Reeve still held his wrist, but the impact sent the knife at his face. He jerked his head sideways. It nicked the side of his jaw. He tried to force Locke off – only to take a punch to the temple.
The blow left him dizzied. The knife jerked back, Locke tearing loose from one of his hands. Reeve clawed at his wrist again, but the older man’s free arm deflected him. Locke brought his blade over Reeve’s neck. His X-ray gaze locked on, looking through flesh and cartilage for his target—
His pathological need for lethal precision saved Reeve’s life. The tiny delay let him send a punch at Locke’s jaw. Not as hard as he’d wanted – but enough to jar his opponent. Locke lurched sideways.
The shift of weight freed one of Reeve’s legs. He levered himself over. Locke rolled off him – and Reeve kneed him in the groin. The ice-blond man folded.
Reeve pulled out from under him, delivering another punch. This struck with full force. Blood spurted from Locke’s nose and lip. Reeve tore the knife from his hand – and stabbed down at his throat.
Even through his pain, Locke saw it coming. He flung his upper body backwards. The carbon-fibre blade missed his neck, punching through skin behind his left clavicle. He screamed as it sank into his trapezius muscle.
Reeve kicked him away and scrambled to his feet. The fight had taken only seconds, but Maxwell or Parker might already be coming. He ran for the exit.
He burst out into the open, the cat rushing away in fright. He had left the house – but still had to escape the grounds.
And there were three trained killers ahead of him.
CHAPTER 8
Reeve ran into the rain. Stone, Blake and Flynn didn’t know what had happened. They might not even have heard the shots. If he took a car, he could be at the gate before they responded . . .
That hope vanished as a voice echoed around the bowl. Maxwell, shouting through Mordencroft Hall’s infrequently-used Tannoy system. ‘Attention! Attention! Alex Reeve is Fox Red! I repeat, Alex Reeve has been declared Fox Red!’
Reeve felt a new chill. ‘Fox Red’ was SC9 code for an internal threat – a traitor. It was not issued lightly. There was no appeal, no reprieve, only one punishment: death.
The sentence to be carried out immediately.
He looked back. Nobody pursuing, but Maxwell or Parker might emerge at any moment. He swerved into the assault course, using a climbing wall to block line of sight.
Maxwell repeated his warning. Between the obstacles Reeve glimpsed Stone, stopping his punchbag fight to listen. Bewilderment gave way to shock – then anger. The big man tore off his boxing gloves and moved to intercept.
Reeve angled away. He glanced back at the house—
Parker rushed from the gym door.
On his current course, Reeve’s back would be exposed to gunfire. And Parker was a very good shot. He swung back into the assault course. Where was Stone? Behind another wall ahead. Which way past it to dodge him?
Stone had been coming from his left. The ex-cop should emerge from the wall’s right side, missing him. Reeve went left—
Huge hands grabbed him.
Stone swung Reeve around, using his own momentum to fling him against the bricks. ‘Thought you were being fucking clever, didn’t you?’ Stone snarled. He clenched his taped fists and advanced.
Reeve knew from past sparring matches that Stone was powerful, and brutal. But he was also slow. Not enormously so, but enough to give the smaller man an edge.
If he could avoid being hit.
Stone clearly relished the chance for a bare-knuckle fight. He sent a jab at Reeve’s head. Reeve dodged, sweeping his left arm to divert the blow. His wrist struck Stone’s bough-like forearm. Even deflected, the strike barely missed.
Before Stone could wind up for another attack, Reeve snapped out one of his own. His right palm rushed at Stone’s face. A broken nose would cause severe pain, perhaps even blind him with blood—
Cartilage crunched – but not hard enough. Stone jerked his head back just in time to minimise the impact. ‘Fuck!’ he barked. ‘You little cunt!’
He swept his left fist at Reeve’s stomach. Reeve tried to pull clear. Not far enough. Knuckles as hard as his attacker’s name pounded his abdomen. He thumped breathlessly against the wall.
Stone’s clenched right fist rushed at his face again. This time it struck, knocking his head against the bricks. Pain exploded in Reeve’s skull. He tasted blood.
