Running Read online

  Beau’s face, its broken nose and kink in the jaw noticeably evident, appeared round the door. ‘You talkin’ about me? Hey, youngster you look happier.’ He winked at Scott. ‘For a moment back there, I began to wonder whether the hospital had got the right patient. So now your dad’s off the danger list, I don’t suppose I could tempt you into swopping an uncomfortable armchair, with wipe-down vinyl seat covers, for a spot of horizontal in A nice comfy bed with breakfast at the end of it?’

  Scott stared blankly. Then, figuring out what Beau meant, laughed out loud. ‘No, I’ll sleep here, thanks.’

  ‘Okay, then, so here’s the drill. In a moment, a devilishly attractive nurse, who doesn’t speak one word of English so don’t bother trying, is going to come in and hook your dad up to a morphine pump. That’s because, until the anaesthetic wears off he won’t feel any pain. Once it has, he will. There’s a bell …’ Beau crossed to the bed and picked it up. ‘Press it and people will appear, as if by magic.’ He grinned. ‘And, just in case you are concerned, the men outside belong to the Dutch police and are armed. Oh yes, if you happen to want the loo in the night, it’s likely you will be followed there by Atall, blond Nazi type in a mac.’

  Beau laughed at the glazed expression on Scott’s face. ‘Don’t be alarmed, he’s not a pervert. The Dutch authorities have, rightly or wrongly, found the events of the day somewhat worrying. The owner of the factory is kicking up a storm. Yelling “terrorists” and pointing his finger at you and your father as the most likely suspects. On the other hand, the authorities have a strong aversion to foreigners being abducted at gunpoint and potshots taken at them, and are determined to keep you safe from further harm, until they’ve had a chance to find out exactly what did happen. In which case, either he, or his twin brother, will be your shadow until you step onto a plane and wave goodbye.’

  Scott blinked. Travers had always described his brother as something else. He definitely was that all right.

  ‘But it’s okay, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘No more bad guys?’ said Beau, the sarcasm quite strong.

  Scott nodded.

  ‘Depends what you’re looking for. If your aim was to get your dad back …’

  ‘Definitely … to get Dad back … yes.’

  ‘Then you have undoubtedly triumphed.’ Beau’s eyes twinkled. ‘However, if you are talking about defeating the bad guys …? Terry, with whom I have had a long chat, says the spoils of war are pretty much even. In other words, they might think they have the belt but we definitely have the braces.’ He spotted Scott’s puzzled frown. ‘They have the computer files but we have your dad,’ he explained. ‘And since they don’t have your dad, and their base has been destroyed, it will take a long while for them to re-group and, hopefully, longer still to decode the files. If we’re lucky, the good guys will get there first. If we’re not, then we can expect all sorts of fun and games. But I doubt Terry will say it quite like that.’

  Scott gave up trying to work out whether Beau was joking or not.

  Beau’s smile was mocking. ‘Terry will probably throw the term, real and present danger half a dozen times into every conversation, to get your father back to the States.’

  ‘But how did Mr Randal happen to get here so quickly?’

  ‘Oh that! I rang him from Lisse airport.’ Beau said calmly, perching himself on the bed.

  ‘YOU!’ Scott and Travers burst out together. ‘I don’t understand,’ added Scott.

  ‘Name James Nicely mean anything?’

  ‘Yes, what about him?’ Scott said excitedly.

  ‘It seems that Dad and this Nicely character have been hatching plots. This one was to rescue your dad,’ he explained. ‘He happened to be wearing A trace bug in his shoes, just in case the day ever arrived when he was kidnapped. It went off the screen near Lisse.’

  ‘But why your father?’

  ‘Dad’s an old-fashioned monarchist.’ Beau’s face broke into a puzzled frown. ‘Guess I am, too; never thought about it before.’ He held up his hands. ‘Don’t ask me how they met. I know they go way back. I never ask questions like that.’

  ‘Is Mr Nicely okay?’

  Beau raised one eyebrow. ‘You mean the attack? I guess so. Dad flew back to see him. He wanted to check he was okay and let him know what had happened. Dad says he’s the most extraordinary character. Did you ever meet him?’

  ‘Yes, I did, I mean we did – Hilary and me. Three …’ Scott rubbed his eyes, ‘No … four days ago.’

