by Dan Latus
Magda was waiting there. He grabbed her arm and turned to hustle her away through the trees and shrubs, heading uphill. Once again, he was thankful she didn’t argue or want to discuss things first. There was no time for that. No time for anything, in fact.
Past the last of the olive trees, the going became much more difficult. They ran into a tangle of dense undergrowth, maquis scrub with spikes and thorns. It was wild land, probably never cultivated, and further progress was next to impossible. Jake pressed hard for a minute or so, trying to ease the spikes and thorns aside, shielding Magda as best he could. Then he gave up, stopped and turned around.
‘It’s no good!’ he whispered. ‘We’d be better on the track.’
‘Then let’s try to reach it,’ Magda said. She squeezed his arm for a moment, as if to encourage him.
Surprised, he nodded and turned to head across the slope towards the track, which wasn’t far away. Unseen branches whipped at his face, and spines and prickles tore at his arms. He ignored them. They had to reach the track quickly, and then get well away from here if they were to avoid being spotted when first light arrived.
They made it sooner than he expected. Suddenly there was nothing in front of him. Just space and cool air. He staggered awkwardly, rather than fell, down a short drop to the track. He turned to reach out a helping hand to Magda. She caught it, and managed to stay on her feet as she stumbled down to stand beside him.
‘OK?’ he whispered.
‘I think so.’
Suddenly there was an explosion of light behind them. He swung round.
‘It’s the cottage!’ he snapped. ‘The bastards have torched it.’
‘Oh, no!’ In the new light he saw Magda’s hand fly to her mouth.
‘Come on!’ he said. ‘We can’t stay here.’
They could see several figures milling about on the track a couple of hundred yards away, which probably meant they themselves would be visible, too. They turned and started off up the track, breaking into a run when shouts behind indicated they had been seen. It was a race now, against time as well as the men behind them.
He thought fast. A couple of hours to first light. Maybe less. Before then, they needed to find somewhere to hide.
Five minutes of hard running uphill had them both gasping for air and struggling to keep going. Jake was in no condition for this, and he didn’t suppose Magda ever had been, fit as she was in a general sense.
What to do? The men coming after them were closing. The gap was only half what it had been, judging by what he could hear. They would have to get off the track soon, and just lie still. Hope for the best. Shoot it out if it came to that.
It didn’t seem quite as dark as it had been. He could almost see a bend in the track coming up. He grabbed Magda’s arm as they ran and hustled her along, hoping to God she didn’t stumble and fall.
It was a bend, one with big trees either side. He could sense them, if not see them. His eyes began searching for a less dark patch in the blackness that might indicate a way off the track.
‘Here!’ a gruff whisper said suddenly out of the darkness. ‘This way!’
Magda gasped with shock. Jake’s head swung round. Automatically, he raised and pointed the Glock.
‘This way,’ the unseen speaker insisted. ‘Quickly!’
Jake hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he stumbled to the side of the track, pulling Magda after him, heading for the source of the whispers.
Chapter 22
A hand grabbed Jake’s arm and pulled him, and Magda with him, through the wall of vegetation alongside the track. An arm went around his back and pressed him forward. It felt like a man’s arm, but in the confusion of the moment Jake could tell nothing else. He went with it.
Another hand, a gentler hand, reached out from somewhere in front to grasp him and pull him forward. He stumbled on, holding on to Magda, pulled blindly between the trees. A minute later, a whispering voice said they must stop and be absolutely quiet.
They stopped. Jake pulled an arm over his mouth and tried to muffle the harsh sound of his own breathing and panting. Seconds later, he heard boots pounding past on the track, and yelps and oaths as feet slipped and tripped over unseen obstacles. There were several men involved, one or two with wildly swinging torches.
They stood still for a minute or two more. Then an arm pressed them gently forward, and they began to move again, steering their way through scrub and trees. Whoever it was helping them seemed to be on familiar ground.
They didn’t go far. When they stopped again, they were next to a high stone wall that gave off an old, earthy smell. Some sort of barn or animal shed. A door squeaked as it opened. Jake grimaced and held his breath, but a whispered instruction from behind urged him on into the blackness beyond. He heard the door shut behind them.
‘One moment, please,’ said a gruff male voice, low but no longer a whisper.
Jake stood still, holding Magda by the hand. He heard the sound of a match being struck. Light flared from it. He saw the figure of a man leaning over a work bench to light a small oil lamp. The darkness fled as the lamp gleamed into life. The man adjusted the wick, dimming the light a little.
‘We haven’t much time,’ the man said, turning to them.
He was old and bent. He wore a plaid shirt and baggy trousers held up by a broad leather belt, and a flat cap made of leather. By then, Jake had realized who he was, and who the second person standing in the shadows behind them must be.
‘You have the farm, higher up the track?’ he asked.
The man nodded and pointed to the figure behind them. ‘My wife, and I.’
Jake turned and smiled at the woman. He couldn’t see her face but she raised a hand in acknowledgement.
‘Thank you for helping us,’ he said, turning back to her husband. ‘But how did you know what was happening?’
