Hot Pursuit (17 page)

‘What the hell are you doing?’ gasped Nick.

‘Putting as many miles between you and Blenheim Gardens as I can.’

Nick sighed. ‘Maggie, for God’s sake, slow down. This is crazy – I want you to stop the car
and to drop me off here.’ He pointed towards the next junction.

‘What?’

He turned round to look at her. ‘You heard me, Maggie; those people want me dead. It’s not some joke, it’s real – and they are not going to stop until I am dead. And I don’t want you involved in this. It’s way too dangerous – now drop me off. Over there on the corner.’

‘But what are you going to do?’ she whispered.

‘It doesn’t matter, just let me out.’

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ Maggie shouted, unable to hide her frustration. ‘There has to be some way out of this. What about if I take you to a bigger town, you could hide out there. There must be someone who would help you, someone you could ring?’

Nick shook his head. ‘Maggie, look, you don’t understand. That isn’t how it works. I’m not the sort of person who can go on the run, and even if I was it’s too dangerous to get any of my family or old friends involved. Coleman knows that. I just need a bit of time to think.’

Maggie turned the car and headed back towards the seafront. ‘What is there to think about. There has to be something you can do. You can’t just hand yourself over to those killers – that’s crazy. What if Coleman is working with them, too?’

Nick slumped forward cradling his head in his
hands. ‘I don’t know any more. I can’t take any more of this, I just want it to be over.’

Maggie looked at him. ‘But not by giving up, Nick?’ she said expectantly. ‘Not by handing yourself in to Coleman?’

He sighed. ‘I don’t really see what other choice I have.’

‘So you think I’m wrong about him betraying you?’

Nick shook his head. ‘I don’t know any more.’

Coleman stalked backwards and forwards across the front of the café, his coat – far too heavy for the day – blowing out behind him like a cloak. He looked like a disgruntled bat.

‘So where the hell has he got to?’ he barked into the little microphone on his lapel.

One of the young, broad-shouldered six said, ‘Don’t worry, Sir. We’ve got men at strategic points; all the exits are covered. He can’t get very far.’

Coleman snorted. ‘What do you mean he can’t get far?’ He didn’t doubt for a moment that his rescue squad were the business. What worried Coleman was not how his team might acquit themselves but why Nick Lucas had bolted again. The man was too highly strung for his own good and that bloody woman was a nuisance. What the two of them failed to realise was that it didn’t matter how far Nick ran. All alone, without police
protection or Stiltskin to hide him, Nick Lucas was as good as dead. There were people in high places – people who had taken out a contract on him – who wouldn’t stop until Nick was six-feet-under. Coleman sighed. Lucas had been a fool not to come quietly.

Unconsciously Coleman brushed a hand down over his shoulders, his fingertips just brushing the butt of the gun he was carrying in a shoulder holster. Maybe Lucas would be better off dead after all, at least then all the running and the fear would be over and done with.

‘Stand by.’ His ear piece crackled. Coleman waited.

While Coleman prowled backwards and forwards waiting for news, on the other side of the park Robbie Hughes had been watching, Lesley, who had looked left and right, all the while bobbing up and down behind the hedges that lined the paths, trying to spot where the two heavies had taken Bernie Fielding. She looked for all the world like a meerkat in a pale pink cardigan.

They had only just missed Bernie and his dodgylooking friends, pulling up in the car no more than a moment or two behind the three of them – although fortunately not close enough to catch Bernie’s eye, so with a bit of luck their prey hadn’t bolted; at least not yet.

It had to be said that Robbie was beginning to lose patience with the whole bloody scenario. They had been so close and yet were still so far from any decent filmable conclusion, and Lesley really wasn’t helping at all. Behind the hedge she
had been going through another cycle of bobbing, poking and peering.

‘Well?’ he had snapped, waiting for her expert opinion. ‘Did you see where they went?’

