With an ungainly action somewhere between hopping and skipping, he crossed the yard to get a better view of the pursuit and found himself outside Telamon’s box, hanging on to the door to stay upright. In front of his nose hung the stallion’s bridle, swinging in the wind. It was left there in case of emergencies. This, he decided with a flash of inspiration, definitely qualified as an emergency.
Without giving himself time to think better of it, he grabbed the bridle and within moments had caught the big chestnut, who seemed surprised but not displeased to be going out at such short notice.
Ross had neither the time nor the energy to spend fetching a saddle. He led the eager stallion outside and with a flying leap that owed more to desperation than athleticism, reached the sleek back and clung to it instinctively as the horse surged powerfully forward. The leading rein, which he had hastily knotted back to the bit to give him more control, was almost ripped through his fingers.
He heard shouts and four more men burst into the yard; two from the drive to the Manor and two, who could have been Franklin and McKinnon, from the lane. Ross shouted about the other Land-Rover as he passed and, with more luck than judgement, managed to guide his excited mount through the shattered remains of the gate to thunder in pursuit of the two vehicles.
Halfway across the field he passed the abandoned sports car. Superb on the road, its performance on the wet and rutted surface of a grassy meadow had obviously left a lot to be desired.
A few strides further on, Ross passed McKinnon’s men running gamely in the wake of the Land-Rover, which had by now disappeared into the wood on the far side of the field.
Giving the stallion his head, Ross tried to guess where Darcy would make for. He decided that if, as seemed to be the case, he was familiar with the lie of the land, he would bear right inside the wood, heading for the track which led into a field beside Home Farm Lane.
If Ross cut the corner, he estimated he could catch up with the Land-Rover before it reached the lane. It would mean jumping two sizeable hedges but such was Ross’ confidence in the stallion’s ability and courage that he didn’t hesitate. He twisted his fingers in the flowing red mane and swung the horse right-handed across the field.
As it turned out, it was not the horse’s ability that was put to the test but that of his jockey. Telamon leapt with such power that Ross was hard put to keep his seat on the satiny-smooth chestnut coat. He prayed that they would encounter no farm machinery on the landing side of the hedges.
The gamble paid off, however. Landing – halfway up the stallion’s neck – in the field that flanked the lane, Ross somehow managed to retain his seat and the vestiges of control and steady the horse, and after a moment he caught sight of a figure hurrying through the half-light towards the road.
The Land-Rover had presumably come up against an insurmountable obstacle, probably a fallen tree, Ross thought, as he sent the horse once more in pursuit. He’d not properly considered quite how he had intended to tackle the moving Land-Rover from the back of a horse but thankfully the problem had resolved itself. A running man certainly presented less of a dilemma.
Because of the howling wind, Darcy didn’t become aware of the approaching horse until it was nearly upon him. Then he sent a desperate glance over his shoulder before veering sharply away.
Telamon entered into the spirit of the chase, altering course obediently to follow, and as they drew level once more, Ross stuck out his foot and pushed. Darcy stumbled sideways and pitched headlong into the grass.
Attempting to stop and turn in one movement proved to be Ross’ undoing. The stallion lost traction with his hind feet on the wet grass and almost fell. Sliding hopelessly, Ross abandoned all hope of staying with him and half-fell, half-leapt to the ground, feeling pain shoot through his knee as he did so.
Darcy was clambering to his feet not two yards from where Ross had landed, an action the American discouraged by throwing himself at him in a flying tackle that would have gladdened the heart of a major-league football coach. Darcy subsided into the grass again and stayed down, moaning weakly, even when Ross cautiously raised his weight from him. He appeared to be winded but Ross was taking no chances.
A quick search revealed the flick knife in an inside pocket and an all-purpose scout’s knife attached to his belt by a clip. These Ross transferred to his own pockets.
Well aware that Darcy’s incapacitation was likely to be only temporary, and having little inclination for further fisticuffs, Ross removed the belt from his jeans and used it to secure his captive’s hands firmly behind his back. Then, as his own breathing was far from easy, he sat on him.