Stone grinned malevolently. His left hand clamped around Reeve’s throat. He shoved him hard against the wall, choking him. The big man’s right arm drew back, winding up to pulp his opponent’s face—
He had left an opening – and Reeve took it. He jabbed his rigid fingers into Stone’s larynx. Now it was the Londoner’s turn to choke. He stumbled backwards, clutching his throat.
Gasping, Reeve broke loose. He drove his elbow into Stone’s sternum as he ran past. Stone grunted in pain, staggering.
Reeve didn’t look back. He knew he was the faster runner. He pounded around a scramble net. A glance behind. Parker was in pursuit, Maxwell emerging from the house after him.
Both had guns. But Parker’s was raised.
Reeve ducked as a bullet cracked past. Another would surely follow—
Shouts reached him instead. Maxwell, ordering Parker to stop shooting – and a yell of ‘Jesus fucking Christ!’ from Stone. He had started to pursue Reeve, unwittingly crossing Parker’s line of fire. He dived back into cover.
Reeve ran for the driving track. Blake’s Audi slowed as its driver realised something was going on. Reeve headed straight for it, hoping Parker and Maxwell wouldn’t risk more friendly fire.
The car stopped. Reeve rushed up as Blake lowered his window. ‘What’s happening?’ he demanded.
‘Parker’s gone Fox Red!’ Reeve panted. Shock on Blake’s face – then Reeve smashed an elbow into it. The older man’s head snapped back. Reeve yanked open the door and hit the seatbelt release. Blake started to recover, but was dragged from the car before he could respond.
Reeve took his seat. Blake was taller, his driving position awkward, but there was no time to adjust it. Instead he threw the A6 into gear and stamped on the accelerator. The car leapt forward. He swung around to put metal between himself and his pursuers’ guns. The car barrelled over a verge, fishtailing on the wet earth and grass. He caught it, powersliding on to the house’s long drive.
About a mile to the gate. It was closed, and solid enough to wreck the car if he rammed it. The speedometer passed sixty. He had under a minute to think of a way around.
Movement in his peripheral vision, a figure higher on the slope—
The side window behind him exploded. Something slammed into his headrest.
Flynn’s arrow transfixed the restraint, centimetres from his head. If it hadn’t been deflected by the glass, he would have died like her rabbit. He gasped a curse, then powered on.
A look in the mirror. Blake was sprinting for another car. Parker, Stone and Maxwell followed.
His former colleagues were coming after him.
Blake jumped into a blue BMW 5-Series. He started it, but waited for Parker to arrive. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Reeve’s Fox Red,’ Parker replied as he took the passenger seat. ‘Get after him.’
Blake was about to set off when Maxwell waved for him to stop. He reluctantly held his foot off the accelerator. Stone arrived, the instructor not far behind. ‘Wait, wait,’ Maxwell called. ‘Craig, get out.’
‘What?’ demanded Parker. ‘He’s getting away!’
‘Harrison needs first aid. Go back to the house and help him. And get to the security station. If Alex gets around the main gate, you open it to let us through.’ When Parker didn’t immediately respond, he barked: ‘That’s an order. Move!’
Parker reluctantly exited. Stone was about to take the bac
k seat when Maxwell stopped him. ‘No, get to the armoury. Arm up and follow us in one of the other cars. You too,’ he added, as Flynn ran up.
‘We’re using live weapons right on our doorstep?’ she asked, surprised. Stone appeared thrilled at the prospect.
‘Alex has been declared Fox Red,’ Maxwell replied. ‘That means we use whatever force is necessary to eliminate him. But avoid collateral casualties. The boss can cover things up with the local police, but only so far.’ He took Parker’s place in the passenger seat. ‘Okay, John, go.’
Blake powered away. Stone, Parker and Flynn all ran in the other direction. ‘What’s this?’ Stone said, indicating her bow. ‘Fucking Robin Hood?’
‘I almost got him,’ she snapped. ‘And what the hell’s going on? Why is Reeve Fox Red?’
‘Fucked if I know.’
