A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (26 page)

‘Yeah I know. At my age. As slow as you can son.’

The plane’s wing flaps were already open to their fullest angle, Rhyllann’s hand trembled on the throttle, unwilling to do as Crombie asked but unable to think for himself. The plane slowed almost to a stall, helped by a headwind which seemed to come from nowhere. Even so, they were travelling at twenty miles an hour. In spite of the padded headphones Rhyllann could hear an unbearable roaring noise as the plane lumbered just above stall speed.

‘Please no. Don’t do this.’ He begged again, just as Crombie dropped like a sack of cement, landing yards from the stranded jeep. Rhyllann caught a glimpse of Crombie performing a clumsy forward roll before picking himself up and racing to the jeep. Then Rhyllann slanted to the right causing the door to slam.

Without the mind numbing howling wind, he could at last think straight. Manoeuvring the joy stick, he spiralled upward, the engine noise decreasing as the plane obtained cruise mode. Rhyllann now had an eagle’s eye view, for the first time ever taking no pleasure in the scene. In the distance, small puffs of steam rose. Rhyllann circled the jeep again; he couldn’t spot Crombie, and knew he was inside. Inside the jeep packed with explosives. Just above the embankment was a levelled area, it seemed at one time there had been a station or halt here. Rhyllann felt his backbone stiffen and sucked in his stomach as he prepared to circle the area for the second time, and deliberately disobey Crombie.

He placed the plane perfectly, almost on auto-pilot. Crombie must have heard his approach; only sixty yards or so from the jeep. As Rhyllann jumped down and began running towards the embankment a feeble whine reached him, as Crombie tried vainly to fire the engine.

‘Crombie – no! No!’ Rhyllann shouted, terrified the ignition would accidentally trigger the explosives. He thought he had faced Crombie’s anger before. But the man jumping from the jeep, hastening towards him seemed ready to kill. Rhyllann took an involuntary step back.

‘You bloody fool! Don’t you ever do what you’re told? Get away! Get away from here!’ Clutching Rhyllann's shoulders, Crombie shook him till his teeth rattled then shoved him roughly away from the tracks, slapping his back so hard it stung.

‘Go!’ Crombie bellowed. Without a second glance he strode back to the jeep, his distressed leather jacket flapping round his thighs. Rhyllann sobbed on his hands and knees, then certain Crombie would kill them both, began crawling back to the plane. A metallic sheen caught his eye. For a moment Rhyllann stared blankly at Willy Treraven’s chain, aware of the wretched spluttering of an engine repeatedly refusing to fire, and Crombie’s shouts of exasperation.

’Start damn you start! Come on! Come on!’ There was panic and fear in his voice; again and again the engine merely whined pathetically with the occasional cough. Rhyllann couldn’t leave him. Any moment now that train would come steaming round the corner, and onto the bridge. And stupid stubborn Crombie would be blown to smithereens along with the train, the two carriages and everyone on board. Because the train would never be able to stop in time. And there was nothing Rhyllann could do but watch.

”The chain. You could use the chain.”
What?
Rhyllann shivered, then elation rushed through him. The voice was right. The chain! If only … Ducking his head under his arm to peer backwards, Rhyllann saw the most beautiful sight in the world. The old school army jeep had a brand new shiny winch fitted to the front. And Rhyllann was willing to bet his life that it worked independently of the engine. Scrabbling back to the jeep, tugging open the driver's door he pulled at Crombie’s arm, screaming into his face.

‘The winch! Crombie the winch!’ For a moment he thought Crombie was going to strike him again. Then pushing Rhyllann to one side he jumped from the jeep to look for himself. In the distance, a train whistled, a happy sound, unaware of the horror awaiting it. Crombie crouched at the mechanism, muttering to himself.

‘Please god, give me this, please god, let something go right.’ His fingers were running along the thick electrical wire connected to the winch, feeling for an independent switch. His features relaxed, for a second, Rhyllann saw the merest hint of the old crocodile grin. Then Crombie remembered Rhyllann and scowled up at him.

