by Karla Forbes
“Put the box down,” a voice ordered. Slowly, carefully, so that his movements could not be interpreted as a threat, he complied, raising his arms in the air to emphasise that he was no longer holding the diamonds.
“Keep your hands where I can see them and turn around.”
Nick would have known that voice anywhere. He had last heard it on his boat and it had been seared into his memory.
He slowly turned, and looked Hubner straight in the eye with an expression of cold malevolence. The German was standing over him with a gun aimed straight at Nick’s head. A look of recognition swept across Hubner’s face and his jaw dropped open.
“You!” he said, his voice echoing the disbelief that Nick could read in his eyes.
“Yes, me.” Nick sneered.
“How…?” Hubner stuttered, unable to believe what he was seeing.
In any other circumstances Nick would have found the situation amusing. “I saw you were having trouble with your transport again,” he quipped unwisely. “I know how you appreciate me stopping by to help.”
Hubner’s face betrayed a rare feeling: the bitter knowledge that he had been wrong. Wilson came up behind him, gasping from the exertion of running. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw Nick, and the expressions on his face went through the same range of surprise, disbelief and finally, outrage. He turned angrily on Hubner.
“It’s him…I told you… You wouldn’t listen.”
“Shut up and let me think,” Hubner snarled, grinding the words through gritted teeth. He surveyed Nick coldly. “How did you find us?”
“It wasn’t difficult,” Nick told him scornfully. “You left a trail a five-year-old could follow.”
“I knew it,” Wilson yelled at Hubner. “I kept trying to tell you but you always think you know best…”
“Shut the fuck up!” Hubner bellowed, silencing Wilson in an instant. He turned back to Nick. “Empty your pockets.”
Nick didn’t move quickly enough. Hubner stepped forward, ramming the gun into his neck and with the other hand patting him down. His hand closed over both Ed’s and Annelies’s car keys, and he pulled them out transferring them to his own pocket. “Where’s your phone?”
“Not here,” Nick said truthfully. Hubner seemed disinclined to believe him. He searched Nick again but then, without warning, he pulled back his hand and smashed the butt of the gun across Nick’s face.
“You’ll die later,” he snarled. “Take that on account.”
Nick sprawled, dazed, onto his back and tasted warm salty blood as it gushed into his mouth. He wondered how many teeth he had lost. He explored with his tongue around the inside of his mouth and found a jagged hole where seconds before his front tooth had been. He rolled onto his side spitting blood and fragments of tooth into the mud, but Hubner reached down and hauled him to his feet by the scruff of the neck.
“Get going,” he ordered. “You’re going for a ride. We’ll take your car.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Wilson demanded. “Why bring him along? Kill him now and be done with it.”
“Why do you think the bastard destroyed the van?” Hubner said as he shoved Nick ahead of him down the path. “The police and fire brigade will be here any minute. We might need a hostage. Where’s Malcolm?”
As if in response to the summons, Fox appeared carrying the lead-lined box. Like Wilson, he stopped dead on seeing Nick.
“What the fuck’s he doing here?” he growled.
Hubner ignored the question. “Put the diamonds back, quickly. If there’s a tracker, they’ll know where we are.”
As Fox did as he was told, Hubner turned back to Nick. “Where’s your car?”
Nick’s mouth was swelling rapidly and he found it difficult to form the words, but he took a perverse pleasure in answering the question truthfully. “In a garage in Brighton,” he mumbled, wiping away the blood with the back of his hand.
Hubner curled his top lip. “You think you’re very clever.”
“Knowledge comes but wisdom lingers.”
“What?”
“I was quoting from Lord Tennyson,” Nick said spitting out another shard of tooth.
“Well here’s a quote from Gerhard Hubner. Shut the fuck up if you don’t want a bullet between your eyes.”
Nick nodded. “What it lacks in poetry it makes up for in succinctness.”
