Lynch (18 page)

Chapter 22

‘When we get to
London
,’
Clark
told the others, ‘we’ll probably be separated at first. Robert Mann will want a debrief and will probably want to interview each of us in turn.’

‘And after that?’ Scott asked.

Clark
shrugged. ‘For you guys: a new identity, a new place to live.’

Katherine said, ‘What about you?’

Another shrug. ‘I’ll get a dressing down and probably asked to leave. I’m already on suspension. It’s the next appropriate step.’

‘What will you do?’ Scott asked.

‘I have a box full of books I’ve been putting off reading for years,’
Clark
said.

‘And we’ll never see you again,’ Katherine said.

Clark
looked at her. ‘No.’

Rhodes
, taking a break from his phone for a moment, said, ‘Forced early retirement. You should be happy.’

Clark
looked back at him. ‘Sounds ideal, doesn’t it?’ Their voices were edged with sarcasm.

‘But it’s not fair,’ Scott said. ‘You were doing what you thought was right.’

‘Doesn’t make it right,’
Clark
said. ‘Just because you think it’s right, doesn’t mean others will agree.’

‘You were trying to save our lives. This whole mess we’re in now, this is my fault not yours.’

‘Kane, please. We’ve already done the blame game before we left. It is what it is.’

Scott folded his arms. ‘But it shouldn’t be.’ He didn’t care what name she called him any more.

Walter was on the phone to his contact in
Leeds
and, in the back, Lucia was gurgling and flapping her fingers. María was finding it difficult to concentrate. She had never developed a love of the British motorway system, and her eyes were alternating from watching the blur of the white lane markings sweep by on both sides of them, and trying to scan the vehicles on the opposite carriageway for signs of a UPS van.

Getting quickly onto the southbound lanes would be a problem if she spotted their target; she couldn’t risk ploughing through the central barrier, not with Lucia in the back. Besides, their van would likely crumple rather than break heroically through to the other side like some
Hollywood
movie.

She glanced at Thomas Walter in the passenger seat beside her. ‘Where are they?’

Walter held his hand up to silence her as he listened to his contact on the phone. ‘Uh-huh. Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’ He ended the call and put his phone on the dash. ‘Their driver last checked in less than 10 minutes ago and they were on the M40 at Banbury.’ He reached for the road atlas and flicked through it until he found the relevant page. He scanned the motorway with his fingertip. ‘If we can pull off the M40 at Junction 9 and get to the other side of the road, we can probably wait for them there.’

María nodded. They were already on the M40 and a sign informed her that Junction 7 was half a mile away. In five or six minutes, they would be southbound.

From the front of the van, the driver gave a quick shout.
Rhodes
was on his feet and at the front by the driver in two strides.
Clark
stood behind him.

‘What is it?’
Rhodes
asked.

Mick glanced in his wing mirror. ‘Got this idiot coming up fast behind us. Too fast,’ he said. ‘Could be nothing. Could be something.’

Rhodes
slipped through into the front and adjusted the wing mirror on the passenger side so that he could see the road behind him. ‘White Transit,’ he said. ‘Jesus, he must be pushing a tonne.’

‘How far away?’
Clark
asked.

‘Not far away enough,’
Rhodes
said.

‘What should we do?’ Mick asked.

‘Peddle this fucking thing a little faster.’
Rhodes
pushed through into the back of the van again and dug in his bag for a gun. He released the safety, cocked it, and looked at
Clark
. Butt-first, he held it out for her. ‘I’m not giving you this, okay? I’m not going to lose my job as well.’

She took it. ‘Understood.’

‘Are we in danger?’ Katherine asked.

‘Not yet,’
Rhodes
said. He pulled another gun from his bag.

‘He’s still gaining,’ Mick shouted.

John stood up. ‘Don’t we get guns?’

‘Not on your life,’
Rhodes
said. ‘Sit down. I’m not letting a civilian take pot-shots at my head.’

Clark
had moved forward and was looking in the wing mirror. ‘I can’t see through his windscreen, but I’m damn sure it’s Fernandez.’

‘Does he act alone?’
Rhodes
called.

Mick tapped the brakes and everyone shunted forward. ‘Hang on to something,’ Mick said. He spun the wheel, cut the hard shoulder as he passed a little blue Ford Ka, and ripped into the exit slip. The van was right behind them, ploughing road dust into the air as it screeched into the turn.

The winding road ahead meant that they couldn’t build up speed. Each new corner had Mick touching the brakes and accelerating on the way out.

Rhodes
was on his phone. ‘I’m sending coordinates. Urgent assistance required.’ As he hung up and pushed their GPS coordinates to the Interpol officer he’d been talking to, he said, ‘I think we’re in no doubt as to who it is now.’

