by Tyler Danann
“Corporal.”
“Who is in charge of this vehicle?”
“You are,” the guard said in a drawn, monotone manner.
“That means I’m the boss,” Templeton smiled. “If you want to get out I can drop you off at the nearest town? It’s quite a trip to get back to London from there.”
The bodyguard took a breath and relented.
After another five minutes of driving a new order came through from Control. All Interceptors were to return to base. The search would now focus on blockade checkpoints ran by the police and military.
The woman swore and gave a pained scream from the core of her being, unsettling Nichols slightly. For five minutes they both said nothing, finally she nodded.
“You’re right, you win, let’s head for home Dom,” she said with a heavy sigh of melancholy.
“Sometimes you can’t win them all Rebecca.”
“I really thought this time I could make a difference.” Templeton let her guard down and spoke openly. “I’ve always vowed to get even with her, after what she did to me.”
Her heartbeat quickened as she realized she’d spoken too much.
“You know of this outlaw personally?”
“I knew her before she joined the Yeomanry. She was Intelligence Corps. We were friends, closer than sisters.”
“I had no idea,” Nichols said.
“Well I don’t normally tell people as it was before the second Coup, the bloody one that toppled the government.”
“The Colonels War? That’s incredible!” he said shocked at the revelation.
“I almost begged her not to join, the man I’d hoped to marry joined with her. It was like she’d stabbed me in the heart and twisted the knife. Ever since then I’ve vowed revenge.
“Did you not tell the investigators this when the purges were going on?”
“When the news came out that everyone was going to be investigated I couldn’t bear the shame of them knowing my private life. I’d have been lucky to make Corporal if I’d let on Lorraine was my former friend.”
There was a pause in the vehicle as the conversation hung heavy in the air.
“Dom, you must be silent on this, it’s my head if Control finds out.”
“I understand, your secret is safe with me,” Nichols lied.
Inwardly the gray-haired guard felt his heart race. As an anti-corruption agent on deep-cover within the Ministry he was always listening for such talk. The looming investigation of SOTF combined with what he had recorded would be the decisive blow. The Land Ministry would be pleased with his work. Taking down the Kaslar Sergeant who he secretly loathed would only be part of the joy. He’d be promoted, perhaps even get a position with the Prime Speaker’s Guard. He pretended to agree as he always did and nodded when needed as Templeton spoke on other unrelated matters. The drive back to London would not be so long after all he thought wickedly.
Chapter 18
Intersection
The mood in the cramped Ford Puma was upbeat, not one camera had been tripped and no pursuers threatened them. Gearson had relaxed and was regaling Lorraine with anecdotes and tales. The one of his encounter in Kazakhstan lightened the mood considerably.
“So I told the nomad girl, I had to leave then passed four fuel cans to stop her pestering me!” he concluded, causing Lorraine Riley to laugh unrestrainedly for the first time in hours.
“Uh oh, speaking of fuel,” she tapped the tiny fuel gauge “this beast needs feeding.”
A service station sign appeared after a couple of miles and Gearson saw the petrol gauge was just off a quarter-full.
Pulling at his red beard the man shook his head. “We could just go past it and refuel using the jerry can,” he pondered warily.
“It’s only half-full though and we need more than half a tank to get to the Yeomanry outpost. Besides which, I need to use the ladies room pretty bad.”
The tall man nodded then reached for the data-unit.
“I need to reconfigure the probe for service-station cameras. Slow down and give me a minute.”
She did so and Gearson completed the recalibration just in time. As they drifted past the first camera set on a post it gave a blink of green as the numbers shifted. The Ford Puma was still a ghost on the system. There was no queue in the petrol lane either.
“I’ll pay with the credit card.”
“Is that smart? Aren’t they traceable?”
“Not this one, it’s a ghosted one. The Russian mafia flogs them on the black market. I got it last week so it should still work.”
After swiping the card and punching in the PIN it was accepted. Within five minutes the tank was full.
“Smart card for lady Lorraine,” quipped Gearson drawing a smile from Riley.
“Just need to use the little girls room now,” she drove on into a parking space that faced the main service-café.
“I bet you can’t wait to finally re-join Eric,”
“Tell me about it! Nearly one year we’ve both been on assignment, him overseas and me in London. It was only supposed to be six months but the Colonels insisted on the extension.”
“That’s a short stint for all that.”
“Really?”
“Among my people agents are gone for two years sometimes three,” Gearson replied mysteriously.
“My people eh?’ You are elusive about them Kallan,” Riley said. The woman donned a jacket and made sure her sidearm was secure in its holster.
“I’ll tell you more later, can’t risk you knowing too much in case of capture.”
“Hold that thought,” she said earnestly, leaving to walk away.
As she crossed the distance to the service café briskly a weight seemed to lift from her stomach, despite her bladder’s pleas. The outer glass door led to an open area of several aisles for shop area, while a café beckoned just beyond it. The aroma of food drew her slightly, as did an outlaw’s urge to buy the daily newspaper. She thought it wise to take care of nature’s call first though.
