Blood Storm

8

Abe had the barge leaving the dock as soon as they were aboard. A strong breeze had blown up, curling the smooth water into waves. It had dispersed any fragments of mist. Above the sky was a clear cerulean blue.

'Thank heavens,' Paula said to Newman as they sat near the stern. 'What we saw was quite terrible.'

'Main thing is we have the evidence – your photos. Soon as we get back to Park Crescent, take the camera down into the basement. I want the film developed immediately and five sets of prints.'

'Five?'

'That's what I said,' he told her abruptly, then grinned.

They were in mid-channel, halfway to the mainland landing point, when Paula turned in her seat, stared back towards Black Island. Newman was also looking in that direction. The speedboat had left Lydford dock and was roaring towards them. Paula took out her field glasses, steadied herself, then slipped them back inside her pocket.

'We may never reach the mainland,' she said quietly.

Newman was using his own field glasses. He sucked in his breath, then lowered them. He looked at Paula, who had taken out her Browning, holding it out of sight of Abe. She looked at Newman.

'You've seen what's coming after us like a bat out of hell?'

'The powerboat moored to the dock back there. I peered down inside it and neatly stacked next to each other inside the craft were grenades.'

'Do you think, if we survive, they could sink this barge?'

'I've no doubt they could.'

When their lives were in mortal danger Newman never concealed the situation from Paula. She was tough enough and experienced enough to face the truth. She looked back at Abe attending the engine behind them, just far enough away not to overhear them.

'There are three of those swine in black uniforms aboard it,' she mused. 'One is concentrating on steering and the other two are holding automatic weapons. I guess they could spray us with bullets.'

'They'll use the grenades.'

The breeze had dropped. The sea was now a calm sheet of blue. The roar of the oncoming powerboat was louder. Newman calculated it was a question of minutes before the killers arrived. He turned round to Abe.

'Abe, whatever you do don't increase speed.'

'I'm doing that. Don't like the look of that speed job coming straight for us.'

'Do not increase speed if you want to live,' Newman ordered.

Something in his tone, his expression, got through to Abe. Reluctantly he ceased powering up the motor, then looked back, his ancient face distorted with fear. Newman called out again.

'It's going to be all right. Maintain present speed.'

'Hope you knows what you's doin',' Abe shouted back.

Paula had lifted her gun, perched the muzzle on the side of the barge. Newman's tone was quiet but intense.

'Put that damned thing away. Stay very still.'

'If you say so,' she replied, obeying him.

Newman turned his head again, estimating the course the powerboat would take. Earlier it had been roaring towards the stern of the barge, now it veered to their port side; close enough when it was parallel to the barge to hurl grenades into the target, far enough away to elude the results of the expected detonation.

The powerboat was catching them up at a rate of knots. One minute hence and they'd have their craft alongside the barge, but far enough away for their own safety. Newman delved inside a pocket in the golf bag, brought out his clenched hand grasping something. He showed it to Paula. She stared at a large grenade.

'That's a biggie,' she commented.

'One of Harry's specials. Gets them made up by a pal working in an ironworks. Then Harry fills it himself with high explosive, inserts the four-second fuse.'

He held it up so Abe could see only a portion of it. Abe, whose gaze had been fixed on the nearby powerboat, stared, called out.

'What's that?'

'Firework,' Newman lied. 'Left over from Guy Fawkes' day.'

'Lot of friggin' use that will-'

He stopped speaking as Newman, seeing the powerboat had now drawn level with them, jumped swiftly to his feet after removing the grenade's pin. He was on his feet only seconds as he lobbed the grenade. Paula watched it curve in an arc, fall straight inside the powerboat. Newman dropped flat as the first bullets were fired, grabbing Paula, hauling her down with him.

The grenade detonated with an ear-splitting crack. This was nothing compared to the tremendous explosion as it detonated the explosives inside the enemy craft. The menacing prow soared into the air, followed by large fragments of the stern. Abe was knocked flat with the Shockwave.

Paula sat up, gazed at where the boat had been only moments before. The surface of the sea was boiling and bubbling. Small pieces of the enemy boat drifted on the surface, then sank. As the sea settled a large red lake spread. Blood. No sign of the recent occupants.

Abe clambered to his feet, a stunned expression on his face. He opened his mouth, burbled something. Then he regained control of his voice.

'What the 'ell was that?'

Newman stood up, walked back to him, laid one hand on his shoulder, showed him his folder with the other. Abe frowned, blinked, looked at Newman.

'Secret Service,' he gulped. 'Gawd!'

'So you don't mention that we were here – not to a soul. And if anyone heard that bang in Tolhaven, you simply say they're using explosives in Black Island's quarry. Got it?'

'Sure I 'ave, and I keeps me mouth closed tight. Now I'll get you both back to the mainland…'

'We're leaving for Park Crescent right away,' Newman decided as they approached the Monk's Head. 'Grab your stuff and I'll get mine, then we link up in the car park.'

They left Tolhaven behind, Newman in his Range Rover with Paula behind him in the Ford. Again she had to fight to stop the car running away from her. They paused for a quick tea at an old farmhouse, sitting in the garden despite the cold so no one could hear them.

'Where's Harber's Yard?' Paula wondered. 'We never found it.'

'Remember the old bridge we crossed where you peered over at the river? It flows on and widens into a lake. Then it continues on through woodland to the sea. I explored down there before you arrived, then took the ferry and found the prison. It was important to show you.'

'You're satisfied with our expedition?' she asked.

'I am.' He put his arm round her. 'You've been such a great help taking all those photos. We now have powerful evidence of the lengths to which the so-called State Security lot are going in plotting to turn Britain into a police state.

On top of that, at the battle of the ridges six of the bastards killed each other. Add to them the crew in the speedboat and that makes nine less of them to worry about. The first phase of the war went well.'

'You're right,' Paula agreed, 'it is a war. I wonder what's been going on in London while we were away in Dorset.'