“Get going,” Hubner said with icy venom. He pushed Nick ahead of him, hauling him up by the scruff of the neck each time he stumbled. All four men set off towards the car park, breaking into a run when ordered by Hubner to move faster. As they approached the car park, Nick saw a small group of people milling around the burning van. At the same moment he felt the gun digging painfully into his kidneys.
“Which is your car?”
He raised an eyebrow in disdain but kept his mouth firmly shut. Hubner pulled both sets of keys from his pocket, examined them and pressed the Unlock button. Ed’s silver-grey Ford Focus flashed traitorously into life.
“We’re going to walk quietly to the car,” Hubner hissed in his ear. “One word from you and you won’t be the only person to die. Understand?”
Nick understood only too well. He had no doubt that Hubner would shoot anyone who stood between him and freedom.
“Get going,” he said, jabbing Nick in the back with the gun.
The small crowd of people turned at their approach but watched their progress across the car park with little interest. It was the burning van that held their attention, and nothing less than the arrival of the emergency services was going to deflect them from enjoying the spectacle. One or two people looked at Nick, but quickly averted their eyes. With his filthy clothes and bleeding mouth, he didn’t look like the sort of person they might want to engage in conversation.
Hubner handed the keys to Wilson. “You drive,” he said, then jabbed Nick in the ribs with the gun. “You, get in the back.”
Nick did as he was told and Hubner slid in beside him. Fox took the front seat and Wilson flicked the key in the ignition.
“Where the hell are we going?” he asked. “This has changed everything.”
“I’ll think of something,” Hubner growled. “But for now, just get out of here.”
As they began pulling out of the car park, Nick heard the distant wail of sirens. Wilson didn’t need telling twice to put his foot down.
***
Anson’s car was half way to police headquarters in Canterbury when yet another call came through. He raised a hand for silence and Ed immediately complied. It was a scene that had happened half a dozen times already, and as a consequence Ed’s explanation of events had become disjointed. It seemed to him that Anson had every security force in the country at the end of his phone. He listened intently to what was being said and issued several commands before disconnecting. The next minute he was performing a dangerous U-turn in the middle of heavy traffic, putting his foot down and ignoring the blasts from angry horns that he was leaving in his wake.
“What’s happened?” Ed asked, nervously eyeing the speedometer as it began to climb.
“The tracker came back on. Only briefly, but it was enough to get a fix on their location.”
“Tracker?” Ed asked, thoroughly confused.
Anson declined to explain. “We’re going to Pegwell Bay,” he said tersely. “Do you know it?” Ed shook his head. “Sorry, Sergeant, but you’re along for the ride. I haven’t got time to drop you off.”
“Err… No problem,” Ed said distractedly. If he was confused before, it was nothing compared to the feeling of total bafflement he was experiencing now. He lapsed into uncomfortable silence.
“You were telling me about meeting up with Sullivan at the caravan site,” Anson prompted, picking up the narrative as though there had been no interruption.
Ed decided that he was owed an explanation. “Look, what’s going on?” he demanded. “What’s Nick got himself into?”
“For the last few days,” Anson explained,
“Sullivan’s been following three men who, he alleges, were the real murderers of his friend Tim Wellerby.”
Ed felt himself colouring, wondering how long he could continue to hide his own role in Nick’s endeavours.
Anson seemed to read his mind. “Sergeant, I’m aware that he couldn’t have done this without inside help, but believe me, that’s the least of anyone’s concerns right now.” He hesitated, then continued. “These men – Hubner, Wilson and Fox – are in possession of five kilograms of weapons-grade plutonium which they’ve threatened to detonate if their demands aren’t met. If Sullivan knows where they are, I’d very much like to talk to him.”
Ed’s jaw fell open. “They’ve got an H-bomb?” he asked in disbelief.
“I sincerely hope not,” Anson said, sounding mildly amused. “I’d be worried enough if I thought they had an A-bomb. No, they’re more likely to have a number of dirty bombs.”
