The Third Rule (Eddie Collins Book 1) Page 30

  “Correction; what are we going to do with him.”

  “Okay, go on then.”

  “We are going to sit him in the driver’s seat of your fine motorcar – your fine diesel motor car – and then hit him. Just a little though, just enough to get the blood flowing. We’re going to get his DNA over all the controls and the seat belt buckle and then—”

  “Then are we going to… you know?”

  “I don’t know, Henry. What do you think?”

  Henry gazed through the dusty window at the crumpled bulk of a street kid lying on the floor. “If we didn’t, it would be a loose end, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t clap.” Sirius opened the door and grasped a wet foot. “Sir George does not like loose ends – especially loose ends that can cause him trouble.” He was looking directly at Henry, and Henry nervously stepped back. “What is this secret you have over your dad, eh?”

  “As a loose end, I’m not likely to share that information with my dad’s private killing machine, am I?”

  “I’m not a killing machine.” He grunted, “Here, give me a bloody hand instead of standing there like a penis.” He moved aside, granting Henry a little pulling room. “I’m his personal protection, government sponsored. And don’t you forget it.”

  “That means you can do what the hell you like, doesn’t it?”

  They hauled the kid out onto the dusty road like the carcass of a dead animal; his head banged against the doorsill before it smacked the road. He only murmured slightly. “It means I help your father out in times of trouble that could impact on national security. So yes, it means I can do whatever I like.”

  “Like I said, you’re a killing machine, a cleaner.”

  “I do what I’m told to do, and I do it to the end, and I do not care what it involves.”

  “Is there anything you wouldn’t do if the great Sir George asked you?”

  Sirius looked Henry in the eyes and whispered, “No. Remember that.”

  Steam floated off the kid’s jeans. Just another job. But one that could cost Henry everything if it went wrong. He was tempted to hang him out to dry, to let the police have him and bang him up on a Rule Three – shoot the bastard and get rid of him for good. And what stopped him from letting the police have him? Sir George. If Henry went down for murder, it would make things very awkward. He could imagine the public accusations of duplicity if Henry weaselled his way free, and of unsympathetic rigidity if he didn’t.

  No, Henry’s death would happen at a time and place of their convenience, and would not be played out in the public arena.

  Henry smiled that cockeyed smile and then said, “Prove it.”

  “Look around you. I was asked to get you out of the mire, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Hmph?” Sirius dropped the kid’s wet trouser leg and moved around to Henry. Henry took a step back, the smile gone, eyes serious, scared. “Don’t mock me.” He came in close, close enough to smell the aftershave on Henry’s designer stubble. “I’ll fuck you over myself if you give me any lip.”

  Henry’s mouth opened and only dry, stale air came out.

  “I’ll use that toy gun of yours to blow your own head inside out.” He watched Henry’s eyes widen. “I’m not stupid, Henry.”

  “How..?”

  “Never mind.” Sirius lifted the kid’s leg. “Now let’s get a move on, I’ve got better things to do than—”

  Henry folded his arms; the smile was back. “You did that old fella, didn’t you?”

  Sirius pulled on the leg.

  “Sirius, you did it, didn’t you? You used his own gun and turned it on him, you blew his head all over his cottage wall, turned it inside out.”

  Sirius stopped pulling, “Mention a word of it to anyone and I’ll see to it you have the slowest death I can think of.”

  Henry smiled.

  “Is that clear?”

  — Three —

  Mark guided the car along a lane he had never seen before, as Launa let her hands do the walking. “You know we’ll be in a heap of shit if they find us up here? We’re well outside our division.”

  “So?”

  “How much further?”

  “Just keep going, but slowly,” she peered through the dusty windscreen. “There’s a sign up here somewhere, it’s around one of these— Aha! There it is, look. Norburn Site Office.”

  “That says Nob Shite Off!” Mark laughed until tears squeezed out of his eyes. Launa laughed so hard that she thought she broke wind. That in turn led to another sharp burst of laughter so powerful that tears welled in her eyes. Just before she wet herself.

