The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 (20 page)

Chapter
17

Flux

Rebecca
Templeton drove the Interceptor at over seventy miles an hour on the motorway,
eating up the distance like a relentless force. She’d have driven faster but
for the miserable London congestion.

The
death of Danny Atkinson had affected her profoundly but instead of letting it
bring her down it only served to fire her zeal onward. The capture of the spy
Malthar soothed her rage to a warm glow. He had been a godsend and information
was pouring out from the interrogation team, then filtered down all Interceptor
Units.

The
Ford Mondeo looked ordinary enough in appearance. There were no overt signs of
power or capability, but the V6 engine was extra-tuned to near-racing
specifications. It made short work of most speed-limited machines on the road
and cornered almost like a rally-car. The Interceptor was equipped with
ram-guards at the front and grill-mounted police-lights. Whenever a slower
driver appeared she merely had to flash them for a few seconds to clear the way
in front of them. Drivers were ultra-wary of being pulled over by the
authorities since the penalty-points system had become even more draconian.

At
her side was a Dominick Nichols, he was older than she was, in his late forties
and old before his time. His placid attitude and a laid back approach grated
Templeton’s predatory mind-set.

Control
had relayed the intel about Riley. Her picture and getaway vehicle was now in
circulation among the security forces and hers was no exception. The Kaslar
woman was still in some amazement at the turn of events. This was giving way to
cold variables and possibilities.

A
Ford Puma? Templeton frowned at the strange logic. Lorraine I thought you’d
have had more sense than to use a souped-up mini? There was no license plate
for a firm fix, only the color, make and model.

Nichols
plugged in the details to the computer scanner. “Will that data back-feed from
the Traffic HQ Becky?” Nichols asked.

“It
should but it’ll take a while without a number plate.”

“That
doesn’t matter, as soon as they hit a camera section of the motorway or A-Road
we’ll get a fix!”

“You
don’t say,” she admonished sardonically. “When these two are in our hands I
want time alone with them, understand?”

“Is
this because of Danny being killed?” Nichols asked tentatively.

“Something
like that.”

The Ford Puma roared towards the first set
of gateway camera’s. Riley’s driving skills were well-honed, even before she’d
learned to drive she had ridden horses on her family estate. That had been
before her commitment to the Yeomanry cause though and disownment. Traffic on
the roads was generally less than in the times of plenty, people were poorer
and costs were higher. In an attempt to keep the thirsty appetite of the
capital under control, petrol and diesel were rationed. The M-25 was still a sluggish
motorway at rush-hour though. The motorway encircled London and the hour was
just shy of the rush-hour.

Gearson had his third case open and
removed the Artifact. It was a torch-like probe that connected on to a
data-unit. The latter resembling a ruggedized laptop via a cable.

“Will that thing truly blind them Kallan?”

“It should, but as a prototype you never
know.”

The data-unit buzzed to life as Gearson
stuck a rubber sucker cradle to the side-window and clamped the probe into it.
He then powered the window down slightly and tapped a few keys, bringing the
lens jammer online. The probe now activated and semi-autonomously snaked a
small inner probe out the gap so it was exposed to the buffeting of the wind.
Liquid metals of exotic origin flowed to compensate for the effects but
vibrations showed up on fluctuating readings via the data-unit.

“Slow down to about sixty Lorraine, and
keep the speed as constant as you can.” Gearson said watching the figures now
turn green from yellow. “That’s it. Ok, now we find out if the technos-folk did
a good job when they made this.”

“First camera’s dead ahead,” Riley said
with fear in her heart.

“Steady now, scanner has a lock,” Gearson
said optimistically. “It has a lock and… neutral signal feedback!” the man
spoke almost exultantly.

The Ford Puma passed under the bank of
three gantry cameras with the rest of London’s traffic.

“We made it?!”

“That’s what the device says. We’ll know
soon enough whether it ghosted their cameras.”

“How soon?” enquired Riley.

“If there’s half a dozen flashing lights
behind us,” chuckled Gearson.

