KILL ME IF YOU CAN (Dave Cunane Book 8) (25 page)

‘Suppose we let those cows come through here,’ I whispered.

‘They’ll disturb the microwave barrier and set the alarm off. The confusion while they identify what’s causing the commotion might give you a few seconds to dig up whatever’s hidden, if it’s still there, that is.’

‘Thanks for the encouragement, Tony.’

‘Listen, Dave, I know what you’re asking. You want me to let those cows loose but I’m telling you I’ve never been closer to a cow than the milk they made me drink when I was a kid and I hated the stuff. You should have brought Clint.’

‘Should have, would have. Will you do it? You can pick up one of these branches lying around and whack them over the rump with it. They’ll soon move.’

‘Yeah, and trample me to death. No thanks.’

There was a frustrated silence punctuated only by our heavy breathing for a few moments and then Tony spoke again.

‘Why don’t you do the cows and I’ll go for the message?’

‘You’re on,’ I whispered. I passed him the Glock and took the Uzi off him.

He handed the Glock back.

‘It’s no use to me, Dave. I need both hands free.’

We both cautiously raised our heads above the level of the wall. There was no volley of shots and after a few minutes the moon provided a glimmer of light. It was extremely hard to see the exact spot where Eileen had been digging, particularly as I was looking from another direction but eventually I made out what I thought was the place. Eileen, or more likely Paddy, had left a fork stuck in the soil at that spot. Eileen was too careful with her tools to leave them lying around.

‘Can you see that fork?’ I whispered. ‘It’ll be around there in a tin or a bottle or something.’

‘Fork as in knife and fork?’

‘No Tony, as in garden fork. You know, the Two Ronnies … fork handle?’

‘Yeah, fork handle.’

‘That bit of wood sticking out of the ground is the handle.’

‘And what do I do when I get there?’ he whispered.

‘Use the fork to find it.’

I set off, awkwardly bending low behind the dry stone wall. My knees were giving me hell and my thighs were shrieking about cramp. Maybe Mother Nature was warning me that my days of crawling around in damp fields were drawing to a close. When I reached the empty field I waited until the moon was hidden and then cautiously opened the gate. For once something on Wilberforce’s Farm worked well. The gate was well oiled and opened without a sound. Then, keeping as low as I could, I dashed across the field to the gate holding the cattle back.

It also opened easily.

‘So far, so good,’ I thought.

There was even a handy branch to serve as a cattle prod.  I went farther into the field and set to work. There were two more things I didn’t know. First, Wilberforce’s cattle are always frisky because he doesn’t feed them properly and second, several of the cows had recently calved. Their defensive instincts were especially sharp.

I’d hardly laid the stick across the first cow before they were all up and milling about and making frantic noises. Tony’s fear of being trampled suddenly seemed very real. I ran for the gate. The cows followed, moving surprisingly swiftly for such ungainly animals. Suddenly it felt as if I was running for my life.

The lowing herd was winding swiftly o’er the lea.

Their motion must have registered on the microwave barrier. I couldn’t see Tony and decided he’d panicked at the sight of the runaway herd bearing down on him. He was probably halfway across the golf course.

I turned to follow him and at that precise instant the blinding halogen beams of the white van’s headlights shone out from the lane revealing Tony Nolan scrabbling in the vegetable patch. There were shouts from the cottage and then the crack of nine millimetre pistols being fired.

Ignoring the cattle rushing by, I whipped out the Uzi and began firing back. I couldn’t see who I was firing at. I just blazed away in the general direction of the van. I got lucky: one of the headlights blinked out.

Tony put up an impressive performance. Although I huddled against the stonework and could hear the zip of bullets going past me Tony didn’t fling himself to the ground. Instead he ran towards me, twisting and turning with balletic grace as if he had some avoidance system for bullets.

I don’t know whether it was my covering fire or his dodging ability but within seconds he was over the wall and crouching beside me.

‘We’re done,’ he gasped, waving his arm towards the golf course. ‘We’ll never get across all that open ground.’

Bullets ricocheted off the stones. The way back to Lee was across rising ground offering no cover and they knew exactly where we were.

I was about to agree when circumstances suddenly changed.

