Newman's arm.
'We've been seen. Three men with automatic weapons are running up behind us.' Newman glanced back, saw three figures blurred in the mist coming after them. He took Paula's arm, hustled her over the first ridge, then moved at the double towards the second ridge. They had just reached the far side when Paula pointed ahead. Three more uniformed men with weapons were walking towards them.
'Caught in a cross-fire,' she hissed.
'Drop flat behind the ridge.'
He did so, facing the way they had come, and she flattened herself behind him. He gave the order fiercely.
'Whatever happens, you stay still. You do not fire.'
He glanced over his shoulder, saw the three men as blurred figures, like ghosts, weapons at the ready. He looked in front over the crest, aimed his rifle. He timed it carefully. As the three in front stood on top of the other ridge Newman aimed, fired, deliberately hit one man in the kneecap. A shriek as he fired two more shots over their heads, dipped his own head.
The mist made his tactic work. The three in front thought the three blurred figures coming from the other direction had opened fire on them. A fusillade opened up on the men behind Newman and Paula, immediately returned by a rattle of automatic weapons. The three men on the ridge nearest the prison dropped, slumped like dead men. Newman looked over his shoulder. The three behind him were collapsing on their ridge. No further movement anywhere.
'Let's get out of this,' Newman ordered urgently.
They ran to the ridge behind them. Newman paused to check the bodies on the ridge. All dead. Bless the Duke of Wellington, he said to himself.
They ran all the way after Paula had checked her watch and said they were going to miss the return ferry. As they arrived on the dock, Abe, his motor running, waved at them. Newman glanced down into a powerful motorboat tied to the other side of the jetty. The earlier wind had blown overboard a canvas covering, now floating in the water. He saw the contents.
'We've made it,' Paula panted as she hauled herself aboard the ferry.
'Don't be too sure of that,' Newman warned.
8
Abe had the barge leaving the dock as soon as they were aboard. A strong breeze had blown up, curling the smooth water into waves. It had dispersed any fragments of mist. Above the sky was a clear cerulean blue.
'Thank heavens,' Paula said to Newman as they sat near the stern. 'What we saw was quite terrible.'
'Main thing is we have the evidence - your photos. Soon as we get back to Park Crescent, take the camera down into the basement. I want the film developed immediately and five sets of prints.'
'Five?'
'That's what I said,' he told her abruptly, then grinned.
They were in mid-channel, halfway to the mainland landing point, when Paula turned in her seat, stared back towards Black Island. Newman was also looking in that direction. The speedboat had left Lydford dock and was roaring towards them. Paula took out her field glasses, steadied herself, then slipped them back inside her pocket.
'We may never reach the mainland,' she said quietly.
Newman was using his own field glasses. He sucked in his breath, then lowered them. He looked at Paula, who had taken out her Browning, holding it out of sight of Abe. She looked at Newman.
'You've seen what's coming after us like a bat out of hell?'
'The powerboat moored to the dock back there. I peered down inside it and neatly stacked next to each other inside the craft were grenades.'
'Do you think, if we survive, they could sink this barge?'
'I've no doubt they could.'
When their lives were in mortal danger Newman never concealed the situation from Paula. She was tough enough and experienced enough to face the truth. She looked back at Abe attending the engine behind them, just far enough away not to overhear them.
'There are three of those swine in black uniforms aboard it,' she mused. 'One is concentrating on steering and the other two are holding automatic weapons. I guess
'We've been seen. Three men with automatic weapons are running up behind us.' Newman glanced back, saw three figures blurred in the mist coming after them. He took Paula's arm, hustled her over the first ridge, then moved at the double towards the second ridge. They had just reached the far side when Paula pointed ahead. Three more uniformed men with weapons were walking towards them.
'Caught in a cross-fire,' she hissed.
'Drop flat behind the ridge.'
He did so, facing the way they had come, and she flattened herself behind him. He gave the order fiercely.
'Whatever happens, you stay still. You do not fire.'
He glanced over his shoulder, saw the three men as blurred figures, like ghosts, weapons at the ready. He looked in front over the crest, aimed his rifle. He timed it carefully. As the three in front stood on top of the other ridge Newman aimed, fired, deliberately hit one man in the kneecap. A shriek as he fired two more shots over their heads, dipped his own head.
The mist made his tactic work. The three in front thought the three blurred figures coming from the other direction had opened fire on them. A fusillade opened up on the men behind Newman and Paula, immediately returned by a rattle of automatic weapons. The three men on the ridge nearest the prison dropped, slumped like dead men. Newman looked over his shoulder. The three behind him were collapsing on their ridge. No further movement anywhere.
'Let's get out of this,' Newman ordered urgently.
They ran to the ridge behind them. Newman paused to check the bodies on the ridge. All dead. Bless the Duke of Wellington, he said to himself.
They ran all the way after Paula had checked her watch and said they were going to miss the return ferry. As they arrived on the dock, Abe, his motor running, waved at them. Newman glanced down into a powerful motorboat tied to the other side of the jetty. The earlier wind had blown overboard a canvas covering, now floating in the water. He saw the contents.
'We've made it,' Paula panted as she hauled herself aboard the ferry.
'Don't be too sure of that,' Newman warned.
8
Abe had the barge leaving the dock as soon as they were aboard. A strong breeze had blown up, curling the smooth water into waves. It had dispersed any fragments of mist. Above the sky was a clear cerulean blue.
'Thank heavens,' Paula said to Newman as they sat near the stern. 'What we saw was quite terrible.'
'Main thing is we have the evidence - your photos. Soon as we get back to Park Crescent, take the camera down into the basement. I want the film developed immediately and five sets of prints.'
'Five?'
'That's what I said,' he told her abruptly, then grinned.
They were in mid-channel, halfway to the mainland landing point, when Paula turned in her seat, stared back towards Black Island. Newman was also looking in that direction. The speedboat had left Lydford dock and was roaring towards them. Paula took out her field glasses, steadied herself, then slipped them back inside her pocket.
'We may never reach the mainland,' she said quietly.
Newman was using his own field glasses. He sucked in his breath, then lowered them. He looked at Paula, who had taken out her Browning, holding it out of sight of Abe. She looked at Newman.
'You've seen what's coming after us like a bat out of hell?'
'The powerboat moored to the dock back there. I peered down inside it and neatly stacked next to each other inside the craft were grenades.'
'Do you think, if we survive, they could sink this barge?'
'I've no doubt they could.'
When their lives were in mortal danger Newman never concealed the situation from Paula. She was tough enough and experienced enough to face the truth. She looked back at Abe attending the engine behind them, just far enough away not to overhear them.
'There are three of those swine in black uniforms aboard it,' she mused. 'One is concentrating on steering and the other two are holding automatic weapons. I guess
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