by Jim Eldridge
Jake stared at Andy, his mind still in shock. He’d been so friendly, so helpful. And now . . .
‘I can’t let you have it,’ he said.
‘It’s not a question of can’t,’ said Andy. ‘It’s a question of what will happen to you if you don’t.’ He gave a low whistle, and suddenly Jake heard the dog growl. ‘Good old Woody,’ said Andy. ‘Like I say, a nice friendly dog. Except when he thinks his master’s in danger, or being attacked. Then, he’s a different animal. He’d tear your throat out if he thought you were threatening me.’
‘But I’m not!’ said Jake desperately.
‘If I give that whistle, he’ll think you are,’ said Andy. ‘It’s a sort of code between us, something we’ve developed.’ He smiled. ‘Working dogs are very close to their masters, and vice versa. They’ll kill for them. Now . . . do you hand over the book, or do I get Woody to tear you apart and I’ll search through the pieces?’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think the people who are paying me mind if there’s blood on it when I hand it over.’
‘I haven’t got it,’ said Jake desperately.
Andy shook his head.
‘Don’t try that with me, Jake,’ he said. ‘You’ve just told me you have. So why mess about and get hurt? Just hand it over, and that’s it. We’ll call it a day. After all, you can always find another one.’
‘I can’t,’ said Jake. ‘I need it. This book is the only way to get someone’s who’s very important to me back here. Without it, we’re sunk.’
Andy sighed.
‘If that’s the way you want to play it,’ he said. And he gave the same low whistle again, longer this time, and this time the dog growled deep in its throat, and then suddenly leapt up at Jake, snapping at the back of his head. Jake threw himself forward, but he felt the dog’s hot breath and the saliva on his hair.
Andy made a clicking sound with his tongue and Woody settled back down.
‘He’ll tear your scalp off and then your face,’ said Andy. ‘Save yourself the pain, I would. Give it up. And don’t think about running. Woody will catch you, he’s fast.’
He saw Jake shoot a glance out at the rows of lorries parked up.
‘And don’t think you can hide in that lot. You saw yourself how good Woody’s sense of smell is. He’ll find you. Now . . . hand it over.’
Jake hesitated, then asked, ‘How do I know you won’t set the dog on me after I’ve given it to you?’
‘Because it won’t be necessary,’ said Andy. ‘I’m not interested in hurting you for the sake of it, I’m only interested in getting my hands on the rest of the money. You give me the book. I leave you here and drive off. You can get a lift from someone, or phone a taxi, or whatever. I don’t care. All I want is the book.’
Jake sagged in the passenger seat, a defeated look on his face.
‘OK,’ he said. He tapped the front of his jacket. ‘It’s strapped to my chest.’
‘A good hiding place,’ said Andy. ‘Now, take it out and hand it over. And remember, no tricks. Woody’s just behind you, and he’s very fast.’
Jake nodded. He unzipped his jacket, and then started to unbutton his shirt, fumbling as he did.
‘Faster,’ said Andy.
‘The dog makes me nervous,’ complained Jake.
‘That’s why he’s here,’ said Andy. ‘Come on, hurry up.’
Chapter 18
Jake undid another button, and suddenly he swung to his left and pressed down on the door handle and threw himself out of the car. Immediately, he heard Andy whistle, and the dog growl fiercely. He saw a blur of fur hurtling towards him from the back of the car, saw the dog’s open mouth, his fangs threatening in the ambient light, the dog’s front paws hitting the ground.Then Jake slammed the door hard.
There was a sickening crunch of metal on bone, and a howl of pain from the dog. Then Jake was running, heading for the rows of trucks. Behind him he heard a car door open, but there was no sound of the dog coming after him, just a continuous howl of pain.
‘I’ll get you!’ came the enraged shout from Andy.
By then, Jake had reached the first of the rows of lorries, and he dodged in between two of them.
He made his way between the massive trucks, searching desperately for a loose tarpaulin that meant he could climb up and hide, but most were fastened securely. Others were tankers, with no place to conceal himself. Then he saw one open flatbed truck piled with palettes. Quickly, he hauled himself up, and crawled in between the stacks of palettes.