  “It wasn’t that funny.” Mark wiped his eyes, and turned into the narrow overgrown lane.

  Launa looked straight ahead, not daring to think of the consequences her wet underwear could have on their passion.

  “Phwoa,” he said, “country air stinks.”

  Launa said nothing.

  “How the hell did you know about this place?”

  “Knew it when I was a kid. I lived in the next village.” And then she smiled, “Did my share of courting around here.”

  “That’s what I like, a girl with a sense of tradition.”

  Branches screeched down the side of the car, and the roof lights took a pounding, but all they did was look at each other and laugh about it. Eventually the road widened, the tearing branches yielded and allowed them entry.

  * * *

  “Now go down the lane and keep an eye out.”

  “Why?” asked the one called Henry.

  “Because I’m a professional killing machine and I just told you to, that’s why.”

  “But you said yourself how little—”

  “Just do it! I don’t take chances.”

  His head hurt so much that thinking was painful. He had one good eye but he dare not open it; the sunlight was strong and he just knew it would strengthen the headache that throbbed with each hurried beat of his heart. Better keep it closed until he really needed it. And then there was his shoulder; he’d lain awkwardly on it while in the back of the car, and when Sirius, or whatever his name was, braked hard and he had landed on it, he nearly screamed. But fear told him to keep quiet, said playing unconscious was the right way to go.

  The stinging rip in his ear still seeped blood down his neck, and sounded like ringing bells, but it was nothing compared to his nose and his face in general. That was the one that kept his chest inflated as some kind of psychological barrier against screaming out in agony. He sipped air through his split lip, past his loose teeth and thanked God he could even do that.

  At first, he thought they had nicked him for Alice’s murder, but as the journey from the rain-sodden centre of Leeds progressed out here, to wherever here was, where the sun was strong and the day warm, it became obvious they didn’t know about Alice.

  But then it became clear, despite the cuffs still swinging from his right wrist, that these men were nothing to do with the police. They didn’t quite fit into the mould you’d associate with gangsters either. But whatever they were, they were serious.

  It only became apparent what was going on when they pulled him out of the car, and through bouts of semi-consciousness he realised they intended using him for government business. And there was something to do with a diesel car, though most of that conversation slipped by him. Yes, they were serious and no, Christian wouldn’t see the sunlight tomorrow, if they had their way.

  It seemed they were already accomplished murderers who wouldn’t lose sleep by killing him after they’d used him.

  “But don’t you need help getting him in the Jag?”

  There was a pause, and Christian heard the one called Sirius sigh loudly. “I’ll manage, now piss off and do what I say.”

  There were footsteps retreating, the sound of angry, stomping footsteps that kicked at the dust.

  “Wanker,” Sirius said.

  Christian dared open his eye a little. Si
rius stood with his back to him, peering in through the window of some dark car a few yards away. Steam floated from his back as though demons were crawling over him. It was satisfying to see blood encrusted across the back of his right hand.

  He sneaked a quick systems check, moving first his head, and then wished he hadn’t. The pain was almost intolerable, and his neck ached as though whacked by a baseball bat. But he persisted in silence, flexing his arms, regardless of the pain tearing its way down his left side, and then his legs.

  Sirius opened the driver’s door and Christian took the opportunity to complete a check on his arsenal. It was still there, tucked away neatly in his jeans pocket, the little shard of razor sharp plastic he had used to start the old Ford, and had used to disable his attacker’s right hand.

  And then Sirius was back, mumbling something about cleaning up after a prick called Henry. He reached down and grabbed a foot and then Christian scraped along the gravelly ground, arms trailing behind the rest of his limp body. His shirt rode up his back, and the grit tore into his bare skin and through his hair where they gnawed eagerly at his scalp. His half-open eye saw Sirius grinning down at him as he pulled his burden.

