Midnight Never Comes - Jack Higgins [15]
As he raised it to his shoulders, Chavasse reversed round the corner quickly and from the direction of the house, the strange, unearthly wailing of a siren echoed through the morning in a dying fall.
He turned into the side track that he had noticed earlier and drove through trees as quickly as he dared, wheels bumping over the deep ruts and then the track simply petered out into a footpath, the undergrowth closing in on either side. He switched off the engine, jumped out and plunged into the trees running in the general direction of the fence.
He was soaked to the skin before he had gone twenty yards but didn't slacken his headlong course, one arm raised before him to protect his face from the flailing branches. He came out of the trees and paused on the edge of a strip of open parkland, the fence no more than ten yards away.
It was perhaps fifteen feet in height and angled over sharply at the top, but presented no particular problem to any reasonably active man, which was strange--and stranger still was the absence of even a single strand of barbed wire along the upper edge.
He picked up a large branch, moved forward and touched the fence gingerly. There was an immediate flash, a puff of blue smoke and the end of the branch burst into flame. He dropped it with a curse and somewhere behind him the hollow baying of a dog sounded on the morning air.
At least the heavy rain would kill his scent which solved one problem and he turned back into the wood and moved rapidly through the trees in the direction of the house. In the distance he could hear voices and the sound of a car on the main drive, but the siren had stopped.
He emerged on to a narrow path and ran along it quickly, swerving suddenly as the outbuildings at the back of the house loomed out of the mist. He crossed the small stream on foot, wading knee-deep, scrambled up the bank on the far side and peered round the corner of an old stable into the courtyard. There was no sign of life and he hurried across, opened the back door and went inside.
As he went back up the stairs he could still hear voices from the kitchen and the clatter of pans as someone prepared breakfast. Karl's door was closed. He stood listening outside for a moment, then turned the knob carefully and moved inside in one smooth movement.
Karl lay on the bed and Peggy leaned over him wiping blood from his face with a damp flannel. She turned with a frown and in the same moment threw the flannel at him, her hand diving into the pocket of her suede jacket.
Chavasse was too quick for her. As her hand came out, he grabbed for the wrist, twisting it so cruelly that she screamed with pain, dropping the Walther to the floor. He picked it up and backed away and she stood there, nursing her wrist, strangely calm.
'You didn't get very far, did you?'
'Unfortunately not,' Chavasse said. 'The man on the gate had an automatic rifle and the fence was hot enough to fry eggs on. There are other ways, however.'
'Such as?'
He pulled her close, his fingers hooking into her arm so that she winced. 'You and I are going to take a little walk. I'd like you to introduce me to that friend of yours, the agitated gentleman who's supposed to be in charge round here. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement.'
She opened her mouth as if to protest and then seemed to change her mind. 'It won't get you very far.'
'I wouldn't be too sure about that,' Chavasse told her and he held open the door with a slight, mocking bow.
She led the way up the stairs to the next landing and turned along a narrow corridor which finally emerged on to a great circular landing beneath a domed roof, what was obviously the entrance hall of the house below them.
He peered over cautiously as someone crossed the black and white tiled floor below and disappeared. 'Where to now?' he whispered.
'The next landing,' she said and they started down the curving Regency staircase.
It was so