Hunter Hunted by Jack Gatland (best value ebook reader .TXT) 📗

sofa, taking the officer down in a tackle, the taser firing off to the side as, now up and running again, Declan ran past the confused PCSO and slammed open the door.

There was no way to leave through the main gates; the police had already arrived, screeching up onto the curb outside. Luckily though, the gates were closed; the young officer had forgotten to open them before he entered the room, and that gave Declan a moment’s respite as the police ran to the gate, franticly hammering on the pad beside it to open it up, watching the man in the suit exit through the front door and stop, unsure where to go next. Deciding, Declan turned to the right, sprinting across the garden in a diagonal direction away from the gate. He knew the police would run around the house, but he hoped that he could get to the gate and climb over it before they reached him. Then he’d try to lose them down the back roads and alleys as he made his way back to the car.

Leaping over the back fence with the help of an apple tree beside it, Declan fell to the pavement on the other side of the wooden slatted wall, looking back up the street to see a young officer sprint around the junction. He was alone, so had obviously already been moving in that direction, but one officer, no matter how large or small could still see where Declan was going. There was a good fifty yards between them so Declan now continued running in the opposite direction now, hoping to escape the chasing police, darting down the first side road, turning into the footpath before the second officer could catch him. He could hear the sirens of police cars, but it was too late for them; they would have to take the long way round to reach him.

There was a piece of pallet wood on the floor down the alley; about three to four feet in length and, as Declan grabbed it, hefting it in his hands like a baseball bat and moving against the wall where the path turned, it became a vicious-looking weapon. As the officer ran into view Declan swung it hard, catching the police officer low, under the anti-stab best and sending him to the floor, clutching at his groin. Declan tossed the pallet away, said a quick ‘sorry’ and carried on running.

Through the passageway now and with the keys in his hand, he ran to the car loaned to him by Karl and, leaping into the driver’s seat, started it up, driving off down the street before he’d even closed the door. He knew the police officer, by now back on his feet would see him drive off, but the street was dark, and Declan had faith that the registration wouldn’t be seen.

He drove for two more streets before pulling into a busy pub car park and stopping, parking up between two vans. He could hear the police vehicles as they passed, and so he hunkered down in the seat, with the car turned off. There was a moment of tension when a police car drove into the car park, looking at the vehicles, but as a torch swept across, Declan stayed low and kept as quiet as a mouse. And, having seen nothing, the police car continued on.

Declan gave it an hour before he dared leave the car park; by then the police would have moved the search out of the area.

And now with a clear route out of Woking, he placed the car into first gear and started back to London.

In Westminster, in an upstairs room at The Red Lion pub, Anjli nursed a glass of wine and stared across the table at DCI Bullman, now drinking a half pint of some obscure pear cider.

‘So what do you think?’ she asked.

‘I think that it’s never dull with you guys,’ Bullman replied, staring into her glass as she swirled it. ‘Any reason we’re not discussing this back at your office?’

‘Don’t trust the people in it,’ Anjli shrugged. ’Stunned we weren’t arrested the moment Harrison appeared.’

Will Harrison had appeared a couple of minutes after Anjli had entered the Ford Focus, out of breath and sweating and screaming out that this couldn’t happen, as the bald-headed driver worked for the government under the Intelligence Remit of 2016 and was at no liberty to divulge any information to her without a warrant, and the people and items within his car, including Laurie Hooper were covered by the same remit. Anjli had thanked the flustered Will for confirming that the man who apparently blew up a pub in Chelsea was indeed an employee of his; Will then backtracked, saying that the man, still unnamed, was an employee of the Government, and therefore not just the office of Charles Baker. At this, Anjli had thought for a moment and then nodded, allowing the bald man and Mrs Hooper to leave.

The bald man, unaware that he’d dodged a bullet, or possibly too arrogant to believe that he could be shot at had glared furiously at Anjli as he climbed back into the car, starting it, and with a loud rev of the engine, the Ford Focus had screeched into the late night traffic, scattering onlookers beside The Red Lion pub as he did so.

Anjli had looked at Will right then, noticing his flushed red face. Poor bastard had likely started running here the moment Anjli had left. The only difference was that she was a damn sight fitter.

‘Happy?’ she had asked.

‘Far from it,’ Harrison snapped.

‘Take it up with your MP,’ Bullman then replied, looking to the armed police and nodding thanks. This done, both Anjli and Bullman had entered the pub, ordered drinks and taken them to a quiet area upstairs.

‘So, what did she tell you?’ Bullman took a drink after asking. Anjli glanced out of the window, down at the street below.

‘Nothing much,’ she replied. ’Stuck to the