With a clattering roar a police helicopter swept overhead. Its searchlight beam played not on us but onto Sheepfold Cottage. There was a blaring noise of police sirens. Their banshee wails counterpointed the roar of the helicopter and the demented bellowing of cattle like an infernal orchestra.

I could barely make out shouted instructions coming from the helicopter.

I raised my eyes an inch above the stonework.

Police cars were jolting down Sheepfold Lane, some coming the long way round past Tom Brewer’s barn, others the shorter route through Wilberforce Farm. There were many of them. It was like a copper’s motor rally. My mouth dropped open for a minute. This couldn’t be for my benefit.

There were three men at the back of the cottage, caught in the overhead beam. They seemed paralysed.

Then my instinct of self-preservation came back to life.

‘Come on,’ I prompted Tony. ‘This is our chance. Let’s get among these cattle and across the fields.’

‘But it’s the police. You said we were up against some sort of private army of rogue security people.’

‘OK, you stay and explain yourself if you like, but I’m off.’

I moved and he immediately followed, clinging onto my arm.

The noise and lights maddened the cows but they were no longer running anywhere because there was nowhere for them to go. They were milling about, turning round in circles and tangling with the abandoned machinery. I led Tony through the mêlée using the stick I was still clutching to fend off any that came too close. I couldn’t risk taking my eyes away from the cattle for a backward glance at the cottage. We reached the field boundary uninjured by bullet, horn or hoof, and then went on through into the beckoning darkness beyond.

Escape seemed possible.

Then the helicopter began making systematic sweeps over the field we’d just vacated. It was very low but there were no high voltage cables hanging over these fields. It was still some way off scanning the herd of escaped cattle but inevitably the pool of dazzling light started moving towards us. Unlike the attack in the Mersey Valley this bastard was definitely a police helicopter. They certainly had thermal imaging technology on board.

I felt sick. We were certain to be caught. I must get rid of the firearms but between running uphill through muddy ground and looking for the best path back to the BMW I just hadn’t time to dump them.

Tony seemed to have gone crazy. Instead of making for the next gate he was veering off at ninety degrees. There was a hollow in the ground there. He flung himself down. I couldn’t understand what he was doing.

‘Get over here,’ he screamed. ‘It’s our only chance.’

I was torn. It might be better to separate. If I ran on I might reach the next dry stone wall and shelter behind it. However deep his hollow was it wouldn’t shelter us from the electronic eye above.

But he’d been right too often for me to desert him. I ran to his position. The helicopter was still the full width of a field away. I reached Tony.

‘We’ve got to get in there. It’s our only hope,’ he said.

The clouds slid away from the moon and by the faint light I could see a smooth surface entirely filling the dip. It was a dew pond.

‘Get in!’ Tony yelped. ‘I spotted it on our way down.’

Intended for watering the cattle on these upland slopes, like all the equipment on Wilberforce’s farm this was in disrepair. The overflow outlet had been allowed to block up and the surface was covered in a nice layer of scum. It might not be much use to the dairy cattle but it would shelter us.

Noise from the engine increased. Holding hands we waded into the pond which was about three feet deep in the centre. God it was cold! I lay down with just my nose above the surface. Almost immediately the area was bathed in light from the helicopter. I submerged into the thick slimy mess. The dazzling beam seemed to hang above us for minutes but it could only have been thirty seconds or so before the searching aircraft flew on.

I came up for air.

The aerial search had moved on into the next field some way beyond our position. I started to climb out but Tony pulled me back.

‘Stay here,’ he insisted. ‘They always do another sweep to be sure they haven’t missed anyone. It’s standard operating procedure.’

I was shivering violently but I slumped down beside him and sure enough, five minutes later the air-borne coppers swept over us again and once again we escaped. Satisfied that the field was free of hostiles they passed to the other side of Wilberforce’s farm. We were free to move.

We plodded uphill in silence. It took a great effort to put one water-logged foot in front of another but I did and we put half a mile between us and the police search.

As we reached the easier going of the golf course it was obvious that the rumpus across the valley hadn’t gone unnoticed in the clubhouse. Doors and windows were open, sending long shafts of light across the open ground in front of the building. It only required someone to see us and call the police and we’d be back to dodging that spotlight again.

