The Deep Dark Sleep

The meagre light made me nostalgic for scuffles in the Glasgow smog and I inched back into the woods, trying to find an even better place to conceal myself. I picked up a rock and threw it as hard as I could into the dark. It didn’t travel as far away from me as I wanted before striking a tree. The torches came on again and focused on a point ten yards off. Not finding a Scottish Red Deer or a Greater Canadian Dumbass where they expected, they began to scan the forest and the beam of one torch passed directly over me. If I hadn’t been in the depression I would have been spotted for sure. The two flankers kept their torches on, constantly scanning and keeping me pinned down, but the guy behind me switched his off. My guess was he was on the move. In my direction.

I inched even further back. Eventually I found what I was looking for. A sprung tree had pulled itself up by the roots and a tangle of thick root, fibrous tendrils and clots of earth gave me a curtain to hide behind. In the other side was a thick fallen branch, the diameter of a small tree trunk. All thoughts of preserving suede or houndstooth forgotten, I slipped in behind the exposed root ball and hunkered down. I eased back the hammer on the Webley. Again I was back somewhere I didn’t want to be, but when it came to my life or someone else’s, I would make sure it was someone else’s. One of the searchers’ torch beams swept close over my head again and I sunk deeper. Shaking some of the soil from a root, I used it to darken my face, just in case I was caught in torchlight.

I didn’t hear him until he was almost on top of me. He had been moving almost silently and much more quietly than the other two. He stopped in his tracks, standing on top of the ridge, no more than three feet from my head. So close I couldn’t even ease round to take aim at him. If I moved, I’d have to shoot him. If he turned on his torch, he’d see me through the tangle of roots. I held my breath. This was insane: I’d already killed one man and now I was probably going to have to kill three more if I wanted to survive.

He moved on. But he did so so quietly that there was no way of me knowing how far. I stayed motionless. What this meant was that they were now all behind me, and between me and the perimeter wall and my car beyond. But by the same token, the way back to the path was clear. I turned slowly around in my hiding place and eased myself up to look behind me. I ducked back down when I found myself staring at the silhouette of the older guy’s back, only a few yards further on. Peering over the ridge I could see as he turned sideways. It was so dark that it was impossible to see him clearly, but again I got the impression that I was looking at the man whose picture was still in my pocket.

I was looking at Gentleman Joe Strachan. I was sure of it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I waited a full five minutes after the older man had been swallowed up in the dark before I made my way back towards the path. It was only a matter of time before they started to sweep back in my direction again.

As soon as I had the path under my feet I sprinted along it in the dark, again having to ignore the risk of stumbling over something. I slowed down when I thought I was close to where I had left the ‘cat stone’, but everything was so different in the dark. I slowed to a walk and realized that I must have come too far and turned back, cursing the lost time. If my pursuers had worked out that I’d gone for the path, they’d catch up with me any moment.

I found it. Again, it looked totally different in the dark and no longer reminded me of anything feline, but I recognized it from the position I’d left it in. I set off back into the woods, heading in a straight line at right-angles to the path, just as I had planned. This time I really did have something more than squirrels and rabbits to worry about and I kept my pace steady but slow and quiet, crouching low with my knees slightly bent and my gun held ready.

What had taken me ten minutes on the way in took half an hour on the way out. Eventually I found the wall and recognized the mulchy bed of leaves and twigs where I’d landed. That meant that my car was directly behind the wall. I was just about to scramble up the wall when I checked myself. These guys were good. Really good. What if they had worked out that I must have come by car and one of them had checked the road around the estate? Admittedly, that was a lot of road to cover, but they would know it wouldn’t be too far from Dunbar’s cottage.

I could climb over the wall and drop straight into an ambush.