The Last Enemy (10 page)

‘Half past nine,’ she said, her voice showing how fed up she was. ‘We’ve got an hour and a half to wait.’

‘Maybe they’ll let us in early?’

‘On what grounds?’

‘We don’t actually want to see the whole house, just check out the library.’

‘So?’

‘We tell them we’re doing some research on a historical project about the library. Flash them your British Library card. That’ll impress them.’

‘It’s worth a try, I suppose,’ said Lauren. ‘They can only say no.’

She had opened the door and was just about to get out, when she let out a gasp of shock and pulled the door shut again.

‘What’s up?’ asked Jake.

‘Look!’ she said.

Jake followed her gaze, and let out a gasp himself. Guy was walking across the car park, and behind him was a teenage boy of about fifteen, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie. Even from this distance they could see he was pointing a gun at Guy’s back.

‘Let’s go!’ said Jake urgently.

He was just about to open the door and jump out, when Lauren stopped him.

‘Are you mad?’ she demanded. ‘He’s got a gun!’

‘But . . . It’s Guy! In trouble! Just like we said!’

‘He won’t shoot him,’ said Lauren. ‘Not here. Not unless you do something stupid.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

Guy and the kid reached the SUV. The rear door opened and Guy got inside. Then the kid with the gun got into the front passenger seat.

‘There are people already in it,’ said Lauren. ‘Two in the front, one in the back with Guy. And I bet you the one in the back’s also armed.’

‘Think I should ram their car?’ asked Jake. ‘Stop them getting away?’

‘And then they shoot us and take our car instead,’ said Lauren scornfully. ‘No, that’d be suicide. I don’t think they’ve spotted us, so we’ll follow them. And I’ll phone the police while we’re doing it.’

‘All right.’

The SUV reversed out of its parking space and headed for the exit. Jake set off after it.

‘Not too close,’ warned Lauren. ‘We don’t want to spook them.’

‘Yes, OK, I have been here before!’ Jake snapped back.

The SUV was a black Ford, and the number plate had been obscured with mud so it was impossible to read it. Jake kept a safe distance from them, while Lauren dialled 999 on her phone. As soon as the emergency services answered, she asked for the police, and told them what was happening.

‘What did they say?’ asked Jake as Lauren hung up.

‘They told me we shouldn’t get involved but should leave it to the police.’

‘Did they say what they were going to do? Put up roadblocks?’

‘No,’ said Lauren. She scowled. ‘I think she thought it was a hoax call.’

Ahead of them, the SUV had speeded up.

‘Let them go,’ urged Lauren. ‘Otherwise they’ll realise we’re following them.’

‘I don’t want to get too far behind,’ countered Jake. ‘It’s OK at the moment while we’re on this lane, but once we get to the main road, anything could happen.’

‘Hopefully, by then, the police will have turned up,’ said Lauren.

Suddenly something made Jake look into his rear-view mirror, and he was shocked to see a car speeding towards them from behind.

‘What the hell . . . !’ he exclaimed.

The car behind him pulled out, as if trying to overtake.

‘What’s that lunatic doing!’ shouted Jake.

The road was too narrow for two cars to pass, it was almost single track, but the car behind them was definitely trying to overtake. It shot forward, and the next second it was level with Jake and Lauren’s Mini. There was a terrible screeching sound as the side of the car scraped the metal of theirs. Then, the other driver swung towards Jake, smashing into his offside and pushing their Mini Cooper towards the nearside of the road.

Jake struggled to save their car, grimly trying to take control of the steering and keep the Mini on the road, but the smash had sent the wheels into a skid, and Jake felt the car slide, and plough through the thick bushes in the verge. As he slammed on the brakes, it stopped short just before it hit a tree.

The car that had forced them off the road had hurtled away at speed, and both it and the SUV were disappearing off round a bend in the road.

Their Mini had stalled. Jake restarted it, and tried to reverse, but the car had got caught up in the thick bushes.

