Bolt just had time to see that he was holding something big and solid in his hand, and then he felt a sudden excruciating pain in his cheek as the blow struck him, the force of it sending him falling sideways into the road. He landed next to a parked car and rolled over, temporarily dazed, his vision blurring.
He thought he heard a car starting nearby, but couldn’t say for sure, because the next thing he knew, Mo Khan was kneeling next to him, asking if he was all right.
‘Get after him,’ he managed to say, although his voice sounded muffled, as if he’d just been anaesthetized.
Mo frowned, and then he said the words that Bolt had been dreading. ‘He’s gone, boss.’
And he had gone too. Within twenty minutes of Mo’s first call for backup, a blanket cordon had been placed round an area of more than a square mile, and a full-scale house-by-house search was in progress, involving more than four hundred officers. It was widely believed that there was no way Leonard Hope could have left the area on foot without being apprehended, and yet twenty-four hours later, when the search ended, there was still no sign of him. There were no witness sightings; there was no footage of him on any of the many CCTV cameras surrounding the area; and there were no reports of stolen vehicles.
It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.
Twenty-five
Today 19.00
SCOPE KAYAKED FAST through the darkness, making good progress. The distance from Jock’s place to Tayleigh along the river was just over 11 miles. It was a lot of ground to cover, but the wind had picked up from the east, and was helping to push him along as it whistled down the natural tunnel made by the river. Pine- and beech-covered hills rose up majestically on both sides of the water, and above him the first stars were beginning to appear, joining the thin slither of moon, and providing just enough light to see by, as Scope scanned both banks for any sign of the canoeists or the canoes.
He was no longer wondering why a local family of four had been targeted by professional thugs, including the scar-faced man he’d seen earlier. The simple fact was that they had been and, if it wasn’t too late, then it was his duty to help them. What was really preying on his mind, though, was the fact that once again his life had been disrupted by violence. Sometimes it felt as if death stalked him like a relentless hunter. He could escape for a while – weeks; months; years sometimes – but it always caught up in the end, even here in one of the quietest, wildest parts of the country.
Scope considered himself a quiet, reasonable man. He preferred to turn his back on trouble. He liked people. Sometimes he even dreamed of meeting someone special again, and starting another family. Living happily ever after, as they did at the end of the movies. But it never worked out like that. And, whichever way he chose to look at it, he was fully prepared to use violence to achieve his ends. He’d killed six men in cold blood to avenge the death of his daughter, even though none of them had been directly responsible for Mary Ann’s death. In the end, she’d voluntarily injected the heroin herself. Only one of the six he’d killed had even met her. And yet even when one of them – a young, mid-ranking dealer – had been on his knees begging and crying for mercy, Scope had put a bullet in his head, and only occasionally had he lost sleep over what he’d done. Other people would have gone to the police, let them deal with it, but Scope hadn’t. He’d taken the law into his own hands.
It was the same when his nephew had been kidnapped six months earlier by men trying to blackmail the boy’s father. He’d gone after the kidnappers himself and kept the police out of it. And now, here he was, paddling like a madman down a lonely river, far from the place he’d once called home, a gun in his waistband, his heart pumping, not just from the exertion of the last hour and a half, or from the intensity of killing a man, but from something else. The excitement of what he was doing. A part of Scope – a very primitive part – was actually enjoying this.
He was going to miss Jock. He was going to miss this place too. He stopped paddling for a moment, getting his breath back, and looked up at the vast night sky as it stretched over towards the west, where just the faintest hint of pink glowing light still lingered. Sometimes, at night, Scope would sit outside the tiny cottage he rented, and watch the stars that swarmed across the night sky, wondering if his wife and daughter were up there, watching him. The air up here was sharp and fresh and, as he sat in the kayak, he took a long deep breath, thinking that the scene in front of him – the tar-black river vaguely shimmering in the light of the moon, and the forest rising up on either side of it – was much the same as it would have been a thousand, even a million years ago. It made him feel insignificant, a tiny intruder in a tiny boat who would soon be gone, while this would remain here forever. Right now, knowing that he was about to risk his life to help people he’d never met, it was a comforting thought.
