Parker opened the door of the cab and leaned out. Look, what is this?
Hagen couldnt see what happened, but Parker cried out in alarm, there was the sound of a scuffle, a blow and then silence.
Boots crunched the dirt surface of the road as someone walked round the side of the vehicle. A moment later, the glass window at the top of the rear door was shattered and the young officer peered inside.
All out, he said pleasantly. This is the end of the line.
Hagen glanced across at Hoffa, taking in the smile on his face, realising that the whole affair had been rigged from the start and the Alsatian leapt for the broken window, a growl rising in its throat. For a moment it stayed there, rearing up on its hind legs trying to force its way through, and then the top of its skull disintegrated in a spray of blood and bone as someone shot it through the head.
The dog flopped back on the floor and the young officer smiled through the window at them, gently tapping his right cheek with the barrel of a .38 automatic.
Now dont lets have any more fuss, old man, he said to Hagen pleasantly. Were pushed for time as it is.
Hagen looked across at Hoffa, despair on his face. Youll never get away with this, Ben. All youll collect is another ten years.
I wouldnt count on that, Hoffa said. Now make it easy on yourself, Jack. These blokes mean business.
Hagen hesitated for only a moment longer and then he sighed. All right its your funeral.
He took the keys from his pocket, moved to the door and unlocked it. He was immediately pulled outside and Hoffa followed him. Parker was lying on his face unconscious, wrists handcuffed behind his back.
From then on the whole affair rushed to its climax with the same military precision that had been a characteristic of the entire operation. Someone unlocked Hoffas handcuffs and transferred them to Hagen while someone else gagged him with a strip of surgical tape. Parkers unconscious body had already been lifted into the rear of the Land Rover and Hagen was pushed in after him. The door closed, the key turned in the lock with a grim finality.
There was blood on his face from the dead Alsatian and as he rolled away from it in disgust, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, the Land Rover started to move, lurching over the rough ground away from the road. Through the side window above his head he was aware of the trees as they moved into the wood, crashing through heavy undergrowth and then the vehicle braked suddenly so that he was thrown forward, striking his head against the wall.
He lay there fighting the darkness that threatened to drown him, a strange roaring in his ears. It was a minute or so before he realised it was the helicopter taking off again and by the time he had managed to scramble to his knees and slump down on to the bench, the sound was already fading into the distance.
It was fifteen minutes later and thirty miles on the side of the moor, when the helicopter put down briefly in a clearing in a heavily wooded valley. Hoffa and the young officer jumped to the ground and the helicopter lifted into the sky again and flew away to the west.
Hoffa was dressed as a hiker in denim pants and green quilted anorak, a rucksack slung over one shoulder and the young officer wore an expensive grey flannel suit. Minus the camouflage cream, his face was pale and rather aristocratic and he had about him the air of a man who has long since decided that life is obviously a rather bad joke and not to be taken seriously.
How long have we got? Hoffa demanded.
His companion shrugged. An hour two if were lucky. It depends how soon the party at the quarry notice how long its taking the Principal Officer to return.
Is an hour long enough?
Certainly, but it wont be if we hang around here much longer.
All right, Hoffa said. Just one more thing what do I call you?
Anything you like, old man. He grinned amiably. What about Smith? Yes, I think Id like that. Ive always wondered what it must be like to be called Smith.
And where in the hell did the Baron pick you up? Hoffa asked.
Smith smiled again. Youd be surprised, old man. You really would.
He led the way across the clearing into the wood, following a narrow path through the trees which later joined a broad dirt track. A few yards further on they came to a derelict water mill beside a stream and in a courtyard at the rear behind a broken wall, a black Zodiac was parked. A moment later they were driving away, bumping over the rutted track, finally energing into a narrow country road.
Lets get one thing clear, Smith said as he changed into top gear and drove rapidly away. Well be together in this car for approximately forty minutes. If anything goes wrong, youre a hitch-hiker and Ive never seen you before in my life.
All right, Hoffa said. Where do we go from here?
All in good time. Weve some business to settle first.