The atmosphere in the Interceptor Units
was tense. For nearly forty-five minutes the radio traffic, once buzzing with
activity, now faded to five minute status checks. To make matters worse an
overturned lorry on the route ahead of Templeton had pole-axed any efforts of
speedily checking the way ahead. Even the hard-shoulder lane was blocked,
preventing her from using that as a shortcut.

All
around the M-25 Special Branch in vans and pursuit vehicles resorted to pulling
over any Ford Puma that came into sight. Specialist Firearms Units took up
position on overhead bridges and reported on any vehicles matching their foe’s description.
The tactic was sound enough but by the time every bridge was manned their
quarry was off the M-25. They took a snaking, northward’s route, using
off-the-beaten-track A-Roads to remain at large.

An
hour elapsed and the frenzied trackers at London Control were gobsmacked as to how
their technological CCTV was failing them.

Commissioner
Roberts was spitting feathers, he made phone call after phone call to the
technicians who ran tests and diagnostics. Still they could not force a false
result. The Ford Puma was eluding them.

Off
in the corner, with his perennial companion, Ministry agent Mastock shook his head
after seeing Roberts throw up his hands for a tenth time.

“It’s
a wonder that idiot got the election rigged without discovery,” Mastock said
sardonically.

“It’s
not over yet,” Shears grinned hopefully. “Roberts will blockade the motorway
next, even the A-Roads.”

He
listened passively as she spoke on.

“Police
helicopters will follow them, then we’ll have our prize.”

“You’re
assuming they haven’t passed any blockades already though.”

“True,”
she conceded.

“Don’t
underestimate Gearson. I thought I had him cornered in Vladivostok but he gave
me the slip! Killed two of my attack-beasts and maimed my former assistant. She
thought he was an easy-mark like you do.
Abdul Ephraim was the sole
survivor from Heysham, he’s recovering in Birmingham, rabid for revenge.
Then
there’s our man Shildz badly wounded up in Warwick! Don’t make the same mistake
they made, take no chances against either him or the Yeoman!”

Rebecca
Templeton was, like Lorraine Riley, unlike the mainstream-thinkers. Both were
left-handed, yet she drove using her cerebral logic as opposed to visceral
instincts. Instead of heading north on the M-25 she went west, using the M-4
Corridor, then north using interconnecting A-Roads. She knew Riley’s tactics
from their training days, they matched her own unpredictable techniques when it
came to escape and evasion. The lorry-delay had cost them massive time though
and she’d driven as fast as she’d risked given the congested traffic. Her
bodyguard was beginning to annoy her though with his doubts and whining.

“I think we’re onto nothing now Rebecca!”
he chastised. “Let’s call it a day.”

“I’m not giving up until after nightfall!
That Puma is not far now.”

“Let the uniform’s handle it, they can
keep an eye out in the towns and cities. They’ll crop up and hold them for us
to pick up later.”

The intelligence sergeant ignored him but
gripped the steering wheel like a vice. After another minute of driving he
spoke of turning back for London and she cut him off

“Whose name is this vehicle in Nichols?”
she said coldly.

“Yours, I think?” Nichols conceded with a
hint of mockery.

“Correct. What rank are you the equivalent
of?”

“Corporal.”

“Who is in charge of this vehicle?”

“You are,” the guard said in a drawn, monotone
manner.

“That means I’m the boss,” Templeton
smiled. “If you want to get out I can drop you off at the nearest town? It’s
quite a trip to get back to London from there.”

The bodyguard took a breath and relented.

After another five minutes of driving a
new order came through from Control. All Interceptors were to return to base.
The search would now focus on blockade checkpoints ran by the police and
military.

The woman swore and gave a pained scream
from the core of her being, unsettling Nichols slightly. For five minutes they
both said nothing, finally she nodded.

“You’re right, you win, let’s head for
home Dom,” she said with a heavy sigh of melancholy.

“Sometimes you can’t win them all Rebecca.”

“I
really
thought this time I could make a difference.” Templeton let her guard down and
spoke openly. “I’ve always vowed to get even with her, after what she did to
me.”

Her heartbeat quickened as she realized
she’d spoken too much.

“You know of this outlaw personally?”

