the rail at the edge of the overpass. She ran alongside it, peering downwards, and Jay had the horrible feeling she was planning to jump into the water. But they had passed the point where the canal entered the little marina under the overpass and there was only concrete below them now. So, when Sandra suddenly climbed the fence and jumped off, Jay’s heart almost stopped.
He peered down, frantically, in time to see Sandra climbing down from the roof of a parked car. She looked up at him expectantly. It was a long way down. Best not to think about that, he told himself, and climbed the fence. If he didn’t hit that car roof squarely and dead centre…
He jumped, falling for a surprisingly short time before he slammed into the car below. The vehicle sagged under him and the roof, already dented by Sandra, buckled farther. The side windows burst and sprayed glass over Sandra, who squealed and jumped back. It took him a second or two to realise he was all right.
“This way,” Sandra called and set off toward the jetty. Jay bounced off the roof onto the ground, racing to catch up with her.
The jetty had a single entrance that was protected by a wrought iron gate and a high fence. Jay clung to it and stared at the biometric lock, not knowing what to do with it. If he had the right equipment with him, this would be child’s play. Without it…
Sandra pulled him back and fired two shots into the lock at close range, smashing it to pieces. After that, it was easy to get in. Jay guessed that the blokes following them must be up on the flyover by now and easily able to see them. It was too late now to hide on one of the houseboats. But Sandra burst through the gate, sprinting along the jetty toward the far end. A rattle of gunfire behind them was matched by a row of splashes in the water to Jay’s left. He looked back to see the three men up on the flyover. Two seemed to be arguing—probably about whether to risk their necks jumping down—but the third was kneeling with his machine gun spitting fire. The row of splashes tracked toward Jay, then bullets started smashing up the jetty around his feet. He tried to run faster, straining for breath. Ahead, he saw the end of the jetty approaching. There was no way back to shore except back the way they had come. And that would be suicide.
“What the hell are we doing?” he shouted.
“Come on!” was all the reply he got.
The bullets stopped chewing up the planking around him and he chanced another look back. The argument seemed to be over and the three guys were lowering themselves down the side of the flyover. When he looked ahead, Sandra had jumped onto one of the houseboats—the last one on the jetty. She was peering through the boat’s windows. He was with her in a second.
“Cast off,” she shouted at him.
“What?”
“Untie the sodding boat!”
“You’re joking!”
“Just do it!”
He looked around. Extensions of the jetty came out from the main run at right angles and each boat was moored snugly against these spurs, one boat on either side. The boat they were on was tied front and back with thick ropes that were lashed to metal capstans. Jay jumped off the boat and went to the capstan at the back. A bit of tugging and the rope came free. He tossed it onto the boat and was about to run to the other end when a shot zipped past him and another hit the side of the boat. He threw himself aboard and flattened himself to the deck behind the low gunwale. Their pursuers were on the jetty and all three were firing at him. It would take them just seconds to get to the boat unless he did something.
Risking his neck, he took a peek over the edge. They weren’t shooting now, just running hard. He drew his gun and took careful aim. His first shot went wide and so did his second. The constant movement of both boat and jetty wasn’t something he’d noticed until now. The running men scurried off the main jetty, finding cover among the boats, and Jay gave a gasp of relief. It would be several seconds now before they could start shooting back and edging their way closer. He took the time to consider his position.
If anyone had seen or heard the shooting, they must surely have called the police. That meant help was probably already on its way. Yet it was the height of the morning rush hour, and it would take forever for the police to get there. Meanwhile, Jay and Sandra were pinned down on the last boat at the end of a long jetty with three armed men not twenty metres away working out the best way to get to them. The only sensible way he could see of getting out of this was to swim for it—and that didn’t seem like much of an option. Maybe if they could jump from the other side of the boat…
Then the boat’s engine spluttered into life.
From the back of the boat where he was hiding, Jay heard the churning of water as the propeller thrashed it into a foam. He felt the deep throbbing of the engine and the spinning of the prop through his hands and knees, and wondered what the hell Sandra thought she was doing. Their pursuers heard it all too, and Jay saw two of them emerge to see what was going on. He took a shot at one of them and they ducked back out of sight. Sandra’s head appeared from over a rail above him. She whooped a victory cry. “I’ll take her out onto the river through that canal over there.”
