Whiteout - Ken Follett [96]
“We might be all right on this road,” Elton said. “But there’s three or four miles of country lane before you get to the airfield.”
Kit made up his mind. He said, “I know where there’s a sport-utility vehicle with four-wheel drive—a Toyota Land Cruiser.”
Daisy said, “We could get stuck in that—remember the police Range Rover we passed?”
Nigel said, “It has to be better than an Astra. Where is this car?”
“At my father’s house. To be exact, it’s in his garage, the door to which is not quite visible from the house.”
“How far?”
“A mile back along this road, then another mile down a side turning.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“We park in the woods near the house, borrow the Land Cruiser, and drive to the airfield. Afterwards, Elton brings the Land Cruiser back and takes the Astra.”
“By then it will be daylight. What if someone sees him putting the car back in your father’s garage?”
“I don’t know, I’ll have to make up a story, but it can’t be worse than getting stuck here.”
Nigel said, “Has anyone got a better idea?”
No one did.
Elton turned the car around and went back down the hill in low gear. After a few minutes, Kit said, “Take that side road.”
Elton pulled up. “No way,” he said. “Look at the snow down that lane—it’s eighteen inches thick, and there’s been no traffic on it for hours. We won’t get fifty yards.”
Kit had the panicky feeling he got when losing at blackjack, that a higher power was dealing him all the wrong cards.
Nigel said, “How far are we from your father’s house?”
“A bit—” Kit swallowed. “A bit less than a mile.”
Daisy said, “It’s a long way in this fucking weather.”
“The alternative,” Nigel said, “is to wait here until a vehicle comes along then hijack it.”
“We’ll wait a bloody long time,” Elton said. “We haven’t seen a moving car on this road since we left the laboratory.”
Kit said, “You three could wait here while I go and get the Land Cruiser.”
Nigel shook his head. “Something might happen to you. You could get stuck in the snow, and we wouldn’t be able to find you. Better to stay together.”
There was another reason, Kit guessed: Nigel did not trust Kit alone. He probably feared that Kit might have second thoughts and call the police. Nothing was further from Kit’s mind—but Nigel might not feel sure of that.
There was a long silence. They sat still, reluctant to leave the warmth that blasted from the car’s heater. Then Elton turned off the engine and they got out.
Nigel held on tightly to the briefcase. That was the reason they were all going through this. Kit was carrying his laptop. He might still need to intercept calls to and from the Kremlin. Elton found a flashlight in the glove compartment and gave it to Kit. “You’re leading the way,” he said.
Without further discussion, Kit headed off, plowing through snow up to his knees. He heard grunts and curses from the others, but he did not look back. They would keep up with him or get left behind.
It was painfully cold. None of them was dressed for this. They had expected to be indoors or in cars. Nigel had a sports jacket, Elton a raincoat, and Daisy a leather jacket. Kit was the most warmly dressed, in his Puffa jacket. Kit wore Timberlands and Daisy had motorcycle boots, but Nigel and Elton wore ordinary shoes.
Soon Kit was shivering. His hands hurt, though he tried to keep them stuffed in his coat pockets. The snow soaked his jeans up to the knees and melted into his boots. His ears and his nose seemed frozen.
The familiar lane, along which he had walked and bicycled a thousand times in his boyhood, was buried out of sight, and he quickly began to feel confused about where he was. This was Scottish moorland, and no hedge or wall marked the edge of the road, as it would have in other parts of Britain. The land on either side was uncultivated, and no one had ever seen any reason to fence it off.
He felt he might have veered from the road. He stopped, and with his bare hands dug down into the snow.
“What now?” Nigel said bad-temperedly.