  And then the tiniest flicker of hope crept into Christian’s mind. They’re going to sit me inside a car, aren’t they? They’re going to make me touch everything, bleed on everything; what if that car has keys in the ignition? What if it’ll start, what if I can drive—

  Sirius dropped Christian’s foot. “What?”

  Henry shouted something from down the road, sounded like ‘Nepalese are humming’.

  “Fuck! Fuck!” Sirius growled, and then he shouted back, waved his arms, “Get off the road. Get up the embankment!”

  Christian had his leg snatched again and now he was being pulled around roughly, dragged quickly back to the car they had just removed him from. Sirius grunted and cursed, hissing, probably at the pain in his hand. And then his feet were in the shade of the car again and Sirius let go. Christian snapped his eye open and wondered if now was the right time to run, while they were panicking over something. But Sirius grabbed his foot again – from inside the car this time – and heaved him back up inside and slammed the doors.

  And that was the end of that escape plan. He vowed the next time, if there was a next time, he wouldn’t grant himself the luxury of thinking about it, he would just do it spontaneously. And then it hit him. Nepalese are humming. No, Henry had shouted the police are coming! He was in the company of others who were running from the law.

  The car dipped and the driver’s door slammed. Sirius seemed careful not to spin the wheels as he set off; careful, even with the police approaching, not to leave a clue that they were there.

  Clever, Christian thought.

  * * *

  “Anywhere here,” she said, already undoing her seat belt and turning the radio off.

  They travelled slowly another fifty or sixty yards up the lane to where it bent around to the right. Falling stones caught Mark’s eye. They tumbled down the steep banking to his right, and he watched them roll, wondering what caused them to fall in the first place. “Bet there are foxes and all sorts of wildlife round here.”

  “You wouldn’t know wildlife if it dropped its knickers for you.”

  “Hey, what’s that up there?” He pointed through the screen, and Launa’s eyes followed to what appeared to be a small hut. “Maybe we should go take a look.”

  “Do we have to? It’s the old site office that’s all, nothing special. Nothing that we need interrupt our—”

  “Just a quick peek to satisfy my curiosity.”

  “What about satisfying me?”

  “Won’t take long.”

  “You men are all the same,” she yelled, “always playing cops and pissing robbers.”

  “Might as well go all the way, Launa.”

  She folded her arms, “Chance’d be a fine thing!”

  * * *

  Henry walked dejectedly from the Jag, kicking dust up with his feet, and he clearly heard Sirius call him a wanker, but couldn’t be bothered to reply. Why go down and play lookout? Nothing ever came up here any damned way, ever. It was a waste when he could be helping get the kid in the car. Sooner they did it, sooner he could put all this shit behind him.

  Being lookout was hardly SAS action was it? He wanted the excitement of punching the kid in the face – and then he thought better of it, maybe getting blood all over his clothes wasn’t a top idea. Let Sirius do it.

  Up ahead, the lane bent around to the left; the steep banks on both sides had sprouted clumps of ugly grass and weed, some up to a metre tall, bushes too, and the remnants of old wooden fencing that had been bleached white over the years, but had become rotten, and collapsed intermittently.

  And how was I supposed to know that diesel doesn’t burn? They never tell you that when you’re in the showroom buying the damned thing, do they. ‘Oh yes, it’s a fine model, but if you ever intend setting it on fire, then may I recommend the petrol version…’

  He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Sirius peering into the Jag, opened the driver’s door, the kid laid out on the road as though he was dead. Henry chose his spot, sat on the incline and took out his gun – the gun Sirius somehow knew he had.

  And he had to admit he was surprised that dear old Daddy had stuck to his part of the bargain; they say politicians are the scourge of truth and dignity, but maybe there was some kind of honour among thieves with them.