But before Lesley had been able to reply, two people, a man and a woman, had hurtled past them as if they were running out of a burning building, and this time even Robbie recognised that it was the man he had interviewed at West Brayfield and Bernie Fielding’s ex-wife, Maggie Morgan.

Robbie had stared at them as they ran towards the car park. What in God’s name was that about? Were they were all in cahoots? Did it imply that there was something else going on that he didn’t know about? Had Bernie and his ex-wife got some cosy little
ménage à trois
going on in a beach hut somewhere? A sex romp might be just the thing he needed to weigh the scales with the Madam Upstairs at
Gotcha
. Or was it a conspiracy? People always enjoyed a good conspiracy theory.

Robbie looked at Lesley; maybe she had some idea.

‘Was that who I think it was?’ she said, pushing her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose.

Robbie nodded.

‘What on earth do you think is going on?’ asked Lesley.

On another path, not too far away from the café,
Nimrod scanned left and right. He had already spotted the heavily set guy in the unseasonal black coat waiting around outside the coffee shop, snorting on a nasal spray. He knew instinctively that even if this was not Lucas’s contact then he had an important role in picking him up.

Walking beside Nimrod, Cain said very little, while Bernie shambled along between them looking decidedly hangdog and very, very uneasy. Nimrod had already decided that if Bernie made a break for it they wouldn’t expend too much energy bringing him back. He was probably more trouble than he was worth.

Over by the café, Nimrod saw the coat man’s face twitch into life and watched as he pressed a finger to his ear, talking into his lapel. Nimrod scanned backwards and forwards amongst the walkers and the sunbathers, trying to pick up the other members of this guy’s team, all the while willing Nick Lucas to come into view. It surely wouldn’t be long now; time had begun to slow down to a crystal-clear syrupy flow. Nimrod smiled as every face, every flower, every detail of the day became sharp as glass, while the adrenaline pumped through his body as warm and welcome as good whisky.

A public, daylight execution was far from ideal, but from this distance it would all be over in an instant and they would be away before Nick Lucas
had hit the neatly clipped grass. It would be like the grassy knoll all over again.

Nimrod grinned, letting the idea roll through his mind. Every sense was alive as he imagined the instant when he picked his shot – felt his finger squeeze the trigger, the motion as smooth as silk – and as his mind cleared, Nimrod let out a long slow breath and with it the tension rolled out of his body like fog.

Soon, crooned the dark voice deep in his mind. A heartbeat away, Cain caught his eye and grinned back; he could feel it, too.

An instant later, the coat man in front of the café started off across the park towards the far gate, walking smartly, his head down, a finger pressed into his ear. Nimrod tracked his progress like a laser. Another man hurried across to join him – by his dress easily identifiable as another of the pick-up squad. If they were breaking positions then something had gone badly wrong. Damn. Where the hell had Nick Lucas got to?

‘After them,’ Nimrod snapped to Cain, and began to stride out after the man in the black coat and his sidekick. He didn’t doubt for an instant that Cain would know exactly who he meant. Cain wouldn’t consider questioning Nimrod’s instructions and instantly did as he was told. Bernie came too, mainly – Nimrod reasoned, as he headed off after their prey –
because he was too scared and far too stupid to do otherwise.

‘Our man just got into the woman’s car and they’ve pulled away, and appear to be heading back towards the town centre,’ said a voice in Coleman’s ear.

‘What? What do you mean
pulling away
? Why didn’t you stop him, you dozy pillock?’ roared a furious Coleman.

This wasn’t how operational procedure said it should be done; debriefing and explanations should come later, when a mission was over. In the moment all energies, all attention and resources needed, should be concentrated on what
was happening
, not what should or might have happened, but Coleman was so angry he couldn’t stop himself.

‘But I was under the impression that this was supposed to be a walk in,’ whined the man. ‘Our mark was supposed to come over and just give himself up, not turn round and bugger off again,’ he continued in the same high-pitched whinny, and then recovering himself, added, ‘and I didn’t have orders to detain him, Sir, and besides we don’t want an incident, do we.’

