14 - Speeding

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An old barn with doors hanging at rest flashed past and the remains of a wooden fence lay scattered along the verge like the bones of ancient creatures. He steered around the entrance to what was once a working farm and raced across the muddy field to the back of the barn, jerking to halt and killing the engine.

They peered through the wet windshield and beyond to the road through the slots in the barn where the boards had rotted away. The van appeared and immediately slowed like an animal sniffing the wind.

Richard noticed he was holding his breath and he let it out slowly as the van crept forward and disappeared behind the solid part of the barn. A moment later it appeared again and it was turning toward them.

"They've seen us! Do something, Richard."

Angry at the position Roger had placed him in he swore and started the car, accelerating with a roar and burst out from behind the barn, straight across the field through the rotten remains of the fence, bouncing hard back down the road the way they came.

The van sped after them but had to stop and turn around because Richard had left a heap of kindling blocking the route. When it reached the road Richard's car was rocketing dangerously down to the highway, a tiny dot merging with the land in the distance.

The turn came up too quickly and even with all the driver training learned at the Agency school it wasn't enough to overcome both the surprise and the centrifugal pull of the car. He yelled at Roger to hold on and swung the wheel toward the tilt of the vehicle as they felt the wheels lift on one side and then nothing beneath the car at all as it began a slow motion roll through the air.

The passenger side hit the steep embankment, which kept the car from completing the roll, but it slid along the scrub and grass until it came up against a particularly stubborn tree trunk. Roger cried out as his head was knocked back by an air bag and Richard's head was slammed against the door window by his own.

Operating on instinct and fear, Richard tore off his seat belt, shoved the air bag out of the way and began dragging Roger from the car. They both scrambled around the vehicle and fell into the ditch at the side of the road, panting and massaging aches.

Their respite didn't last too long as the van came around the same bend, only in control, sliding to a halt fifty yards above them.

"Do you have a weapon, Roger?"

"Only a small caliber gun in my case."

"Then give it to me, now!"

Roger fumbled his case open and handed Richard the gun. He checked the magazine, noting it had only five shells, and then crawled to the top of the ditch and watched the three men from the van spread out and walk carefully down the road toward them.

Richard slithered down in the scrub that filled the ditch, wiped at his sore face and took aim at the man closest to them. His shot blew the man's shin apart and there was a loud shriek and a rapid return of gunfire as the other two dove for cover. He rolled over and scrambled back to the tree that blocked the car.

Edging his way around he could see another man had quickly approached the car and was cautiously peering through the windows. Richard ducked down, rolling under the front of the vehicle and waited until he saw the man kneel down under the car then he fired, striking him in the neck.

Roger remained in a fetal position, eyes jammed tight and briefcase clutched to his chest. A shot from across the road scored the rear quarter panel with a gouge a foot long and missing Richard by mere inches. He rolled on his stomach back down the ditch, lifting his eyes just barely above the rim.

The last man was doing the same thing only his attention was on the area where his companion lay and when his head came up again, Richard put a deadly bullet right through it. He struggled up out of the ditch and walked to where the first man lay groaning and gasping over his shattered leg, kicked his gun aside then bent down and looked him straight in the eye.

"One question, one answer. Yes or no. Are you from Jean Tremblay?"

"The man gritted his teeth and controlled his pain long enough to swear at Richard.

"Wrong answer. Same question, last chance." His eyes fixed on the man's, with blank indifference.

There was a brief pause and then whispered, with malice, The Council, finishing with a curse and spitting at Richard.

"What Council? What is that?"

A groan and another spate of profanity as the man tried to reach up and grab Richard. The gun bucked once against his forehead and Richard straightened up, looking down with a complete lack of compassion.

The Agency training had done its job well . . . too well he felt, as he walked back to where Roger still lay curled up and crying.

"C'mon, we'll take their van."

Roger stumbled up out of the ditch and stared in horror at the three bodies around them.

"Who are they?"

"Have you ever heard of The Council?"

"No, why? What's that got-?"

"Tell me something, Roger. Tell me what you told Murray I did with Agency money."

Roger started to protest but knew very well it was a waste of time. He looked down and wagged his head. "I had no choice, Richard, he was going to to- to--"

"Never mind." Richard decided not to get into a complicated wrangle. "Murray isn't your worry now, it's Jean Trembley."

Richard saw the information dawn like a sunrise and Roger's face took on the pallor of raw dough.

"I'm a dead man."

"You would have been. Lucky you had this . . . and me. Monique wouldn't have been much help." He handed back the gun but Roger refused to take it. Richard shrugged and hurled it as far as he could into the brush alongside the road.

"What can I do?"

"This is your affair Roger. You should have been more truthful with me. I'll drop you off wherever and then I have to go."

"But you killed Jean's men! He'll come after me!"

"He already did. I'm sorry. Speak to Pierre but I doubt there is anything he'll be able to do." Too true, Richard thought, knowing his sorry to be a blatant lie. "If you think it is Jean then contact him and tell him the truth. Right now, we need to get away from here."

Richard went to the wrecked car, pulled out all the rental papers, and wiped down the places he remembered touching, then he took off the plates and tossed them in the back of the van. He drove to a local village and said goodbye to Roger, who looked lost and forlorn standing in the middle of the square, his now empty briefcase still clutched tightly to his chest.

Richard gave one last glance in the mirror and accelerated down the highway. He drove until dusk and then left the van in a mall parking lot, threw the license plates into the back of another pickup truck and took a train back to France.


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