Moving slowly now, we avoided the illuminated areas and at long last the BMW was in view. Lee was parked in the right direction with the doors open. He’d done this sort of thing before.

27

Wednesday: Car park, Pennine Hills Golf Club 9.50 pm

‘What the f**k!’ Lee cursed when he saw us.

We were covered in clinging mud and slime from head to foot.

‘There’s no way you’re getting in this car. Bob’ll kill me.’

‘Oh, come on, he’s not as bad as Beast. We’ll have it valeted.’

I did take my boots off but I could feel my body slipping into hypothermia and stripping off my soaking clothes would have to wait.

We both got in the back.

‘Don’t turn the ignition on,’ I told Lee. ‘Roll down the hill and go into the golf club car park.’

The hill was quite steep and as soon as he released the brake we were moving.

On the way up I’d noticed that there were other four wheel drive cars including BMWs parked in the golf club parking area which was some distance from the club house. The police would almost certainly have someone on the exit road if they knew their business which, judging by the success of their surprise appearance at Sheepfold Cottage, they did. I hoped to slip into the car park and hide amongst similar vehicles until the heat died down.

‘We can be away from here in seconds,’ Lee snarled. ‘The Fuzz’ll never keep up with us in this rig.’

He was itching for a high
-speed chase.

I wasn’t.

‘Listen, Steve McQueen, this isn’t the Great Escape. We’re going to hide in that car park and then slip away from here when everybody else goes home.’

‘F**king weird, that’s what you are, Boss. And what’s with the black mask and the machine gun? Are you in fancy dress as Tom Cruise?’

‘Camouflage,’ Tony said. ‘Do what you’re told, Lee. They’ve got a helicopter so it doesn’t matter how fast this car can go. We’ll never shake them.’

Lee’s words reminded me to stow the weapons and jackets away in the backpack.

We slipped into the car park and parked in the middle of a line of large vehicles. He switched the heater full on and very gradually we thawed out. As we warmed a ripe odour of cow shit filled the interior.

The fuss gradually died down. The golfers closed their doors and windows and went back to their drinking. The helicopter light blinked off but the machine was still somewhere in the area because we could hear it.

As my immediate discomforts eased I had time to think.

It looked as if the regular police were working hand in glove with the opposition. The white van and the waiting men must be Appleyard’s MI5 crew. If they were my chances of surviving the week were dramatically reduced. As the idea passed through my mind doubt grew. Would Appleyard’s men have opened fire on Tony like that? There’d been no warning. They must have been more of Lew’s
certain individual’s
men. How many of them had I put down so far? He must have access to an army.

Gradually our breathing returned to normal. Lee and Tony were as alert as feral cats, their heads constantly turning, their eyes and ears seeking the first hint of police.

They didn’t arrive. The minutes ticked past, first ten p.m. then ten thirty.

One or two golfers got in their cars and drove away.

‘Let’s go now,’ Lee said impatiently. ‘It stinks like a shit house in here.’

‘Wait till the club closes and then we’ll go,’ I said.

‘He’s right,’ Tony said. ‘They might be waiting at the bottom of the road. We’ll go with the flow. They can’t stop everyone.’

‘If they get a sniff of you two they’ll know you were up to something,’ Lee grumbled.

‘So we wait until there’s less chance of being stopped,’ Tony said.

Time passed slowly. There was silence in the car broken only by the occasional scratching sound from Lee as he put in a bit of action with his pimples.

‘A spliff would be great now,’ he said to Tony.

‘Forget it,’ I said firmly.

He let out a long sigh.

‘You’re sad, man, real sad,’ he commented, ‘boring.’

I didn’t reply.

I wondered at his words.

Sad … yes, but boring? Never! On Sunday evening I’d gone to bed as a fully paid up member of the ‘reasonably well-off’ classes. Now I was a fugitive, coated in filth like a freshly exhumed corpse. I hoped Jan and the children were snugly tucked up in their nice farmhouse in the remotest, most inaccessible corner of the West of Ireland.

‘Here,’ Tony said, ‘I got this. Is it what you wanted?’

He pressed a small screw capped jar into my hand.

I felt faint. Then the blood rushed to my head.

‘You got it,’ I said numbly. ‘I’d given it up for lost. Why didn’t you give it to me before?’

