Free East of the City by Grant Sutherland Page A

with what? A glorified walkie-talkie?
    ‘Why?’ I said.
    Bill grinned. ‘Because if you don’t get out there, you’ll have to stay with us. And we’re driving down to the barn. Fair enough?’
    ‘You’re just going to drive down there?’
    He said yes, that was the general idea.
    After five minutes the first pair of his men called in. They were in position, fifty yards west of the barn, and there was no sign of anyone. Another minute and the other pair called in, a hundred yards northeast of the bam. Again nothing.
    Bill nodded to the driver; we moved off. As we trundled down the lane Bill told the others what he planned to do; he didn’t refer to me by name now, he called me the lookout. It felt like one of those bad dreams when you’ve been picked for England, you’re all set to take the field, and you suddenly realize you don’t know what game you're playing. At the turn-off, we stopped.
    ‘You’ll be alright,’ the driver told me. He seemed to have a better idea than Bill what I was thinking. ‘Nothin’s gonna happen till the money comes out.’
    Bill reached across me and opened the door. ‘Keep out of sight. Any cars come along, get their plate numbers. If they turn down to the barn—’ he pointed to my handset — ‘let us know.'
    It seemed like there had to be more to it, something else I should know, but when I hesitated he lifted his chin, indicating the open door. I got out and he closed the door quietly behind me. The van turned onto the muddy track; I stood there watching it head down to the barn, then Bill’s arm suddenly shot out the window, waving me back to the woods.
    I leapt the ditch, dropped ankle-deep in mud, then trudged on up the ridge. Fifteen yards up there was an old hedge, some low bushes with a flat rock just behind. I sat down on the rock. You were pretty well hidden there, but you had a decent view up and down the lane. You were high enough to get a proper look at the barn too, but I couldn’t see the van, it was hidden by the dip. I wiggled my toes. My shoes were covered in mud, and soaking. A hundred and seventy-five quid up the spout. I took off my tie and shoved it in my coat pocket, then I checked my watch. Five to five.
    The van appeared again, crawling along, almost at the barn now. It looked so exposed down there, exposed and vulnerable, I was suddenly grateful to Bill for turning me out when he did. Just short of the barn, the van stopped. There was some talk on the two-way, then I saw one man to the west and one man to the northeast of the barn, on their feet, moving in. I couldn’t see the other two. Bill got out of the van. I couldn’t hear anything, they were too far away, just moving figures in the distance, slightly unreal. But Bill seemed to be speaking, maybe calling into the barn. When nothing happened he went forward slowly. He sure had guts.
    By the time he disappeared inside the barn, the other two were at the side-walls, aiming their guns through the windows. A few seconds later Bill’s voice came over the handset. ‘Relax. No-one here.’
    He wasn’t talking to me but I breathed out, relieved. I hadn’t realized how tense I was. I stood and stretched my legs, bending to flick the mud off my pants, and that’s when I heard the car.
    It came down the lane from the west, the way we’d come in, and immediately I crouched and picked up the handset. I shuffled closer to the hedge.
    Keep calm, I thought. Check the plates. My heart was somewhere up near my throat.
    The car appeared then, a green Porsche idling along at about twenty. It started slowing the moment I saw it. ‘Go on,’ I whispered. ‘Keep going.’ But somehow I just knew it wouldn’t. It was kind of inevitable the way it slowed and finally stopped at the muddy track.
    I lifted the handset. ‘There’s a car.’
    A moment later Bill snapped, ‘Where?’
    Where? Here, I felt like shouting. Here, you crazy bastard, right where you left me. Instead I said, ‘It’s stopped at the