The Fire (21 page)

Lauren North's Story:

Time had been difficult to assess. The heroin had distorted my concept of normality and I had slept for an indeterminate period. The drug had also given me a feeling of comfort close to the sublime and I'd had no desire to leave my mobile prison or to attempt an escape.

Mercifully, by the time Ewan Findley finally opened the boot again and the cold air rushed inside the cramped space, the effects had worn off sufficiently for me to function. His large ugly face was illuminated by the internal light automatically triggered when the lid was lifted. Fat snowflakes dropped from the black sky above him and rested in his hair. There was some other ambient light emanating from somewhere, but from my position I couldn't identify the source.

He cocked his head to one side and studied me again, the way he had just before administering the powerful opiate in Birkenhead.

"I'm going to untie you," he announced.

I was doing my best to clear my head and put all thoughts of needles and possible infections to the back of my mind. Wherever I was and whatever his motive, this was good news.

Findley leaned in and cut away the gaffer tape from my wrists and ankles. The pain-relieving effects of the heroin had disappeared along with the euphoria, and as the blood rushed to my hands and the circulation began to return, I felt the worst pins and needles ever. He grabbed the edge of the tape covering my mouth, ripped it away and rolled the strip into a ball before tossing it over his shoulder.

"There you are," he said.

I gasped; more with shock than pain and sucked in mouthfuls of crisp cold air. You don't appreciate the simple pleasure of breathing, until some bastard tries to cut off your oxygen supply.

I lay in the boot and didn't move. I wanted to be sure that I could stand and hopefully run before doing so.

Findley continued to stare at me as if studying a curious looking insect or animal. He reached out and traced my lips with his forefinger. Even with the stiff breeze I could smell cigarettes on his skin.

"You're very pretty," he said.

I didn't move, I was doing my best to listen for other voices inside the car. Where were Kristy and Dougie? If I was alone with Findley, was this my chance?

He pushed his stinking finger into my mouth, and stood, slack jawed, as his breathing increased.

"We're all going to fuck you, you know? Even Kristy, she likes girls too. Dougie says I have to wait 'till last, but that I can fuck you in the arse. I bet you like that eh? I hear all English girls like it up there."

He pushed his finger deeper into my mouth until I was close to gagging, and let out a cross between a sigh and a moan. I thought I may be sick.

The good news was I could feel my fingers and feet again so I played the submissive. Rick's comforting voice appeared in my head.                                                                                                                                                                         
"If you're ever taken, let them think you're beaten. Let them believe they've won, that you are helpless, wait your time and an opportunity will come..."

Findley began rubbing his crotch with his other hand. I considered biting his finger, but from my prone position, once I'd inflicted some pain to the disgusting animal, I would be too vulnerable.

Slowly I moved my arm and gently pulled his hand away from my mouth so I could speak. I looked at the obvious swelling in Findley's jeans. His belly was so large, there was no way he'd seen his own penis in many years but, like Paddy O'Donnell before him, his erect manhood clouded his judgement.

I did my best to sound seductive. "Why don't you take it out so I can see it? I don't mind." Findley's eyes widened and he looked furtively about him. I couldn't see much of my surroundings, but I had the feeling the car was parked in some kind of yard. There were no obvious sounds to suggest anyone was nearby, so, in for a penny and all that.

"I won't tell Dougie or Kristy...just let me out," I whispered. "It will be our secret. I'll even play with it for you."

I could tell Findley was scared, probably of what Dougie would do to him if he found out, but he was also a disgusting lecherous fool. I played my ace.

"Go on, Ewan, let me out and you won't be last for once."

That did it.

Findley stepped back. He looked left and right, then, cautiously, down each side of the car. Finally he motioned me to get out of the boot. My limbs were screaming at me to stretch them and the pain was considerable. I did my best to ignore it and as I climbed out, I even managed a smile in Findley's direction.

