Ivoria, Tanith Lee [popular ebook readers .TXT] 📗

This was fine amid the dense evening traffic. But as Laurence Lewis sailed his car, too fast over seas of vodka, on to the quieter back streets, Grey had to go more cautiously and avoid being seen. Initially Laurence went to Marylebone. At another group of flats, these less modern and more gracious, according to Grey, Laurence was let in, and stayed in for a reasonable while.

When he came out Grey was impressed to see Laurence had changed some - most - of his garments, including his wedding ring, again. It was now once more the platinum version.

Grey let Laurence get back in the Volvo, then followed self-effacingly as they headed up towards South Ken.

And here it was that Grey became in grave peril of losing the quarry through caution.

And then did lose him.

The road was too open, and next a gush of other vehicles dashed between.

Grey must work on the premise that Laurence was, probably, now going home to his death-minded Mrs. Grey took the risk, and presently, driving into one of the side streets of big, tree-hung houses, saw beneath the exclusive yellow lamplight another car, not Laurence’s, slewed partially across the road. At the road’s far end the tail lights of the Volvo burned a clear moving red.

After this Grey tried to keep up with Laurence. Grey had noted there was another person now in the passenger seat. He could be anyone, or he could be The Man. Whoever he was, Laurence had now changed tack. He was heading in quite another direction than that of his expensive house.

Somewhere along the way Grey made space to call in to HQ. They had thought tonight might be the night, and it seemed this was now almost certain. Aware at last that the tracker was no longer with Laurence, Secops would next coordinate their actions to tally with Grey’s outline. But they too must be on guard.

It was no use to arrest The Man on any sort of suspicion, Evidence of his attempt to kill or, last gambit, his success in doing so, was the only hope. He had already eluded them too long.

Near Barnes, Grey had to take extra care. The Man had not got the reputation he had by missing details.

Grey dropped back as much as he could, and trusted The Man was mostly centred on his own main task - presumably hijacking and death. As with any true genius, that would inevitably, at this late stage of climax, be absorbing the bulk of his concentration.

Again, Grey nearly missed the turn off up the bleak and scutty by-road. It led to a derelict, unpublicised car park, and the stretch of broken fence below Richmond Park.

They were out and gone by the time he spotted the now stationary Volvo.

Even so, Grey parked his own vehicle some distance down and off the road. He sprinted the rest of the way.

Negotiating the fence, and on the edge of the slope, Grey could make out the two men’s progress. Or rather the progress of one man, for The Man had followed virtually in his victim’s footprints, hiding or smearing his own. But Grey had a good eye himself.

He chose a divergent path, and moved in virtually noiseless ascents sidelong up the hill - spry on his feet, too.

He was all the time waiting, braced for the soft noise of a blow, a smothered cry, a silencer-smothered shot. But nothing came.

And then everything changed. Something went plunging across the upper side of the hill…

It sounded to Grey like the Charge of the bloody Light Brigade, thunder of hoofs and crack of bullets - or sticks? -and a moaning background sort of booming, like cannon perhaps, miles off. Above him he saw moonlight fracturing and breaking and then the darkness flooding back like falling masonry. And a frantic fox bolted down through the undergrowth and leapt across his path.

When the pandemonium ceased - as abruptly and entirely as it had started - Grey decided that whatever had been going to be done - was seen to.

The Man would be gone. Laurence Lewis would be dead. And not a single sodding witness.

Any of the back-up a functioning tracker would have facilitated had been out of the question. It was too late.

Grey had not even been near enough to get a look at The Man.

Nevertheless Grey pushed on up the hill to check for any possible leads. After that tumult - surely there must be something. But he knew The Man was already far off. There was no last window of opportunity. It was over.

Except – it was not.

Laurence Adrian Lewis was lying on the ground. He sprawled on his back, motionless. Just as The Man had already done, (had Grey been up here to see it) Grey took Laurence for what he anticipated - a corpse. But, also as The Man had, Grey went forward to make sure of it.

And this was when the prone figure shuddered. Its eyes opened. “What?” said Laurence to the moon. Then he retched and Grey sprang to assist him.

The Secops team, attended by an anonymous medical vehicle, were on the scene in less than ten minutes more. By then the living cadaver of Laurence Lewis was propped bewildered, staring at Grey and mumbling over and over, “Herne… Hern…”

“What does he say?”

“Something about Herne the Hunter, whoever he is, jumping on his chest, kicking him. Seems to have forgotten the rest.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“Cheer up, Grey. He’s in a bad way but I’ve seen a lot worse. We’re in with a chance.”

They were. Laurence recovered surprisingly quickly, considering that he had suffered a cardiac arrest. Though the after-effects were at first very noticeable, some of them would lessen through the succeeding months. (The idea that a deer, jumping on to his body at the correct area, had kick-started the stalled heart seemed insane. But Laurence insisted it must have been so. While a trio of broken ribs seemed to bear this out. He remembered blacking out, thinking he