by Bill Kitson
Locke’s voice seemed marginally calmer as he responded to Robert’s statement. After listening to what he had to say, Robert told him, ‘Yes, I know where that is, but I’ll need a bit longer. Stephen’s chauffeur has broken his arm so I’ll need to find someone else to drive me.’ He listened for a moment. ‘Yes, that should be OK. I’ll make sure my driver knows how to get there. Of course I’ll bring the runes, but before I agree to anything, I want to speak to Alison. I need to be sure that you haven’t hurt her.’
There was a few seconds’ silence, then we heard a different voice; obviously Alison’s. Although neither Eve nor I could make out what she said from the few words she could utter before the receiver was taken from her, at least we knew she was alive, and we could plan our strategy properly. Hopefully, Robert had ensured her safety for the time being by telling Locke his identity was no longer secret. That, together with the knowledge of where they were being held captive should give us an advantage. I had a sudden sense of déjà vu; of having been through a situation such as this before. On that occasion, Eve and a friend of hers had been the hostages. It was plain that she remembered it too, for as Robert was telling us what Locke had said and repeating Alison’s plea for help, Eve nudged me and whispered, ‘I think the divide and conquer strategy we’ve used before might work if we can take them by surprise, don’t you?’
If I had reservations, they were about the calibre of our allies, and the state of mind of the enemy. Dealing with a criminal who is only seeking a fortune is a world away from tackling a potential psychopath. My blood ran cold as I corrected the equation: a trio of potential psychopaths.
Chapter Twenty
‘Locke has instructed me to meet him at Bleke Mire in two hours’ time. He wanted me to go alone, but as you heard, I told him I don’t drive.’
‘Where is this place, Bleke Mire?’ Eve asked.
‘On the high moor beyond Langstrop village, so it sounds as if your theory about where Locke is hiding out might be correct.’
‘Did he say that he would bring Alison and Tammy along when you meet him?’
Robert looked surprised by the question. I knew I would have to explain my reason for asking it, unpalatable though it was. ‘Yes, he said that as soon as he was satisfied that I’d given him the runic inscriptions he wanted, he would release the girls.’
‘What’s this place like? It sounds like a marsh.’
The answer to Eve’s question came from Tony Bishop. ‘That’s exactly what it is, a highly dangerous marsh at that. It stretches for almost half a mile with a small tarn in the centre, and the marsh is capable of taking a man under within minutes, or so I believe.’
‘Do I take it there is no cover around there?’
‘Actually, you’re wrong. There’s a small brake of trees about half a mile, maybe less, from the top of the moor, and alongside the copse is a row of shooting butts used by the guns on the Barton grouse shoot.’
‘Those shooting butts, are they nearer the marsh or further away?’
Bishop hadn’t missed the implication. ‘A little bit nearer. There’s a dirt road leading to them, it’s a spur from the road that takes you past the marsh. I’d say they were close enough for a decent shot, certainly for someone with a stalking rifle equipped with a telescopic sight.’
Robert was horrified that we were even considering such a course of action. ‘Surely you’re not seriously considering mounting an ambush? That would be far too dangerous. No way could I sanction putting Alison or Tammy at risk through ill-advised or reckless action. I’m not prepared to go along with such a mad scheme.’
There was no alternative but to spell it out for him. ‘I’m sorry, Robert, but you have no choice. Why do you think I asked you if Locke intended to bring the girls along? He intends to kill you, to kill Alison and Tammy, and to kill your driver.’
‘I don’t believe Locke would do that. The hue and cry when the bodies are found would make it impossible for him to continue searching for the Grail.’
‘You’re missing the point, Robert. Why do you think Locke chose Bleke Mire for the handover? You heard what Tony just said about how dangerous the marsh is. Once Locke has those photos, either Locke or the twins will murder everyone. They will then load the bodies into your car, drive it into the marsh, and let it sink. No bodies will ever be found, and when questions are asked, the rumour will probably start that you were abducted by aliens.’
