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was disappointing. It may have had a large engine, but the sheer weight militated against high speeds. He eased it back to a fast cruise.

After two miles a speck appeared from time to time in his rear-view mirror. Each time he spotted it, it had grown bigger. It was certainly a vehicle, but other details weren’t clear. The car grew in size, but Kelly kept his head. When it was clear—from the fair headed driver and the fat shape of Diez in the front passenger seat—that it was the Russians, Kelly gunned his Chrysler.

Despite urging every single horsepower out of his underpowered Chrysler, and taking great risks on the corners, it was soon clear that he was not going to outrun his pursuers. Kelly had the edge on corners as the heavier pursuing Cadillac slewed and screamed around the curves, but on the straight, the caddy just ate up the gap between them. Kelly drove into a series of bends, scraping the paint away as he brushed against the cliff sides then out into a clearing with a gradual slope up the mountain. He screeched to a halt, grabbed the machine gun, and sprang out, sprinting up the slope and taking cover behind large rocks on the scree slope.

Within seconds the Cadillac came out of the bend and slammed on the brakes, crashing into Kelly’s car and slithering to a halt. The pursuers leapt out of the car as Kelly opened up with his borrowed sub machine gun. He was gratified to see one of the Spetsnaz crumple to the ground clutching his leg, but Vladeshenko, Diez and the two remaining Spetsnaz went to ground, uninjured as far as Kelly could tell. These were bad odds. He couldn’t even discount Diez. He might be a slob, but he was one of G’s men and would know how to use a gun.

Kelly’s only chance was to get up into the hills and become a ghost. He sprayed the area and ran to the next higher cover, but the answering fire was close and resulted in movement by the Russians. He was not opening a gap at all.

The third time he moved the returning fire seemed much closer and from a point to the side. He was now in a position with his back against a rock face with someone to one side of him. He held his nerve and took careful aim at a point near where he had seen movement. There it was again! Kelly took the pressure on the trigger … then as the Russian emerged, he squeezed. The burst sent the young Spetsnaz tumbling down the slope crying out in pain.

Another burst from the side sent Kelly down behind his cover.

Quickly he popped up again and squeezed the trigger. There was a dull clunk. He was out of ammo with no spare magazines. He was about to reach into his waist band for the berretta when he was startled by a voice to his side:

“Don’t think about it, Mr Kelly!” Kelly swung around to see Diez with a sub machine gun levelled at him. The double agent had a hideous grin on his face as he raised the weapon into his shoulder and took careful aim.

Diez suddenly flung his arms high into the air and jerked his head back as he uttered a high-pitched squeal. As the head dropped again Kelly could see the glazed look in his eyes and a dull red stain spreading across his tee shirt.

“This way!” Kelly looked in the direction of the female voice and froze. For a moment he could have sworn it was Sybilla. Was his mind playing tricks? “Quickly!” the voice said, gesturing him to follow her.

It was Sybilla!

Kelly hesitated for a moment more before scampering across to her position. The expected burst of fire didn’t materialize.

“Come on!” she said.” I’ve arranged a meeting.”

“What about the opposition?” asked Kelly, gesturing down the hill. The situation seemed to be spiralling out of control. Was he losing his mind?

“Taken care of. With the exception of the older one. He managed to get the caddy going and was last seen heading back to town trailing lumps of the car behind him.” She smiled as she described it. Then on impulse she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Hello, Dan. It’s so good to see you again,” she said affectionately.

Kelly’s whole demeanour and look reflected the total confusion he felt. She must have sensed it as she slipped her arm through his and guided him further up the hill. Kelly looked at her again. She was in olive drab fatigues, the tight tee shirt accentuating her statuesque body. Her hair dishevelled and waving freely in the breeze. Although she looked older and, Kelly thought, tired, there was still the sparkle in those beautiful blue eyes. Her every aspect reminded Kelly of why he was so attracted to her.

As Kelly followed her up the hill, he was conscious of a number of other people, also in combat fatigues, converging on the same place. Predominantly they were men but there were a number of young women among them, many of them carrying a weapon of some kind. Most of the group seemed to be armed with old Second World War American carbines, though a few had sub machine guns.

The group came together on a small rock shelf, sheltered by an overhang. Each was met in turn by a tall, handsome man with a hook nose and just the beginning of a beard. He shook each of the men’s hands in turn and embraced the women, including Sybilla as she approached him. The two spoke furtively for a while, each glancing at Kelly. Finally, they approached him, the man with his hand extended.

“Thank you for your help,” said Kelly, referring to the recent conflict.

“You are welcome, Mr Kelly. What has occurred was a—” he hesitated, “meeting? One that had to take place. Those people were interfering with my,” he corrected himself, “our movement. If

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