Blood Storm (10 page)

'What are the speakers for?' Paula wondered.

'I'd say when they have a prisoner down there they turn on the showers and the speakers play ghastly music at top
pitch - enough to burst their eardrums.'

Newman shone a powerful torch down inside the tube-
like cell. Paula used the illumination to take a number of photos. When she had finished Newman replaced the lid in
the position he had found it.

'Time to get out,' he said, 'after I've checked that giant
American-style fridge outside.'

'I wonder why those hooks are there, high up in the
walls?' Paula enquired, pointing up.

Newman opened the metal drawer of a steel cabinet built
into a side wall. They peered inside. It was full of metal
handcuffs. Newman closed the drawer quietly, his
expression grim.

'They plan to handcuff prisoners, then lift them up so
they can hang the chain between the cuffs from the hooks.
Being so high up, no matter how tall the prisoner is he'll
find himself with his legs dangling in space, the whole
weight of his body hanging from his wrists. Now, that
fridge.'

As they re-entered the corridor, Newman closed the punishment-cell door quietly behind them. He opened the
huge fridge that stood at the end of the corridor. The
electric power was working, and it was crammed with ice.

'Got it,' Newman explained. 'Before they drop a prisoner into that tube cell they empty a load of ice down inside. My
guess is they half-freeze the poor devil first, then turn on the
showers emitting scalding water. Let's get out of here while
we can . . .'

They traversed the entire length of the corridor. Newman
cautiously opened the door a few inches, nodded, stepped
out as Paula hurried after him. A damp cloying mist had
drifted in off the sea while they were inside. They were
walking swiftly alongside the prison wall when Newman
grabbed Paula, pushed her against the wall and flattened
himself.

'Keep very still,' he whispered. 'Movement attracts attention.'

Some distance away, blurred in the mist, four men in
uniform were walking towards a distant half-erected
building like the one they had explored. Two carried steel bars while the couple behind them pushed a trolley laden
with breeze blocks.

When they had arrived Paula and Newman had seen the
whole area was surrounded with high coils of barbed wire.
They had entered through a gap with a huge roll of barbed wire pushed to one side.

'Let's hope they haven't closed our exit,' Paula
whispered.

'If they have I can shift it,' Newman assured her, taking
out of his pocket a pair of thick gardening gloves.

They reached the exit point to find it still open. Once
they had climbed out of the vast hollow, they crossed the
flat grassy plain. They had reached the first ridge when Paula grabbed Newman's arm.

'We've been seen. Three men with automatic weapons
are running up behind us.' Newman glanced
back, saw
three figures blurred in the mist coming after them. He took
Paula's arm, hustled her over the first ridge, then moved at
the double towards the second ridge. They had just reached
the far side when Paula pointed ahead. Three more
uniformed men with weapons were walking towards them.

'Caught in a cross-fire,' she hissed.

'Drop flat behind the ridge.'

He did so, facing the way they had come, and she
flattened herself behind him. He gave the order fiercely.

'Whatever happens, you stay still. You do not fire.'

He glanced over his shoulder, saw the three men as
blurred figures, like ghosts, weapons at the ready. He
looked in front over the crest, aimed his rifle. He timed it
carefully. As the three in front stood on top of the other
ridge Newman aimed, fired, deliberately hit one man in the
kneecap. A shriek as he fired two more shots over their heads, dipped his own head.

The mist made his tactic work. The three in front
thought the three blurred figures coming from the other direction had opened fire on them. A fusillade opened up
on the men behind Newman and Paula, immediately
returned by a rattle of automatic weapons. The three men
on the ridge nearest the prison dropped, slumped like dead
men. Newman looked over his shoulder. The three behind him were collapsing on their ridge. No further movement
anywhere.

'Let's get out of this,' Newman ordered urgently.

They ran to the ridge behind them. Newman paused to
check the bodies on the ridge. All dead. Bless the Duke of
Wellington, he said to himself.

They ran all the way after Paula had checked her watch
and said they were going to miss the return ferry. As they
arrived on the dock, Abe, his motor running, waved at
them. Newman glanced down into a powerful motorboat
tied to the other side of the jetty. The earlier wind had
blown
overboard a canvas covering, now floating in the
water. He saw the contents.

'We've made it,' Paula panted as she hauled herself
aboard the ferry.

'Don't be too sure of that,' Newman warned.