‘Now you know what it feels like!’ he told his winded adversary with satisfaction.
Darcy declined to comment.
Ross looked round hopefully for Telamon but the horse had prudently taken himself off. He sighed, resigning himself to the fact that from here on in he would have to walk; a prospect that gave him little pleasure. Still, if the stunt had done no good at all to his knee or ribs, it had done immeasurable good to his soul.
As his own breathing steadied, Ross looked back at the dark mass of the wood from which Darcy had run. The trees dipped and swayed in the wind and, though he strained to see in the low light, Ross couldn’t see any sign of McKinnon’s men.
Although it could be no later than half-past eight, the sky was incredibly heavy with the threat of more rain and the effect was a sort of eerie twilight. McKinnon’s men were probably still floundering about in the depths of the wood. Ross would have shouted if he’d thought it would do any good but the noise of the wind was far too great.
Darcy had begun to move beneath him now, and reluctant to tramp back through the muddy woodland paths with timber raining about his ears, Ross decided to head for the lane in the hope that someone would have thought to try and head the fugitive off there.
Nothing could be gained by waiting any longer, so he rose painfully to his feet and hauled his protesting prisoner up after him.
‘I’ve got your knife, so shut up and walk,’ he said unsympathetically, giving him a push in the appropriate direction.
Darcy walked, out of necessity, but he didn’t shut up. He started by calling Ross all the uncomplimentary names he could think of, which was quite an impressive number, and gradually worked round to offering him a princely sum for his freedom. Ross’ opinion of Franklin’s nephew reached an all-time low.
‘What makes you think Peter is your son?’ he asked finally, as they reached the gate into the lane.
Darcy half-turned. ‘What? Of course he is! I’ve always known. You only have to look at him . . .’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Ross said in his ear. ‘That kid is twice the man you are, already. I’d say the most you’ve got in common is your name.’ He grinned to himself as Darcy renewed his vitriolic attack on his character and ancestry.
The gate was padlocked and, for an instant, Ross’ heart sank. The thought of trying to clamber over, with his knee refusing to bend properly or take his full weight, was bad enough. Couple that with the problem of keeping Darcy under control at the same time and he was in big trouble.
Then a thought occurred. He had, in his pocket, the keys to two of the gates on the far side of the copse. Sometimes they rode that way and the Colonel liked to keep all the gates on the perimeters of his land locked to keep out undesirables. He hardly dared to hope, as he fished for them, that one of the keys would fit this padlock.
One of them did. He could have cheered.
Once through the gate and standing with his captive on the grass verge of the lane, Ross felt less like cheering.
To his right, about twenty yards away, a sizeable tree lay squarely across the tarmac, effectively blocking any form of passage, be it on foot or in a vehicle. To his left the way looked, for the moment, to be clear but to go that way would involve a walk of at least a mile and a half before he reached a road where there was any likelihood of flagging down a car. It might as well be half
a continent away for all the hope Ross had of walking to it.
Where is McKinnon? he thought, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He was forced to concede the probability that this time, as last, his way was blocked by fallen timber. Never had he needed his mobile phone more.
‘What now, smart arse?’ Darcy enquired annoyingly.
Annoying, because Ross wasn’t sure. If he walked as far as the tree on their right, who was to say that McKinnon would be able to get even that far? On the other hand, if he went left, would he be going away from possible help, and might he not find the road similarly blocked around the next corner?
‘We wait,’ he told Darcy, trying to sound confident. ‘I’m still wired, don’t forget. So I just have to say, “I’ve got Darcy. We’re in Home Farm Lane”, and someone will come.’
‘You hope! What range does that transmitter have?’
Ross ignored him. He had no idea about range but neither did he have any choice. Leaning against the gate to take some of the weight off his bad knee, he waited, trying not to mind that it was beginning to rain.
In the event, he was right. Someone did come. Above the gusting wind he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle and, pushing Darcy ahead of him into the lane, was almost immediately blinded by a set of powerful headlights sweeping round the bend towards them.