“I knew her before she joined the Yeomanry.
She was Intelligence Corps. We were friends, closer than sisters.”

“I had no idea,” Nichols said.

“Well I don’t normally tell people as it
was before the second Coup, the bloody one that toppled the government.”

“The Colonels War? That’s incredible!” he
said shocked at the revelation.

“I almost begged her not to join, the man
I’d hoped to marry joined with her. It was like she’d stabbed me in the heart
and twisted the knife. Ever since then I’ve vowed revenge.

“Did you not tell the investigators this when
the purges were going on?”

“When the news came out that everyone was
going to be investigated I couldn’t bear the shame of them knowing my private
life. I’d have been lucky to make Corporal if I’d let on Lorraine was my former
friend.”

There was a pause in the vehicle as the
conversation hung heavy in the air.

“Dom, you must be silent on this, it’s my
head if Control finds out.”

“I understand, your secret is safe with
me,” Nichols lied.

Inwardly the gray-haired guard felt his
heart race. As an anti-corruption agent on deep-cover within the Ministry he
was always listening for such talk. The looming investigation of SOTF combined
with what he had recorded would be the decisive blow. The Land Ministry would
be pleased with his work. Taking down the Kaslar Sergeant who he secretly
loathed would only be part of the joy. He’d be promoted, perhaps even get a
position with the Prime Speaker’s Guard. He pretended to agree as he always did
and nodded when needed as Templeton spoke on other unrelated matters. The drive
back to London would not be so long after all he thought wickedly.

Chapter
18

Intersection

The mood in the cramped Ford Puma was
upbeat, not one camera had been tripped and no pursuers threatened them. Gearson
had relaxed and was regaling Lorraine with anecdotes and tales. The one of his
encounter in Kazakhstan lightened the mood considerably.

“So I told the nomad girl, I
had
to leave then passed four fuel cans
to stop her pestering me!” he concluded, causing Lorraine Riley to laugh
unrestrainedly for the first time in hours.

“Uh oh, speaking of fuel,” she tapped the
tiny fuel gauge “this beast needs feeding.”

A service station sign appeared after a
couple of miles and Gearson saw the petrol gauge was just off a quarter-full.

Pulling at his red beard the man shook his
head. “We could just go past it and refuel using the jerry can,” he pondered
warily.

“It’s only half-full though and we need more
than half a tank to get to the Yeomanry outpost. Besides which, I need to use
the ladies room pretty bad.”

The tall man nodded then reached for the
data-unit.

“I need to reconfigure the probe for
service-station cameras. Slow down and give me a minute.”

She did so and Gearson completed the recalibration
just in time. As they drifted past the first camera set on a post it gave a
blink of green as the numbers shifted. The Ford Puma was still a ghost on the
system. There was no queue in the petrol lane either.

“I’ll pay with the credit card.”

“Is that smart? Aren’t they traceable?”

“Not this one, it’s a ghosted one. The
Russian mafia flogs them on the black market. I got it last week so it should
still work.”

After swiping the card and punching in the
PIN it was accepted. Within five minutes the tank was full.

“Smart card for lady Lorraine,” quipped Gearson
drawing a smile from Riley.

“Just need to use the little girls room
now,” she drove on into a parking space that faced the main service-café.

“I bet you can’t wait to finally re-join
Eric,”

“Tell me about it! Nearly one year we’ve
both been on assignment, him overseas and me in London. It was only supposed to
be six months but the Colonels insisted on the extension.”

“That’s a short stint for all that.”

“Really?”

“Among my people agents are gone for two
years sometimes three,” Gearson replied mysteriously.

“My people eh?’ You are elusive about them
Kallan,” Riley said. The woman donned a jacket and made sure her sidearm was
secure in its holster.

“I’ll tell you more later, can’t risk you
knowing too much in case of capture.”

“Hold that thought,” she said earnestly,
leaving to walk away.

As she crossed the distance to the service
café briskly a weight seemed to lift from her stomach, despite her bladder’s
pleas. The outer glass door led to an open area of several aisles for shop
area, while a café beckoned just beyond it. The aroma of food drew her
slightly, as did an outlaw’s urge to buy the daily newspaper. She thought it
wise to take care of nature’s call first though.

