Past Echoes

by Graham Smith

  His son has gone to the rear deck and is kneeling by the girl’s body. It’s the perfect chance for him to get away.

  Cameron slides his body over the lip of the deck and hangs by his fingertips for the briefest of moments before letting go.

  38

  I crouch beside Taylor’s body and take a last look at her. Were it not for the hole that has shattered her right cheek, she could be mistaken for being asleep.

  As I bend forward to kiss her lips, I reaffirm my earlier vow to seek out the person who ended her life. Not just the person who pulled the trigger, but the man who put the gun in his hands and money in his pocket.

  I hear a splash and turn my head.

  There’s no sign of Cameron so I give Taylor’s forehead a kiss, and dash to the bow as best I can on the tilted deck.

  I see Cameron; he’s forging his way up the beach towards the many trees that shield rich men’s houses from prying eyes.

  He’s not looking back, or even making a pretence of waiting for me.

  I’m neither surprised nor disappointed. All his escape attempt has done is confirm my fears that he will dump me at the first opportunity.

  I grab my backpack, stride back from the rail, take three quick steps and throw myself forward, hurdling the rail before gravity takes hold of me.

  I land in a foot of water and manage to stagger forward until I stumble into an ungainly roll at the edge of the water.

  In less than a second I’m back on my feet and chasing after Cameron.

  When I reach him, he’s trying to pull himself over a six-foot wall. I’d throw a punch or two as retribution, but I need him to be both compliant and fit to move without being carried. Laying him out will only add to my problems. Plus, there’s the issue of him turning up at the hospital with obvious signs of a beating. Should I give him a black eye or two, the doctors may well decide he’s being coerced into donating the bone marrow, and refuse to do the transfusion.

  As much as it galls me to keep my hands off him, I know that I must, for John’s sake.

  Cameron sees me and jerks his head. ‘Good. You’ve caught up.’

  Had I not seen him use my girlfriend as a shield, I might have bought his comment, but I let it wash over me rather than waste time and energy challenging him on it. We need to get out of here before the guys with guns either storm up the beach, or circle round and get to us from the land side.

  There’s a guy cleaning a pool. He’s engrossed in his task and has the ubiquitous leads trailing from his ears. It’s the first bit of luck we’ve had since getting on that damned yacht.

  I lead Cameron through the heavy bushes and skirt behind the pool guy. The house is large and expensive, and there’s little doubt that the pool guy’s truck will be sitting out front.

  Rather than take the home owner’s car, and risk it being fitted with a tracker, I plan to steal the pool guy’s truck. I don’t need it for long and don’t plan to damage it in any way. I’ll even leave him a few bucks for gas if we travel far.

  As I anticipated, he’s been kind enough to leave his keys in the ignition.

  What little luck we’ve had, runs out when I see there are huge wrought iron gates barring our exit from the house’s grounds. As I stop in front of them, they open with a subdued whine.

  I glance to my side and see what must be a sensor, disguised as one of the rocks lining the driveway.

  Two minutes later I’m powering along the road as fast as I dare go without attracting too much attention.

  Cameron is silent in the passenger seat, but he can do as he pleases as far as I’m concerned. I’ve no doubt that he’s plotting his next move. I know I’m planning mine.

  ‘Did you bring your gun from the yacht?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Next time we go over a bridge, toss it into the water.’

  ‘No way. I’m keeping it.’ His jaw sets in determination. ‘It’s saved us once and may save us again.’

  ‘Agreed. But it may well condemn us.’

  ‘How?’

  I can’t believe he hasn’t figured this out himself. He’s obviously good with pre-planned situations, but is unable to react, or think on his feet when the need arises. I’m the opposite; I don’t ever plan too far ahead and tend to go with what seems right in the moment.

  ‘If we get pulled by the police and they find that gun, we’re done for.’

  I choose not to mention the papers in my backpack. They are nothing more than another complication, should we find ourselves talking to the police.

  Another thing I don’t mention is how I don’t trust him not to pull the gun on me.

  ‘I have a permit for it.’

  ‘Maybe you do.’ I take my eyes off the road for a second to look at him. ‘What do you think the police will want to talk about when they find that gun on you? When they get our fingerprints from the yacht we’ve just left? You know, the one with my girlfriend on it; you must remember her? She’s the one who caught the bullet intended for you.’ I make no effort to hide the resentment and anger in my voice.

  He scowls at me, but even as he’s scowling he’s nodding his head.

  There are still a lot of points to consider. The first being that the people we’re up against have resources, enough manpower to scramble a team to be ready for us when we docked, and no fear of killing.

  As soon as we were free of the ambush, I realised that the only way they could have tracked us was Cameron’s phone. The same thing will be true for his credit and debit cards.

  For the time being I reckon I’m clean, but it’s only a matter of time before they find out who I am. This gives me a window of opportunity.

  I hand Cameron my cell and tell him to bring up our location on the maps app. I need to know where we are, so I can plan our next move.

  We need to draw as much money from our banks as possible. My account is pretty much empty and I’m against using our cards as they’ll leave a trail.