‘An incident?’ barked Coleman, glowing white-hot with frustration. ‘He’s a chef for God’s sake – what did you think he was going to do, break out a palette knife, beat you senseless with a
fucking éclair? Give me strength – bring the car round. I’m already on my way. I assume someone saw which way they went?’

‘Maybe Maggie Morgan and that chap are just here on holiday. It could be a coincidence,’ Lesley said to Robbie Hughes.

Robbie stared at her. ‘What? Bernie, Maggie and the other bloke are all here together, in Minehead, and that they were all at the holiday park together earlier? What are the odds on that, then, Lesley, eh?’ He couldn’t keep the derision out of his voice.

‘I was only thinking aloud,’ Lesley said, her mouth narrowing down into an angry, tough little line that made Robbie feel very uneasy indeed. ‘I was just saying –’

Two more men hurried past them. One was middle-aged and thickset, with a thick black wool coat on. He looked important and hot, while the other one, younger in a navy-blue suit, was scurrying behind him trying to keep pace. The older man did not look at all pleased – they both had the appearance of policemen in plain clothes and they were making for the car park.

Lesley looked at Robbie. ‘Something very strange is going on here,’ she said, stealing the thought clean out of his head. ‘What do you want to do?’

So now, fresh out of ideas of her own, Lesley
wanted to play the willing little assistant, thought Robbie grimly.

But the decision and any possible retort was whipped away as not more than thirty seconds later two other smartly dressed men, flanking a third, hurried out of the gardens too. This time Lesley visibly brightened.

‘That’s him,’ she said, waving furiously. ‘There. Look. It’s Bernie Fielding.’

The man in the middle looked up briefly, blanched milk-white, and at that moment even Robbie could see that the face now staring at them with a mixture of horror and total astonishment resembled the wedding picture in the newspaper.

‘Oh my God. Bernie Fielding,’ Robbie snorted in disbelief. Finally, here he was, face to face with his arch enemy at long last. God, Robbie wished that he’d brought the whole bloody crew with him now. Whether the segment got shown or not, Robbie wanted this moment recorded for posterity. ‘Have you got the video camera?’ Robbie hissed from the corner of his mouth, expectantly holding out a hand.

‘No, I thought you’d got it,’ said Lesley. ‘It must still be in the car.’

Robbie groaned. Bloody woman.

‘Oh fucking hell,’ said Bernie, turning at the sound of his name.

Nimrod looked down quizzically at him. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Over there. It’s that bloke off the telly,’ Bernie said, pointing towards the hedge.

‘Robbie Hughes. He’s the presenter of
Gotcha
. He’s very good –’ Cain offered helpfully.

Christ, that was all they needed. Nimrod looked round in horror and caught a fleeting glimpse of what had startled Bernie. If they had a film crew with them then he and Cain were screwed, but no, it was just a small plump man and a skinny blonde woman who at present were standing with their mouths wide open, staring at Bernie, although Nimrod knew from experience that it wouldn’t take long for them to defrost.

Before they had the chance Nimrod caught hold of Bernie’s arm and frogmarched him to the car park. The last thing they needed right now was for Bernie Fielding to tell some investigative reporter all about their search for Nick Lucas in an attempt to save his own skinny little arse. And Nimrod didn’t doubt for a moment that that was exactly what Bernie would do if he got half a chance.

‘Get in the bleeding car. Now!’ Nimrod growled to Bernie, and Bernie did exactly as he was told, as meekly as a little lamb.

Maggie drove Nick straight out of town, up along the coast road to the little village of Selworthy
without so much as a backward glance. All right, perhaps a look or two but once she was clear of the town she was almost certain that they weren’t being followed.

