Andy McNab - Boy soldier

Danny's head was beginning to clear. He opened his eyes and saw the panic-stricken face staring down at him. 'Get me in the car. We've got to go, fast – they'll get us.'

Jimmy and Brian were at the fence, having heard the squealing brakes and the shouting. They pushed their way through the gap and started to run.

Danny was on his feet. He shrugged off Eddie's helping hands and dragged open the passenger door. 'Come on! We're dead if they get us!'

Eddie didn't argue. He ran to the driver's side and jumped into the car. His trembling right hand reached for the ignition key: the car had stalled at the moment of impact. He turned the key. The engine didn't start.

'Come on!' yelled Danny.

Jimmy was ahead of Brian. They were both gasping for breath as they heard the vehicle start at the second attempt. But they were close now.

Eddie revved the engine and shoved the car into first.

'The other way,' yelled Danny. 'The way you came.'

Eddie puffed and panted and started a three-point turn. The car stalled again on the third turn and Danny thumped down on the dashboard. 'Stop flapping! Come on!'

As Jimmy and Brian pushed through to the road the car skidded off the way it had come, with dark smoke pouring from the exhaust. Jimmy could see Danny looking back as the car made distance.

'That's Danny in Moyes's car! They're heading away from the river!'

There wasn't a flicker of emotion on Fran's face as she hit the gearstick pressel.

'Fran's checking.'

She was approaching the bridge. She stood on the brake and clutch at the same time and the car skidded to a halt in a cloud of burning rubber. The ducks scattered in terror as Fran put the car into reverse, left hand across the passenger seat as she craned round. Right hand on the wheel, she released the clutch, and the tyres smoked again as the Polo screamed backwards. She slammed both feet on the brake and clutch again, this time yanking the wheel all the way to the right. The front of the car span round to the left as the rear wheels stayed where they were. As the car turned completely she jammed the gearstick into first and hit the accelerator.

A couple of minutes later she was racing past the driveway to Meacher's house, passing Jimmy and Brian as they ran back for their vehicles. In the back of the Polo, Mick was controlling Fergus with his 9mm stuck into his mouth. Blood from Fergus's nose was dripping onto the top slide. Mick smiled at his prisoner. 'Looks like we'll have the boy soon as well, eh?'

Fincham and Deveraux had said their farewells to Mrs Meacher and were getting into the Mercedes. Fincham started the engine and heard its gentle and reassuring purr. 'You dragged it out somewhat, Marcie. It was obvious early on that she knew nothing.'

'I did realize that, sir,' replied Deveraux. 'But there was a spot of excitement out here in the garden. I thought it best that Mrs Meacher remained unaware.'

Fincham was about to slip the car into gear but he turned and looked at Deveraux. 'Excitement?'

'We have Watts, sir,' said Deveraux calmly. 'Shall I tell Fran to take him to the nearest safe house?'

Fincham stared. And then he smiled.

The sweeping, tree-lined driveway, the elegant lawns and garden, the brand-new Range Rover parked close to the beautiful double-fronted red-brick house were all very impressive. Joey sat back in the driver's seat of the hire car and nodded. If this was the sort of place where Elena's friends were to be found then his daughter had obviously inherited many of his own ambitious characteristics.

It was a perfect picture of peaceful English country life. Joey guessed that probably the most exciting thing that ever happened in this garden was a gentle game of croquet followed by high tea in the shade of one of those huge shrubs that sprawled across the lawn.

Elena was standing at the front door, having told her dad to wait in the car. Joey didn't mind; he reckoned that once the house owners learned they had driven all the way from London to find his daughter's friend, they'd be invited in for 'refreshments'. And then maybe asked to stay the night. The English were famous for their manners and hospitality.

The front door opened and a youngish man appeared and began talking to Elena. Joey saw him look over in his direction so he smiled broadly, raised his right hand and gave a friendly wave. The man ignored him and went back to talking to Elena. Joey wasn't disappointed. He knew the man was just following the rules of proper, polite etiquette and was waiting until they were formally introduced.

Joey was partly right. The man was being polite but there was no chance of an introduction. 'I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about,' he said to Elena. 'The only visitors here today have been… have been official visitors. And the police.'

Elena felt her heart thud in her chest. 'The… the police?'

The man took a deep breath and Elena could see that he was struggling to hold back tears. 'My father died last night, a boating accident. So if you'll excuse me, I must get back to my mother. I hope you find your friend, but I'm afraid we can't help you.'

'I… I'm sorry.' It was all Elena could say.

The man nodded and closed the door. Elena turned away and walked slowly back to the car. Meacher was dead. A boating accident. It had to be too much of a coincidence. They'd killed him. They must have. Before Fergus and Danny could get to him. But what had happened to Danny and Fergus? Where were they? Elena could only hope they had seen the police at the house and got away quickly.

'What's going on, darling?' asked her dad as she fastened her seat belt. 'We not staying for tea?'

'No, Dad,' said Elena softly. 'Danny's not here, and he won't be coming now.'

'Not even a cup of tea? What happened to English hospitality?'

Joey started the car. 'So what now?'

'We find somewhere to stay for the night. I might be able to contact him online in the morning.'

Joey sighed. At the end of the driveway he turned right onto the narrow road. The car crossed a small bridge across the river and a few minutes later they passed a derelict brick and flint barn set well back from the road.

'Where are you, Danny?' whispered Elena.

Danny was in the barn, his back pressed against the wall as he glanced out through a broken window and watched the car as it passed. That was all that mattered to Danny. The vehicle kept going. It didn't stop. No one jumped out to check the barn.

They'd been at the ERV for over three hours and Danny was determined to stay there, as instructed, for three more. He knew there was little chance of his grandfather having escaped, but he was going to stick to SOPs. His body was battered and bruised; he hurt everywhere, but he ignored the pain. He knew it would go.

Somehow, and it was purely down to luck and had nothing to do with Eddie's driving skills, they had shaken off their pursuers. At the first T junction Danny had shouted, 'Left!' Minutes later, Fran skidded to a halt at the junction, instantly weighed up the fifty-fifty choice and chose to turn right. It was a crucial error and gave Eddie and Danny the time they needed to twist and turn their way through the countryside and eventually reach the ERV.

They hid the car out of sight of the road and then staggered, exhausted, into the barn.

Eddie was a total wreck. Shaking and sweating and pacing around and blurting out that they had to go to the police for protection.

Danny told him that if he wanted to stay alive he'd better sit down and shut up.

'Don't tell me what to do!' yelled Eddie. 'You nearly got me killed back there! I'm just a reporter, this is nothing to do with me.'

'That's what I said at first,' said Danny calmly. 'But you're in it now, Eddie, and believe me, there's no way we can go to the police. My granddad made a plan, we have to stick to it. We wait for him here for six hours. If he doesn't turn up, then I tell you everything.'