Cross of Fire (25 page)

'How do you know it is armaments?'

'What would be your guess? Out in the wilds. Closed off
with a high wire fence - electrified. Guards with dogs
patrolling behind the wire. Think he's running a marshmallow factory, chum?'

'If you're that keen, why not?' Newman agreed. Guide
me.'

'Left at the top here, then later left again when you hit the
main road to Snape Maltings. Then a country road to Orford.'

'We're being followed.'

'I know. Saw it in the wing mirror. Ford Sierra -I didn't even see where Butler and Nield sneaked out after us.'

'So they're pros. How do you think the party went - and you're one lousy shot when you want to be.'

'I wanted to be,' Marler commented. 'And you lit some fuse under Dawlish. Did you have to stir him up quite so
much?'

'That was the general idea. When a man gets uptight he sometimes gives away more than he intends.'

'Far as I could see, the only thing he gave away was us. Push off or be escorted.'

'I achieved my objective. I rattled him. To prepare the
way for Paula. You saw her arrive, of course. And after Dawlish told us to get to hell out of it he eager-beavered his way towards her. He'll run into a wildcat if he tries pawing
her.'

'But you could have queered her pitch,' Marler protested.
'He'd be in a bad mood.'

'Which she'll spot and play on skilfully. Bet she gets back
with some intriguing data.'

'Just so long as she does get back...'

Five minutes later Newman had negotiated an awkward
turn left and they were driving through even lonelier country
towards distant Orford. It was incredibly silent and still when
Newman paused, parked for a minute, switching off his
engine. On both sides forests of evergreens - firs and pines -
spread away across rolling heathland. They had already
passed one sandy track leading off the road into the wilder
ness, the track vanished round a curve. Marler lit a cigarette.

'The entrance to skull-and-crossbones is just beyond two more bends,' he remarked.

'And how do you know this place is anything to do with
Dawlish?'

'Because I'd make a good detective.' Marler smiled cyni
cally. 'At the bottom of one of the warning plates attached
to the fence there's printing in small letters.
Dawlish Conser
vation Ltd.
Some kind of conservation project with all the
defences I've told you about.'

'I heard the sound of an engine in the sky just now.'

'Sounded like a chopper floating around. Unlikely to be Traffic Patrol out here. Could be a Coastguard machine.'

'Could be something else.' Newman started up his
engine. 'Let's get moving and see what happens.'

'Out here? I'd say nothing ever happens out here in
broad daylight.'

Newman was suddenly very conscious of the fact that they carried no weapons to defend themselves. Was it the
atmosphere of brooding menace which seemed to hang over
the wilderness? The utter solitude of this part of the world? They hadn't seen a vehicle since leaving Iken.

He found himself crawling along the winding road,
glancing at the undergrowth
bordering the road on both
sides. Newman had a hemmed-in feeling. They rounded the
first bend and another stretch of deserted road opened up,
disappearing round another bend a hundred yards away.

'Might as well get out and walk,' commented Marler who seemed oblivious to any danger.

'Who is behind the wheel?' Newman snapped. 'And
we're pretty close now, aren't we?'

'One more bend and Dawlish's private little world is on
our left...'

Newman continued to let the Merc crawl. He frowned,
pressed the switch which slid back the roof above their heads. Marler tapped ash from his cigarette into the ash
tray.

'Want us to freeze? It's damn cold in these woods...'

'Shut up! Listen!'

Newman could hear the sound distinctly now. The
chug-chug of the helicopter coming back from a different
direction. They drove round the second bend. The road
now stretched straight as a ruler for some distance and
the forest had retreated on either side
with a band of
open heath beyond the low hedges. To their left a high wire
fence appeared with metal plates attached to it at shoulder
height.

The fence was about two hundred yards long and in the middle was a double gate, also constructed of wire. Beyond the gate a wide gravel track ran away towards copses of trees. Just visible were single-storey buildings constructed of concrete and without windows. Newman found it sinister that there was no sign of the guards, the dogs, Marler had described earlier when he had driven past this outlandish place.

He parked opposite the closed gates, leaving his engine
running. Marler jumped out, walked up to the gate, then
paced methodically back the way they had come until he'd reached a concrete post. He strolled back to the car. Above the open roof Newman could hear the chopper much closer. It sounded to be circling the area out of view.

'What the devil were you playing at?' he asked as Marler sank back into his seat.

'Checking the place to fuse the electrified fence with a
wooden-handled screwdriver in the dark.'

'Why, if I may ask?'

'You just did, old boy. Answer, in case I decide to come back and take a closer look at that establishment by night.'

'I wouldn't advise it. Not on your own...'