‘In all the excitement I forgot I’d got it. Right against the fork it was, just under the dirt.’

I held the jar in my hand. I could see there was a piece of paper inside it.

‘Well, go on then. Open it. Put me out of my misery,’ Tony continued jauntily. ‘What’s in it that’s so important? The name of the next Grand National winner or the winning numbers for the Euro Lottery roll-over?’

I unscrewed the cap, took out a small folded piece of paper, and, shielding the beam of my torch under my coat, I read the message it held.

‘David,

I saw the most horrible scene in my life a few hours ago and I’ve seen some shockers in my time. If there’s a hell on earth, that’s what those bastards put poor Lew through. He was stretched across a table in his study and they’d tortured him and … well, I’m sure you know by now how they killed him.

It looks as if Lew was able to leave us a clue before he was killed. He must have been tied up with his hands behind his back but he managed to scratch some letters on the table in his study with his ring. It was found when they moved the body. I was present and they didn’t want me to see but I did. The letters were M ∙ O ∙ L ∙ O and then the final letter was hard to make out. It could have been a C, an S or even a Z. All the letters were written in capitals. None of the MI5 people or police here had any idea what it means but I’m passing it onto you in the hope that your unconventional eye may see something we can’t. They killed him on that table, so the word must have meant something important to him.

Keep safe,

Dad’

My heart sank. I’d been hoping for a name, even an address. I was too stunned to speak.

‘Go on,’ Tony muttered. ‘What does it say? I’m entitled to know.’

‘It’s some letters which Lew scratched onto the table as they were torturing him. M ∙ O ∙L ∙ O∙ and a fifth letter which could be either a C, an S or a Z.’

‘Let me see,’ he said impatiently. ‘I think I’ve earned the right.’

‘Certainly,’ I said passing him the note and the torch.

‘I don’t think it’s an English surname, there’s Moloney which is Irish. It’s either a code for something or it’s an acronym. You know, like FBI or IRA,’ he added for Lee’s benefit.

‘Have you heard of an acronym like that?’

‘No, but I know where to look it up. Then again it could be Molos, or Moloc, or Moloz. They all sound like names of places.’

‘Or the poor bloke didn’t have the time to finish what he was writing,’ Lee said. ‘Torture, it’s inhuman. It would be worth catching the bastard who did it and see how he likes it if we offer him a dose of the same.’

It was dark inside the car but I raised my eyebrows in surprise. There was more to Lee than I’d thought.

‘Was he religious?’ he continued.

‘He was very religious. He disapproved of me for living in sin until I got married.’

‘Oh, one of them nutters,’ he muttered. ‘You know I’m not religious, though my gran was, but if I was tied on a table waiting to be butchered like an animal and I knew there was no way I was going to escape I’d start thinking about religion, God and all that stuff.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed.

‘Hold on,’ Tony said urgently. ‘Lee, you just reminded me of something. Moloch is a name in the Bible. The bible was one of the first books I read when I came round after the meningitis. If the word he wrote was MOLOC that would be the same.’

‘Did you get religion then?’ Lee jeered.

‘No, no. Well … I did … sort of. Bloody hell, Lee, I nearly died. You just said you’d give it a try if they had you strapped down for torture. They practically had me measured up for a coffin but anyway, this Moloch was a cruel pagan god that the people used to sacrifice children to.’

‘Yeah, rubbish, that’s all that is. All made up fairy stories.’

‘No Lee, there’s evidence of child sacrifice in the Middle East. The Carthaginians used to sacrifice their first born sons. They’ve dug up the bones.’

‘That’s inhuman,’ Lee said.

‘It is, but if you were a Middle Eastern terrorist that might be a name you would use for one of your operations.’

Tony cleared his throat as if to add something but then lapsed into silence. We all did.

Eventually the clubhouse revelry came to an end and the golfing fraternity piled into their cars in a rush. There were a lot more people than cars so presumably some of them had stayed sober enough to drive for their friends. They knew that police were lurking at the end of the lane.

We joined the stream and sure enough there was a parked police car when we pulled out onto the main road. We held our collective breaths but the flashing lights didn’t come on and we were soon on the motorway to Manchester with Lee driving cautiously.

No one spoke on the rest of the journey.