‘He went in for a meeting with Maxwell,’ explained Parker. ‘Next thing I knew, there were gunshots.’
‘I guess he didn’t pass, then,’ Flynn said, deadpan.
‘I tried to stop him, but the bastard clouted me with a fire extinguisher. He stabbed Locke with his own knife as well.’
A grunted half-laugh from Stone. ‘I told that dickhead it’s safer to just shoot people.’ They hurried on towards the house.
Wind blasted in through the broken window as Reeve charged along the drive. He had managed to fasten his seatbelt during his pell-mell flight. The heavy security gate came into view. He reluctantly eased off. How to get past the barrier? He could crash through the fence, but the road was flanked by drainage ditches. They might damage his car’s suspension, or even rip off a wheel.
He would have to risk it. He accelerated again – and swung off the road.
A fierce jolt as the front wheels hit the ditch. The impact slammed the suspension to its limit – but he was over. Another hideous thump jarred his spine as the car’s rear bounded over the obstacle. Dirt showered on to the windscreen, a stone cracking it. He wrestled with the wheel, then jammed his foot down.
The powerful car surged forward – and hit the barbed-wire fence.
Reeve was pitched forward again, the seatbelt yanking hard across his chest. The wooden post to one side ripped from the ground – but the other stayed put. The Audi slewed around. He spun the wheel to counter it. Wires lashed over the bonnet, barbs shrilling as they gouged the metal. Then they finally snapped.
More bone-shaking blows as the car lurched back on to asphalt. Reeve straightened out, then accelerated. An unpleasant vibration rattled his palms through the steering wheel. A wheel had been knocked out of alignment.
Maintaining control at high speed would be work, but he could handle it. The main thing was that he was out of the grounds. The loch swung into sight below. A road ran along its bank. He would reach it in a few minutes. Turn right, and he would soon be on the A830. The main road linked Mallaig to the north and Fort William to the east – his escape route.
If he could reach it. The others were surely coming after him by now.
And they would be out for blood.
CHAPTER 9
Parker, Flynn and Stone split up as they reached the house. The latter two headed for the main door, the quickest route to the armoury. Parker went back into the gym.
Locke had managed to stand. His right hand was pressed to his shoulder wound, blood soaking his clothing. ‘Did you get Reeve?’
‘Not yet,’ Parker replied, hurrying past. ‘Maxwell told me to help you, but you seem to be managing?’
Locke’s eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t close the wound with only one hand.’
‘I’ll help you – soon as I’m done at the security station. They’re trying to catch him at the gate.’ He ran on down the hallway. Locke scowled, then followed, lips tight.
The security station was a small room beyond Maxwell’s office. CCTV monitors covered the house and grounds. ‘Shit,’ Parker said, as he checked them.
Locke entered behind him. ‘What is it?’
‘He got out.’ There was no sign of Reeve’s car. He pushed a button. On one screen, the main gate began to swing open.
On another, Stone and Flynn collected weapons from the armoury. Stone grabbed an HK416 assault rifle and several magazines. Flynn, on the other hand, chose another AX308 sniper rifle. Her weapon the previous night was chambered for wax simulation rounds. This used live ammunition. Armed, they hurried back out to rejoin the hunt.
‘Damn it, he’s through,’ said Blake, as the BMW approached the opening gate. The wrecked fence beside it marked Reeve’s exit.
Maxwell regarded the tracks crossing the ditch. ‘That’ll have given his suspension a hell of a whack. If we’re lucky, he’ll be damaged.’
‘The luck seems to be entirely on his side, so far.’ Blake swept the car through the gate.
Maxwell checked his remaining ammunition. ‘Nobody stays lucky for ever.’
Reeve reached the bottom of the hill, braking hard for the junction. The turn was tight, and the road narrow and wet. If he skidded, he could end up in the loch.
But the Audi’s tyres maintained their grip. He straightened out and accelerated. The off-kilter wheel’s vibration returned. Worse than before. All he could do was hope it held out.
A glance back up the hill. Another car, a BMW, was rapidly descending the winding road. Blake, Reeve was forced to admit, was the better driver. With his own vehicle damaged, his pursuers would eventually catch up.
