The Saxon Network

by Norman Hartley

  When Kate came back, I raised himself onto one elbow and said admiringly, ‘you really love sex don’t you’

  She grinned. ‘And you don’t?’

  ‘I was just thinking that it was wonderful to make love to someone who actually knew who I was. It’s been a very long time.’

  ‘You mean since Sarah?’

  ‘Yes’

  Kate stiffened ‘I was afraid you’d say something like that.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘All that relationship stuff has to wait,’ she said firmly, ‘the sex was great but we can’t worry about relationships now.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to propose marriage,’ I said, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘Don’t joke about this,’ Kate said ‘whatever has or hasn’t started between us will have to wait until this is over.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘I always hate it in films when the detective starts worrying about his private life, his marriage falling apart, the kids and all that. I want to scream at the screen, for fuck’s sake get on with it! Get on with your job, leave that till later! Get the killer, never mind the relationships! Not very feminine I know, but that’s how I feel,’ she added sheepishly, ‘but don’t worry. Your honorary woman status is definitely revoked.’

  I was trying to think of something to say when there was a knock on the door. It was Tillie. ‘Are you decent?’

  I grabbed a robe and went to the door.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been urgent. Your friend Bob Cronin called. He’s in London.’

  ‘What the hell is he doing there?’ I said, ‘he’s not fit to be travelling.’

  ‘He sounded scared out of his wits and he wants to come here in the morning. I said it was OK.’

  Chapter 16

  We had no idea why Cronin had chosen to arrive at Farvale station. In his message to the farm he had been insistent on arriving there by train and I had not been able to contact him since. I had tried his cell several times but had no answer. I tried Leslie in Norfolk but he was both angry and worried that Cronin had headed for London and had no idea where he was.

  Bob had told Tillie he would arrive at nine o’clock. There was no train due exactly on the hour but at five past there was a slow train, originating from London’s Charing Cross station, but which Cronin could have boarded at several suburban stops if he had wished. Farvale station was little more than a rural halt, with no staff on duty. An old disused signal box was a reminder that this had once been a busier line but now the station was reduced to a couple of modern signals, an indicator board and an electronic information point. There were two shops near the station building and a small garage which doubled as a wine merchant.

  I arrived in a good mood as I had started the day with the news that my sons had safely boarded a yacht in Gloucester, Massachusetts, and were already at sea. The morning briefing at the farmhouse had also gone well. Chunk reported that, using family connections, he had contacted the head of the chambers where James Wilby was a junior barrister and had, as he put it, ‘done the arse’s career a serious piece of no good’. He had also been to see Clive and reported that the Tiger Club was now ‘back on side’ after he had scotched any suggestion that I could be a traitor.

  Lottery reported that the ‘perimeter was secure’ around Tillie’s farm, with four more members of the Saxon Network, plus their girlfriends, installed in lookout positions at various cottages, where they were ostensibly paying guests.

  Tim’s report was less promising. He had made a quick preliminary recce of Spring House and found that even he could not get close enough to carry out any serious observation, but the SAS surveillance expert was already on his way to join the team. It was agreed that Tim would not come to Farvale. We did not expect any trouble at the station but if by some chance Cronin’s cover had been blown and there was a reception committee, it would be better for Tim not to be seen as that would provide a link to our farm base camp. It was agreed that Chunk, Lottery, Kate and myself would make up the welcoming party.

  The plan was simple. We would take two cars: an elderly and inconspicuous grey Volvo which we parked in a lane beside the garage. Lottery took Chunk in an equally anonymous Honda. They would watch the south side of the line, and the area around the disused signal box, for any signs of an ambush. Kate and I would meet Bob on the platform and guide him to the Volvo.

  It was the start of another bakingly hot day with no sign of a break in the heat wave. The open fields around Farvale had taken on Mediterranean tinges of brown and yellow, instead of their usual palette of greens, and the lanes around the station were dusty, with some cracks already showing in the tarmac surfaces. Lottery checked out the old signal box, which was open and empty. A quick circuit of the station area also showed nothing to be concerned about.

  Both platforms were almost deserted when we took up our positions a quarter of an hour before the train was due. The only sign of life was a small kiosk beside the car park, which sold coffee and newspapers but it had only two customers during the first ten minutes that we waited. Then, at five to nine, a couple of kids appeared on the platform where Bob was due to alight: a scruffy-looking boy and girl about fifteen or sixteen years old, dressed in filthy jeans and T-shirts. They might have been from the travellers’ camp but they looked more like local farm workers, rough kids, but not particularly threatening. They inspected the indicator board which showed the train was due on time, then sat on the only bench and immediately became absorbed in each other’s bodies. They were so enthusiastic that it looked as though they might have sex there and then on the station bench. If the train didn’t come soon, I thought, we’d probably be able to do a body check for weapons as the girl’s breasts were partly exposed, her jeans had already been loosened around the waist, and the boy’s T-shirt was rucked up to reveal his scrawny chest. Then, just before the train was due, a man appeared from a copse of trees on the far side of the line and made his way to the signal box. He was carrying a canvas tool bag and wearing workman’s coveralls. Lottery signalled that he would take care of it and followed him into the box.