Ross’ relief was immense. He waved a weary arm to make sure the driver saw them, and waited for the situation to be taken out of his hands.
It was.
The lights, still blinding, came to a halt barely ten feet away, shining through the rods of rain and making the surrounding gloom seem darker than ever. A figure sprang from the vehicle and strode towards Ross and Darcy, silhouetted by the glare.
‘Jeez, am I glad to see you!’ Ross declared, giving Darcy another push.
The figure in the lights halted some four or five feet away.
‘Why, Yank, I’m touched!’ an all-too-familiar voice sneered.
Leo! Ross froze in disbelief, his hand tightening instinctively on Darcy’s arm. How the bloody hell did he come to be here?
Darcy seemed to find the situation amusing. ‘What now, Yank?’ he asked over his shoulder, with heavy emphasis.
Ross didn’t answer, for the simple reason that he didn’t know. He wondered briefly, if he pushed Darcy hard at Leo to unbalance him, whether he could use the advantage gained to overpower the man. He was never to know. Just as he was steeling himself to try, Leo spoke again.
‘I want you to meet an old friend, Yank. A great friend of mine. Do you recognise him?’ He held one arm out sideways against the light and Ross was forced to reconsider. Leo was carrying his gun.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Ross pulled Darcy close in front of him, using him as a shield.
Leo laughed out loud. ‘A good idea, Yank! Very good. Always supposing I gave a shit about him. But I don’t. He was just a means to an end. A bit of easy money. If I have to shoot him to get to you, well,’ he shrugged, ‘that’s okay.’
He lifted the gun in front of him to shoulder-height, using both hands.
Ross’ pulse rate accelerated into the hundreds. Surprisingly, though, what he felt was more excitement than fear. The situation seemed so unreal. The wind, the rain, the deadly silhouette in the blinding light – it was almost as though he were watching from a distance. As though it were some fantastic dream from which he would awaken, by and by. That was a dangerous way to think and he gave himself a sharp mental kick in the pants.
Deeply disappointed to have failed at this late stage, his inclination was to goad Leo, to shake him out of that irritating self-satisfaction and hope that anger made him careless. It also occurred to him that it mightn’t be a bad idea to try and redirect that anger towards Darcy.
‘Yeah, I guess you must be pretty mad, if you’ve found out how much Darcy’s really been making from his little racket,’ he said, sympathetically. ‘So much for honour among thieves, eh?’
‘What do you mean?’ The gun dropped six inches or so. He had Leo’s interest. He’d gained some time.
In front of him, Darcy was perceptibly shaking. ‘He’s just talking,’ he said urgently. ‘He doesn’t know anything. Don’t listen to him.’
‘Shut up!’ Leo said sharply. ‘Go on, Yank.’
‘I bet he never told you the half of it,’ Ross said, warming to his task. ‘We’re talking hundreds of thousands here. What he offered you was mere chicken feed. If I were you, I’d want fifty per cent, maybe sixty. After all, you’ve done a lot of the hard work lately. Taken most of the risks.’ He was talking off the top of his head. He had no idea how much Darcy had cost Franklin but it certainly seemed to impress Leo. His hunch was obviously right. Forced to take Leo on board, Darcy had nevertheless kept the true scale of his operation a secret from his partner in crime.
Leo was incensed.
‘How much?’ he demanded of Darcy. ‘How much have you been holding back? If I find you’ve been lying . . .’
‘Nothing! I swear it!’ Darcy was panicking. ‘He’s just trying to stir you up. Can’t you see? He’s playing for time.’
Leo was silent for a moment. ‘Maybe you’re right at that,’ he said shrewdly. ‘And then again, maybe there’s some truth in it. I think I’d like to find out, but not here. We’ll take the car and you, Yank, will drive it.’
This was not what Ross wanted at all. If he were to get in that car, he would very soon leave all chance of help from McKinnon’s men far behind him. He must play for more time. Surely help wouldn’t be much longer in coming?
Or would it? There were several miles of lanes round the Oakley Manor land. How many men had McKinnon got? He slipped Darcy’s flick knife from his pocket and released the blade.
