Relentless (28 page)

When Bolt reached the top of the hill at the point where it
flattened out, he stopped and listened but could hear nothing
other than the natural sounds of the woods: leaves rustling, the
singing of birds, the odd squawk of a pheasant. He knew he was
in the right place. This was the top of Ranger's Hill and Kathy
Meron's phone would be round here somewhere. There was,
however, no sign of Kathy herself. Through the treeline he could
see the outline of buildings thirty yards or so away, and he made
his way towards them, moving away from the road and quietly
from tree to tree in his approach.
When he reached the edge of the trees, he found himself faced
with a freshly mowed back garden belonging to a Norwegian
style wooden lodge. There didn't seem to be anyone about. Nor
were there any other buildings visible. Bolt looked at his watch.
9.20. The phone was still emitting a signal from somewhere very
close to here. It didn't necessarily mean that Kathy was also
here. The phone might have been abandoned, but even so, he
felt it must have been abandoned for a reason. To leave some
sort «f clue. Which meant he needed to check the house out.

Coming out of the trees and keeping low, he crept slowly
towards the nearest window, using a pampas bush and then a
loveseat as cover. He knew he was going to look like a right idiot
if he was spotted by the owner sneaking through his back
garden, but the worry lasted as long as it took to cover four of
the five yards to the window. When there was only that one yard
remaining, Bolt froze. He could see a man dressed in a black
balaclava standing inside. The man had a gun in his hand and it
was obvious he was talking to someone out of sight. The gun
arm was straight, the barrel pointed at a slightly downwards
angle, the man's demeanour perfectly calm.
Bolt felt a rush of elation. His hunch had been right. He was
already crouching back down again and reaching into his pocket
for his mobile to summon help, when in one of those perverse
twists of fate the man for some reason looked his way. Their
eyes met, and even from behind the double-glazed glass of the
windowpane Bolt recognized instantly that they belonged to a
killer. Knowing that he was hopelessly exposed, he dived to one
side as a shot rang out and glass cracked. The bullet whistled
past his head and disappeared off into the trees. Bolt's flight
mechanism kicked in and he rolled over in the grass, jumped to
his feet and ran for the safety of the trees. A second shot rang
out, and this time it passed so close to his shoulder that he felt its
draught. He jumped to one side and smashed bodily into the
loveseat, careering over the top of it and landing on his belly half
a yard from where the treeline began.
He waited an interminably long second for a third shot to ring
out, but when it did it was muffled and seemed to be fired from
inside the house. He scrabbled round onto his back, flicked open
the mobile and dialled 999.

Occasionally in life you're faced with choices you know you
should never have to make, and this was one of them. If I
charged into the kitchen, gun in hand, I risked dying. I also
risked putting Kathy's life in further danger. If I was successful
and killed Lench, I risked sentencing my children to death. If I
stayed where I was, I risked all three. It was, of course, no
choice. All these thoughts shot across my mind and were computed
in the space of a second, and, before they'd had too much
of a chance to slow me down, I ran out of the lounge, across the
hallway and straight through the kitchen door, not knowing
what the hell it was I was going to see in there.
I yelled out some incoherent battle cry as I charged inside,
waving the gun wildly, just as a second shot rang out. I saw
immediately that Lench had his b&ck to me and was firing out of
the window. Kathy, meanwhile, was still in her seat but leaning
away from him, her face a frozen mask of fear and confusion. As
she saw me with the gun in my hand, she screamed, 'Don't do it!
We need him!'
I hesitated, not knowing what to do, and as I stood there,

