Brock Steele Sphere Page 11

  Ty swung left and instead of joining the M1 fast traffic, he drove into the motorway slip road, narrowly missing a hitchhiker who, for some reason, jumped out into the car. Ty swerved again, slamming his foot hard onto the brakes, causing the car to come to a skidding halt on the slip road. Brock’s seatbelt came out of its socket and his head was thrust into the dashboard.

  “What are you doing? Thanks for the whiplash,” Brock snapped, sliding his hand down his face and neck feeling the moist blood. “Look, I’m bleeding.”

  “Don’t blame me—it was that idiot running into the car.” Ty pointed to a man on the hard shoulder stumbling towards them in baggy jeans and a prominent blue hoody, carrying a placard under his left arm and a black bag under the other.

  “Just get us out of here.”

  As the man got closer, he pulled his hoody down.

  “Wait, it’s Preston. What’s he doing out here on the motorway?”

  Brock shot him a glance; his placard read in big letters: EDINBURGH.

  Preston thumped on the windscreen, his ginger hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. Brock reached for the door catch, pushing it open.

  “You ought to be careful, you nearly killed us all!”

  “Hey, guys, it’s you. Sorry, waiting here ages and nobody stopped. Where you both heading?”

  Ty leaned over and peered at him. “All the way, jump in.”

  Brock pulled a yellow duster from the glovebox, wiping his face of the blood. Preston slammed the door shut and threw his bag across the seat.

  “I’ve decided we should forget Edinburgh, Ty, and head to London,” Brock said. “I’m worried about Sarah. Something is wrong and I know it. How do we know this guy in Edinburgh isn’t an elaborate trap?”

  Ty rolled his eyes towards Preston and shot a glance at the yellow duster.

  “Who carries yellow dusters in the car anyway? We got to go, Brock. This guy might have something, and we need somewhere to kip.”

  Preston clicked a can of lager open, startling Brock, and the car moved off, joining the motorway and into the flow of busy traffic.

  “You guys sound like you’ve got trouble,” Preston said.

  Brock shrugged. “Slow down, man,” he said to Ty. “Get out of the fast lane. We need to blend in.”

  “He’s on the run from the law,” Ty explained to Preston.

  Preston coughed up some beer, wiping his mouth. “Anyone want a can?”

  “Your foolishness nearly got us killed back there. Why are you travelling to Edinburgh?” said Brock.

  “Who, me?” said Preston. “Passing through.”

  Brock kept one eye on the world whizzing by outside. After all, he didn’t know who he was dodging: police cars, Sighrus, his agents, geriatric drivers and anyone who remotely appeared out of place.

  “Do that often?”

  “What you mean? This is my first time here,” exclaimed Preston. “Like I say, just passing through. Anyway, what kind of trouble are you in?”

  “What did you want to speak to me about the other day in Camden Town?”

  “It’s not important now.”

  “To me it is. You sped off and nobody was following you.”

  Preston remained silent and Ty shot him a glance.

  “You could help to fill in the missing pieces,” said Brock.

  “Maybe I can, but I can’t be arsed now,” said Preston, giving out a huge loud burp and pulling out another Stella from the bag.

  The sky was luminescent and wind screeched through the driver’s slightly opened window, clearing stale air. Brock pondered over what next to ask Preston.

  “These people from the children’s home are probably still walking the street. Where can I track them down?”

  “Are you crazy?” Preston asked. “I can’t believe you had the balls to go back to that hellhole, let alone track them down. What’s wrong with you?”

  Brock stayed silent, pondering, as Ty swerved, narrowly missing a car. Silence fell inside the car and the look on their two faces said it all—or said something at least. Brock felt like his mouth had gone numb, as if time was standing still. After several minutes he still didn’t know what to say.

  “How did you know I went back to the home?” he asked eventually.

  “It’s listed all over the god-damn show,” said Preston, tapping the keypad on his phone as if he was attempting to call someone.

  Brock looked at Ty.

  “Listed?”

  “Calm down. You mentioned it back in Camden.”

  He didn’t remember mentioning it. Ty hit the accelerator too hard and the car jumped forward again.

  “I told you to slow down. Do we have to go so fast? Move back into the first lane. We’re standing out from the crowd too much.”

  “Want a beer? There’s plenty in the bag,” said Preston.

  Brock shook his head. He was about to continue interrogating Preston, but his gaze caught a digitised motorway sign flashing bright yellow words: “Turn off at next junction.”

  His mouth slammed shut. There were no diversions ahead, just a clear road.

  Had others been flashing up? Who were they directed at?

  “Who are you trying to call?” said Brock, swivelling back to Preston.

  “You ask a lot of questions. If you must know, it’s my girlfriend—”

  Brock snatched the mobile from Preston’s palm and threw it through the window into the slip road.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” screamed Preston, slamming his fist into the upholstery. “Stop the car, I want to get out.”

  “Yes, what’s got into you?” said Ty.

  “Phones can be traced,” Brock said. “Turn the car around. I want to get back to London.”

  Preston jumped out of his chair, giving Brock a violent stare. “Who are you to give all the orders”?