I was wondering when youd get round to it.
Hardly likely to forget a thing like that. Your share of the Peterfield Airport Robbery was exactly £320,000. Where is it?
How do I know Im going to get a fair shake? Hoffa demanded.
Now dont start that sort of nonsense, old man. The Baron cant stand welshers. Weve kept our part of the bargain weve got you out. You tell us where the cash is and that completes what we call Phase One of the operation. Once weve got our hands on the money, we can start Phase Two.
Which includes getting me out of the country?
With a new identity nicely documented, plus half the money. Id say that was a fair exchange for twenty years on the Moor.
How can I be sure?
Youd better be, old man. You arent going to get very far on your own.
Youve got a point there. Okay the moneys in a steamer trunk at Prices Furniture Repository, Pimlico, in the name of Henry Walker.
Smith gave him a look of blank amazement. You must be joking.
Why should I? They specialise in clients who are going overseas for a lengthy period. I paid five years in advance. Even if it isnt collected on time its safe enough. Theyve got to hang on to it for ten years before they can do anything thats the law.
Is there a receipt?
You wont get it without one.
Who has it?
Nobody its at my mothers place in Kentish Town. Youll find an old Salvation Army Bible amongst my gear. The receipts hidden in the spine. Fair enough?
It should be. Ill pass the information along.
And what happens to me?
Youll be taken care of. If everything goes according to plan theyll start Phase Two, but not before the Baron has seen the colour of your money.
Who is the Baron anyway? Anyone I know?
That sort of question just isnt healthy, old man. Smith shrugged and for the first time, the slight, characteristic smile was not in evidence. You may meet him eventually you may not. I honestly wouldnt know.
The rest of the journey was passed in silence until twenty minutes later when they arrived at a crossroads and he slowed to a halt. This is where we part company.
On either hand the main road was visible for a good quarter of a mile, a narrow ribbon of asphalt falling across wild and rugged uplands. It was completely deserted and Hoffa frowned.
On either hand the main road was visible for a good quarter of a mile, a narrow ribbon of asphalt falling across wild and rugged uplands. It was completely deserted and Hoffa frowned.
What happens now?
Stand at the edge of the road like any normal hitch-hiker and youll be picked up in approximately ten minutes if our mans on time.
Whats he driving?
I havent the slightest idea. His opening words will be: Is there anywhere in particular youd like me to take you? You must answer: Babylon.
For Gods sake, what is all this? Hoffa demanded angrily. Some sort of game?
Depends how you look at it, doesnt it, old man? Hell tell you Babylons too far for him, but he can take you part of the way.
Then what happens?
I wouldnt know. He leaned across the opened the door. On your way, theres a good chap and the best of British luck to you.
A moment later Hoffa found himself standing at the side of the road, a bewildered frown on his face, the Zodiac a fast-dwindling noise in the distance.
It was quiet after a while, the only sound the wind whispering through the long grass and a cloud passed across the face of the sun so that suddenly it was cold and he shivered. There was a desperate air of unreality to everything and the events of the afternoon seemed to form part of some privileged nightmare.
He checked the watch Smith had given him on the helicopter. An hour and ten minutes since the ambush of the Land Rover. From now on anything might happen. There was sweat on his forehead in spite of the cool breeze and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. What if some well-meaning farmer drove by and decided to offer him a lift? What was he going to say?
Somewhere in the distance, an engine sounded faintly and when he turned to look, a vehicle came over the crest of the hill. As it approached he saw that it was a tanker, a great six-wheeler, its body painted a brilliant red and it rolled to a halt beside him.
The driver leaned out of the cab and looked down, a craggy-faced man of sixty or so in an old flying jacket and tweed cap, a grey stubble covering his chin. For a long moment there was silence and then he said with a pronounced Scottish accent, Is there anywhere in particular youd like me to take you?
Babylon, Hoffa told him and the breath went out of him in a long sigh of relief.
Well, now, thats a step too far for me, but I can take you part of the way.
