Meanwhile in the living room, Paul continued to strain against the noose, taking its pressure off his windpipe, as he formulated his next move. Appealing to Picton’s greed seemed the best option. He managed to gasp out a few words. “Whatever they’re paying...I’ll treble…cut me down...”
But fear trumped greed, and brought a haughty response from the psychiatrist, a pure defense mechanism: “You’ve brought this on yourself. Nothing I can do...” Dr. Picton was starting the process of absolving himself of culpability. Something he was accustomed to doing, but never before had torture/murder been the subject of absolution. His shoulders gave an involuntary shrug as he exited the room, as if shedding the moral burden.
Paul strained to loosen the noose but the metal clamp rendered his efforts useless.
Washing his hands at the sink, Picton looked through the kitchen window in time to see Brandt give up searching the adjacent back gardens, then swing himself over the fence into the lane as Nelson’s Land Cruiser pulled up.
Brandt got in. “Check the local police?” he asked, pulling out his cell.
Nelson nodded. “Start planting the seeds. Escaped mental patient. A history of violence...Fucking hell!” Things were not going well. Better start working on Plan B. Nelson’s credo: You never run out of options, they just get harder to find.
A similar thought was running through Paul’s mind. A new move was needed. Something that would get Picton within reach.
Alice sensed that it was time to make her move, too. Sure that her enemies were now out of sight, she grasped the drainpipe with her hands and feet and started climbing down. If this was a kind of ladder people built to get to the rooves of their houses, she did not think much of it. It was smooth and slippery. So she had to go carefully, knowing all the while that James was in dreadful danger. Then she froze. She saw a figure stepping out onto the back doorstep thirty feet below. It was too late to climb back onto the roof.
Picton was scanning the fence line. Where was Brandt? He did not want the appalling responsibility he had been given for any longer than was absolutely necessary. Alice’s foot slipped, dislodging a leaf wedged behind the pipe. It fluttered down towards the man below, who took another step into the light of a garden lamp.
A cold chill washed over Alice. It was the man with the face of Sir Giles de Fries.
Alice watched the leaf continue its gently spiraling descent. It seemed as though it would pass right in front of his face. If the villain looked up, she would have to drop straight down on him with uncertain outcome. He would pay. They would all pay in time. But for now she must secure herself here, quiet as a wee mouse, and pray that the man did not see her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Then her prayers were answered. Picton turned to step back into the kitchen, not noticing the spinning leaf passing behind him. After a pause, Alice continued down the drainpipe. Once at the bottom, stealth would be necessary till she could find a weapon. Surely there were farm tools lying about? Then there would be blood.
Paul had assessed the odds. Sooner or later his arm muscles were going to give out. But right now the weakest member of the conspiracy was left alone to guard him. Paul committed himself to a do-or-die gambit. As he saw Picton returning from the kitchen, Paul deliberately slid his fingers out from under the noose, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get them back in again. The noose clamped across his windpipe, closing it. He hung writhing, clawing at the noose, as he strangled. Picton gasped.
“Pull yourself up! Pull!”
But still the doctor did not move forward to assist him. He just stood there in frozen panic. Paul’s mind raced. A searing pain was expanding from his lungs. White spots flickered before his eyes. How to get the good doctor within range. The supreme gamble was required. After which there were no other options. When you bet the farm, you might buy the farm, as his mentor had once told him. Paul let his arms drop to his sides. His struggles stopped as if he were dead. Irreversible brain damage followed by death was less than two minutes away.
Alice, oblivious to what was happening inside, jumped down. She realized it would be wise to shut and bolt the garden gate again, before running inside to rescue James. She did not want the Inquisitor and Cedric getting back in too easily.
Picton was trembling with stress. He knew he must act. He grabbed Paul round the waist, lifting him up, pulling the noose away from Paul’s windpipe as far as the clamp would allow. “Breathe damn you, breathe!”
Picton struggled to support Paul’s limp body, when suddenly it sprang to violent life. Paul’s risky ploy had worked. In a flash, he grabbed Picton, and hooked a leg around his throat, in a triangle hold, secured by his other leg behind Picton’s back. Paul’s calf and thigh squeezed Picton’s windpipe, cutting off his air.
