Hot Pursuit (21 page)

Maggie felt the pulse double in her ears, not quite able to believe what she had just heard. Was there something that she and Nick didn’t know? She looked round anxiously to be met by the stony face of Coleman’s companion.

‘Of course not. But surely you’re here to protect him, aren’t you?’ she gasped.

Coleman snorted. ‘We do whatever it takes to square things away, Ms Morgan, whatever it takes – but it doesn’t always work out quite the way we plan it,’ he said, and then he laughed.

It was an uncanny sound. A cold finger tracked down Maggie’s spine.

‘You want to stay and watch your new man killed, do you, or are you going to let him go?’

Maggie stared at Coleman, trying to make sense of what he was saying. It sounded like total gibberish, and she still couldn’t work out whether he was a villain or a hero. Whichever it was, the enormity of what Nick was involved in hit her in the stomach like a clenched fist. She felt sick as
she examined Coleman’s face for some clue, some inkling of what was going on. Was Nick really likely to die if she didn’t go? And then as Nick clambered up into the back of the van Maggie realised with horror that he was handcuffed.

‘What has he got those on for?’ she hissed. ‘He hasn’t done anything.’

‘Of course he hasn’t, but we can’t have him running away from us again now, can we, Ms Morgan? Although maybe without you here to encourage him he’ll behave himself. Anyway, we can’t hang around, we’ve got a meeting to go to. Go – bye-bye,’ he waved her away.

Maggie took a step back, mind reeling. ‘What the hell are you on about?’ she snapped, regaining her composure and making a beeline for Coleman and the back doors of the van.

But this time the man in the smart suit blocked her way and an instant later Nick vanished into the shadows and the van doors were slammed shut.

Once they were all in the back of the van, Coleman flicked the switch that would turn on the radio mike in his lapel.

‘Hello, this is Coleman here. I want the plod to nip out and pick our Ms Morgan up and hold her until this thing is done and dusted.’ There was a voice of protest at the far end of the line but Coleman really was in no mood for negotiation.
‘I don’t give a tin shit what your objections are. We don’t want any witnesses other than those people with an engraved invitation, understand? No civilians, no onlookers, no trouble. Capiche?’ The voice twittered again.

Coleman sighed; it had been a long day. His feet hurt now as well as his head. The helicopter ride had made his ankles swell. ‘Look, to be perfectly honest I don’t care what they pick her up for, they can get her for jaywalking, loitering with intent, being a nosy little cow, I don’t give a fuck as long as she is out of the way. Have I made myself clear?’ On the far end of the line someone coughed. It was all the acknowledgement Coleman needed.

Once he was done with the radio Coleman pulled out his mobile phone and tapped in a text message before looking across at his wheyfaced passenger.

‘Well, Mr Lucas, it seems as if you’re about to pay your dues. Any last requests before I call in the wolf pack?’

Nick paled and dropped his face into his hands. Coleman smiled and pressed Send.

‘Don’t you worry, son,’ he purred. ‘It’ll soon be over.’

Nimrod heard his phone beep, once, twice. Pulling the mobile out of his jacket pocket he read the message and then, smiling, his eyes alight with
fire, said, ‘Apparently our services will be required after all.’

Cain looked up at him. ‘Meaning?’

‘That Mr Lucas is about to be delivered straight into our hands. Seems that our man is a lot better connected than we thought. Give me the street map, will you, Cain – unless of course you can help us, Bernie?’ he said, turning to look over his shoulder at their hapless passenger.

Maggie stood with her heart in her mouth. She knew that she had to do something but didn’t know what; she couldn’t quite fathom what was going on, or why. The sense of impotence and the memory of Nick’s fear was almost overwhelming. Cursing under her breath, Maggie hurried around to the front of the police station and ran out into the street. The blue van was already heading away from her up the road; there was no way she could catch up with them now. Maggie pulled out her car keys, but guessed that the van would be long gone before she was on the road. She still had to try. Her mind raced. Who could she call, who could she trust? The van accelerated away. Damn, damn, damn – Maggie was so preoccupied with watching the transit disappearing into the distance that she barely noticed the silver-grey car pull up alongside her.

‘Well, hello there, Maggie, something the matter, sweetie?’ said a low reptilian voice. Maggie
swung round only to come face to face with a pair of the palest blue eyes she had ever seen. Their owner was in his mid-thirties, lightly tanned with cropped, bleached-blonde hair, broad shoulders and a face that was as handsome as it was cruel. Alongside him the driver was dark-haired and tanned, with cheekbones that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a fashion model. They were both tightly sprung and as sleekly muscled as alley cats. Hunched in the back seat Bernie looked almost reassuringly out of shape, not to mention very pale and interesting.

