No Enemy but Time (41 page)

In the room below, Marie was sitting in front of the television. It was a religious programme, and she turned the sound low. All those moon faces mooing hymns like a lot of bloody cattle. Pat came down. She looked up at him. He put the plate into the sink.

‘How long are we goin' to keep him up there?' he demanded. He'd asked the same question before.

Marie said irritably, ‘Till she comes. I've told you. Sean's told you. Stop asking the same thing every minute, for Christ's sake. You'll get your chance.'

‘What happens if she don't come?'

Marie wouldn't consider that. She was living for the call to say that Claire Fraser had been spotted at the airport. She'd fly, of course, wasting no time. They had friends looking out for her. Some on the day ferry too, but only as a precaution.

‘She'll come looking for him,' she snapped. ‘She won't stay snug in England when he might be in trouble! They've a close kind of a relationship, those two. I ought to know.'

She lit a cigarette, puffing it angrily. The dour young man got on her nerves. He was itching to kill Frank. For some reason beyond her understanding, that grated on her. She preferred the Dublin gangster, Willie, with his rough threats and foul mouth. She turned up the sound and the credits began rolling over the screen to the background of a final hymn. Upstairs, listening to the verses coming clearly through to him, Frank knew now why he was being kept alive.

He wrenched and wrenched in helpless fury at the handcuffs. He tried to heave the bed near to the painted-out window, and then realized that they'd hear him down below. He sweated till he was wet through. Claire. That was what they were waiting for. They were waiting to seize Claire, and using him to bait the trap for her. He could see the reasoning behind it all. She was the prize. To kidnap and murder a British Cabinet Minister's wife would be a propaganda coup like the murder of Mountbatten. It proclaimed the power of the IRA and its ability to choose a target, however well protected, and destroy it. His uncle Kevin had said as much. ‘We can strike at anyone, any time, no matter who they are.' It was Marie, of course, who'd put them up to it. ‘They've a close kind of a relationship, those two …' Her dreadful twisted jealousy had seen Claire's love and loyalty as something they could exploit. Claire would come back to Ireland, drawn by God knew what trick. She'd come, and they'd die together, watched by that demonic woman.

He lay awake, judging the time by the television programmes. He got down and listened, and heard the news. No clues to the whereabouts of missing banker Frank Arbuthnot. Claire would come. Claire would be followed and seized. The door to his prison would open and they'd bring her in for him to see, before they killed him.

The night passed. He lay in mental agony until he heard sounds from below. They were awake and moving around. He got out of bed again and crouched on the floor to listen.

‘I'll be off then,' Pat said. He'd made himself breakfast. That lazy bitch never did a hand's turn if she could help it. He'd eaten the same old rubbish as the one upstairs.

‘Willie's not here,' Marie pointed out.

‘He's late so, but I can't wait. I've me job to get to. Here, give him the key of the cuffs and the gun. And don't go near
him
till Willie gets here!'

Frank stayed very still. He heard a door closing. Marie was alone in the house. She had the gun and the key to his handcuffs. He got up slowly. A few minutes for the one with the killer eyes to be on his way. A chance in millions that he could get Marie to come upstairs before the replacement got there. He had to try. He had to take that chance, however hopeless, and pray to the God above for time and carelessness on her part. He made up his mind. He let his body fall heavily to the floor and then he began to scream as if he was in pain.

The sudden noise made Marie jump to her feet. The cries were terrible. She heard her own name, ‘Marie! Marie!' ending in a moan of agony. She hesitated. She swore furiously, looking quickly out of the window. No car turning in, no Willie. It came again, more piteous than before, ‘Marie …' She picked up the gun, slipped the safety catch off and ran upstairs.

He was lying on the floor, grotesquely twisted, the pinioned arm at a horrible angle. He groaned and cried out as she opened the door and came a few steps into the room. She held the gun pointed at him.

‘My arm's broken,' he moaned and then lolled back as if he were fainting. ‘Help me …'

‘Oh, Jesus Christ!' Marie exclaimed. She came towards him, and as she grew near, subconsciously she lowered the gun.