Once I was upright I took in as much of my surroundings as possible. The car was indeed parked in a courtyard of sorts. A large barn dominated one end, whereas on either side rows of whitewashed stables, some with the doors open, housed maybe a dozen horses. Some of the animals viewed their latest visitors with mild interest, whilst others simply munched on feed. The yard was cobbled and a dusting of fresh crisp snow made it slippery underfoot. I didn't risk a look over my shoulder, but I guessed from the way Findley had been checking in that direction, the main house was behind me. Whoever lived in this place had money...and a lot of it.

Findley seemed to have relaxed a little and grinned at me. The awful job on his cleft pallet made his whole face look lopsided. I took two steps toward him and the fat fool started to fumble with the belt on his jeans. He was so obese that he had to lift his own gut with one hand to grasp the buckle with the other. Despite the chill in the air and the falling snow, perspiration beaded on his forehead.

Now was my chance. I'd sparred hundreds of rounds with my personal trainer back in Manchester, but I wasn't about to box this guy; this was a one shot scenario.

Findley's jeans fell to the snow-covered cobbles and he stood slowly masturbating expectantly.

I took another step forward, drew back my right hand and delivered a sharp blow to his throat. All my weight was behind the punch and I felt the protective hyoid bone, the only bone in the throat, dislodge and fracture. This bone not only protects the fragile larynx and pharynx, but secures the back of the tongue playing a crucial role, should you ever wish to swallow again. Findley was never going to swallow anything again.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his neck, eyes bulging. He couldn't cry out, couldn't swallow, and couldn't breathe. I considered a second blow to knock him unconscious, to ease his suffering.

Instead I sprinted over the cobbles away from him, toward the barn and the fields behind leaving Findley to fight for air.

Over my shoulder was indeed a large dwelling. It didn't appear I'd disturbed the natives. Lights were burning in several rooms, but I saw no movement.

Findley would be dead within a minute or two.

Fuck him. I was free and running.

Rick Fuller's Story:

As I powered the BMW toward the security lodge at RAF Woodvale the barrier was raised without a single check. We were expected and we were not to be disturbed. The snow was getting heavier by the minute, and the Beamer slewed left and right as we approached the helipad and the awaiting Lynx. The chopper's rotors turned lazily whilst its landing lights blinked robotically, illuminating the otherwise darkened base. This was not a scheduled departure. Everything had been done in a hurry and with the utmost secrecy. The only person in attendance was our captain.

We jumped from our car and started to pack our kit into the aircraft. The pilot wore a plain black flight suit with no insignias, a black helmet and despite the night flight ahead, the new season's Ray-Ban Aviators. He didn't speak, just simply nodded to acknowledge our arrival and started his pre-flight checks. By the time we'd finished loading, the helicopter's rotors were deafening, just feet above our heads. I'd barely strapped myself in when the Lynx lurched upward and forward and we were airborne, flying blind in a blizzard.

The pilot fought with the controls as the chopper bucked in all directions. We were flying low to avoid any commercial traffic and this did not bode well for a comfortable journey. Navigating purely on instruments, the aircraft crossed the coast within minutes and headed out across the Irish Sea.

Fifteen minutes into the flight the pilot beckoned me forward and signalled to me to put on a second flight helmet so we could converse.

"Fuller?" he asked.

"Affirmative."

"James Price."

It was an American accent; deep South, Atlanta maybe.

"You're not RAF?"

"No, buddy, US Air Force, aircraft carriers mainly, I'm freelance these days."

"MI6?"

"Anyone with deep pockets, friend. Private security companies, Kurdistan, Afghanistan, any fuckin' Stan man. I fly anywhere in any weather and keep my mouth shut...you're ex Regiment yes?"

"Back in the day."

"And the guys back there?"

"The Jock was Scots Guards then 22 SAS. The Turk was in their Special Forces...evil little bastard he is, but a good guy."

The Lynx dropped a good hundred feet in one lurch and hit the bottom of the air pocket with a tremendous bang. Price was unfazed; he made some alterations to the controls and flicked some switches.

"You chose a good night for it, man."

"No choice at all, Price. The Irish have taken one of our own, and we want her back."

"I get it, no problem, buddy... I'm gonna drop you five clicks from your target premises. It's 0127hrs now, we should be on the ground just before 0300hrs. I've been instructed to be in situ same time tomorrow. You have an hour's grace my friend, after that, boy, I'm gone."

