Martin had seized the moment and had swung his car in front
of the two parked cars before they even realised they had company. The approach
down the lane without lights had been bordering on treacherous, given the
conditions, but the tracker, linked to his mobile GPS unit, indicated that the
hire car had been parked up. The look on Michael’s face when Martin leapt out
of his seat, pistol aimed directly at him, was one that would remain in his
memory for a long time. Surprise, anger and resignation all in a split second,
not bad for one look, he thought.
Simon had followed Martin but had been vaguely aware of
some activity near the cliff edge. Parking up near the road end of the parking
area he and Gerald jumped out of the car, both wincing as the biting cold hit
them. Simon pointed to the barrier, grabbing Gerald by the sleeve.
‘There’s someone over there,’ he shouted, pulling Gerald
closer to ensure he heard him, ‘come on.’ The two men edged forward, leaning
into the oscillating wind and snow flurries, shielding their eyes with an arm
each. Simon pulled them up short once he had made out the struggle taking place
on the cliff edge.
‘I think that’s Howells,’ he said as loud as he dared, ‘he
must have heard us. Bloody helicopter probably gave us away,’ he rationalised.
‘The other guy, d’you reckon that’s Staples?’ he asked. Gerald was in no doubt,
despite the swirling snow battering his head he recognised the hair colour and
body build he had been studying all day. This was their man, absolutely.
‘That’s him,’ he called back. Simon edged a little closer,
unsure about how this game was being played.
‘Jack. Jack Howells,’ he called, cupping his hands to his
mouth, hoping the words wouldn’t be whipped way behind him, mingled with the
sound of the Puma settling on the car park. Howells turned and raised Staples
arm into the air, clearly controlling him. Staples tried to pull free, but
Howells held on tight.
‘Bloody hell, he’s playing hardball,’ said Simon, ‘how
close to the edge do you reckon they are? Gerald eased himself carefully
forward a pace, reaching on tip-toes.
‘It’s not far, that’s for certain.’ Simon decided to
negotiate, there wasn’t time to waste.
‘What do you want, Jack?’ he shouted. Jack wriggled with
the still struggling Staples, shouted something back, but the words never
reached Simon, the wind carrying them across the shoreline. Simon turned to
Gerald.
‘Go back to the car, get the briefcase with the cash, bring
it here, then get his wife if she’s with the others. He won’t want to leave
without her if he can help it. Find out if they’re waiting for a boat below,’
he said. Gerald nodded his understanding and turned for the car. Simon edged a
little closer.
‘Jack, I can offer you cash, you can have a free passage
out, you can use the helicopter to take you to the continent if you want,’ he
promised. Simon didn’t actually know if he was authorised to use the Puma for
that kind of activity, but he’d sort it out if it came to the crunch. He could
see Howells was shouting some kind of instructions, but he couldn’t hear them;
he wasn’t at all sure Howells had heard him either. Reluctant to move too fast,
Simon waited for Gerald to return with the case.
*
Karen stared at the loathsome man she had outwitted that
morning in Manchester, despising the gloating look on his face, fearing the
pistol he was waving at her. Michael spun around, his hands resting on the top
of the dashboard.
‘Keep your hands where he can see them, I don’t think he
would shoot but he looks edgier than usual. We’ll have to get out, there’s
nothing we can do now, it’s over,’ he said, resignation in his voice. Karen
slowly raised her hands and then lowered her jaw as she saw the black and green
military helicopter appear from the direction she had last seen Jack walking
towards, watched it spin one eighty, lower its undercarriage from the protruding
side pods and land. The little shit outside had placed his left hand on the
bonnet to steady himself as the force of the down-draught buffeted him and
served to further obscure the events beyond it.
‘Just how important is this project of yours?’ asked an
incredulous Alan, mirroring Michael’s lead with the hands. ‘I think there’s
something you haven’t told us, this just isn’t right,’ he said, feeling the car
shake under the combined buffeting of the natural elements and the Puma.
Michael just shook his head.
‘This is way over the top, even for him. Truth is, I don’t
know what strings he’s pulled, what lies he’s told, but you’ve got to believe
me, I’ll do my best to sort this out.’
Out of the white haze a middle aged man in a business suit,
thinning hair waving madly over his head, approached from around the side of
the helicopter. He approached Martin, lay his hand on the arm holding the
pistol, gently forcing it down to a safe position while speaking closely to
Martin’s ear, then walked around the car. Opening the rear door, he leaned in.
‘Mrs. Howells. My names Gerald, would you come with me
please?’
*
Jack was confused. His left hand was aching through
gripping the icy metal, John was struggling to be free of his grip. The edge
was much closer than he had realised and he felt totally unconfident about
letting go of the barrier. He tried to shout to John, but he was out of it
again, in a world of his own.
Then that man had appeared, from the direction of the cars,
where it sounded like the helicopter had landed. He had shouted Jack’s name, he
knew who Jack was. He had shouted something to Jack that sounded like he wanted
to know if there was anything he could do. ‘Like help, that would be a good
start’, thought Jack. But he had stood back, not venturing any further,
shouting some stuff, but the words never made it. Another man had arrived with
him, disappeared into the blizzard, returned with a case, probably a first aid
kit, thought Jack and then he had left again.
Jack thought he heard the man ask if Jack wanted to use the
helicopter, but he wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem to be making a lot of sense. He
was starting to shake, the cold was running right through him and John was
beginning to struggle harder. Then John slipped, sliding off the edge. Jack
dropped to his knees, crunching onto the jagged, rough outcrop, clinging onto
the barrier as hard as he could, aware that the change in position had weakened
his grip. John was shouting, his hand forming a grip around Jack's wrist, his
body banging against the coarse rock face. Jack strained against the weight
pulling down on him, pulled himself up onto one leg outstretched, bracing his
body. He heard his name called again, why won't they come and help? Pulling
harder with his left hand he focussed on the man with the bag again, only to
see two extra people, mere shapes. John was scrabbling now, which was
alleviating some of the strain on Jack, but simultaneously causing his weight
to shift, making maintaining a grip that much harder. Peering through the snow,
cold and pain, Jack started to put a form to one of the three.
Karen.
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Copyright Ray Sullivan 2011
The characters, places and events described in this novel are fictitious and any resemblance to persons, places or events, past or present, is coincidence. All rights reserved
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