Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [38]
It was one of the men Fallon had seen in the boiler room. His mouth went slack in amazement and then a sudden anger sparked in his eyes as he noticed the jacket Fallon was pulling on. ‘Here, that’s my jacket,’ he said. He clenched his fists menacingly. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Fallon didn’t waste any time in arguing. He was in no condition to fight fairly. There was an old, broken chair leaning against the wall behind him. He snatched it up and smashed it down across the head and shoulders of the unfortunate intruder. The man sank to his kees with a terrible groan. He tried to get up, his arms reaching out as Fallon moved for the door. His grasping fingers tore at the jacket and Fallon turned and kicked him in the stomach. The man went over backwards and writhed on the floor, his face slowly turning purple.
Fallon moved quickly along the corridor. As he drew abreast of the boiler room the other man came running out, drawn by the sounds of conflict. They smashed into each other and Fallon called out as pain flooded the upper half of his body. The man grabbed at him with huge, work-hardened hands and Fallon lifted his knee up hard into his crutch. As the man subsided on to the floor like a deflated balloon, Fallon ran on and quickly mounted the steps at the end of the corridor.
The pain moved in him like a living thing, but he pushed it deliberately away from him, opened the door, and walked calmly out. He was in a narrow corridor that opened into a small hall. There was a tiny glass office in the hall by the entrance and two police constables were sitting in it drinking tea. The glass entrance doors were standing open and outside he could see a loading ramp. A large van was standing against the ramp with its tailboard down and piled in the back were several skips. The corridor seemed to be full of similar skips. Fallon moved forward and grabbed one by the handle, then he began to pull it across the hall. He was sweating with fear and his heart was in his mouth. As he passed the glass office he didn’t look up. He waited for the sudden shout but it never came. He pulled the skip into the van and stood there for a moment thinking and then he came to a sudden decision. He stepped out on to the ramp and lifted the tailboard, hooked it into position. He dropped off the ramp, walked along the side of the van, and climbed up into the cab. The engine roared into life at the first touch of the accelerator. He released the handbrake and drove slowly away.
Again he waited for the sound to come from behind. For the sudden cries of alarm, but all was quiet. He turned into the drive and approached the main gates. There were two policemen on guard, sub-machine guns crooked in their arms. He slowed to stop but one of them raised an arm and waved him on. He turned into the main road and drove quietly away.
He took the van into the centre of Castlemore and parked it in the main street within three or four minutes of leaving the hospital. The rain was still drifting softly down and it was cold and raw. He shivered and lifted the collar of the old jacket up around his neck and began to walk rapidly through the side streets. Strangely enough he felt no particular jubilation. He was tired, very tired, and curiously light-headed. He felt almost sorry for Philip