by Gemma Fox
‘No, stay exactly where you are, don’t move –’ barked Coleman. ‘I don’t want him scared off.’ And then with enforced nonchalance Coleman began to scan the faces of the approaching holidaymakers, looking for Nick Lucas amongst the happy throng.
As they rounded a neatly clipped hedge, Maggie saw a young guy in a suit talking into his lapel and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was what she was looking for.
‘We’ve been spotted,’ she said under her breath.
Nick glanced across the grass, following her gaze and then quickly looked away. She could almost see the tension easing out of his shoulders and face. For him this was the home run; she couldn’t help but wonder exactly where that left her, although there was no way Maggie planned to go all limp and girlie on him now.
‘Don’t worry, not long now,’ she said in a small, quiet voice. Nick squeezed her hand, although Maggie wasn’t entirely sure whether it was meant to reassure him or her.
‘There,’ said Nick as they rounded another corner, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. ‘Over there. Look, that’s Coleman, standing by the ice-cream stall –’
Maggie looked up and saw a man dressed in a long dark coat hanging around outside the café. He was quite obviously loitering with intent and had made no attempt to blend in in any way. The heavy overcoat looked odd and slightly sinister in the heat. Coleman certainly wasn’t the bestlooking guardian angel she had ever clapped eyes on but he would have to do.
Nick started to walk faster, and as he did Maggie saw something else – something that took her breath away.
‘Oh my God,’ she hissed in astonishment. Slightly ahead of her Nick was making his way to safety; he didn’t slow his pace; unaware that she had stopped.
On the far side of the park, Bernie Fielding and two men were walking across the grass, two men wearing sharp suits and shades. Two dangerouslooking men, men who made Maggie’s blood ice up, and then something else occurred to her, something much more sinister.
‘Nick?’
He turned to look at her.
‘Don’t look so worried – just a few more minutes and it will all be over,’ he said with a smile.
That was the last thing she wanted to hear. Maggie swallowed hard as the rest of the world slowed to a snail’s pace. She stepped forward, grabbed tight hold of Nick’s arm and turning away from Coleman, turning away from the men in the sharp suits, Maggie hissed, ‘We have to get out of here. Now –’
‘What on earth are you on about?’ protested Nick as they wheeled round. It appeared that he was too surprised to resist her.
‘Trust me, please,’ she said, trying hard not to panic, trying hard not to break into a run, willing Bernie not to look around, not to spot her, or if he did to have the good sense to keep his big mouth shut. Maggie knew if it came to it there was no way they could outrun the two hyenas either side of Bernie and any change of pace might catch their eye.
With her arm through Nick’s she executed a perfect 180-degree turn taking him back along the path, back the way they came, zigzagging in and out of young mothers with buggies, old men with walking sticks and a jogger sweating hard. Maggie hardly dared breathe; the exit that had seemed so close moments earlier now seemed a million miles away.
Maggie could see the young man who had been talking into his jacket, saw him look at them, saw the surprise register on his face and kept on walking as he wheeled round to follow them.
And then they were at the gate. Heart in her mouth, Maggie pulled out her car keys and – sheltered by the hedge now – barked, ‘Quickly, quickly, Nick – run!’
Nick, although totally bemused, did as he was told, and began to hurry after her, back towards the car.
‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on. Our man and the woman are heading back out of the park,’ said the voice in Coleman’s ear.
‘What?’ snapped Coleman furiously. ‘What the fuck do you mean they’re heading out of the park – why – never mind – just get after them – get after them now and bring me Lucas and that mad bitch he’s got with him. Go!’
‘Get in the car,’ Maggie yelled, leaping into the driver’s seat, followed more slowly by a bemused Nick.
‘What’s going on? Are you mad? He was there, you saw him. Coleman was waiting to take me in,’ said Nick. ‘What the fuck are you playing at, Maggie?’
Maggie gunned the engine and pulled out into the road.
‘Steady,’ said Nick nervously, as the car leapt forward into the stream of traffic. ‘Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on here?’