Jake cursed and slammed his fist on to the dashboard.

‘That was deliberate,’ said Lauren. ‘The number plate was covered up with mud, the same as the SUV that had Guy in.’

‘But why force us off the road?’ demanded Jake.

‘They knew who we were. They recognised us.’

‘But we never got out of the car!’

‘So they knew who we were from our car registration.’

‘But who . . . ?’ began Jake. And then the obvious answer hit him, and both he and Lauren said it at the same time: ‘Pierce Randall.’

‘Anyway, with any luck the police will have stopped them,’ said Jake.

Lauren was already dialling 999 on her phone. Once again, she got through to the police emergency operator, and reported what had happened.

‘What did they say?’ asked Jake.

‘She said a patrol car was already on its way to de Courcey Hall,’ she said. ‘She told us to wait here for it.’

‘Looks like we don’t have much of a choice,’ groaned Jake resignedly. ‘They’ll be well clear by now.’

‘Hopefully the police will have more luck spotting two cars travelling in convoy,’ she said. ‘Especially with both of them having hidden number plates.’

‘That won’t be the case for long,’ said Jake gloomily. ‘Pierce Randall aren’t stupid. Now they’ve lost us, they’ll separate. I bet they even knock the mud off the plates.’

The police patrol car arrived fifteen minutes later, by which time Jake had managed to get their car back on to the verge. It was badly dented, and the front offside headlamp was broken, but it was driveable.

While one of the police officers talked to Jake and Lauren, the other walked around their car, making a note of the damage. Then, when she’d done that, she produced a breathalyser kit and asked Jake to blow into it.

‘I’m not drunk!’ protested Jake. ‘Someone forced us off the road!’

‘Then you won’t mind breathing into the tube, will you, sir,’ said the policewomen, her tone flat and bland.

Jake sighed in frustration, but breathed into the tube. The police officer took it and examined the digital display, made a note in her notebook, then returned the breathalyser to the patrol car. Her colleague checked his own notebook and the statement he’d just taken.

‘Let’s make sure I’ve got this right,’ he said. ‘You say you were following this car because a teenage boy with a gun had forced another man into it . . .’

‘And they’re getting away!’ snapped Jake. ‘Didn’t you set up road blocks, or anything?’

‘And you were following this car, and then a second car came up behind you and forced you off the road.’

‘Yes!’ said Jake impatiently. ‘That’s exactly what happened!’

‘But you can’t give us a description of either of the cars . . .’

‘We’ve given you a description!’ said Lauren. ‘The first one was a black Ford SUV, and the second one was also black, but everything happened too fast for me to see what make of car it was.’

‘But you didn’t get the registration numbers of either vehicle.’

‘Because the number plates had been smeared with mud, so they couldn’t be seen!’ retorted Jake in frustration. ‘We’ve told you that already!’

The two police officers exchanged looks.

They don’t believe us, realised Jake.

‘Why would we be making this up!’ he demanded angrily.

‘Possibly to try and explain the accident to your car,’ said the policewoman.

‘It wasn’t my fault, if that’s what you’re suggesting!’ burst out Jake angrily.

Just then, the policewoman’s radio crackled, and she moved away to listen to a message that was coming in. Her colleague carried on looking at Jake and Lauren, and although the policeman’s face remained expressionless, Jake’s heart sank as he realised that this was going nowhere.

The policewoman rejoined them.

‘Can I just confirm that you are Mr Jacob Wells?’ she said to Jake.

‘You know I am,’ said Jake. ‘I showed you my driving licence when you asked me, right at the start when you got here.’

‘I’ve been told to advise you to report to Holloway Road police station immediately,’ she said. ‘I must advise you that failure to do so could result in a warrant being issued for your arrest.’

‘But what about the man in the car? Guy de Courcey! He was being abducted at gunpoint! What about us being run off the road!’

