by Ellis Major
The sleepyheads, with the exception of Lady Boston, refreshed by baths and a nice long nap, dawdled in one by one to enjoy Charlie’s efforts. The party was only then interrupted by the clatter of an arriving helicopter.
“Excellent,” cried the Duke as Charlie broke off What a Swell Party This Is. “They’re a little earlier than expected.”
Those present all wandered over to the windows to watch as the ten passengers, together with copious quantities of luggage, were disembarked. The new arrivals stood back to watch as some slings beneath the Christians’ empty vehicle were attached to the underside of the helicopter. Once hooked up, the helicopter shot into the air and clattered off, low over the mountain, into the setting sun.
“Next drop, somewhere in the Atlantic, next stop Aberdeen,” the Duke announced as he left the room to greet his new guests. “Gone from the face of the earth, ladies and gentlemen.”
Cora approached Charlie with a request. “These are Texan oilmen,” she informed him. “As Americans so often do, they will probably arrive here in the sitting room en masse, like cavalry, so it would be lovely if you could greet them with a flourish.”
And so it was that Charlie struck up a spirited version of the Star Spangled Banner as the oilmen entered the room en bloc, exactly as Cora had predicted. After this was greeted with wild applause he went on with a gentler Cole Porter medley. The jolly tone for the evening was set.
Many of the oilmen were large-framed, as Texan oilmen tend to be, but one, rather quieter and shyer than the others, towered above them all. He sat peacefully near the piano, enjoying the music and tapping his foot gently. Lance just happened to be standing next to this giant, their heads not so far off being level, when Lady Boston entered the room.
Lady Boston was not one for dressing up, preferring waxed jackets, wellies and scarves as a rule, but when she did glam up, she could do it with style. She wore a high necked burgundy evening dress, a magnificent diamond pendant, and earrings. Her hair was up, stylishly arranged and her careful makeup accentuated the handsomeness of her strong features.
“Ah, the Lady Boston,” Lance breathed, as if to himself. “Now we’re all here.”
The oilman glanced thoughtfully up at the Captain. “Say, that’s a whole bunch of woman! I guess she could wrangle a steer or three without breaking a sweat.”
“Putty in her hands,” Lance told him, recalling only too well what her mother had been urging on Angie. “Lady Boston is quite a woman I’ve heard. And, like you, she’s unaccompanied on this little trip….”
“Is that so…”
It is sometimes said that the Americans and the British are a single people divided by a common language. It is fortunate, then, that Lance and the giant exchanged only a glance. It was meaningful and nothing was lost in translation.
Lady Boston had approached Charlie, via a series of introductions, but her exact reason for doing so was never ascertained.
She caught sight of Cora with the Persian on her lap.
“A cat,” she growled, gazing at the innocent creature with undisguised dislike.
“You know your animals Angie,” Charlie called. “Anyone can tell you’re a country girl. Isn’t she sweet? Roberta Bruce. How about that?”
Lady Boston tossed her head. “It’s not a dog,” she grunted. “A cat is good for nothing, except stringing a violin.”
Lance caught the words ‘I love a woman of spirit’ in his ear as Charlie squeaked ‘Angie!’ in outrage.
“Oh tosh,” Cora replied, completely unoffended. “Charlie must know a pussy joke but I couldn’t possibly crack one. The Duke would never forgive me.”
“Charlie does,” Charlie announced. “But Charlie doesn’t want to be put over Angie’s knee in front of everyone and spanked.”
Angie threw back her head, gave a great bellow of laughter and, as Charlie put it some time later, the rest of the evening was ‘something of a blur’.
Chapter 4 – Lance? (Year 1 – July)
Jolly though the evening was, it was in pensive mood that Lance found Charlie when he went to check he was alive the next day.
“Lance, I’m not exactly overburdened with imagination,” Charlie informed him, as Lance admired the view from the window.
“Bollocks, Charlie,” Lance told him amiably. “Don’t put yourself down.” He’d been able to have a chat with the Duke and catch up. The Duke had done some time with the Territorials so he could understand the whole military experience. He also had some amazing Scotch.