‘I just saw Bernie,’ said Maggie, peering anxiously into her rear-view mirror to see if they were being followed.
‘Bernie? What do you mean, Bernie? Bernie Fielding? In the park? Are you sure? I don’t understand – why did we have to run away from Bernie of all people?’ Nick looked back over his shoulder towards what had been his salvation.
‘Because he wasn’t alone, Nick – he was there with two men, two men in shades who looked – well, just how you would imagine hit men to look.’
Nick stared at her. ‘Oh come on, that’s crazy, Maggie. Are you certain? Coleman was there waiting for me. Another couple of hundred yards and I would have been home and dry.’
‘Would you?’ asked Maggie quietly, almost to herself, thinking about the stray thought that had hit her as they had crossed the Gardens. ‘How did those two men know where we were?’ she asked slowly.
Nick Lucas stared at her. ‘I’m not with you. What do you mean?’
Maggie’s brain tried to rationalise what some deeper instinct understood only too well. ‘What I mean is how did those men know that we would be in Minehead – in Blenheim Gardens – at that moment? Who else knew where we were going?’
‘Bernie?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘No. We didn’t tell him where we were going. Even I didn’t know until we drove out of St Elfreda’s and I asked you.’
Nick’s expression registered confusion for a few minutes and then cleared as some ghastly comprehension dawned. ‘Oh my God –’ his colour drained. ‘Coleman? Is that what you’re trying to say? It can’t be Coleman who told them – he’s one of the good guys. It has to be a coincidence.’
Maggie snorted. ‘Some coincidence. Who else knew? Can you really afford to take the chance?’ she said, accelerating down towards the seafront. The pedestrians scattered like confetti in front of the Golf.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ gasped Nick.
‘Putting as many miles between you and Blenheim Gardens as I can.’
Nick sighed. ‘Maggie, for God’s sake, slow down. This is crazy – I want you to stop the car and to drop me off here.’ He pointed towards the next junction.
‘What?’
He turned round to look at her. ‘You heard me, Maggie; those people want me dead. It’s not some joke, it’s real – and they are not going to stop until I am dead. And I don’t want you involved in this. It’s way too dangerous – now drop me off. Over there on the corner.’
‘But what are you going to do?’ she whispered.
‘It doesn’t matter, just let me out.’
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ Maggie shouted, unable to hide her frustration. ‘There has to be some way out of this. What about if I take you to a bigger town, you could hide out there. There must be someone who would help you, someone you could ring?’
Nick shook his head. ‘Maggie, look, you don’t understand. That isn’t how it works. I’m not the sort of person who can go on the run, and even if I was it’s too dangerous to get any of my family or old friends involved. Coleman knows that. I just need a bit of time to think.’
Maggie turned the car and headed back towards the seafront. ‘What is there to think about. There has to be something you can do. You can’t just hand yourself over to those killers – that’s crazy. What if Coleman is working with them, too?’
Nick slumped forward cradling his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know any more. I c
an’t take any more of this, I just want it to be over.’
Maggie looked at him. ‘But not by giving up, Nick?’ she said expectantly. ‘Not by handing yourself in to Coleman?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t really see what other choice I have.’
‘So you think I’m wrong about him betraying you?’
Nick shook his head. ‘I don’t know any more.’
Coleman stalked backwards and forwards across the front of the café, his coat – far too heavy for the day – blowing out behind him like a cloak. He looked like a disgruntled bat.
‘So where the hell has he got to?’ he barked into the little microphone on his lapel.
One of the young, broad-shouldered six said, ‘Don’t worry, Sir. We’ve got men at strategic points; all the exits are covered. He can’t get very far.’
Coleman snorted. ‘What do you mean he can’t get far?’ He didn’t doubt for a moment that his rescue squad were the business. What worried Coleman was not how his team might acquit themselves but why Nick Lucas had bolted again. The man was too highly strung for his own good and that bloody woman was a nuisance. What the two of them failed to realise was that it didn’t matter how far Nick ran. All alone, without police protection or Stiltskin to hide him, Nick Lucas was as good as dead. There were people in high places – people who had taken out a contract on him – who wouldn’t stop until Nick was six-feet-under. Coleman sighed. Lucas had been a fool not to come quietly.
