Underdogs

by Jack Fiske

  “Armed?”

  “Can’t tell. Looks well organised though. I’d expect so.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Archie said. “I’ll make sure there are enough of us and I’ll get the local police to close the roads. Give me ten minutes to call it in and then switch the other tracking unit on so they can get a fix on you.”

  “Will do,” Jim agreed.

  Once he’d put the phone away Jim watched the yard for another few minutes, trying to decide if it was safe to look at the back of the outbuildings again, or whether he should just stay put. After some thought he decided to risk it and he retraced his steps to the back of the barn, crouching down at the broken boards to check that all was clear outside.

  In their prison, Susan was trying to remain positive, but without much success. Her left arm had gone to sleep where Millie was leaning against it, but she didn’t want to move in case she disturbed her. She wasn’t asleep, but she was a lot calmer than she had been. Susan’s ankle was sore where the chain was wrapped around it, but at least it didn’t seem to be cutting off the circulation.

  The radio was playing something from the charts which had a persistent tapping noise in the background. At least it sounded like a tapping noise.

  Suddenly, she realised that the tapping was coming from the bathroom.

  “Millie! Listen. Can you hear anything?”

  Millie sat up.

  “What?”

  “Listen. Can you hear it? There’s a tapping noise coming from the bathroom.”

  Millie listened and then nodded slowly.

  “Go and have a look.”

  Millie slid off the bed and stood up, looking at her mother uncertainly.

  “Go on. I’m stuck here. You’ll need to see what it is.”

  Millie walked cautiously to the bathroom and stopped at the doorway. There was a shadow on the window and a steady noise as someone tapped on the glass with something hard.

  Millie rushed back to the bed. “There’s someone there,” she whispered.

  Susan grabbed her daughter’s wrist, hoping against the odds that help might have arrived.

  “You have to go and see who it is.”

  Millie shook her head. “No. I don’t want to,” she protested. “I’m scared.”

  “You have to,” Susan insisted.

  With a lot of coaxing, Millie eventually crept back to the bathroom door and then stepped inside. She could still see the shadow of someone beyond the glass and a steady tap, tap on the window.

  “Who is it?” Millie asked.

  “Millie! Thank God!” A familiar voice whispered from the other side of the glass.

  “Daddy!”

  Millie took a couple of paces into the room and then, with sudden realisation, she glanced at the camera and hesitated, before the solution came to her and she dropped her trousers and sat on the toilet, staring straight ahead of her.

  “Daddy. Is that you?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Millie. Are you alright?”

  Millie fought to prevent the tears from coming. Tearing a few sheets of paper from the toilet roll, she blew her nose loudly and then said in a low voice.

  “You’ve come to get us haven’t you?”

  Jim stood just outside, his face pressed against the wall next to the open window, both fists clenched until the knuckles were white.

  “Yes darling. Are you o.k?”

  “We’re o.k.”

  “Where’s your Mum?”

  Millie stood up and started to pull her trousers up. “She’s in the other room. She can’t come in because she’s chained up. I’ll tell her.”

  “No wait!” Jim tried to stop her, but Millie had already disappeared into the other room.

  Jim waited, his back pressed against the brickwork, conscious that he was in plain view if someone should come up the farm track from the road.

  A moment later Millie returned and he could hear the sound of running water.

  “What are you doing?” Jim whispered through the window.

  “I’m pretending to wash my hands in case they’re watching me on the camera.”

  Jim’s hand was resting on the windowsill and he quickly pulled it back and stepped away from the glass.

  “Tell me about the room that you’re locked in.”

  Their whispered conversation only lasted for a minute or two as Jim prompted his daughter for information that might prove useful. In that time he got a good idea of their situation: the layout of the two rooms, the cameras, how Susan had been chained up and, more worryingly, their attempted escape and the fact that they’d seen their captors and heard their names.