  ‘Talks with a plum in his mouth and keeps an automatic down the side of his wheel chair.’

  Travers whistled with astonishment. ‘Now I know what Mary meant. Nothing half this exciting ever happens in Cornwall. Did you know he was loaded, Scott?’

  Scott grinned. ‘We had tea and scones. So, what happened?’

  ‘Apparently, he saw off the intruders but his nephew got hurt.’

  ‘We knew that bit. Hilary rang round the hospitals in Glasgow but we didn’t know if Mr Nicely was okay and daren’t go back to check, in case we were being followed.’

  ‘I think the old man is curious to know how they found him.’ Scott said slowly, ‘My trainers were bugged.’ ‘Aha! That makes sense with all these wicked Secret Service agents on the loose. Sorry now I won’t be taking you back to England. You could have donned earphones and recounted the amazing adventures of that intrepid duo – Scott and Hilary, super sleuths.’

  Scott blushed.

  Travers laughed. ‘Have you worked out the mystery yet of why I’m the quiet one in the family and never say much?’

  Beau’s eyes twinkled. He got to his feet. ‘So, brother of mine, how about I take you back to the hotel, where I will occupy the bed so kindly left empty by Scott. If you can persuade Scott to give us the pleasure of his company for breakfast, we can lay bare the remainder of these fascinating mysteries.’ He put a friendly arm round his brother’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Travers,’ he added seriously. ‘You look done in. Let’s get some sleep.’

  Scott slept. In the night someone covered him with a blanket, sliding a pillow under his head, but even that failed to wake him.

  He woke to find his dad propped up against a bank of pillows, the stubble on his chin flecked with grey, reminding Scott of Sean Terry’s hangdog look. Still, he seemed a shade better, not quite so drawn.

  ‘You look terrible, Scott,’ he greeted his son. ‘Go away, get showered and come back after lunch, clean and tidy, and ready to talk to the dozens of people asking questions and demanding answers.’

  Scott groaned; then smiled. ‘You look better, too, Dad, but still pretty grim. What about your shoulder?’

  ‘Wonders of modern medicine. Can’t feel A thing, unless I try to move it.’

  ‘Is it broken?’

  ‘The scapula is. It’s that flat bone on the back of the shoulder,’ Bill explained. ‘In several pieces, so they tell me. But it will heal. I just have to be patient. Perhaps, at long last, you will learn to cook something more exotic than stir-fry and pasta.’

  Scott yawned and stretched. ‘I doubt it but I could do with a bath,’ he admitted, ‘except I don’t want to leave you.’

  ‘You might as well. As soon as I’ve seen the doctor, this room will be full of suited officials demanding answers as to why someone should blow a big hole in their canal.’

  ‘Is that what they did?’

  ‘Apparently so. And I’m the only witness. Everyone else has vanished.’

  Scott frowned, keeping quiet about the sliver of information Beau had let slip. ‘But I want to hear your story,’ he said instead. ‘I don’t even know what happened to you.’

  Bill smiled and let out a long, painful breath. ‘If I know officialdom, I’ll be explaining what happened from now till Christmas and, by summer, we’ll be bored to death with talking about it. So go. I’ll see you after lunch.’

  Scott waited on the steps of the hospital, wondering which part of the town he was in, the buildings quite unfamiliar and th
e street empty. Sunday, he reminded himself, no one works. He swung round to go back into Reception and ask which way to Kanaalstraat, only to find a tall blond man almost breathing down his neck. He started back, viewing the long, black leather coat with suspicion.

  The man gave a slight bow and clicked his heels. ‘Good morning, sir. My credentials. There is a car waiting.’

  He passed across an official-looking card for inspection. Like Sean Terry’s Secret Service badge, this meant nothing; a series of lines of gobbledegook. Scott froze. The last time he had entered a car there’d been a gun in his face.

  The man saw his hesitation and his face broke into a smile, his blue eyes sparkling, at odds with his sombre attire.

  ‘Is all right,’ he said. ‘Your brother, he explained you hate cars. You would prefer to walk, is not far.’

  So Beau had even thought of that. Scott didn’t bother to explain that he didn’t have a brother. ‘No, it’s okay,’ he agreed. ‘The car’s fine.’