Unconsciously Coleman brushed a hand down over his shoulders, his fingertips just brushing the butt of the gun he was carrying in a shoulder holster. Maybe Lucas would be better off dead after all, at least then all the running and the fear would be over and done with.
‘Stand by.’ His ear piece crackled. Coleman waited.
14
While Coleman prowled backwards and forwards waiting for news, on the other side of the park Robbie Hughes had been watching, Lesley, who had looked left and right, all the while bobbing up and down behind the hedges that lined the paths, trying to spot where the two heavies had taken Bernie Fielding. She looked for all the world like a meerkat in a pale pink cardigan.
They had only just missed Bernie and his dodgylooking friends, pulling up in the car no more than a moment or two behind the three of them – although fortunately not close enough to catch Bernie’s eye, so with a bit of luck their prey hadn’t bolted; at least not yet.
It had to be said that Robbie was beginning to lose patience with the whole bloody scenario. They had been so close and yet were still so far from any decent filmable conclusion, and Lesley really wasn’t helping at all. Behind the hedge she had been going through another cycle of bobbing, poking and peering.
‘Well?’ he had snapped, waiting for her expert opinion. ‘Did you see where they went?’
But before Lesley had been able to reply, two people, a man and a woman, had hurtled past them as if they were running out of a burning building, and this time even Robbie recognised that it was the man he had interviewed at West Brayfield and Bernie Fielding’s ex-wife, Maggie Morgan.
Robbie had stared at them as they ran towards the car park. What in God’s name was that about? Were they were all in cahoots? Did it imply that there was something else going on that he didn’t know about? Had Bernie and his ex-wife got some cosy little ménage à trois going on in a beach hut somewhere? A sex romp might be just the thing he needed to weigh the scales with the Madam Upstairs at Gotcha. Or was it a conspiracy? People always enjoyed a good conspiracy theory.
Robbie looked at Lesley; maybe she had some idea.
‘Was that who I think it was?’ she said, pushing her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose.
Robbie nodded.
‘What on earth do you think is going on?’ asked Lesley.
On another path, not too far away from the café, Nimrod scanned left and right. He had already spotted the heavily set guy in the unseasonal black coat waiting around outside the coffee shop, snorting on a nasal spray. He knew instinctively that even if this was not Lucas’s contact then he had an important role in picking him up.
Walking beside Nimrod, Cain said very little, while Bernie shambled along between them looking decidedly hangdog and very, very uneasy. Nimrod had already decided that if Bernie made a break for it they wouldn’t expend too much energy bringing him back. He was probably more trouble than he was worth.
Over by the café, Nimrod saw the coat man’s face twitch into life and watched as he pressed a finger to his ear, talking into his lapel. Nimrod scanned backwards and forwards amongst the walkers and the sunbathers, trying to pick up the other members of this guy’s team, all the while willing Nick Lucas to come into view. It surely wouldn’t be long now; time had begun to slow down to a crystal-clear syrupy flow. Nimrod smiled as every face, every flower, every detail of the day became sharp as glass, while the adrenaline pumped through his body as warm and welcome as good whisky.
A public, daylight execution was far from ideal, but from this distance it would all be over in an instant and they would be away before Nick Lucas had hit the neatly clipped grass. It would be like the grassy knoll all over again.
Nimrod grinned, letting the idea roll through his mind. Every sense was alive as he imagined the instant when he picked his shot – felt his finger squeeze the trigger, the motion as smooth as silk – and as his mind cleared, Nimrod let out a long slow breath and with it the tension rolled out of his body like fog.
Soon, crooned the dark voice deep in his mind. A heartbeat away, Cain caught his eye and grinned back; he could feel it, too.