Paul sucked quick gasps into his tortured lungs, reached for the noose, and discovered the clamp locking the slipknot in place. His fingers tried to pry it loose. At the same time, Picton lunged forward, pulling Paul’s body with him. The noose tightened again round Paul’s throat. While Picton remained locked in the triangle hold, he had eased the pressure of Paul’s leg against his own windpipe enough to be able to take in a breath.
Picton knew that it was just a matter of seconds before Paul would lose consciousness. He just had to keep tugging, not so hard as to snap the man’s neck, but enough to regain control of the situation. He would worry about revival at that point.
As she looked in the garden for anything to use as a weapon, Alice heard the sound of a struggle. She dashed for the open back door. She saw just what she needed hanging from hooks in the kitchen. Sword and shield.
White spots were taking over Paul’s field of vision when he saw Alice burst in with a frying pan in one hand and a carving knife in the other. She slammed Picton in the stomach with the frying pan, knocking him back and releasing the pressure on Paul’s throat. Paul sucked in air, standing on Picton’s hunched shoulders as the doctor fell winded to his knees. Alice ran to where the electrical cord was secured to the stair rail and slashed it with the knife. But the blade only made a nick in the smooth white cord. How could it be stronger than hemp? She sawed at it with the serrated edge of the blade. At last it parted and Paul sank to the floor gasping.
“Oh, James, my love! My poor love!” Alice joined him as he struggled with the noose, at last freeing the clamp. Picton got up on his hands and knees. Alice quickly swung the frying pan and clipped him across the side of the head. Picton fell back, out cold.
Rage flooded through Alice. She dropped the pan, took the knife and raised it in both hands, ready to plunge it into Picton’s chest. The blade hovered at the apex of the downswing. She had never killed more than a chicken till now. Could she take the life of an evil man, as her father had so many times? But the decision was made for her. Paul lunged across and grabbed her wrists.
“No! Alice! No! Need him alive,” he rasped.
“I should carve him like a roast!” said a manic Alice, eyes wild.
Oh, God! She means it too, thought Paul. “Evidence! Need evidence for trial.”
“Like there be honest courts in this world, right?” said Alice, calming down. She reluctantly tossed the knife aside.
Paul picked up the electrical cord to tie Picton’s hands. The gleam returned to Alice’s eye. “Let me, James. My Da taught me wicked knots.”
CHAPTER 19
Something Dreadful
Nelson’s car turned into the back lane and cruised slowly along. Brandt scanned the fence line on each side. No sign of the girl. They circled the neighborhood and turned back. Still no sign. Nelson did not want to admit to himself that he was getting worried. Just a glitch, he kept repeating to himself. He could feel Brandt looking at him, trying to gauge the threat level. Nothing in this girl’s profile indicated that she could have scaled down the drainpipe. They had been incorrectly briefed by that fuckwit Picton. He would deal with Picton later.
The d
octor, in fact, lay gagged and trussed like a turkey on the kitchen floor, painfully regaining consciousness. His first clear image was Paul sipping water from the tap. The horror of his predicament went through Picton like an electric shock. Deep down, he had always known that he was treading on dangerous ground. Yet he had thought that he could justify his work for Nelson as being in the interest of international security. The worst that could happen to him would be some ethics violations, he had thought. Till now. Nelson had deceived him. He would make Nelson pay.
Paul doused his head at the sink as he shook off the fog of his ordeal. Alice looked at him, her eyes welling with pride. God is with us. She was sure now. She watched her James move to a large upright white slab, and somehow pry a section of it open. She felt a puff of frosty air escape from it. You could store winter? Another marvel.
Paul turned to her and croaked through his swollen throat. “They’ll be back. We need to get out of here.”
Paul had wanted to sound commanding. He needed to take control of this girl, whatever her mental condition, till they could find a safe haven and he could reassess their situation. But Alice nodded quickly. Paul reached inside the freezer, broke open a sealed frozen food packet. Inside, wrapped in plastic, were two additional passports and matching credit cards. He slipped them into his pocket.
