Chapter 32
Bo heard Miller running away, and stopped groaning. No point in expending energy if there was no-one listening. Cautiously he tried moving his ankle. He grunted involuntarily.
He sat up, and then tried to stand on his good leg. Not a good idea. He couldn’t pull himself erect without trying to use his injured leg. After some exertion he turned on his stomach, and propelled himself slowly using both hands and his good leg, helped by the knee of the damaged leg, his ankle in the air, well clear of the ground. He made quite good progress, as long as he kept to clear ground. This way he zigzagged through the scrub. It took him one and a half hours before he came to the houses, a good deal nearer the edge of the level ground than he thought he would be. In fact if he had travelled another quarter of a mile, he would have fallen off the edge of his little world, and ended up one thousand feet below, undoubtedly dead.
As it was, he was able to lay there watching the helicopter land, and police, accompanied by Miller and another man making for the hideaway. When they had entered the house, Bo pulled himself forward in his now-accustomed gait. And achieved cover beside the nearest and last house in the row. He huddled down in the porch and prepared himself for a long wait.
After a long time, how long Bo didn’t know because he fell asleep, the armed men in black swept into the scrubland walking abreast, poking the bushes with their rifles. After a time they came back, still in line. A man came out of the hideaway, and met them as they came out of the scrub. He could hear snatches of conversation. He saw the leader pointing away towards the edge of the cliff, and the group walking that way, nervously peering over the edge. He was able to see clearly now as dawn was breaking. That would make it getting on for six o’clock. Bo pulled his legs into the porch. He didn’t want them to spot him now. Good job they didn’t have dogs with them.
Suddenly they had made up their mind, and all five people started to jog towards the enclosure gate. Bo heard the helicopter start up and rise in a cloud of dust. When it was about fifty feet in the air, it banked and dropped down below his line of sight along the cliffs.
As he emerged from his hiding place and continued to crawl towards the hideaway, he could still hear the drone of the chopper. He thought it must be searching in the valley.
The door into the last house was open, and Bo crawled in. He made for the dining room, and immediately saw the body. It looked like Markham. Bo crawled further. Yes, it was Markham and the blood from his mouth, now congealed on the plank floor, indicated that he was dead. Bo’s only thought at this stage was: how was he going to get his share of the ransom? He rested on the floor for a few minutes working out what he was going to do.
Of course, no Markham, meant the ransom would all be his. Ten million pounds. His head swam with the unbelievable figure. But of course he now had no-one to ransom. But he could start over, kidnap the right guy now. It was just about looking on the internet, seeing what this McBride looked like. First he had to get out of here, off the cliff side and find a hospital that would repair his ankle. It should be possible. After all, Markham had sorted his ankle problem out. Bo knew nothing would be sorted out again for Markham.
Bo knew he must get out of here fast. Somebody would be back before long to get the body of Markham. He made for the garage internal door. It was closed, posing another problem for him. He found that keeping his right arm stiff, hand on the floor, and lifting his left arm as high as possible, he could reach the handle where he could relax a little, hanging on the handle. It was now a matter of juggling himself around the opening door. Once in the garage, he saw the BMW was still there. The Range Rover that Bo had driven up here had disappeared. Presumably taken back by Miller.
Bo carried out the door opening routine, and got the BMW driver’s door as wide as he could. He scrambled in head first. Then came the contortions to get himself seated correctly. This involved much pain in his ankle, but he could rest it against the floor. He didn’t need it for driving. The car was automatic.
The garage exit door was slightly ajar, so he started the BMW with the ignition key that was still in place, and pushed the door open with the front of the bonnet. He drove out into the sunlight, and made for the enclosure gate. This too had been left open, and Bo was out of there, never going back. It could stay open for ever. At the bottom of the track, he turned for Jo’burg. He knew several big hospitals there.
He had got several miles down the road, before he remembered the number plates. But now that Miller was found, maybe the number was off the police list. He hoped so. Once he was in Jo’burg he could ditch the car and be sure of stealing an automatic. Anything else he wouldn’t be able to drive.
A traffic cop came up the lane of traffic, hopping in and out. And didn’t stop, disappearing into the distance. So his number was off the police list it seemed.
Once in the suburbs, Bo began looking for hospital signs, the ones marked A&E. He was hoping he could get in using his driving license as sufficient ID. It was a risk, he might be on a police list. If he was Markham, then he would be. But his chauffeur? He wasn’t even logged anywhere as being employed by the man. It was a cash transaction, always had been.
He saw a sign, signaled and turned right. Another left, and he saw the building ahead. It was a hospital he hadn’t visited before. Not that it made any difference. All the health service was connected by computers. He drove close to the A&E department. He went into a car park. Levered himself out of the car, deliberately leaving the key in the ignition. Someone would take the car. He could always pinch another one, and for a while his number would be okay. As soon as he could he would steal a car from the long-stay airport car park. That didn’t get reported for ages if you were lucky. He crawled towards the entrance. Several people were about. Someone bent down, an elderly man.
“Are you all right? Shall I fetch help?”
“I could do with a wheelchair. I’ve broken my ankle. I’m on my way to the casualty department.”
The old man said, “Stay there and I’ll fetch a male nurse with a chair.” He set off purposefully, and Bo hoped he would be as fit when he got that old.
Bo sat up and watched the way the old man had gone. Within minutes he was back with a uniformed male nurse wheeling a chair. The old man stood back and watched the nurse expertly lift Bo onto the chair.
“Thank you, Sir,” called Bo to him as they set off towards the hospital.
“What’s the problem, Sir?” asked the nurse.
“Broken ankle, I think.”
“We’ll soon have you looked at,” said the nurse.
The A&E department was not too busy this early in the day. It was the drunks who clogged up the system. On a Saturday night, you could wait six or seven hours on a trolley in the corridor.
This lunchtime, there were doctors chatting to each other, stethoscopes
round their necks, telling each other jokes, drinking mugs of coffee. A scattering of patients sat in the reception area, mostly waiting for test results.
Bo was wheeled to a curtained cubicle, and another nurse came in, took details. She took his blood pressure, checked his temperature with an instrument pointed into his ear. Looked into his eyes with a torch. Only then did she look at his ankle, removing his sock. He grunted in pain as she did so.
“The doctor will be along shortly. Just don’t move your leg. Can I have your identity card?”
“I don’t have it with me. I’ve mislaid it. But I do have my driving license.” He produced it. He knew that they used a different computer programme to check through the police system. It didn’t log up the same information, and not so fast either.
The nurse sighed, but went away with his license.
The Ponzi Men Page 32