Ed wasn’t entirely reassured by this. “And you think Nick can help?”
“I’m counting on it.”
Ed suddenly realised the implications of this man’s earlier question. “You mean he’s been exposed to the plutonium?”
Anson did a left, following the road signs to Pegwell Bay Country Park. “Possibly. If so, it happened when he was in Fox’s house.”
“Shit,” Ed said with feeling. “He’s not going to die is he?”
The question was left unanswered. As Anson attempted to turn into the car park, the sight that met them was one of chaos. A police car was slewed across the entrance, blocking the way, and further off stood a fire engine and a blackened heap of metal that had once been a van. Several spectators were standing well back watching the fire fighters damping down the last of the dying embers, and two uniformed officers were moving among them taking statements. Anson pulled his ID from his wallet and strode over, with Ed hurrying along in his wake.
“What happened?” he asked, taking in the scene with one searching look.
The policeman read the ID and came to attention. “No idea. For some reason the van exploded, but fortunately no one was in it at the time.”
Anson turned to Ed. “I appreciate the fact that you can’t be sure in the absence of a number plate, but could this be the van that Sullivan was following?”
Ed peered at the mangled wreck and shrugged. “I think so… I don’t know.”
Anson turned to the small crowd. “Did any of you see what happened?”
A number of people turned to each other, muttering. Some shook their heads but no one gave him a direct answer.
He tried again. “Did any of you see the driver, or drivers, of the vehicle?”
Again, no one answered.
“Three men, perhaps?” he ventured.
A young lad piped up. “I saw four men.”
Anson immediately crouched down, bringing himself down to the boy’s level.
“Four men? Can you tell me what they looked like?”
The boy grew at least two inches as he swelled with importance. “One was heavy and he had dark hair. The other one was taller and thinner. There was another one who looked a bit like you.”
“Like me?” Anson asked, puzzled.
“Yes” The boy expanded. “He was sort of ordinary-looking but angry.”
If Anson felt deflated, he didn’t show it. “Can you remember what the fourth man looked like?”
“Oh yeah,” the boy said, warming to his theme. “He was horrible. His face was all puffy and there was blood everywhere. He looked as if he’d been fighting.”
Anson nodded seriously. “That’s very helpful. Can you remember where these men went?”
“Mm,” the boy said. “They got into a silver car. The angry one had a gun.”
The boy’s father turned on him. “Don’t talk rubbish, Jack. You know that’s not true.” He gave Anson an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that. He’s been watching too much television.”
“It is true,” the young lad persisted. “He had a gun. He was trying to hide it but I saw it. He was digging it in the other man’s back – the one who had been fighting.”
“So why didn’t you say anything at the time?” his father challenged him.
“I did,” Jack protested. “But you didn’t listen to me.”
Jack’s father opened his mouth as if to rebuke him further, but then closed it again. Ed couldn’t help noticing that the man suddenly looked embarrassed.
Anson had clearly heard enough. He stood up and turned away before making another call.
“We’re no longer looking for the van. It’s been found. Our targets are believed to be in the Ford Focus. I want every available unmarked car in the area looking out for them. If they are seen, do not apprehend… I repeat, do not apprehend. They are armed and they have a hostage. Have the armed response units standing by.”
He terminated the call and turned to Ed. “How’s your friend under pressure, Sergeant?” It was a rhetorical question that seemed to require no answer. Anson spun on his heel and strode back to his car. He slid into the driver’s seat and flicked the key in the ignition but then called back to Ed.
“Do you want that lift or not?”
Ed snapped to attention. “Oh… Yeah, sorry,” he said, breaking into a trot. He dived into the passenger seat and Anson’s tyres spat shingle as they pulled at speed out of the car park.
“Nick is just about the most stubborn, most persistent bugger I know,” Ed said. “If he’s on someone’s case they might as well give up and save themselves a load of grief. If these three men have got every copper in the country after them and Nick Sullivan along for the ride and bearing a grudge, it’s more a case of how they stand up to pressure.”