  Cameron shows me the screen and I see the nearest town in the direction we’re travelling is East Falmouth.

  It will have a bank and so far, that’s all we need.

  When we have some money we can hole up in a motel, while I try to figure out a way of getting us back to Casperton.

  39

  As we’re driving through Mashpee on our way to East Falmouth, Cameron points at a building I’ve missed due to a suburban that was threatening to cut me up.

  I glance at where he’s pointing and see a bank. There’s an ATM beside it.

  I swing the wheel over and park fifty yards from the bank. Cameron has the door open and is about to climb out when I grab his arm. ‘Not so fast. I’ll get money here. As soon as your card goes into one of those machines, it’s at risk of being traced.’

  Alfonse answers my call on the first ring. He tries to speak but I cut across him. ‘Listen, don’t talk. Put a thousand bucks in my account and find me a place where I can rent a car in the nearest place to Mashpee. I think it’s on Cape Cod, but I’m not sure. Let me know when you have done each task. Move quick, Alfonse. We’re quite literally on the run from bad guys.’

  I hear the low whistle from him before I end the call. Two minutes later I insert my card and check my balance. It’s up by a thousand bucks.

  My card limit is set at three hundred dollars a day. I could get it raised but it’s wiser for me not to. On the rare occasions I drink, I tend to burn through money, so the less I have access to, the better.

  Rather than raise suspicions by walking into the bank and withdrawing all the money that’s just appeared in my account, I use the ATM to get my daily allowance.

  Cameron goes to do the same, but again I stop him. His card will be used to hire a car. The blandest, least conspicuous car it’s possible to rent. The car we get will blend in with all the other similar models on the road.

  Life in Mashpee is moving with the gentle pace of a retirement village, or perhaps a vacation destination. Nobody has any sense of urgency and people a
re travelling around in languid fashion as they potter about their business.

  Alfonse delivers the details for the nearest car rental place and as soon as I read his email I know what to do.

  The guy behind the counter at the Enterprise branch hardly gives us a second glance. His attention is focussed on the red-haired, fish-lipped secretary who’s using one hand to hold a phone and the other to twirl her hair.

  The car we get is nothing special, but that’s perfect. We’re trying to hide, not draw attention to ourselves.

  40

  The Bourne Bridge spanning the river, or canal, has arched metal framework. Instinct makes me want to speed across it, but I play it cool and drive slow enough for Cameron to launch his submachine gun into the crisp blue water.

  The map on my cell had shown there were only two bridges that cross this river, or canal, or whatever it is. Both are ideal bottlenecks for those looking to catch up with people driving away from Cape Cod.

  As I cross the bridge, I maintain the same vigilance I’ve had for the last twenty or so miles.

  I haven’t seen any person or persons who could be watching for us, but I’m not James Bond: I don’t know what I should be looking for beyond the obvious. Put me in a bar and I can tell within five minutes where the trouble lies, who’s most likely to kick off, and which order I should deal with people. Spotting tails, however, is not my area of speciality.

  Behind me, Cameron lies across the back seat out of sight. I’m now wearing a bright red shirt, baseball cap and a pair of cheap shades. As disguises go, it’s not the greatest, but it was the best I could do without wasting a lot of time.

  Our passing across the bridge goes smoothly, and I am approaching the turn for a highway when my lizard brain starts dumping hormones throughout my body.

  There’s a car sat by the highway and there is an SUV beside it. A young woman is chatting to an older guy who is changing a wheel. Her hair flutters in the breeze and she wears her boredom like it’s the latest designer outfit.

  The scene is so innocuous that I look elsewhere, until something draws me to look back at the girl, and what appears to be a gallant old gent who’s stopped to help her.

  Neither are looking our way, but when I look at them I see her put a foot on the wheel that’s just been removed from her car. Her foot rests on the tyre, and she straightens her leg until she’s lifted from the ground, supported only by the foot on the tyre.

  She’s standing on the tyre that’s just been changed because it’s flat. However, the tyre doesn’t buckle under her weight; it doesn’t even give a little. That means it’s fully inflated. Which means the girl and the guy aren’t really changing a wheel.

  They are a plant. A reason for the SUV to be parked by the road.

  I make a point of not staring at the SUV, but I look at it as much as I can without making it obvious. There’s someone in the passenger seat and he’s not watching the Good Samaritan. This guy is young enough that he should be doing the work rather than the older guy.

  The back windows of the SUV are blacked out, but I’m sure if I could see through them, I’d see a car filled with muscled heavies, with a penchant for mindless violence.

  I take the turn and head away from town. It’s bad enough that Cameron and I may be at risk, but I’m not going to speed around streets where innocents may get hurt.

  My plan was to head north until I got on a road to Boston, then follow that until I found a motel where we could hole up.

  With the surveillance operation on the bridge potentially identifying us, I now need to get on the back roads and do a lot of direction changes so I can throw off anyone who decides to follow us.

  A glance in my rear-view mirror confirms that the SUV has re-joined the flow of traffic. It’s not certain they’ve pinpointed us yet, but I’ll know in a minute or two.

  41

  I grip the wheel a little tighter and check my rear-view mirror again. The SUV is where it has been since re-joining the road.