  The sky was darkening and the motorway lights flicked on. They’d been racing down the motorway for over two hours; Ty had remained silent for much of the journey and Preston had knocked back Stella after Stella, appearing to sulk in the back. Brock was too occupied recollecting what the flashing sign meant—or had he imagined the whole thing? No, he was convinced he had seen it. His tired eyes wanted to slam shut, but his mental alertness forced them to stay open. His attention was disrupted to some stirring in the back and Preston shoved his head between the seats.

  “I need a piss.”

  Instantly, Ty eased off the gas, swinging the Renault into the hard shoulder and to a sudden halt. Preston wandered out, Brock watching his every move.

  “Sizing him, up are you?” whispered Ty.

  “I wanted to see he pulled his prick out and nothing else.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “I saw the sign flash up too,” Ty said.

  “And you never mentioned anything?”

  Ty shrugged.

  “What do you think?”

  “Don’t know. His ginger hair threw me. I don’t recognise him, but I could have sworn he used to have brown hair. Maybe I’m wrong … it was from way back.”

  “I agree he’s odd.”

  Preston jumped back into the back seat, sprawling himself across it. Brock deliberately changed the subject.

  “I’m really worried about Sarah.”

  “She’ll be fine,” said Preston.

  Brock’s flinched, slightly stiffening as Ty turned over the engine with the wires, accelerating forward and picking up speed into the moving flow of traffic.

  “You know Sarah?”

  “How would I know her? I’ve—”

  “I hate to interrupt your argument but there is a cop car at five o’clock and both police officers inside it are looking this way.”

  Brock reaching into his rucksack, digging around for his pistol. He pulled it out. “
Act natural and don’t make eye contact. Just look forward, and Ty get back into the first lane.”

  “Done this before?” squeaked Preston.

  “I can’t remember jack shit,” said Brock sternly. “What’s the car doing now?”

  Flashing blue lights pierced the landscape like a disco in full swing as the police unit leapt in front, darting away into the distance. Ty pulled in a big gulp of air, running his hand over his sweaty brow.

  “That was a close one.”

  “Surely this car has been reported stolen by now. Why didn’t the ANPR pick us out?”

  “Owner’s probably on holiday or something,” said Preston.

  Brock opened the glovebox and slipped the pistol into the compartment.

  “You never actually told me why you were heading for Edinburgh.”

  He was distracted by another motorway sign beaming out on the other side of the carriageway: “Go straight ahead.”

  “I hate to tell you this,” Ty said, “but I think a grey Audi is following us, the one at five o’clock with the big dent in the side. They got close back there, didn’t think anything of it, but they’re still on our tail.”

  “Take the next junction,” Brock said.

  “Why? That would take us away from Edinburgh!” shouted Preston.

  “Do it,” shouted Brock “And don’t indicate. God, I should be driving.”

  Ty held back until the last second, swinging the Renault into the filter road, gathering speed towards traffic lights on red.

  “Drive through the traffic lights.”

  “You’ll get us killed,” screamed Preston.

  “I knew it, he’s still following us. What are we going to do?”

  “Stay calm. We’re going to lose him.”

  Ty’s hands shook on the steering wheel as he put his foot down on the accelerator, speeding through the red traffic lights into the roundabout ahead and aggressively joining the flow of traffic turning left into another main road.

  “Fast as you can. We’re going to lose this sucker.”

  “I think we’ve lost them. Nobody is following. It was a mistake,” said Preston.

  Ty rubbed more sweat from his brow, wiping it down his shirt, and Brock leaned forward, squinting to focus on a sign on his left.

  “Take the turning ahead and re-join the M1. Relax, there is no car following now … I hope.”

  Brock stared through the windscreen into the darkly lit road, anticipating the turning in case Ty drove past. Street lamps here barely lit the road. As the engine buzzed, all was peaceful, and he reached into his rucksack, pulling out the mobile he’d mysteriously acquired. Reaching towards the glove compartment, he slipped the mobile in and closed his eyes. The phone started to buzz inside the compartment.

  “What? It must have come on.”

  “Tell me about tracking phones, you idiot,” said Preston.

  Yanking at the compartment, Brock grabbed the phone, shooting a glance at Preston. “It’s a withheld number,” he said, pressing the answer button. “Hello? Damn PPI calls.”

  He switched it off and shoved it back into the glove compartment, pushing his head back into the headrest shutting his eyes once more, but Ty nudge him.

  “I hate to tell you this, but that probably wasn’t a PPI call. You might have compromised our location.”

  “Get your foot down!”

  Chapter 18

  Brock checked the clock on the dashboard; it was one in the morning exactly. Ty swung the red Renault into another quiet well-lit main road, cruising past the sprawling Edinburgh train station. The temperature outside was cold; fog covered the distant landscape and the heat from the Renault hissed out, keeping them warm. Their headlamps shone into a stone-built old castle and Ty swerved into a vacant parking space, yanking up the handbrake, killing the lights and the engine. They were in darkness.

  “What now?” said Brock.

  “Somebody call the guy,” said Preston.