As she took care of her business in the
ladies toilet her tense attitude relaxed. The radio on the Ford Puma had not
flashed any warnings or alerts. To all intents and purposes she was off the
radar to the populace. The police and authorities would have her picture,
possibly Gearson’s, but they had not yet played their hand to the public.

“Not yet anyway,” she said to herself as
she washed her hands and checked her appearance in the mirror. “You don’t look
bad for an outlaw woman Lorrie,” she said whimsically, brushing her hair back
and washing her face.

The smells from the
caf
é
drifted in, as a pregnant woman entered the toilets.

“What the hell, a bit of food won’t hurt,”
she told herself.

The café had the usual clientele of
truckers, commuter folk and travellers like herself. Ignoring them she went to
the sandwich area and queued up behind an old woman.

She heard a conversation in the aisle off
to her left that triggered her blood.

“Have you heard about the latest alert on
the radio?” one man said to another.

“What’s that about then? The refugee
killings?” responded the listener.

“No, but them Yeomanry have been up to
tricks down in London, the police are putting up blockades and checking
everyone down there.”

“Even this far north?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds like a big
one.”

The queue moved forward and Riley resisted
the urge to run.”

She paid cash for the two sandwiches, took
her change and turned right, about to head to the corridor that led outside.

Around the corner walked Rebecca Templeton.
Riley saw her former friend, lover and sworn enemy like a solid wraith in human
form. It had been so long since their pact in the forest, so long it seemed
like a previous age. Yet true to the oaths and prayers Lorraine had made before
the oak tree, fate and destiny now became realized. Her adversary was only ten
yards from her and Riley’s brain was almost overwhelmed with shock. A more
innocent woman would have perhaps trusted in the brunette being unconnected
with any danger or threat. Yet Riley knew only too well the look on the other
woman’s face. She’d been on too many training missions with her to know the
look of fatigue and stress common with hunting another person down.

She was slightly bigger and more fleshy
than all those years back. The curvy, pocket hourglass frame Riley was once intimate
with, in the female way, still looked the part though. She wore a smart, yet
casual blue jacket and matching knee-length skirt, a green-badge on the lapel
designated her Intelligence Corps role. Temple’s hair was darker, of a raven-like
shade which was loose and down past the shoulders. Her face was tense and more
hardened than the girlish bloom a decade before. Indeed her maturity was almost
like she was old before her time. At the same time the SOTF agent looked
saddened and melancholy with herself as she contemplated checking her smart
phone for something. Then a second later her large hazel eyes felt the look of Lorraine
Riley on her. She looked across directly as a concentrated fusion of surprize
and alarm intensified through her.

Templeton saw the once bright fair hair
was now long and tinged with brown shades. It framed the all-too lovely ethereal
face though. She’d changed little in body size and the elegant figure was all
too memorable. The long black jacket was open and the gray shirt revealed
familiar curves known to her all those years ago. That was back when both wore
the military uniform of the British Army. Now they waged war on opposing sides,
making them sworn enemies.

“Becky,” Riley said almost to herself,
partly out of sad reminiscence and partly over what both of them knew was next.
Mental and heartfelt zeal fired like lightning bolts in that moment before
deadly fighting.

The two women reached for their
weapons
.
Riley had the slight advantage by a fraction of a second, but her increased emotional
shock slowed her. Even with the shoulder-holster performing well Templeton was
like a laser-guided machine. Her weapon was cross-drawn from the hip, as was
standard for those driving Interceptor Unit vehicles. Time slowed down for
Riley and she used a one-handed draw to desperately even the odds of winning
the draw. By the time the Yeoman woman’s Sig 226 was almost aligned with
Templeton the whole room exploded from a gunshot.

Templeton’s firearm spoke first and the
bullet struck Riley’s left arm. Blazing heat flared in the taller woman as the Glock
17’s messenger ripped through muscle and tissue before exiting her arm and embedding
itself in the outer wall of the service station.

