The Word of God (36 page)

The man swore and skidded to a halt. The man behind had pulled his balaclava up and Peter distinctly saw the look of astonishment on his face. The third Devil Worshipper swore and dived for cover.

Crack!

Sir Miles's pistol went off close to Peter's head. The man who had dived for cover let out a yelp of pain and grabbed his arm, dropping his rifle as he did so. He then lay groaning beside the road.

“Hands up!” Peter shrieked. He was on the edge of panic and knew his voice showed this. The Devil Worshippers stopped and did as they were told, their faces a mixture of surprise and anger.

For a moment Peter was too surprised by the success of his plan to act.

We did it!
he marvelled, staring along the rifle at the agitated Devil Worshipper.

Then training reasserted itself. “Throw down the guns and lie down on the road,” he ordered.

The men did as they were told. Peter stood up and pointed down the road.

“Sir Miles, go down that way twenty paces and cover us in case there are more of them,” he instructed.

Sir Miles did as he was told. As soon as he was in position Peter knelt in the long grass where he could cover all three prisoners at once. “OK Steve, grab their guns and put them over here.”

Stephen knew what to do. He moved so that he never went between Peter and any of the Devil Worshippers and he kept well clear of their reach while he collected the guns and placed them beside the road. He was obviously thinking along the same lines as Peter as he said: “I wonder where the Black Monk and Sir Richard are?”

“Still in the jungle?” Peter suggested.

“Done a bunk more likely, and left these jokers to delay the police,” Stephen replied.

A fractional scowl on the face of the nearest Devil Worshipper made Peter suspect this was the case. “We have to contact the coppers,” he said. His mind tried to work out how to do this. The easiest way was to run down the road but that was far from the safest, if the Black Monk and Sir Richard were actually still in the jungle.

He pointed back through the fence: “Duck under the fence Steve, and run down in the dead ground to get the cops.”

Stephen understood instantly, the experience of dozens of fieldcraft exercises giving him a good understanding of how to use ground. He rolled under the fence and set off at a run through the long grass, keeping just far enough down the slope to be invisible from anyone in the edge of the jungle on the other side of the road.

Peter concentrated on covering the three prisoners. They were now looking around and plainly seeking a way of escape. One of them still had his balaclava pulled down and his eyes seemed to glitter with hate. Peter found he was shaking and had to force himself to focus and to keep the rifle steady.

Ten anxious minutes passed. The sun sank slowly to the west. Peter looked out in that direction. Beyond the open country were jungle covered hills, and beyond them were dark blue mountains that he recognized as the Lamb Range. Satisfied he knew roughly where he was he settled down to waiting.

Voices and movement behind him caused him to glance back. It was Joy and Gwen. They were half-carrying, half-dragging the wounded prophet. “We saw what happened,” Joy explained as they puffed their way up the slope to him.

Stephen re-appeared down at the white 4WD with figures in police uniform and in suits. Peter recognized Inspector Goldstein. Behind him were Graham and Megan. The police quickly searched the area and came to stand guard over the prisoners, who scowled even more.

Peter stood up and pointed back up the slope. “There is another vehicle back up there, a black four wheel drive. And there are two more Devil Worshippers somewhere around here: the Black Monk and Sir Richard.”

Inspector Goldstein nodded and sent three police on up the road. He had a mobile phone in his hand and began rapidly passing information and asking for urgent medical assistance. That reminded Gwen.

“There is a Devil Worshipper somewhere who has been bitten by a Death Adder,” she said.

Inspector Goldstein nodded. “He is in that white four wheel drive. Stephen told us what was wrong with him. Now relax, the ambulance is on its way.”

Peter felt a surge of relief, but this was swept away as Sir Miles said: “Quickly, we must get to Malanda before Sir Richard or the Black Monk. They know who to contact next and what the password is. If they get there before us not only will they get the scroll but they will probably kill the contact.”

Inspector Goldstein appeared sceptical, smoothing his moustache in a way that Peter found intensely irritating, till Gwen flew at him. “Sir Miles is right! We must go fast! They shot this man here once he had told them.”

