Red Crystal (50 page)

Nick got hastily to his feet. ‘What sort of party were you thinking of sending, sir?’

Kershaw pondered. ‘Very small. Six men.’

‘And an indirect approach, sir. On foot over the fields. I’ll get an ordnance survey map right now. We can be ready to go in five minutes.’

For a moment Kershaw eyed him quizzically then, giving in gracefully, nodded his agreement. ‘Okay, Ryder, you’re on. But’ – he raised a forefinger – ‘you’re to keep your distance. Look for signs of life – lights showing and vehicles parked outside – no more, no less. And if you
do
find anything, report straight back to me.’

‘Do we tool up?’

Kershaw shook his head. ‘I daren’t, Ryder. Not in the present climate.’

Nick wasn’t surprised. The Met, like the county forces, was proud of its long tradition of not carrying firearms. It was considered a virtue to approach dangerous armed criminals with no more than a truncheon in your hand. Nick was one of many younger officers who believed the policy to be ridiculously out of date.

It took fifteen minutes to muster the rest of the party – Conway and four of Kershaw’s top men – to draw walkie-talkies, binoculars, cameras, maps and extra-warm gear, and to get down to the cars.

They set off with eighty miles and well over two hours’ driving ahead of them. At first Nick was unnaturally alert and jumpy, a dozen thoughts ricocheting around his head, thoughts which, maddeningly, refused to connect in any sensible pattern. He realized that his mind was increasingly muddled. He’d be no good to anyone if he didn’t get some sleep.

It wasn’t until the car sped into Middlesex that a deep aching weariness finally overtook him and, resting his head against the seat, he was instantly asleep.

Victoria pounded on the door again. There was no sound. Where was he? Perhaps he’d gone away. Perhaps she and Henry were alone in the house. In which case it was just a matter of getting out. She rattled the handle and pulled violently at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. It was a heavy door, made of thick wooden planks with solid crossbeams.

Defeated, she leaned back against the wall. The plan probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.

Suddenly there was a sound. She put her ear to the door and listened.

A door closing. Footsteps in the distance …

She pounded on the door.

More sounds, closer. Footsteps coming across the hall.

Victoria retreated quickly to the foot of the steps and waited, trembling.

A key turned. The door swung open. It was Giorgio. ‘Yes?’ he demanded.

She held up the empty bowl. ‘We need more water.’

Giorgio looked irritated. ‘You use too much.’

‘I need a wash.’ She indicated Henry in the far cellar. ‘And now he’s thirsty.’

With visible annoyance, Giorgio came half-way down the steps and reached out for the bowl. He went out again, locking the door behind him.

Her heart thumping wildly, Victoria ran up the steps and pressed herself against the wall. When he returned she would be hidden behind the open door. Or would she? There wasn’t much room. If he flung the door open it would probably bounce off her body. He was
bound
to realize that there was someone there.

She thought: Dear Lord, why couldn’t I have been
thin
?

And her
feet
. She suddenly realized that, standing as she was two steps below the threshold, her feet would be visible beneath the open door. But she couldn’t
get
any higher.

It was hopeless. Why had she ever thought any different?

Footsteps sounded in the hall.

She hesitated, torn with indecision.

The footsteps shuffled to a halt.

Too late
.

She turned her feet sideways, pulled herself in and held her breath.

A key sounded in the lock. The handle turned. The door swung open fast. It swung towards her face. It came up against her body. She sucked in the last of her breath.

The door was bouncing back off her body.

She grabbed the door knob and pulled the door hard against her.

She almost cried out.
He must realize!

There was an agonizing pause.

Then, unbelievably, Giorgio appeared. Walking slowly down the steps, the bowl in his hands, peering curiously towards the far cellar, wondering where she was.

He hadn’t realized.

For a moment she was frozen with amazement.

Then she knew she had to move. Now – while his back was turned. Before he reached the bottom of the steps. Before he turned to walk across the cellar and spotted her out of the corner of his eye. Before he discovered she was not in the far cellar after all.

She began to move her weight down on to a lower step, to manoeuvre herself round the open door.

He was almost at the bottom.

She hesitated. Had she left it too late?

She eased herself round the door.

He had reached the foot of the steps. He turned towards the far cellar.

She moved clear of the door.

Then his face flicked round.

He saw her.

The fear leapt into her throat.

For a moment he was motionless, a look of black rage on his face.

Then, throwing the bowl of water aside, he coiled himself and sprang up the steps.

She let out an involuntary cry and pulled herself up the last two steps. She reached out for the door handle. He was half-way up and coming fast. She pulled the door shut. He was almost there. She grasped the handle tight and held it fast. She fumbled at the large metal key that protruded from the lock. Suddenly the handle twisted violently under her hand and, with a desperate gasp, she gripped it with all her strength to prevent it from turning.

She jerked at the key and almost screamed.

It wouldn’t turn!

Finally there was a firm click.

It was locked. She fell back with relief.

The knob twisted violently from side to side. Victoria stared at it, mesmerized.

The next moment, there was a crash and the whole door shook.

God!

Another crash. The door vibrated but held firm.

She retreated fast across the hall, watching the door.

She looked longingly at the telephone and hesitated. There was a momentary silence from inside the cellar. She reached for the phone.

Suddenly there was a deafening
bang
!

She sprang back with a gasp.

It came again:
bang
! A gun. The door was splintering around the lock.

And then she realized there was no time.
He was almost out
.

Scrabbling at the front door, she pulled it open and ran out into the night.

The darkness was impenetrable, a mantle of black that enveloped itself around her. She ran blindly forward, away from the house in the direction of the drive.

She stumbled once but regained her footing. Then she hit a bump and felt herself pitching forward. She threw out a hand and caught her fall.

And kept running.

Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the darkness; she could make out the pale surface of the road and the shadows cast by the ridges and pot-holes. But the soles of her boots were hopelessly slippery, and the slight heel made her ankles keep twisting over.

She cried inwardly with frustration and ran on, glancing over her shoulder, looking for him. She felt the blind fear of the pursued, the panic of a thousand nightmares.

Her lungs were hurting, her legs maddeningly heavy.

God, give me strength!

She stole another look behind.

Nothing – or
was
there?

She pushed desperately on, half running, half walking. The road was curving upwards, steepening between the open fields. Ahead she could make out the deeper blackness of the woods and the archway of chestnuts on the brow of the hill.

Soon there’d be somewhere to hide.

She staggered forward, her heart crashing in her ears, her legs like lead. She pulled at the air, trying to breathe, but her lungs wouldn’t
draw
.

The trees – if only she could get to the trees.

Then she heard it.

The sound of an engine. Coming from behind. Roaring into motion, followed by the grating and squeaking of a van being driven hard over a rough road.

She looked wildly about her.

There was no cover here. Only the woods ahead – but they were too
far
. Or the woods away to the left. Yes,
nearer
. Her only chance.

Then she saw the beam of the headlights, swinging slowly round, reaching out towards the woods, illuminating the trees, arcing towards her … And she realized the lights would catch her, pin her fluttering to the darkness behind.

To the right, then. There was nowhere else to go.

She dived for the barbed-wire fence and forced herself between the middle and upper strands. Her sweater caught on a barb. She pushed her body through the wire and yanked furiously on the sweater. The headlights were swinging round, almost upon her.

She screamed, ‘
Come on
.’

With a final wrench the sweater gave way and she was free.

She ran desperately. It was downhill, a little easier now, down into the valley.
Back
into the valley – the wrong direction. Almost back towards the farmhouse. Yet she
had
to get away from the road.

Her legs were weak now, wobbling violently over every tussock and undulation.

Behind her the vehicle was roaring up the hill. The reflection of the approaching headlights illuminated the ground around her. She could almost feel Giorgio’s eyes boring into her back. She ran at a crouch, looking for cover.

There was a slight rise in the ground. She threw herself behind it and lay flat, gasping for breath.

The engine noise rose to a crescendo then faded as the van passed by on the road above. She thought: Perhaps he didn’t see me after all. She pulled in great gulps of air then lay still, the grass cool and soothing against her cheek. She wanted to stay there, lying against the damp ground, for ever.

She stiffened.

The engine note had changed. She raised her head slightly, listening hard. The engine was idling, the van stationary …

Suddenly the engine spluttered to a stop. There was an unearthly silence, broken only by the pounding of her heart.

She craned her head. The headlights had been extinguished. There was only darkness, a great expanse of black where the light had been.

Where was he?

She peered forward. The deep shadows merged one into another until they formed an elusive mosaic of shimmering dots. The patchwork shifted constantly until there was an illusion of movement in every fragment of grey, a dark racing figure in every shadow.

She
must
move.

With an enormous effort, she raised herself into a crouch, her senses reaching out into the stillness.

Distant sounds … An owl’s hoot … The faint whispered undertones of the wood.

Where was he?

She began to creep away crabwise, down the hill, away from the road, further into the valley.

A sound.

The crunch of feet on pebble. Up on the road.

She accelerated down the hill, down on to the flat meadowland.

Ahead was the stream, gurgling faintly. She reached the bank and, pausing for an instant, looked back.

Darkness. Nothing.
Where was he?

She gasped.

There
.

A dark shadow up by the road, detaching itself from the surrounding grey.

Running
.

Running straight down the hill.
Towards her
.

She leapt into the stream, dragging her feet through the clutching water, and stumbled up on to the bank. She ran up the slight incline, her stride ragged, her ankle turning on a hump.

Ahead, the rolling pastureland climbed towards the steep valley side and the distant ridge. To the left, fields, open and exposed.
Nowhere to hide
.

She swerved to the right, towards the black familiar mass of the farm buildings. There, at least, there would be somewhere to hide.

She willed herself on but her body wouldn’t respond: it was a sluggish weight, pulling her back, dragging her down. Her lungs ached with pain, the breath coming in long whooping gasps. She was incapable of running any more. She staggered forward at an untidy lope, forcing one foot in front of the other, her arms swinging uselessly at her sides. She couldn’t bring herself to look behind. Then, suddenly, she didn’t need to. She
heard
him.

She heard the pounding of his feet on the turf, the scrape of his shoe against a stone. The sound of panting, faint at first, growing louder, coming up behind her.

The panic gave her a last burst of strength. She pumped her arms, forced her legs into a run, pushed herself forward over the ground. The sheds loomed up ahead.
Not so far
. The sheds … The house beyond …

But what was this ahead?

The
gate
.

She’d forgotten. The gate. Barring her way.

She heard a short pant, the rasp of his breath, close behind.

Then she knew: this was the end. Nothing would save her now. She could almost feel his hands on her back, dragging her down. She screamed inwardly.

The gate was coming up fast. As she reached out for the latch, she suddenly realized –
the gate was slightly open
.

She reached out a hand and swung herself round the end of it and half fell through the gap, pulling the gate closed in an instinctive attempt to delay him.

She gave a violent start. To the right a dark shape was vaulting the fence. Jumping high, a hand on the gate post. She veered to the left, across the yard. The solid blackness of the tractor shed loomed close ahead.

Behind her there was a thud and a muffled shout.

She reached the shed and ran blindly along the side until she came to the back wall. She stopped, gasping for breath, and listened. She could hear nothing but the hammering of her own heart. She put her head round the corner and looked back down the side. The eaves cast deep inky shadows on the narrow pathway between the shed and the rising ground. Was he there? It was so difficult to be sure.