Ken Follett - The Key to Rebecca

Wolff said: “Underneath his galabiya, Major Vandam is wearing a pair of khaki trousers. In one of the pockets of the trousers, or possibly in the waistband, you will find a gun. Take it out.”

Elene reached through the side slit of Vandam’s galabiya and found the gun in his pocket. She thought: How did Wolff know? and then: He guessed. She took the gun out.

She looked at Wolff. He could not take the gun from her without releasing Billy, and if he released Billy, even for a moment, Vandam would do something.

But Wolff had thought of that. “Break the back of the gun, so that the barrel falls forward. Be careful not to pull the trigger by mistake.”

She fiddled with the gun.

Wolff said: “You’ll probably find a catch alongside the cylinder.”

She found the catch and opened the gun.

“Take out the cartridges and drop them outside the car.”

She did so.

“Put the gun on the floor of the car.”

She put it down.

Wolff seemed relieved. Now, once again, the only weapon in the picture was his knife. He spoke to Vandam. “Get out of the car.”

Vandam sat motionless.

“Get out,” Wolff repeated. With a sudden precise movement he nicked the lobe of Billy’s ear with the knife. A drop of blood welled out.

Vandam got out of the car.

Wolff said to Elene: “Get into the driving seat.”

She climbed over the gear stick.

Vandam had left the car door open. Wolff said: “Close the door.” Elene closed the door. Vandam stood beside the car, staring in.

“Drive,” Wolff said.

The car had stalled. Elene put the gearshift into neutral and turned the key. The engine coughed and died. She hoped it would not go. She turned the key again; again the starter failed.

Wolff said: “Touch the accelerator pedal as you turn the key.”

She did what he said. The engine caught and roared.

“Drive,” Wolff said.

She pulled away.

“Faster.”

She changed up.

Looking in the mirror she saw Wolff put the knife away and release Billy. Behind the car, already fifty yards away, Vandam stood on the desert road, his silhouette black against the sunset. He was quite still.

Elene said: “He’s got no water!”

“No,” Wolff replied.

Then Billy went berserk.

Elene heard him scream: “You can’t leave him behind!” She turned around, forgetting about the road. Billy had leaped on Wolff like an enraged wildcat, punching and scratching and, somehow, kicking; yelling incoherently, his face a mask of childish rage, his body jerking convulsively like one in a fit. Wolff, who had relaxed, thinking the crisis was over, was momentarily powerless to resist. In the confined space, with Billy so close to him, he was unable to strike a proper blow, so he raised his arms to protect himself, and pushed against the boy.

Elene looked back to the road. While she was turning around, the car had gone off course, and now the left-hand front wheel was plowing through the sandy scrub beside the road. She struggled to turn the steering wheel but it seemed to have a will of its own. She stamped on the brake, and the rear of the car began to slide sideways. Too late, she saw a deep rut running across the road immediately in front. The skidding car hit the rut broadside with an impact that jarred her bones. It seemed to bounce upward. Elene came up off the seat momentarily, and when she came down again she unintentionally trod on the accelerator pedal. The car shot forward and began to skid in the other direction. Out of the comer of her eye she saw that Wolff and Billy were being tossed about helplessly, still fighting. The car went off the road into the soft sand. It slowed abruptly, and Elene banged her forehead on the rim of the steering wheel. The whole of the car tilted sideways and seemed to be flying. She saw the desert fall away beside her, and realized the car was in fact rolling. She thought it would go over and over. She fell sideways, grabbing at the wheel and the gear stick. The car did not turn turtle, but perched on its side like a coin dropped edgeways into the sand. The gear shift came off in her hand. She slumped against the door, banging her head again. The car was still.

She got to her hands and knees, still holding the broken-off gear stick, and looked into the rear of the car. Wolff and Billy had fallen in a heap with Wolff on top. As she looked, Wolff moved.

She had hoped he was dead.

She had one knee on the car door and the other on the window. On her right the roof of the car stood up vertically. On her left was the seat. She was looking through the gap between the top of the seat back and the roof.

Wolff got to his feet.

Billy seemed to be unconscious.

Elene felt disoriented and helpless, kneeling on the side window of the car.

Wolff, standing on the inside of the left-hand rear door, threw his weight against the floor of the car. The car rocked. He did it again: the car rocked more. On his third try the car tilted over and fell on all four wheels with a crash. Elene was dizzy. She saw Wolff open the door and get out of the car. He stood outside, crouched and drew his knife. She saw Vandam approaching.

She knelt on the seat, watching. She could not move until her head stopped spinning. She saw Vandam crouch like Wolff, ready to spring, his hands raised protectively. He was red-faced and panting: he had run after the car. They circled. Wolff was limping slightly. The sun was a huge orange globe behind them.

Vandam moved forward, then seemed to hesitate curiously. Wolff lashed out with the knife, but he had been surprised by Vandam’s hesitation, and his thrust missed. Vandam’s fist lashed out. Wolff jerked back. Elene saw that Wolff’s nose was bleeding.

They faced each other again, like boxers in a ring.

Vandam jumped forward again. This time Wolff dodged back. Vandam kicked out, but Wolff was out of range. Wolff jabbed with the knife. Elene saw it rip through Vandam’s trousers and draw blood. Wolff stabbed again, but Vandam had stepped away. A dark stain appeared on his trouser leg.

Elene looked at Billy. The boy lay limply on the floor of the car, his eyes closed. Elene clambered over into the back and lifted him onto the seat. She could not tell whether he was dead or alive. She touched his face. He did not stir. “Billy,” she said. “Oh, Billy.”

She looked outside again. Vandam was down on one knee. His left arm hung limply from a shoulder covered with blood. He held his right arm out in a defensive gesture. Wolff approached him.

Elene jumped out of the car. She still had the broken-off gear stick in her hand. She saw Wolff bring back his arm, ready to slash at Vandam once more. She rushed up behind Wolff, stumbling in the sand. Wolff struck at Vandam. Vandam jerked sideways, dodging the blow. Elene raised the gear stick high in the air and brought it down with all her might on the back of Wolff’s head. He seemed to stand still for a moment.

Elene said: “Oh, God.”

Then she hit him again.

She hit him a third time.

He fell down.

She hit him again.

Then she dropped the gear stick and knelt beside Vandam.

“Well done,” he said weakly.

“Can you stand up?”

He put a hand on her shoulder and struggled to his feet. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.

“Let me see.”

“In a minute. Help me with this.” Using his good arm, he took hold of Wolff’s leg and pulled him toward the car. Elene grabbed the unconscious man’s arm and heaved. When Wolff was lying beside the car, Vandam lifted Wolff’s limp arm and placed the hand on the running board, palm down. Then he lifted his foot and stamped on the elbow. Wolff’s arm snapped. Elene turned white. Vandam said: “That’s to make sure he’s no trouble when he comes round.”