I’ve remarked several times about my talent for reducing an audience to silence. It seems that my ability hasn’t waned with time.
Victoria had been listening to the conversation. She stepped forward and put a reassuring hand on Robert’s arm, looked straight into his eyes and, with a steady voice, said, ‘Listen to Adam, Robert. Let him help you.’
Eventually, and with considerable reluctance, Robert accepted my hypothesis and agreed to listen to the scheme we were planning.
‘The idea is for me to drive you there in my Range Rover. At the same time, Tony, if you agree, I’d like you to take up position in the closest of the shooting butts. The only problem, and I admit it is a huge one, is that at some stage, one of us must be prepared to take another human being’s life.’
‘Why take your car? Why not use the Mercedes?’
It seemed that Robert was prepared to accept the need for direct action. There were several reasons for the choice, and I explained a couple. ‘For one thing, going on what Tony has told us about Bleke Mire, the Range Rover’s four-wheel drive will make it far more suitable in such terrain. In addition, my guess is that Locke will be on the lookout for the Mercedes. I know it isn’t much, but when a car turns up that isn’t the one he was expecting to see, it might give us an advantage, even if it’s only momentary.’
I didn’t disclose the main reason, which was that the Range Rover would contain my secret weapon.
We were ready well ahead of the time scheduled for the rendezvous. My last act before getting into the car was to brief Tony Bishop. ‘Wait ten minutes after we’ve gone, then set off, but don’t rush. If my guess is correct, Locke will have left the cottage before you get to Langstrop. The last thing I want is for him to see a stream of vehicles passing through the village. That would certainly arouse his suspicions. Apart from that, he might recognise your car, which would be disastrous.’
No matter how carefully you plan, and even if you believe you have catered for every eventuality, there is always the risk that some unforeseen factor will upset your meticulously thought-out scheme. In this case, it was the local climate that threatened to put a huge spanner in the works.
It wasn’t until we had passed through Barton-le-Moors and were heading for the higher ground that I noticed the change in the weather. Whereas in the lower reaches of the dale the day had been a bright, cold, sunny morning, as we climbed the hills the sun vanished behind a wall of low cloud and mist. ‘This isn’t good,’ I commented. ‘If it’s foggy on the tops, Bishop won’t be able to take a clear shot, and if he tries to get closer, that could give the game away. The problem with fog is that it swirls about and, although you might think you’re safely hidden one minute, if it lifts without warning you’ll be totally exposed.’
‘Do you think Tony might try that?’
‘I hope he’s experienced enough to work out the danger and stay at the butts. If that’s the case, it looks as if it will be down to us.’
I drove slowly through Langstrop, which hardly counted as a hamlet, let alone a village. Less than a dozen small dwellings clustered around a small patch of wispy grass, huddled together as if trying to protect themselves from the weather, which I guessed could be extreme during the winter months. I wondered how many, if any, were occupied the whole year round. That thought spurred me to look for signs of life.
I saw none until the far end of the cottages. The last one had an old, grey van parked in front of it, facing our destination. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that van belongs to Locke. It’s facing the mire, and it’s the only vehicle
in sight.’
As we left the village, I saw that the fog was becoming denser. There would definitely be no chance of Bishop being able to see clearly enough to take a shot if this weather didn’t clear. Within a few minutes we had reached the pre-arranged meeting place. It was distinguishable by a sign that conveyed a grim message. ‘“Bleke Mire,”’ I read aloud, ‘“Hazardous marshland. Danger of death. Keep off.” I think that gets the message across.’ The image of a skull and crossbones drawn on a piece of wood nailed to a stake added a suitably macabre finishing touch.
There was a small patch of bare ground almost opposite the sign where it looked as if vehicles had stopped frequently. Birdwatchers, perhaps, or walkers; I doubted that even the most ardent of lovers would have chosen so desolate a location for their trysts. I manoeuvred the Range Rover to face the village.
‘Why are you doing that?’ Robert asked.