Jay couldn’t see a thing from where he was cowering behind the gunwale. “Can you drive one of these things?” he yelled.
“How hard can it be? Bugger. Hang on.”
She ducked back inside for a moment then reappeared. “Something’s wrong. I can’t steer it.”
A shot splintered the wood near her head and she bobbed back inside. Jay popped up and let off a couple of shots. He saw that while they’d been talking, one of the men had moved forward by two whole boats. He also saw what the problem was. The back of the boat was swinging out from the jetty, leaving an increasing gap between him and the gunmen, but the front of the long, narrow boat was still tied to its capstan. There was no way now that he could get onto the jetty to untie it. He’d have to work his way along the deck and hope that he didn’t get shot doing it.
“The boat’s still tied up!” Sandra yelled from above him.
“I know!”
“I told you to cast off. What are you messing about at?”
He glowered up at where her voice was coming from. “I’m just trying to stop the bad guys killing us both, dear. Is that all right? Or shall I just let them come aboard?”
“Stop being such a prat and get us untied!”
“Yes, dear,” he snapped, crawling forward. “Anything you say, dear.”
“And stop calling me ‘dear’ like that. It’s creepy.”
A burst of machine gun fire spattered across the cabins just above Jay’s back and he threw himself flat again. “Well how about a bit of covering fire then?”
The boat had swung right out into the open water now and was almost pointing directly toward the three gunmen, who were steadily advancing toward them. Seeing that the gunwale beside him wasn’t going to hide him much longer, Jay got up on one knee, fired several shots in the general direction of their attackers and sprinted forward to the bow. The rope that tied the boat to the capstan was taut and straining as the boat pushed against it. He tried pulling at it but it wouldn’t budge a millimetre.
“Turn off the bloody engine!” he bellowed. He could see Sandra’s face through the window of what must have been a small bridge. She put a hand to her ear indicating she couldn’t hear him. He gestured angrily at the rope, slapping it to show how taut it was. She leaned forward, peering at him.
Bullets shattered the glass and splintered wood all around her. Horrified, Jay spun back toward the jetty and fired several more rounds at the machine gunner where the man crouched behind the very next boat, just one boat-length away now. And if the machine gunner was there, what was to prevent someone else running along behind the next boat on the pier and shooting from its back?
As soon as he looked, he saw the man, less than six metres away, turning to shoot. Jay’s gun came round and up and he sighted the man along its barrel. He could see his opponent sighting Jay right back. It was just like a scene from his weapons training. A wooden figure would flip up out of nowhere with a painted gun, a stubbly, square jaw, and a painted scowl on its face. Bang, bang, bang! And the figure flipped down again.
This gunman didn’t have an exaggerated scowl. He had a calm, neutral expression. His eyes were a pale blue under light brown hair, his face narrow-jawed and clean shaven. Bang, bang, bang!
Three shots to the man’s head all but tore it apart. For a moment, bile rose in Jay’s throat and he thought he was going to throw up. The dead man toppled backward into the water. In the nick of time, Jay ducked under cover as the machine gunner sought him out. It gave him a chance to look back up at the bridge, desperate for a sign that Sandra was okay. What he saw was a bloody face behind a gun, taking careful aim. Jay’s relief was overwhelming. When she fired, he didn’t notice for a few seconds that the machine gun had stopped strafing him. He peered over the gunwale and saw the machine gun lying on the jetty. The man beside it was wounded but alive, groaning and writhing and clutching at his stomach. Sandra fired again, and then again, but not at the wounded man. Jay saw the third gunman running for his life along the jetty, heading for the shore and safety.
The boat’s engine roared, then died. The silence was blissful. Jay rushed back to the bridge and met Sandra coming down a steep flight of steps. She had a couple of small cuts on her forehead that had bled a lot, but she seemed otherwise intact. Without thinking, he grabbed her and hugged her to him.
When he finally let her go, she stood and looked at him with a sloppy grin on her face.