Bleeding Hearts (28 page)

‘Hi, Dad, it’s me. Stick by the phone when you get in. I’m headed home, probably tonight. I’ll call again when I know my arrival time. ’Bye.’

We checked out of the hotel, but Bel wanted to go back into town.

‘What for?’

‘A few souvenirs. Come on, Michael, this is the last day of my holiday.’

I shook my head, but we went anyway. While she was shopping, I walked by the harbour. A ferry was leaving for Mull. The island was about six miles away, beyond the smaller isle of Kerrera. The sun was out, and a few boatmen were going about their business, which mostly comprised posing for the tourists’ video cameras. There was a hotel near the harbour we’d tried to get into, with a low wall alongside it. I lifted myself on to the wall and just enjoyed the sunshine. Then Bel was in front of me, thrusting a large paper bag into my hands.

‘Here,’ she said.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s
your
souvenir.’

Inside the bag was a thick Fair Isle sweater.

‘Try it on,’ she said. ‘I can always take it back if it doesn’t fit.’

‘It looks fine.’

‘But try it on!’

I was wearing a jacket and a shirt, so took the jacket off and laid it on the wall, then pulled the sweater over my head and arms. It was a good fit. She ruffled my hair and pecked my cheek.

‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘But you shouldn’t have. It must’ve cost — ’

But she was heading off again. ‘I just wanted to make sure it was okay. I’ve got to get something for Dad now.’ She gave me a wave and was gone.

I didn’t dare take the jumper off again. She’d expect me to wear it for a little while at least. Well, it kept out the breeze, but I had the feeling it made me look less like a local and more like a tourist. I took my sunglasses from my jacket pocket and slipped them on.

A car had drawn up nearby. It rose perceptibly on its axles when its driver got out. I nearly tipped backwards off the wall.

It was Hoffer.

He stretched, showing an expanse of shirt and a belt on its last notch. He also showed me something more: that he didn’t have a holster beneath his jacket. He did some neck stretches, saw me, and came walking over.

‘It’s been a long drive,’ he said with a groan.

‘Oh, aye?’ If he’d just come north, maybe he wouldn’t know mock-Scots from the real thing.

He wasn’t looking at me anyway. He was taking in the harbour, and talking more to himself than to anyone else. I thought he’d been taking drugs. ‘This is some beautiful place,’ he said.

‘No’ bad.’

He looked up at the hotel. ‘What about this place, is it no’ bad too?’I shrugged and he smiled. ‛A canny Scot, huh?’ Then he turned away and made to enter the hotel. ‛See you around, bud.’

The moment he’d gone, I slid from the wall, grabbed my jacket, and walked away. I didn’t know which shop Bel would be in, and had half a mind to go to the car instead and get the MP5. But she was coming out of a fancy goods emporium, so I took her arm and steered her with me.

‘Hey, what’s up?’

‘The TV tec is in town.’

‘The fat man?’ Her eyes widened.

‘Don’t look back, just keep walking. We’re going to the car and we are getting out of here.’

‘He
can’t
be here,’ she hissed. ‘He was in a TV studio only an hour ago.’

‘Have you ever heard of videotape? They record these shows, Bel. You think anyone would have the balls to put Hoffer on
live?’

‘What are you going to do?’

I looked at her. ‘What do you think I should do?’

‘Maybe...’ she began. Then she shook her head.

‘What were you going to say?’

‘I was going to say...’ her cheeks reddened. ‘I was going to say, maybe you should take him out.’

I looked at her again. We were at the car now. ‘I take it you don’t mean I should date him?’

She shook her head. ‘Michael, did you hear him on TV this morning? All those questions they asked: was he armed, would he think twice about killing you?’

I unlocked her door and went round to the driver’s side. ‘I get paid to do jobs. I don’t do it for fun.’

‘There are other ways to make a living,’ she said quietly.

‘What? Work behind a desk? That’s what they like haemophiliacs to do. That way we’re safe. To hell with that.’

‘Don’t you think becoming a hired assassin is a bit extreme, though?’

‘Jesus, Bel, you’re the one who just said I should bump off Hoffer!’

She smiled. ‘I know, but I’ve changed my mind. I think you should stop. I mean, stop altogether. I think you want to.’

I started the engine. ‘Then you don’t know me.’

‘I think I do.’

I let off the handbrake and started us rolling out of Oban. Maybe it was Hoffer, or Hoffer added to the conversation I’d just had. Whatever, I wasn’t being very careful. All I knew was that Hoffer’s car was still parked when we passed it.

I spotted them just outside town. To be fair, they weren’t trying very hard. They didn’t mind me knowing about them. There were two cars, one a smart new Rover and the other an Austin Maestro.

‘Don’t do anything,’ I warned Bel. ‘Just keep looking ahead. We’re being followed.’

She saw them in her wing mirror. ‘One car or two?’

‘Both of them, I think.’

‘Who are they?’

‘I don’t recognise any faces. They’re clean shaven, the one I can see best is smartly dressed, jacket and tie. I don’t think they’re the Disciples.’

‘Police maybe? That could be why the fat man’s in town.’

‘Why not just arrest us?’

‘Do they have any evidence?’

She had a point. ‘They could do us for impersonating police officers. That would keep us in the cells till they found something. The police’ll always find a way to stitch you up if they need to.’

I accelerated, knowing the Escort couldn’t outrun the pursuers. We were heading down the coast, since we’d agreed to take a different route back to Glasgow. When we reached a straight stretch with no other traffic in sight, the Maestro signalled to overtake. The way it pulled past, I knew there was a big engine lurking inside it. There was no need for pretence, so I gave the driver and passenger a good look as they cruised past, trying to place them. Both were young and fair-haired and wearing sunglasses. They pulled in sharply in front of us and hit the brakes, so that we’d have to slow down, or else overtake. The Rover was right behind, making us the meat in the sandwich.

