by A M Kirk
“I’ll explain on the way. We have to go – now!”
It was the work of moments to grab his few belongings, and for the General to usher him out of the building to the waiting small convoy of fast Jaguars. As they descended to the car park Roberts suggested that his part should be to return to CIS HQ and carry on with the investigation into the leads they had. The chip from the killer’s broken mobile phone might yield up some interesting addresses and Supernet links, he said, and they had still to trace that helicopter. Miller agreed, and the men parted with assurances of staying in regular contact over the next couple of days. They would keep each other fully informed of whatever turned up.
“Goodbye, Mark,” said Roberts. He held out his hand, then hesitated. “Is it safe to shake hands with you?”
Mark smiled and took the Inspector’s hand. “See? No problem. But,” he said, releasing the hand, “you should go home. You’re about worn out. And don’t worry – Sally’s all right now.”
As the Jaguars sped off towards the motorway access ramp Roberts stood for a while. He was too astonished to move and began to feel nausea creeping over him – a reaction to the strain he had been under and the bewildering events he had just witnessed. But already he was beginning to wonder if what he had heard and seen had actually happened. Then reality in the form of his mobile made its presence known and a voice told him that Carrie Jenkins had been kidnapped, her father was being treated for a head-wound in hospital and her mother was utterly distraught. His weariness and feeling of sickness intensified.
**********
22Ambush
The first Jaguar was the “pioneer” car, containing four secret service personnel who kept in constant contact with “Home Base” which, for the Soros Liaison Commander was situated in Allied Command Headquarters in Stirling Castle, although that was not public knowledge. The Liaison Committee’s public face was presented by a specially built set of buildings adjacent to McIntyre’s Field. But the true Headquarters, to which Miller now intended to take Mark, was situated deep within the hard volcanic rock that had propped up Stirling Castle for hundreds of years.
The second car contained the General himself, and his aide, Captain John Lucas drove. An SAS bodyguard occupied the front passenger seat and the General sat in the back. Mark also sat in the back, on the General’s left.
The third car brought up the rear and its men, also seconded from the SAS, kept some pretty heavy weaponry for use in the event of an ambush.
There had been threats. Ever since the Soros ship had landed on Earth, there had been threats to anyone connected with the aliens. They arrived by letter, by phone, on the Net, usually two or three a month. The most frequent source was, of course, the Human Freedom League, and their stated aims were to oppose any dealings with the Soros whatsoever, for they claimed that the aliens’ sole intention was world domination and the extermination of the human race.
The League were clever. So far they had eluded capture, even on the Supernet, which was pretty hard to do. All leads ended up blind alleys. The Supernet boffins at the Ministry of Defence and the Criminal Intelligence Service tore their hair out trying to unravel the complex weave of trails the League created on the Net every time they sent a message.
But so far the threats had been without substance.
The little convoy sped along the M80, the main route north out of Glasgow towards the central belt. Elsewhere even bigger wheels were turning, for Miller had been busy on the phone. He had passed the suspicion that the Soros might be up to something on to his immediate superior, the General Officer Commanding Scotland, Andrew Talbot, who in turn alerted the Head of NATO, and the US Defence Commander, General Locke. British Armed Forces were placed on status Bikini Gamma Green, military code for red alert. The cars were speeding past the Bishopbriggs off-ramp before Miller had finished his calls. Traffic was light at six o’clock this early Monday evening.
“The Prime Minister will be informed, of course…” General Miller was saying.
“I’m relieved you’re taking this all so seriously,” admitted Mark. “I was quite worried you’d treat me as a crank.”
Miller smiled, a hard, thin crease in his rugged face. “I thought you were, at first – who wouldn’t? You have to be sceptical in our position. But a number of things had already disposed me to give you a hearing with an open mind. I’m not a stupid man. I wouldn’t have been appointed to my job if I couldn’t interpret little details. When the Soros told me about you, it didn’t sound quite right. It struck me as curious that the Soros would be so interested in a fifteen-year old boy and his mother. But I’ve had doubts for a while. We all have, who have had any dealings with them. They never let us see them face-to-face, for instance. We still don’t know what they look like. That is not the behaviour of a trusting species. They could, you see, have simply showed us pictures.
“The presence of another ship has long been suspected. It occurred to us at an early stage that the ship called The Museum would be too small to convey a group of Soros across the galaxy. How could it contain enough fuel, supplies and so on? No, there had to be another, more powerful ship and the one we know about was just a landing craft. We’ve been worried for a long time about that.
“It had not escaped our notice either that some of our satellites were not behaving quite as they should. There were other, even sillier, things that made me wonder sometimes. For example, not far from where they landed a little burn comes down off the Hills. It’s called the Burn of Sorrows. I wondered if they had simply pinched that name from a map and were, as you say, playing some kind of game with us all. So, no, Mark, I could not dismiss you as a crank and after what I’ve seen today, with your little magical act…”
Mark nodded.
Lucas interrupted abruptly. “Something up ahead, sir.” He was gesturing to the motorway verge just ahead of them and to the left. He immediately began issuing commands into his lapel radio. They were approaching the ramp that led off the motorway and into the small backroads and little commuter towns dotting the countryside north-east of Glasgow. The SAS man instantly had an automatic pistol in his hand.
