headlights. ‘Just coming into Newburgh now. So: firearms team?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Newburgh wasn’t a big place. The A90 – the main road north to Ellon and Peterhead – ran through the middle of the little town, and as soon as they turned onto it Butler put her foot down.
Normally, at this time on a Wednesday, there would be a steady stream of traffic coming the other way, trying to beat the rush-hour out of Aberdeen, but today it was quiet. Just the occasional eighteen-wheeler crawling its way north.
Butler’s Airwave handset bleeped into life as they reached the outkirts of Balmedie – Control calling to say that the firearms team had just left FHQ.
Then it was Logan’s phone’s turn. He checked the display: DI Steel.
‘How is she?’
He tried to force a smile into his voice. ‘I’m sure it’ll be—’
‘Of course not. It’s fine.’
The Land Rover slowed, bouncing to a halt at a break in the central divide, opposite a sign saying ‘MCLENNAN HOMES – SITE TRAFFIC ONLY’. Then they rumbled across the other carriageway and up to the site gate.
Logan looked out at the high chainlink fence and the signs caught in the Land Rover’s headlights: ‘SITE PATROLLED BY GUARD DOGS’, ‘NO ENTRY TO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL’, ‘WARNING: RAZOR WIRE’, ‘DANGER OF DEATH’.
He swallowed. ‘Yeah, no, everything’s fine. Tell Susan we’re all asking for her, OK?’
They said an awkward goodbye, then Logan slid the phone back in his pocket.
The gate was open, not all the way, just wide enough for a large car to squeeze through. Butler drove the Land Rover in. On the other side, the road was virtually invisible, a set of rutted tyre tracks disappearing into the gloom.
Logan turned and peered into the back of the vehicle. ‘We got any weapons?’
‘Sarge? I thought we were meant to wait for the cavalry?’
If this was America they’d have shotguns and tear gas and riot gear and ammo. Instead of which they had a big first aid kit, some road flares, and enough rope to build a bouncy bridge over the River Dee. Fat lot of good that was going to do.
The car lurched to a halt, throwing him backwards against his seatbelt. ‘Hoy! Careful.’
Butler tapped him on the shoulder. ‘We’ve got company.’
She was right. A set of headlights glowed in the darkness, getting closer.
‘Sod…’ Logan glanced left, then right. ‘Block the road.’
The constable wrestled with the steering wheel, three-point-turning the Land Rover until it was parked side-on, then Logan reached into the back, grabbed a couple of the road flares, and clambered out into the snow.
It was like being punched with a fistful of ice. He staggered, letting the car door slam shut in the wind.
Fuck it was
He lurched over the rutted surface, about six feet from the Land Rover’s bonnet, pulled the plastic cap off of the first flare and struck the igniter across the end. It sputtered, then sent out a gout of lurid scarlet flame. Logan jammed the other end into the snow, then hurried around to the other side and stuck the second one behind the car.
With the blue-and-white lights flashing in the middle, there was no way you could miss the police Land Rover.
He hobbled back to the driver’s side. Butler wound down the window and said something Logan couldn’t hear over the howling wind.
‘What?’
‘I said, we’re supposed to wait!’
Logan pointed through the whipping snow to the approaching headlights. ‘You want to let them just drive right past you?’
Butler thumped back against the headrest, sighed, then undid her seatbelt and climbed out into the snow. She hauled on her gloves and hunched her shoulders up round her ears. ‘Must be bloody mad…’
The headlights got bigger and bigger and then a huge black rectangle growled out of the snow. It stopped ten feet from their makeshift roadblock and sat there, with the engine idling.
Logan wiped the snow from his face and stumbled through the gusting wind to the huge car, PC Butler swearing along behind.
It was one of those massive Range Rover Sports jobs. The kind that looked as if they’d been designed out of Lego. Three people: two in the front, one in the back.
