Downtime - Marc Platt [59]
Ahead, the far entrance to the cloisters led out into the Chapel yard. It was blocked by the council dustcart and a group of binmen who were staring at the spectacle.
He didn’t dare slow down. The binmen scattered as he reached the end of the cloisters. He crooked the wheel left instead, accelerating out onto the field again.
Celia’s car was parked on the far side. She had emerged and was standing watching with her opera glasses. She started to wave desperately, but he was too involved to respond. He heard the loud report of a gun. In the mirror, he could see an arm extending from the driver’s window. It was aiming a pistol at the wheels. He swerved again as he heard another sharp report.
With an apologetic thought to the head groundsman, who had been a close friend until now, he turned the car in another shower of turf and headed straight towards the sprinklers. The turning arcs of water rushed nearer. As usual, the Porsche was on his tail – moving in for the kill. He saw the gun levelling at him.
With a whoosh, the Range Rover shot over the sprinklers.
The big vehicle cleared the spinning machine and its water jets easily. There was a loud crunch from behind as the Porsche hit the metal carousel and skidded wildly. The broken hose reared like an angry snake under the force of the water. It flailed against the Porsche as the car’s engine choked in frustration.
The Brigadier wasted no time in heading for the gate. Celia was already back in her car and moving in from the side. She was waving from her driving seat, gesticulating for him to move faster. She was putting on speed too.
In the mirror, he saw that the Porsche had righted itself and was moving in on him fast. He put his foot down and headed for the gate.
As he shot out onto the avenue, he saw Celia’s car screech to a halt right across the entrance. He heard another set of brakes screaming and a loud crash. One of the plane trees beyond the wall shook and a cloud of smoke rose from the hidden base of its trunk.
The Brigadier jammed on his brakes and ran from his car back to the gate.
Celia was standing by her undamaged vehicle. ‘One for Twickers!’ she cried with a look of fierce triumph.
The Porsche had swerved to avoid the blocked gate and hit the tree head on. The Brigadier moved round the smoking chassis, ready to meet any attack. The driver’s buckled door hung open. The car was empty.
Impossible. The black car couldn’t attack him by itself.
Could it? Of course not. He had seen a hand angling the gun.
‘There,’ called Celia. She was pointing further along the wall. He just glimpsed a figure disappearing over the top.
People were running in across the field. Soon this would be a public affair. He leant inside the car. There was some sort of web on the seats and dashboard. He pulled back his hand.
Web on his gun hand and the clawed footprint in the sand of some huge animal like a Yeti.
He scooped up a card from the floor by the accelerator. It was a parking permit with a serial number, but there was no name. It was embossed with the UNIT logo. He pocketed it and stood up to face Celia.
‘Celia, you take charge of this,’ he snapped as if he was addressing his sergeant. ‘I’ve urgent business. Tell them, I’ll be back later.’
For the first time in his experience of her, Celia was too dumbstruck to answer. He cut the approaching Chaplain dead and ignored the binmen. In the distance he could hear a police car’s siren. He strode out through the gate, climbed into his car and drove off in the direction of the city.
15
Gridlock
he computer located Christopher in Modem Room Three.
T It offered to take a message, but Victoria needed to talk to him face to face.
To reach the Modem Room, she had to pass through the Computer Studies Room, disturbing the students who were working there. As she walked down the central aisle, the students she passed started to rise and applaud her. It was just what she did not need. By the time she reached the front of the class, they were all clapping her. It was always the same, she brimmed with pride and