  “Millie. Tell your mum the police are on their way. They’ll be here in just over an hour. Tell her you both need to pretend that nothing is different until they arrive.”

  “I will,” Millie promised.

  “I’ve got to go now, but don’t worry, you’ll be out soon.”

  The sound of running water stopped and Jim heard his daughter hurry into the other room, before he turned and retraced his steps to the barn.

  Confined to her position on the bed, Susan was physically shaking as she strained to hear what was going on in the bathroom, but all she could make out was the occasional word. Two minutes later, Millie hurried back, the expression on her face transformed as she jumped onto the bed beside her.

  “Tell me,” Susan demanded in an urgent whisper, putting an arm round her daughter so that any observer would see no change from before.

  “Daddy’s here,” Millie said quietly. “He’s on his own, but he says the police are coming. We’ve to pretend that we don’t know until they get here.”

  Thank God. Susan thought to herself, holding Millie tighter. Everything was going to be alright.

  When he got back to the barn, the first thing that Jim did was to phone Archie. Mark answered straight away.

  “Jim.”

  “Mark. They’re here. I’ve spoken to Millie. Has Archie reported in?”

  Jim let out a sigh of relief when Mark confirmed that he had.

  “He’s not here,” Mark explained. “He’s on his way. I’ve to make sure that you’ve got his number and tell you he’ll be with you as soon as possible.

  Jim was just about to reply, when there was a rumbling noise from the front of the barn. Light started to flood in as one of the heavy doors started to slide back on its runners. First an arm and then a shoulder appeared in the gap, as someone leant their weight against the door to push it open.

  To his credit, Jim didn’t panic. He stuck the phone in his pocket and dived for cover behind the Volvo, landing heavily and rolling behind the car just as someone stepped inside.

  As whoever it was walked towards the car, Jim hurriedly lifted the tarpaulin and crawled beneath it. It was a tight squeeze, but there was just room for him between the floor of the barn and the underside of the car. Jim lay flat on his back, his head turned sideways and his cheek pressed against the exhaust.

  The footsteps stopped inches from his head and the tarpaulin was pulled back, giving him a close-up view of a pair of black boots and denim jeans. Jim shrank back as far as he could go, but the boots were still only inches away.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” a voice shouted from the door in an Irish accent.

  The man by the car tried to lift the back, but it was locked.

  “I want my bike,” he said.

  “No chance,” the Irish voice replied and a second pair of legs joined the first. “Mr Walker wants rid of the evidence and that includes the bike.”

  “Come off it Liam, that’s mine.”

  “Tough,” the Irish voice replied. “You can get a new one.”

  “No way. Come on. How do you open it?”

  “Listen Tony, I’m serious. Walker doesn’t want anything left around that can link us to this and neither do I. It’s not worth the risk – especially when it’s you and me who would carry the can for doing the woman and the kid. Come on, you can get a new one. Walker
will pay for it.”

  Bryant conceded the point reluctantly and let the tarpaulin drop back into place.

  “When do we do it?” he asked, without a trace of emotion.

  “Half an hour,” Quinn replied. “Kenny and John’O will be here with the truck any time now. Walker wants us to wait for them.”

  “Why?”

  Quinn gave a mirthless laugh. “So everyone’s in no doubt that they’re involved. Walker likes the odds on his side. He knows no one is going to talk if they’ll go down as an accessory to murder.”

  Bryant grunted. “He’s probably right.”

  “Yeah? Well he’s a cold bastard.”

  The feet belonging to the Irishman turned away.

  “You coming?”

  “Guess so.”

  The black boots followed and a moment later the door rumbled back on its runners and the barn returned to its normal gloom.

  Jim got out from beneath the car, his mouth dry and his pulse racing. He couldn’t think. What was he going to do? He had half an hour if he was lucky, but the police and the team from MI5 were more than an hour away.

