The Last Enemy

by Jim Eldridge

‘Shh!’ snapped the man. He turned back to Jake. ‘Guy said he come to England to see Jake Wells and Alex Munro. Now Munro dead and Guy vanish. What you do with him?’

  ‘I haven’t done anything with him!’ said Jake, exasperated. ‘I didn’t do anything with either of them! Like I told you, I’d never even heard of Guy de Courcey before we were both locked up in the same cell by the police.’ Then he added, in the hope it might worry the men, ‘Who might even be tailing us, for all we know.’

  The man ignored this, and insisted, ‘You lie. You know Guy before.’

  ‘No!’ said Jake.

  The man turned to Lauren.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘No!’ said Lauren defensively.

  The man scowled, and muttered something in Spanish to one of the others.

  ‘Sí,’ grunted the second man, and he took a vicious-looking metal knuckleduster from his pocket and slipped it on the fingers of his huge right fist.

  ‘My friend going to break the bones in your face until you tell us where Guy is.’ He gestured to Lauren. ‘He start with her. He hurt her real bad.’

  ‘Look, if we knew where Guy was, we’d tell you!’ appealed Jake. ‘We don’t know! We went to the hotel where he told us he was staying . . .’

  ‘The Belvedere, sí.’

  ‘And he’d left. We got the impression he was being taken care of by the firm of lawyers that Alex Munro worked for, Pierce Randall. They’re the people you should be talking to.’

  ‘We talk to them. They say they don’t know.’

  ‘And neither do we!’

  Suddenly the van braked hard, throwing them all off balance. Jake jerked forward, grabbed the man’s hand holding the knife and slammed it down hard. The man screamed as the blade sliced into his leg.

  At the same time, Lauren swung her right hand up, bringing the heel of her hand sharply up under the nose of the man nearest her, snapping it and sending him reeling backwards with a yell of pain.

  Jake slid across the floor of the van and kicked out hard at the rear doors. They sprang open. There was the blare of a horn as the vehicle immediately behind the van braked sharply. Jake and Lauren dived out, dodging through the traffic as they ran for the pavement. They threw themselves into the mass of people and darted into a side street, and then another, before finally stopping, out of breath.

  They looked back. There was no sign of the Mexicans.

  ‘They don’t need to chase us,’ said Lauren. ‘If they know your name, they’ll know where we live.’

  ‘Yes, but next time we’ll be on our guard,’ said Jake. ‘And I’m hoping that we proved back there that we can’t be bullied.’

  Chapter 11

  Their Tube journey home was spent in silence. Both Jake and Lauren knew it was not a good idea to start talking about what had happened to them in a train where their conversation could be overheard by other passengers. To talk about almost being abducted, and Mexicans with knives, could easily raise alarm. At the same time, neither of them felt at ease enough to engage in idle chatter about everyday things. As they exited Finsbury Park station, it was Lauren who spoke first, cutting off Jake.

  ‘We have to tell the police!’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ argued Jake. ‘Bullen seems convinced that I’m playing games with him. He’ll just think I’m doing the same again, and haul me in.’

  ‘But we have evidence! The van! OH Rentals. Descriptions of the three men!’

  Jake frowned.

  ‘I’m still not sure. What I don’t understand is this business of Guy telling them he was coming to England to meet me.’

  ‘Maybe Alex Munro told him that was what was going to happen. Your name was in Munro’s diary, remember.’

  ‘But why didn’t Munro contact me?’

  Lauren shrugged.

  ‘Who knows?’ She shuddered. ‘One thing’s for sure, Guy certainly mixed with some rough people in Mexico.’

  ‘He told me he was in prison there,’ said Jake. ‘Let’s hope there aren’t any more of his former cellmates walking around looking for him.’

  ‘What I don’t get is: why us?’ asked Lauren.

  ‘Because they think I’m connected to Guy in some way,’ said Jake. ‘Someone with a Spanish accent phoned me at the office before we went to see Sue Clark. He claimed to be Guy.’

