Operative 66 : A Novel

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Operative 66 : A Novel Page 6

by McDermott, Andy


  The other lane was clear. Down into second, and he peeled out. Full power, and he cleared the line of traffic in seconds. A log truck at its head was causing the hold-up. Past it, back in, and he was free again.

  He rounded another tight bend, raw granite walls to both sides. Then the landscape opened out, grey water stretching away to his right. Loch Eilt. The road followed its northern shoreline for about three miles. The railway was on the opposite side; he glimpsed a train travelling eastwards along it.

  No traffic ahead. The truck had caused a vehicular logjam. Back up past seventy, sweeping through the curves—

  Lights in the mirror.

  He knew at once it was his pursuers. The other car was moving even faster. He had ridden with Blake before. The black-haired man had the reflexes of a Formula 1 driver.

  Reeve pushed as hard as he dared. Any more, and he would lose control through the bends.

  It wasn’t enough. Blake was gaining.

  He glimpsed a second shadow in the BMW. Maxwell or Parker, he couldn’t tell. Either way, they would be armed.

  Hitting a target from a moving car was extremely hard, whatever the movies claimed. Blake would instead use his own vehicle as the weapon. He would try to knock the A6 into a spin. Then his passenger would open fire.

  There were counters to Blake’s attack. Blake knew them all, of course, but if Reeve picked the right moment—

  He had glanced into the mirror to locate his opponents. Just for an instant – but when he looked back ahead a tractor filled his vision—

  Too late to brake. Reeve jerked the wheel to swerve around it. The Audi rolled on its suspension – and the rear tyres lost their grip.

  The back end broke loose. A shrill screech from the road as he slid sidelong—

  If he braked, he would spin for sure. And his pursuers could put bullets straight through the windscreen into his head. Instead he accelerated, turning the wheel even harder to the right. The car wavered – then snapped back around. He caught the spin, straightening out—

  Another bend ahead. He was coming in too fast. Brake!

  The car weaved frenziedly as it shed speed. He tried to sweep it through the corner – but the front wheel went off the road.

  Gravel spat up, the suspension juddering. A black-and-white warning pole disappeared under the Audi’s nose with a bang. Reeve grimaced, foot still crushing the brake pedal. Trees loomed as he slid into the undergrowth—

  He slowed enough to regain control. Wheel hard over, he swung back on to the road—

  Blake’s car rushed around the bend.

  The other Operative hadn’t expected him to be so close. The BMW’s nose dipped sharply as Blake hit the brakes. Reeve kept his foot down. The gap opened up.

  For a moment. Then the 5-Series surged forward again – coming right at him.

  Blake had avoided an uncontrolled collision, but now a controlled one was his objective. He swept over to the road’s right side. Reeve did the same, moving to block him. Blake was trying to perform a Pursuit Intervention Technique: the PIT. Swipe the target’s rear corner with his own car’s nose to cause a spin. As soon as Reeve slowed, Blake’s passenger – Maxwell – would shoot him. His former mentor already had the window open, gun ready.

  Reeve hunched lower. Just because the shot was hard didn’t mean Maxwell wouldn’t take it. He stayed on the right to restrict his firing angle.

  Blake veered back to the left, determined. Reeve only just did the same before he could swing into a PIT. The two cars’ bumpers scraped, a piece of the Audi’s damaged rear shearing off.

  Another bump, harder, deliberate. Blake had changed tactics, trying to ram him off the road. Now Reeve was on the defensive again. Full throttle, but the other car was faster. He looked ahead. Another bend followed the lochside to the right, lined by trees.

  A flicker of red between them.

  The BMW hit him again. He gripped the wheel harder – and swung back to the right. Would Blake follow, or try for another PIT?

  Blue filled the mirror. Blake was back behind him. Ramming as they entered the bend would knock Reeve into the ditch on its left. The curve rushed at him. Turn—

  Reeve did so – darting left, not right. He swerved back into the proper lane as a red Ford Mondeo came around the bend.

  He had glimpsed the oncoming vehicle through the trees. Blake, focused on the pursuit, hadn’t seen it.