Somewhere amidst the greenery came the plaintive call of a heron, breaking the silence, and Scope began paddling again, keeping close to the bank as he rode a series of shallow rapids, enjoying the sensation of the kayak bouncing up and down in the water.
And then, as he rounded a bend in the river, he saw the two Canadian canoes sitting on a sand spit that jutted out from the left-hand bank thirty yards in front of him. He rode the kayak onto the spit and climbed out, looking around. The two canoes were about five yards apart, and straight away Scope noticed there was no sign of any paddles, which struck him as odd. There was something else too. A long dark stain running down the inside of one of them, next to the back seat. He’d picked up a mini-Maglite torch at Jock’s and he shone it at the stain, tensing as he realized it was blood. Then he saw the golf-ball-sized holes at various points in the canoe. He counted five of them on one side, and a corresponding number on the other. There was no doubt in Scope’s mind that they’d been caused by bullets, and from a high-calibre weapon as well. The entry holes appeared to be on the right side of the canoe, suggesting someone had been shooting at the canoeists from somewhere on the other side of the river. Looking in that direction, Scope saw a small gap in the trees at the top of the hill, and recognized the lookout point. So the shooter had been up there and, for whatever reason, he’d ambushed the canoeists as they’d paddled downriver.
He’d clearly hit at least one of them, and yet there was no sign of any bodies.
Turning away, Scope walked slowly into the trees that ran down to the bank, which was where he found the bodies of the man and the woman. Their names, Scope remembered Jock as saying, were Tim and Jean Robinson, a local couple from somewhere up between Tayleigh and Inverness. Tim Robinson was lying sprawled over the top of his wife and, as Scope shone the torch down, he could see that he’d been shot in the back, roughly between the shoulder blades, by someone who knew what they were doing when it came to high-velocity rifles. Jean Robinson was lying on her back beneath her husband, staring upwards. Her eyes were open and a thin trail of dried blood ran from one corner of her mouth.
Scope wasn’t sure how long they’d been dead, but it looked as though it had been a while. Although he was wearing gloves, he didn’t want to touch the bodies and contaminate the scene. He was in enough trouble as it was, and it would be far better if no one knew he’d ever been here. According to Jock, the Robinsons had been with their two nieces who were up from London. One was only a young girl, whom Jock had described as a real sweetheart, and Scope didn’t know how he’d handle finding her body, if it was round here. Ever since he’d become a father, aged only nineteen himself, he’d been hugely protective of young children. He hated the idea of them suffering violence. He’d done two tours in Iraq during his decade in the army, and during the second tour, an IED meant for the patrol he was a part of, had been detonated prematurely by the insurgents who’d been lying in wait for them, killing two boys riding past on a rusty old bicycle instead. The boys had only ridden past the patrol a few seconds earlier. They’d been smiling and laughing as they balanced precariously on the bike, and Scope remembered smiling back at them, thinking at the ti
me that – wherever you went in the world – kids were always kids. They’d been no more than twelve, those boys, and the impact from the blast had flung their bodies more than fifty feet through the hot desert air. They’d landed in the dirt just in front of the lead soldier in the patrol, and Scope remembered vividly the scene of chaos as, deafened by the blast, they’d all dived for cover at the side of the road, several of the men letting off bursts of gunfire into the surrounding uninhabited scrubland in a vain attempt to flush out the insurgents.
He also remembered the moment he and some of the others had rushed over to the two injured boys who lay writhing on the road. They’d been torn apart by the pieces of shrapnel that had been packed into the bomb. The smaller of the two was missing a leg and half an arm, and there was a gaping hole in his throat that smoked and sizzled. As the medic – a guy called Sherman who killed himself two years later – bent down to administer some kind of first aid, the boy had stared up at Scope, his eyes wide with fear and shock, and Scope had had to look away because all he could see was his own daughter lying there in place of the boy, with limbs missing and body burned, bloody and smoking. As the boy succumbed to his terrible injuries, along with his friend, Scope had stood at the side of the road, eyes clamped shut, his whole body shaking as he tried to force the nightmarish images from his mind.