“Well maybe,” Charlie conceded. But last night I’m wondering whether I might not have experienced a recurring dream. What do you say to that?”
“I say, Charlie, that I have them all the time.” Lance sat down in a five hundred year old chair. “But you were giving the Port and Stilton a hammering. That might explain it.”
Charlie nodded “You’re probably right. Angie isn’t the sort to be whooping ‘Ride ‘em Cowboy’ in the small hours.”
Lance pursed his lips. “Sounds out of character but you know her better than me.”
“She seemed to get on like a house on fire with that tall Yank she was next to at dinner, and my addled brain must have put two and two together and come up with five.”
“Asking for trouble if you’re not used to Port, Charlie. A couple of mugs of the stuff and it’s best to slip your head into neutral for the rest of the night.”
“Well that must be it, Lance. Still, for all that overindulgence I feel as fit as a fiddle.”
“You must have slept well, you lucky sod.”
Charlie glanced at his watch. “I think I did although I’m not sure what time I went to bed.”
“You me and the rest of the household I reckon. Still it was good to see His Grace again. I’ve got an open invitation. He’s got his own distillery somewhere. I’d forgotten. He’s promised me a case, so remind me. And I’m not going to use it as anaesthetic, Charlie, before you say anything.”
“Right you are. You knew him at college, you said.”
“Yeah, only for a year. He was in his final year. I was a fresher. We played a bit of rugby together. He played second row and I was a wing forward, so we used to chat at the scrums, as you do. He’s another good bloke, for all his titles and the aristocratic lineage.”
“Yes. I liked him too and his wife is wonderful.”
“I thought we were going to have a ‘scene’ for a minute when Lady B started mouthing off about cats.”
Charlie smiled. “I think Cora had Angie sussed from the moment they met. Angie says what she thinks and if people mind, then that’s too bad. Cora’s pretty smart. Why have a row when you can laugh it off.”
Lance smiled faintly to himself. “Yeah, interesting thought. If only Saddam Hussein had seen things that way.”
Charlie pulled the bedclothes aside. “Did you get a four poster too?”
Lance nodded. “I don’t think anything in this place was made later than about 1850.”
“Unless you go to the kitchen?”
Lance laughed. “I wouldn’t mind betting they have a cast iron range and no fridge.”
“God help us, we’ll all be dead of food poisoning. When’s kick off? 14.30 hours, as the Duke put it in that military parlance of his?”
“Yeah. Are you really going to wear that thing on the chair over there?”
“Of course I am. The great outdoors beckons and all that.”
“Well you won’t be cold,” Lance concluded. “And we sure as hell won’t lose you in the heather.”
Charlie’s appearance at two twenty five might have been an irritation in other circumstances but such was the goodwill generated by his efforts of the previous day that nobody gave it a thought. He hadn’t held things up and his rather garish fluorescent suit even provoked the odd admiring comment, rather than the usual hilarity.
Ten Quad bikes were drawn up on the grassy area below the Ha Ha. A series of open-backed Land Rovers, rather of the style used in African safaris, were l
ined up in front of the stupendous castle.
Just after Charlie appeared, the Christians were brought out under escort. All gags had been removed and it was only their hands that remained bound.
The small group stared sullenly around as the Duke sauntered forward to make his address. “Now listen you fellers. We’re giving you a sportin’ chance.” He raised his arm and pointed. “Down there, about five or six miles away is a road. If you reach the road, the chase ends and you are free to go wherever you choose to go unhindered. Take any other route and the beaters will deal with you. You are allowed a fifteen minute start before the hunters are unleashed.”
“You’re fucking murderers.” One of the fatter brethren seemed concerned at his prospects.
“No,” the Duke advised him solemnly. “We’re sportsmen. You do have a genuine chance. If we were murderers you would already be dead. I prefer to use the term executioners even so. Now I would save your breath - you’ll need it” He took a stopwatch out of his pocket and motioned for their hands to be untied.
“When you hear a shot you’ll know the hunters are loose. Your time starts NOW!”