  ‘You never told me!’ said Lauren accusingly. ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘I never got the chance to tell you about him, what with everything else going on. Anyway, I never spoke to him. Paul took the message.’

  ‘What worries me is, they’ll try again,’ said Lauren.

  ‘Maybe we really do need Pierce Randall on our side,’ Jake suggested. ‘I bet they know exactly what’s going on. Guy and Gareth missing. Everything that’s behind it. They always know.’

  Lauren shook her head.

  ‘They won’t help us unless we give them the book, like we promised. And once they find out we forged it, they’ll . . .’

  ‘Kill us?’ said Jake.

  ‘Don’t joke about it,’ said Lauren.

  ‘Who said I was joking?’ snapped Jake bitterly.

  ‘There’s no need to have a go at me!’ retorted Lauren, stung.

  ‘I wasn’t!’

  ‘Yes, you were!’

  Jake was about to snap back at her, when he stopped himself.

  ‘OK, it sounded like it, but I didn’t mean to,’ he said apologetically. ‘It’s just that . . . after what happened . . .’

  ‘Whatever’s going on, one thing’s for sure: Pierce Randall can’t be trusted,’ said Lauren grimly. ‘We know they’re only in this for what they can get out of it. If we want Pierce Randall, or anyone else, on our side, we need a bargaining chip. We really do need a book.’

  Jake turned to Lauren, his face alight with inspiration.

  ‘No, we need the book!’ he said. ‘The Index! The reason Pierce Randall brought Guy back! That’s what this is all about!’

  Lauren sighed.

  ‘We don’t know where The Index is. No one knows where The Index is.’

  Jake smiled at her.

  ‘I think I do! It just hit me!’

  Again, Lauren shook her head.

  ‘You’re dreaming, Jake,’ she said. ‘If The Index was that easy to find, Pierce Randall would have got hold of it by now. Or Gareth and MI5. Or every other organisation who’ve been looking for it.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Jake. ‘Ever since I met Guy and heard his story. And the answer’s only just hit me right now. Why did Pierce Randall bring Guy back to England?’

  ‘Because, like we said, his ancestor was quite likely given the Journal, and possibly The Index, for safe keeping.’

  ‘And where would those books have been kept?’

  Lauren stared at him.

  ‘Jake, you’re not seriously suggesting . . .’

  ‘Yes, I am! In the library at de Courcey Hall in Kent.’

  ‘But the National Trust would have cleared the library out.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Have you ever noticed that in lots of these National Trust places, the libraries are still filled with old books that look as if they’ve been there for centuries?’ said Jake. ‘Say that was the case here.’

  ‘My God!’ breathed Lauren. ‘If it is . . .’ She looked stunned. ‘You surely don’t think it can be that simple? That The Index and the Journal could have been sitting there on the library shelves at de Courcey Hall all this time?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘But if The Index has been there all this time, why would Pierce Randall need Guy to get it? They’re powerful enough to be able to get it without him.’

  ‘Perhaps Pierce Randall has already searched the library but couldn’t find it. Plus, they probably don’t know what it looks like. Guy lived at the place. I reckon that they thought he might be able to pinpoint it for them. There could be a hidden compartment in the library that Guy might remember from childhood?�
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  ‘So you think The Index might still be there at the hall?’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Jake.

  Chapter 12

  As Jake and Lauren drove along the narrow winding lane that led to de Courcey Hall, Jake was desperate to believe this trip would lead them finally to the end of their long and painful quest. The Index, the list of places where every one of the Malichea books was hidden.

  The car followed the twists and turns, until they rounded a final bend and saw the hall ahead of them.

  It was massive. OK, not as big as somewhere like Buckingham Palace, and it wasn’t many storeys high, like some stately homes, but it was a rambling Tudor mansion with additional wings, all in the same black timber-framed style bending this way and that.

  ‘Wow!’ said Jake. ‘That is some house! It looks like it’s got . . . what . . . a hundred rooms? And one family lived here?’

  ‘Plus their servants. And guest wings for important visitors. Royalty arriving with all their attendants and servants. A place like this needed to be big.’

