SS Glasgow Castle 37 Chapter Thirty Seven

I turned my head very, very slowly, just as recommended. Kross was crouched by the side of the Land Rover, pushing the muzzle of a rifle into the superintendent's cheek. It was one of the rifles I'd seen carried by the constables sent to catch Kross. Its b.u.t.t was firmly wedged into his shoulder and his finger was on the trigger. He knew I was looking at him; he acknowledged it with a brief tightening of the lip. His eyes were fixed with a burning, maniacal intensity on the superintendent. They stayed there even as his other hand crept through the window and took the pistol. He looked exactly like the sort of guy who ends up on Wanted posters. My initial wave of elation upon seeing him crashed down and died.

There was a click as Kross unlocked the superintendent's door. He drew it ajar very slowly, the rifle as steady as a girder between his shoulder and the superintendent's face. Then he pulled it back,and slung it onto his shoulder. I shifted slightly in my seat and saw that the talented, ambidextrous Kross was now pressing the pistol into the superintendent's cheekbone with his other hand.

"Take out the keys to the cuffs and unlock them," he said to the superintendent. His eyes flicked to the side and back again. I glanced at the rear-view mirror and saw a vehicle - a minibus that had just come around the bend that was maybe a quarter mile back. The minibus didn't get any larger in the mirror; it was standing still. As I watched, it was thrown into a hasty three-point turn and drove away, disappearing around the bend.

Fingers touched my wrist, and I gave a little start. I felt the superintendent's hand grasp my wrist as he fitted the key into the cuff. He had rough, sandpaper skin and bone-hard calluses. The lock snapped, and suddenly I was able to take the first free breath in many minutes. I mean it literally: you can't breathe properly when your arms are cuffed behind your back.

"Get out of the car. Both of you," Kross said.

I got out along with the superintendent and closed the door and looked up and down the road: no traffic. I went round the Land Rover and saw that the superintendent was standing with his face to the jungle, his hands clasped on the back of his neck, his pistol firmly attached to a kidney. Kross was in the act of robbing him of the cellular phone. He glanced at me and said:

"Come here."

I went up to him, fighting a sudden desire to turn and run in the opposite direction.

"Kneel down," Kross said to the superintendent, giving him an encouraging nudge with the gun. He swiftly transferred its muzzle to the top of the shiny black head, and fished around in his pockets. He pulled out the Toyota's keys and held them out to me and I took them.

"Go get the gear and put it in that other Land Rover," he said. "And take that cannon, too. Be careful - it's got one up the spout." He unslung the rifle and thrust it at me.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second and then I took the rifle. It seemed very heavy. The superintendent said:

"Major Haslam." He sounded small and forlorn. I saw the corner of Kross's lip twitch, and he threw me an amused glance.

"Major Haslam," said the superintendent again. "This man is a murderer. A war criminal, just like his n.a.z.i father. I urge you to do your duty, and help me."

Kross looked at me. He didn't tell the superintendent to shut up. He pressed the gun a little harder and watched Major Haslam.

"Ask him where he was and what he was doing three years ago," said the superintendent. I had a very brief impulse to turn the rifle on Kross; my grip tightened in an involuntary reflex. He saw that. He saw everything. I said:

"I'll see you by the car," and walked away.

I was expecting to hear a shot for the first few steps. Then I ceased to expect anything, and turned full automatic. As I was about to insert the key into the Toyota's lock I glanced round. The superintendent was walking towards the gap in the foliage, towards the wounded tree. He was followed by Kross who held the pistol at his hip in a casual manner. It was easy to see he'd been holding pistols and other firearms a lot, practically from the moment he'd been born.

I unlocked the door, hesitated, opened the door, hesitated, looked around again. Kross and the superintendent had disappeared. The engine of the Land Rover I'd arrived in was still running, air shimmering behind the exhaust.
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I laid the rifle across the front seats, and set about retrieving the luggage. The knapsack Kross took when he went to get the treasure was right on top of everything else. I was surprised to find it heavy. I moved the rifle to the floor and shut the door, looked at the jungle, looked at the road. I was alone. I opened the knapsack.

It contained several interesting items. First I took out a powerful flashlight, with a saucer-sized reflector mounted on a very long tube - I estimated it would hold half a dozen batteries. It had its own narrow leather shoulder strap. Then I turned my attention to a coc.o.o.n of rags that emitted clinking sounds.

I unwrapped it impatiently, but it only contained a hammer and a chisel. I picked up the chisel and fancied I saw tiny streak of yellow metal on the blade - gold? bra.s.s?

When I took the tools out, I saw a pouch of the kind used to carry toiletries on a voyage: a large, zipped envelope of tough waterproof canvas. It weighed a good couple of pounds and its contents shifted grittily in my hand when I picked it up.

"Jesus," I whispered, and glanced at the jungle - no one there. I sat down properly, put the pouch in my lap and unzipped it.

It was half-full of diamonds. No, it was full of diamonds. It felt like at least a kilo, zillions of carats of the purest coal. They looked like crushed safety gla.s.s; they looked exactly like the uncut diamonds I had seen on photographs. I picked out a couple of stones the size of small peas. They were worth a small fortune. No, they were worth a big fortune. I was close to choking.

I had to work hard to get my breathing right as I replaced everything up the way it had been and zipped and buckled the knapsack shut. I grabbed its straps and opened the door and nearly committed suicide by jumping right in front of a shrieking, swaying minibus. It went so fast it almost went out of control when it swerved to miss. .h.i.tting me, and continued down the road at high speed. But I could see curious faces pressed to its rear window. Even a moron could see something nasty was happening, I was sure.

I began shuttling quickly between the Toyota and the Land Rover. I took Kross's bag and knapsack first, then transferred my stuff and the plastic bags with food and water.

That left the rifle. I stood on the cab step, undecided; eventually I took a furtive look round and picked it up. There were two tiny letters scratched into the b.u.t.t, someone's initials. They reminded me the gun belonged to someone else, that it was a stolen police gun. When my fingers closed around the wooden stock just behind the trigger, I got hit by a wave of panic. I slammed the Toyota's door shut and half-ran to the Land Rover. I intended to slide the rifle under the seats and forget its existence.

I was just about to do that when I saw Kross. He was crossing the road loaded with guns: submachine gun in one hand, rifle in the other, pistol stuck inside his belt. I looked down at the gun in my own hands and a high-pitched whistling began in my ears. I suddenly wanted to point that rifle at Kross and shoot. My mouth was very dry.

Kross said:

"Relax, Oscar. It's over."

He came round the back of the Land Rover, carrying those f.u.c.king guns the way a housewife carries her shopping, with a satisfied sway to his shoulders. He saw me, saw my hands clenched on the rifle and stopped.

I said:

"You mean you killed them."

"Don't be f.u.c.king stupid. I left them handcuffed to each other around a tree. It's not a big tree and they'll break it or tear it out. Eventually. Take them a couple of hours of huffing and puffing. Now get in, and be careful with that gun. It's got a round in the chamber."

I nodded a couple if times. My hands relaxed.

"Okay," I said.

The Land Rover didn't have seatbelts; it seemed an omen. I made sure my door was secure and said:

"What now?"

"Now we do a lot of driving fast," said Kross.