They glanced at each other, hesitated for a moment, and took to their heels.
The assembled oilmen approached a Quad bike each and fired up the engines in readiness. The revving added impetus to the speed at which the hunted were fleeing.
“Now chaps,” the Duke cautioned his guests, using his best parade ground voice. “You’re not to move until you hear my shot or you’ll be disqualified without a refund and we may have to take drastic if you continue. We have to be scrupulously fair and rules are rules. We’ll watch proceedings from the promontory up there along the valley, nearer to the finish. Good Hunting, gentlemen!”
He motioned the remainder of his guests into the Land Rovers. Lance, and a couple of gamekeepers, climbed into the last vehicle. Lance was deep in conversation with one of them. Charlie guessed, from his bearing, that he might be another military man.
One after the other, the Land Rovers bumped their way along a rough track for a few miles until they reached the point the Duke had indicated. The whole valley lay before them, with the castle away to their left, and the small road the Duke had referred to as the finishing line now clearly visible in the distance away to their right.
The Duke checked his stopwatch and, after a couple more minutes had passed, raised his shotgun and fired both barrels.
A distant roar drifted across the valley as the pursuers set off.
“Isn’t this fun,” Cora trilled, clinging onto Charlie’s arm.
“Unique,” Charlie concurred, lifting the binoculars to his eyes. He’d certainly never attended a manhunt before. He was beginning to have his doubts. This was real now. These men were going to die. It wasn’t so much of a game anymore. The reality was grim and there was nothing he could do about it. Roddy wasn’t much better than these dealers, was he. It was one thing to talk about disposing of these people when you were sitting in the middle of Mayfair. Taking them prisoner had even been fun to some extent. It was quite another thing to watch them being slaughtered. Charlie nerved himself. You had to help your friends but, right then, he’d much rather Roddy had never been his friend.
“It must be at least three months since we had the last,” Cora continued. “And we’ve never had as many as five before.” She paused and pointed. “Now that is disappointing!”
Charlie turned his binoculars to follow the direction of her finger.
“Good God, Cora, you have amazing eyesight,” he congratulated her, politely.
“My Highland bloodline is to thank.” Then Cora sighed. “Now, get up you lazy bugger!” she called, not that there was any hope of the prone and exhausted figure hearing her. The tardiest of the five, the formerly vocal and rather flabby figure had made it about two miles before collapsing. He was quickly spotted by the pursuers, two of whom peeled off. As he heard the bikes approaching he made a final attempt to rise, but was cut down by a couple of simultaneous rifle shots. The bikers started their high fives, and made no attempt to remount their bikes.
“What’s going?” Charlie asked Cora. “They’ve given up?”
“Those are the rules, Charlie,” Cora explained. “No more than two hunters to one hunted and, once you’ve made your kill, you have to stop.”
Charlie nodded slowly. “So the two older gents went after the slowest Christian.”
“Yes, we usually advise that. The ground gets a bit bumpier further down and you never know quite how old these Americans are with their facelifts and other surgery. We wouldn’t want them disintegrating on us over the hillocks.”
The four survivors had divided into two groups, two pushing on fast, well ahead of the remainder. The latter pair were struggling, but well ahead of the first corpse by now. The audience watched intently as the gap between pursuers and pursued narrowed.
During this lull, Cora admired Charlie’s survival suit. “It feels, Charlie, from all this padding, as if it must be very warm.”
“I’m as warm as a piece of toast,” Charlie confirmed, glad in a way of the distraction. “It’s just the job for these chilly hills of yours.”
Cora pondered. “You must let me know where you got it. Do they come in other colours I wonder? I don’t think Day-Glo orange is really me.”
“Not sure about the colours Cora. I’ve got the invoice at home somewhere. I’ll e-mail you the details and you can check for yourself.”
“What a sweetie! Make sure you don’t forget.”