‘How did you know where we were?’ Ross asked Leo, pushing Darcy a step closer to him.
‘I didn’t. I was coming to see what had happened to the Land-Rover. Darcy was expecting to hear that you’d had a nasty accident but nobody called and he wanted me to find out what had gone wrong. I should have told him to do his own fuckin’ dirty work,’ Leo added sourly, reflecting on what he had just learned.
Darcy was getting fidgety. ‘He’s playing for time, Leo!’ he repeated urgently. ‘There are others coming. McKinnon’s men. They set me up but I got away. They could be here any minute. We must go!’
‘We will go,’ Leo assured him.
‘Okay, but now!’ Darcy said, frantic. ‘Look, I’ll let you have your share of the money – it’s only fair, after all. Get rid of Wakelin and let’s go.’
Ross tightened his grip on Darcy and squinted into the light. ‘Looks like a stalemate, doesn’t it, Leo? You can’t have the money without Darcy and I have him as my insurance. If you try to take him from me, I’ll stick this in him.’ He raised his right hand, in which he held the knife. It gleamed as it caught the light. ‘On the other hand,’ he continued, ‘you could forget the money and try for me anyway.’
‘I don’t think you’ll use that,’ Leo said, taking a step closer.
Ross didn’t think he would either. At least, not on Darcy. That wouldn’t gain him much, except a bullet from Leo’s gun an instant later.
‘You bet I will,’ he lied, with as much savage conviction as he could muster.
From the way Darcy was shaking, he at least believed it.
‘Leo! Be careful! He’ll bloody do it!’ he said in desperation.
Leo stepped closer. ‘No, he won’t,’ he countered confidently. ‘He hasn’t got the guts. And besides, he knows he’ll be dead if he does.’
Barely three feet away now, Ross could see the faint gleam of Leo’s teeth as he smiled. Oh, hell! he thought and shoved Darcy towards him as hard as he could.
Out of the corner of his eye, as he dived towards the darkness of the hedge, he saw the two men stagger back and fall in an untidy heap against the radiator of the car. With a sharp crack the gun fired as Ross completed his roll and fetched up in the nettles and brambles beneath the
hawthorn.
The car had been a temptation but Ross was by no means confident he could make a three-point turn in the narrow lane before Leo recovered his wits.
For a moment, after the gunshot, there was no sound from the two men. Then, ‘Shit! You fucking idiot!’
Ross heard the sound of boots scraping on the tarmac and then saw Leo’s wiry form stand up. Darcy, he supposed, was lying in the deep shadow below the range of the car’s lights. Had he been shot?
After a moment, Ross dismissed that idea. The gun had gone off after Darcy had cannoned into Leo. If the gun had been between them the report would surely have been muffled.
Leo by this time had made his way round to the side of the car, which looked, now Ross could see it more clearly, like some kind of four-wheel-drive vehicle. He opened the door and reached inside. Seconds later a beam of light sprang from his right hand as he swung round towards the verge where Ross lay holding his breath. It was clearly time to move.
He lunged to his feet, hoping Leo wasn’t ambidextrous or, even better, that he had lost the gun when he fell.
He hadn’t. Two shots in quick succession whined over Ross’ head as his knee gave way and reduced his intended sprint to an undignified scuttle. He reached the gate and scrambled over, landing on his backside in the wet grass of the field. He heard Leo curse again and scurried, crabwise, into the shelter of the hedge once more. Here, inspiration unfortunately ran out.
The field was three or four acres in size and the hedge he was presently pressed against ran for a hundred yards or so in a straight line, all neatly cut and laid, and as impossible to penetrate as a stone wall. There was nowhere to run. Even supposing, Ross thought with weary despair, that running was an option.
Leo was climbing the gate now, doubtless having first sorted the gun and the torch into the appropriate hands. He swung the torch in a rapid and inefficient arc, which blessedly failed to pick the American out, pressed as he was into longer grass at the base of the hedge. Then he turned away from Ross and began to search the far side of the gate first.
Cut Throat Page 42