Maggie froze. ‘Who the hell are you?’ she began, although she had already guessed. These were the men she had seen with Bernie in Blenheim Gardens, these were the men that had been sent to kill Nick.

The man in the passenger seat got out of the car, every movement unnervingly fluid, his expensive suit emphasising his long, lean physique. He exuded an air of quiet menace.

‘Nimrod, Nimrod Brewster –’ he said, offering her his outstretched gloved hand. Instinctively Maggie drew back as if he had offered her a live snake. He smiled, revealing a row of perfect pearly white teeth. ‘Why don’t you just get in, sweetie, and we can introduce you formally to the whole of our merry little crew,’ he said.

Maggie stared at him. ‘Why on earth should I? We’re outside the police station; all I’ve got to do
is scream and half-a-dozen coppers will be out here to see what the hell all the fuss is about. I can’t imagine that you would welcome police attention.’

‘Oh my, aren’t we the cocky one?’ The man smiled. ‘You can scream all you like, sweetie. But before you do I’d just like to point out that we know where your friends are taking Nick Lucas.’

Maggie stared at him, wanting to know more while every instinct told her to run away while she still could.

Nimrod looked Maggie up and down; he could see the wariness in her eyes but he could also see the fire. He wasn’t much into hostages but her presence would be a bonus if the going got tough – a nice little ticket home. No one in their right mind would ever use Bernie as a bargaining chip – there would probably be lots of people who would pay to see him suffer – but Maggie Morgan might come in very handy if things went wrong. And if things went right? Well they could just drop her and her ex off on the motorway and pick up their flight home courtesy of the Invisible Man. He had assured them that if the plans went belly-up he’d get them back to Spain on a private plane from a secluded little airfield in Kent, although if he was perfectly honest Nimrod would have preferred the ferry.

As Maggie hesitated the man caught tight hold of her and pulled her closer to him. ‘Now let’s get in the car, shall we? There’s a good girl,’ he growled in an surly voice, his gloved fingers tightening around her wrist like a wire snare. ‘This is not a request stop, sweetie, and we really don’t want any fuss, do we? Or you’ll never find out what happened to your precious Mr Lucas.’

Maggie winced as his fingers bit into her flesh.

Bernie looked up at her from the back seat with haunted eyes, and for an instant she saw just how afraid he was.

‘Run, Maggie,’ he shouted as their eyes met, but as she turned Nimrod jerked her closer still.

‘Don’t even think about it, sweetie. Just get in the car. Now. Or else –’

He pulled open the back door and pushed hard, his hand on top of her head. Maggie was in and sitting alongside Bernie before she really got a grasp of what was happening.

‘You can’t do this,’ she protested.

‘Oh, I think we can,’ said Nimrod as he clambered back into the passenger seat. ‘We can do anything we like. Now – we have to get to Quay Street – are you going to tell us where that is or do we need to get the map out?’

Maggie blanked him, her heart ripping out a rhythm in her chest, the beat echoing in her ears.

‘Please yourself,’ growled Nimrod.

‘I know where it is,’ said Bernie, in a tiny voice.
‘We have to head back into town.’ Then he turned to Maggie. ‘I’m sorry about this but maybe if we cooperate –’ he left the rest of the sentence blank for her to fill in. She sighed, trying to guess what bonus Bernie could possibly imagine these two wolves had on offer.

From the front seat Nimrod turned round and smiled. ‘Well done, Bernie, that’s the spirit,’ he said.

‘There they go again,’ said Lesley. ‘Time to rock and roll–’

‘What?’ Robbie was still fiddling with the radio, still trying to work out what it was the men in the car were listening to.

‘Bernie Fielding – he’s on the move again – and it looks as if they’ve picked up someone else as well,’ Lesley said as she screwed up her eyes, peering through video camera eyepiece and working the zoom lens backwards and forwards looking for a sharp image. ‘Oh my God. I don’t believe it. It looks like Bernie’s ex-wife,’ she said in surprise. ‘Surely that can’t be right.’

Robbie snorted. ‘Who can say what’s right with this mob,’ he said. ‘All seems a bit bloody incestuous to me.’ He turned the key in the ignition. ‘What the hell is going on here? Make sure you keep the video camera handy, Lesley. I’m depending on you.’

Lesley nodded, her hand cupped through the
strap and under the body of the camera. Robbie pulled out and they turned back towards town and the throngs of holidaymakers. Robbie sighed; surely it couldn’t be much longer now?

