Red Station ht-1

by Adrian Magson

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said Rik. ‘The sooner I get on that flight, the better. Won’t we be noticed, though, driving at this time of night?’ He held up his watch. It had gone one o’clock.

  Harry shrugged. Time had slipped by quicker than he’d planned. ‘We’ll get out of town and find somewhere to lie low, in case Latham comes looking.’ It was a risk either way, leaving at any time. But years of operating in the open had left him with a familiarity for the dark; it was where he felt safest, especially when faced by dangers he couldn’t see. Staying here would soon turn into a trap, because Latham would know where to find them.

  He turned and led the way out.

  Clare joined him by the Land Cruiser and held out her hand. ‘I’ll drive.’ She took the keys and he didn’t argue. He was no wheelman and was pretty certain Rik had never taken the evasive driving course. Clare, however, undoubtedly knew the roads better than either of them and could drive accordingly. He climbed into the front passenger seat and left Rik to occupy the back with the bags.

  Clare stamped on the accelerator and took them away like a rocket, narrowly missing an old BMW parked at the corner. Harry said nothing; she was reacting to the rush of adrenalin and leaning on her to take it easy wouldn’t help. Besides, she could do with the practice; if things went belly-up and Latham found them, they would need all the hard driving skills she could muster.

  He told her to head west at first, away from the airport. Deflecting attention away from their intended route might give them an edge. Clare took them through a series of back streets and rat runs, avoiding the main boulevards where the military patrols were concentrated. There were few other vehicles, and only an occasional pedestrian showing as a fleeting shadow between the buildings. From residential areas they sped through a series of small commercial zones housing light engineering works, leather workshops and trading depots. There were no lights in any of the buildings and the town already appeared to be shut up for the night.

  Nobody spoke. The Toyota’s heavy springs protested as they bounced across open gullies, potholes and fissures in the tarmac, and the noise of the fat tyres and the well-worn engine combined to make any kind of chat difficult.

  Harry took out the second semi-automatic and handed it to Rik, and placed the third one under his seat. He kept his own in his pocket. The approved place to keep a handgun when travelling by car in a high-risk area was under one thigh for easy access. But with the way the Toyota was bouncing around, he didn’t dare risk it for fear of shooting himself by mistake.

  He kept a weather eye on their rear, even though he knew Clare would be doing the same. So far, he had seen no sign of pursuit.

  ‘Trucks.’ Clare pointed ahead. They were just emerging on to an open beltway which curved round towards the south-west in the general direction of the airport. The road was wider here, designed to carry heavier traffic. Now, it seemed, from the long line of lights, it was given over to military trucks in convoys. And one of them was coming their way.

  ‘Blast on through,’ said Harry. ‘They won’t have orders to stop us.’

  The lights grew larger. The drivers hogged the middle of the road but Clare refused to back down until the last second, when she was forced to use a flat section of verge to avoid being pulped by the oncoming vehicles. Then suddenly the trucks were upon them, fanning past in a blare of horns and the roar of heavy diesel engines. Seconds later, they were through and the trucks were vanishing into the night, leaving the interior of the car thick with diesel fumes and dust.

  Ten miles out of town they came to a small village, a huddle of houses and farms clinging to the side of a hill. Clare slowed as they approached the first buildings, where the road narrowed and bent away out of sight. It was the classic situation for a road block or ambush.

  ‘Keep going,’ Harry instructed her. He placed a hand on the gun in his pocket. If they were stopped here, there would be no easy way out. Behind him Rik tossed the bags into the rear compartment to leave the rear seat clear and lowered the windows.

  They reached the bend and Clare flicked the headlights to full beam. The road beyond was empty. She stamped on the accelerator and took them past the remaining houses at speed, the engine’s roar echoing off the walls like thunder.

  A few miles later, as they bounced along a secondary road leading through open fields, Harry glanced in the wing mirror.

  Twin headlights had appeared out of nowhere. They were some way back, but closing fast.