Before Mark could make out what was happening up ahead, suddenly the bonnet of the car in front was rising up. The ground was erupting beneath it. Mark saw the first car seem to fly up and backwards into the air. Then the General’s car passed under the first car, and was engulfed in smoke as its suspension struggled to carry it over the destroyed road surface. The leading car was about to land on them! Captain Lucas ducked instinctively as they narrowly missed being crushed by it as it crashed to earth and exploded in gouts of flame only a metre or so behind them.
But the ground was too churned up; the tarmac had been smashed and it was raining down on them. Great chunks battered the armoured roof, and sent splinter lines along the bullet-proof glass of the windows. The back seat passengers automatically covered their heads. Lucas fought for control but could not avoid the pit in the motorway and the Jaguar smashed to a halt. Air-bags exploded from several points and, once the car was motionless, quickly subsided.
The second bodyguard turned to the General. “Keep down, sir. Seems they’ve got a rocket launcher, “ he said. He looked across at Captain Lucas. Lucas nodded to him. “Let’s go,” said the bodyguard. “General – you and the boy stay put.”
Lucas and the bodyguard opened their side doors simultaneously, pushing the limp remains of the air-bags away, guns at the ready.
The smoke was clearing.
The car behind had swerved to a stop just behind. Beyond, cars behind it were slowing and coming to a halt. Secret service men were pointing guns at the twenty-foot grass verge. One was emerging from the back seat with a particularly lethal-looking piece of kit - a state of the art laser-sighted thermal rifle.
“We’re in good hands,” said the General. “We’ll let the men do their job. It’s what they’re trained for and they’re very, very good, especially Lucas. We’ll soon be out of
here.”
Mark was too surprised and scared to reply, and hunched up in the corner of his seat.
Gunfire sounded outside. Then a second explosion rocked the car on its springs and threatened to turn it right over. Both were sent flying into one corner. The General swore viciously and Mark cried out as he was crushed under the impact. Then the car righted itself again with a sickening bang.
Something else hit the car. A red smear appeared on the side window. Mark did not see it, but Miller’s eyes widened a little in shock.
He carried a pistol in a holster at his side. He undid the fastener now and took out the weapon.
Debris struck the roof again, and there was the sound of gunfire mixed with shouting, unidentifiable voices; somebody yelled out and there was another huge explosion. The Jaguar this time jolted forward.
More smoke, then it cleared slightly, and cars were burning now, the terrible acrid smell choking and disorientating.
The General peered out of the window, and Mark peered over his shoulder. He knew Lucas was dead. A tall figure was approaching the car. It held some kind of long cylinder in its hand. The figure wore a black suit and dark glasses. It was Johns raising the rocket launcher.
Miller raised his pistol but was jostled as Mark pushed to the window. Johns saw Mark’s wild white face appear at the window beside the face of the traitor, Miller. The young face took him by surprise. He had not expected to see the boy here. The boy’s face also registered recognition. A momentary feeling of enormous doubt surged through Johns. But it was too late. His finger had pressed the electronic firing button.
The rocket launcher flared, and there was a sound like the air was being ripped apart - but no rocket left the device; a ball of searing yellow flame issued from the launcher’s tip and suddenly swallowed Johns. The explosion jolted the Jaguar.
Mark opened his eyes and saw that nothing remained where the attacker had stood.
Misfire! thought the General: a million to one chance. The General was aware of someone shouting beside him: “Oh my God! Oh my God!” – a long, drawn-out wail.
It was Mark - recoiling from what he himself had caused.
General Miller took control. He undid seat belts and tried to force open the doors, but they were jammed tight, the door panels buckled into place. “Give me room, Mark, I have to kick the door open!” he yelled.
Then Mark seemed to come to himself. “Right,” he said.
And he took control.
He touched the door, imagined what he wanted it to do and it not only opened – it flew away from the car, as if torn from its hinges by some enormous invisible giant and tossed away as if it were no heavier than tin foil.
Somehow they managed to struggle out of the battered Jaguar. Smoke from the burning cars swirled around them, and the stink of it filled their nostrils. Holding their breath, they staggered towards the raised verge. Here they could breathe and look back on the wreckage.
The bodies on the motorway were unrecognisable. Mark had to look away. He was filled with horror at what he had seen happen to Johns, and he knew with absolute clarity that he himself had caused the rocket launcher to explode. The confidence he had found on waking up in the hospital earlier that day, and which had strengthened when he tried his new-found power, evaporated away now like mist off a meadow.
People were emerging from cars further down the motorway and on the opposite side. Some, with more presence of mind than curiosity, perhaps, were trying to use their mobile phones to call the police, fire, ambulance. Mark saw them put their phones to their ears, then shake them and look at them, frowns on faces.
Of the people in the three cars, however, none except Mark and General Miller remained alive. Mark was in the grip of fear; so much adrenaline was pumping through his system he could hardly stand upright. He was conscious now of a rushing sound in his ears and the sounds of vehicle horns and shouting voices were muffled.