‘Our colleagues at Holloway Road will be dealing with those issues,’ said the policewoman.

‘This is crazy!’ said Lauren. ‘A man’s life is in danger . . .’

‘As I said, our colleagues at Holloway Road will be dealing with those issues once you report there,’ repeated the policewoman. ‘And I would advise you to get there as soon as you can.’

The male police officer gestured to the broken headlamp on Jake and Lauren’s car.

‘I would also advise you to get that fixed as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘Driving a car in that condition is an offence.’ He pulled out a small notepad, and filled in a form, which he tore off from the pad and handed to Jake. ‘This is an official notice under the Traffic Act ordering you to have that fixed within forty-eight hours.’

Jake looked at the form. On it he’d written their car registration number, the date, and details about the broken headlight.

‘I don’t believe this!’ Jake burst out angrily. ‘A man has been kidnapped at gunpoint, and you’re giving me a traffic ticket!’

‘Our colleagues at Holloway Road station will deal with any other issues,’ said the policewoman.

With that, the two officers walked to their patrol car, got in and drove away.

‘I don’t believe it!’ repeated Jake. He screwed up the traffic citation and threw it away at the moving police car.

Beside him, Lauren sighed.

‘Better watch out they don’t come back and nick you for littering,’ she said.

Jake scowled. He knew Lauren was cracking a joke to try to make him feel better, but he was so angry he didn’t feel like laughing.

‘What now?’ he muttered.

‘I guess we head back to Holloway Road.’ In a hopeful voice, she added, ‘Who knows? Maybe they’ve got news about Guy?’

Chapter 13

The gridlock of traffic on the M25 was such that it was over two hours before Jake and Lauren finally arrived at Holloway Road police station. There, the desk sergeant put in a call, and Detective Inspector Bullen appeared in reception. He glared at them, and gestured for them to follow him. They walked along the corridor to the same interview room where Bullen had questioned Jake before. This time, though, there was no official caution; no tape running; no other accompanying officers. Bullen pointed at two chairs side by side at a table. Jake and Lauren sat down, and Bullen took a chair opposite. The detective inspector still hadn’t said anything and now he spoke, his tone a mixture of anger and frustration.

‘What the hell is your game?’ he demanded.

‘It’s no game!’ protested Lauren. ‘We saw Guy de Courcey being put into a car at gunpoint . . .’

‘And you gave chase and then were run off the road by some mystery car,’ said Bullen curtly. ‘Yes, I know. I got the report through from Kent.’

‘Then why aren’t you out searching for him?’ demanded Jake. ‘Why drag us in like we’re the culprits?’

‘I don’t need to search for Lord Guy de Courcey,’ said Bullen grimly. ‘I know exactly where he is. Or, rather, where he was an hour ago.’

‘Where?’ asked Lauren.

‘He was at Bromley police station in south London, talking to me on the telephone,’ said Bullen. ‘He’d gone there with his legal representative, to his nearest police station, at my request, as soon as I received word of the allegations you were making.’

Jake and Lauren stared at the detective inspector, stunned.

‘But . . .’ began Jake.

‘There are no “buts”,’ said Bullen firmly. ‘All this talk about him being kidnapped by gunmen is a load of eyewash. Lord de Courcey told us that he was in no danger of any sort.’

‘But . . . but,’ stammered Jake.

‘He was at de Courcey Hall!’ exploded Lauren. ‘We can prove it! Check the CCTV cameras there!’

‘He’s quite happy to admit that he was at de Courcey Hall today, but not under duress. He went with his solicitors to see someone he knew, an old friend of the family, who’d agreed to be a character witness for him. De Courcey Hall was a convenient place for them to meet. As his visit wouldn’t be in breach of his bail conditions, his solicitors were happy to take him. That’s it. End of story.’

‘Whoever he was with, they weren’t solicitors!’ snapped Jake. ‘Not unless solicitors are walking around wearing hoodies and tracksuits!’