He heard the sound of a car boot slamming shut, and then Andy calling out angrily: ‘I’m going to kill you for what you did to Woody!’
Jake peered out and saw Andy heading for the lorries. Something metallic glinted in his hand. A tyre lever, Jake guessed.
‘I’m going to find you and beat you to a pulp!’ roared Andy, and there was no mistaking the fury in his voice. Easy-going Andy was gone completely, in his place was an enraged and armed vengeful man with one thought in his mind: to get Jake.
Jake held his breath, terrified in case Andy might hear the rasp of fear in his throat. As he watched, Andy stood stock still, his head swivelling left and right as he scanned the lorries. He was obviously working out which ones Jake couldn’t be hiding in, and which were possibles.
Andy turned away from the tankers, and the closed container lorries, and then his eyes lit on the open flatbed piled high with palettes, and he headed straight for it, the weapon swinging in his hand.
Jake ducked down, frantically wondering what to do. He could jump down and make a run for it, but he was fairly sure that Andy was fitter and faster than he was. Andy was also driven by wanting revenge for Jake injuring his dog, but most of all, by the further twenty thousand pounds the book offered.
Jake pushed himself down as low as he could, his face pressed into the wooden boards of the flatbed. He heard Andy’s boots getting nearer and nearer. He’s here! thought Jake in alarm. He’s going to climb up and find me!
But suddenly the truck’s engine started up. The flatbed throbbed with the engine’s vibrations. The driver must have decided to get going.
The truck pulled away. Please don’t let him stop for fuel, prayed Jake silently. But the truck didn’t, it headed towards the exit, and the slip road on to the main route east. Jake took a quick glance back at the lorry park, and saw Andy was still searching among the lorries, bending down and looking beneath them. Which meant he wouldn’t be chasing after them.
Jake let himself relax briefly, but then tensed up again as the truck began to shake from side to side. He fixed himself firmly between two stacks of palettes, wedging himself in with the soles of his feet, to make sure he didn’t slide to the edge of the truck. Then he pulled out his mobile phone and dialled Robert. It took a while before Robert answered, and when he did, he didn’t sound happy.
‘Do you know what time it is?’ Robert demanded. It was obvious that Jake’s call had woken him up.
‘Yes,’ said Jake. ‘Robert, I’m in trouble.’
Quickly, he told him what had happened between him and Andy.
‘Where are you now?’ said Robert, shocked. ‘What’s all that noise in the background?’
‘I’m on the back of a lorry,’ said Jake. ‘I think it’s heading towards London, but I don’t know. I just hope it isn’t going too far away.’
‘You could end up on the Continent,’ said Robert.
‘In that case it’d have to stop at a port,’ pointed out Jake. ‘I could end up in Scotland. The point is, Robert, we can’t trust Andy. He tried it on me. He might try it on you.’
‘Oh no he won’t!’ said Robert determinedly. ‘Anyway, why should he? He knows you’ve got the book.’
‘Yes, but he might use you to get to me,’ said Jake.
‘OK,’ said Robert. ‘Thanks for the warning.’ And he added vengefully: ‘I have a score to settle with Andy.’
‘I’ll phone you tomorrow, after it’s daylight and once I know what’s happening,’ said Jake. �
�Don’t phone me. The driver might hear the ring tone coming from the back of his truck. In the meantime, tell Michelle what’s happened, and tell her I’ll be in contact.’
‘Will do,’ said Robert. ‘And phone me if you need help, or you want me to come and pick you up anywhere.’
‘Thanks, Robert. I’m going to keep my fingers crossed I get somewhere safely. I’ll talk to you later.’