The helicopters engines screamed as Price pushed the machine into a climb.

"It's instruments until we get into Irish airspace, then it's switch everything off and night vision the rest of the way. That's when it gets tricky."

"Just get us there, mate," I said.

"Tally ho, old chap," he mimicked and we lurched left on course for South Armagh and our own private war.

Lauren North's Story:

When Maxi's boys had taken us, I'd been dressed for the RI on the club. All I had to do was pull on my coveralls, change from trainers to Gortex boots and Bob was your proverbial.

Now, as I did my best to stay upright and my Asics slipped and slid their way over the semi-frozen uneven paddock, I wished I'd had my boots.

The initial euphoria of being free had given me a boost of adrenalin but the heroin had not done me any favours and despite only covering half a mile, I was blowing hard where I would usually just be getting into my stride. I did my best to regulate my breathing and slowed my pace slightly.

The bottoms of my Levis were drenched and were beginning to cake in freezing snow around the hems. The snowfall had become heavy and a brisk north wind ensured it whipped into my face. As I put distance between me and the farm the ambient light faded to zero and within five minutes I was down to a slow jog in almost pitch black. As the minutes passed, the miniscule amount of light available was distorted by the swirling flakes and I was becoming more and more disorientated.

I did my best to focus on what appeared to be a crop of outbuildings about five hundred yards away, but with one massive gust, the swirling snow obliterated everything and by the time I had any vision at all, the buildings were gone, and I was lost.

Eventually, I stopped and immediately started to shiver. My T-shirt was soaked, and frozen snow covered the front of it. My hands were bitterly cold and for a second time in less than a day, I'd lost the feeling in my fingers. Nonetheless, I was confident that with all my training, I could get myself to safety. Rubbing my hands together I did my best to get some bearings and stay positive.

The wind made it almost impossible to hear anything, but somewhere behind me, I was sure dogs were barking. My stomach did a quick nervous flip. I turned a hundred and eighty degrees, cupped my hands behind my ears and listened. As the gust dropped, I heard them again. This time I was certain. I heard whimpering and a bark.

Within seconds my worst suspicions were founded and I saw the flash of a powerful beam of light less than two hundred yards from me. It swept from side to side as its owner lit their way toward my position.

Fear racked my body and I stood motionless, desperately trying to get my brain to function. I was as fit as I'd ever been and I was sure I could outrun most people, particularly Dougie and Kristy, but dogs?

No chance.

I turned away from the flickering light and ran headlong into freezing blackness. The snow was more than ankle deep and I figured that even without dogs, I would be pretty easy to track just on footprints alone.

Forcing myself to put the dogs and my pursuers out of my thoughts I concentrated on keeping my footing, and a steady pace.

Twenty minutes went by and I had made decent ground. The dogs and their owners didn't appear to have gained on me, instead I seemed to have put some distance back between us.

Some minutes earlier, I'd almost fallen into a farmer's gully. Fortunately I kept my feet and instead slid part way down it. The bottom was fairly flat so I decided to use it as cover, and as it had been cut into the land by a tractor, I figured it would lead me in a straight line.

I kept a steady tab for a further fifteen minutes. The snow had eased slightly, but the wind still howled over the fields and whipped around my ears. I was bitterly cold, soaked to the skin and finding decision making difficult. It was obvious I needed to be out of the freezing conditions very soon before hypothermia set in. I may have only been out in the weather for an hour, but cold is no respecter of fitness or age. It kills everyone and it kills quickly.

Clambering up the slippery gully, I took a recce, estimating I'd covered maybe two or three clicks but I had no idea how much distance I'd put between me and the farm as I'd long since lost my bearings. The dogs were either quiet or too far behind to be audible so I took a long slow one-eighty look. I allowed my eyes time to adjust to the near pitch black and did my best to stop shivering. Off to my right, maybe a kilometre away, was some kind of small barn or garage. If the dogs or whoever was with them could track me there, it was all over, but I had to take the chance. If I didn't get some cover I was dead anyway. I shook the cramp from my legs and set off for the barn.