He’d never been able to understand how anyone could hurt innocent kids, and yet he knew there were people out there who were fully prepared to. As he stood amongst the trees now, he wondered if whoever had shot up these canoes had already killed the two he was looking for.
But when he shone his torch round, there was no sign of any other bodies. He tried to work out what had happened here. The shooter had been firing from the other side of the river. Clearly, he’d killed the two adults but, since there was no sign of the children, either the shooter had had accomplices on this side of the river to pick them up, which seemed unlikely since they were a good few miles from the road here, or, more likely, they’d escaped. But if the children were up from London it was unlikely they knew the area. If Scope were them, he’d try and put as much distance between himself and the river as possible. He didn’t know the area that well himself, but he was fairly certain that the path that ran roughly parallel to the river for about twenty miles, and eventually led back into Tayleigh, was a few hundred metres south of him through the trees. If the children had kept in a roughly straight line, they’d have got to it eventually, although they might have missed it, or chosen to make their way further into the forest.
Deciding it was the best place just to start looking for them, and for the men who were hunting them, Scope zipped up his jacket, took a deep breath, and began running through the trees, not sure what the hell he was getting involved with, but determined to see it through.
After all, what else would he be doing tonight?
Twenty-six
Today 19.10
‘LOOK, I HAVEN’T been entirely honest with you,’ said Amanda.
‘No,’ said Jess. ‘I thought not.’
They were standing in the living room of the house where they’d found shelter. Next door, Casey was flat out in the single bedroom. Jess was amazed that she was able to sleep after everything that had happened today, but she was thankful she was. The less she dwelt on the deaths of Tim and Jean, the better. They’d searched the house from top to bottom just in case there was a phone hidden anywhere, but there wasn’t. They had, however, found some women’s clothes in the upstairs bedroom. It was mainly walking gear and Jess was now dressed in a woollen jumper that was at least two sizes too big for her, and which itched, and a pair of waterproof trousers that crinkled when she walked. But at least she was dry now, and with the heating clanking away in the house, she was also warm for the first time since she’d fallen in the river.
They’d kept the lights off so as not to attract attention, and Jess eyed Amanda coolly through the darkness, feeling a flash of anger. She’d always had a hot temper, it was one of her downfalls, and she needed to keep a lid on it now. ‘So what’s really happening? And why are these people after you?’
Amanda sighed. ‘You’ve heard about The Disciple, haven’t you?’
Jess nodded. You’d have to have been living at the bottom of a mineshaft for the last year not to know about The Disciple. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s meant to be on the run, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right.’ She paused. ‘Well, he murdered a couple three weeks ago – a man and his lover who were together in the man’s home.’
‘I heard about that. Didn’t the wife walk in on it?’
‘Yes, she did.’
The truth dawned on Jess then. ‘And the wife was you?’
Amanda smiled grimly. ‘They managed to keep my photo out of the papers. The police wanted me to stay down south until they’d arrested the killer, but I wanted to get as far away from what happened as possible, which is how I ended up here.’
Jess looked at her carefully, still not entirely sure whether to believe her or not. ‘And you think it’s The Disciple chasing us now?’
Amanda shook her head firmly. ‘No. I was ambushed today by three men, and I saw all their faces. A few days ago, I was shown a photo of the Disciple suspect, Leonard Hope, and he definitely wasn’t one of them. And this is where I really was telling the truth. I have no idea who these men are, or why they want me.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Because I’ve got no reason to lie, Jess. Look, I’ve involved you both enough already, and I regret that, I honestly do. Just like I regret what happened to your aunt and uncle. But the point is, it’s me they want, not you and Casey. Without me you’ll be safe, so the best thing is if I leave you here and make my own way back to the nearest town.’
Jess felt a flash of panic at the thought of being left here alone with Casey.
Amanda must have seen the look on her face because she gave Jess a reassuring smile. ‘As soon as I get to civilization, I’ll send the police back here for you, I promise.’