Chapter 19
The journey seemed to take for ever. Jake felt exhausted but he was too scared to fall asleep in case he slid off the edge of the flatbed as he rattled along through the night. Dawn came, and Jake watched the sun rise. He wondered where the truck was heading. He was sure it had taken a turn northwards, but he couldn’t be sure. And, hidden as he was, he couldn’t see the road signs. Finally, the truck pulled into another truck stop. Jake waited until he’d heard the sound of the cab door opening and closing, and the driver’s footsteps leaving, before he clambered down from the back of the truck. Jake headed towards the cafeteria, where his first call was the toilet, and then a cup of much-needed coffee.
From the sign in the entrance, he discovered that this particular truck stop was just outside Watford. That meant he was a short train ride from Euston, and central London.
He phoned Robert’s number, but got voicemail. Next, he tried Michelle’s, but that also went straight to her answering service.
From the information board he learnt that there was a bus stop just outside the truck stop which would take him to Watford station, and fifteen minutes later he was on the bus. He’d already decided that keeping the book on him was too dangerous. He’d nearly lost it to Andy. If he was grabbed by anyone, they’d simply take it off him, just as Andy had been going to do. He’d have to hide it somewhere, but where? Not at his flat, that would be too obvious. Not at Robert’s, for the same reason. It had to be somewhere anonymous. He decided he’d leave it at the Left Luggage office at Euston.
When he got to Watford station, he went into a shop and bought a small rucksack and a cheap casual jacket. He went to the station toilets, unstrapped the plastic bag containing the book from his stomach, wrapped it inside the casual jacket, then put them both in the rucksack.
He caught the train to Euston, and once there went straight to the Left Luggage office on the concourse and handed in the rucksack. He felt a mixture of relief and trepidation as he walked away; relief that the book was no longer on him and liable to be snatched, but fearful because the book was now semi-exposed.
But then, he reflected, he’d been very careful to make sure he hadn’t been followed from Watford. And, even after he put the rucksack into the Left Luggage office, he’d hung around for ten minutes, watching the office in case anyone tried to claim the rucksack. No one did.
Jake went out of the station and tried Robert again. This time, he answered.
‘Jake! Where are you?’
‘Back in London. Where are you?’
‘I’m at the car hire company, returning the car. Then I’m going home to sort Lizzie out.’
‘OK. I’ll go home first to get freshened up, then I’ll see you at your place,’ said Jake.
‘What about the thing?’ asked Robert.
‘It’s safe,’ said Jake. ‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’
Jake felt uneasy as he left Finsbury Park station and headed towards his block of flats. For once he’d taken the tube rather than the bus. The whole time he had a sense of being watched. Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself. If anyone had been following you, you’d have noticed them on the tube train. But would he have? He’d read somewhere that spies worked in teams when following someone to avoid being spotted. So, just in case he was being tracked, he made sure to stop every now and then and looked around, seeing if any of the people behind him, or on the other side of the road, looked familiar.
He made it back to his small block of flats without trouble, but as he turned the corner of his street he saw something that sent a jolt of fear through him, and made him duck back immediately. Andy’s car was there, parked in the street near his flats.
He’s going to kill me, thought Jake. He’s going to kill me because of what I did to his dog. And, before he does, who knows what he’s going to do to me to find out where the book is.
Carefully, Jake peered out from behind the corner building towards Andy’s car. Was Andy inside it? Or was he lurking, hiding in a doorway somewhere, ready to pounce as soon as Jake appeared? He strained his eyes. The car seemed to be empty, but as he looked he saw a movement inside by the driver’s headrest. Yes, Andy was inside the car. He guessed Andy’s attention was fully focused on the entrance to his block of flats.
Jake turned and headed back the way he’d come, towards Finsbury Park station. He could phone Robert and get him to come over and deal with Andy, but Jake didn’t want to hang around any longer than was necessary. As Jake walked, he dialled Robert’s number on his phone. There was no answer, just voicemail. Jake assumed Robert was still sorting out the damage to his van, Lizzie.
It was a long way to go, all the way from Finsbury Park to Robert’s house at Baron’s Court, and Jake considered other options: contacting Michelle and seeking help from her; or maybe even phoning the police and accusing Andy of stalking him. But Michelle only wanted the book to publicise it; and Andy would just claim he was waiting for a friend. No, the only safe place Jake could think of right at this moment was Robert’s house.