He had to open up as much ground as possible. Foot down harder, the needle passing seventy. Over the speed limit, way too fast for the road and conditions. But he had to keep going.
A car ahead. Reeve checked the road was clear, then blasted past. He was now doing eighty. Trees and rocks flashed by. He had no room for error – one slip, and he would spin off into them.
How far to the main road? About two miles. The route was familiar from his occasional trips out of Mordencroft Hall. He still had to pass the salmon farm and the tiny hamlet of Lochailort. Several big bends ahead – and he was already dancing on the limit of control.
An island chain came into sight on the loch. A curve would soon follow. He reluctantly eased his right foot, feeling the tyres straining for grip. The car rocked, but held its line through the long bend. A quick look at the rear-view mirror.
Running lights were briefly visible in the distance. It wasn’t the car he had overtaken. Blake was already gaining.
A blast of speed on a short straight, then he entered another, longer curve. There was the salmon farm, hatcheries like long barges floating in the loch. He whipped past. Less than a mile to the junction.
He overtook a van, then pulled back in for the final stretch. Lochailort was off to his right. Around the last bend, dipping the brakes to shed speed—
An articulated lorry filled the lane in front of him.
Reeve rammed his foot down hard. The car juddered as the anti-lock system kicked in. Even so, the back end slid out on the wet road. He counter-steered, reapplying power. A lurch as the tyres found grip. Engine howling, he slithered around the bend in a barely-controlled drift. The truck had started to turn right; he cut inside it. He was on the wrong side of the road, wheels going over the white lines.
The Audi’s tail slid out again—
Its rear corner struck the crash barrier with a crunch of metal and plastic. Another whirl of the steering wheel. The A6 reeled drunkenly before coming back into line.
Reeve’s heart raced, kicked by an adrenalin shot. The truck driver belatedly blasted his horn. The mirrors revealed glass and debris in the road. Nothing too big. The car was still in one piece.
His speed had fallen below thirty. He dropped through the gears and accelerated. The truck rapidly fell away behind.
Past a pub, then through hilly woodland. The A830 was wider than the road he had just left, but not by much. Still only one lane in each
direction – and it would be more busy. Even in this miserable weather, it was a major tourist route. The nearby railway line was world-famous as the route to Hogwarts in Harry Potter.
Several cars ahead, doing about fifty behind a dawdling camper van. The speed limit here was sixty. Double white lines down the road’s centre meant no overtaking. He ignored them. Full power, and he pulled out to pass the unwilling convoy.
A risky manoeuvre. He only just made it back in before reaching a blind crest. A moment later, a car whipped past the other way. He had barely avoided a head-on collision.
Breathing heavily, he powered on. The railway line came into view to his left, parallel with the road. The shuddering worsened. He gripped the wheel more tightly, trying to feel the knife-edge of controllability. Every time he crested a rise, the steering went light, slack. If he lost grip going into a corner, he would plough into the trees. Every instinct warned him to slow. But if he did, Blake would soon be upon him.
More cars ahead. The woods blocked his view of an approaching curve. Dare he risk a blind overtake?
The traffic was moving slowly. He would have to.
Reeve came up behind the last car. He still couldn’t see through the trees. A dangerous gamble, but he had to take it.
Into the bend – and he pulled out and accelerated.
Past the first car, second, third. Nothing coming at him. Over a small bridge, the railway flashing past below. A hump ahead, the turn tightening. Ease off, ride the knife—
He topped the rise – and saw an oncoming truck.
A split-second of terror. Then his training kicked in, learned instinct overpowering primal. Brake, brake! The speedometer plummeted, sixty, fifty. Still cars to his left—
He swung into a gap. It wasn’t big enough. He knew – but had no choice.
His Audi hit a small Vauxhall Viva hatchback, barging it off the road. It scythed down marker poles along the verge as the truck whipped past. He pulled out again—
More cars formed a train behind it. Reeve veered back into the gap. The Viva jolted to a stop in a ditch. Low-speed crash; the driver should be okay.
Operative 66 : A Novel Page 5