‘What are they doing, Michael?’

‘I think they want us to stop.’ I signalled that I was pulling over, and hit the brakes so fast the Rover’s tyres squealed as the driver stopped from ramming us. I couldn’t see the road ahead, but shifted down into second and pulled out into the oncoming lane. There was nothing coming, so I tore alongside the Maestro, which was already accelerating. There was a bend approaching, and neither car had the beating of the other. Suddenly a lorry emerged from round the bend, and I braked hard, pulling us back into the left lane, still sandwiched.

‘I don’t think policemen play these kinds of game,’ I told Bel. She was looking pale, gripping the passenger door and the dashboard.

‘Then who are they?’

‘I’ll be sure to ask them.’

The front car was braking again. The driver had put on his emergency flashers. He was obviously coming to a halt on the carriageway. A stream of traffic had been trapped behind the lorry, so there was no chance of us pulling past the Maestro. The Rover behind was keeping its distance, but I knew once we stopped that would be it. One would reverse and the other edge forward until there was nowhere for us to go.

I stopped the car.

‘What’s going to happen?’ Bel said.

‘I’m not sure.’

Traffic heading in the other direction was slowing even further to watch. Whoever our pursuers were, they didn’t seem to care about having an audience. A normal person might be relieved, thinking nothing serious was going to happen in front of witnesses. But I saw it another way. If they weren’t worried about having an audience, maybe they weren’t worried about
anything.

I slid my hand back between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. On the floor in the back, wrapped in my old blue raincoat, was the MP5. I don’t know what made me switch it from the boot when we were loading the car, but I said a silent thank you to whichever bad angel was watching over me.

‘Oh God,’ Bel said, seeing the gun. I opened my driver’s door and stepped out, leaving raincoat and contents both on the floor beside the pedals. The Maestro had backed up to kiss my front bumper, and the Rover was tucked in nicely behind. Three cars had never been closer on a car transporter or parked on a Paris street. I decided to take the initiative and walked to the car at the back. I reckoned the front car was the workhorse; the person I wanted to speak to would be in the nice car, probably in the back seat. Electric windows whirred downwards at my approach. The windows were tinted, the interior upholstery cream leather. All I could see of the driver was the back of his head, but the man in the back of the car was smiling.

‘Hello there,’ he said. He was wearing ordinary glasses rather than sunglasses, and had short blond hair. His lips were thin, his face dotted with freckles. He looked like his head hadn’t quite grown up yet. He was wearing a suit, and a white shirt whose cuffs were slightly too long for the jacket. The shirt was buttoned to the neck, but he didn’t wear a tie.

‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Is there a problem?’

He acted like there wasn’t. ‘We’d appreciate a few minutes of your time.’

‘Pollsters aren’t usually so determined,’ I said. I was thinking:
he’s American.
Was he working for Hoffer? No, I didn’t get that impression at all.

‘If you and your friend will get in the car, I’d appreciate it very much.’

‘You mean, get in your car?’

I didn’t even dent his smile. ‘That’s what I mean.’

I shrugged. ‘What’s this all about?’

‘It can be explained in five minutes.’ He held up a hand, palm spread wide to show fingers and thumb.

‘You could have talked to us in town.’

‘Please, just get in the car.’

At last another vehicle appeared coming from Oban. It was a Volkswagen estate pulling a caravan. The car had a German licence plate.

‘Oh oh,’ I said, ‘here comes an international incident.’

The bastard just kept on smiling. He didn’t seem to mind if he held up the traffic for the rest of the day.

‘I’ll go fetch my friend,’ I said.

As I walked back to the car, a van driver idling past asked what was happening. I just shook my head. I stuck my head into the Ford Escort.

‘Bel,’ I said, ‘I want you to be calin, okay? Here, take the keys. I want you to grab the map book, then get out of the car, unlock the boot, and get our stuff. We’re changing cars.’

Then I picked up the raincoat and walked forward towards the Maestro. The driver and passenger were watching in their mirrors. When I started towards them, they opened their doors. I came to the passenger side, away from the oncoming traffic, and showed the passenger my raincoat. He could see the gun barrel.

‘You’ve seen one of these before,’ I told him. ‘Now tell your partner.’

‘He’s packing heat,’ the passenger said. He was American too.

‘We’re going to see your boss,’ I told him, and motioned with the gun for him to move. They walked in front of me. When we reached the boot of the Escort, I told them to keep walking. The German motorist was out of his car and was talking in broken but heated English with the Rover driver, who didn’t look to be answering.

Bel had lifted out our two bags. I took one and she the other, and we walked to the Maestro again and got in. I started the ignition and we roared away, leaving the mess behind. Bel screamed with relief and kissed me on the cheek.

‘I nearly wet myself back there!’

‘Have you got the Escort keys?’ I asked, grinning. She shook them at me.

‘Then they’ll be stuck there till they either push it off the road or learn the German for “back your caravan up”.’ I tried to relax my shoulders. I was hunched over the steering-wheel like a racing driver. ‘It was a close one though,’ I said. ‘Twice in one day is too close.’

‘You think they were something to do with Hoffer?’

I shook my head. ‘Too smooth. They had a sort of government smell about them. There’s a kind of smugness you get when you know you’ve got everything on your side.’

‘Then they’re to do with Prendergast?’

She’d misunderstood me. ‘No, they had American accents.’

‘The American government?’

I shook my head slowly, trying to clear it. ‘Maybe I’m wrong. But they were definitely Americans.’

‘More men hired by that girl’s father?’

‘I really don’t know. I think it all ties in with the Disciples of Love.’