When Jake arrived at Robert’s neat terraced house, the old van was still parked on the tiny forecourt, its four tyres still flat. So Robert hadn’t managed to get the damage repaired yet. Jake went to the door and rang the bell.
Usually, Robert opened the door almost as soon as the bell had sounded, but today there was no response. Maybe Robert was out, talking to a tyre company, negotiating a deal to get Lizzie back on the street.
Jake rang the bell again.
‘Come on, Robert,’ he muttered impatiently to himself. He didn’t fancy exposing himself on this doorstep for any longer than was necessary. With so many people after him, who knew who might be watching.
He gave a bang on the door with his knuckles. As he did, the door swung inwards. Immediately, Jake felt alarm bells ringing in his head. Why was the door unlocked? Jake stayed outside and peered into the house, into the long hallway, his ears straining for any sound.
‘Robert!’ he called.
There was no answer.
Something was wrong. Robert wouldn’t go out and leave his front door open and unlocked, he was far too careful for that.
‘Robert!’ Jake called again, louder this time.
There was still no answer.
Warily, Jake entered the house, all his senses alert for any sound or movement. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, adding to his feeling of controlled panic. Was there someone waiting for him, waiting to pounce? But if so, why wait? Surely they’d have come out at him already, as soon as he walked in.
The first door on his left was the small living room. Carefully, slowly, Jake put his fingertips against the door and pushed it open. Nothing happened. No one rushed out at him. He looked into the room. It was empty, everything was in its proper place, everything neat and tidy. No sign of any disturbance.
Jake moved back into the hallway and moved on, still quietly, still listening intently. Next was the kitchen. The door was already half open. Jake entered, and stopped dead, in shock. Robert was tied to a wooden chair, his clothes torn and stained with blood. Blood had run down from a gash on his scalp and was starting to congeal on Robert’s face. He was deathly still, only held upright by the ropes that tied him to the back of the chair.
Jake hurried over and put his fingers to Robert’s neck, and felt a faint pulse.
‘Robert!’ said Jake.
There was no response.
Jake looked at Robert’s bruised and battered face and felt a mixture of fury and nausea rise up in him. He pulled out his mobile and tapped out 999. Urgently, he gave Robert’s address to t
he operator.
‘He’s been attacked,’ he told her. ‘He needs an ambulance and paramedics urgently.’
‘Your name, please?’ asked the operator.
‘John Smith,’ replied Jake. ‘Please, hurry. He may be dying.’
Then he clicked off the phone and headed back out through the hallway and out to the street. There was nothing he could do for Robert right now. He didn’t know how badly he was damaged, what sort of internal injuries he might have. If Jake tried to take him out of the chair it might make them worse.
Jake crossed the road, walked along to a nearby bus stop and joined the short queue, his eyes on Robert’s house. All he could do for Robert was wait to make sure the paramedics turned up, and if they didn’t, phone again.
He stood at the bus stop for five minutes, checking his watch and getting more and more agitated as he waited for the emergency services to arrive, aware that every second that passed meant Robert could be slipping further into danger. Finally, he heard the sound of the sirens approaching, then an ambulance appeared at the far end of the street and screeched to a halt outside Robert’s house. A police car was close behind it.
Relieved, Jake waited until he saw the medics and police hurry into the house, then he slipped away from the crowd waiting for the bus and headed towards the tube station. Please let Robert be all right, he prayed silently. Let him live. Let him recover. Let him return to full health.
Whoever had done that to Robert had thought he had the book, or that he knew where it was. Who? Not the people that Andy had been hired by, surely. Andy had known that Jake had the book on him. Unless the people who had beaten up Robert had been looking for Jake and were trying to force Robert to tell them where Jake was.
At the thought of Robert, tied to the chair, bloody and unconscious, Jake shuddered. These people would stop at nothing. They wanted the book. If they caught him, they’d do the same to him as they’d done to Robert. He had to get the book to Michelle. There was no time to wait. He had to make sure she went public with it now.