That convinced the Inspector. He at once issued rapid orders to the uniformed sergeant, then said: “Come with me you lot, let's see if any of those cars still work.”

Two uniformed police were left to guard the prisoners. Inspector Goldstein, his Detective Sergeant, Sir Miles and the cadets set off down the road at the run. They clambered over the twisted remains of the gate and between the White 4WD and the gate post. As he did Peter glanced in and saw the Sniper crumpled on the seat. The Sniper's face looked a waxy grey colour and Peter felt dread grip his stomach. Then he ran on down the road out into the open country.

As he ran, Peter kept scanning the fields on either side.
If I was the Black Monk I would have gone down through the edge of the jungle to the left, then along that creek line,
he deduced.
I hope the bugger got snagged up in the wait-a-while!

At that moment he spotted movement away down in the valley beside the creek he had been looking at.
That's them!
He pointed and yelled: “There they are! The Black Monk and Sir Richard!”

It was Sir Richard's white shirt that stood out, the Black Monk appearing to be quite inconspicuous, especially with all the dark brown and black cattle dotted around the paddock.

The pair were at least a kilometre away and were already passing out of view behind the rise of the ground ahead.

Graham pressed his lips together. “They are aiming for the main road. We must head them off,” he cried. He broke into a run, followed by the others. Within a minute they had reached the police vehicles.

None of the police vehicles could move. That was instantly apparent. Most had been riddled by bullets. All the windshields were starred and shattered and most of the tyres were flat. Water and oil dripped from two of them.

Graham and Peter did not wait. While Inspector Goldstein and the sergeant started examining the vehicles they ran on, Peter thankful he had the rifle still.
Stephen and Joy came running along behind, Sir Miles, Gwen and Megan remaining with the policemen.

The road ran level along a gentle, open ridge for a hundred metres. The ground now hid the two Devil Worshippers and Peter felt intense concern that they would lose their quarry. He pounded on behind Graham, pushing himself to run as fast as he could. The road went through a pleasant glade of trees for the next hundred metres. There was no undergrowth so there was no danger of ambush.

Beyond the trees the road curved slowly right and downhill. As they rounded the bend Peter experienced a surge of fierce delight. “There they are!” he cried.

About seven or eight hundred metres ahead were the two men. They were angling across the field towards the road. In the distance, about two kilometres away, was the Danbulla Road and a farm house. That was obviously their objective. Peter pushed himself on, somehow managing to keep up with Graham. Stephen and Joy fell behind. Peter felt his breath coming in hot gasps and there were the beginnings of a stitch. He knew he could not keep it up much longer.

The road levelled out and the two men were lost to sight for a minute but Peter was pleased with this as it also hid them from view. They were right out in the open. He pounded on along the next hundred metres, chest heaving and breath coming in great gasps.

As they breasted the rise they again saw the two. Sir Richard was just climbing through the barbed wire fence beside the road and the Black Monk was already through. They were about half a kilometre ahead.
We are catching them up!
Peter thought, fierce satisfaction coursing through him.

As Sir Richard stepped clear of the fence he looked in their direction. He let out a cry and started to run. The Black Monk also broke into a run, his black robes billowing in the wind.

Peter gritted his teeth. “Damn! They'll get away!” he gasped.

Graham, who was few paces in front, shook his head. “No they won't. Keep running. We are catching them,” he called back.

“I.. puff.. I'm.. puff.. buggered. I can't keep it up… and … they are.. fresh,” Peter gasped. He tried to keep running but was now feeling dizzy and was experiencing sharp pains in his side. His legs felt like lead.

After another hundred paces he had to slow down. “Buggered!” he gasped.

Graham slowed as well. “They are getting away! Keep running!” he called. But he was winded too and could only jog along, chest heaving.

From behind them Stephen called. “Pete, use the rifle. Drop the bastards!”

Peter stopped running and looked at the rifle, then estimated the range. About three or four hundred metres. It was all open pasture sloping slightly up to where the Danbulla Road ran along the edge of a thick belt of jungle.

