The Moses Stone

54

Bronson moved further back into the darkness.

The cave seemed to extend some distance into the hillside, maybe thirty or forty yards, the gap between the walls narrowing sharply as he retreated further from the entrance. The floor was a carpet of rutted and uneven rocks, loose stones and patches of sand; the walls cracked and fractured slabs of tortured stone, and with frequent blind-ended passages just a few feet long. And it was hot. Really hot, the air still and almost heavy with the heat.

He looked back towards the entrance. The figure seemed to be motionless, just inside the cave, possibly waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. But as Bronson looked, the man turned and took a couple of steps towards the passage where Angela had taken refuge. Quickly, Bronson kicked out, sending a few stones tumbling across the rocky floor, and switched on his torch again.

'That's interesting,' he said, deliberately raising his voice as he shone the beam of the torch deeper into the cave.

'Let's just check that out.'

At the sound of his voice, the figure paused and swung round, his attention clearly drawn by the torchlight and Bronson's voice, and took a few silent steps further inside the cave.

Bronson saw the figure drawing his pistol, the unmistakable black shape a sinister extension of his right arm. The good news was that the man had moved away from Angela's hiding place, but the bad news was equally obvious – he was heading straight towards him. Knowing that his options and freedom of movement were becoming more restricted, Bronson took another step deeper into the cave and the narrowing darkness ahead.

He shone the beam of his torch around the end of the cave, looking for inspiration and either somewhere to hide or some kind of a distraction. But there were few hiding places and none that he liked the look of.

'That could be it, you know,' he said loudly, keeping up the pretence that Angela was with him. 'Stand here and hold the torch steady.'

Bronson placed the torch on a rock, illuminating a small group of rocks on one side of the cave that almost looked as if they'd been piled up like a cairn.

Then he walked across in front of the torch beam, closing his eyes as he did so to preserve his night-vision. His action cast a huge shadow across the rock walls at the end of the cave and would, he hoped, ensure that their unwelcome visitor believed he was on the far side of the torch, looking for something in the gloom beyond.

But that wasn't where he was going to be. The moment he was clear of the beam he ducked down and turned back towards the cave entrance. Pressing himself close to the rock wall, he watched the approaching figure, now perhaps only fifteen or twenty feet away from him.

The man's attention seemed fixed on the torch beam, still shining on the pile of rocks. He was moving slowly and carefully towards the light, keeping to the centre of the cave, and obviously taking great care not to make any noise.

Bronson needed to keep his attention there, looking towards the far end of the cavern. He picked up a couple of small pebbles and gently lobbed them behind him – an old trick but effective. They bounced across the floor of the cave somewhere near the stationary torch.

The figure kept walking, approaching slowly, and Bronson could clearly see the pistol held ready in the man's right hand.

Then there was a sudden scraping and clattering sound from the cavern entrance as Angela came scrambling out of her hiding place, heading towards the mouth of the cave.

The man spun round, raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot was thunderously loud in the confined space, and Bronson had no time to check if Angela had been hit: he was already moving, fast.

Even as the unidentified figure fired his weapon, Bronson started running. He pushed himself off the wall of the cave and barrelled straight across the rocky floor, smashing into the man's stomach with his shoulder. The man gasped in surprise and pain and crashed down to the ground, the pistol spinning from his hand and landing with a clatter somewhere beyond him.

Bronson gave him no chance to recover. As they struggled together on the rock-strewn floor of the cave, he pulled his right arm free and smashed his fist into the man's solar plexus, driving the remaining air from his lungs. Then he brought his knee up – hard – into his groin. That wasn't perhaps the best of ideas, as Bronson's kneecap scraped against the rocks as he did so, sending stabbing pains shooting up his right leg.

But the man he'd attacked tensed, his hands grasping between his legs, so Bronson knew he'd incapacitated him, at least for a few seconds.

He scrambled to his feet and looked down at the bent figure lying moaning on the floor. The pistol. He knew he should grab the man's weapon, seize the advantage, but he couldn't see it anywhere. Sprinting to the back of the cave, he grabbed his torch and walked back to the groaning figure. He shone the beam all around him, looking for the telltale gleam of metal. Nothing. Then something caught his eye, something glinting dully, and he crossed over to investigate.

It was the pistol, but it had fallen between two rocks, into a near-vertical crack that was little wider than the weapon itself, and he couldn't slide his hand in far enough to even touch it. To get it out he'd need to either move one of the rocks – which might not be possible – or find something like a length of wood he could use as a lever. And he didn't have time for that, because the man he'd attacked was already up on his knees.

As the man got to his feet, Bronson aimed a punch at his jaw, but missed as his target swayed backwards. Then he heard an ominous click and saw the flash of steel as a switchblade snapped open. Bronson backed away as the man stabbed the knife towards his stomach, then swung at his assailant with the only weapon he had – his torch.

When he'd looked in the shop that morning, he'd seen several different kinds, but Bronson had always believed in buying quality whenever he could, and the one he'd chosen was a heavy-duty aluminium tube that held three large batteries. And at that moment he was delighted he'd spent the extra money.

The torch crashed into the side of the man's head and he collapsed face-down on the ground. Amazingly, the torch still worked, although Bronson could feel that there was now an impressive dent in one side of it.

He looked at the unmoving figure for a few seconds, then reached down and seized his shoulder, rolling the man onto his back. He shone the torch beam at his face for a moment, then nodded slowly.

'Now why am I not surprised?' he muttered.

He made one more unsuccessful attempt to retrieve the man's pistol from the crevice in the rocks, then walked out of the cave.

Angela was waiting about twenty yards away, hidden behind a rocky outcrop, a cricket-ball-sized stone clutched in her right hand.

'Thank God,' she said, standing up as Bronson appeared. 'Are you OK?'

He put his hand on her shoulder, then brushed her cheek gently where it was streaked with dirt.

'I'm fine. The shot didn't hit you?'

Angela shook her head. 'I thought he was firing at you,' she said. 'What happened in there?'

Bronson grinned. 'We had a difference of opinion, but fortunately I had the element of surprise.'

'He's dead?'

'No, just sleeping it off. Just as well I had this torch.'

Bronson pointed at her improvised weapon, which she'd dropped and was now tumbling away down the hillside. 'What were you going to do with that?' he asked.

'I've no idea, but I wasn't going to leave you up here.'

'Thanks,' he said, suddenly feeling a lot happier. 'Now, let's go. Just because I've dealt with one man doesn't mean there aren't others watching for us. We need to hurry.'