‘It’ll be better should we need to make a hurried getaway – plus the fact that if they park in front of us, they won’t be able to see the back of our vehicle.’
I saw Robert fidget uneasily in the passenger seat. Time for a pep talk, I thought. ‘Remember what we discussed earlier. This is no time for half-measures. You must carry the fight to the enemy. We have nothing to lose, so don’t hold back. No way are they going to allow any of us to leave here alive. We cannot fail.’
We waited for over a quarter of an hour with the windows open, listening for the slightest sound, our eyes straining to make out any movement in the swirling fog, but there was nothing until we heard an engine in the far distance, the sound almost indistinguishable but growing slowly more noticeable.
‘That must be Locke. Are you ready to do this?’
‘I am, as ready as I’ll ever be.’
‘OK, let’s get out of the car but make sure you leave your door open.’
He did as instructed, waiting by the front passenger wing. I also climbed out and stood alongside the vehicle, my back resting against the edge of the open driver’s door. ‘I can’t see anything yet,’ I said loudly.
‘Neither can I,’ Robert replied.
A couple of minutes later the van came into sight, being driven very slowly. ‘Well, this is it,’ I remarked, ‘at least they’ve been kind enough to let us prepare ourselves.’
The grey van we’d noticed in the village pulled to a halt a few feet from the front of the Range Rover. The driver was a young man, barely out of his teens, if that. The passenger seat was occupied by a much older man whose face was grey with the pallor of ill health. I had no doubt in my mind that this was Rufus Locke, and that the driver was one of the twins.
The passenger opened his door and got out, moving slowly and with obvious pain. The driver made no attempt to leave the vehicle, but stayed, his arms crossed over the steering wheel, staring fixedly at us. Once outside, the passenger leaned heavily on a walking stick. In his free hand he was holding an old but serviceable-looking revolver. I’d planned for Locke to bring Excoria with him; I hadn’t bargained for the firearm as well. That altered the odds against our survival dramatically. My hopes were now pinned on the preparations we had made. ‘I see Locke has a gun,’ I announced loudly, ‘that’s not good.’
Locke ignored me as completely as if I wasn’t there. He made no attempt to approach us, merely saying, ‘Where are the photos? Have you brought them?’
Robert reached into his pocket and instantly Locke raised the revolver, pointing it directly at him. ‘Move slowly and carefully,’ Locke stated. ‘I won’t hesitate to use this.’ His voice was harsh, but far from strong. The cancer must be close to its terminal stage, I thought.
Robert pulled out the packet of photos and held them up for Locke to see. ‘Where are the girls?’ he demanded. He sounded angry. That was exactly what I wanted.
Locke tapped the side panel of the van with his stick. Through the window, I saw the driver say something, but he still made no effort to leave the vehicle. A couple of seconds later the back door of the van opened wide and three people emerged, walking slowly along the side of the van to stand alongside Locke.
Alison and Tammy’s hands were tied in front of them. Their eyes were wide with fear. The reason for that became obvious when we saw what their companion was carrying. Had the circumstances been different I might have admired the skill of the craftsman who had forged that weapon, but I had seen the terrible wounds it could inflict. Apart from that, my attention was not so much on the blade Excoria, but on the man holding it.
He and the van driver were twins, that much was obvious from their features, but although the faces might have been alike, that was where the similarity ended. Their eyes told a vastly different story. Whereas the van driver looked more scared than angry, the twin carrying the weapon looked to have long since abandoned any form of sanity. Whatever experts argue about the possibility of seeing madness in a person’s face, I had no doubt that I recognised it instantly in his.
I think it was only at that moment, when Robert saw for himself the deep hatred in Locke’s face and the insanity in that of the girls’ captor, that he finally accepted the truth of what we had told him. His response to the challenge that realisation presented was all that I could have hoped for.
‘I see you’ve brought the bastards along for company, Locke. Which of Annie’s brats is which?’