‘My wife heard men, strangers, plotting such a thing when she was doing her shopping in the town. We expected this, or something like this.’ He shrugged. ‘So we were waiting.’
He beckoned, and the elderly woman last seen coming home from market with a basket in hand stepped forward into the pool of dim light.
‘You,’ she said firmly, looking at Magda. ‘I know you. You have been here before – with another man.’
‘Yes,’ Magda admitted. ‘With my friend. He owns the house where we were staying. Thank you for helping us.’
The woman nodded, satisfied that her memory had not failed her.
‘We are happy to help,’ the man said, speaking quickly, ‘but I think you must leave here very soon. Those men will come to our house, I think, to search for you. Soon it will be daylight. They will see this barn, and investigate.’
‘Of course,’ Jake said, nodding. ‘You’re right. We’ll leave immediately.’
‘I am sorry,’ the man said, spreading his arms helplessly. ‘But it will be for the best. We can’t keep you safe.’
‘No, no! Of course not. You must go home now, back to your house,’ Jake said. ‘They may well go there, but you have nothing to hide. You can show them that. You will be OK. They have no interest in you.’
‘Let us hope,’ the man said.
He set them on their way, steering them onto a little path they could follow.
‘It will take you up to the top of the hill. Then you should make your way to Penina, the village below the far end of Rocha da Pena. The track those men are following will take them to the opposite end of the hill, perhaps three, four kilometres away. You will be a long way from them when morning comes. After that,’ he added, ‘I am afraid I do not know.’
‘We will manage,’ Jake assured him. ‘Thank you,’ he added gravely, shaking the man’s hand. ‘Thank you – and your wife. We are most grateful. One day—’
‘Go now,’ the man said, cutting him off, but not in an unkindly way. ‘God be with you.’
As they set off along the path, Jake saw that in the night sky to the east he could see the first hint of
the coming dawn. They were not a moment too soon.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered over his shoulder to Magda.
‘I think so.’
‘Good. Let’s press on then. We can talk later.’
The path was steep, and certainly not easy-going, but he could follow it without too much difficulty as it wound its way steadily uphill, through the thickets of spiny undergrowth and between the boulders and rocks. They had been incredibly lucky, he thought. Unbelievably so. But they were not out of it yet.
Best not to dwell on that, though. They had to get up the hill, and stay ahead of Fogarty’s men. That had to be their focus now, and for the foreseeable future. One step at a time. They just had to get up this damned hill, and on to the nearby village.
Then what? He didn’t know. Had no idea. And for the moment, at least, he didn’t care.
It took them thirty minutes to complete the climb. He could hear Magda breathing heavily behind him but she never once complained or suggested resting. She kept up with him all the way.
Suddenly the slope eased off and they found themselves walking on level ground, following a path on red earth through thickets of scrub and low-growing trees. He could see animal tracks, hoof marks and paw prints, where the ground was soft. Hunters and the hunted, he thought grimly. Just like us. By then, the landscape was suffused with early morning light, grey, patchy, eerie.
‘It is beautiful up here,’ Magda said, breaking the silence that had enveloped them.
Jake glanced at her, and then around at their surroundings. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I suppose it is. In other circumstances...’
She gave him a smile. They pressed on, heading for the western end of the plateau. Jake was looking to pick up the way down to the next village, which they could see now in the misty distance. Perhaps two or three miles to go, he thought. But then what?
‘I think someone is coming,’ Magda said, anxiously clutching his arm.
He paused, listening. Then he heard it, too. Dull thuds, the sound of several people moving fast, jogging. Very close. God, they’d been quick!
He glanced around desperately and pulled Magda into nearby bushes.
There wasn’t any doubt at all about who they were. As soon as Jake saw the first of them, he was certain these was the same men who had fire-bombed the cottage. Four of them swept past at that ground-covering military pace that is too fast for walking but not quite running. A tough crew. Special forces trained, he guessed. Christ, they were up against something! These were not your ordinary Essex thugs.
After they had gone by and vanished into the mist and the scrubland, he said calmly, ‘We can’t outrun them, and we can’t out-fight them. We may have made a mistake, coming up here.’
Magda nodded. ‘Maybe.’
But she didn’t sound too concerned about it.
‘Are you thinking the same as me?’ he asked with surprise.
‘I don’t know, Jake. What I’m thinking is that our car is still at the foot of the mountain. And even if it isn’t, or if it has been set on fire, that’s where theirs must be also.’
‘You are thinking the same as me,’ he said with a wry chuckle. ‘Come on then! Let’s go and see.’
Chapter 23
It was daylight now and they were going downhill, going down a lot faster than they had come up. Halfway down, Jake led the way off the path and steered a course that would take them close to the cottage that briefly had seemed such a safe refuge.
There was a lot on his mind. For a start, how the hell had Fogarty’s people found them? So quickly, too. It was hard to believe. No-one had followed them when they fled São Brás. There had been no vehicle lights behind them at any point during their journey here. And they had told no-one where they were going. It didn’t seem possible. But it had happened.
How then? All he could think was there must be some sort of tracker on the Honda. Shit! He hadn’t thought of that. How likely was it? Not very, but he should have thought of that possibility and checked.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. What else was there?