‘I am going to play this hook out. OK? You can help me attach it to that chain.’ Crombie nodded back to the plane. ‘Then you are going to run like the devil is behind you. Do you understand?’ Rhyllann nodded acknowledgement, but Crombie hadn’t finished.

‘If I so much as get a sniff of you hanging around. I swear to god Rhyllann Jones I will stop what I’m doing, and handcuff you to that bloody plane. And if I survive this, I swear to god, I will make your life one long misery. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’

Rhyllann hopped from one foot to the other. ‘Yes I understand. Now get a bloody move on!’ As if to emphasise his words, the train whistle sounded again. Louder, more distinctively. But Crombie had already started up the winch mechanism, and was playing out the metal coiled rope. Rhyllann ran up the embankment, pulling back on the plane’s metal chain till it was almost taunt, willing Crombie to hurry … hurry.

The next few minutes were the longest of Rhyllann’s life, he jiggled from foot to foot, trying not to look down the railway track as the winch unwound with agonising slowness. Then Crombie was pacing only a few feet away from him, guiding the winch rope as he walked backwards, now only yards away; for one heart stopping moment it seemed the rope couldn’t possibly reach, and they’d wasted precious minutes. Suddenly Crombie was puffing beside him, and with aching arms Rhyllann held Willy’s chain steady for Crombie. Noticing Crombie’s hands shaking as he secured the thick solid lip of the hook through a chain link, tightening down the securing bolt over the hinge. They exchanged glances. It would have to hold.

‘Mind me now son, you start running.’ Crombie cautioned.

But Rhyllann could only walk backwards, his eyes fixed on the bridge. He realised suddenly that there would be no warning singing from the tracks, this wasn’t an electric train. In any case, his blood pumped so loudly, he doubted he could hear anything too subtle. In front of him, the metal chain twitched, then stretched as the winch reversed, winding back. Any second now, the jeep should start moving. He watched Crombie straighten up, then remembering his promise, finally turned to run.

At the third whistle, Rhyllann turned back panting. The train was starting over the bridge. Clouds of steam and smoke obscured it, the driver must have spotted the jeep, and was trying desperately to slow down, but still the massive bulk of iron thundered on. Dragging his eyes back to the jeep, Rhyllann saw its painfully slow progress judder, then come to a halt. Again the jeep hiccupped, and with a feeling of dread, he realised that the rear wheels had jammed against the tracks. Rhyllann began racing back towards Crombie, running helter skelter, his knees jarring, arms flailing and twice almost falling face first but somehow recovering. Any moment he expected to hear Crombie’s bellow, determined to ignore him. But Crombie had vanished. Then suddenly the jeep jerked forward, Willy’s chain, now feet away from Rhyllann went slack, then tightened again. Looking back along its length, Rhyllann saw the jeep rolling free of the tracks, and knew exactly where Crombie was. From somewhere he found more speed, and sprinted forward, waving wildly, his voice one long scream. The thundering steam engine filled his vision; no longer a toy train but a wall of iron increasing in size every second. Unstoppable and within spitting distance. Rhyllann winced as an earsplitting shriek of steam filled every molecule of air. Flinging himself to the ground, Rhyllann covered his head, waiting for the world to explode. Then above everything else, all the noise and confusion and loudest of all his own heartbeat, he heard Crombie’s triumphant shout and knew they’d done it. They’d done it! Rhyllann opened his eyes to see, but sudden tears blinded him. He sensed air swelling; filling with sound and steam as the iron behemoth roared past, still screeching horribly, as the driver struggled to stop.

Forcing himself to his feet, Rhyllann stood, tensing jelly like muscles against buckling. Looking along the track he watched a massive cloud of steam billowing; thinning to reveal the gleaming flanks of an engine; shimmering on the moors like a ghost train.