‘How far is it?’
‘About five miles across country. Alone, I could probably make it in an hour and a half, and have help back here in two.’
Jess wasn’t convinced. ‘Don’t you think we should stick together?’
‘It’ll take too long with Casey, and we’ll be too exposed. It’s best if I go alone. They won’t come looking for you here.’ She stepped forward and put a hand on Jess’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. It was a curiously intimate gesture.
Jess thought about it. Amanda was right. Casey would slow them all down if they tried to cross country, but the idea of the two of them stuck here alone and vulnerable in a place they didn’t know, didn’t make her feel much better either.
‘What happens if you don’t make it?’ she asked Amanda.
Amanda took her hand away from Jess’s shoulder and frowned. ‘If I don’t make it, you’re better off staying put, anyway, but I’m pretty sure I will. I don’t think these guys know the area that well. It’s dark now and there’s a lot of country out there. Just keep the lights out and stay hidden. If I send help back, I’ll come with them, and I’ll knock on the door four times in quick succession, then pause. Then one more knock. That way you’ll know it’s me. Don’t let anyone else in, no matter who they say they are. If no one comes out back tonight, it means they’ve got me, which means they won’t be interested in looking for you, but – either way – make sure you wait until daylight before looking for help. Do you understand?’
Jess nodded, knowing there was no point in trying to persuade Amanda to stay with them. ‘I understand.’ She paused a moment before asking the next question. ‘But if they want to get you so badly, why didn’t they just shoot you when you were in the canoe?’
‘Because they want me alive. Don’t ask me why, but whatever the reason is, it’s not a nice one.’ Amanda took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got to go. Look after your little sister, and stay calm. Okay?’
‘O
kay.’ Jess watched as Amanda went out through the back door, then bolted it behind her, before retreating into the darkness of the house, suddenly feeling very alone.
Twenty-seven
THE THREE MEN made a menacing sight as they moved purposefully down the forest path in a tight line, the two Dobermans that MacLean had brought back with him straining at their leashes. Each of them was armed with a pistol with suppressor attached, while Keogh also carried the Remington .303 rifle he’d used to shoot at the canoeists earlier, and the big cop MacLean was armed with a five-shot automatic shotgun as well, capable of bringing down a horse.
By now, Keogh was even more worried. Not only had he still not heard any word from Mehdi, but they’d been walking for a good half-hour through the forest and there was still no sign of their quarry. MacLean was confident that they’d be coming up from the river on this path, since it was the only one that led directly out of the woods, and that they wouldn’t have made it this far by now, but Keogh wasn’t so sure. Amanda Rowan would be doing her utmost to hide, which meant keeping off obvious paths like this one, and in a forest this size, with all manner of animals living in it, the dogs were going to have a hard time picking up their scent.
The only bonus was that, from what Keogh had heard, MacLean had some experience of hunting people in this kind of terrain, and not in the course of his police work, either. As well as being a copper, MacLean looked after the boss’s country estate in the nearby Cairngorms, and some pretty unpleasant things happened up there. Rumour had it that the boss kept young women imprisoned in the cellars of his manor house, where they were sexually abused, sometimes for weeks on end, before being killed and buried in the grounds. The women were mainly foreign prostitutes working illegally in the country, so they wouldn’t be missed, and Keogh wasn’t sure if it was just the boss himself who abused the girls, or whether his contacts in the criminal and business worlds were also involved. What he did know, however, was that the previous year, one of the women had escaped and been found by a group of hikers up from London, and it had been up to MacLean and his brother to hunt the five of them down before they raised the alarm. They’d done it too, eliminating both the woman fugitive and all the hikers, with the help of their mother (she, apparently, had been the one who’d hanged the last hiker to be murdered, a female teacher from London, in an effort to make her death look like a suicide). Keogh was hoping that MacLean could manage the same thing again tonight, although he also hoped that Amanda had split from the kids. He didn’t want their deaths on what was left of his conscience.
Stay Alive Page 14