He looked at the twin holding Excoria. ‘Which are you, Joe or Lionel? You don’t look much like your father, if my brother actually was your sire. Come to think of it, you don’t look much like your slut of a mother either.’
I heard a hiss of pure venom from the twin holding the girls prisoner, and feared that Robert might have gone too far.
‘Steady, Lionel,’ Locke ordered. He looked at Robert. ‘Enough of that nonsense. Stand perfectly still.’ He turned slightly and peered at me, and I realised that along with the other symptoms of his ailment, his sight was failing. That didn’t help much given the close proximity of that revolver. ‘You! Go stand alongside your employer. That’s it, shoulder to shoulder.’
He obviously believed me to be one of the estate workers. Whether that was to our advantage or not, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps it might lull him into a false sense of security. ‘Lionel,’ he almost gasped as he gave the instruction, ‘go collect the photos, but watch out for tricks.’
As Lionel stepped forward, Locke placed the revolver against Alison’s temple. With that deterrent, no one was going to try anything rash. Locke was obviously not prepared to take even the slightest chance. Robert handed the photos over. As he did so, I glanced down and saw Excoria clearly for the first time. Despite our desperate situation, I had to bite my lip to avoid laughing out loud; such was the comic irony in what I’d just seen.
Lionel retreated, walking backwards, one step at a time, never taking his eyes off us. On reaching the van he passed the photos to Locke, who turned away from the girls and began to examine the images one by one. At length, a smile of satisfaction crossed his face, before he looked up. ‘These are what I wanted, but your evil brother cheated me of them, just as he cheated Joseph and Lionel out of their inheritance, and cheated them of their mother’s love. It’s important that you know that, Pengelly, and your minion too.’
He shifted his gaze to me. ‘I actually feel sorry for you. It’s a shame you have to die, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and working for the wrong person.’
I smiled sweetly at him. ‘You’re wrong, Locke, so wrong that it’s laughable. You’ve been wrong about everything.’ I spoke confidently, because when Lionel had approached us, the last piece of the puzzle had dropped into place. ‘You’re wrong about me being an employee of Barton Manor estate. You’re wrong if you believe those runes are going to lead you to what you seek, and most important of all, you’re wrong if you think that you’re going to find the Holy Grail and be miraculously cured of cancer. None of that is going to happen. Oh, and one other thing; you’re wrong if you think that Sonny Boy there is going to kill us.’
We stood in silence as Lionel approached; a grin of pure sadistic evil on his face. Beyond him, in the van, I could see that his twin brother had turned away, obviously dreading what was about to happen. His face was averted, but even then that wasn’t sufficient. He covered his eyes with his hands. ‘Time for Mr Glock,’ I said, as loudly as I dared.
Lionel stopped for a second with Excoria raised as he tried to work out the meaning of my strange remark. He must have decided it posed no threat, for he moved forward once more to stand in front of Robert. I saw his arm go back, ready to strike, and I pushed Robert as hard as I could, just as Lionel thrust the blade at him.
My action took Robert clear of that deadly weapon’s path. Unfortunately, it put my left arm directly in it. I felt a sharp, burning sensation run up my forearm as the sword ripped through my coat and shirt sleeves, removing a long strip of skin as it caught me a glancing blow.
Lionel turned towards me and once again I heard that venomous hiss of rage, saw the fury in his eyes as he raised Excoria again. Is this it, I wondered? Then, as he brought his arm forward to deliver the killing lunge, sight and sound seemed to merge. I saw blood spurt in a small gushing fountain as the sound of the Glock reverberated, thrown back by the fog in a thousand decreasing echoes. I thought I’d been stabbed, then realised the blood was from Lionel’s chest, not mine. I glanced back towards the rear of the car. Slightly to one side, my beautiful Eve crouched in classic gunfighter pose, one arm bracing the other, the Glock pistol unwavering in her hand as she turned towards her next target. Our plan to conceal her in the back of the Range Rover had worked. She had undoubtedly saved my life, but it wasn’t over yet.