  The train was on time and as it approached, the boy reluctantly detached himself from his companion and allowed her to do up her jeans. The train came to stop and Cronin got out of one of the middle carriages. From the farthest coach, another younger man got out. He was small, dark-haired and dressed in jeans and a linen travel jacket. As he got out, he looked down the platform in Bob’s direction but there was no indication that he knew him. Kate wanted to hurry down the platform to meet Bob but I held her back. The arrival of the man at the signal box could well mean trouble and I wanted to see how the situation developed before we showed the strength of our hand.

  The teenagers on the platform still did not seem to be a threat. They ignored the alighting passengers, but they didn’t board the train. Instead, they started to walk quickly alongside the coaches as though looking for someone, ignoring Bob as they passed by. With no station staff on duty, the train guard got out and surveyed the platform, ready to flag the departure. He looked impatiently at the kids who were still examining the coaches and shouted to them to get on board. The boy responded by giving him the finger. The guard cursed under his breath, gave the all clear for the train to move and got back on board.

  I was just about to step onto the platform to signal to Bob, when without warning, the boy rushed back towards him and launched a full-weight shoulder charge, aimed squarely at his upper body. The move was so unexpected, it would probably have felled a normal man. Bob’s arthritis tripled his vulnerability and he went down instantly, rolling into the gap between the fence and the grass verge along the back of the platform. The boy was already reaching down to take a knife out of an ankle-sheath but I was ready with the catapult. It was a while since I had used it in anger but it had been my favourite field survival weapon for so long that my eye hadn’t deserted me. I had used a catapult since boyhood and progressed to this highly engineered
and powerful version. When I needed food, I could take a bird on the wing or a rabbit moving at speed. I felled the boy before he could draw the blade. The ball-bearing struck his cheek. The shot spun him round and he staggered, completely disoriented. The blow didn’t knock him out but I knew from experience that he would be too preoccupied with the pain and loss of teeth to go straight back into action. The girl heard him fall but instead of going to help, she headed for the small man who had got out of the far coach. She body-charged him viciously and he went down on one knee. The girl kicked out at him but I had already re-loaded. My second shot was at much longer range and I took no chances. I gave the second shot maximum power but aimed for the body, counting on the pain alone to stop her. The ball-bearing hit her just under the shoulder. She let out a yell and staggered forward then got up and limped towards the exit and ran straight into the arms of Lottery who grabbed her in a bear hug.

  From the fence, Bob shouted in a strained voice. It’s OK. I’m T3. That’s Vince Delgado. Help him.’

  T3 was military triage code. It meant that Bob was ‘walking wounded and not seriously hurt.’ I didn’t fully believe him but I needed to deal with the youth who carried out the attack. He was lying on his back, cradling his face in his arms. I sprinted towards him, and checked that he wasn’t faking.

  I knelt beside him and said quietly. ‘Move and I’ll break your leg. Understood?’ The boy groaned and nodded but still tried to struggle. I pinned him down then, just as the train was pulling out, a large, powerfully built man jumped out of the last carriage and made for Delgado. I started to get up, but the boy wriggled like an eel and I saw Lottery was also struggling hard to stop the girl escaping.

  Before I could stop her, Kate raced down the platform and hurled herself at the big man just as he reached his target. He had drawn a knife and lunged at Delgado’s back. Kate’s charge deflected the blow, but Delgado screamed and I knew the knife must have done some damage.

  At that moment, an open-topped Jeep came racing over the level crossing and screeched to a halt right in the middle of the tracks. Omar was standing upright in the back holding onto a roll bar. As the vehicle stopped, he raised his crossbow and fired at Kate. She was saved only by the attempt of the big man to reach across and grab her. The crossbow bolt passed less than a foot in front of her face and embedded itself in one of the station name boards. I had a sudden image of the bolt striking her eye or neck, staking her to the billboard. Kate stopped, transfixed by the sight of the foot-long projectile sticking out of the woodwork so close to her face, but only for a moment. I thought she might freeze with fear, but she was already aiming whirling blows at the big man across the body between them.

  I hit the youth a fierce blow across the back of his neck and started to run towards Kate. I could see Omar re-arming, but then Chunk appeared on the far side of the line. This was a not the languid Chunk ready for the auction house. This was the Chunk I had seen in action in Iraq, fast and fierce, racing towards the jeep with a long iron bar in his hand. Omar saw him, yelled to his driver and the jeep lurched forward. Omar tumbled backwards into the rear seat as the jeep disappeared down the lane. At the end of the platform, Lottery was grasping the girl in a tight neck and arm lock and with his free hand, he was holding a butcher’s knife he had taken from her. As he saw what was happening, he hurled the girl unceremoniously into the ditch at the side of the station and started to run as well, but I got there first.

