Latham was capable of driving through the dark without lights. They had been pushing hard and were all desperate to stop; it made sense to lay up while they could.
He had debated the wisdom of arriving at the airport in the middle of the night, and dismissed it. The place was likely to be locked up tight until just before the first flight in the morning, which would leave them with nowhere but the terminal and surrounding shadows to hide when Latham arrived. And he was sure to turn up sooner or later.
At least in the morning, with airport security and army patrols, the killer would find it difficult to go on the offensive.
Rik passed Clare two chocolate bars from their supplies. She drew up a hundred yards short of the nearest building, a wooden cowshed with weatherworn slats and a sunken roof. Taking the chocolate, she got out and disappeared into the dark.
The single light had gone out.
Five minutes later, she was back, minus the chocolate. She pointed to the cowshed. ‘There’s a small barn behind that. He says we can stay there, but wants us gone before five. He’s already had two military patrols go through the place.’
Once the Toyota was safely out of sight, they went inside and found a place to settle down. The air was surprisingly warm, and smelled of hay and animals. Movement in a stall at the rear was followed by the snuffle of a horse and a bleat from a goat. Dried rabbit skins hung from the wall and a chicken poked its head out from a pile of sacking.
‘It’s Noah’s bloody ark,’ said Rik, and threw himself down on a pile of hay.
Harry instinctively checked the barn for a rear exit. He found a single door in one corner. Then he did a tour of the outside and stood listening to the night. No sounds. No movement.
He stood for a while, enjoying the solitude and allowing the kinks from the car ride and the rolling around in the dirt to ease themselves from his body. His thoughts turned to Jean, and he wondered what she was doing. He realized with surprise that he’d been doing that quite a bit lately.
The idea of making her smile sounded promising.
Now all he had to do was get back.
He went back inside. The other two were in separate corners, fast asleep.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Five o’clock brought a thin dawn and a cold snap to the air. An easterly wind was curling round the barn and the temperature inside dropped sharply as the warmth of the previous night seeped out into the dark.
Harry rolled himself out of the natural hammock he’d created in a pile of hay. He looked for Clare and found her already up and watching the track through a small gap in the wooden slats. She looked composed and resolute, in spite of the strands of hay sticking to her jacket.
‘A car went by fifteen minutes ago,’ she announced. ‘Four-wheel drive, one occupant. Couldn’t see any detail but it might have been Latham. Two military-style convoys, too. Couldn’t see if they were army or militia.’
‘Good thing none of them stopped,’ said Rik, pulling his gun out from under him. He winced. He’d been lying on it. His face was dirty and his spiky hair looked unkempt, but he sounded calm, as if he’d found some reserves of inner resilience.
‘We’ll eat first,’ said Harry. ‘If he’s ahead of us, there’s no point rushing off.’
‘He’ll be waiting, then.’ Clare looked at him. ‘We won’t know he’s there until he hits us.’
Harry nodded and rubbed at the bristles on his chin. He needed a shave and a shower. ‘I know. But if it was him you saw, he’ll be there whether we eat or not. I’d rather make him wait.’ He checked his watch and calculated their probable travel time to the airport. Three quarters of an hour should do it, if he’d got his sums right and they were given a clear run.
‘So we just drive straight at him?’ Clare looked ready for a fight — although not just with Latham.
‘Not exactly. I’ve got a cunning plan.’
‘Have you used it before?’ said Rik anxiously.
‘Yes.’ Harry preferred not to think about it. It had been a long time ago, with different enemies. Then, he’d been lucky. Time to see if it still worked.
His main worry was Latham would probably also have seen what he was planning to do.
A phone buzzed in the silence.
It was Rik’s mobile. He snatched it out of his pocket and checked the screen. ‘It’s Fitz!’ he said, then answered. ‘What’s up, man? We’re on the road. Oh, OK.’ He looked at Harry and handed him the mobile. ‘He wants to talk to you.’
Harry took the phone. ‘You all right?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. You clear yet?’ Fitzgerald’s voice was tinny, and occasionally dogged by static. A child was crying in the background, and a woman’s voice murmured something. The sound of normality.
‘We’re working on it.’
‘Anyone with you apart from the lad?’
‘Yes.’ Fitzgerald was deliberately avoiding the use of names, he noticed. Probably because he knew more about the local intercept capabilities than he had let on. ‘The big club wouldn’t come.’
‘The big cl- Oh, right… got you. Is the girl with you?’
‘Yes. Problem?’
‘You could say that. The uh… club; he won’t be going anywhere. That’s why I rang.’
An icy feeling settled in Harry’s stomach. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘How?’
‘Hit and run. Might be genuine, but I doubt it. I got a call from a friend at the hospital. You ask me, you’ve got trouble close to home, Harry.’
‘Thanks for telling me. Any ideas?’
‘Sorry. Can’t help you there. I’d watch the girl, though; I think she’s bad. This call’s over… I’m bricking the mobile and we’re moving to another location. And before you ask, I won’t be coming in.’
‘You sure?’
‘Dead sure. Watch your back.’
Twenty minutes later, they drove away from the farm, their mood further subdued by the news of Mace’s death. The light was still low but getting better with very passing minute. Leaving it any longer would improve visibility, but that would be the same for Latham. And they’d be cutting it too fine to make their flight if they ran into him.
Before leaving, Harry placed some money inside a plastic food container by the horse stall where the farmer would be sure to find it. As long as the goat didn’t get to it first.
They reached the end of the farm track and stopped. The road was empty in both directions, save for an ancient tractor towing a trailer loaded with wood. A curtain of dust hung in the air, legacy of the earlier truck convoys.
Clare was driving again, while Harry and Rik concentrated on the terrain around them. He’d told them to keep an eye out for high ground with trees or large outcroppings of rock — anywhere a gunman might position himself. It would be where Latham was waiting.
‘You think it was him?’ said Rik. ‘Killed Mace, I mean.’
‘Yes.’ He’d never be able to prove it, but he was sure Latham was responsible. He considered Fitzgerald’s warning about Clare, but dismissed her as the killer. She wouldn’t have been able to accomplish it in the time frame available. Anyway, Fitz had said bad. Bad in his book would have meant untrustworthy.
Latham, on the other hand, was something else.
Mace would have made an easy target; predictable, slow-moving and unlikely to have been sober, he wouldn’t have seen the danger coming. Or maybe hadn’t cared. ‘He’s doing what he’s good at: clearing up the evidence.’