2SS
Lench swung round with surprising speed, one hand lashing out
like a tentacle to grab Kathy by the shoulder. He pulled her
towards him in a grip that looked unbreakable, and arced the
gun round in my direction.
The world became slow motion for me as I watched the
barrel line up against my chest. My whole body felt weak
and exhausted, a stark and terrible contrast to Lench's casual,
cat-like grace. If I fired, my children might die; so might my
wife. If I didn't, I knew I certainly would. I don't know if it
was reflexive or not - I like to think that it was - but I pulled
the trigger anyway. Three times, one after the other, aiming
above Kathy at Lench's head and shoulders, surprised at how
mild the kick on the gun was. The bullets made an aggressive
hiss, like air escaping from a balloon, as they flew out of the gun,
while the whole room seemed to reverberate with Lench's third
shot.
Somehow, incredibly, it had been me who'd fired first, and by
some wondrous quirk of fate at least one of my rounds had
found its target. Lench swivelled on his feet, his boots squeaking
on the tiled floor, and seemed to lose his footing, while his own
bullet went wide, shattering one of the plates on the wall. He let
go of Kathy, who was still screaming, then she ducked as I fired
a fourth shot, which struck the window and immediately made a
spider's-web crack. Lench slipped over and landed on his side,
still pointing the gun in my direction, and I was forced to dive
into the kitchen units as he fired again.
We were operating on instinct now. I had no idea how
many bullets were still in my gun but I knew that in an enclosed
space like this I had to keep shooting. I didn't think about the
fact that I was killing a fellow human being. I'd gone way
beyond that now, and anyway, I didn't want to kill him. I just

wanted to make him helpless so that he'd have no option but to
tell me where my children were.
From my position on the floor I could see him under the
kitchen table rolling onto his back to face me, the gun flashing
silver in his gloved hand. I didn't have time to look for Kathy. I
vaguely remember seeing something moving very slowly along
the floor out of the corner of my eye, then I took as good an aim
as I could and fired.
I hit him in the sole of his boot, making a penny-shaped hole
that immediately started smoking. He shrieked out in pain, and
pulled the trigger himself. There was a deafening explosion just
above my head and the sound of wood splintering. My ears were
ringing and I scrunched myself into a ball, trying to make myself
as small a target as possible, at the same time unloading two
more shots. But he was already moving, rolling away once again,
then jumping unsteadily to his feet and hobbling towards the
door. I fired at his legs, my bullets striking kitchen cupboards,
the washing-machine window, the fridge door. Everything but
him. Then, as he came round the edge of the table, we were
suddenly only six feet apart. He leaned round to fire, his gun
hand still remarkably steady, the barrel pointing directly into my
eye, and in that moment I knew I was finished. For the first time
in the last few minutes, I felt abject fear.
Kathy screamed, her sound not as high-pitched as the noise
Lench had made when I'd put a hole in his shoe, and I swung my
own weapon round, taking aim with a terrified desperation.
'Armed police! Drop your weapons!'
The shout came from somewhere outside the kitchen door,
and Lench hesitated for a split second, his head inclining slightly
in the direction of the shout. Because of this, his shot missed me,
and he lost his balance, falling to one knee. I lost my nerve then,

the realization that I, a lowly software salesman, was involved in
a gunfight with a man far stronger and ruthless than me suddenly
proving too much. I scrambled under the table in Kathy's
direction, knocking the heavy wooden chairs out of the way,
waiting for the inevitable agony when Lench's next bullet caught
me between the shoulderblades.
'Come out with your hands up now! You are surrounded!'
The bullet never came. I grabbed hold of Kathy and pulled
her under me in a protective gesture, holding her in a desperate, exhausted embrace.
And then the kitchen window exploded.

46

As soon as he heard the shout 'Armed police!', Lench experienced
a flash of panic for the first time in years. Even the
sudden burst of resistance from Tom Meron which had left him
in the embarrassed position of being wounded for the first time in
his life had only temporarily fazed him. The injuries - a flesh
wound in his knife arm, and the bullet in the foot - could be
treated and would heal. He'd always known that Meron, although
a spirited fighter, was an amateur with a shot that was lucky
rather than proficient, and so the final outcome of their Shootout
had never been in doubt. Lench would have finished him, then
killed the wife. She'd already told him what he needed to know,
so his use for both of them had run out. The wife had known that