As she took care of her business in the ladies toilet her tense attitude relaxed. The radio on the Ford Puma had not flashed any warnings or alerts. To all intents and purposes she was off the radar to the populace. The police and authorities would have her picture, possibly Gearson’s, but they had not yet played their hand to the public.
“Not yet anyway,” she said to herself as she washed her hands and checked her appearance in the mirror. “You don’t look bad for an outlaw woman Lorrie,” she said whimsically, brushing her hair back and washing her face.
The smells from the café drifted in, as a pregnant woman entered the toilets.
“What the hell, a bit of food won’t hurt,” she told herself.
The café had the usual clientele of truckers, commuter folk and travellers like herself. Ignoring them she went to the sandwich area and queued up behind an old woman.
She heard a conversation in the aisle off to her left that triggered her blood.
“Have you heard about the latest alert on the radio?” one man said to another.
“What’s that about then? The refugee killings?” responded the listener.
“No, but them Yeomanry have been up to tricks down in London, the police are putting up blockades and checking everyone down there.”
“Even this far north?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds like a big one.”
The queue moved forward and Riley resisted the urge to run.”
She paid cash for the two sandwiches, took her change and turned right, about to head to the corridor that led outside.
Around the corner walked Rebecca Templeton. Riley saw her former friend, lover and sworn enemy like a solid wraith in human form. It had been so long since their pact in the forest, so long it seemed like a previous age. Yet true to the oaths and prayers Lorraine had made before the oak tree, fate and destiny now became realized. Her adversary was only ten yards from her and Riley’s brain was almost overwhelmed with shock. A more in
nocent woman would have perhaps trusted in the brunette being unconnected with any danger or threat. Yet Riley knew only too well the look on the other woman’s face. She’d been on too many training missions with her to know the look of fatigue and stress common with hunting another person down.
She was slightly bigger and more fleshy than all those years back. The curvy, pocket hourglass frame Riley was once intimate with, in the female way, still looked the part though. She wore a smart, yet casual blue jacket and matching knee-length skirt, a green-badge on the lapel designated her Intelligence Corps role. Temple’s hair was darker, of a raven-like shade which was loose and down past the shoulders. Her face was tense and more hardened than the girlish bloom a decade before. Indeed her maturity was almost like she was old before her time. At the same time the SOTF agent looked saddened and melancholy with herself as she contemplated checking her smart phone for something. Then a second later her large hazel eyes felt the look of Lorraine Riley on her. She looked across directly as a concentrated fusion of surprize and alarm intensified through her.
Templeton saw the once bright fair hair was now long and tinged with brown shades. It framed the all-too lovely ethereal face though. She’d changed little in body size and the elegant figure was all too memorable. The long black jacket was open and the gray shirt revealed familiar curves known to her all those years ago. That was back when both wore the military uniform of the British Army. Now they waged war on opposing sides, making them sworn enemies.
“Becky,” Riley said almost to herself, partly out of sad reminiscence and partly over what both of them knew was next. Mental and heartfelt zeal fired like lightning bolts in that moment before deadly fighting.
The two women reached for their weapons. Riley had the slight advantage by a fraction of a second, but her increased emotional shock slowed her. Even with the shoulder-holster performing well Templeton was like a laser-guided machine. Her weapon was cross-drawn from the hip, as was standard for those driving Interceptor Unit vehicles. Time slowed down for Riley and she used a one-handed draw to desperately even the odds of winning the draw. By the time the Yeoman woman’s Sig 226 was almost aligned with Templeton the whole room exploded from a gunshot.
Templeton’s firearm spoke first and the bullet struck Riley’s left arm. Blazing heat flared in the taller woman as the Glock 17’s messenger ripped through muscle and tissue before exiting her arm and embedding itself in the outer wall of the service station.
Riley returned fire a millisecond later with a shot that was almost true. Her own projectile zipped an angry line across the woman’s shoulder. Although it made a mark on clothing and flesh, it hardly touched the muscle, let alone the collarbone. Templeton barely noticed the pain and made to put another bullet in Riley.
Instead of desperately trying to reacquire her enemy Riley fell sideways, instinctively putting an aisle between her and the agent. Another shot rang out a moment later. This narrowly missed Riley but struck a man looking up from browsing a magazine behind her. Then she was totally out of sight, deep into the confines of the aisle and momentarily safe.
Templeton raced forward, rejecting any notion of taking Riley alive. The bitch-traitor was a dead woman to her, she was armed and that was enough to justify it.
Instead of moving wide of the aisles corner she stepped around it, thinking Riley was finished. Templeton had time to see her enemy laying down in front of her, then before she could shoot a blow of deep pain erupted in her lower ankle. Riley watched in satisfaction as the small woman went down from her strike with a shrieking gasp. In the moment before her opponent could do anything else the Yeoman followed-up the counter attack, slamming the Asp Baton into the side of Templeton’s head. Her baton was not hard enough to break skulls or bones, but knocked the fight right out of her.
Everything went black for the operative, but only for half a minute.
While she was incapacitated Riley fled.
Templeton heard gunshots, then groggily the wounded agent limped to her feet rage fuelling her haste. The onlookers were panicking and a man was howling in pain in the next aisle. A burly trucker contemplated making a move on the armed woman, but thought better of it when she clocked his intention.
