Maggot shook his head. ‘No, I love the guy. He’s good company and good to have around when there’s an argument going on.’
Susan made a dismissive noise. ‘I can vouch for that,’ she told him.
‘Why, what happened?’
So Susan told him about the muggers and how Marcus changed from a calm, likeable sort of guy into a person she didn’t recognise. ‘He said you would be proud of him.’
Maggot laughed. ‘He said that? Good old Marcus.’ He stopped laughing and became quite solemn. ‘But I wonder where he is now? He’s not answering his mobile, and that’s worrying.’
‘Why would his office have been stripped bare?’ Susan asked him.
Maggot shook his head. He picked up his drink and sat there for a while just looking at the glass.
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘But Marcus would not have done that without letting me know.’
Susan frowned. ‘Why should he let you know?’
Maggot shrugged. ‘I’m his mate; probably his only mate.’
‘So somebody else did it for him?’ she suggested.
Maggot became very serious. ‘Something has happened to Marcus, and I don’t like what I’m thinking.’
Nor did Susan; as much as she had liked Marcus, she had promised herself that she would not become involved with him. And now she found herself worrying with a complete stranger over Marcus’s fate.
‘Do you think it’s connected with my brother, David?’ she put to him. Susan hadn’t told Maggot about the letter she had just received, thinking it might be wise to err on the side of caution.
Maggot considered the suggestion carefully. ‘If your brother is still alive,’ he said eventually, ‘it’s entirely possible that Marcus has become involved in something that’s way over his head. And if he’s involved in big boys’ games, he’s in serious trouble.’
Marcus knew a lot about shotguns. He had often used them on his father’s estate. He had used them during pheasant shoots while following the beaters, and had proved himself to be a remarkably good shot. He knew what choke size was best for whichever bird or clay you were shooting, and the range and spread of the buckshot when it came rocketing out of the end of the barrel. A full choke would give a ten inch spread over ten yards. Ten inches was about big enough to cover most of his stomach. And if Grebo pulled the trigger now, he wouldn’t have to worry about peppering the doorframe because all of the buckshot would go straight through Marcus and probably through the glass door pane in front of which Marcus was standing.
Grebo stood in the passageway pointing the gun at Marcus. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt regaling the Dallas Cowboys. His hair was cut very close to his head and he stood about the same height as Marcus. He was overweight but probably carried a lot of power in his frame. Not that it mattered because he carried the ultimate power in his hands.
Marcus didn’t move, but looked steadily at Grebo. He knew he would not survive if he allowed the American to take him prisoner. There were deep woods behind the house and plenty of places to hide a body.
Marcus was thinking furiously. He knew he was in desperate trouble and couldn’t see a way out of his dilemma. Grebo wasn’t going to shoot him there, but with another man in the house, it wouldn’t take long to gag him and tie him up. The gun would be sufficient to keep Marcus compliant while they tied him.
Grebo’s visitor suddenly appeared in the passageway. ‘What’s up, Danny?’ He stopped when he saw Grebo and Marcus.
At that moment, Grebo turned his head a little to say something over his shoulder. Marcus knew that there would not be another chance. Grebo was standing too far away from him to be brought down with a high kick, but Marcus still had his hand on the door handle of the front door, and in that fraction of a second he knew it was time to either die or fly.
As Grebo turned his head a little, so the twin barrels of the shotgun wavered and pointed away from Marcus. It was only by a small margin but it was all Marcus needed. He whipped the door open, pulling it wide, dived forward and down and rolled to his right as a blast of buckshot roared out of the open door and flew over his tumbling body.
Marcus leapt to his feet and sprinted away towards the forest behind the house, zigzagging as he ran. Another roar of buckshot followed him and he felt some of the small pellets peppering his shoulder. He veered away, hearing Grebo in pursuit.
When Marcus got to the wall he didn’t bother to consider how badly damaged his shoulder was, but took the leap without thinking. He grabbed the top of the wall and hauled himself over. A second gun opened fire and thudded into the wall as Marcus dropped to the other side.
Because it was pitch black behind the wall, Marcus fell awkwardly and turned his ankle. He straightened up and limped away from the wall into the bracken and ferns that edged the dark forest.
A few minutes after limping into the woods he saw a torch beam flicker, its light catching the foliage of the trees. He heard Grebo call out to his visitor, telling him to head the ‘bastard’ off. Another shot echoed into the night air and Marcus guessed Grebo had fired a chance shot, hoping to bring him down.
He could now feel the pain in his ankle worsening and also his left shoulder was beginning to throb and feel sticky. But worse still was the fact that he could feel himself getting a little weaker and nauseous.
He crashed through the undergrowth, not knowing which way to run, and knowing that as he blundered through the forest he was sending out loud signals to Grebo and his visitor.
He heard a voice shout out; ‘He’s over there!’ A torch beam flickered across the trees about six feet above Marcus’s head.
He dropped lower and turned right, crashing into tree trunks and falling over logs that had been cut and were laying there ready for shifting by the Forestry Commission during the working day. Eventually Marcus came out on to a forest track. It was wide enough for articulated lorries to drive along, and it gave Marcus a chance to move further away from his pursuers. But it also gave the two men a chance to get a shot off without the trees getting in the way.
Marcus could feel his strength draining away and he was beginning to stumble now. Each time he fell he knew this gave Grebo an edge. He also knew it wouldn’t be too long before Grebo caught up with him, and it would be there that the American would shoot him.
And as he fell again for probably the tenth time, he almost blacked out. He waited until he could think clearly, but now he could hear footsteps. He scrambled to his feet and collapsed again. This was it, he thought; the end.
He heard the footsteps again. They were hurried and came thudding up beside him. He felt an arm go round his waist and a voice say.
‘Come on son; get your arse in ‘ere.’
He felt the softness of a car seat and heard the door closing behind him. Then the surge of acceleration as the car picked up speed and motored away from the forest.
TEN
Marcus woke up. He lay still for a moment enjoying the relaxed comfort of a warm bed and a soft pillow beneath his head, his last dream still lingering in the outer reaches of his consciousness. He opened his eyes and moved his head a little. He could see a saline drip hanging from its steel hook, the clear tube snaking down towards his arm. He lifted his head off the pillow and saw Cavendish sitting in a small armchair a few feet away from him.
‘At last, Blake, you are awake.’
Marcus groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow. ‘Where am I?’ he asked, his voice cracking a little because of the dryness in his throat. ‘And why are you here?’
Cavendish looked a trifle smug. ‘Well, dear boy, first of all you are in a private clinic. But don’t worry, Her Majesty’s Government is picking up the bill. And the reason I’m here is because I saved your life.’
Marcus lifted his head sharply. ‘You? There’s no way you lifted me off the ground, Cavendish.’
‘A mere detail, Blake. But you blundered into something well out of your league and we had to drag you
