Sixty-One
It wasn’t far short of ten o’clock, and they’d only arrived at the appointed spot in the Forest of Bowland mere minutes before, when Battersby called.
‘All right, Cheesy?’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘Decent journey?’
‘Well, there were a few wrinkles,’ Miller said.
He looked across at Cheshire. ‘But we made it.’ He saw no need whatsoever to go into any details about what had happened: the attempted hijack and the subsequent shootout.
If Battersby was at all curious about the missing Scotsman, Miller would somehow explain McDougall’s absence when they got there.
‘Right then, let’s have no more arsing about,’ Battersby said. ‘You’ll be happy to know this magical mystery tour is nearly done.’
‘Is Justin still OK?’ Miller asked.
‘Well, I’m sure he’d rather be watching porn or playing Dungeons and Dragons or some shit, but don’t worry, he’s ticking along nicely. So, you ready?’
‘Hang about …’
‘You need to drive exactly three and a half miles north of where you are now, further into the woods. Then—’
‘Hold your horses,’ Miller said. ‘We need to write this down.’ Nobody had thought to bring a pen, but that didn’t much matter as he was only stalling to give Chopra time to do whatever was necessary: to type Battersby’s directions into some computer or other; to brief whoever was flying his fancy--pants drone.
Almost instantly, the man from the Kidnap Unit sent a thumbs-up emoji, which Miller thought was surprisingly casual given the circumstances. ‘OK, we’re all set. Go ahead.’
‘Three and a half miles north, like I said. Then make a sharp left on to another track and head up there into the trees. That starts to get narrow pretty fast, and when you can’t go any further, turn the van round, so I can drive it out afterwards.
Leave the keys in the ignition and get out and walk. ’
‘Walk to where?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Battersby said. ‘You’ll run into me eventually. Then we’ll have a chance to get to know each other a bit.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ Miller said. ‘By the way, have you got snacks, because I’m starving.’
‘Have I got snacks?’
‘Maybe some biscuits or something?’
‘Sorry, mate. I had a few energy bars, because me and the lad have been out here for a while, but we’ve eaten them all.’
‘I should have picked up a pasty or something, but I didn’t think.’
‘You’ve got twenty minutes.’
‘I’ll direct you,’ Chopra said, when Battersby had ended the call. ‘You’d best get going.’
*
Fifteen minutes later, following Chopra’s directions, Cheshire turned the van on to the final stretch of track, though it was actually more of a footpath with ideas above its station.
By now there was very little light bleeding through the thick canopy of trees, so they were forced to creep along agonisingly slowly, taking care to avoid overgrown bushes and the occasional fallen branch.
Now and again, the van’s headlights picked out the eyes of creatures lurking in the undergrowth, and Miller pointed when something darted across the path ahead of them. ‘Weasel?’
‘I think it was just a rat,’ Cheshire said.
Miller pulled a face. Much as he adored Fred and Ginger, he wasn’t overly fond of encountering their cousins in the wild.
One had scuttled across his foot once, late one night in the Houndshill shopping centre, and Miller had recoiled so violently that he’d smacked his head against the plate-glass window of Primark.
‘This is it,’ Cheshire said. ‘I don’t think we can drive any further.’
Chopra cut in. ‘OK, turn the van round as per Battersby’s instructions, and once you’re outside the vehicle switch to in-ear comms.’
The trees and bushes were now encroaching so far that Cheshire had to perform a twelve-point turn to get the van facing back the way they’d come. He turned the engine off and left the keys in the ignition.
They stepped out of the van, and once Chopra had checked that their earpieces were working they each switched on the torch on their mobile phone and began to walk.
Slowly and carefully, they moved deeper into the woods, shining the weak torch beams into the trees at every scuffle or rustle, until they could see a flickering light a hundred yards or so ahead.
They walked towards it, and a few minutes later they heard Neil Battersby calling out to them. ‘So, here we all are then!’
Battersby was perched on a tree stump, next to a fire that was burning in a blackened oil drum. Kneeling on the ground at his feet was Justin Cutler, a bag over his head to which Battersby was holding a gun.
‘Keep nice and calm,’ Chopra said into their earpieces. ‘Follow his instructions and stay focused on the hostage.’
Battersby raised his arm and shook what appeared to be a bag of crisps at them. ‘They’re a bit knackered, ’cause I think I must have sat on them at some point, but I’m sure they’ll taste OK.’
‘What flavour are they?’ Miller asked.