The irony was that it was the most beautiful day on Exmoor. The sky was cornflower-blue without a single cloud muscling in to dilute the colour, the light sharpening the edges and warming the curves of the rich green landscape. In the tiny village, sunshine reflected off the glorious white-painted cottages nestling up under their thickly thatched roofs. As Maggie eased her way into a parking space the village looked as serene and as unruffled as any place could possibly be.

But serene or not, Maggie guessed that she and Nick were sheltering in the eye of the storm and that they had to get away, but exactly how and where and for how long was totally beyond anything Maggie could get her head around. It seemed impossible to find a way out of their current predicament, and even more impossible to think straight.

Maggie couldn’t go anywhere with Nick – even if she was tempted to. She already had a life, the cottage, the boys – and part of her brain was demanding that Maggie put Nick out on the side of the road and drive away as far and as fast as she could. Good God, just how much deeper did she need to get entangled with him before she saw sense? The voice sounded a lot like her mother –
which was another thing. She couldn’t leave the boys with her mum and dad indefinitely and she hadn’t rung them since she had arrived in Somerset.

It was Nick that the hit men were after, not her. Maggie hadn’t done anything, but if she continued to help him how much longer would it be before she was at risk, too? But on the other hand, how could she possibly just abandon him to the wolves? The thought of it made her heart hurt and the dilemma made her head ache.

‘Maggie?’

Maggie jumped; for a moment or two she had almost forgotten Nick was still there. Painting on a cheery smile she looked across at him.

In the passenger seat Nick looked pale and tired, and Maggie sighed. She had had only a couple of days of being hunted down, God alone knew what the effects on her would be if, like him, she had lived with the threat of discovery and death for months on end. It was amazing that he wasn’t stark-staring mad by now.

‘What is it?’ she asked gently.

He pulled her close and kissed her, clinging to her for a second. The sensation of his lips on hers made Maggie shiver. ‘You want the truth?’

She nodded while her stomach flipped over and over with desire. ‘I most certainly do.’

When Nick spoke it was as if he had been reading her mind. ‘I’ve had enough, Maggie. I’m
so tired of running. I just want to go home. And I’ve had an idea; I don’t know if it’ll work but it’s got to be worth a shot.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe that wasn’t a very good choice of words.’ Pulling away he took her mobile out of his jacket pocket. ‘I’m going to ring the police and give myself up –’

She looked at him. ‘What? But I don’t understand, Nick – surely Coleman
is
the police?’

He shook his head, ‘No, I don’t think so, at least not directly. Coleman is part of some other government organisation but if anyone looks at my files they’ll be able to find plenty of evidence that I’ve been harassed and threatened and that I’ve been placed under protection. All of that is on the record. If I can talk to someone high enough up – even if I can’t – surely to God I’ll be safer in police custody than I am out here on the run? Someone, somewhere has to know that Coleman’s precious relocation system is leaking like a sieve – how else would those guys have found me? And if it is Coleman – well –’ He shrugged. ‘I still have to make the call, I don’t know what else to do. I haven’t got what it takes to fight them all.’

He looked across at her, his blue eyes dark with a pain that she didn’t dare fathom.

‘But what if the police don’t believe you – what if they think you’re mad?’

He laughed. ‘It’s a chance I have to take. But
if I can persuade them to look at my record, even if I’m banged up in a cell for a few hours until they pull my case notes, it has got to be safer than being out here in the open.’

Maggie wasn’t so sure. ‘How about if I come in with you and tell them what I’ve seen?’

Nick shook his head. ‘I’d rather you didn’t – I don’t want you involved any more than you already are, Maggie. It’s time to let go now.’ He sounded warm but determined.

‘But – but –’ she protested, feeling her eyes fill up with tears. ‘I don’t know if I can just let you go, Nick. I am already involved. And I care. How will I know what’s happened to you? How will I be able to find you –’ Any further words stuck in her throat and one big tear rolled down over her cheek despite her best efforts to keep it back.