Bloody Passage - Jack Higgins [1]
There wasn't much that I could do except put my head on the block like an officer and a gentleman, so I came up out of the reeds fast, grabbed for the shotgun and ran along the dike waving my arms at her, expecting a bullet between the shoulder blades at any moment.
It was really very interesting. One bullet kicked dirt to the left of me, another to the right. I was aware of Simone's face, wild-eyed in astonishment, and then as she braked to a halt, a third round drilled a hole through the windscreen to one side of her.
She stumbled out, white with fear. Another round thumped into the door panel behind her and I grabbed her hand and dragged her down over the edge of the dike into the cover of the reeds. She went in deep and surfaced, gasping for breath, her long dark hair plastered about her face. Another bullet slammed into the body of the Landrover.
She grabbed at the front of my jacket in blind panic. "What is it? What's happening?"
I took her hand, turned and pushed through the reeds until I was back in my original position. Another shot sliced through the reeds overhead and Simone ducked instinctively, going under again. She surfaced, her face streaked with filth and I took a couple of waterproof cartridges from one of my pockets and loaded the shotgun.
"He's good, isn't he?"
"For God's sake, Oliver," she said. "What is all this? Who's out there?"
"Now there you have me," I said. "He's a professional, I know that, but for the rest, it's really rather peculiar. You see, I have the distinct impression that he could have killed me any one of a dozen times and didn't. I wonder why?"
Her mouth opened in astonishment, the wide eyes above the high cheek-bones widened even more. She said in a hoarse voice. "You're actually enjoying this."
"Well it's certainly enlivened a rather dull afternoon, you must admit that."
Our friend fired again, shooting off the right hand leg of the easel so that it toppled over the dike into the water.
"Damn his eyes," I said. "I liked that painting. It was coming along fine. The way you were soaking the blues into the background wash was particularly pleasing."
She turned, her face contorted with fear, looking as if she might break into pieces at any moment. "Please, Oliver, do something! I can't take any more of this!"
The wine bottle exploded like a small bomb, showering glass everywhere, staining the white cloth scarlet.
"Now that really does annoy me," I said. "Lafite 1961. A really exceptional claret. I was going to surprise you. Here, hold this."
I gave her the shotgun and took off my hunting jacket. "What are you going to do?" she demanded.
I told her and when I'd finished, she seemed a little calmer, but was still obviously very frightened. I kissed her briefly on the cheek. "Can you handle it?"
She nodded slowly. "I think so."
I slipped the jacket over the muzzle of the shotgun and eased it up over the top of the reeds. There was an immediate shot and as the jacket was whipped away, I cried out in simulated agony.
I turned to Simone who waited, white-faced, waist-deep in that foul water. "Now!" I whispered.
She screamed out loud, scrambled up on to the dike, got to her feet and started the run toward the Landrover. He fired once, chipping a stone a couple of yards in front of her. It was all it took and she stopped dead, crying out in fear and stood there, waiting for the ax to fall. There was a movement in the reeds to my right and then boots crunched in the gravel of the dike top.
"What happened?" a voice called in French.
He moved past me toward her, a young, sallow-faced man with shoulder-length hair and a fringe beard. He wore a reefer jacket and rubber waders and carried the Lee Enfield at waist level.
The oldest trick in the book and he'd fallen for it.
I slipped up out of the reeds and moved in close. I don't know whether it was the expression on Simone's face or--more probably--the distinct double click