  It’s three cars back and seems to be content with just following us for the time being. Although the road isn’t too busy, there is enough traffic for them to worry about witnesses.

  I figure they’re either waiting for us to drive somewhere remote, or they’re just keeping tabs on us until reinforcements arrive. Neither of these scenarios appeal to me so I decide to do what they will least expect.

  There’s a chance I’m wrong about the SUV, and I should stop jumping at shadows, but I need to know one way or another.

  The rental car slows as I remove my foot from the gas. I check the mirror and see the car behind me indicate and pull out to pass us.

  Now there’s just one car between us and the SUV.

  Another look in the mirror sees the final car pull out without signalling.

  The SUV is hanging back. Its pace matches ours.

  If they are tailing us, they’ll know they’ve been made.

  The SUV creeps past us, its driver doing a scant mile per hour more than I am. He doesn’t look at us but I’m sure that, behind the blacked-out windows, his buddies are giving us a thorough examination.

  I should have followed my original instinct and hidden Cameron in the trunk. When I hired the car, I pulled what I’d hoped would be an effective deception: hiring one car in my name, and a second, from a different company, in Cameron’s name, using his card.

  The car I’d hired in his name was an ice-blue suburban, whereas the one we’re in now is a tan compact.

  We dumped the suburban at a marina, two miles from the rental office, in the hope of convincing our pursuers we’d gone back to sea.

  Now I realise that all we’ve achieved is a waste of time and money.

  The SUV pulls in front of us and slows, so I have to choose between slowing further or overtaking it.

  There’s no way I’m prepared to let him draw us slower and slower, so I wait for a gap in the traffic, indicate, and pull over.

  I draw past him at a steady pace and when it’s time to pull back into the slower lane, I stomp on the gas.

  The traffic ahead has thinned so it’s not long before I have the compact up to seventy. I’d much sooner be driving my Mustang than this crappy rental thing, but there’s no point wishing for something I can’t have.

  I check the mirror; the SUV has pulled into the same lane as me and, from what I can tell, the driver is trying to close the gap.

  There’s a turn ahead so I take it as fast as is safely possible. Again, I wish I was driving my Mustang. Not only is it fast enough to outrun the SUV, but I’ve put it through its paces often enough to know its limits. With the compact, I don’t know how hard I can push it in the corners before passing the point of no return.

  Cameron says something but I tell him to shut up and keep down as I don’t have time to deal with his questions.

  The SUV appears in my mirror as I swing the wheel left and head for a back road. There’s a squeal as the tyres protest at my sudden change of direction, but they get us around the corner with only a little bit of understeer.

  I straighten up the car and try to push the gas pedal through the floor.

  A check in my mirror shows the SUV has made the same turn.

  There is no point trying to cling on to faint hopes; the SUV is officially following us. Now I know for certain, I can plan how to deal with it.

  ‘Cameron. You might as well get up now. There’s an SUV behind us. I’m pretty sure it’s your friends.’

  My use of the word friends is laden with sarcasm, but I’m not terribly worried about hurting Cameron’s feelings. If we get out of this alive, he and I are going to have serious words – once he has done right by John. Should he not say the right things, I plan to hurt a lot more than his feelings.

  The SUV looms in the rear-view mirror as Cameron hauls himself up.

  His face is grave, and he casts a look out of the rear window.

  ‘I bet you wish I still had that gun you made me throw away.’

  I’ve been
thinking the same thing, but my intentions were right at the time and, if nothing else since meeting Cameron, I’ve learned that you can’t change the past, regardless of how loud its echoes reverberate into the present.

  I squeeze on the gas even harder, but the compact is no match for the SUV, which is now hanging a foot from our rear fender.

  The SUV’s driver knows this, and slows a little, then accelerates until the SUV’s front fender rams into the back of the compact.

  42

  The SUV hits us hard enough to shake the compact but, other than a little squirming, the impact isn’t hard enough to cause any major problems.

  I’m sure the driver will learn from his mistake. Next time he hits us he won’t hit the full width of the car. He’ll target one side or the other.

  Maybe he’ll pull alongside us and slam into the rear wheel area.

  I don’t intend to wait and find out.

  There’s a bend ahead that I take as fast as I dare. The greater weight and higher centre of gravity force the SUV’s driver to ease off before he can catch us.

  This teaches me a valuable lesson: he might have more straight-line speed than me, and better acceleration, but I can get around corners a lot quicker than he can.

  A car appears in front of me as I throw the compact around the next corner.

  I swing out, and pass it before its driver has the chance to even register I’m behind him.

  When I check the mirror, I see Cameron’s face. He’s wide-eyed as he looks back and forward.

  I’m pushing the compact to its limits and taking stupid risks as I hurl it round blind corners.

  I glance in the mirror again and see only Cameron’s head.

  ‘Sit at one side or the other. I need to see.’

  I hear a rustle as he moves across. There’s also the click of a seatbelt being fastened. It’s the smartest thing I’ve known him to do.

  The SUV looms large in the mirror, but I overtake a panel van and use the manoeuvre to buy myself a little time.