HARD KNOCKS: Charlie Fox book three

by Zoe Sharp

  “So McKenna’s claiming he saw another of the Audis near the scene, and Rebanks is hinting that Gilby’s responsible?” Sean said and there was no mistaking the incredulous note in his tone. “And you believe either of them?”

  “I don’t disbelieve them,” I said. “It’s a moot point as far as McKenna’s concerned anyway. He’s packed up and left.”

  “Hmm, either lost his nerve or accomplished his mission,” Sean murmured. “Take your pick.”

  “I keep coming back to the fact that Blakemore admitted they had some involvement with the kidnapping and that Kirk was in on it, too.”

  “We’ve been through this before, Charlie,” Sean said, rather tiredly, “he couldn’t have been.”

  “Yes, he could,” I said. “He just couldn’t have been shot by Heidi’s bodyguards, that’s all.”

  “He was with us all the way,” Blakemore had said of Kirk. “Salter wasn’t the one who threw a spanner in the works.”

  What kind of a spanner? “Supposing Gilby’s not the one who planned the kidnapping?” I demanded then. “Supposing it was his staff who did it, and when Gilby found out he went ape-shit, and that’s when Kirk was killed?”

  For a while there was silence at the other end of the line. I could almost hear the gears whirring. “It’s close,” he conceded, and just when I’d begun to feel pleased with myself he added, “But how do you explain the money Gilby’s been banking over the last six months?”

  I swore under my breath.

  “Quite,” Sean said. “Sorry, Charlie, but Blakemore must have been spinning you a line.”

  “I didn’t get that feeling from him,” I insisted, stubborn.

  “And you can tell when somebody’s lying to you?” Sean said, and there was just a hint of taunting there. “Just like that?”

  “Sometimes, yes,” I threw back at him, stung. “You remember you once told me you’d never hit on one of your trainees before? Well, I believed you. I didn’t ask for evidence, I just knew.”

  Oh God, where did that come from? It was the last thing that had been in my mind, but as I said it I realised it had never really been away.

  A full five seconds went past before Sean spoke again.

  “Well, I have to hand it to you, Charlie,” he said dryly, “you certainly know how to stop a guy in his tracks.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I don’t know why I said that, I just—”

  “Don’t,” he cut in, fierce enough to surprise me. “Don’t ever apologise for having faith in me. Christ knows I didn’t think you’d ever want anything to do with me again when I’ve meant nothing but pain for you. Why do you think I sent Madeleine to fetch you from your parents’ place?”

  It was my turn to be speechless, to feel my mouth working but no words waiting behind it to emerge. My tongue was dry and empty.

  I leaned back against a tree and listened to the quiet rustling of the forest around me. It was almost soothing.

  So, where do we go from here? I had no idea. A picture had unfolded suddenly in front of me that was too big to see the end of it. I needed time to digest, for Sean’s words to sink in.

  “But you were over in Germany,” I said, forgetting completely for a moment which countries we were both in.

  “I didn’t have to be,” he admitted. “I’m hoping you won’t need to be for much longer. How’s Gilby taking Blakemore’s untimely demise?”

  “Badly,” I said. “He’s feeling the pressure and he’s starting to suffer for it.”

  “And you think that’s more likely to be guilty conscience because he’s bumping off his own men,” Sean said, back on track, “rather than the more natural anger and frustration because somebody else is doing it and he’s powerless to stop them?”

  “But why is he powerless?” I shot back. “If he’s nothing to hide then why doesn’t he bring in the authorities and let them clear it up? Why is he letting people ambush his students with machine pistols and run one of his instructors off the road? Gilby’s up to his neck in this kidnapping somehow. I’m waiting for him to show now, to see if he might lead me to anything interesting on his nightly walkabout.”

  Gilby hadn’t turned out for the last couple of nights. Either that or I’d missed him. It was difficult to maintain an effective watching brief single-handed. It was when you had to be up and running your guts out at five o’clock the next morning, at any rate.

  “You just be damned careful, Charlie,” Sean warned.

  “I will,” I promised.

  “At least wait until I get out there tomorrow before you go confronting anybody else.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll take it easy.”

  He paused, as if trying to find a nice way to call me a liar then changed the subject with a teasing note in his voice. “So how are you getting on with the course, or has that all gone to hell in a hand cart?”

  “Sort of,” I said. “I’ve just handed in a very scrappy location survey that might just pull in a C-plus – if I’m lucky.”

  “You’re not there to pass the course, Charlie,” he pointed out.

  That took me aback slightly. Wasn’t I? I’d never liked failing, that was the trouble. Perhaps I hadn’t realised how much I’d hated that aspect of getting kicked out of the army. My relationship with Sean had been a failure, too.

  “You remember that chalet we stayed in, that first weekend in Wales?” I asked suddenly. Christ, I really was going to have to learn to keep my mouth shut. It was running away with me tonight.

