Back Atom Bomb Angel
Chapters (32)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. Foreword
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Chapter 22
  28. Chapter 23
  29. Chapter 24
  30. Chapter 25
  31. Chapter 26
  32. Chapter 27

I mulled things over as I drove. I wondered whether the Marina had been tailing me to see where I was going, or was tailing me to see if I would stop anywhere long enough for them to get some vital part of the top half of my anatomy into the cross-hairs of a telescopic sight. I wasn’t enjoying this assignment, but there wasn’t a lot I could do about that. Before I could move off it, I had to see it through; and to see it through I had to survive, and right now, that didn’t seem like the easiest of things to do.

I was out of my depth, but so, it seemed, was everyone else – from Fifeshire downwards – out of our depths and in the dark, playing a game of chance that would pay us no prizes if we won, but could cost dearly if we lost. At least they were the kind of options we were used to.

I was so wrapped up in thought that I went straight past the brown Triumph Dolomite, Sarah, the rear of the three tail cars, the grey Chevette, Alison, and the beige Allegro, Debbie. I was about to go straight past Whalley’s Cavalier when the alarm bells started clanging in my head. I braked hard, and dropped back behind the Allegro. We were on the A44, between Worcester and Leominster, having left the motorway a long way back. There were no street lights and no houses; it was pitch dark. The traffic was heavy.

Suddenly, the Allegro’s brake lights came on, and I nearly slammed into the back of the car. A car a short distance ahead of him was turning right. It was Whalley’s Cavalier, and he was turning into a small lane.

The Allegro went straight on. I snapped off my lights and turned into the lane to follow. Whalley was driving very slowly now, obviously looking for something. I saw what appeared to be a cart-track on the left, and swung into it. There was a splintering crash. I cursed; without my lights on, I hadn’t noticed the closed gate. I switched off the engine, leapt out of the car, not worrying about the gate for the moment, ran around to the boot, grabbed a briefcase from it, then sprinted off up the road after Whalley’s car.