Stalkers

Dum — dum — dum — Deke’s approaching feet grew louder.

Flattening their bodies, Heck and Lauren managed to slide inside. As they tried to shut the door behind them, they saw Deke stop in the middle of the bridge and take aim. There was a gunflash and an ear-popping CHUNG! The door crashed wide open, a massive indentation in its central panel. Heck threw his shoulder behind it to try and close it again. Lauren saw Deke resume running. The bridge vibrated alarmingly, but he came on at pace. Even from this distance, she could see the red tinge of his angry face.

With a crunch, they got the door closed. There were two bolts, again caked with rust. With colossal efforts, they rammed both home. Then they backed away, panting.

A second slug struck the other side of the door; another huge dent appeared.

‘So much for us thinking this guy might be prepared to trade,’ Lauren said.

Heck shook his head. ‘That was before we knew he had someone on the inside. Whoever his police contact is, they’ll bury that ledger the moment it gets filed as evidence.’

They glanced around. The room was dim, lit only by a single porthole with dirty glass in it. The light eddying through showed nothing but dust, decay and scattered seagull feathers.

‘Where do we go now?’ she asked.

‘There’ll be another bridge on the other side, probably leading to the north tower.’

‘Yeah, and there’ll be one leading from that to the east tower, and one leading from that back to the south tower. . Jesus Christ, Heck, he’s just going to chase us round in a circle ’til he gets us.’

There was a thundering crash against the bulkhead door — it sounded like the impact of a rifle butt. They retreated across the room towards another door, hesitant to go into blind flight — this place was old, rickety, likely to be full of danger. But when two further blows bashed through a corner of the damaged panel, and a gloved fist appeared holding a hand-grenade, they turned and ran for their lives.

There was a cacophonous explosion in the room behind them, made all the louder by the drum-like confines of the superstructure.

They staggered down a long, straight passage, which was lit at its far end by another bulkhead door standing ajar. Various rooms led off from this, looking as if they’d once been offices, though there was a particularly large one on the left into which light streamed from two different sources: an open trapdoor in the middle of its floor, which presumably dropped clear down to the river, and a similar hatch in the roof, accessible by a single wooden ladder. The steel frames of bunk-beds were also visible in there, alongside a row of green lockers. This had once been living quarters, but now the pervading smells were of oil, damp and mildewed metal.

‘Go onto the next bridge,’ Lauren said with sudden decisiveness.

‘What?’

She began to rip her clothes off. ‘We can’t keep running, Heck.’

From somewhere behind, there was another deafening boom. It sounded like the bulkhead door finally being blown from its hinges.

Lauren nodded that Heck should do as she said. By the determined look on her face, the frightened girl had gone and the squaddie had returned.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ he said.

‘Just don’t go too far — keep me in earshot.’

He nodded, lurched back into the passage and kicked his way out through the next bulkhead door onto the viewing catwalk. The wind tugged at him; once again the drop to the river was precipitous. Ten yards to his right, the next bridge led off towards the north tower. He backed towards it, his eyes fixed on the doorway he’d just vacated.

Lauren meanwhile had stripped down to her vest and knickers. This was a desperate ploy, but she was counting on Deke’s professionalism. He was unlikely to dash madly in order to catch up with them. He’d figure that his prey were tired and cold and couldn’t keep running indefinitely — so he’d follow warily, expecting an ambush.

She clumped her sodden clothes into a ball, squeezed them until they were dribbling river water, then crossed the room, making sure to leave a trail behind her. When she reached the bottom of the ladder, a patch of sky was visible above the ceiling hatch. That would be the roof, the old gun platform. There’d be nowhere else to go once you were up there — which was why she intended to stay down here. She squeezed her bundle again, and tossed it up through the hatch, ensuring that drips and splashes appeared on the rungs of the ladder. She herself backtracked across the room, climbed into a locker and closed its door to a crack. It was hellishly claustrophobic; tight as a coffin. A loathsome, multi-legged horror landed on her shoulder and scuttled down onto her breasts. She brushed it off with a barely suppressed shriek.

The door to the bunk room opened.

She froze.

Through the slender gap, she saw a tall figure slide in and brace itself against the wall next to the door. It was Deke; he was clad in heavy, dark combat gear, and rigged with a black bandoleer to which a large knife, another grenade and numerous rounds of ammunition were attached. A Glock was visible at his hip, and he held the Dragunov across his chest, one finger hooked on its trigger.

He scanned the room carefully, presumably giving his eyes time to adjust to the gloom. Then he glanced downward. She’d been right — he was following the water trail. He advanced slowly, cautiously, weaving his way towards the ladder.

Lauren held her breath. Deke had clearly realised that Heck’s flight to the next bridge, which would have left its own trail of droplets, had been a feint; the question was would he fall for this double bluff? When he reached the bottom of the ladder, he paused to listen. Then, with the Dragunov barrel pointed upward, he began to climb — very, very slowly, his eyes trained unwaveringly on the hatch above.

He was halfway up when Lauren attacked.

She broke cover like a whirlwind, hurling herself across the room and leaping onto him from behind. She was already shouting for Heck as they hit the deck together.

Heck was hovering on the viewing catwalk, wondering if he’d have the courage to drop ninety feet into the river should Deke suddenly appear, when he heard her shouts. He dashed in through the bulkhead door, raced down the corridor and into the bunk room.

Deke had got to his feet, but Lauren was clamped to his back like a crab, legs wrapped around his hips, arms around his neck. He held the Dragunov in his left hand, while slamming his right elbow back repeatedly. She cringed with each blow, but hung bravely on. Only when he drove his head backward, mashing it into her nose and mouth, did she weaken and slip off. Heck was now halfway across the room — Deke swung his rifle like a bat, but Heck ducked it and kicked him hard between the legs. Deke half doubled. Heck kicked again, this time knocking the rifle from his grasp — it clattered across the floor. Clasping both fists together, Heck brought them down hard on the back of the hit-man’s neck. But Deke rode the blow and barrelled forward, catching Heck in the midriff, shoving him backward — only to be rugby tackled from behind by Lauren. He fell full-length, and she clambered onto his back. He drove his right forearm back, smashing it against the side of her jaw, sending her sprawling. But as he got back to his feet, Heck swung his right foot, kicking him in the face. Again, incredibly, Deke rode the blow and this time went for his pistol. Heck grabbed his arm, only to be smacked in the jaw with a rocketing left hook.

As Heck wheeled away and dropped, Deke straightened up, spat crimson phlegm, then released the catch on his hip-holster and drew the Glock. And stopped rigid.

‘Drop it!’ Lauren barked, jamming the muzzle of his Dragunov all the harder into the side of his head. ‘Drop it now, or your brains are graffiti.’

Deke’s hand opened and the Glock fell to the floor.

‘Mitts where I can see ’em!’

For several taut seconds they were motionless, Lauren and Deke bloodied, sparkling with sweat, Heck groggy, only vaguely aware what was happening.

‘You need me alive,’ Deke said, raising his empty hands.

‘Don’t bank on it.’

‘Okay.’ He gave a fluting, crazy kind of laugh. ‘I need me alive.’

And he lurched away quickly, throwing himself across the room in a spectacular dive. He’d aimed for the trapdoor in the floor — and he cleared it by less than an inch, disappearing from view.

‘Shit!’ Lauren screamed, darting after him. But before she’d reached the aperture, she heard a strangled