James Chase - The World in My Pocket

‘The hood’s locked,’ Morgan said. ‘Hang on a moment.’

He went to the tool cupboard and found a pair of long handled metal shears.

‘You’ll reach it with this,’ he said, pushing the shears under the truck.

Gypo had to put his flashlight down to handle the shears.

After some trouble he managed to get them into position, but by then he had lost sight of the lead.

‘I’ve got to have a light,’ he panted.

‘Get under there and hold the light for him,’ Morgan said to Bleck, making room for him Bleck easily slid under the truck. He held the flashlight, grimacing as he saw the blood on the floor boards and on Gypo’s panic-stricken face.

Gypo cut the lead.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Let me get out of here.’

As Bleck began to slide out from under the truck, he heard a sound that made the hairs on the nape of his neck bristle. A sighing groan came through the floor boards, followed by a slight scratching sound. He flinched back, half expecting something to touch him.

‘Santa Maria!’ Gypo gasped. ‘Let me out of here!’

He was in such a panic that he started to kick Bleck, trying to get past him.

Snarling, Bleck thumped him in the ribs, making him gasp.

‘Cut it out!’

He pulled himself from under the truck and stood up, straightening his coat.

‘What’s up?’ Morgan demanded, seeing how white he was.

Gypo squirmed out, tearing his shirt on the truck as he did so.

He stood up, his face ghastly; blood that had dripped down on him making a smear down his cheek and neck.

‘He’s alive!’ he gasped. ‘I heard him! He’s moving!’

Morgan stiffened.

‘He can’t use the radio now and he can’t scramble the lock. Those buttons must work from the battery — they must do! Come on, Gypo, get that shutter open. We’ve got to get at this guy!’

‘Not me!’ Gypo said cringing away. ‘He’s got a gun, hasn’t he? When I open the shutter, he’ll kill me!’

Morgan hesitated. He looked out of the window again. They were slowing down at the intersection of the secondary road and the highway. As Kitson brought the Buick to a stop, Morgan could see the highway ahead of them, crowded with fast-moving cars.

If that guy in there started to shoot, the shots would be heard.

This was a problem he didn’t know how to solve.

Bleck said, ‘Better wait, Frank. That highway is always lousy with cops. If there’s any shooting.’

‘Yeah. Okay, well wait.’

Gypo drew in a shuddering breath of relief and squatted down, taking out his handkerchief and wiping the blood off his neck and face.

Morgan went up to the truck and, putting his ear against the steel panel guarding the window, he listened. He couldn’t hear anything. He remained like that for some moments, then he looked at Bleck.

‘Nothing. Are you sure you heard him?’

‘Yes, and he was moving.’

‘Gypo!’ Morgan swung around. ‘Don’t damn well sit there! Take a look at the back of the truck. The sooner you get working on it the quicker we’ll get the dough!’

Gypo dragged himself upright and pushed past Morgan to the back of the truck.

The Buick was on the move again and peering out of the window, Morgan saw cars overtaking them on the busy six-lane highway. He was relieved to see Kitson wasn’t driving faster than thirty miles an hour. The caravan was riding easily over the even surface of the road.

Gypo examined the back of the truck and his heart sank. It was as he thought: this was an expert job. The door fitted so closely there was no hope of blowing it. In the centre of the door was a dial, similar to that fitted to any ordinary safe. By the dial was a tiny window, protected by armoured glass. Gypo could see a number through the glass. He knew if he revolved the dial, the number would change. To open the door he would have to find the exact combination of numbers, and this meant sensitive listening and still more sensitive and above all steady fingers.

‘What’s it look like?’ Morgan asked, corning around to the back of the truck and standing at Gypo’s side.

‘It’s tough all right,’ Gypo said. ‘To hit on the right combination will take time like I said.’

‘Any chance of blowing the door?’

‘No. Look at the stuff it’s made of. That’s not going to blow. Maybe I could cut into it if I had time.’

‘Try for the combination,’ Morgan said. ‘We’ve got another forty minutes before we reach the caravan camp. Start now.’

Gypo stared at him as if he thought he had gone crazy.

‘Now? How can I with all this movement and noise?’ he said feverishly. ‘I’ve got to listen. I can’t hear a thing with all this traffic.’

Morgan made an impatient gesture, but controlled himself.

The pain in his side was getting worse and it worried him. He knew it would be fatal to rush Gypo too soon. His mind moved to the driver in the truck. There were too many complications piling up, he thought as he squatted down on the floor. This job might prove even tougher than he had imagined.

He thumped the steel side of the truck with his clenched fist.

‘There’s a million bucks in here,’ he said. ‘Think of it! Just beyond this goddamn wall! A million bucks! Well, we’re going to get it! If it’s the last thing we do!’

Kitson had been too occupied in holding the Buick to the curves in the road while he was driving fast to the highway to have time to pay any attention to Ginny, but once he had nosed the Buick on to the highway and had the broad straight road under his wheels, he relaxed a little.

Ginny was leaning back, looking out at the faster traffic sweeping past them. She was still very pale, and she kept her hands between her knees to hide the fact that she was trembling. Kitson kept thinking of the man in the truck. It horrified him to think they would have to get into the truck and get his body out. Had he managed to set off the radio signal? Were they driving straight into a police trap?

‘If that guy started his radio signal,’ he said, unable to keep this thought silent any longer, ‘we could be driving into trouble.’

Ginny hunched her shoulders.

‘There’s nothing we can do about it.’

‘No,’ Kitson said, not comforted. ‘Well, I’m glad I’m not travelling in the caravan. It must be pretty rugged in there.’

‘Listen!’ she said sharply.

Kitson felt his heart give a lurch as he heard in the far distance the faint sound of an approaching police siren. The cars moving on the fast lane automatically switched over to the slower lane, clearing the way. The noise of the siren grew louder. Then Kitson saw the first police car coming towards them. It was followed by four patrol cops on motorcycles, then by two more police cars. They blasted their way through the traffic, travelling at well over eighty miles an hour.

Ginny and Kitson exchanged glances.

‘I guess we got off that road just in time,’ Kitson said huskily.

Ginny nodded.

They drove on. After a few miles they became aware that the steady flow of traffic was slowing down, and far ahead of them they could see a long line of cars coming to a crawl.

‘Road block,’ Kitson said, his heart beginning to pound. ‘This could sink us.’

‘Don’t lose your nerve,’ Ginny said.

The cars ahead of the Buick slowed to a crawl, then finally stopped.

There was a long wait, then they began to move again.

Slowly, Kitson crept the Buick behind the long line of cars, his hands clammy. He could see the road block ahead of him. There were two police cars across the road, cutting the up traffic into a narrow stream. Six patrol officers stood by the cars. One of them leaned into each car as it came to a stop. He had a brief word with the driver, then waved him on.