  Mary, thrilled that her friend was receiving so much attention, insisted Travers bought the policeman breakfast. If she’d had her way he would have sat at their table, but Travers decided it was time he put his foot down.

  ‘We can’t gossip with the police present. I’m quite aware you think he’s a hunk, but I’m not having it, Mary,’ he said sounding indignant. ‘I’m not taking you to Holland to fall in love with a policeman.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of doing that, Travers. You’re being stupid,’ Mary said, her face pinking up with annoyance. ‘But look at him, poor man, all on his own. And that coat! I mean, everyone’s staring. I mean, who wears long black leather today?’

  ‘The Dutch police for a start and that’s why everyone’s looking, they’re wondering why a policeman’s eating pancakes in a restaurant when he should be working,’ her boyfriend grumbled.

  ‘They’re good pancakes and the police have to eat,’ Scott winked at Hilary who smiled. ‘Isn’t Beau joining us?’

  Travers shook his head, saying grumpily: ‘No, the bro’s gone to check out Isadora.’

  ‘Isadora?’ said Hilary. ‘I thought his girlfriend was Belgian.’

  ‘He never made it to Belgium. Isadora’s the name of the Cessna.’ Travers grinned suddenly, his good humour restored. He slipped his arm around Mary’s shoulders. ‘The sooner I get you back to Cornwall, the better,’ he admitted.

  ‘When are you going?’ said Hilary.

  ‘Beau says straight away. He says the Dutch police are the sort to arrest all the usual suspects which, he thinks, will probably includes us, so it would be sensible to leave as soon as possible.’

  ‘Isn’t your brother ever serious?’ said Scott.

  Travers stared, genuinely astonished. ‘He’s the most serious person I know and the bravest. He and that reporter guy were first up the stairs to rescue you. He just talks funny. Besides, we have to go, Mother is having kittens,’ he said, his expression gloomy again. ‘I thought we could have stayed till you left, Scott, but she insists I don’t miss school. Says I need all the education I can get. Don’t see why, I’ll be playing professional rugby in a few years. You’re not coming either, are you, Hilary?’

  Hilary, clean and tidy in her borrowed jeans and T-shirt – both a shade too big – shook her head, her pony tail flapping sharply from side to side. ‘I don’t know what will happen to me. It depends on the boss.’

  ‘Who did the shooting?’ said Scott.

  ‘That was Sean Terry. Calm as you please. He was there before us and went heavily armed. Good job, too. Whoever it was made quite a mess of your dad.’

  ‘I liked Pete,’ Scott smiled sadly. ‘So weird! How can you like a killer?’

  ‘That’s just the problem,’ insisted Hilary. ‘You can’t tell what a person’s like from the outside. I have to admit though, and I’m not saying this just because we know about him now, but I was always scared of him. The way he moved – like a cat – you never heard him.’

  ‘I noticed that – but Sean Terry …’ Scott shivered dramatically. ‘He really put the frighteners on me – that is until he saved Dad.’

  Hilary laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I hate him, too. So does half the Service. But he’s a great bloke if you never expect a well done. I mean, I told him about you but the moment he saw me, he bawled me out – remember?’

  Scott did. It felt a long time ago now. ‘What did you tell him about me?’

  Hilary bit her lip, looking uncomfortable. ‘Um! At the river, when your dad didn’t appear? I could see you were worried to death so I rang him. That’s why he went to the house.’

  ‘Oh! I thought you were gossiping about your rotten day,’ Scott confessed, with a grin.

  Hilary laid a friendly hand on his arm. ‘But we’re okay, now, aren’t we?’

  Travers leered and winked at Mary. He stood up, checking the time. ‘Let’s go see the parade. Mary’ll never forgive me if she misses it, after coming all this way. Then we’re off.’ He took a step towards the door. ‘What about him?’ He nodded in the direction of the young officer, already on his feet. ‘Can’t we slip out the back way and leave him here?’

  ‘You can’t do that.’ Mary sounded shocked.

  Travers grinned. ‘Watch me.’

  Scott laughed. ‘Don’t worry about him. I’ll take him back to the hospital, in a minute.’ He threw his arms round his friends. ‘Thanks, Travers. You too, Mary.’

  Hilary gave her friend a hug. ‘Can I keep the clothes till I get back?’