  He did now, though.

  The 5-Series suddenly fell away as Blake slammed on the anchors. The Mondeo whipped past Reeve’s Audi, missing by inches.

  Blake wasn’t so lucky. The other vehicle hit the BMW’s rear quarter. Both spun in a spray of shattered glass and plastic. Blake’s car went backwards into the ditch. The other whirled to a stop in the middle of the road.

  Reeve let out a relieved breath and checked the mirror. The BMW was off the highway, nose angled upwards. Recoverable, but it would take a few minutes. That was the gap he needed to get away—

  New lights flared behind. A silver Mercedes C-Class swept around the red car and powered after him.

  Stone and Flynn had caught up.

  CHAPTER 10

  Reeve raced along the bank of Lock Eilt. His eyes flicked between the road and the mirror. There would be no PIT attempts from his new pursuers. Stone was in the passenger seat – with an assault rifle.

  The big man leaned from the window. Reeve swept to the right to limit his angle of fire. Stone merely scrunched his wind-blasted face and edged out higher.

  The HK’s barrel swung towards the Audi—

  Reeve dropped low as the rifle barked. A full-auto burst, six or seven shots. The rear windscreen burst apart, a round thunking against the door pillar beside him. He jerked the wheel, snaking from side to side. Stone fired again. Metal puckered and clanked as more bullets hit the bodywork. A fist-sized hole blew open in the front windscreen.

  Oncoming traffic. Reeve waited until the last second to dodge it, hoping Flynn had been unsighted by his car. But she followed – although Stone was caught by surprise, reeling from the window. He yelled an obscenity, then brought his gun back up.

  Reeve hunched down again, but Stone was now aiming at the car, not its driver. The clamour of a metal hailstorm filled the cabin as rounds pounded its back end. Then the noise stopped – but Stone was already withdrawing to reload.

  A corner ahead. Reeve had no choice but to slow. He was driving heel-and-toe like a racer, right foot on both accelerator and brake. He subtly shifted pressure to the latter as he swept into the turn. The road ahead was clear for the next few seconds. He risked a look at the mirror.

  Stone was back in position. Fire blazed from the rifle’s muzzle, more bullets slamming into the Audi—

  It lurched. The wheel jerked in Reeve’s hands. He gripped it tightly to hold course. Had Stone shot out a tyre?

  No. If he had, the car would be in the trees. But something was definitely wrong. The A6 suddenly felt heavy, as if dragging an overloaded trailer . . .

  A hissing noise gave him an answer. One of the rear brakes was jammed, pads rubbing against the disc. He released then reapplied the brake pedal, trying to free it. No luck.

  He increased power out of the curve. The hiss grew louder. An acrid smell reached him: the brake pads starting to burn.

  And now the vibration grew stronger. His car was dying.

  He would soon join it if he didn’t escape.

  Stone had retreated inside his car as it rounded the bend. Back on the straight, he re-emerged, taking aim. Reeve looked ahead. A small hump was coming up. Foot down, and he sped towards it. He readied himself for the steering to go light.

  Over the top, a momentary roller coaster sensation in his stomach, then back down—

  He slammed on the brakes.

  Flynn briefly lost sight of him beyond the rise. When she saw hi
m again his rear lights were blazing. She braked hard as well—

  Too late.

  Her Mercedes ploughed into the Audi’s rear.

  Reeve was braced for the impact. A sharp bang as the airbag inflated. His face struck it, but the blow was not severe.

  Stone and Flynn were not so fortunate.

  Flynn slammed into her own erupting airbag with the force of a punch. Stone, meanwhile, was desperately dropping back inside when the cars collided. With no seatbelt, he was thrown against the windscreen pillar. His gun spun down the road.

  Reeve’s wrists and forearms burned from venting gas as the bag deflated. He clenched his jaw to overcome the pain and accelerated again. Debris scattered across the tarmac as the two vehicles ripped apart. The Merc’s nose had been smashed by the collision. Bonnet buckled, radiator ruptured, it slewed off the road.