  He resumed thinking through his plans of protecting himself should Daddy turn nasty in the near future; how he could store the secret so it would pop out at the last moment and make the old man think twice before killing him, when he stopped and cocked his head. Was that a car engine he could hear? He stood, strode further down the lane and listened again, shielding his eyes from the sun as he peered towards the entrance, maybe two hundred yards away.

  It was! It was a car, and it was coming up here! And then he caught a glimpse of the slow moving vehicle, saw quite clearly its livery: white with a large yellow stripe up the side and a bank of blue lights across the roof.

  Henry was concreted to the ground. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know whether to run towards them and stop their advance, or run away and get to Sirius before they rounded the corner. Shit, shit! He turned, thrust the gun back inside his jacket, ran like hell back around the bend and up the hill, began shouting, waving his arms. “The police are coming!”

  Sirius looked up from the Jaguar. “What?”

  “The police are coming!”

  “Get off the road. Get up the embankment!”

  “Shit, shit, wank!” Henry looked around at the embankments, how steep they were, how lose their top coverings appeared. He heard the engine behind him, saw Sirius struggling with the youth, and darted to his right, making no particular appraisal, just getting the hell off the road. He scrambled up the bank, pulling at weeds, digging his feet in, yanking breath in by the boatload. Eventually he made it to the summit, through the broken fence, threw himself down flat on his belly, SAS style, and peered back down into the valley of death, panting furiously.

  The little bare old lane stared up at him, and then a police car, doing four or five miles an hour, crawled past him, window down, eyes inside peering at the earth that tumbled down the bank from Henry’s hurried climb. It didn’t stop though, just carried on crawling up the lane.

  Tuesday 23rd June

  Chapter Thirty One

  — One —

  Henry saw Sirius drive the rental car, something they undoubtedly would have to destroy if they ever got out of this mess because of the kid’s blood in the back, away from him, past the hut and out of sight. And he drove slowly too, probably to keep the dust down; something Henry’s own escape hadn’t succeeded in doing. The stones and the dust cloud still rolled and still plumed.

  Sweat ran into Henry’s eyes and then he noticed how badly his hands shook and how dry his mouth was.

  On his belly, he sli
thered away from the edge, part way down the far side of the embankment and away from the lane. When he could no longer see the embankment opposite, he stood and trotted at a slight crouch, just as the SAS did, up the man-made valley of a slag heap towards his Jaguar.

  When he got there, he settled on his haunches and took a minute to slow his breathing, to catch his thoughts, and that was about the time that the enormity of his bad luck struck him. “All the time this lane has been abandoned,” he said, “all the time no one ever came up here, even back in the old days, and now this! Fucking plod!” It seemed a bit too coincidental though. Had they been set up, had someone grassed on them to the police?

  He leaned back into the banking, hand on his thumping chest. An hour, that’s all it would have taken for them to plant the kid’s evidence and get the hell out of here. Why now?

  So was this a genuine coincidence? Two coppers out for a ride stumble across this little known lane and decide to do a little nature watching?

  Henry crawled carefully to the crest of the bank, peered between two head-sized rocks and gazed down into the lane. And what he saw made him gasp.

  — Two —

  Sirius drove smoothly past the hut and didn’t stop looking in the rear view mirror until the hut and the old lane next to it had vanished around a corner and over the brow of a hill. He visibly relaxed and then pressed the accelerator a little harder.

  Three bad things had happened. One: they hadn’t planted the evidence yet. Two: Henry was out there alone; and three: the police were here.

  Problem three nullified problem one; the police were here, forget planting the evidence, at least for now; but problem two remained outstanding, aching like his knuckles. He had to get to Henry before Henry did something stupid and got them all caught.

  Through the dusty screen, he could see the massive opencast coal mine, probably many hundreds of feet deep and with an incline steeper than Everest’s North Face. Nothing that went down there would come back up again, that was for sure. Over the far side of the hole, he could see a road of some kind, a ledge maybe, a pale grey ribbon that corkscrewed its way from top to bottom – but it was half a mile away, maybe a mile; it was difficult judging large distances.