  Brock bit his lip and Ty reached into his pocket, pulling out a mobile. “Oh shit, that’s all I need,” said Ty, giving out a growl like a bear. “I’m out of flipping credit.”

  “Use mine, it’s in the glovebox.”

  Spots of rain hit the windscreen. Brock squeezed his eyes with his finger and thumb and thought about Sarah.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” said Preston.

  “Naff off,” snarled Brock, distracted by a dark figure staring right into the vehicle from across the street and heading towards the castle.

  “I’ll bet that’s him.” Ty squinted at him.

  “Hang on,” Brock muttered. ‘”What’s he doing here?”

  Preston turned his face away from the window and Brock stared at the man outside. He flung the door open and made his way out into the cold dark street. Dull street lamps shone down, making the castle landscape barely visible, and for the first time in his life, he felt aware of the cold as a menace. It was without a doubt colder up north, and Brock pulled his jacket together as the dark shadow appeared in front of him.

  It was Icarus from the gym back in London, wrapped in a black duffer jacket.

  “I knew you’d come, and I’m so sorry.”

  Brock stared at him. “I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

  “You’re a decent guy. I wanted to help. At first it was just professional curiosity—I’d heard so much chat about you around the MI5 base in Vauxhall that I wanted to see what this man who was causing us so much trouble was like. I figured I could use a bit of personal training too.

  “But after digging around and hearing your story, well, I realised how much trouble you were in, and now we’re both in it up to our necks.”

  “It’s too late for anyone to help me now. My options are limited I’m afraid: run or turn myself in. Trust me, I’ve considered it.”

  “Don’t turn yourself in, they’ll kill you. I’ve got something important to tell you before it’s too late.”

  “Look at the trouble I’m causing. People are getting killed and it’s all my fault.”

  “Your fault? How? I know you didn’t kill her.”

  “I’m being made to look like some evil killing machine and some maniac is after me for no reason I can fathom. My identity is being ripped to shreds and I don’t feel safe any more. I’ve no food or means to buy anything and the police are acting weird. I popped into Camden station and the woman nearly bit my head off. It was strange.”

  “You did what? Oh Brock, you didn’t? You idiot,” said Icarus.

  “And now I have found out my parents are dead. How bad can it get? I’m broken.”

  “Pull yourself together. Whatever you do, don’t turn yourself in. They’ll kill you. Back at the harbour, I have a wee boat to take you to mainland Europe. It leaves tomorrow fully crewed in the early hours. Just don’t ask me any questions.”

  Brock stared at Icarus. The driver’s door swung out into the road and Ty appeared, wandering towards them. He cleared his throat.

  “You want me to run off to Europe?” Brock repeated. “No, I won’t do it. I’m not leaving Sarah. Are you mad?”

  “Listen to me—we haven’t much time. I can smuggle you over to Europe under the noses of the authorities. Once there you can move further afield, avoiding detection and staying well below the UK’s radar. All you need to do is ditch your phone and don’t use any bank accounts. Stay offline and away from the prying eyes of any government agency, particularly hospitals.”

  “No! Absolutely no way. I refuse to leave London or abandon Sarah,” Brock said, banging his fist hard on the bonnet.

  Ty’s posture stiffened as he observed the conversation. “Maybe you should listen to this guy. We can escape this country and be free. Leave her behind. She didn’t seem to want you anyway.”

  “That’s not true, shut your mouth!”

 
; “You’re an intelligent young man,” Icarus said. “He’s right—forget about the wee lassie and I can assure you we’ll take care of her. Get out while you still have the chance.”

  “Who are you?”

  Spots of rain fell into the dark, misty landscape, putting a damp chill in the air. Brock puffed out a breath and scrambled back towards the passenger door, yanking it open and grabbing the pistol from the glovebox. The shadow of Icarus moved towards him.

  “Someone is trying to kill you because—”

  Brock swung around, aiming the semi-automatic pistol towards Icarus.

  “Where did that get that?” Icarus’s eyes bulged.

  “Tell me who you are or I’m going to let off some bullets.”

  Icarus froze, staring up at the semi-automatic pistol, and Ty stepped up to him.

  “Brock, put the ruddy gun down! You’re scaring everyone.”

  “I thought we were buddies. Sighrus won’t rest until you’re dead. Don’t act foolish—drop the gun. You’re in a lot of trouble,” said Icarus. “That’s a mighty fine semi-automatic pistol you have there. Not standard-issue—where did you acquire it?”

  A buzzing followed by ringing erupted from Ty’s pocket. He took out Brock’s mysterious phone and pressed it to his ear. “Yes?” he said, listening carefully into the mobile. “It’s Sighrus. They’ve got Sarah.”

  Brock snatched the phone from Ty, but it had gone dead. “I abandoned her. We’ve got to get back to London.”

  “No,” Icarus shouted. “You should have ditched that mobile from Helen, she’s an operative and it’s tapped. If you turn yourself in, he’ll kill you both. Understand this: you’re too much of a liability to him. He isn’t bothered about you, trust me.”

  “He’s left me no choice.”

  “You’re an intelligent guy. Think about it—Sarah is safe as long as you’re out here, on the run.”