Andy McNab - Dark winter

I went straight through and out into the station approach, past a taxi rank, and ran left, making for the main drag about twenty metres away.

People try subconsciously to get as much distance as they can between themselves and their pursuers, and whether it's in an urban environment or a rural one they think that means going as fast as possible in a straight line. In fact you need to put in as many turns as possible, especially in a built-up area. Every time you hit a four-way junction, it makes the pursuers' job more difficult: they have more options to grapple with, a larger area to cover, and have to split forces. A hare being chased in a field doesn't run in a straight line: it takes a big bound, changes tack, and off it goes again. Just as its pursuers are getting straight-line momentum, they have to change direction too, which means slowing down, re-evaluating. I needed to be that hare.

I emerged on to what turned out to be quite a big junction. To the left was a couple of hundred metres of straight road, bordering a huge retail park, a large open square lined with all the regulars, B amp;Q, Currys, Burger King. It was heaving with trolley-pushing shoppers, and vans and cars in search of parking. Loads of confusion, loads of movement, loads of cover.

I didn't want to go all the way down to the crossing: that would put me in line of sight with the entrance to the ticket office. Instead I jumped the guard-rail and started to run, dodging traffic. I got half-way across, waited on the hatched lines for a gap, then ran again.

Sundance and Trainers were doing the same thing as I reached the retail park. I kept to the paved area on the left of the open square, moving through the shoppers to the opposite corner by a carpet warehouse.

I checked behind me again. They'd split. Trainers was about forty paces back, moving more slowly now I was static. To his right, moving out into the parking area, Sundance was trying to get up level and parallel to me.

I clutched the DW package in both hands now. No way was I going to drop this shit. I followed the paved area to the right, by the carpet warehouse's glass doors. Sundance was gaining on me, trying to cut me off, so I turned hard left, into B amp;Q.

I pushed through the turnstile and into a space the size of an aircraft hangar, with aisle upon aisle of paint, drills, workbenches, all sorts, stretching away from me. I was already drenched with sweat, my chest heaving. The two boys were moving purposefully towards the front entrance. I had to put in some angles, had to get that confusion going.

I turned right, trying to get into dead ground, looking up at the signs for a way out. There'd be fire exits, but they'd be alarmed.

I headed for the rear of the store, looking for loading bays, open windows, anything. I realized too late that it seemed to be one big sealed unit, and they'd soon spot that too. One would keep a trigger on the exit point. The other would be coming in to get me.

From a corner of the power-tool section, I watched Sundance come in, also gulping oxygen as he moved past laden trolleys and men in cement-covered overalls.

There was a gardening area through a big hole in the wall to my right. I ducked into a world of fencing and lawnmowers, pre-packed sheds and stacks of paving stone. I felt immediately better being outside: I could kid myself I had a better chance of escape. A forklift truck vanished through a gap about twenty or thirty metres ahead of me. Maybe a storage area – or, better still, a customer pickup point.

I looked behind me again. No sign of Sundance. I joined the trolley pushers heading for where the forklift had disappeared but, shit, it took me nowhere: it was just another cul-de-sac, blocked off this time by lines of rubber plants and small trees. The sprinklers were working overtime here, and the concrete floor was wet.

I turned to go back out again, but Sundance was on to me, his eyes fixed on mine. I moved towards the corner, edging past a small group of shoppers with unsteerable trolleys. Maybe I'd be able to get through the fence. I didn't run: on top of everything else, I didn't want to attract the security guards. I might already be in the shit, but it could only get deeper if the real world got involved.

It wasn't going to happen. I brushed aside a potted palm and hit the fence, but there was no way out. Sundance was closing in.

I turned to face him, holding up the bag. 'I'll throw it.'

'No, you won't, boy.' He opened his jacket to show me a revolver in a hip holster. 'Give me the bottles or I'll drop you here and now.' He took another couple of steps, then stopped as the tannoy announced that assistance was needed in the paint store. I was cornered, my back to the fence. We were no more than three or four paces apart. He held out his hand. 'Gimme.'

Beads of sweat glistened on his scalp before tumbling down his face. I held the bag even higher. He moved his hand slowly to his short and drew down on me. It was suppressed. He kept the weapon low, his eyes never leaving mine. He brought back the hammer with his thumb. 'It's worth the risk…'

I couldn't tell if he meant it or not, but the look on his face worried me. He had Suzy's kind of excitement in his eyes. I leant back against the galvanized steel with the DW in my right hand, and slid down to place it on the wet floor. The sprinklers pattered on the duty-free bag and I could feel my jeans getting wet. The forklift speeded past, the other side of the row of palms, beeping its hooter to clear some trolley-pushers out of its path.

What next? I knew he wouldn't want me to move past him so he could pick up the bag. We'd get too close in the narrow aisle, and he couldn't guarantee we wouldn't land up fighting. He needed to control me while he took control of the bag.

'Open your mouth.'

I would have done the same.

As I let my bottom jaw drop, he took a final step and moved the weapon up from his waist towards my face. My eyes were glued to its muzzle, my brain shrinking by the nanosecond. The sounds around me blurred and receded as it neared my mouth.

I didn't want to take a breath, I didn't want to move my eyes. The hammer was still back, the pad of his first finger on the trigger, the suppressor almost brushing my face.

I shot my hands up to the point where my eyes were fixed, grabbed the barrel, turning it up and to the left.

He swivelled to punch me with his free hand. I didn't have time to dodge the blow. Pain exploded in my temple and my eyes blurred.

The weapon was just inches from my face, pointing into the air. I wedged a little finger in front of the hammer and turned him so his back was against the fence. He pulled the trigger and the hammer slammed into my skin. Locking my bent arms tight, I brought his wrist so close to my face that I could feel the fat barrel alongside it, then I collapsed my full bodyweight on to the ground.

The yell I gave as my knees crashed into the concrete was almost as loud as the one he did as his arm was pulled out of its socket.

He went down like a bag of shit. I clung to the weapon, twisting it out of his hands, sticking my finger in front of the hammer once more to squeeze off the action and keep it at half-cock. He grabbed at DW, saliva flying from his mouth. 'Fuck you, fuck you.'

He knew what was going to happen next, and I wasn't going to disappoint him. I gave one well-aimed kick to his face, and left him writhing on the floor as he tried to protect his right arm and not breathe too hard through a mouthful of broken teeth.

Pushing his short down the front of my jeans, I picked up the duty-free bag, got back into the store proper and headed for the opposite side. I kept my eyes on the exit, waiting for Trainers to appear.

In he came, moving towards the garden section, shoving his cell back into his pocket. Sundance can't have been speaking too clearly, but Trainers had certainly got the message. His eyes scanned every aisle.