Anthony Eglin - The Blue Rose

After a minute or so they came to a halt.

Despite the scarf covering her ears she could hear faint voices. It sounded as though an argument was taking place. She couldn’t be sure if it was just two people or whether more were involved. She strained harder but the voices were sufficiently distant to make the exchange unintelligible.

Her concentration was broken by the American man’s voice. ‘You stay here with her while I go and see what’s going on. And for Christ’s sake keep her out of sight.’

Still gripping her arm, Marcus walked her several paces until they were up against a building of some kind. The argument must be over, she could no longer hear the voices. Or perhaps it was because they were now shielded by the building. For the first time since getting out of the car she felt very cold. She shivered, wishing that she wore a heavier jacket. It had gone awfully quiet. The sheep had stopped bleating and there were no other country sounds – for that was surely where they were. Even the chirping of birds was eerily absent.

Kate heard Marcus clear his throat and spit. She was glad she couldn’t see the despicable man. She thought back to the voices, the argument. It was more than likely that Alex was one of them. She was now getting increasingly concerned for his safety. These men were dangerous and set on a mission. The thought of Alex getting into any kind of confrontation with them was frightening. It comforted her to realize that Kingston would probably be with him. She doubted that Alex would have come alone.

She thought she heard a slight rustling noise behind her. It couldn’t be Marcus because she knew he was off to her right. Perhaps it was a dog or a cat. She was about to dismiss it when a voice broke the silence. It was an incongruous and unexpected voice – a rural accent, spoken in a loud whisper. ‘You, over there, stand very still and turn around slowly. You, miss, step back four paces.’

Kate felt a hand behind her head unknotting the scarf and removing it. When she opened her eyes they hurt. She closed them quickly; the light was too bright. After opening and closing them a few times she was gradually able to see clearly. The black scarf was on the ground in front of her. Facing her, ten paces away, was Marcus, still wearing dark glasses despite the dismal weather. He stood motionless, a grim expression on his face, his eyes glued on whomever was standing behind her. She half turned and looked over her shoulder. Standing just a few feet away was a scruffy old man with a deeply lined face wearing a weathered raincoat and cap. He was gripping a shotgun at his waist, pointed directly at Marcus’s midriff. It looked like he knew how to use it.

‘What’s going on here, then?’ he inquired.

Kate turned fully so he could see her bound wrists. ‘This man kidnapped me,’ she said, nodding toward Marcus. ‘We have to call the police.’

‘Jesus! What in hell has he done to you?’

Kate moved behind him. ‘Be careful, he may have a gun.’

The old man brandished the shotgun at Marcus. ‘You move a finger and you’ll be full of bloody holes, mate.’

‘There’s another man here with him,’ said Kate. ‘I think he might have gone looking for my husband.’

He squinted at Kate. ‘We’d better get you out of ’ere.’

‘I have to find my husband.’

‘First things first, young lady. In my right pocket there’s a knife. Press the thumb button to open it, and we’ll get your hands free.’

Kate got the folding knife and after struggling for a few seconds she opened the sharp blade and handed it to the old man. Resting the shotgun on his hip with one hand, still keeping his eyes on Marcus, he took the knife and deftly severed the cord. The skin on her wrists was red and lacerated where the cord had cut in.

‘All right, miss,’ he said, covering Marcus. ‘You follow this path till it meets another. Turn left and stay on the path for about a hundred yards. You’ll see Mr Compton’s house up on the hill. You go on up there and call the police. If he’s there, tell him to come down here right smart. Oh, and tell him Baldie – that’s me – said to bring his Purdey with him.’

‘Purdey?’

‘Shotgun.’

‘What about my husband?’

‘I’ll take care of things here. Don’t you worry.’

‘You don’t understand. It won’t be that easy. They’re professionals. Don’t take even the slightest chance with them. They won’t think twice about shooting you.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ he said.

‘Please, be careful.’

Kate turned and started up the path. All she could think of was Alex and whether he was here or not. He must be. She remembered distinctly when she’d eavesdropped at the farmhouse that Marcus had said Ira was meeting Alex on Sunday. But was it Sunday? Everything indicated that it was – the absence of people in the village and this place, too, whatever it was.

Making the left turn past a large barn, her question was answered. Fields stretched out for several hundred yards, on both sides of the path. Fields filled with evenly planted rows of roses. There must be thousands of them, she thought. She slowed momentarily to look around. Then the pieces started to fall into place. Of course, that was it, she said to herself. Whoever had stolen the rose had brought it here, where it would not only be well hidden but could be cared for professionally.

A jarring explosion coming from behind jolted her to a stop. It had to be Baldie. God! Had he shot Marcus? She pictured it happening, the gory mess. She found herself hoping that Marcus wasn’t dead – only badly injured. She sure as hell wasn’t going to turn back to find out.

Passing the cover of a large copper beech tree she saw the house. A modest whitewashed bungalow with a tiled roof. In less than a minute she was standing on the porch trying to regain her breath, waiting for somebody to answer the doorbell. She rang it again. Still there was no response. She gripped the door handle and turned it. To her surprise, the door opened. She didn’t have to go far into the house to find the phone. It was facing her on a table in the hallway. She dialled 999.

Marcus walked along the dirt path alongside the large barn-like building, his body language betraying no indication of defeat. Baldie followed a few steps behind with his shotgun levelled at Marcus’s back. The voices from the paddock could be heard again.

‘Nice and easy, mister,’ said Baldie. ‘When you get to the end of the barn, turn right.’

They were approaching the entrance to the barn, an opening wide enough to allow farm vehicles to go in and out.

It all happened in less than two seconds. It was like a disappearing act: one moment Marcus was there, the next he had vanished, spinning into the opening of the barn in a low crouch.

Baldie’s finger squeezed the trigger but his reflexes were not quick enough. A jarring explosion reverberated off the side of the barn and echoed around the grounds. A cloud of dirt and dust began to settle where Marcus had stood a few seconds earlier. Baldie lunged forward, reaching the entrance, but there was no sign of Marcus. He took four steps into the barn then stopped, listening for any kind of sound. All he heard was the wind soughing through the cracks in the old timber walls. He was loath to go in farther because he knew how dark it was. The barn was used exclusively for storage; mostly equipment, machinery, bagged soil amendments and fertilizers. ‘Bastard,’ he muttered.

Now his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. He stood very still, eyes searching the area for any signs of movement. There was none. Then he remembered what the young woman had said: ‘He may have a gun’ and ‘They won’t think twice about shooting you.’ Suddenly he realized what an easy target he made. He had to find some cover. Against the wall on his left was an old workbench. A handful of tools and mechanical parts were spread out on its scarred surface. Next to the bench was a small tractor. He’d seen it in use many times around the growing grounds. ‘That’ll do,’ he said to himself. He sidestepped over to the tractor and was about to crouch down behind it…then, a blinding flash and everything went dark.