Newman was staring up the track. Its surface was rutted
where heavy vehicles with wide tyres had driven over it.
He still didn't like the lack of any sign of human life. It was
as though someone had sent an order for all the guards to
withdraw out of sight. And he couldn't rid himself of the
feeling that unseen eyes were observing them.

'Finding it all a bit creepy?' Marler enquired.

'Well, it's not the place I'd choose for a picnic.'

'Ever thought Dawlish could have taken away the guards to reinforce Grenville Grange? There was quite a pack of visitors there this morning.'

'I don't think that's the explanation,' Newman said slowly, looking everywhere. 'Dawlish is a millionaire. He has the funds to employ as many security men as he wishes...'

He broke off as the silence was murdered by the onset of a deafening roar. For a minute or so the chug-chug of the helicopter had faded. Now it sounded to be on top of them. Newman pressed the switch which closed the roof, released
the brake, sped forward. At that moment men with shot
guns rose out of the gullies which had concealed them
behind the wire. A hail of buckshot peppered the road in
front of, behind, the Mercedes. Newman noticed nothing hit the car. They were being encouraged to move forward along
the straight stretch of road.

'Ahead of us ...' Marler warned.

Something darted across the road twenty yards in front
of the car. A fox, startled by the
roar, was taking cover. Beyond it the grey chopper suddenly appeared, skimming
the treetops. The pilot changed course, flew towards them,
immediately above the road. As it hurtled forward some
thing dropped from the machine, landed on the road. There was a brilliant burst of blinding light. Newman screwed up
his eyes, swung the wheel, just avoided the blaze. The
machine swept over them.

'Magnesium flare.' Newman said tersely. 'One of those hits us, or I drive over it, and the petrol tank goes up.'

'He'll be back.' Marler replied, twisting round in his seat.

'And next time could be bull's-eye...'

Newman pressed his foot down further, wishing to
heaven now that the road was winding. The endless straight
stretch made them a perfect target, the pilot able to calculate
their likely position in advance.

'It's gone.' Marler reported.

'Ready for another run.' Newman foresaw.

He had hardly finished speaking when they saw the
chopper appear again well ahead of them, flying along the avenue of death towards the Mercedes. That was when Newman saw in his rear-view mirror the Ford Sierra racing up behind them full tilt.

Nield was behind the wheel in the Ford. Beside him
Butler had wound down his window, unfastened his seat
belt. Now he was leaning out of the window, back pressed against his seat, both hands gripping his Walther. The road surface was good which helped him hold the gun steady.

The chopper was approaching Newman's vehicle ahead
of the Ford. This time there was no magnesium flare. Instead
smoke, turgid black smoke, began to streak from the rear of the machine. The smoke drifted down swiftly, heavily. The
helicopter was still about
three hundred yards away from
Newman's Merc. Like a crop sprayer, it jetted the smoke
along the road surface. Newman's mouth tightened. He
slowed down, reduced speed more and more.

'What the hell are you playing at?' Marler demanded.

In the Ford Butler aimed his Walther for the pilot's cabin. It would be a chance in a million if he scored a direct hit but
it was the only chance he had. Pressing the trigger, he
emptied the magazine, his knuckles white with the strain of
holding the weapon on target.

A different kind of smoke began to drift out of the
helicopter. Whereas previously it had held an arrow-like
course the machine began to quiver, wobbling. Suddenly it
veered away from the road, flame flared, it vanished over
the treetops. The Shockwave of a distant
boom!
shuddered both cars. A column of oily smoke climbed above the forest,
then there was silence as Newman stopped his car short of
the eddying smoke. Behind him Nield slowed, stopped close
to the Mercedes. Another fox darted out, started to run
through the fringe of the smoke. Abruptly it stopped run
ning, reared up almost vertically, flopped on to the road
and lay still.

'And that.' said Newman, 'was why I slowed

He got out of his car, followed by Marler and Butler, who
had reloaded. Newman approached the animal slowly,
waited for the smoke to dissipate. Only then did he go close
to the animal. The fox sprawled on its side, its long brush
tail flat and still as the
body. Its eyes were starting out of its head, its jaws wide open. Newman touched it with his foot.
It was like touching a rock: the corpse was stiff, unyielding.

'I want to take this back in the boot for expert exam
ination.'

'What on earth for?' Marler enquired.

'Because that was no ordinary smoke that chopper
sprayed - tried to spray us with. It contained some element
which, as you see, was lethal...'

He went back to his car, explained briefly to Butler, and took a roll of hessian cloth from the boot. Then he put on a
pair of old sheepskin gloves. They walked back to where
the dead fox lay.