Picton’s next indignity was to be dragged down the stairs into the garage like a rolled carpet. Alice on his legs, Paul gripping his shoulders, indifferent each time Picton’s head bumped a step. The psychiatrist groaned through his gag.
“Should’ve taken the deal,” growled Paul.
Nelson’s Land Cruiser had circled back to the laneway behind the townhouse. The gate was not as he had left it. Brandt spotted it at once: “Gate’s closed.” In seconds both men snapped into high gear. Nelson braked hard. Brandt jumped out. Nelson drove off. Brandt swung himself over the gate, and ran to the kitchen door, drawing his Glock. He entered cautiously, scanned the empty kitchen and listened for sounds. Then he called out: “Doctor?” No reply.
In the garage below, Paul and Alice slid Picton onto the back seat. “Turnabout is fair play, eh Sir Giles?” hissed Alice, with a vehemence that was noted by Paul.
“Don’t do this!” Picton bellowed beneath the gag. Paul slammed the door shut.
Brandt reacted to a distant sound, uncertain whether it came from another room or the street outside. Gun at the ready, he raced to the doorway of the living room. The noose was nowhere to be seen. The rocking chair was lying well away from where he remembered it. No sign of their prisoner or that idiot Picton. Brandt swung his gun towards the landing and listened. The next sound told him what he needed to know, the whirr of the garage door retracting. Brandt rushed downstairs to find the door leading into the garage jammed by a crowbar that Paul had strategically wedged. He hurled himself against the door, but it scarcely moved.
At the same time, the rising garage door came into view through Nelson’s windscreen, as he swung the Land Cruiser into the entrance of the cul de sac. How had a half-hanged man outwitted a top psychiatrist? Then, as he accelerated towards the townhouse, he guessed how. There was a figure in the passenger seat of Paul’s reversing BMW. It was that bloody girl...
Brandt smashed his massive shoulder into the door again and again until it gave way, just in time to see the BMW roar backwards out of the garage, scraping its roof on the still rising garage door, and clipping the rear of Nelson’s Land Cruiser as it tried to block the driveway. The BMW spun away, accelerating towards the mouth of the cul de sac. Brandt bolted out of the garage a second later and boarded the Land Cruiser.
“Explain!” demanded Nelson with mounting frustration. Brandt reckoned that the gutless Picton had fled, allowing the girl to come back unopposed.
Paul’s BMW flew out of the cul de sac. He clicked Alice’s seat belt into place, then he swung the wheel to corner sharply into an older industrial district. “Alice, I will need you to help me.” Then Selwyn’s SUV hurtled out of a side street intent on ramming the BMW. Paul avoided impact in the nick of time, flooring the accelerator. The SUV just managed to shear off the BMW’s rear bumper, before sliding into the opposite curb.
From the passenger seat, Jones shot Selwyn a disparaging look. If he had been driving, it would have been a bullseye.
Alice stared wild-eyed at the pursuing metal beast.
The impact had pitched Picton to the floor. He ceased to struggle against Alice’s implacable knots. Picton would have kicked himself, if he could. Idiot that he was. He had assumed that he had been taken as a hostage in some turf war about which he knew nothing, and that Nelson’s people would ransom or rescue him. Everything would return to normal soon. Then had come the sound of rending metal, and Picton realized that battle had been joined and he was trapped in a No man’s land, experiencing that particular level of anguish felt when someone accustomed to power is rendered powerless. But Dr. Picton’s situation would get even worse.
From the side window of the Land Cruiser, Brandt opened fire at the BMW’s tires, hitting short by a foot. Paul swung the wheel, swerving from side to side, as he opened the glove compartment. They had not searched his car. His Italian 9mm was still there. Brandt’s second shot pierced the rear window.
Dr. Picton gasped as glass fragments fell on an ear.
Then Selwyn’s SUV swung into view again. Selwyn drew abreast of Nelson’s Land Cruiser, steering with one hand and firing wildly at the weaving BMW with the other. None of his shots hit home.