  They drove past a single-storey gatehouse towards the car park.

  ‘It’s huge!’ murmured Jake. ‘It must have cost a fortune to maintain this place!’

  ‘It still looks like it did way back in Tudor times,’ said Lauren, bringing up an image of an old painting of the house on her iPhone.

  ‘Let’s hope the library is still the same,’ said Jake.

  He followed the signs for the car park. There were just two cars already there, and an SUV.

  ‘Not many visitors,’ he remarked.

  ‘Damn!’ muttered Lauren.

  ‘What?’

  She pointed to a sign that read: ‘Public opening hours: 11 a.m. to 4 p.m.’

  ‘Half past nine,’ she said, her voice showing how fed up she was. ‘We’ve got an hour and a half to wait.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll let us in early?’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘We don’t actually want to see the whole house, just check out the library.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We tell them we’re doing some research on a historical project about the library. Flash them your British Library card. That’ll impress them.’

  ‘It’s worth a try, I suppose,’ said Lauren. ‘They can only say no.’

  She had opened the door and was just about to get out, when she let out a gasp of shock and pulled the door shut again.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Jake.

  ‘Look!’ she said.

  Jake followed her gaze, and let out a gasp himself. Guy was walking across the car park, and behind him was a teenage boy of about fifteen, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie. Even from this distance they could see he was pointing a gun at Guy’s back.

  ‘Let’s go!’ said Jake urgently.

  He was just about to open the door and jump out, when Lauren stopped him.

  ‘Are you mad?’ she demanded. ‘He’s got a gun!’

  ‘But . . . It’s Guy! In trouble! Just like we said!’

  ‘He won’t shoot him,’ said Lauren. ‘Not here. Not unless you do something stupid.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’

  Guy and the kid reached the SUV. The rear door opened and Guy got inside. Then the kid with the gun got into the front passenger seat.

  ‘There are people already in it,’ said Lauren. ‘Two in the front, one in the back with Guy. And I bet you the one in the back’s also armed.’

  ‘Think I should ram their car?’ asked Jake. ‘Stop them getting away?’

  ‘And then they shoot us and take our car instead,’ said Lauren scornfully. ‘No, that’d be suicide. I don’t think they’ve spotted us, so we’ll follow them. And I’ll phone the police while we’re doing it.’

  ‘All right.’

  The SUV reversed out of its parking space and headed for the exit. Jake set off after it.

  ‘Not too close,’ warned Lauren. ‘We don’t want to spook them.’

  ‘Yes, OK, I have been here before!’ Jake snapped back.

  The SUV was a black Ford, and the number plate had been obscured with mud so it was impossible to read it. Jake kept a safe distance from them, while Lauren dialled 999 on her phone. As soon as the emergency services answered, she asked for the police, and told them what was happening.

  ‘What did they say?’ asked Jake as Lauren hung up.

  ‘They told me we shouldn’t get involved but should leave it to the police.’

  ‘Did they say what they were going to do? Put up roadblocks?’

  ‘No,’ said Lauren. She scowled. ‘I think she thought it was a hoax call.’

  Ahead of them, the SUV had speeded up.

  ‘Let them go,’ urged Lauren. ‘Otherwise they’ll realise we’re following them.’

  ‘I don’t want to get too far behind,’ countered Jake. ‘It’s OK at the moment while we’re on this lane, but once we get to the main road, anything could happen.’

  ‘Hopefully, by then, the police will have turned up,’ said Lauren.

  Suddenly something made Jake look into his rear-view mirror, and he was shocked to see a car speeding towards them from behind.

  ‘What the hell . . . !’ he exclaimed.

  The car behind him pulled out, as if trying to overtake.

  ‘What’s that lunatic doing!’ shouted Jake.

  The road was too narrow for two cars to pass, it was almost single track, but the car behind them was definitely trying to overtake. It shot forward, and the next second it was level with Jake and Lauren’s Mini. There was a terrible screeching sound as the side of the car scraped the metal of theirs. Then, the other driver swung towards Jake, smashing into his offside and pushing their Mini Cooper towards the nearside of the road.