It was too late for her to move back. His left fist lashed out with every vestige of strength. At the same moment she pulled the trigger. The blow caught her on the side of the face and threw her backwards, crashing against the wall. She was knocked out instantly. The gun clattered on to the ground. The effort had nearly pulled his right arm out of its socket.

She had the key of the handcuffs. He heaved and pulled at the heavy bed, inching to within reach of where she lay. She had a cardigan on. The pockets were empty. She'd have put the key in her bag. He could have broken down and wept with disappointment. At any moment the thug Willie would arrive, and then his only hope was gone. Even if he held him up with Marie's gun, he was comparatively helpless secured to the bed. He manoeuvred the bed backwards, reaching for the gun. He had to take the only chance left. He brought the muzzle up to the lock mechanism on the handcuff round the bedpost, his wrist as far away as possible, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet shot the locking device to pieces. At the same moment he felt a sharp blow, as it ricocheted off the wall into his side. He didn't notice the pain in his calf, where Marie's shot had grazed the skin, making it bleed. He only knew that he was free and he might have only a few seconds to get out of the house. He was unaware of pain, just a slight burning in his leg and a tiny trickle of blood that spattered the floor as he moved. He was down the stairs and by the front door. Nobody was in sight. There was a car parked outside. The BMW sports he'd given Marie as a Christmas present. The keys. He had to have the keys. They'd be in her bag. She never left them in the car. He found the bag on the kitchen table and the keys were in it. So were the keys to the handcuffs. He had her gun and a fast car. Once he got behind the wheel he could make the nearest Gardai station, as soon as he knew where he was. He didn't feel weakness or shock.

He pulled the front door shut and ran to the car. He was perfectly steady. He opened it, slid into the front seat and winced momentarily as a spasm twisted him. Then the key turned and the superb engine was alive. He backed the car, turned it and put his foot down. He was out of the little drive and on the road. He still didn't know where he was.

The phone in the house began to ring. It rang and rang. When Willie got no answer, he rang Sean Filey, and told him his car had broken down and he couldn't get through to Marie to tell her.

‘I'm coming to get you. Be on the doorstep.'

It was no use Sean going to the house alone. He was unarmed and unequipped to deal with trouble, and he knew something had gone wrong. It was a ten-minute detour to fetch Willie, but he had to make it.

Frank slowed at a crossroads. There was the Smurfit building. He knew where he was. He hesitated and saw the red car coming towards him with Willie at the wheel. To be caught now, at this last moment … A very sharp pain ran through him and a feeling of dizziness. He didn't hesitate. He didn't think. He had to escape, to outrun that car and get to safety somewhere. If they caught him, he couldn't warn Claire. He swung the wheel and sent the car hurtling towards Kells. The car he'd seen turned after him.

Marie regained consciousness. She moaned and touched her face. Slowly, with much pain, she managed to get to her feet. He was gone. The shattered handcuff was lying on the floor. Her gun was gone. But there were bloodstains. She must have hit him. She tried to walk but sank down again, her legs giving way. There was a big bump on her head where she'd struck the wall. Her face felt as if it had been kicked in. She tasted salt blood in her mouth. And then she heard Sean's voice from below, calling her. She heard him coming up the stairs, and Willie's voice just outside. He'd got away. He'd tricked her and escaped. But she'd wounded him. There was a bullet in him somewhere. That would save her life.

He left the main road as soon as he could and went across country. He drove down the twisting pot-holed roads at desperate speed. There were villages and pubs. He slowed, hoping for the green Gardai sign, but he couldn't see one. The red car with Willie in it was in sight. He didn't need strength to drive; the steering was light as a feather and the response to anything he asked immediate. He picked up speed again, leaving the pursuer a little dot. The roads were against him. The car cornered beautifully, but he couldn't make the best use of her dramatic speed. He was in pain when he breathed now, and fighting the dizziness which came and went. Marie's bullet must have hit him. He forgot about the little wound in his calf. It had stopped bleeding. He had to slip that car. He had to outrun Willie or he'd be recaptured …

He came back on to the main road near Kells and he had to slow with the stream of traffic. The car came into view from behind. Straight over there was another sign: Cloncarrig. Reynard's old house. The hide, the secret place where nobody could find him. If he could get there … He cut across the road, causing two furious drivers to hoot and shout after him for risking a major accident. He sent the car flying down the country road, and saw the wall of the house loom up on the right. His body was numb and his head felt light. There was a track off the road. One field away was the folly with the secret room. He'd approached the house from the opposite side of the country. He pulled in off the road and stopped the car. He thought he was thinking fast and clearly. He had to reach the folly. Once there he would be safe. They wouldn't find him and Claire there.