He opened the door and stepped on to a ladder that gave access to the filling point on top of the tanker. To one side was a steel plate about two feet square painted black which carried the legend: Danger Handle with care Hydrochloric Acid. He felt for a hidden catch at the base of the plate and it swung open.
Hoffa climbed up and peered inside. The compartment was about eight feet by three with a mattress as its base and he nodded briefly. How long?
Six hours, the driver said. No light, Im afraid, and you cant smoke, but theres coffee in the thermos and some sandwiches in a biscuit tin. Best I can do.
Can I ask you where were going?
The driver shook his head, face impassive. Not in the contract, that one.
All right, Hoffa said. Lets get rolling.
He went through the hatch head-first and as he turned to face the light, the cover clanged into place, plunging him into darkness. Panic moved inside him and his throat went dry and then the tanker started to roll forward and the mood passed. He lay back on the mattress, head pillowed on his hands and after a while his eyes closed and he slept.
At that precise moment some ten miles away, the man who had called himself Smith braked to a halt in the High Street of the first village he came to, went into a public telephone box and dialled a London number.
A woman answered him, her voice cool and impersonal. Worldwide Exports Ltd.
Simon Vaughan speaking from the West Country.
The voice didnt change. Nice to hear from you. How are things down there?
Couldnt be better. Our clients on his way. Anything on the news yet?
Not a murmur.
The lull before the storm. Youll find the goods in a steamer trunk at Prices Furniture Repository, Pimlico, in the name of Henry Walker. The receipts in the spine of an old Salvation Army Bible amongst his gear at his mothers place in Kentish Town. I shouldnt think a nice young lady welfare officer would have too much trouble in getting that out of her.
Ill handle it myself.
I wouldnt waste too much time. Its almost five oclock. The furniture repository probably closes at six. Might be an idea to give them a ring, just to make sure theyll stay open for you.
Leave it to me. Youve done well. Hell be pleased.
Anything to oblige, old girl, thats me.
Vaughan replaced the receiver and lit a cigarette, a slight far-away look in his eyes. Oh, what Id like to do to you, sweetie, he murmured softly and as he returned to the car, there was a smile on his face.
Hoffa came awake slowly and lay staring through the heavy darkness, trying to work out where he was and then he remembered and pushed himself up on one elbow. According to the luminous dial on his watch it was a quarter past ten which meant they had been on the go for a little over five hours. Not much longer to wait and he lay back again, head pillowed on his hands, thinking of many things, but in particular of how he was going to start to live again really live, in some place of warmth and light where the sun always shone and every woman was beautiful.
He was jerked out of his reverie as the tanker braked and started to slow. It rolled to a halt, but the engine wasnt turned off. The hatch opened and the drivers face appeared, a pale mask against the night sky.
Out you get!
It was a fine night with stars strung away to the horizon, but there was no moon. Hoffa stood at the side of the road stretching to ease his cramped limbs as the driver dropped the hatch back into place.
What now?
Youll find a track leading up the mountain on the other side of the road. Wait there. Someone will pick you up.
He was inside the cab before Hoffa could reply, there was a hiss of air as he released the brake and the tanker rolled away into the night. Hoffa watched the red tail lights fade into darkness, then picked up his rucksack and moved across the road.
He found the track without any difficulty and stood there peering into the darkness, wondering what to do next. The voice, when it came, made him start in alarm because of its very unexpectedness.
Is there anywhere in particular youd like me to take you?
It was a woman who had spoken a woman with a pronounced Yorkshire accent and he peered forward trying to see her as he replied, Babylon.
Too far for me, but I can take you part of the way.
She moved close, her face a pale blur in the darkness, then turned without another word and walked away. Hoffa followed her, the loose stones of the track rattling under his feet. In spite of his long sleep, he was tired. It had, after all, been quite a day and somewhere up ahead there had to be food and a bed.
They walked for perhaps half a mile, climbing all the time and he was aware of hills on either side of them and the cold chill in the wind and then the track turned a shoulder and below in a hollow beside a stream was a farmhouse, a light in the downstairs window.