Hey Crombie – they’ve stopped the train for you! Rhyllann thought hysterically.
Where was Crombie?
Rhyllann scanned the area casually at first, then with increasing urgency. Deep ruts stretched from the track to the jeep, where it had been dragged. Dear God no. Crombie had been sucked from the jeep into the path of the train – Rhyllann imagined him spread eagled across the cow catcher like a cartoon travesty. Spitting out the bile swarming into his mouth, Rhyllann began trudging towards the train, then turned to disconnect the winch from his plane. He couldn’t face that horror show yet. He concentrated on prising the metal catch of the hook back. It took all his strength to wrench it open. When he rattled the metal coil clear the plane’s undercarriage wobbled like a loose tooth. Touch and go. They had been so lucky. Rhyllann swiped at his eyes thinking Crombie would probably get the George Cross for this. Posthumously. Behind him, he heard a rifle like retort; Spinning round he saw Crombie emerge from the jeep, slivers of glass cascading around him creating miniature rainbows. At the last moment, with seconds to spare, Crombie must have hurled himself into the jeep, out of the train’s path.

‘Crombie!’ Rhyllann sprinted across to mug him. Crombie hugged him back briefly.

‘Son.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I’ve never been so scared in my life. Never.’ His voice came out in a whisper. The rear windscreen had shattered – Crombie who seemed to have lost volume control shouted at him now:

‘The bloody wheels jammed! God only knows how I managed to get them free. And Christ knows how I got clear in time! And you! How many bloody times do you need to be told?’ He shook Rhyllann again, throwing in a few slaps across his shoulders. Rhyllann had to sit down because his legs wouldn’t support him. He faced away from the jeep, determined to stop his mind from repeatedly measuring the gap between its back wheels and the tracks. Neither he nor Crombie had turned the winch mechanism off, yet it had stopped winding. The very last dregs of the battery must have finally drained. Inches had separated the train, jeep, Crombie and him from an inferno. As Crombie’s anger sapped, he dropped to his hands and knees to retch. Rhyllann crawled over to pat at his back.

Indicating the train Crombie said ‘I’ve gotta get up there – let them know what’s going on.’ But he was too late. The driver obviously decided they were a pair of nutters playing games. With creaking wheels and an eruption of steam the train got back into motion.

Pushing down hysteria, Rhyllann spluttered:

‘You’ve missed your train Crombie!’

They waited for ten minutes before realising no-one was coming. Fur coated the inside of Rhyllann’s mouth. The only sensation he could feel from the neck down was the cold clamminess of his combats. He needed a hot scented bubble bath followed by a fluffy dressing gown and a home cooked meal. But more than anything Rhyllann longed for a glass of cool clear water. He looked round at the rain drenched moor – like a sponge unable to absorb anymore – surface water formed shallow boggy lakes. Undrinkable water surrounded him and he was thirsty, thirstier than he had ever been in his life. Bugger this Rhyllann thought. Stumbling to the nearest puddle he scooped water with his hands, swirling the first few gulps round his mouth to spit out, then scooping up more to swallow. It reeked of rotting cabbage and tasted gritty – an image of Wren splashing water over his face then drinking gleefully returned.

‘Son, don’t drink that. You’ll be ill.’

Rhyllann didn’t care. Anything to get this foul taste from his mouth.

‘No-one’s coming.’ It sounded like a sob. ‘No-one’s coming.’ He repeated, pushing himself upright.

This wasn’t fair. The RAF should be overhead in a victory fly-pass. Police cars and ambulances should have roared up, sirens screaming. Maybe even a fire engine. To carry him and Crombie shoulder high then race to Wren’s rescue. Instead if they didn’t get off this bog no one would even know about the crazy stunt they’d managed to pull off. The train driver might report two lunatics trying to free their jeep from the rails.
Might
.

‘Give it time son. Holden’s gotta convince Bates.’

Rhyllann prodded him with a foot. ‘What if Bates won’t believe him?’

Crombie had already cried wolf once.

Still the detective huddled on the ground hugging his knees, eyes scanning the horizon, expecting the cavalry to show up. Rhyllann shook him.

‘Crombie!’

Using Rhyllann’s arm as a ladder, Crombie struggled upright. ‘Okay. Okay. We’d better start walking.’

Rhyllann shook him again. ‘Walking? We’ve gotta go after Wren! Crombie!’

For a moment he thought Crombie was going to refuse. A rush of arguments raced through his mind as he watched Crombie glance at the plane, at him, then the plane again. But something told him to keep his mouth shut. After an eon, Crombie spoke.