  “Yes,” he said, with a quiet intensity. “I remember.”

  I wished, more than ever, that I could see his face as he spoke, could gauge him. Mind you, if we’d been face to face then probably this conversation would never have happened.

  “It was quite a place,” I ventured at last, mentally cursing my own cowardice.

  “Yes, it was,” he agreed. “All that wildness, that untamed element.” He paused. “I thought it would suit you.”

  I listened for, but couldn’t find, the ironic note in his voice. Instead I asked, “How did you know it was there?”

  “Is that a tactful way of asking me how many other girls I’d taken there?” It was the way he said “taken” that made my bones melt.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Well if it was, the answer’s none – before or since.”

  I leaned my head back, stared up at darkened branches and past them, to the stars. My heart had started to thump painfully behind my breastbone, like I was preparing to run. I had to swallow before I could speak again.

  “So how did you know it was there?”

  “My mum knew about it,” he said. “I think my dear departed dad took her there in the happy days before he started to drink. She used to tell me about it and I remembered the name. What made you think about that?”

  How could I not think about that weekend in Wales? We’d run purely on instinct and feeling. No thought. No doubt. No regret. I’d remember it until I died.

  “Something Madeleine said, that’s all.”

  “Oh yes,” he said. What was that in his voice – surely not embarrassment? “I seem to remember her prising that information out of me one night. There were times when it was good to have someone to talk to.” About you. He didn’t say the words out loud, but I knew they were there because I’d felt the same way.

  It’s amazing what people will admit to over the phone. Encouraged, I said, “She showed me a photo of her boyfriend.”

  “Dom?” Sean said and he sounded surprised. “Why would she do that?”

  “I think,” I said carefully, “that she was trying to tell me that she wasn’t a threat.”

  Sean said, “Ah,” as though a lot of things had fallen into place. There was a long pause, and when he next spoke there was something serious in his voice. “She never has been, Charlie.”

  I closed my eyes, felt the pull of a smile across my lips. “Good,” I said. “That’s all right, then.”

  Sevente
en

  Major Gilby walked out of the Manor house about twenty minutes after I’d finished talking to Sean, and strode briskly along the path towards the ranges. He wore a heavy greatcoat that flapped around his legs as he walked.

  It was bitter out, just on the point of freezing. The ground was crystalline with a heavy frost that reflected the moon like a cut diamond.

  As for me, for once I didn’t feel the cold.

  I waited until he’d moved past my position, then slipped out into the darkness and followed. I clung to the edge of the trees, not only watching his progress, but also keeping an eye out behind me, just in case the Major’s mystery shadow had chosen tonight to make a reappearance. If he had, he was better at hiding than I was at spotting him.

  It didn’t take me long to realise that I’d picked a bad night to trail Gilby. His footsteps along the path showed as flattened prints on the concrete, plainly visible through the frost. Where I’d walked along the edge of the grass I left telltales that were clearer still. Crossing the open ground that lay between us was going to be impossible without leaving tracks a blind man wouldn’t need a Labrador to be able to follow. Was it worth that risk?

  I’d promised Sean I wouldn’t take risks, but I’d also promised him results just by being here. It was a wrench to know which to keep, but for the moment I settled for a watching brief, got as close as I dared and stayed in cover. It was a good job I didn’t break out of it.

  Gilby checked behind him twice, coming to a standstill and revolving slowly, listening as well as watching for any sign of movement, of something out of place. I kept motionless and tried to think like a tree.

  Eventually, seeming satisfied, he covered the last few metres to the indoor range, took a key out of his pocket, and let himself in. I watched the door swing shut and in the stillness of the night I heard the lock click behind him.

  I felt my shoulders drop a little. I had my Swiss Army knife in my pocket, as always, but I couldn’t pick a lock to save my life. Even if I had ventured after him, I would have needed to be right on his heels to stand any chance of getting in. Not a move that was likely to pass unnoticed.

  I realised too, that if I made my way back to the Manor now, Gilby was likely to spot my footprints across the grass when he came back. I checked my watch. It was edging towards ten. I thought regretfully of my lost beauty sleep and decided to wait him out.

  The Major was only inside the range for a quarter of an hour, which was more than enough time for me to have lost most of the sensation in my toes. I watched the lights in the Manor start to blink out as people called it a night.

  When he reappeared, locking the door behind him, Gilby walked quickly straight back along the path, not bothering to check who might be following. He reached one of the sets of French windows on the ground floor and let himself in.

  I wondered briefly if they went round locking all the exterior doors at night. In which case I was going to have fun getting back in myself. Perhaps it would be a good idea not to find out. I started forwards, but a movement over to my left stopped me in my tracks.

  I wasn’t the only watcher in the woods, it seemed.