  SEVENTEEN

  Jim just stood there, not knowing what to do. He took out the phone and started to dial, then cancelled the call and put it away. He pulled the revolver from the lining of his jacket, stepped over to the barn door, put a hand on it and then stopped and put the gun away again. He needed time to think. The problem was he didn’t have any.

  He walked over to the bales of hay and sat down, holding his head in his hands. Come on. He thought to himself. Come on! Think! You haven’t got long.

  He went through things systematically. Could he rely on help? No. Help was at least an hour away. If he phoned, the local police might get here, but he doubted it. This place was in the middle of nowhere. He took the phone out again and put it on a bale beside him. He needed to phone Archie and let him know the situation. Maybe he could come up with something. Could Jim delay things here? Again maybe – but he couldn’t rely on it. No, there was only one option. He needed to get Susan and Millie out and he needed to get them out now.

  His brain was suddenly in gear and working on the problem like it used to. He got to his feet and wandered around the barn thinking. How to do it? How to do it? There must be at least four or five of them, but they were split up, so the odds weren’t that bad. If he was right, there were two in the same building as Susan and Millie and at least two others, probably more, in the farmhouse. He needed to act now before two more arrived with the truck, but more importantly before they did whatever it was they had planned.

  If he took the annexe, could he defend it until help arrived? No that wasn’t an option; they were bound to be armed. Too risky. Susan and Millie were in there.

  Could he get them out? If he could, the woods would give them cover until help arrived, assuming that they could get to them. Where was the weak point? There was always a weak point. What was vulnerable? The back of the building. Yes, that was the obvious choice.

  The plan suddenly came together in Jim’s head and he snatched up the phone from where he’d left it. Stepping over to the car, he tried the doors. All were locked apart from the driver’s, which opened with a pull on the handle. He reached in and pulled the rear view mirror off, then closed the door gently and let the tarpaulin fall back into place. Hurrying to the rear of the barn, he looked out through the broken boards and with no one in sight, he squeezed through.

  At the end of the building, Jim checked around the corner and then sprinted the short distance to the back of the annexe. Once there he crouched down and held the mirror to the edge of the window frame, giving him a clear view of the room inside. There was no sign of anyone, so he leant forward and peered round the edge. Inside, there was a small kitchen with a table in front of the window, kitchen units on two walls and at the far end, an open door which led to a sitting room beyond. The kitchen was next to the bathroom where he had spoken to Millie earlier and it didn’t appear there was anything between them other than a dividing wall.

  Jim saw the shadow of a man on the floor in the doorway and he quickly stepped back, ducked below the windowsill and hurried on to the second window. There he tapped quietly but urgently on the frosted glass, waiting for a response from inside. Moments later he heard Millie’s voice and he raised the mirror to the open hopper and caught a glimpse of his daughter.

  “Millie.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to get you out. I need to go for the car, but I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t come back to the bathroom. You have to stay in the other room. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” a small voice answered.

  “Good. Tell your mum I won’t be long. We’ll all need to run, so you’ll have to be ready.”

  “Wait!” Millie whispered urgently, a note of panic in her voice. “She can’t. She’s chained up.”

  “I know,” Jim whispered back. “You told me. Don’t worry, I’ve thought of that. I can’t stop. Be ready in ten minutes.”

  As he was talking, Jim moved the mirror backwards and forwards at the edge of the frame, getting a reasonable idea of what lay beyond. The bathroom was the same size as the kitchen and he was confident that what he planned would work.

  Still conscious of the need for speed, Jim bent to check the outer wall of the annexe, then the ground immediately behind it and then he ran for the corner of the building and the cover of the trees. There was no sign of anyone to his left or to his right so he crossed the track, paused in indecision for a moment, then climbed the barbed wire fence, picked up his rucksack and then climbed back to sprint down the track. As he ran, he turned to look back and prayed that no one would appear behind him, or turn in from the road.