‘The kid knew the score. He bartered … gambling on you.’ He stooped suddenly to scoop muddy water into his mouth. Rhyllann’s hopes grew.

‘Crombie?’ Spitting the water out, Crombie stomped towards the plane.

‘Come on son. What are you waiting for?’

*

Take off got easier and easier. Lucky because Rhyllann had landed on the only dry patch for miles and had just the one chance to get airborne. He worried about the uneven ground, connecting with an unseen boulder, then decided that after today, he was never going to worry about anything again.

“Make the first time the last time laddie.”
He heard inside his head, and nodded silent agreement. With a hop and a jump the plane soared, flying north west this time. Already from their vantage point the ocean shimmered on the horizon. Rhyllann checked the fuel gauge. About ten minutes before they were flying on fumes. He didn’t feel too concerned. This little baby could glide for miles. Anyway a sea landing would be a new experience. Air tight meant water tight and they’d probably float long enough for someone to spot their emergency flares. Rhyllann decided to keep that to himself. Somehow he didn’t think Crombie would be so easy to convince that landing was the simple bit. Rhyllann adjusted the controls slightly, feeling the craft respond immediately. He was in love.

Beside him, Crombie hummed happily as his eyes flickered over the dashboard instruments, gazing through the window like any ordinary person. Rhyllann had to say something though. Staring straight ahead, he blurted.

‘What you did back there was pretty special.’ Crombie started. With a self conscious laugh he said.

‘Special all right. I must want my brains tested.’

They lapsed into an embarrassed silence.

After a moment or two Crombie added. ‘Anyhow, what else could I have done?’ Adding. ‘If you hadn’t thought of that winch; I’d be dog’s meat by now.’ Rhyllann acknowledged this with a modest smile.

‘I’ll put in a good word for you at your trial son.’ Crombie turned to gaze out the side window, trying to hide a grin.

‘If you were dog’s meat, I wouldn’t miss your lame arse jokes.’ Rhyllann retorted. ‘Anyhow I ain’t done nothing.’ Crombie laughed out loud at that, sending Rhyllann into a sulk.

But Crombie was in a really good mood now and wanted to chat. Rhyllann ignored him until he received a sharp dig in the ribs.

‘What?’

‘I said at least your cousin is a master manipulator.’

‘Wren?’

Crombie nodded, looking embarrassed. ‘I went on a profiling course. He ticks all the boxes. What they call Machiavellian.’ Rhyllann considered this.

‘You mean he always gets his own way? Well duh. Those baby blues and blond hair.’

Crombie shook his head. ‘It's more than that. Wren managed to persuade those filth that he wasn’t going to co-operate unless they gave him something first. And got you to understand what was going down too. He pressed a few of my buttons too if you remember.’ Rhyllann gave it some thought then decided to let Crombie think what he liked. If he wanted to class the little geek as some kind of mastermind, that was his affair.

‘What about me then? Did you profile me?’ Rhyllann asked casually.

Crombie folded his arms, smug as a life sized Buddha. Rhyllann wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

‘I’ve been round your house son. Typical sports mad teenager with an unusual passion – gift – for flying.’

Rhyllann’s eyebrows shot up. Praise from Crombie! But he hadn’t finished. ‘That first time – when I met you at the station. You kept touching that chain round your neck. Made me wonder. The average teenager’s careless. My girls for example. Always losing things – mobiles – I-pods – keys. Careless. But not you. You wear your front door key round your neck. Because you can’t afford to lose it. If you lost it – there’d be no one to let you in. I watched you coming out the station. Most people stop at the vending machine – grab a coke or a snack. Not you. Counting the pennies.’

Rhyllann glanced sideways at him. Crombie wore the crocodile smile.

‘You’re the anomaly. A careful teenager. But your cousin’s kept you on the back foot from the start.’ A Crombie grunt. ‘Kept us all on the back foot.’ He raised his eyebrows, inviting comment.

‘You’d better start looking for a field to land in before we crash.’ Rhyllann said, wiping the smile off Crombie's face. Adding ‘How old are your girls then?’

Two could play the psychobabble game.