Maggie stared out of the car window at the holidaymakers milling round on the Avenue, totally oblivious to what was going on. Cheeky tee shirts, ice cream and souvenirs of glorious Minehead were in sharp contrast to the atmosphere inside the car. Her spirits sank lower with every passing second; no one else in the world knew where she was or what she was up to. Even if Maggie didn’t ring home it might be days before her mother thought about raising the alarm. What the hell was going to happen to Bernie, to her, to her boys. And to Nick? Surely if Coleman was on the level he ought to have whisked Nick away to a safe house miles away from Minehead, not have driven him back into town. What the hell was going on?

Alongside her Bernie was still hunched over, and so pale that his skin looked almost green. He had his eyes tightly closed and appeared to be praying.

In the back of the van Coleman looked across at Nick, his eyes as glassy and unreadable as canal water. ‘So, Mr Lucas, here we are at long last – the grand finale. I did warn you not to audition for
Blind Date
but would you listen? Oh no.’

Nick shook his head in disbelief, Coleman’s dark humour lost on him. ‘What is this? Are you passing the buck? Come off it, Coleman, the TV thing was down to you and some cock-up at Stiltskin. That camera crew had nothing at all to do with me. I’m not crazy, whatever you may think – your computer’s at fault. This is ridiculous –’

‘Now, now. Don’t go getting yourself all overwrought, Mr Lucas.’

‘Overwrought?’ Nick hissed. ‘For God’s sake man, what the hell do you expect me to be feeling.’

Coleman shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s been a very long time since I’ve found myself in this
position. This, my friend, is the end of the road as far as you’re concerned. Nobody expected that it would come to this, but then –’ He lifted his hands in a gesture of resignation. He sounded tired, his voice so low that the tone was almost hypnotic. ‘What can I tell you? Needs must where the devil drives.’ He paused thoughtfully and then added, ‘You know, my mother always used to say that to me when I was a kid – I’ve got no idea what it means.’ Coleman took a hit from his nasal spray and sighed.

Nick looked away, swallowing hard, his heart racing, palms slick with sweat. ‘How long have you been planning this?’

‘Does it really matter that much to you? This kind of solution is not something my employers take lightly, but it was, it is, always on the cards – if our friends Nimrod and Cain didn’t get you then this was the last line of defence.’

‘You?’

Coleman, tidying the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, nodded. ‘That’s right, Mr Lucas. Me. The Stiltskin team have suspected for a while that there was someone working on the inside. How shall we say it? Oiling the wheels of the information highway over your case, they just didn’t know who it was.’ For the first time since he had got in the van Coleman looked uncomfortable, not that Nick had a great deal of sympathy for him.

‘But they will after today?’

Coleman shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Who knows, it depends on how fast we can get the job done – I know that they have their suspicions.’

Nick swallowed again, mouth dry.

The inside of the van was getting increasingly hot and airless, and what air there was left was perfumed by a hint of diesel oil, the combination adding to Nick’s growing feeling of nausea. He struggled discreetly against the handcuffs, the metal rubbing into his wrists as he tried to turn them around and slip free.

‘Relax,’ purred Coleman. ‘No point fighting it. It will all be over soon.’

Nick closed his eyes, trying hard to quell the wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. How the hell had he got himself into such a mess in the first place? Had Coleman known what was going on from the start? Had the whole thing been a complex set-up from day one to get the two of them to this point? Had everything else; Maggie, Robbie Hughes, the trip to Somerset, all been a complicated smoke screen? Rerunning the events of the last few days over in his head, although it wasn’t impossible, it was highly improbable – it seemed far more likely that Coleman had been pulled out of the woodwork as damage limitation when things had gone wrong.

Nick screwed his eyes tight shut; his head ached, his mind flickering with one thought after another like a candle flame in the wind. The only
good thing to come out of the day was that at least Maggie was safe now. He had heard Coleman on the radio requesting that she be taken into custody at the police station, until it was all over. All over? Nick’s stomach did another back-flip as he held off the idea of it being all over and instead allowed the sound of Maggie’s name to conjure up an image of her that filled his mind.

If he concentrated he could see her clear as day. Standing there, all wound up and ready to go in the hall of her cottage, hefting a baseball bat up to shoulder height ready to whack him right into the middle of next week, her face a mask of determination. Her eyes bright with fear and panic. It seemed like an age ago, a memory already tinged with the patina of years, not a matter of days and hours. It was the kind of story that under other circumstances they would tell over and over again. Even given his present predicament Nick found it hard not to smile; Maggie Morgan really was something else. It was amazing meeting a woman like her now, when it was too dangerous, too unlikely and far, far too late to do anything about it. Fate could be such a bitch at times. His heart ached for lots of reasons but most of all for the might have beens, the things he was never going to share with Maggie.