  Latham.

  FIFTY-SIX

  ‘ Harry.’ Clare had seen them, too.

  ‘What’s up?’ Rik twisted in his seat and looked back. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Could be anybody,’ said Harry calmly. But his heart was thumping. He took out his gun and checked the clip.

  Clare increased speed, the engine howling in competition with the furious drumming of the tyres over the roughened surface and the machine-gun clatter of stones hitting the underneath of the chassis.

  Harry checked the petrol gauge. They had plenty of fuel as long as they weren’t forced to abandon the airport idea and drive for miles through the night. At this demanding rate, that could become a problem and he suspected petrol stations were few and far between… and not all likely to be operating.

  ‘Slow down,’ he suggested to Clare. ‘Fake a burst tyre. See what they do.’

  ‘OK. Hold tight.’ Clare took her foot off the accelerator, allowing their speed to drop sharply as if they were experiencing problems. She dabbed the brakes a few times, the red glow flashing in the dark behind them, and hauled on the steering wheel causing the car to fishtail across the road.

  Harry looked back. The other car hadn’t slowed. In fact it was approaching way too fast to be anything but a threat. Any normal driver on seeing their brake lights would have backed off immediately. But the lights were growing at a frightening rate, and when the other driver flicked on his full beams, Harry knew they were in trouble.

  ‘Go!’ he shouted. But Clare had already floored the pedal, the Land Cruiser’s engine roaring in response.

  He glanced at Rik, who was sitting upright in his seat, holding his gun in his lap. The younger man was staring through the side window with no expression, but he seemed calm enough.

  ‘You OK?’ said Harry, and received a terse nod in return.

  ‘We should take him,’ Clare said. ‘There’s nothing ahead; we’re in the open.’

  Harry considered it. Their options were limited. If the car behind them contained Latham and his team, stopping to argue in this relative wilderness would be a short form of suicide. The Hit would be trained for this kind of terrain and this scenario, and spoiling for a fight. The odds of three comparative amateurs gaining superiority over them was therefore minimal. But staying on the road at this rate was merely prolonging the inevitable. And if Clare lost control of the car because of a burst tyre or a mechanical fault, the end would come just as quickly and with less chance of fighting back.

  He signalled ahead. He would have to trust Clare to know what she was doing. ‘Choose your spot.’

  ‘What are we doing?’ Rik leaned forward between the seats to make himself heard over the noise.

  ‘Get ready to bale out,’ Harry warned him. ‘The moment we stop, go left and find cover off the road. Don’t stay with the car.’

  Rik nodded and sat back, swallowing hard.

  Moments later, Clare shouted, ‘Now!’ Then she stamped hard on the brakes, bracing herself on the wheel.

  For a moment nothing happened. Not even the engine noise diminished. The car’s velocity continued unabated, the tyres drumming on the gravelled road and dust billowing around their tail, glowing red in the aura of the brake lights. Then the tyre treads began to grip and they were thrown forward against their seat belts. Another release as the vehicle skidded and lost traction, but Clare adjusted smoothly with a spin of the wheel and pointed the nose of the car at the side of the road. They thumped against the grass verge and over, taking them in a cr
azy slide, the headlights throwing up a whirlwind kaleidoscope of bushes, saplings and rocks, and a family of skinny goats leaping out of their way.

  Harry thumbed his seat belt release and leapt out of the car as it came to a stop, vaguely aware of Clare doing the same. He stumbled as his shoes skidded on damp grass, then pitched forward, his momentum overtaking him. He rolled instinctively, one shoulder crunching against a series of small stones and one hand scraping across the rough ground. His head brushed a large, solid object and he closed his eyes, tucking himself into a tight ball.

  He came up the right way and threw himself to one side, away, he hoped, from the car and the glare of lights. If he stayed too close, he would be backlit for anyone to take a shot at him. He hoped Clare and Rik had done the same.

  The Toyota’s lights went out.