  His own vehicle was only marginally better off. The boot was crushed, and he could smell petrol. It wouldn’t get him to Fort William. It wouldn’t get him much further than the end of Loch Eilt. He looked ahead. The lake narrowed; the road went into a pass at its end. About two miles beyond was a railway station—

  The train.

  He looked back. The four-coach diesel multiple unit was visible across the loch, some way behind.

  A plan formed. It was risky, dangerous – but he had no alternative. His bullet-riddled car would never reach the station.

  He checked the mirror as the road started to climb. The mangled Mercedes was stationary on the verge. Stone was still alive, levering himself back into the cabin. Another car raced along the road in the distance.

  Maxwell and Blake were back in pursuit.

  He was some way ahead, but that wouldn’t last. His car was already straining up the slope. The burning smell grew stronger. Flames and leaking petrol – a great combination. How much longer did he have?

  Not much. He gripped the juddering wheel as he guided the Audi into the pass.

  ‘Shit, look,’ Maxwell said to Blake. ‘That’s Deirdre and Mark.’

  The silver C-Class had overtaken them while they were extricating their car from the ditch. Now, its crumpled front end told Maxwell it was out of the chase.

  No other cars nearby; the only thing it could have hit was Reeve. ‘Pull over,’ he ordered.

  ‘Reeve’s getting away,’ Blake reminded him. The subtext was clear, Maxwell’s own words returning: the mission comes first.

  ‘If their car got that smashed up, his won’t be much better off. Stop.’

  Blake reluctantly halted behind the wrecked Mercedes. Maxwell hurried to it. Stone and Flynn were inside. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘No, I’m fucking not,’ Stone growled, clutching his chest. ‘I was hanging out of the car when Flynn crashed into him.’

  ‘Oh, get to fuck,’ Flynn snapped as she clambered out. One hand covered a bloody nose. ‘Sir, he deliberately braked so we’d hit him. His back end’s wrecked. I don’t think he’ll get far.’

  Maxwell looked down the road. No sign of Reeve’s A6. ‘We’ll catch him. Grab your weapons and get in the back.’

  Flynn retrieved her sniper rifle. Stone unsteadily got out, face twisted in pain. ‘I’m going to fucking kill that bastard.’

  ‘How? You won’t be shooting him,’ was his companion’s caustic comment. Stone swore as he realised his rifle was gone.

  Maxwell surveyed the roadside. The stock of Stone’s weapon jutted from a patch of heather. ‘Over there.’

  He returned to the car, Flynn getting into the rear seat. Stone jogged clumsily to retrieve his weapon, returning with an even more pained expression. ‘Think I’ve broken a fucking rib,’ he muttered, as he squeezed into the back.

  ‘John, go,’ Maxwell ordered. ‘Cracked, at most,’ he told Stone as Blake pulled out. ‘You wouldn’t be moving like that if it was broken.’ Had it been anyone but Maxwell, Stone would have had an insulting retort. Instead he merely scowled.

  ‘We’re leaving a hell of a trail, sir,’ said Flynn. ‘And like I said, it’s all on our doorstep. At least two civilian cars wrecked, and there could be casualties.’

  ‘And like I said, the boss will handle it,’ Maxwell replied. The confidence in his voice far exceeded that in his head. ‘Let’s deal with Alex first – then worry about the clean-up.’

  Blake was by now back at full speed. The BMW hurtled towards the end of the loch.

  CHAPTER 11

  Reeve emerged from the pass, cloud-shrouded hills opening out around him. The railway line swept in from the right to run close to the road.

  His car was almost finished, trailing smoke. He rounded a bend, seeing the road straighten ahead. That would do.

  That would have to do.

  He had rifled through the glove box while traversing the pass. The most solid thing inside was a plastic first-aid box. Not ideal, but it was all he had. He unfastened his seatbelt, then took his foot off the accelerator. The Audi immediately slowed.

  A car was coming the other way. He waited for it to pass – he didn’t want witnesses. Once it was gone, he angled to the opposite side of the road. The verge rolled past below his window.

  Reeve pulled the door handle to unlatch it. It swung open a few inches. Holding it with his elbow, he bent forward and wedged the box against the accelerator.