  Jake struggled to save their car, grimly trying to take control of the steering and keep the Mini on the road, but the smash had sent the wheels into a skid, and Jake felt the car slide, and plough through the thick bushes in the verge. As he slammed on the brakes, it stopped short just before it hit a tree.

  The car that had forced them off the road had hurtled away at speed, and both it and the SUV were disappearing off round a bend in the road.

  Their Mini had stalled. Jake restarted it, and tried to reverse, but the car had got caught up in the thick bushes.

  Jake cursed and slammed his fist on to the dashboard.

  ‘That was deliberate,’ said Lauren. ‘The number plate was covered up with mud, the same as the SUV that had Guy in.’

  ‘But why force us off the road?’ demanded Jake.

  ‘They knew who we were. They recognised us.’

  ‘But we never got out of the car!’

  ‘So they knew who we were from our car registration.’

  ‘But who . . . ?’ began Jake. And then the obvious answer hit him, and both he and Lauren said it at the same time: ‘Pierce Randall.’

  ‘Anyway, with any luck the police will have stopped them,’ said Jake.

  Lauren was already dialling 999 on her phone. Once again, she got through to the police emergency operator, and reported what had happened.

  ‘What did they say?’ asked Jake.

  ‘She said a patrol car was already on its way to de Courcey Hall,’ she said. ‘She told us to wait here for it.’

  ‘Looks like we don’t have much of a choice,’ groaned Jake resignedly. ‘They’ll be well clear by now.’

  ‘Hopefully the police will have more luck spotting two cars travelling in convoy,’ she said. ‘Especially with both of them having hidden number plates.’

  ‘That won’t be the case for long,’ said Jake gloomily. ‘Pierce Randall aren’t stupid. Now they’ve lost us, they’ll separate. I bet they even knock the mud off the plates.’

  The police patrol car arrived fifteen minutes later, by which time Jake had managed to get their car back on to the verge. It was badly dented, and the front offside headlamp was broken, but it was driveable.

  While one of th
e police officers talked to Jake and Lauren, the other walked around their car, making a note of the damage. Then, when she’d done that, she produced a breathalyser kit and asked Jake to blow into it.

  ‘I’m not drunk!’ protested Jake. ‘Someone forced us off the road!’

  ‘Then you won’t mind breathing into the tube, will you, sir,’ said the policewomen, her tone flat and bland.

  Jake sighed in frustration, but breathed into the tube. The police officer took it and examined the digital display, made a note in her notebook, then returned the breathalyser to the patrol car. Her colleague checked his own notebook and the statement he’d just taken.

  ‘Let’s make sure I’ve got this right,’ he said. ‘You say you were following this car because a teenage boy with a gun had forced another man into it . . .’

  ‘And they’re getting away!’ snapped Jake. ‘Didn’t you set up road blocks, or anything?’

  ‘And you were following this car, and then a second car came up behind you and forced you off the road.’

  ‘Yes!’ said Jake impatiently. ‘That’s exactly what happened!’

  ‘But you can’t give us a description of either of the cars . . .’

  ‘We’ve given you a description!’ said Lauren. ‘The first one was a black Ford SUV, and the second one was also black, but everything happened too fast for me to see what make of car it was.’

  ‘But you didn’t get the registration numbers of either vehicle.’

  ‘Because the number plates had been smeared with mud, so they couldn’t be seen!’ retorted Jake in frustration. ‘We’ve told you that already!’

  The two police officers exchanged looks.

  They don’t believe us, realised Jake.

  ‘Why would we be making this up!’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘Possibly to try and explain the accident to your car,’ said the policewoman.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault, if that’s what you’re suggesting!’ burst out Jake angrily.

  Just then, the policewoman’s radio crackled, and she moved away to listen to a message that was coming in. Her colleague carried on looking at Jake and Lauren, and although the policeman’s face remained expressionless, Jake’s heart sank as he realised that this was going nowhere.

  The policewoman rejoined them.