“I’m a Ministry Agent, that woman is a fugitive,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“You just shot a man,” the trucker said raising his hands.
“Get him an ambulance then!” she yelled with a shrill tone.
Limp-hopping to the door she saw the Ford Puma racing northwards to the motorway slip road. Taking a stance she shot off the Glock’s magazine as it escaped. One bullet struck the boot but the rest went narrowly wide.
Looking over to her Interceptor vehicle she saw Nichols was on his knees and struggling to breathe.
“Up! Get up you wretch! We’ve Yeomanry to catch!”
Nichols tried to rouse himself but could barely stand-up straight.
“The man hit me with something, feels like a blunt bullet twatted me in the chest.”
“Come on you’ll have to drive, my ankle is useless! The bitch batoned me.”
The guard wheezed a few times then vomited off to one side of her. Templeton ignored the stink and reloaded her pistol before badgering the man to the Mondeo.
By the time he was driving out of the service station Rebecca Templeton was almost exultant, despite her head and leg injury.
“I told you Dominick, I knew we were on the right track! We’ll catch them in this beast and relay every fucking unit in the country onto them.”
“Was that her? The one who winged you?”
“Oh yes, she’s wounded too though and I’ll either kill or capture her. She can choose!”
Nichols took the Mondeo up to over a hundred and twenty miles an hour and Templeton stabbed the siren and police lights switch. The grill lights flashed blue constantly and in the far-flung distance behind them, the two fugitives discerned the faint harbinger of doom. Night was falling and they were still many miles from safety.
The Deputy Commander of Control was feeling the pressure as the Commissioner brow-beat him.
“Get me a lead commander, if I see they’ve made it into Yeomanry controlled areas…”he let the threat linger.
“SOTF are the best we have for this sort of thing Commissioner, but the cut-backs mean they are at minimal manning.”
“You think I don’t know this you fool?!” he roared in frustration.
“As it is we can’t cope against these Yeomanry tactics sir. We just have to wait for them to show up again in a town or city.”
“Assuming they are in a town or city! Where they could end up in sheltered areas, waiting to make their move again!”
“I can’t work miracles sir, we’re doing all we can.”
Roberts leaned in close with his voice low. “Do I need to remind you that if the data supplied to the Yeomanry agents is broadcast it will shift public opinion against us? Your pension and job, along with the rest of the idiots failing me are on the line now commander.”
“They’ve been sighted sir!” came the shout from across the control room. “SOTF Interceptor harrying suspects northwards!”
Chapter 19
The Chase
The Ford Puma now raced north to the Yeomanry border. It was not far, only thirty minutes or so to the Albion bastions near the River Trent. Their enemies were numerous though and now knew their position and direction of travel.
“Arrgh it hurts!” Riley said as her arm flared with a throbbing pain.
“It’ll hurt a whole lot more if we’re captured. Get ready!”
Behind them, the vengeful Interceptor appeared and was gaining on them. Its siren and blue lights made easy work of clearing the way ahead of it. No matter how Gearson weaved and wended through the traffic the enemy was gaining on them.
First they were two hundred yards away.
Then a hundred and fifty.
A hundred.
“Listen,” Gearson cautioned. “You have to
kill or halt that driver or we’ll be run off the road. Can you fight through the pain?”
Riley nodded.
“Take my Fallien,” he said reaching into his jacket and removing the revolver. “It’s loaded with stun ammunition. It’ll fracture their windscreen at the very least.”
Riley took the sidearm and began to lower her window. The incredible buffeting of the wind was deafening.
“When I swerve, It’ll give you the chance to shoot the drivers-side,” Gearson shouted. He angled to the left-hand lane. “Ready?” he questioned.
She thumbed the heavy hammer back, cocking it. “Do it!”
Gearson swerved the Puma across from left, to center and then to the fast-lane on the right. Riley forgot about the pain and aimed the revolver one-handed. Normally a person would grip the car interior to steady themselves with their other arm. Her left-arm hung limp with pain though. Gearson’s muscular arm gripped her tightly as she took aim one-handed. She shot the weapon and narrowly missed with her first shot, sending an exotic bullet deep into a nearby forest. The second was almost true, it struck the top corner of the driver’s windshield. The impact sent radial cracks outwards several inches. It wasn’t enough to obscure the vision, but it was a distraction. The driver of the Interceptor applied the brakes and began to withdraw to a safe distance.
Templeton hit the dash with her hand. “What are you doing? Ram the bitch off the road!”
“I can’t if I’m shot dead,” Nichols said angrily. The wind noise and buffeting made communicating difficult.
“This is bulletproof glass,” she tapped at the glass, “stop being a coward.”
“No it’s bullet resistant and I don’t want to antagonize them.”
“Get us closer!” she said un-holstering her own sidearm.
Templeton leaned out and returned fire with her Glock a couple of times but, like her former friend, she could not aim easily one-handed either. The various wounds were a relentless distraction and the distance too great for any accuracy. Both shots missed their mark and the Puma pulled ahead further.