An instant later, the coat man in front of the café started off across the park towards the far gate, walking smartly, his head down, a finger pressed into his ear. Nimrod tracked his progress like a laser. Another man hurried across to join him – by his dress easily identifiable as another of the pick-up squad. If they were breaking positions then something had gone badly wrong. Damn. Where the hell had Nick Lucas got to?
‘After them,’ Nimrod snapped to Cain, and began to stride out after the man in the black coat and his sidekick. He didn’t doubt for an instant that Cain would know exactly who he meant. Cain wouldn’t consider questioning Nimrod’s instructions and instantly did as he was told. Bernie came too, mainly – Nimrod reasoned, as he headed off after their prey – because he was too scared and far too stupid to do otherwise.
‘Our man just got into the woman’s car and they’ve pulled away, and appear to be heading back towards the town centre,’ said a voice in Coleman’s ear.
‘What? What do you mean pulling away? Why didn’t you stop him, you dozy pillock?’ roared a furious Coleman.
This wasn’t how operational procedure said it should be done; debriefing and explanations should come later, when a mission was over. In the moment all energies, all attention and resources needed, should be concentrated on what was happening, not what should or might have happened, but Coleman was so angry he couldn’t stop himself.
‘But I was under the impression that this was supposed to be a walk in,’ whined the man. ‘Our mark was supposed to come over and just give himself up, not turn round and bugger off again,’ he continued in the same high-pitched whinny, and then recovering himself, added, ‘and I didn’t have orders to detain him, Sir, and besides we don’t want an incident, do we.’
‘An incident?’ barked Coleman, glowing white-hot with frustration. ‘He’s a chef for God’s sake – what did you think he was going to do, break out a palette knife, beat you senseless with a fucking éclair? Give me strength – bring the car round. I’m already on my way. I assume someone saw which way they went?’
‘Maybe Maggie Morgan and that chap are just here on holiday. It could be a coincidence,’ Lesley said to Robbie Hughes.
Robbie stared at her. ‘What? Bernie, Maggie and the other bloke are all here together, in Minehead, and that they were all at the holiday park together earlier? What are the odds on that, then, Lesley, eh?’ He couldn’t keep the der
ision out of his voice.
‘I was only thinking aloud,’ Lesley said, her mouth narrowing down into an angry, tough little line that made Robbie feel very uneasy indeed. ‘I was just saying –’
Two more men hurried past them. One was middle-aged and thickset, with a thick black wool coat on. He looked important and hot, while the other one, younger in a navy-blue suit, was scurrying behind him trying to keep pace. The older man did not look at all pleased – they both had the appearance of policemen in plain clothes and they were making for the car park.
Lesley looked at Robbie. ‘Something very strange is going on here,’ she said, stealing the thought clean out of his head. ‘What do you want to do?’
So now, fresh out of ideas of her own, Lesley wanted to play the willing little assistant, thought Robbie grimly.
But the decision and any possible retort was whipped away as not more than thirty seconds later two other smartly dressed men, flanking a third, hurried out of the gardens too. This time Lesley visibly brightened.
‘That’s him,’ she said, waving furiously. ‘There. Look. It’s Bernie Fielding.’
The man in the middle looked up briefly, blanched milk-white, and at that moment even Robbie could see that the face now staring at them with a mixture of horror and total astonishment resembled the wedding picture in the newspaper.
‘Oh my God. Bernie Fielding,’ Robbie snorted in disbelief. Finally, here he was, face to face with his arch enemy at long last. God, Robbie wished that he’d brought the whole bloody crew with him now. Whether the segment got shown or not, Robbie wanted this moment recorded for posterity. ‘Have you got the video camera?’ Robbie hissed from the corner of his mouth, expectantly holding out a hand.
‘No, I thought you’d got it,’ said Lesley. ‘It must still be in the car.’
Robbie groaned. Bloody woman.
‘Oh fucking hell,’ said Bernie, turning at the sound of his name.
Nimrod looked down quizzically at him. ‘What’s the matter with you?’