Yep. He was the brains of the two all right. And experienced at this kind of thing, whatever this kind of thing was.
‘You’re not going to shoot me because of a bad choice of footwear?’ I said.
‘People have been shot for less.’
Yeah, I thought. But it’s not me that’s made the bad choice of footwear.
The world dimmed a little. And not because of my mood. The Highlands of Scotland were notoriously mercurial. A bright, sunny day could turn into a deadly snowstorm, a blinding fog or rain to make your head bleed without any warning. I could see a dark seething of clouds and the dark shafts of heavy rain rolling in from the far end of the valley, moving up in the direction of the village. Even where we were, a milky sheet of high cloud suffused and dulled the winter sun. The rain would have been a huge advantage to me, but I’d be in the car and long gone before it got this far up the valley.
I was running out of options. I scanned as much of the valley as I could without moving my head: measuring the distance to the car, the narrow, rough path leading to it, the steep flank of the valley rising up to my right, impossible to scale in any haste, and the equally steep slope on the left, down into the river. However I looked at it, I was a sitting duck.
But if I got into that car, I’d be a dead one.
I saw a vehicle on the other side of the valley, quite a ways back, heading towards the village. I kept walking. Then I decided to see how far Blondy’s obliging nature would extend.
‘Listen,’ I said over my shoulder. ‘Could you do me a favour?’
‘What?’ he asked, neither patient or impatient.
‘Could you grab hold of this?’
I spun round, swinging the rucksack and let it go so that it flew hard in his direction. Instinct told him to protect himself rather than take aim, but only for the tiniest shaving of a second. I used that tiny moment well. I made no attempt to run. Instead I half-dropped, half-threw myself forwards and sideways, my injured shoulder thumping painfully onto the grass. Then I rolled. After the first couple of rolls Isaac Newton did the rest and I bounced and tumbled down the slope towards the valley bottom. I slowed with the decreasing incline and somehow found myself running, my feet splashing in shallow water, then deeper water up to my knees, my boots slipping on the current-smoothed rocks on the river bed. I didn’t even take the time to look over my shoulder.
I heard Blondy shout for me to stop, which, even in my panic, struck me as one of the most redundant and stupid commands to issue, other than to ask me to stand still so he could get a better shot. I heard two cracks in quick succession and then the sound of bullets hitting the water and ricocheting off the rocks. But they were some way off.
He shouted again, and again two rounds zipped harmlessly into the river. I was splashing my way through fast-flowing, knee-deep water which slowed me to walking pace. The next rounds, I guessed, were going to hit me. But he didn’t fire again.
I allowed myself one desperate look behind me. Blondy was coming down the slope towards the river — I guessed to get a better shot at me — but his smooth leather soles were causing him to skid and slip all over the place. Curly was lumbering behind him — far behind him — and didn’t represent any danger. A third man had gotten out of the car and was charging towards the river. He was tall and in a dark coat and even from this distance I recognized him as the boss of the men at Larry Franks’s place.
I kept running. I was out of the river, racing across the river’s edge and then scrambling up the bank to the road, grabbing handfuls of turf to haul myself up.
I made it onto the roadway just as the car I had seen drew close. I recognized it as the mud-splattered Land Rover I saw the day before. The driver was a man in his fifties. He stared at me, shocked.
‘Did I see these men shoot at you?’ he said.
‘I need your help. Can you get me out of here?’
‘Get in…’ he said. And I did.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
‘What the hell is going on?’ the Land Rover driver asked, looking across me and down into the valley.
‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘The most important thing is we get out of here.’
‘It’s a long story for the police,’ he said. ‘As soon as I get you to my place, that’s exactly who I’m calling.’
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ I said. I was too shaken up to argue or spin some line to cover why I couldn’t have any dealings with the Stirlingshire Constabulary or the Highland Cow Squad or whoever the hell ran law and order around here. The important thing was I was in a car and my pursuers weren’t.
‘You maybe want to turn around,’ I said. ‘They’re parked at the other side of the village. If we keep going this way we’ll run into them.’
‘Leave this to me, young man,’ he said. We headed straight for the village, then suddenly swung to the right at an almost concealed entrance and up a narrow tarmacked lane.
I laughed.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Do you live in the big house?’
‘Yes I do, as a matter of fact. Why? What’s so funny about that?’
‘Not so much funny as ironic. I thought you were the Apaches but turns out you’re the cavalry.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t-’
‘Never mind, sir,’ I said. ‘I can’t tell you how relieved I am to get your help.’ I twisted round in my seat, bounced along by the minimal suspension of the Land Rover, checking out of the rear window.
‘No one there?’ my benefactor asked.
‘No one there. But I have to tell you, in a place as small as this, it isn’t going to take them long to find us.’
‘Like I said, you leave this all to me.’
We pulled in through the gates of Collieluth House and the Land Rover ground to a halt on the stone-chipped driveway.
‘Come on…’ he said urgently and led me into the house, the front door of which had been left unlocked.
We entered a huge entrance hallway, walnut-lined and smelling of leather, polished wood and feudalism. He bustled me into what I guessed was the drawing room. Again ‘baronial’ wasn’t a style, it was the reality of the place. This was the hub and tiller of a whole rural community.
‘Wait here…’ he commanded. Commanding seemed to come naturally to him.
He went back out into the hall, leaving the drawing room door open, picked up the telephone and dialled two numbers.
‘It’s the Major,’ he said. ‘Get over here with two of the men. Tell them to bring their shotguns and shells…’
He listened to the person on the other end for a second, his face clouded with impatience.
‘Just do it… I have a man here and his life appears to be in danger… yes, from the strangers we saw in the village. Get over here now. I’m going to telephone the police in Crianlarich and get help.’
I wanted to stop him calling the police, but I couldn’t for the life of me come up with a credible reason why he shouldn’t. I’d have to play it all by ear.
I heard him dial again. Three numbers this time. I heard him tell the police about the attempt on my life, that there were men roaming the countryside with small arms, and to get people over here as soon as possible.
‘All right…’ he said, smiling, when he came back into the drawing room and making his way to the window to check outside. ‘The cavalry, as you put it, are on their way. My men are on their way from the farm and the police will be here as soon as they can.’
I thanked him again. I had my first chance to examine him. He was a handsome man with greying temples and deepening creases on his face. He had the kind of face you trusted and had a quiet authority about him. He wore country clothes, but of the more expensive and stylish look that Hopkins had gone for.