  The engine note rose to a howl. The car picked up speed – but Reeve was already gone.

  He threw himself at the verge, tucking himself into a tight ball—

  He landed on the centre of his back, exactly as he had been taught. The impact hurt, but was spread out enough to protect him from damage. Eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest, he rolled through the wet grass. One elbow hit a stone, pain shooting down his arm. He cried out, but could do nothing but tumble helplessly on. Over and over, dizzied . . .

  And stopping.

  He opened his eyes. His head was a hand’s width from the base of a metal signpost. Jesus! He had narrowly avoided injury – or death. He moved, testing for pain. His elbow flared, but there was nothing more severe than bruising.

  He sat up. His car was still heading uphill, drifting rightwards. It was going to crash too close to him . . .

  Reeve willed it back towards the road’s centre. He was surprised to get his wish. The A6 slipped on to the verge, clipping marker poles – and veered back into line. It would travel maybe another couple of hundred metres to the next curve.

  That was all he needed.

  He crawled down an embankment. The sound of another car rose above the over-revving frenzy of his own. He slithered behind a line of trees and waited.

  Blake’s blue BMW tore past. Its occupants would be watching his vehicle. He rose, then scurried towards the railway line.

  He crouched amongst bushes beside the track. A look back. His car was some three hundred metres away, and still going. Not for much longer, though. It had angled towards the road’s left side, about to go off—

  It bumped over earth and grass – then hit a rock. The Audi flipped over, bowling back across the road in a shower of glass. It skidded down the embankment on its roof to slam into a ditch. A flicker of orange light inside a rear wheel arch abruptly flared into a blaze.

  Blake’s car stopped on the road above. He had picked up passengers, Flynn getting out along with Maxwell. Stone followed too, hand to his chest. The foursome hurried towards the wreck.

  Not to save the driver. To check if he was dead. And if he wasn’t . . . to make him so.

  Reeve felt brief satisfaction. With the car on fire, they would take longer to realise he wasn’t in it. By then, he would be clear.

  If he could catch the train.

  He turned – to see it emerge from the pass. Two hundred metres away, doing forty miles per hour. The steel track began to sing as it approached. Reeve readied himself. Maxwell and the others were still heading for
the crashed car. He looked back at the train. Fifty metres. He could feel it, a rumble coming through the ground. The first carriage was on him, huge and frighteningly close. The juggernaut swept by, painfully loud. Second carriage, third—

  Reeve burst into motion.

  He sprinted at the train as the final carriage thundered past. A metal step extended below the last passenger door. He leapt – and grabbed it.

  The jolt of acceleration strained his shoulder muscles. Feet dangling above the stony ballast, he was swept along by the train.

  A handrail was set into the bodywork above. He found the wet metal with his left hand and pulled himself higher. He was directly over the carriage’s rear bogie, the wheels squealing and shrilling.

  The train passed his crashed car, a hundred and fifty metres away. His former colleagues reached the inverted wreck. Maxwell crouched to peer into the cabin, the others clustered around him. Reeve made himself as small as possible. He was in plain sight; if someone glanced at the train . . .

  But they were focused on their target. The train rolled on, carrying him clear. He looked along the line. Trees in the distance ahead. Once he reached them, he would be out of sight.

  The station – Glenfinnan, he remembered – was only minutes away, even at this ambling pace. It was a tourist spot, another Harry Potter location. He could jump off there and find another car.

  Buoyed, he glanced back again. Everyone was still checking the burning vehicle. His satisfaction returned. He had got away. His pursuers were the best of the best – and he had beaten them.

  ‘He’s not in there,’ Maxwell announced. The Audi was now fully ablaze. All he saw through the fire were burning seats.

  ‘Then where the fuck is he?’ said Stone.

  Blake looked back at the road. ‘He must have bailed out.’

  Everyone followed his gaze. ‘It couldn’t have been too far away,’ said Maxwell. ‘After he came out of that bend . . .’

  No sign of Reeve on either side of the road. But there were plenty of trees and bushes to provide cover. He was about to order the others to start searching—

 

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