Now he was ready. He turned and began to run, with long crouching steps, again in pitch darkness, down the bed of the ditch towards the invisible buttress ahead. The question now was how many were there? The only way to find out was to draw their fire, and pinpoint the muzzle flashes.
There was no sign of Ryderbeit. When Packer calculated he was halfway to the duct, he threw himself flat and called quietly, ‘Sammy!’
From the darkness ahead came a faint slithering. ‘Soldier?’ Ryderbeit appeared, serpent-like, beside him. ‘You get him?’
‘Yes. And his gun.’
Ryderbeit reached out and ran his fingers over the weapon. ‘Nice. Nice, soldier! Where is he?’
‘In the ditch by the car, sleeping. What about your boy?’
‘Nowhere. Vanished. Bloody ghost man.’
They ducked down as another car swept round the bend and passed, this time without slowing down.
‘There must be more than one,’ Packer said, his lips almost touching Ryderbeit’s ear. ‘They’d never pull a stunt like this single-handed.’
‘Yeah, but where is the bastard? The only cover he’s got is here and the truck — and I’ve checked both.’
‘Maybe we’ve scared him off. Anyway, no point in hanging around. Let’s have a look at the Fiat.’
‘We won’t be using that Fiat again,’ Ryderbeit said, and Packer felt something sharp prod into his chest. He took hold of what felt like a length of heavy chain, but instead of links, it was made up of barbed spikes welded into double crosses. At the end of it was a length of cord.
‘I found it under the truck,’ said Ryderbeit. ‘An old trick. You must have seen it dozens of times. Throw it across the road just as the car’s coming — all four tyres Kaput — then haul it back in before anything else comes past. Still, at least we’re breathing. Let’s get our luggage out before the sightseers start getting here.’ He had already pushed past Packer and was moving back down the ditch.
Packer stuffed the gun under his belt and followed. He found Ryderbeit bending over the gunman, his hands feeling under his coat. ‘First blood, soldier. You killed him.’ He glanced both ways to make sure the road was clear. ‘Quick — get his legs.’ He was already lifting the body under the arms, and Packer grabbed the ankles, and they began to stagger with quick sideways steps back towards the truck.
They carried the body round to the rear where Ryderbeit let his load drop; there was a dull clonk as the gunman’s head hit the tarmac; then Ryderbeit had both panel doors open, slid the body in feet first, and slammed the doors.
Packer was already in the driving seat; and only then did he remember that the Rhodesian had shot out both headlamps. He climbed down and rejoined Ryderbeit, at the Fiat. ‘No lights, Sammy.’
‘No sweat,’ the Rhodesian answered cheerfully. ‘We’ll drive on sidelights.’
‘Like hell we will. Any idea what the Swiss police are like on traffic offences? And that’s all we need — picked up for driving without lights, with a corpse in the back.’
‘You law-abiding sod! But maybe you’re right. We’ll stash our gear in the truck, then back up round the bend and find a quiet spot where we can lie low till first light.’
He unlocked the boot and they began groping for their luggage. Ryderbeit hauled out his great case and started to lug it across to the truck, while Packer checked the inside of the Fiat and removed the plastic folder containing the hire car documents and insurance, made out to M. Cassis, resident of Liechtenstein. Then he locked all the doors and carried his grip-bag over to the lakeside, where he paused to throw the car keys into the black water. But instead of a splash, there came a muffled bang from inside the truck.
He dropped his case, grabbed the gun out of his belt, and, crouching down, began to zigzag forward towards the nearside of the truck. He was close enough to distinguish the shape of the bonnet with its two blind headlamps, when he heard a quick step ahead, then Ryderbeit’s voice. ‘Packer, you bastard! What are you doing — having a crap?’
Packer ran round to the rear of the truck, still holding the gun in both hands. The panel doors were open, and above the red glow of the rear lights he could see Ryderbeit’s case resting on the body of the gunman.
‘There was a shot,’ Packer said breathlessly.
‘Yeah, there was a shot. Now get your case — we’re moving.’
‘But the shot —?’
Ryderbeit looked at him with a crooked sneer. ‘Get your stuff. I’ll explain when we’re aboard.’
Packer fetched his case from beside the lake and slung it in beside the dead gunman, then slammed the doors. ‘Any idea where we can hide up?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, there’s a layby just back behind the bend.’ Ryderbeit grinned and pointed at his good eye. ‘Awake or asleep, drunk or sober, an old hunter never misses anything.’
Packer nodded. ‘You lead the way, behind the truck, to warn any traffic.’ He got up into the driving seat, his frozen fingers fumbling along the dashboard, and found there were no keys. He switched on the inside light, climbed over the seat, and dragged Ryderbeit’s bag off the body. If the keys weren’t in the ignition, they must be in someone’s pocket — it was just a question of whose pocket.
The man lay on his belly, his head turned towards the side of the truck, his arms stretched stiffly beside him. In the cramped space Packer had some difficulty rolling the corpse on to its side. He found the keys in the man’s