  He turned away and stared into the night, eyes still holding the echo of the glare. Loss of night vision was the last thing he needed.

  There was no sign of the other vehicle.

  ‘Clare?’ He peered towards the Toyota. She was either close enough to it to have leaned in and doused the lights, or was now keeping very still nearby.

  He heard a scrape from further along the gully they had just come down. He froze. He felt vulnerable not knowing what his cover was like, and braced himself. For all he knew, he could be lying out in the open; and if Latham and his men had night-vision equipment, they were done for. Yet instinct told him that the Hit had been expecting to take them in town, where the need for specialist tools wouldn’t be needed. He hoped he was right.

  A rock rolled against his leg, and he spun round, finger on the trigger.

  ‘Harry — it’s me!’ Clare’s whisper was close by, and it took a deliberate effort of will to stop himself pulling the trigger. He relaxed his finger, breathing out in a long, slow sigh.

  ‘Did you see where they went?’ he whispered.

  ‘No.’ She moved, her foot brushing against his. He could tell by the scuff of cloth that she was moving, twisting her body and scanning the area immediately around them. ‘They stopped about a hundred yards back.’

  Too close. If the opposition had decamped from their vehicle, they could already be moving in for the kill. He wondered how many were in the team. Not that it mattered; more than two of Latham’s kind and they were well and truly stuffed.

  Then he recalled something Mace had said about Kostova. ‘He likes to keep close tabs on everyone who drops by his little bailiwick. He doesn’t miss a trick.’

  And Kostova had said that a man had arrived. One man.

  ‘A fellow countryman of yours… a man named Phillips.’

  Harry hadn’t given it much thought at the time, his mind too focussed on Latham. The precise size and make-up of his team hadn’t been a burning issue.

  Had Kostova missed other arrivals, slipping in under separate cover? Or did it mean there was no team at all?

  He thought it over, his brain in a spin. The idea of efficient, fast-moving four-man teams was long built into military thinking, his own included. That number had filtered automatically through to many quasi-military operations. Four worked well, and had become an acceptable fact. But did it have to be true? And why would assassins need to travel in teams of four?

  Assassins.

  ‘See if you can locate Rik,’ he said softly, and slid away before Clare could argue. The sound of voices out here would travel too easily, and he didn’t want to run the risk of Latham zeroing in on them. He made his way off to the side, probing the dark, stopping every few feet to listen. He heard only the drumming of his heart and the sigh of the wind fanning the bushes and the grass. Then a goat bleated softly, and he hugged the ground tight.

  Was it reacting to his presence… or someone else?

  Then he was blinded as the world was lit up by a twin array of headlights and two huge spotlights not fifty yards away. It was the other car, and he’d wandered right in front of it!

  He cursed and rolled away, sucking himself closer to the earth and rocks. A volley of shots rang out from behind the lights, three double-taps in quick succession. The sounds were flat and soon lost over the open countryside, and he caught a glimpse of the red-hot muzzle flash from near the car. He winced as something tugged at his sleeve and he felt the brush of heat against his skin. He continued rolling, desperately trying to keep his legs from windmilling and giving away his position. He bumped over a series of rocks, feeling jabs of pain in his ribs and hips, and wondered where he would end up.

  Then the ground disappeared beneath him and he dropped into a void.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Harry landed without warning. The breath was dashed from his lungs and his gun fell from his hand. As he scrambled to find it, he heard another burst of shooting and the car lights went out.

  He retrieved the gun and checked it over, then did a quick touch-recce of his surroundings. Rocks and grass, but how dense?

  He hugged the ground. As far as he could tell, he was lying in a hollow. He must have rolled into a ditch or a depression of some kind — he could feel moisture and soft earth beneath him. At least, he hoped it was earth. It reminded him too readily of the Essex inlet where all his troubles had begun.

  It all seemed a long time ago.

  He waited, regaining his breath. The lights and the burst of gunfire had been intended to confuse and kill. Latham had succeeded in the former, and Harry prayed Rik and Clare hadn’t fallen victim to any of the shots.