He’d been too long retired, he thought with a grimace. He’d lost his instinct for survival. From now on, he was going to have to be a damned sight more careful.
But was a vehicle tracker the only possibility? Well, what else was there? Bob? Could he have let something slip?
He shook his head. Forget it. Bob had no idea where he was. All Bob knew was that he had been in São Brás, and Rocha da Pena was a long way from São Brás. Even further from Faro, not to mention Newcastle. It couldn’t be anything to do with Bob.
‘Jake?’
He managed to stop on the steep slope and spun round, his boots losing their grip on the stony surface, causing him to slide and slither a few feet.
‘What?’
‘Talk to me, Jake. You’re leaving me out of your thoughts. I’m feeling like a passenger, a stranger.’
‘Sorry. There’s nothing to tell you.’
He wiped his face with one hand and glanced around anxiously. No sign of anyone else – yet!
‘I was just wondering how they found us so fast,’ he said.
‘Me, too. It’s not good.’
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do right now. Let’s just focus on getting out of here in one piece.’
He turned to continue the descent. ‘Ah! Is that our cottage I smell?’
It was, what was left of it. Down here, the air was full of acrid bonfire-like smoke, and the blackened heap they could see in the near distance was very much still smouldering. Not a cottage any more, actually, he thought. More a charred ruin. Four stunted, smoking walls without a roof or an interior.
It reminded him of another cottage, one in distant Northumberland. In another lifetime, that one had ended up like this.
‘Not much left,’ he observed. ‘Your friend will be very disappointed when he next sees it.’
Magda shrugged. ‘It is a pity,’ was all she said.
Nothing more about her friend, Jake noted. But he didn’t quiz her. It was her business, who she had been here with, and in what circumstances. The here and now was all that mattered. Magda wouldn’t want to talk about previous relationships any more than he did himself.
It was curious, though, that the old woman had seen and remembered her on previous visits. What did that mean? Magda had been here often? Perhaps. Probably, in fact. She had known where a key was kept, after all.
Mysterious Magda, he thought with amusement. There was so much he didn’t know about her. Well, she could say the same about him, couldn’t she? Neither of them had been forthcoming about their pasts, their “personal histories”, as Magda had put it. And now wasn’t the time even to think of doing anything about it.
There seemed to be no-one around the ruined cottage, which wasn’t surprising. There was nothing left to guard, or watch. Still...
Jake hesitated before making the final approach. He studied the scene. Where they stood, there was shelter. Rocks, trees, undergrowth. Any closer, coming from this side, and they would be out in the open. Vulnerable. Was there really no-one here?
‘Can’t see anyone,’ he said quietly. ‘Can’t see the car, either.’
‘No,’ Magda agreed, ‘and there is no smoke coming from where we left the car.’
‘That’s true.’
He studied the clump of trees next to the cottage. He couldn’t see anything. No metal, and no smoke, either. Perhaps the Honda had been moved.
‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘I’m going to see.’
Not waiting for Magda to say anything, he slipped away through the undergrowth, keeping low, moving fast.
There really was nobody around the burned-out cottage, he soon discovered. And the car really was there – and intact. So far as he could see, it was exactly as they had left it.
He got in and tried the ignition. All the lights came on. He turned the key further. The engine started first go. He nodded with satisfaction, and beg
an to reverse out of the trees.
By the time he had reached the track and turned the car round, Magda had arrived. ‘The old man who helped us is there,’ she said, pointing.
Jake got out and looked back up the track. The man was standing at the point where the track curved. Jake gave him a thumbs up, and the man waved farewell in return. It looked as though he was OK, which was a relief.
‘Let’s go!’ he said, getting back in the car.
‘They might have someone waiting with their vehicle at the bottom of the hill,’ Magda pointed out.
Jake nodded. ‘If they have, we’ll deal with it.’
He set off slowly, and kept in a low gear all the way down. No point blowing out noise and dust clouds to anyone who might be waiting.
There was a double-cab, pickup truck at the bottom of the hill, parked sideways across the foot of the track, blocking it. One man had been left with the truck. He got out when he saw them coming, and stood in front of his vehicle. He held up a hand to stop them. With his other hand, he reached back inside the cab and came out with a shotgun.
When they were only fifteen or twenty yards away, Jake pressed his foot to the floor. The Honda took off. Too late, the man with the shotgun realized it wasn’t going to stop. Feverishly, he raised and tried to steady the gun. Then his nerve failed. The arm holding the shotgun fell and he leapt sideways, desperate to get out of the way.
He was too late. The impact was softened by Jake taking his foot off the throttle and jamming it hard on the brake, but that didn’t stop the scream.
Jake leapt out and grabbed the shotgun. Then he got back in and pulled the Honda back a yard or two. When he got out again, he was looking for information.
‘My legs,’ the man cried, in agony. ‘You’ve bust my fucking legs!’
‘Yeah? Too bad. Remind me – what were you going to do to us?’
‘Nothing, nothing!’
‘No, of course you weren’t. Now, what I want to know is how you found us.’
‘I don’t know. Christ!’ he whimpered, reaching towards his legs but not daring to touch them.