If they reach that jungle we will never find them,
he thought.

He went into the ‘Kneeling supported' position and slid off the safety catch. With difficulty he focused his eyes and got the correct eye relief on the telescopic sight. Into the circular picture popped the fluttering black robes of the Black Monk, then Sir Richard's white shirt.

That treacherous mongrel,
Peter decided, shifting the cross hairs onto Sir Richard's back.

“Clear the range Graham,” he called. Graham moved aside and looked back. Peter tried to steady his breathing but the rifle sights seemed to vibrate wildly. Black dots danced in his vision and he had to blink to try to clear them. Through his mind raced something he had once read about it being very hard for someone who has been running to shoot straight.

Now I believe him!
he thought.

With an effort he steadied his breathing and aim. Stephen didn't help by running up yelling: “Shoot! Shoot! They're getting away!”

Peter could see that. The two men were pounding along the road as fast as they could go, their heels and the bottoms of their boots looking oddly larger in the telescopic sight. He settled the cross hairs on the centre of Sir Richard's back.

No deflection. He is running straight away from me,
he noted.

His finger tightened on the trigger, taking the First Pressure, as Stephen danced up and down beside him. “Shoot! Shoot!” he screamed.

But Peter removed his finger from the trigger and shook his head. “I can't.”

“You shot at them before!” Stephen cried angrily.

“That was in self-defence,” Peter replied.

“Let me do it then,” Stephen cried. He reached for the rifle. But Peter slid on the safety catch and kept a tight grip on the rifle. Stephen insisted. “Give it to me! They will kill that guy in Malanda if we don't stop them.”

That was an awful possibility. Peter reluctantly handed the rifle to Stephen, who at once dropped into a kneeling position. Peter looked around to see where the two men had reached and silently swore. They were at a gate beside the main road. Both dived flat and rolled under it and a moment later were up and running.

At that moment a car came driving along the Danbulla Road from the north. Sir Richard raced out into the middle of the road with his arms up to stop it.

Joy had just caught up with them and she gasped.

“Oh no! Don't stop!” she cried at the distant car.

Stephen was still aiming the rifle but hesitated as the car slowed down. To their horror the car did stop. The next thing they saw was Sir Richard thrust a pistol into the face of the driver. The Black Monk rushed to the passenger door. An elderly lady was hauled out and sent tumbling on the grass. The Black Monk scrambled in. Sir Richard hauled the driver out, an elderly man by the look of him. The cadets watched in anguish as Sir Richard's arm went back, then struck down, the pistol taking the old man on the side of the head.

“Shoot Steve!” Graham called.

Stephen shook his head. “Too far. I might hit one of those people.”

All the friends could do was watch in frustrated anger as Sir Richard scrambled into the driver's seat. The car began moving.

Joy threw her hands in the air. “Oh! They are getting away! They will get to Malanda before us!” she wailed.

Chapter 23

DRIVE FAST!

T
he four cadets stood in frustrated despair as they watched the car with Sir Richard and the Black Monk in it drive off along the Danbulla Road. The car went to the right up past a farm, then vanished behind the buildings as the road curved left.

“Have they gone to that farm?” Joy asked anxiously.

Graham shook his head. “No. The main road goes behind it. Look, there they are,” he replied, pointing to the left of the farm. In the distance, now several kilometres away, Peter saw the car racing up a long slope through the open farmland. Within a few seconds it had vanished from sight over a crest.

Stephen muttered and scowled. “Lost them! Damn! Now they will get the scroll!” he cried.

Joy rounded on him angrily. “Never mind the stupid scroll,” she snapped. “We must warn the person in Malanda. I wonder if there is a phone at the farm?”

Peter began running down the slope towards the farm. “Sure to be,” he called.

At that moment a white 4WD came into view behind them. Peter heard the motor and glanced back, experiencing a momentary pulse of alarm as he recognized it as the Devil Worshipper's vehicle. But it was being driven by the Detective Sergeant. Inspector Goldstein and Sir Miles also sat in the front, with Gwen and Megan behind, holding the unconscious Sniper.