Anson grinned. “I don’t know this friend of yours,” he said. “But I’m beginning to get that impression.”
***
Wilson was driving wildly with no idea where to go. As they approached yet another junction he looked over his shoulder, turning on Hubner. “Where the fuck are we supposed to be going?”
Hubner ignored the outburst and calmly lit another cigarette whilst studying a map that was spread out on his knees.
Nick thought it was time to make his presence felt. “What’s the point of running?” he asked. “The police know who you are.”
Hubner looked up, his expression controlled. “I suggest you shut up.”
“They’ll be watching every port,” Nick continued unwisely. “Do you really think they’re going to be looking the other way while you try and sneak out of the country?”
Hubner regarded Nick coldly. “Do you want to lose the rest of your teeth?”
Nick decided that he didn’t, and retreated into silence.
“But it’s true,” Wilson snarled. “Thanks to Malcolm they know who we are, and now, thanks to this arsehole, we’ve lost the van and they’ll probably know what we’re driving.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Hubner said with little apparent interest. “But until they know where the plutonium is, there’s little they can do.”
“Plutonium?” Nick repeated with alarm.
The three men ignored him.
“Where are you trying to go? Gatwick?” he asked, temporarily forgetting the threat to his teeth. “I wouldn’t bother if I were you. How far do you think you’ll get? The motorways are packed full of security cameras.”
Hubner looked up from the map and stared through a haze of cigarette smoke out of the window. “We have no intention of flying out of the country. We’re planning on stealing a boat.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Nick said, pushing his luck. “Haven’t you heard about the security systems on modern boats? Oh, sorry. I was forgetting; you haven’t even heard of putting oil into engines.”
A vein twitched at Hubner’s temple, the only evidence that Nick’s barb had hit home.
“Don’t worry on our account,” he said through thin lips. “We’ll steal an old boat. It only needs to take us across the Channel. Three of us, that is; you’ll o
nly be going halfway across.” He exhaled, slowly blowing smoke into Nick’s face, and returned to his map with a half-smile.
Nick shook his head with theatrical sadness. “It still won’t help you. Even old boats have to get past the harbour master.”
“I’d agree if the boat was in a harbour in the first place,” Hubner countered icily, “but we’ll be stealing a boat from elsewhere.” He addressed Wilson in the driver’s seat. “Start taking the signs to Faversham.”
“Faversham?” Wilson repeated irritably. “Why couldn’t you have said so earlier? We passed the sign a while back.”
“Turn around then,” Hubner bellowed. He folded the map with exaggerated care, before stubbing out his cigarette and lighting another.
It was becoming obvious to Nick that Hubner was a complex character: a man who kept his emotions under rigid control, but who occasionally lost his explosive temper. He began to wonder how he could make use of that fact.
“A good general not only sees the way to victory but also knows when victory is impossible,” he reflected.
“Was there a point to that comment?” Hubner asked coldly.
“Just an observation of Polybius’s that came to mind.”
Hubner shook his head and resumed staring ahead.
“So what’s this about plutonium?” Nick asked, sounding more casual than he felt.
“Shut up, arsehole,” Fox growled from the front seat. “You’re getting on my fucking nerves.”
“Plutonium,” Hubner replied, clearly taking a perverse pleasure in addressing his answer directly to Nick, “is what we’ve got and what the government is keen to get their hands on. You can forget any ideas you might have of someone coming to your rescue. As far as the authorities are concerned, we’re untouchable and you’re expendable.”
“If you’re so untouchable,” Nick countered, “why steal a boat? Why don’t you just catch the next plane out of here?”
“Untouchable, not stupid,” Hubner said. “When we leave the country we’d prefer not to take half of Special Branch with us.”
“Why the fuck are you telling him everything?” Fox demanded.