Paul grabbed Alice’s left hand, placing it on the steering column. “Hold this...the wheel… the round thing…with both hands! Quickly, now!”
Alice immediately placed her other hand on the wheel. She was glad to see that James’ warrior spirit had returned.
“Hold it tight. Keep us straight. Stay in the middle of the road.”
Like the reins of a horse, she thought, as she moved the wheel sharply.
Paul snatched it. “Easy!” he warned, and corrected their path. He swiveled round, keeping his foot on the accelerator. “Loud noise coming up! Don’t be frightened.”
Paul took aim, then fired at the Land Cruiser, shattering his back window completely, raining shards of glass on Picton, who pressed his face into the carpet. Alice screamed, letting go of the wheel. They veered towards a parked truck. Paul reached for the wheel, but Alice grabbed it again, missing the truck by an inch. “Straighten up!” Paul yelled. Alice swung the wheel back, and the metal beast responded. It was easier to control than she had thought. Now she had grasped how to steer.
Brandt fired again. Picton bellowed through his gag, as if this might somehow cause his captors to stop and surrender. Paul took aim at Selwyn, who slid his SUV behind the Land Cruiser for use as a shield just as Paul fired. Alice gasped at the sharp metallic crack of each shot but kept her hands on the wheel. Paul swung his aim to the Land Cruiser. WHAM! The bullet blew a chunk out of the center of the windshield, frosting the glass.
Nelson swerved, Brandt lurched back inside as they skidded to a stop. Selwyn’s SUV could not brake in time and slammed into the back of the Land Cruiser. “Fuck!” screamed Nelson. Brandt raised both feet to kick the windshield away.
As Paul redirected his attention from his stalled pursuers to the road ahead, he saw that the BMW was speeding towards a dead end. Alice was reacting too, her arms locked rigidly to the wheel. “James!” she cried. Paul thrust his foot back onto the brake pedal just in time. The BMW fishtailed wildly across the road as Paul took over the wheel, before broadsiding into the curb beside an alley between two warehouses.
The impact smacked Alice against the passenger window. Lights exploded in her head. For an instant her world changed. The wide street they had traveled down became a narrow cobbled road, crowded on either side by dark uneven buildings. Was her old life back? In a moment it was over and she saw the new James, who was searching the floor for his pistol. No
luck. Paul couldn’t know that with the crash the gun had gone flying into the back, falling at Picton’s feet. The psychiatrist strained to reach the gun, but his bonds prevented him from grasping it.
Paul looked up to see the Land Cruiser and the SUV starting towards them again. He grabbed his cellphone and spoke sharply to Alice: “Come on, come on, gotta go!”
But Alice seemed to be in a trance. Paul dragged her none too gently out of the passenger side, then leaned into the back of the car in a last desperate search for the pistol. He had two seconds to find it. But Picton had concealed it beneath his legs.
Alice stared at the metallic beasts bearing down on them. Then lights flared again in her mind. Suddenly they became mounted men at arms, thundering towards her, flanks gleaming, hooves crashing. Like the Apocalypse. Then the horsemen were gone, and the metal beasts were almost upon them.
Paul gave up on the gun. No choice. Leave at once. Yet Alice still seemed in a trance. “Alice, we have to go!” He dragged her into the adjacent alley a microsecond before a bullet smashed into the wall behind him.
Shit! I never miss! Brandt cursed to himself as he rushed forward, stopping abruptly at the sight of a pair of legs bound with white electrical cord extending from an open rear door of the BMW, flailing like a frenzied snake. He recognized the doctor’s expensive shoes. “Are you a dickhead or what?” Brandt sneered. Nelson, Selwyn and Jones converged on the car to find Brandt cutting through the electrical cord that secured Picton’s wrists, and pocketing the Tanfoglio. “Be ready when we need you, doctor; you’re still on call,” barked Nelson running past as he led Selwyn and Jones in pursuit down the alley. Brandt severed the last restraint and ran to catch up. As Picton freed himself, he realized that disentangling himself from Nelson would not be as easy.
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