The Martyr’s Curse

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The cars had pulled up at the edge of the road, one close behind the other, parked facing in the same direction as the stationary train. The car in front was a black Citroën C5 sedan, the one behind a blue Subaru Impreza WRX STI, the high-performance model with the wing on the back to aid rear-end downforce at speed. Both cars were filmed with road dirt. As Ben watched, the doors opened and three men got out of each vehicle. Six men who might as well have had the word COP branded in big letters on their foreheads. Plainclothes detectives, riding in unmarked cars. The Subaru was some kind of high-speed interceptor. The Citroën was probably souped up well above standard specs, too. The men were dressed casually, in jeans and light summer jackets that didn’t quite do enough to hide the bulges of concealed weapons. They looked serious. They hadn’t stopped for a chat or a cigarette or a quick roadside piss. They were walking straight towards the train, and the train manager had got out and walked down the length of the carriages to meet them. The cops flashed badges at him. There was a lot of talking and pointing. It was clear that the train had been officially ordered to a halt via radio, as a matter of urgency.

And Ben knew why.

The little voice was screaming inside his head now. He abandoned the tray on the counter and hurried back the way he’d come. Through the next carriage and the next one after that, able to move faster now that the train was standing still. Passengers were looking around them, wondering what was happening. Through the windows Ben saw the six cops split up into three pairs. Two men headed for the centre of the train, two went running towards the back and the third pair ran towards the front. The doors opened, the whole length of the train. Ben was hustling quickly from the third carriage to the fourth as the two men at the front end of the train boarded the third carriage in his wake. He had a short head start on them but knew they’d immediately start sweeping back towards him, while four more of them were combing the carriages from the opposite direction. It was a pincer movement from which Ben and Silvie could escape only if they moved very fast.

‘I think this is our stop,’ he said as he reached their seats. Silvie was already on her feet, realising that something was wrong. He mouthed, ‘We’ve got company.’ Reached up above the seat and hauled down their bags.

‘How did—?’ she began.

‘No time to worry about that now,’ Ben said. What Silvie had said before about no battle plan ever surviving the first exchange of fire had been right on the money. But at this moment Ben hadn’t even the most sketchy plan in mind, other than the pressing need to get off the train. Where to from there, he had no idea.

Two men in front of them, four behind. Best way to go was forward. He led the way, jostling down the aisle with the heavy bags. At the end of the fourth carriage the connecting door slid open with a hydraulic whoosh to let them through to the open outer door on the left side of the train. At the same moment, Ben saw the two detectives who’d boarded at the front. They were halfway down the third carriage, just metres away through the glass of the connecting door. Their eyes met. A grim look of recognition appeared on the cops’ faces. The lead man whipped out a small radio handset. They moved faster. Heads turned. Cries of fear from some of the passengers as it became obvious that a serious situation was developing.

Ben pushed Silvie out through the open exit. It was further to the ground than when the train was pulled up at a platform. She jumped down with a grunt. Ben tossed the bags out after her, followed, hit the ground running and scooped the bags up again.

They ran, but there was nowhere to run to. They were out in the open, totally exposed and visible from the entire length of the train. The gravel run-off was rough and uneven underfoot. Beyond the siding barrier and the road parallel to it were nothing but a thousand metres of open pastureland, stretching to an upward sweep of pine forest and then to the mountains standing tall in the far distance. There wasn’t a building, hiding place or scrap of cover in sight.

Behind them, the two cops burst out of the train and started racing in their direction, the lead man talking urgently on his radio. Thirty metres further down the train’s length appeared the second pair of cops, apparently responding to the radio call. Guns drawn, they jumped to the ground and dashed to the lead car, the black Citroën. They piled inside. The car roared into life and took off, speeding up the length of the train. At the same moment, the third pair of cops emerged from one of the rearward carriages and ran for the blue Subaru. It fired up with a throaty exhaust blast, wheels spinning as the driver punched the gas.

The black Citroën overtook the running detectives and screeched to a halt diagonally in the road, just a few metres behind Ben and Silvie on the other side of the barrier.

Ben stopped running. Escape wasn’t an option. Not on foot, heavily laden, with two fast cars in pursuit. He turned. Tore open the zipper on the holdall, pulled out the FAMAS rifle and let both bags fall to the ground. ‘Get behind me,’ he told Silvie. ‘Try to look like a hostage.’

‘Ben,’ she said urgently. ‘Don’t hurt anyone. You’re not a criminal.’

He flashed a glance at her. No time to reply. He flipped the weapon’s fire selector switch to three-shot bursts. Front and right, the Citroën’s doors flew open and its occupants piled out, guns drawn. Front and left, the two on foot halted fifteen metres away and raised their pistols in two-handed grips, legs braced, knees bent, the classic combat shooting stance they’d been taught in police academy and maybe had cause to use in real-life confrontations before. Or maybe not. Either way, they looked ready to deliver the goods. Fingers on triggers. Sights lined up squarely on Ben. Screaming at him to drop the weapon.

The blue Subaru squealed to a halt behind the Citroën. The fifth and sixth cops tumbled out and aimed their guns from behind their open doors.

Six against one on open ground with no available cover. Six automatic weapons pointing his way. Escape impossible, capture out of the question. And he wasn’t allowed to hurt anyone.

Here we go, he thought.