  Once on the tarmac, Jim slowed down. The car was too far for him to go flat out and he opted for a steadier pace. How long would it take him to do the three-quarters of a mile back to the Toyota? Four or five minutes? He lengthened his stride slightly and tried not to think of the consequences if he was late. As he ran, he pulled the phone from his trouser pocket and dialled Archie.

  Archie answered immediately and without pausing to let him speak, Jim blurted out what was happening, struggling to talk as he ran.

  “Where are you now?” Jim panted.

  “I’m somewhere between Amesbury and Shrewton,” Archie replied. “Shit Jim, I’m nowhere near you. Ness and his guys might be closer and Trent and O’Hara will probably be there first, but I wouldn’t count on any help within the next half an hour.”

  “It’s o.k.” Jim gasped, catching sight of the track in the distance. “I wasn’t. Just get someone here as soon as you can. Got to go.”

  He slid the phone back into a pocket and picked up his pace now that the track was in sight. Less than two minutes later he skidded to a stop beside the car. He paused, hands on knees, to take two or three deep breaths, then flung open the door and climbed behind the wheel.

  The engine roared into life as Jim pumped the accelerator and turned the car, bouncing it wildly over the rutted track until he got to the point where it joined the main road. There he stopped for a few seconds to make some adjustments. Reaching below the seat, his hand fumbled for the seat adjustment, found it and he pushed the seat back as far as it would go. He could still reach the steering wheel at arm’s length, but he had to sit forward to be able to drive. After plugging the seat belt in, he sat right back to check that it took up the slack and then leaned forward again. Yes, that was fine.

  Taking out the kitchen knife, Jim discarded its wrapping of kitchen roll and with a mental apology for what he was about to do to Mark’s car, he buried the blade in the passenger seat, up to the hilt. The handle stuck up about six inches from his left leg and would be within easy reach.

  The wheel wrench was easy. He needed it, but not immediately. It would be fine in the glove compartment for now.

  The gun was a problem. He needed to reach it quickly, but he couldn’t leave it on the seat. He thought of
putting it in the door pocket and wedging it with something, but decided against it. Rather than waste time, he left it where it was, inside his jacket with the pocket zipped up, so that it couldn’t fall out.

  Jim glanced at his wristwatch as he turned onto the road and put his foot down. It was more than fifteen minutes since he’d overheard the conversation in the barn. He prayed that the men bringing the truck weren’t ahead of schedule.

  There was no traffic on the road and the short distance to the farm took no time at all. From the end of the gravel track, the farm looked completely innocent. Jim turned off the road and heard the gravel crunch under the wheels as he drove towards the buildings. How long before he could be heard from the annexe? Would anyone pay any attention anyway?

  Half way up the track, Jim gunned the engine and the big machine threw itself forward as he changed up the gears and put the steering wheel hard to his left. Two fence posts disappeared under the front of the car with a loud crack as they snapped off at ground level and a strand of barbed wire whipped away to his left as it stretched and then snapped under tension. In the field, half a dozen cows stared curiously in his direction, but seemed completely unconcerned by the intrusion.

  The ground between the track and the annexe was bumpy, but the Land Cruiser took it well, its wheels bouncing up and down on the long reach suspension. The speedometer rose steadily to thirty and then thirty-five and on towards forty as the brickwork and the windows rushed towards him.

  Jim pushed himself back into the seat and braced himself. He caught a brief glimpse of someone staring out of the kitchen window, a look of horror on their face, before the Toyota smashed into the wall, ploughing through it and into the room beyond.

  In front of him, the driver’s airbag exploded from the centre of the steering wheel and Jim felt the seat belt tensioner pull him deep into the driver’s seat, as the car decelerated from forty to zero in the space of ten feet.

  It was over in a split second. The car groaned as it settled backwards and then stopped, leaning over at an angle of twenty degrees. Jim wrenched the knife from the passenger seat and stabbed furiously at the airbag in front of him. His other hand fumbled in his jacket for the gun and as his fingers closed around it, the airbag fell away revealing the scene beyond.