A low murmur from their companions indicated that more drama was imminent so Charlie and Cora turned their attention back to the chase. Four bikes continued after the leading pair whilst the other four were circling around the laggards. These two had split up and were clearly not going down easily. Both had slowed and were stooping to gather something. It soon became apparent what it was they were picking up. The first was only able to hurl a couple of stones before the bikes came at him from two sides and he was finished off with a single shot. The other man, though, had found something of a depression to shelter in and seemed well supplied with rocks and stones. His pursuers were also pretty inept. They approached him side by side before jumping off their bikes. A well-aimed rock caught one of them and he staggered back, clearly dazed. The second pursuer loosed off several shots to no apparent effect as the rocks kept flying and he was forced to take shelter behind his bike.
A brief stand-off then ensued as the rocks continued to fly and the hunters cowered. Then a shouted ‘Go’ wafted up from the valley and the hunters charged, shooting from the hip. One took a rock between the eyes, but the blast of automatic fire from the other almost cut his prey in two.
There was a smattering of applause. Charlie joined in without any great enthusiasm. He just wanted it all to be over with. It had to be done he knew that, but even so…
“I do like it when they put up a bit of a fight,” Cora told him. Her eyes were bright and she was quite pink in the face. “So much more fun than boxing too.”
“I did tell them it was single shots only,” The Duke announced stiffly. “Bit off to set it to automatic. Very poor show. He won’t be invited back.”
All eyes now turned to the two surviving drug dealers. Again, they’d split up, with one well ahead of the other and still running strongly. Charlie trained his binoculars on him.
“I do believe that’s St. George,” he muttered. He knew it was stupid but he was half starting to hope that they guy might make it. He glanced around and noticed the frown on the Duke’s face. “They don’t do ever get away do they?” he wondered.
“Long way to go yet.” The Duke’s tone was reassuring, but he was now casting rapid glances between the two pursuers, the leading fugitive, and the road.
“Er, what happens if he does get over the road?” Charlie asked. “I know you said…”
“Given my word,” the Duke confirmed stiffly. “Long way to safety, though. It’s cold at night whatever the time of year
. He might die of exposure.”
“Well at least number four looks like a gonner,” Geoff cried.
The fourth fugitive had decided to run the risk of sprinting sideways, having spotted what looked like a stream. He’d obviously concluded that the quad bikes might not be able to cross it. Had he made it, he might have been proved correct, but fast though he sprinted across the ground, the bikes were quicker, closing up to race side by side and flatten him. The riders braked and turned sharply back. Both dismounted and stood over the body. One raised his rifle and brought the butt sharply down twice in quick succession.
“I’ve never seen it done like that before,” Cora told Charlie. “Very red-blooded. Oh look, he’s having his picture taken. How sweet! His foot on his back like that with his rifle in the air. That’ll be something to show his grandchildren one day. Is that some brains and hair on the butt?”
Charlie’s attention had, however, already turned to the sole survivor. He really didn’t want to dwell on the thought of even a drug dealer having his head smashed in with a rifle butt. “He must be a marathon runner,” Charlie muttered. “Those other two are cutting it fine.” There was a collective groan, as the leading bike took a small bump in its stride and then immediately ground to a halt. The rider jumped up onto the seat and started to shoot steadily after the receding figure ahead. He then had to stop as the huge member of the party hurtled past him.
“COME ON HANK!” Lady Boston called at a volume so colossal that the mountains rang. He actually heard her and briefly raised his hand in acknowledgement.
“Gosh, he’s shifting,” Geoff cried and a spontaneous burst of shouted encouragement started to break out from the onlookers.
“Go my son! Remember the Alamo!” Roddy, understandably, was the keenest to see his nightmare ended.
For a few seconds, it was gripping. The runner sprinted, the bike screamed in pursuit, gaining rapidly, then disaster! The bike left the ground surmounting a small ridge. Into the air it flew. Hank controlled it perfectly, rising in his seat, pulling the handlebars back slightly. His landing was immaculate - only the bike was unable cope with the demands put upon it. The two front wheels bowed comically before coming off making the bike somersault forward - and hurling Hank to the ground with considerable force. Fortunately the bike missed him and he appeared not to have been killed, from the feeble movements he was making. He showed, however, no sign of getting up and taking any pot shots at George.