  Mary sniffed. ‘I’m about to burst into tears, Travers. Let’s go and see some flowers.’

  The flower parade was in full swing, the streets now alive with people; the sun shining as they had been promised. The carts were full of people dressed as cartoon characters, all of them wearing the most amazing headgear, flowing with tulips and narcissi. They made their way through the square, creating a kaleidoscope of flamboyant colour. Scott glanced up at the blue sky, drifts of cloud floating across the sun. On a day like this, with all the worries over and done with, the sky should have been deep blue and cloudless.

  ‘I ate a little,’ Bill greeted his son; Sean Terry already occupying one of two armchairs provided by the hospital, with Doug Randal in the other. Both men looked as if they’d been there a while.

  ‘So you’re Hilary.’ Bill’s face, its laughter lines camouflaged by pain and exhaustion, sketched a smile, as the girl appeared in the room carrying a stacker chair. ‘I understand Travers and Mary have left. I was sorry to miss them. When I’m back on my feet, they’ll have to come for dinner, so I can thank them properly for looking after Scott.’

  ‘Isn’t it time you went home to the US?’ Sean Terry said, the tones of his voice harsh and rasping, like a cat’s tongue over the palm of your hand. ‘You’ve been away fifteen years.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ Bill agreed.

  ‘Once you’ve told your story to the UN in Switzerland, there’s nothing stopping you.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll believe me?’ Bill said. ‘The Dutch police obviously didn’t.’ He winced with pain.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘I’m okay. We started without you,’ he explained. ‘They’ve all left now and I’m a bit tired.’

  ‘They want to interview you, too, Scott.’ Doug Randal intervened. ‘We’ve been talking this over. From what I can see, it’s going to be a case of, “least said, soonest mended,”’ he quoted. ‘Someone’s trying to throw the blame on terrorists. So let’s go with that. Your father went missing. You confided in me and learned he was in Lisse. You came to find him and were abducted at gunpoint. That’s all you know.’

  A zillion questions flooded into Scott’s brain. It was no good keeping them to himself – that was how the whole mess started in the first place. ‘Why the United Nations?’

  Sean Terry broke in. ‘Your father now knows for certain it wasn’t the US behind the attack on Iran. We need him to say just that. But, as he said, without something to corroborate it, it probably won’
t be enough.’

  Scott continued looking at him, wanting more.

  ‘We need to catch the people behind it. Thanks to Bill here, a large chunk of my puzzle is filled in.’

  Scott shifted his gaze to the big man, totally relaxed in his seat, an aura of innocence and openness enveloping him. ‘How did you get involved, Mr Randal?’

  ‘I’m not.’ The tone was frank, confident.

  ‘Then how …?’ Scott protested.

  ‘James is an old friend. He couldn’t chase after your father himself so he asked me. I know a lot of people – have-a-go people. I was on my way to Scotland to meet up with you when the sky fell in.’

  Scott was silent a moment. In the past week he’d become quite adept at only telling half the truth and now he recognised the skill of a master. ‘Will you tell Mr Nicely I’m sorry,’ he said accepting the futility of further questions.

  ‘I expect he knows you weren’t to blame. A bit headstrong though. Good job Travers had enough sense to warn me what was likely to happen.’

  Scott bit his lip. ‘I know. It was stupid; I should have listened to him.’

  ‘Fortunately, we got away with it, thanks to some pretty nifty work with an automatic from our friend here.’ Doug indicated the silent figure of the reporter. ‘I’ve persuaded the authorities to leave your interview till tomorrow when your dad is stronger, since he’s determined to be there.’

  ‘Do they know who’s behind the kidnapping?’

  ‘Not a clue, if you mean the Dutch authorities.’ Sean Terry intervened again, the sarcasm strong and biting. ‘And they’d feel more comfortable if it was an act of terrorism. That’s why we decided to run with it. Much simpler. Your father told us what he knows, so has Hilary. Hopefully, you can add to it. Their leader goes by the name of Smith. Not particularly original. But, whoever he is, he has to be pretty powerful if he’s going to make two kidnappings, several murders, and a bloody great hole in a canal disappear.’

  ‘And your work, Dad?’

  Bill sighed. ‘You know about that? I guess Terry told you,’ he said; adding wearily, ‘I figured if you didn’t know you’d stay safe. Some great idea that was!’