The van swung round a sharp bend, shaking him out of the warm, dark thoughtful place. Nick, unable to steady himself, slithered along the seat.
Struggling to regain his balance he heard the engine slowing, then stop, felt the gears bite into reverse. Across the van everything about Coleman’s body language announced that they had just arrived at ground zero.

For an instant Nick glanced down at his watch. It was a stupid thing to do under the circumstances, but he couldn’t help wondering just how much longer he had got left. He closed his eyes and prayed that it would be over quickly, and that meanwhile he could manage to hold tight to the last shreds of self-control that were keeping him from screaming. Along with the fear was a disturbing sense of unreality as a part of his brain struggled to convince him that none of this was really happening.

Nick bit his lip; it was the part of the mind that eased the pain at the dentist or the fear as they wheeled you into the operating theatre. It was some sort of big chemical ‘there, there’, that put your consciousness out of its misery, making you an observer and not a participant in whatever was going on. Nick fought the feeling; he wanted to be there, not drifting into some anaesthetised state fuelled by his own terror, however tempting a prospect it was. Trying to shake the dreamlike sensation, Nick pulled the handcuffs tight, the bite of metal bringing him squarely back into the moment.

It struck him then that he couldn’t get away
even if he wanted to, not while he was wearing cuffs – and with Coleman’s companions watching him like hawks, the odds were close to impossible. And even if he could get away, where in God’s name would he go?

As another wave of nausea rolled up through him, Nick pressed his body back against the cool metal side of the van, savouring the vibrations going down his spine, relishing the warmth of the breath in his chest – relishing the sensation of still being alive. And at that moment the engine cut out.

‘So where to now, then, my lovely?’ said Cain, looking back over his shoulder towards Bernie as they got to the next road junction.

‘Left,’ said Bernie, pointing to add emphasis. ‘And then right at the end of the road, and then left onto the Esplanade. We’re heading down towards the seafront. We need to head up to the old part of town – along and then up there.’ He waved and pointed towards the broad shoulder of North Hill that sheltered Minehead’s long golden beach.

‘Whereabouts are we going again?’ said Cain quizzically, as if they were all out on some Glee Club bus trip.

‘We’re going to skirt round the bottom of the hill, and then park up on Culver Cliff. It’s out past the harbour – this big open space on the cliff
top. There’s a picnic area, and then there’s a clifftop path. It’s nice – very quiet. It’s where the South West Coastal Path starts, and follows the coast right round Land’s End and then on to Poole Harbour in Dorset,’ said Bernie knowledgeably.

Nimrod smiled. ‘Well, well, well, so there we have it. It’s like a trip out with Ray Mears. What a veritable fount of knowledge you turned out to be, Bernie. Although I have to say that I don’t think we’ll be doing the South West Coastal Path today; maybe another time –’ He stretched, muscles rippling under his well-cut jacket, locking his fingers together in a basket and then bending them back like a piano player warming up. ‘It sounds like our man has picked an ideal spot, though.’

‘Ideal?’ Maggie looked from face to face; she was under no illusion about what they meant by ideal; Culver Cliff would be an ideal place to kill Nick Lucas.

Cain, his expression almost jubilant, grinned. ‘Perhaps we can arrange a nice little accident, one tiny-weeny little bullet hole, followed by a little trip off the cliff, high tide; a cliff fall and Bob’s yer uncle – who would ever know? Who would care –’

Maggie bit her lip; she and Bernie would know but if Coleman was working for the other side she had no doubt he could cover their tracks. Although of course there was the chilling but all too real
possibility that Nimrod and Cain didn’t care what she and Bernie knew because they wouldn’t be leaving the cliff top alive either. Maggie shuddered and tried to concentrate on staying calm and in control. She had to believe there was still a chance but knew that if she panicked that chance might be lost; surely there had to be some way out of this? It was summer, broad daylight in a seaside town, surely someone would come and help them?

In the front of the car, Nimrod, pulling the wrapper off another sweet, grinned at Cain. ‘Dunno, we’ll see when we get there, play it by ear. I have to say I would’ve preferred to have got there first really, sussed the place out, but then again yer can’t have it all ways. It won’t be the first time we’ve had to do a job on the fly, eh? Happier are you now, then, eh?’