  The big man lashed out at Kate, hitting her across the mouth and blood was spurting from a cut lip. It was the only blow he managed to land. Kate was still fending him off with a frenzy of flailing arms when I hit him in the throat and put an end to his struggles.

  ‘We have to get away,’ I shouted, ‘someone will have called the police.’

  I rushed back to Cronin who was trying to get to his feet but couldn’t keep his balance.

  Kate and Chunk dealt with Delgado. He had been stabbed but Chunk inspected the wound and decided that first aid could wait until we got to the car. He scooped Delgado up in his arms, with a strength that must have astonished Kate and together they ran out of the station.

  We made it to the two cars just in time. We were away in opposite directions while the sound of a police siren was still several fields away.

  Cronin’s face was flushed with pain and he was breathing erratically but there were no signs of blood or any exterior wound.

  ‘He didn’t get you with the knife?’ I asked urgently.

  ‘I’m afraid he didn’t need to,’ Bob said ruefully. ‘It doesn’t take much to put me out of action.’

  ‘Where’s the pain coming from?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Back,’ Bob replied breathlessly. ‘I put it out when I fell. I’m afraid I don’t do falls any more. Sorry to be such a nuisance.’

  I called Chunk who reported that Delgado was not seriously hurt but was very badly shaken. We agreed a route that would take us into Tillie’s farm passing the checkpoints that had been set up and didn’t actually enter the farm until we had done two circuits of the perimeter and were absolutely sure no-one was following.

  Cronin had closed his eyes and I saw he was going into some inner space, were he probably went all too often to try and control the pain.

  When we arrived, Tillie had already taken Delgado to a bedroom.

  Chunk greeted us at the main gate. ‘Tillie’s sent for someone called Christine. A retired district nurse. The wound’s not too bad, but the man is in a blind funk. He’s going to have to be sedated for a while.’

  Bob remained slumped in the car and I called for Christine. She climbed into the back seat and they exchanged a few words barely louder than a whisper.

  ‘He’s in very great pain. It’s coming from the spine. He wants to talk but I don’t think it will make much sense. I need to sedate him.’

  Carefully we eased Bob out of the car.

  I’m sorry,’ he said,’ I don’t know how they found out where I was going, but it’s all gone to ratshit.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said, ‘You need to rest. Is there anything we need to know right now?’

  ‘Herb Tergari is dead.’

  ‘What! How?’

  ‘He was run down by a car. He’d only been in London a few hours. The embassy is keeping it under wraps but the official version will be that he looked the wrong way because he wasn’t used to British driving on the Left but that’s bullshit. Tergari knows England from way back. He’s lived here for Christ’s sake. When it happened, Vince just freaked. I had no choice but to bring him.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said. ‘Is there anything else. Any new Intel?’

  Cronin shook his head. ‘The main thing is to keep Delgado from cracking altogether. His brother Leo is still working hard for us in Paris. If Vince goes berserk I can’t guarantee his brother won’t give up and come over to look after him.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘we’ll make Vince the priority. Right now you both need some nice drug-induced quiet. We’ll debrief later.’

  While they were transferring Cronin to the house, I took Kate by the arm and led her gently into the kitchen garden.

  ‘We need a little word.’

  ‘It’s only a cut lip,’ she said, ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘No delayed shock?’

  ‘I’m a bit shaken up, I’ll be OK in a few minutes.’

  She paused. ‘And don’t start fussing unless.’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless you want a blazing row. I know what’s coming. You’re going to say I nearly got killed and I shouldn’t have done what I did.’

  ‘Well you were almost killed. Next time—’

  ‘Next time we’ll see.’ She interrupted. ‘I know Omar is a trained assassin. I know he raped and killed your wife and I know he’d get a buzz out of doing the same to me.’

  ‘So you know why I’m worried.’

  ‘Of course I do, but I just want us to understand each other, once and for all. If you try to wrap me in cotton woo
l, you’ll have lost me for good.

  ‘It’s a problem I’ve had all my life. My father loved the idea of me sailing, as long as I pottered round the inner harbour. The same problem broke up the only serious love affair I’ve ever had. I walked out on him because I got sick of him asking me if I was sure I wanted to risk the oceans. I simply will not have it.

  ‘I was interested in you in the newsroom because I thought you might be the kind of man who wasn’t threatened by the kind of life I like.’

  ‘I’m not threatened.’

  ‘Yes you are. You feel guilty about what happened to Sarah and you don’t want anything to happen to me. Well, I’ve almost ripped my tits off with a hawser. I’ve nearly been decapitated by a loose rope in a Force Nine. I’ve almost broken my back falling from the topmast. Do we understand each other, John? The only question to ask is have I got in the way so far?’ Well have I?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was there any problem at Farvale station?’

  ‘You did brilliantly. You probably saved Delgado’s life. ‘

  ‘Then get it into your head that I’m not being pushed out because of the danger. It’s not negotiable. Is that clear?’