  Another figure emerged into the moonlight about thirty metres away and made for the range doorway that the Major had just come out of. I was suddenly thankful that I hadn’t been whistling to myself to pass the time.

  Apart from the fact that the figure was clearly a man, I was too far away to recognise who it might be. He was bulked up in heavy clothing, a wool hat pulled down low around his face. Now why didn’t I think of that? My own ears were pulsing with the cold.

  Whoever he was, the man also had a key to the range. Did that mean he was one of the instructors, or a light-fingered pupil?

  This time, though, as the man entered, the range door didn’t fully close behind him. I hesitated for a moment, briefly remembered my other promise to Sean, that I wouldn’t confront anyone else, then hurried across the frigid grass before my nerve failed me. It was a stupid manoeuvre, I knew, but too good an opportunity to miss.

  I couldn’t remember for the life of me if the door squeaked. I pushed it open very carefully with my fingertips, like that was going to make a difference. It swung silently aside and I slipped through the gap, making sure it didn’t latch behind me.

  There were no windows in the indoor range. There wasn’t any need for them and the lack of glass enabled the interior to be almost completely soundproofed.

  I discovered when I got inside that the lights in the cramped vestibule had been switched on, too. After the clean silver blue of the moon outside, the ceiling tubes threw out a dull harsh glare the colour of stagnant pond water onto the blockwork walls.

  The range area itself, off to my right, was still in darkness. I bypassed that and crept through to the room next to the armoury, where we’d been shown how to strip and clean the SIGs. It was very dark in there. I had to pause long enough just inside the doorway for my eyes to adapt.

  I moved cautiously across the floor, trying to recall the exact layout of the room. There was a large table in the centre, its dirty plywood top ingrained with burnt powder and gun oil. Even though it was so dark, I crouched below the level and crabbed my way across the room. Where was he?

  Beyond me was the armoury section. Normally this area was blocked off by a steel door, held shut with a selection of locks and padlocks that would have had Harry Houdini muttering nervously about not realising that was the time.

  But not any more.

  The locks were disengaged and the padlocks hung open to one side. I slunk through the open doorway, trying to blend into the paintwork on the jamb. Across in the corner was the weapons’ store, a secure caged area. The lights in the cage were on, bleeding out across the floor, but because the sides were stacked high with gun cases, it was difficult to tell if my mystery man was inside.

  With a dry mouth and damp palms I edged forwards until I was right up against the bars. I peered in through a tiny slot between two cases. Something moved across the other side of the gap, close enough to make me jump and recoil. With a silent curse I glued my eye back to the gap.

  I could just make out part of a work bench against the far wall. It had a vice bolted down to the corner with wall-mounted plastic boxes for nuts and screws above it. On the bench itself was a small wooden crate.

  As I watched, the man moved in front of the bench and began levering the lid off the crate. It was cold enough in there for him to still be wearing his hat, his breath clouding against the light. Because of the position of the bench, his back was towards me. I still couldn’t make out the details of his face.

  When the lid of the crate was off he dumped it to one side and disappeared from view. I tensed, in case he was about to walk out of the cage. The walls of the armoury were bare. There was nothing big enough to hide a rat under. Damn, why did I have to go and think about rats?

  Even if I did find a place of concealment, what the hell did I do if he walked out of the range and locked the door behind him? It wasn’t the kind of place where there was likely to be a convenient fire exit.

  Fortunately, the next moment I heard him dragging something across the floor inside the cage. I couldn’t see what it was, but if his grunt of effort was anything to go by, it was heavy.

  When the man reappeared in my field of vision he was carrying three packages, wrapped in oiled cloth. He carefully placed two straight into the crate, hesitated for a moment, then started to unwrap the other. I had a frustrating few seconds unable to see much more than his back and arms as he worked, then he shifted his position slightly, and it all became chillingly clear.

  The contents of the package was a compact submachine gun. The man slid out the wire stock and tried the weapon for size into his shoulder, ducking his head to squint through the open sights.

  Beyond firing a few during my time in the army, I was no particular expert on submachine guns, but I had no difficulty in recognising the Lucznik PM-98 the man was holding. I’d had one in my o
wn hands only two days ago, when I’d picked up the Peugeot driver’s fallen weapon.

  I’d no difficulty recognising the man who held it now either. As he turned I caught my first proper full view of his face.

  Rebanks.

  Question was, what the hell was Gilby’s weapons’ handler doing with a case-load of machine pistols?

  I didn’t have the chance to expand much on this train of thought. Behind me there was a clatter from the other room, followed by a deafening clamour as somebody punched the fire alarm.

  I flinched back. The alarm bell seemed to be ringing right next to my head, incredibly loud, but it didn’t quite mask the faint slam of the outer door. I didn’t think I’d been followed in, but whoever had done so obviously wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to get out again unobserved or unhindered.