as soon as she gave out her final piece of information she'd be
dead, which was why she'd held back. Lench admired her for
that. She had guts. But it made no difference. The plan had been
to kill them, then kill Grellier, the man in the Homer Simpson
mask he'd brought with him today, hoping that he would then be
saddled with the blame for the Merons' deaths. Grellier was new
to the organization, a petty criminal with no ambition but the
right kind of evil streak, and was therefore considered totally
expendable. Unfortunately, this morning he'd proved exactly
why he was totally expendable, allowing himself to be overpowered
and disarmed by a frightened office worker.
But everything had still been under control until the moment
Lench heard the shouts of the police. His one great fear, that of
incarceration without limit, rose up and stared him right in the
face. He'd planned for this day, knowing that it was inevitable,
so he immediately reverted to the set of procedures he'd drilled
into himself for just this kind of eventuality. First, he let the gun
clatter to the floor. It was no use to him now. Then he undipped
the wristband to which the jet knife was attached and let this too
fall to the floor. It was cleaned and sterilized regularly, the last
time only hours ago, so would no longer contain traces of the
blood or body matter of any of his victims, thus making it useless
to the police. The gloves went next. They would carry traces of
gunshot residue, but he would deny they were his. Now he
no longer carried any incriminating evidence. It was his word
against the Merons. They had nothing on him. And within hours,
his employer's team of lawyers would be arriving at the police
station to demand to know on what charges he was being held,
and to badger the arresting officers into releasing him.
But as Lench got to his feet, wincing with pain, he realized
that there were still problems. Grellier was probably still alive

and might talk. The phone on which he'd received Tom Meron's
call was still in the house. The balance of probability was still
against him. It was potentially enough for charges. Even if his
employer's people could reach the jury, as they'd done before, it
might not be enough. Better to leave the evidence here and
attempt to escape. That way he would have done all he could.
'Come out with your hands up now! You are surrounded!'
He staggered towards the window, grabbing a chair as he went
and sending it smashing into the window at the rear of the
kitchen with such force it went straight through. Which was
the moment when Lench realized that the police almost
certainly didn't have the back of the house covered - either that
or they weren't armed - because no-one had reacted to the
chair's exit. Without looking back, he hoisted himself onto the
worktop, looked out into the empty garden, then went head-first
through the hole he'd made.
Getting up again immediately, he half-hopped, half-ran, towards
the field beyond. No-one tried to stop him. No further
shouts of 'armed police' came from either his left or right. He
kept going, ignoring the pain.
He sensed freedom.

47

The moment Bolt heard the sound of further gunshots coming
from inside, he got to his feet and ran round the side of the

house, the phone to his ear. As the operator came on he gave his
name and rank and told him hurriedly that he needed armed
police and an ambulance to a house at the top of Ranger's Hill
in Hambleden. 'I don't have the address but I can confirm shots
have been fired and it's a possible kidnap situation. Repeat:
shots have been fired. You need to get ARVs here fast.' He put
the phone back in his pocket, not wanting to stay on the line and
have to concentrate on two things at once. Unarmed and alone,
he was undoubtedly risking his life, but he also felt that he had
to do something. There were almost certainly people dying in
there.
He reached the front door. It was shut. Pulling open the
letterbox, he decided bluffing was his only chance. In such
situations you rarely have time to think things through. If you
did, you'd never go up without a gun against half the villains the
job threw up.
Another loud shot came from inside, mixed in with quieter
ones that Bolt knew were being muffled by a silencer. He could
hear the pings the bullets made as they struck wood and metal.
'Armed police! Drop your weapons!' He shouted the words
with as much authority as he could muster, and hoped for the
best.
The gunfire stopped. Straight away. Bolt waited for two
seconds, just to make sure that they weren't suddenly going to
change their minds and aim their guns at him, then looked left
and right. No-one was sneaking up on him. 'Come out with your
hands up now!' he called out. 'You are surrounded!' He didn't
know what on earth he was going to do when they did actually
come out with their hands up. He didn't even know who the
villains were. But of one thing he was sure: if he sounded
confident enough and they did indeed step outside with their