8

Abe had the barge leaving the dock as soon as they were aboard. A strong breeze had blown up, curling the smooth water into waves. It had dispersed any fragments of mist.
Above the sky was a clear cerulean blue.

'Thank heavens,' Paula said to Newman as they sat near
the stern. 'What we saw was quite terrible.'

'Main thing is we have the evidence - your photos. Soon
as we get back to Park Crescent, take the camera down into
the basement. I want the film developed immediately and
five sets of prints.'

'Five?'

'That's what I said,' he told her abruptly, then grinned.

They were in mid-channel, halfway to the mainland
landing point, when Paula turned in her seat,
stared back towards Black Island. Newman was also looking in that
direction. The speedboat had left Lydford dock and
was roaring towards them. Paula took out her field
glasses, steadied herself, then slipped them back inside her
pocket.

'We may never reach the mainland,' she said quietly.

Newman was using his own field glasses. He sucked in his
breath, then lowered them. He looked at Paula, who had
taken out her Browning, holding it out of sight of Abe. She
looked at Newman.

'You've seen what's coming after us like a bat out of hell?'

'The powerboat moored to the dock back there. I peered
down inside it and neatly stacked next to each other inside
the craft were grenades.'

'Do you think, if we survive, they could sink this barge?'

'I've no doubt they could.'

When their lives were in mortal danger Newman never
concealed the situation from Paula. She was tough enough and experienced enough to face the truth. She looked back
at Abe attending the engine behind them, just far enough
away not to overhear them.

'There are three of those swine in black uniforms aboard
it,' she mused. 'One is concentrating on steering and the
other two are holding automatic weapons. I guess they
could spray us with bullets.'

'They'll use the grenades.'

The breeze had dropped. The sea was now a calm sheet of blue. The roar of the oncoming powerboat was louder.
Newman calculated it was a question of minutes before the
killers arrived. He turned round to Abe.

'Abe, whatever you do don't increase speed.'

'I'm doing that. Don't like the look of that speed job
coming straight for us.'

'Do not increase speed if you want to live,' Newman
ordered.

Something in his tone, his expression, got through to
Abe. Reluctantly he ceased powering up the motor, then
looked back, his ancient face distorted with fear. Newman
called out again.

'It's going to be all right. Maintain present speed.'

'Hope you knows what you's doin',' Abe shouted back.

Paula had lifted her gun, perched the muzzle on the side
of the barge. Newman's tone was quiet but intense.

'Put that damned thing away. Stay very still.'

'If you say so,' she replied, obeying him.

Newman turned his head again, estimating the course the
powerboat would take. Earlier it had been roaring towards
the stern of the barge, now it veered to their port side; close
enough when it was parallel to the barge to hurl grenades
into the target, far enough away to elude the results of the
expected detonation.

The powerboat was catching them up at a rate of knots.
One minute hence and they'd have their craft alongside the barge, but far enough away for their own safety. Newman
delved inside a pocket in the golf bag, brought out his
clenched hand grasping something. He showed it to Paula.
She stared at a large grenade.

'That's a biggie,' she commented.

'One of Harry's specials. Gets them made up by a pal
working in an ironworks. Then Harry fills it himself with high explosive, inserts the four-second fuse.'

He held it up so Abe could see only a portion of it. Abe,
whose gaze had been fixed on the nearby powerboat, stared,
called out.

'What's that?'

'Firework,' Newman lied. 'Left over from Guy Fawkes'
day.'

'Lot of friggin' use that will—'

He stopped speaking as Newman, seeing the powerboat
had now drawn level with them, jumped swiftly to his feet
after removing the grenade's pin. He was on his feet only
seconds as he lobbed the grenade. Paula watched it curve in
an arc, fall straight inside the powerboat. Newman dropped
flat as the first bullets were fired, grabbing Paula, hauling
her down with him.

The grenade detonated with an ear-splitting crack. This
was nothing compared to the tremendous explosion as it
detonated the explosives inside the enemy craft. The
menacing prow soared into the air, followed by large
fragments of the stern. Abe was knocked flat with the
Shockwave.

Paula sat up,
gazed
at where the boat had been only
moments before. The surface of the sea was boiling and
bubbling. Small pieces of the enemy boat drifted on the
surface, then sank. As the sea settled a large red lake spread.
Blood. No sign of the recent occupants.