He opened the door, steadied himself and started to walk. The red car he'd been escaping from sat at the entrance to the main road, waiting till the road was clear. The driver was not Willie. He was a prosperous farmer on his way home, and he kept muttering to himself that people who drove like that crazy fella shouldn't be allowed on the roads at all.

Frank kept the grey stone tower in sight, concentrating on it, fighting to stay on his feet and cross the field. Twice he fell and dragged himself upright. He had to get there. He had to escape them. If he didn't they'd capture his sister. She'd been so upset about the dead fox … He pulled his straying thoughts back to the present. Only a little further. The ditch ahead and then he was there. The ditch was steep and he slithered into the bottom of it and lay gasping. His eyes wanted to close. He wouldn't let them. Get up, on hands and knees. Crawl till you reach the top of it. Never mind the brambles. Pull free. Now, just a little further, there's the base of the wall. Oh, God, thank God … He was mumbling out loud.

Now, all you've got to do is get yourself up to that little window place. You can do it. Try. Try and you'll do it. He pulled himself up the first few feet, clung, almost fell backwards, and then found the final toe-hold. He reached the dark sanctuary of the window, and slid through it on to the floor. He had got there. He would never be found now. He lost consciousness.

Two teenagers found the BMW with the keys in it. They crashed at ninety miles an hour near Swords. Both were killed and the BMW burnt out.

There was no sense of time. He heard his father talking to him, and he wasn't angry. He couldn't understand what was said because it was a murmur, like listening to people in another room. He thought he saw his mother. Young and pale, with the fine red hair in the photograph. She didn't speak to him because she was dead and he'd never heard her voice.

She faded, and it was his uncle Kevin in her place. He wanted Claire. They were going fishing and they'd be late. He called her, and she came dancing through the darkness to him, all legs and pigtails flying, and he smiled in his delirium. He felt no pain, no sense of dying. He drifted from waking dream to fitful sleep, immobile, unaware of cold or dampness. The stillness prolonged his life. The exertion in reaching Reynard's hide had caused an internal haemorrhage and massive shock.

At the moment when Billy Gorman died rather than betray Claire, her brother saw her in hallucination, blonde as the sunshine, smiling at him, planning a day's enjoyment. As Claire Fraser set out to find him from the opposite end of the estate, crossing fields and ditches, Frank was back in time, floating between dream and reality. He was out hunting, following hounds with Claire close behind.

‘Let's go through there, I know a short cut,' she called to him.

He smiled and turned his horse to follow her. She wasn't Claudia's daughter for nothing.

She had been too bold. She fell off, the foolish girl, and he had to pick her up, all muddy and swearing, and they rode home together.

Life was full of happy days. It was bright sunlight outside the narrow window. He opened his eyes and all the dreams had vanished. There was a marvellous sense of peace. He watched the bright blue sky and saw a powder puff of cloud scud past. Don't rain, he thought. It's such a grand day. And then he heard her. He heard her voice and knew it was no wandering in his mind. Clear and urgent, coming from below.

‘Frank? Frank, are you there, Frank?'

He found the strength to answer. ‘Clarry. I'm here. Come quickly.'

An articulated lorry had jacknifed on the Dundalk Road. It sat across the road like a stranded elephant, its German driver arguing hectically with two traffic policemen and a posse of infuriated motorists. A group of people watched the pantomime from the roadside. They were grinning and enjoying the spectacle.

Michael Harvey didn't waste time. He pulled up, leaped out of the car and went up to one of the uniformed Gardai.