Free Gray Salvation by Alan McDermott Page A

removing a tank of oxygen with a facemask attached, before his eyes finally gave up the fight.

Chapter 10
    20 January 2016
    The needle on Sarah Thompson’s speedometer crept past ninety as she barrelled along the M40, her windscreen wipers working furiously to counter the spray thrown up from the vehicles in front of her.
    She eased over to the inside lane as she saw the first markers for junction eight, then pulled off at the exit and killed her speed. At the roundabout she took the same route the SUVs had, her eyes peeled for roadblocks.
    She found none.
    Thompson’s phone was synched by Bluetooth to the car’s computer. She hit the Call button on the steering wheel and told the on-board system to dial Ellis’s number.
    ‘Where the hell are the local police?’ she asked when the call connected. ‘I’m seeing cars everywhere driving out of the area!’
    ‘They’re moving as many people into position as they can,’ Ellis replied. ‘They’re also dealing with a pile-up at junction twelve, and that’s drained their resources.’
    ‘Then ask the Met for some men,’ Thompson said. ‘We’re going to lose him!’
    ‘They’ve already got four teams on the way,’ Ellis assured her. ‘ETA six minutes.’
    ‘What about the chopper?’
    ‘No point sending it up until containment is in place,’ Ellis said. ‘We’ve got nationwide surveillance systems looking for them, so even if they manage to leave Oxfordshire, they won’t get far.’
    Thompson hit the button to end the call. Her satnav was programmed with the location of the farm nearest to the motorway, and she followed the directions. Trees were a blur as she sped down the narrow country road, and she reduced her speed to fifty as she approached a little village. She was through it in seconds and, back on the empty roads, she pushed the needle past seventy.
    ‘Turn left,’ the electronic voice told her, and Thompson slammed on the brakes as the turning appeared in front of her. She spun the wheel and took to the dirt road, which rose ahead of her and disappeared over a rise.
    She brought the car to a stop and climbed out. If Harvey were being held here by an unknown number of armed men, blazing into view would do neither of them any good. She locked the vehicle and drew her Glock. Satisfied that it had a round in the chamber, she placed it into her shoulder holster, then hugged the bushes as she crept up the hill.
    At the top, she could see a long building made from corrugated iron, and to the right of it a detached house. A man came into view, wearing a heavy jacket and waterproof leggings, and she watched him wheel a barrow towards a huge pile of manure and empty the contents at the base. She saw him go back the way he’d come, and waited to see if anyone else showed their face.
    Minutes passed, and the only person she observed was the one assigned the job of mucking out the horses as he made another journey to the dung pile.
    It looked like business as usual, but Thompson wanted to be sure. She opened her phone and found the settings for the ringtone, then put it back in her pocket and crept back to the car. She drove over the rise and into the courtyard, just as a woman appeared from the house, wearing wellington boots, jodhpurs and a windcheater.
    ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
    Thompson removed her wallet from her pocket and flipped it open.
    ‘Sarah Thomas, DEFRA,’ Thompson said, showing an identity card bearing the Department for Environment, Food & Rural Affairs logo. It was a legend she’d created before leaving Thames House, one that would allow her to inspect any farm without rousing suspicion.
    ‘I’m Jennie,’ the lady said, looking concerned. ‘We had an inspection two weeks ago. Was something wrong?’
    ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ Thompson told her. ‘This is an unrelated matter. Do you mind if I have a look around?’
    ‘Sure, but I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what this is about.’
    ‘We have a case of