Clark
said, ‘It’s definitely not just some white-van man late for work. What’s the plan?’

Rhodes
grinned. ‘Stay alive.’

‘Works for me.’ Her heart rate had elevated and she could sense a slight tingle in her fingertips, the inbuilt adrenaline-fuelled thrill of the chase that all successful cops possessed.

‘We have a shooter,’ Mick shouted. In the wing mirror, he could see an arm extending from the driver’s side of the white van, gun in hand. A shot ricocheted off the rear door.

‘Everyone down,’
Rhodes
said. ‘Under the seats.’

‘I can’t get down there,’ Katherine said.

‘Get down as far as you can,’
Clark
told her.

Scott was on his feet. ‘Let me help.’

‘You’ll do as you’re told,’
Rhodes
said. ‘Everyone down.’

When they had complied, Clark stood beside
Rhodes
at the back of the van, gun steady in both hands.

‘It’s like target practice,’
Rhodes
said. ‘Only with an angry, moving target that’s shooting back at you. Ready?’

She nodded and
Rhodes
punched open the door. They ducked behind the rear row of seats and fired.

Outside, the white van was trying to overtake them, gunning up the oncoming lane, and it pulled level with Mick.

‘Fucking idiot,’ Mick shouted.

They took a corner together. Thankfully there was no traffic coming towards them.

Rhodes
took a side-shot at the van and blew out their rear tyre as it veered in towards their van. He’d seen a woman driving and a fat man beside her, but he couldn’t be sure if there were any more men in the back. Mick alternated on the brakes and the accelerator and pulled out of the way, but he clipped the kerb and the vehicle bounced as the white van fell behind them and swerved, sending sparks into the air as the blown tyre tore away and the wheel grated on the road surface.

Despite the blown tyre, the woman was still powering after them, spinning out into the opposite lane. She took another sideswipe at their vehicle and once again they bounced on the kerb. Mick tried to hold the van steady, twisting into the feel of it, but a third clip from the woman and he had to swing back to avoid a lamppost. Their van took to two wheels and as it started going over, the woman slapped her brakes and dropped back out of the way.

As they toppled, Rhodes fell into
Clark
and the van crashed to its side and skimmed the road.

María punched the brakes and felt her seatbelt draw tight over her shoulder. Walter slumped forward and grappled for his phone as it slid across the dashboard and dropped to the footwell beneath him, and Lucia’s wheelchair, its brakes secured, shunted forward an inch and rocked.

María picked up her SR22 from between her thigh and the seat, and said, ‘Call Fernandez. Get him here now.’

She unclipped her seatbelt and watched as the UPS delivery van in front of them went over on its offside wheels, the axles giving under the pressure and the wheels buckling inwards, and she heard the grate of metal on tarmac as it took to its side and continued along the road of its own volition.

Walter was doubled over, scrabbling between his feet for his phone and, when he rose, his face was red from the effort. His fat and sweaty fingers swiped the screen several times before he could unlock it.

María turned to Lucia and touched her knee. ‘You’re okay,’ she said. ‘Mama has to go to work now.’

‘Mama,’ Lucia responded.

María turned back and faced forward. The UPS van had come to a halt and a silence fell down on the thirty foot distance between them.

On the phone, Walter said, ‘Junction 8, M40. I don’t know where we are exactly, but we came off the motorway three minutes ago and took an immediate left. Where are you?’

As the van was going over, Scott felt Jesse slide into him, then as they came down, Katherine had slammed down on top of them, the air expunging from her lungs in a forceful gasp. He pushed up on them, trying to move himself, and said, ‘Are you okay? Are you okay?’

‘I can’t move,’ Katherine said. ‘Think my leg’s caught.’

‘Jesse? Can you move?’

Jesse groaned. The full weight of Katherine, slight as she was, had hit him hard. ‘I’m fine. I think.’

Scott shook his head. ‘
Clark
? You there?’

Someone fired a gun; he wasn’t sure who, but the sound of it echoed in his head. It was a sound at once familiar and alien to him.

John climbed over the seat and took hold of Katherine. ‘Her leg’s trapped around one of the seat struts,’ he said. He felt his way underneath her, gripped her foot and extracted her leg from under the seat. Katherine winced in pain.

‘What’s she doing?’
Rhodes
asked.

As the others managed to crawl out from the seats and get to their feet, standing on the inside wall of the toppled van, Scott could see the woman standing on the tarmac beside her vehicle, watching them.

She had a gun in each of her hands, but they were held loosely at her sides.

‘Why doesn’t she fire at us?’ John said.

‘Why aren’t we firing at her?’ Jesse retorted.