Cain nodded. ‘Yes, and I’ll be even happier when it’s all over.’

‘Goes without saying but we’re on the homestraight now. In and out –’

‘And home in time for tea and buns,’ said Bernie miserably from the back seat.

‘Catches on fast, doesn’t he?’ said Cain, turning left.

Sitting beside Bernie, Maggie felt sick.

‘Left, left,’ bawled Lesley, waving the video camera at Robbie Hughes like a conductor’s baton.

‘All right, all right, there’s no need to shout, I can see them,’ snapped Robbie. ‘It’s a seaside town not the bloody Paris to Dakar rally.’

‘Sorry, Robbie, it’s just that I’ve got this really strong feeling,’ said Lesley, turning to beam at him, her eyes wide and alight with excitement behind her glasses.

Robbie groaned; Lesley certainly picked her moments to go all hot and horny on him, he thought ruefully. ‘I know, honey, it gets us all that way at times, but it’ll have to wait until later, until we can find somewhere a little more secluded, when the job’s over and done with. It’s the excitement – the adrenaline – it goes with the turf,’ he said, and then another thought struck him, ‘or do you need a pee?’

Lesley’s eyes narrowed down to angry little slits. ‘No,’ she snapped furiously. ‘That isn’t what I meant at all, Robbie, and you know it. What I meant was I’ve got a feeling that this is it. A hunch, an intuition. Whatever it is, it’s about to happen. It’s like I’ve got this really intense buzz deep down in the bottom of my belly.’

Robbie didn’t like to tell her that he had one, too, but he had put it down to the dodgy burger they had had at the motorway services.

‘There they go – look –’ she gasped. ‘Look!’

Robbie nodded. It was like taking a kid to see Father Christmas. Just who was driving who, he wondered, putting his foot down hard. Didn’t she
realise that Robbie was watching Bernie’s every move? He needed the film more than Lesley did, the longevity of his marriage could depend on what they got in the can by teatime, but even so he was grateful that at least for the moment Lesley was back on side and showing willing. It would be far easier to work with her than without her – and besides, if she took the hump, even if she wasn’t very good at it, who the hell could he get to operate the video camera?

Two or three vehicles ahead of them, the silver-grey car had slowed to a crawl, indicated, and was turning up towards the old part of town. Matching their change of pace Robbie dropped down a gear and with his eyes firmly on the car made as if to follow.

‘Robbie!’ screamed Lesley, but it was too late. Even before she had finished calling his name Robbie heard the furious blast of a horn, felt the thick dull crunch of impacting metal and then the recoil of his body being flung forward towards the windscreen, through which he could see something white moving in slow motion. It was a van – a white transit van.

‘Look at that bloody moron. He’s going far too fast in a built-up area, in a seaside town, for God’s sake – there are kiddies all over the place.’ Robbie began protesting his innocence even before the two vehicles had ground to a halt. A quick mind and an even quicker tongue were
valuable gifts that had kept Robbie ahead of the pack for years.

‘Mad bastard,’ he growled, swinging round to Lesley as if appealing to the umpire. It didn’t occur to him to check if she was all right. ‘Did you see that?
Did you see that mad bastard?
He came out of nowhere. He must have been doing fifty – more probably. It wasn’t my fault – the man is a total frigging maniac. He shouldn’t be allowed on the bloody roads. He should be banned…He–’

Outside, the driver was already clambering out of his cab and heading round to Robbie’s side of the car. He was small and thin with sparse ginger hair, a bright red face, and was built like a bamboo cane.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at, pulling out of a junction like that without looking, you stupid old git?’ he snarled by way of an introduction.

‘What – what, do you mean
me
?’ Robbie blustered. ‘It was
you
– you were going far too fast. You must have been doing
sixty
–’ the mileage and volume rose along with his sense of outrage. Little oik – did he know who he was dealing with?

The man had just jerked the car door open and was busy hauling Robbie bodily from the car when Lesley got out and said, ‘I’m most terribly sorry. It was completely and utterly our fault.’ Her voice was like pure silk and as smooth and unctuous as double cream. Robbie turned towards her and
for the first time noticed that there was a little rivulet of blood on her forehead accentuating her pallor.

The man turned to look, too, then looked more intently. Lesley smiled at him, and for some reason the man, who had drawn back his fist to explain to Robbie the finer points of the Highway Code, stopped mid-stride and beamed. ‘Oh, hang on a minute – I know you, don’t I? I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before,’ he said, still staring at Lesley. He was thinking so hard you could almost smell the rubber burning.