Others now arrived on the scene. The shocked, the curious, the genuine givers of help. The smell of burning rubber and leaking petrol filled the air.
Mark had that far away look. The General saw the onset of emotional shock but events had not stopped. A car was speeding along the hard shoulder of the opposite carriageway. There was no flashing light, and something about it advertised danger. Miller saw it too.
“I think we had better get out of here,” he said. “We are rather too exposed for my liking. Let’s get over this way. Come on.”
The car, a white Rover, braked to a halt. Doors opened and men in dark suits and dark glasses started to get out. Their hands held weapons, and there was no doubt about their intentions. Mark dimly recognised one of them, however, as the other man involved in the kidnapping of his mother.
“We need to move – now!” urged Miller. “They’re sure to be better armed than I am.”
He half dragged Mark after him. Mark moved like a robot at first, then managed to keep up with only slight support from Miller. The emotional trauma of the attack was wearing off in the face of the greater need to continue to survive.
Miller led Mark across a field of cattle. From the motorway they could hear the sounds of horns blaring and more distantly – too distantly – the sound of sirens wailing at last.
“It’s the police,” said Mark. “Should we go back?”
“Not wise,” replied Miller. He explained that the first police to arrive would not be well armed, if they were armed at all. The sirens probably betokened traffic police. Twenty minutes would pass before an armed police unit could arrive, and that would be twenty minutes too late.
“It was the blasted League!” The General cursed fluently. “Didn’t expect them to be like this, I must say. Very well-equipped.”
Only when they were negotiating a gate at the far side of the field did he spot their pursuit topping the grass verge separating the field from the carriageway, and scanning the landscape looking for them.
They were spotted.
Miller saw the men gesturing, pointing, talking, and then two of them came on in pursuit. Mark noticed that one of them was the man he had recognised – and it came to him that this man’s name was Henderson.
“Keep going,” Miller said. “We have to get out of here.”
Over a field, swinging by the edge of a small wood, past a ruined farm building, on and on, growing muddier and dirtier, they jogged. With every step he took Mark’s self-confidence waned. Panting, they crossed a five-bar gate and found themselves on an old farm access road.
“What about trying for help at a farm? I saw a couple of houses over in that direction,” said Mark.
Miller shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to involve any more innocent people in this thing. And there’s no telling what these psychotics would do. No, we’re better off out in the open for now, I think.”
The General led them in a northerly direction, and explained as he went: “ These guys – they want to kill me but it’s odds on they may well kill you too, let’s face it. Now, we can stand and fight, but I’ve only got one automatic pistol with eight bullets in the magazine, and they probably have more than that. Or we can try to make it to the nearest police station. There’s one in that town over there.”
He indicated the town of Lenzie, joined on to Kirkintillloch, whose church spires and taller buildings stood out from the line of hills that filled the background.
“I know roughly where we are,” said Mark. “Very roughly. That’s the Campsie Hills right there in the distance and Touch is just over that way.” He gestured beyond the hills to the right.
“That’s right,” agreed Miller. “Over those hills.”
“My home used to be there. Just yesterday, but it seems like a hundred years ago. I can’t go home,” said Mark. “I can’t go home.”
“No,” agreed Miller, looking at him levelly. “You can’t. Let’s move on. If we go down this lane – “
But he did not finish. A man, wearing dark glasses, was standing
in the road right in front of them. Sure enough, it was Henderson. He was breathing heavily, for he must have sprinted to get ahead of them, but the rise and fall of his chest did not affect the steadiness of the gun trained on the General.
“Miller,” he said. “The aliens’ friend. At last we meet in the flesh. You can’t escape.”
The General put the boy behind him in a protective gesture.
His hand slipped to his holster, but too late. Henderson’s gun went off with a sound like a low cough and the General staggered back a step, then began to fall. Mark, horrified, saw that he had been hit in the centre of his chest. At the same moment Mark felt himself sag like a broken puppet. He collapsed to his knees, his legs no longer able to support him. The gunman approached. His gun was now trained unwaveringly on Mark.
“I don’t know who you are, or why you and your mother are a danger to us, or how you got here from where we left you before,” said the gunman, “and I don’t really care. I’ve done what we came to do – kill a traitor to the Human Race.”
“What have you done with my mother?” Mark managed to say.
“She’s safe enough, for now,” replied Henderson. Mark, in spite of his mind being in a turmoil, noticed perspiration bead and trickle on the man’s forehead. “As for you… “ The words were addressed to Mark, but Henderson looked towards Miller.
The General had slumped against the little grass verge. The gunman crossed over to him. He knelt down and put out a hand to feel for a pulse in the neck. He kept his hand in position for what seemed a very long time.
“The General’s not dead!” the thought flashed in Mark’s mind. “He’s all right. It’s a trick and he’s going to – “
But the gunman stood up. There was no trick. He looked at Mark for a long moment. “… if it was up to me, I’d put one into your brain. But the orders are clear. You are not to be harmed.” He put his gun abruptly away and simply walked back the way he had come, paying no further heed to the boy. Henderson disappeared round a corner in the lane.