Riley returned fire a millisecond later with
a shot that was almost true. Her own projectile zipped an angry line across the
woman’s shoulder. Although it made a mark on clothing and flesh, it hardly
touched the muscle, let alone the collarbone. Templeton barely noticed the pain
and made to put another bullet in Riley.

Instead of desperately trying to reacquire
her enemy Riley fell sideways, instinctively putting an aisle between her and the
agent. Another shot rang out a moment later. This narrowly missed Riley but
struck a man looking up from browsing a magazine behind her. Then she was
totally out of sight, deep into the confines of the aisle and momentarily safe.

Templeton raced forward, rejecting any
notion of taking Riley alive. The bitch-traitor was a dead woman to her, she
was armed and that was enough to justify it.

Instead of moving wide of the aisles
corner she stepped around it, thinking Riley was finished. Templeton had time
to see her enemy laying down in front of her, then before she could shoot a
blow of deep pain erupted in her lower ankle. Riley watched in satisfaction as
the small woman went down from her strike with a shrieking gasp. In the moment
before her opponent could do anything else the Yeoman followed-up the counter
attack, slamming the Asp Baton into the side of Templeton’s head. Her baton was
not hard enough to break skulls or bones, but knocked the fight right out of
her.

Everything went black for the operative,
but only for half a minute.

While she was incapacitated Riley fled.

Templeton heard gunshots, then groggily
the wounded agent limped to her feet rage fuelling her haste. The onlookers
were panicking and a man was howling in pain in the next aisle. A burly trucker
contemplated making a move on the armed woman, but thought better of it when
she clocked his intention.

“I’m a Ministry Agent, that woman is a
fugitive,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“You just shot a man,” the trucker said
raising his hands.

“Get him an ambulance then!” she yelled
with a shrill tone.

Limp-hopping to the door she saw the Ford
Puma racing northwards to the motorway slip road. Taking a stance she shot off
the Glock’s magazine as it escaped. One bullet struck the boot but the rest
went narrowly wide.

Looking over to her Interceptor vehicle
she saw Nichols was on his knees and struggling to breathe.

“Up! Get up you wretch! We’ve Yeomanry to
catch!”

Nichols tried to rouse himself but could
barely stand-up straight.

“The man hit me with something, feels like
a blunt bullet twatted me in the chest.”

“Come on you’ll have to drive, my ankle is
useless! The bitch batoned me.”

The guard wheezed a few times then vomited
off to one side of her. Templeton ignored the stink and reloaded her pistol
before badgering the man to the Mondeo.

By the time he was driving out of the
service station Rebecca Templeton was almost exultant, despite her head and leg
injury.

“I told you Dominick, I knew we were on
the right track! We’ll catch them in this beast and relay every fucking unit in
the country onto them.”

“Was that her? The one who winged you?”

“Oh yes, she’s wounded too though and I’ll
either kill or capture her. She can choose!”

Nichols took the Mondeo up to over a
hundred and twenty miles an hour and Templeton stabbed the siren and police
lights switch. The grill lights flashed blue constantly and in the far-flung
distance behind them, the two fugitives discerned the faint harbinger of doom.
Night was falling and they were still many miles from safety.

The Deputy Commander of Control was
feeling the pressure as the Commissioner brow-beat him.

“Get me a lead commander, if I see they’ve
made it into Yeomanry controlled areas…”he let the threat linger.

“SOTF are the best we have for this sort
of thing Commissioner, but the cut-backs mean they are at minimal manning.”

“You think I don’t know this you fool?!”
he roared in frustration.

“As it is we can’t cope against these Yeomanry
tactics sir. We just have to wait for them to show up again in a town or city.”

“Assuming they are in a town or city! Where
they could end up in sheltered areas, waiting to make their move again!”

“I can’t work miracles sir, we’re doing
all we can.”

Roberts leaned in close with his voice
low. “Do I need to remind you that if the data supplied to the Yeomanry agents
is broadcast it will shift public opinion against us? Your pension and job,
along with the rest of the idiots failing me are on the line now commander.”

“They’ve been sighted sir!” came the shout
from across the control room. “SOTF Interceptor harrying suspects northwards!”