“I’d like to see you try to stop me,” Fenner said and he was first out of the room.
Chapter thirty
Slim woke with a start. His brain became instantly alert. His gun jumped into his hand as he half sat up, blinking in a pale beam of sunlight coming through one of the many chinks in the barn walls. For some moments he couldn’t imagine where he was, then he remembered the long walk in the darkness through the woods, seeing the lights of the farmhouse, entering the barn, too weary to go further. He had had trouble in forcing Miss Blandish into the barn. She had been in such an exhausted state she could scarcely walk. He had dragged her up in the loft and pushed her down on the straw covered floor, then he had closed the trap door and had dragged straw across it.
It had been some time before he had fallen asleep. Now as he half sat up, his bones aching from the hard floor, he felt hungry and thirsty. He looked at his watch: it was close to five o’clock. Maybe they would have to stay up in the loft all day. They would have to have water. He looked over at where Miss Blandish lay sleeping, then he pulled aside the straw, opened the trap door and slid quickly down the ladder into the main part of the barn. He went out the door, gun in hand and studied the farmhouse some fifty yards away.
There was no sign of life. Soiled net curtains shielded all the windows. He stood watching for several minutes, then satisfied there was no one up, he moved cautiously into the open.
Old man Waite and his two sons who had been watching from behind the net curtains all night, stiffened at the sight of the tall thin figure in the shabby black suit who came out of the barn, gun in hand.
“That’s him,” Waite said. “Call the police, Harry. Hurry it up!”
Slim made for the water tank, bucket in hand. He dipped the bucket into the tank, then turning, he hurried back to the barn, unaware that the alarm had gone out and that police cars, packed with armed men, were already on the move towards the isolated farm.
He carried the bucket up into the loft, replaced the trap and set the bucket down. He wished he had been able to get food. He was hungry. He drank some of the water. Then he lay down.
Staring up at the roof of the barn, he tried to make up his mind what he was to do. He was regretting that he had ditched the car, but at the time it seemed the sensible thing to do. Everyone would be on the lookout for the Buick by now. But the long five mile walk through the woods now underlined the fact that he must have a car. Maybe there would, be a car on the farm he could take. He wondered how many people lived in the farmhouse. Maybe, later, they would go out into the fields and give him a chance to steal the car. He closed his eyes. An hour crawled by, and as the minutes passed, the tiny spot of panic in his mind gradually grew. He kept wondering what it would be like to die. What would happen to him when he was dead? This was something he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t believe he just snuffed out: something must happen to him, he thought, but what?
He heard Miss Blandish stir and he raised himself up on his arm. The girl was muttering to herself as she slowly came awake.
The sound of a distant aircraft came to him only half consciously as he watched the girl open her eyes.
They looked at each other. He saw her eyes widen and she shrank back, her hand going to her mouth.
“Don’t make a noise!” he snarled. He had an instinctive feeling that she was about to scream. “Hear me? Don’t make a noise! I’m not coming near you... just stay quiet.”
She remained motionless, staring at him as the noise of the aircraft grew louder and louder and seemed finally to be immediately over the top of the barn.
Slim’s heart suddenly gave a lurch. He realized the significance of the sound. He scrambled to his feet, pulled aside the truss of straw and lifted the trap door.
He paused to motion to the girl to stay where she was, then he slid down the ladder, ran across to the door and peered out.
He was in time to see a helicopter with the white star of the Army painted on it, settling down in the field at the back of the farmhouse.
He knew immediately his hiding place had been discovered and his gun jumped into his hand. He closed the barn door and dropped the heavy bar into its slot. Through a chink in the door he peered out into the farmyard.
It wasn’t a well-kept farm and there was much litter, two old tractors, a farm car and a big truck cluttering up the place: all of which afforded good cover for anyone approaching the barn.
Suddenly he saw a policeman. The man made a quick, silent dash from the truck to one of the tractors. He moved so fast Slim had no time to get his gun up, but it told him as nothing else could that this was the end of his road.
From behind the shelter of the farmhouse, Brennan and Fenner climbed out of the helicopter. A big, rubbery-faced police sergeant and a tall, thin Army Lieutenant greeted them.
“He hasn’t broken cover yet, sir,” Sergeant Donaghue said. “We’ve got him trapped. The whole farm is surrounded. This is Lieutenant Hardy.”
Brennan shook hands with the Lieutenant.
“Just where is he holed up?” he asked.
“This way, Chief,” Donaghue said.
The four men walked across the field to the farmhouse. Brennan noted with approval the circle of armed men, well hidden, lying, rifles in hand, around the perimeter of the farm.
“Careful how you go here, sir,” Donaghue said, pausing at the corner of the house. He edged around the side of the house until they could see the farmyard. He pointed to the big barn some fifty yards away. “He’s in there.”
Brennan studied the ground. The first thirty yards offered excellent cover, but the last twenty yards were bare and open.
“No idea if he has a Thompson, sergeant?”
“No, sir.”
“He could do a hell of a lot of damage if he has. Still no sign of the girl?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll give him a hail. Got a loudspeaker truck here?”
“It’s coming up now, sir.”
The men moved back. A few minutes later the loudspeaker truck bumped over the field and pulled up near them. Brennan took the microphone.
“Can you get some of your men behind those two tractors and the truck, Lieutenant?”
“Sure,” Hardy said. “I would have got them there before but Donaghue said to wait.” He turned to his sergeant and issued orders.
“No shooting,” Brennan said. “If the girl’s in there we can’t take any chances.”
“I understand.”
Ten soldiers moved quietly out of the cover of the farmhouse. They dropped flat and began to crawl towards the tractors and the truck.
Shaking and sweating, Slim saw them as they crawled out into the open. The khaki uniforms, the steel helmets and the rifles turned him sick with panic. He lifted his gun and tried to get one of the soldiers in his sights, but the gun seemed to be jumping in his hand and snarling with frustrated fear and fury, he fired blindly. He saw the dust kick up about a yard from the nearest soldier who jumped up, bent double, and with two quick strides was behind the truck and out of sight. The other soldiers, also moving with speed, reached their objectives and vanished.
Brennan grunted.
“If he had a Thompson he would have used it,” he said to the Lieutenant. “It depends now on how many slugs he’s got left. I’ll give him a hail.” He lifted the microphone. “Grisson! You’re surrounded. Come on out with your hands in the air! Grisson! You haven’t a chance! Come on out!”
The loud metallic voice echoed in the fresh morning air. Slim listened, his loose mouth closed in a bunched-up mess of wet lips. He yearned for a Thompson gun. He cursed himself for getting trapped like this. He thought of Ma. Pete had said she had fought like a man. He would fight like a man too. He glanced at his gun. He had only five slugs left. Well, he’d take five of the punks with him. They would never get him alive.