  A thin scrape of metal sounded in the dark. Someone brushing against a car body. Not Rik and not Clare; it was the wrong direction. Latham, then… or one of his team.

  He was coming for them.

  Harry took a deep breath, fighting a rising sense of panic. Time wasn’t on their side. He had to do something. Waiting here for Latham to hunt them down wasn’t an option; the killer had far too many advantages. He braced himself and hoped he was clear of whatever hollow he was in, and not facing a wall of earth or rocks. A ricochet here could be messy. And fatal.

  Holding the gun two-handed, he lunged upwards and fired three times in rapid succession towards the other car. He heard the tinkle of breaking glass and the hollow ping of a round hitting metal. A volley of answering shots came back over his head and he crabbed to one side, a snapshot of the area in front of him captured by the flare of gunfire.

  The terrain was a mix of dry bushes, scrubby grass and rocks. A nightmare for anyone to move across in a hurry, yet, unwittingly, it might prove to be their salvation. A car — a heavy four-by-four — was parked at the edge of the road, facing down at him.

  And a man standing by the front wing.

  The image remained clear. He had his legs slightly bent, arms held out before him, the dark shape of a weapon in his hand. Tall, slim, face unclear, he could have been any age. But there was no mistaking his stance.

  Harry crabbed sideways, threading among the rocks and scrub. If he had seen Latham in the muzzle flash, then Latham would have seen him, too. And fixed his position.

  Another burst of gunfire opened up the night from his left, with more sounds of shots hitting metal. Clare or Rik? He couldn’t tell. The echoes were distorted by the dead ground, their points of origin muted and difficult to pin down.

  He risked another try and stood up, letting off another double-tap before dropping to the ground. Too far right and off-target. But close enough when it was three against one.

  Then an engine burst into life, followed by the high-pitched whine of reverse gear and the furious scrape of tyres on loose shale.

  Latham moving out? They’d surprised him; scared him off.

  But for how long?

  Ditching caution in favour of speed, Harry scrambled towards the Toyota, stubbing knees and toes on rocks. They’d been given — had taken — one chance to get away from their pursuer, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Cuts and bruises were an acceptable trade-off compared with the alternatives.

  ‘Clare! Rik!’ he yelled. ‘Back to the car!’


  He got there just as the driver’s door opened and Clare reached up to smash the interior light with the butt of her pistol. Rik dived in from the other side, and once Harry was aboard, they took off again.

  The headlights revealed a continuation of the gully which took them back on to the road, past a ramshackle wooden pen which a local farmer must have used for housing the goats. Clare pushed the Toyota out on to the tarmac without waiting to see if the other car was coming up behind them.

  ‘You OK?’ Harry asked. Clare nodded, focussing on the road ahead. She looked determined in the glow of the instrument panel, with a gleam of excitement in her eyes and smudges of dirt showing on her face and shoulders where she had hit the ground after abandoning the car.

  He turned to look at Rik, who was watching the rear. ‘How about you?’

  Rik shook his head and held up his gun. He didn’t meet Harry’s eye. ‘I’m fine. I didn’t… I couldn’t do it.’ He cleared his throat and looked at the back of Clare’s head. ‘I tried, but… I fucked up the safety catch and it wouldn’t fire. My hands were greasy… I was nervous. Sorry.’

  ‘Forget it,’ said Harry. Rik was feeling ashamed at not having been able to use his gun. It took guts to admit that in front of a colleague. ‘Let me see.’

  He took the gun and checked it over. The safety was on, and a knob of dirt was stuck to the slide. He cleaned it off and ejected the clip, then worked the mechanism. There was nothing wrong with it. Rik had suffered a simple attack of nerves. It happened. He handed the gun back.

  ‘The safety was jammed with muck. Must have picked it up when you hit the ground.’ He added, ‘Strip out the magazine, make sure you haven’t got a round up the spout and put it back together again.’