Sabatino reversed out of the parking bay. ‘I heard Stacey’s description of the attack. You took some beating. Is this where it all happened?’
Straker nodded.
‘Talk about taking one for the team,’ said Sabatino. ‘The least I can do is buy you lunch.’
They found their way out of Leamington and onto the southbound stretch of the A429. Straker may have felt less than comfortable, and while the open-top Morgan on such a glorious sunny day should have cheered him up, his mind was still working — and concerned. His senses were sharp.
The A429 was a straight, fast and busy road. He used its openness to check behind in the passenger-door mirror. On such an open road, he was confident he would have spotted any unwanted company, had there been any. As they reached the Fosse Way, he checked again.
So far, at least, he was sure they were not being followed.
Twenty minutes later they passed through the market town of Shipston-on-Stour, and were soon heading east on the B4035 towards Banbury.
Just after one o’clock, Sabatino pulled the Morgan Roadster into Brailes and onto the elegant sweep in front of the lychgate of St George’s church. Appropriately, a St George’s flag flew lazily in the gentle breeze from the top of the stone tower.
Parked in front of the Old Parsonage, Straker awkwardly climbed out and stretched himself up. He was still in significant discomfort. Sabatino offered him an arm again. They walked side by side down to the edge of the main drag through the village. Crossing over towards the pub, Straker looked discreetly left and right. As far as he could see, there was no one there.
It would be a very different story on the way out.
Inside the George at Brailes, Sabatino scouted a table in the garden before leading Straker — walking unsteadily — out into the sunshine at the back. Having ordered, and got themselves settled with a drink, Sabatino said: ‘Stacey told me you reckon the attack was related to the case,’ and took a sip of her Guinness. Straker nodded. ‘It was far too well organized — particularly at two o’clock in the morning — to be a random crime,’ he said firmly. ‘It was too carefully co-ordinated.’
‘God, and Stacey said you think they’ll have another go?’
Straker shrugged. ‘We’d be daft not to think they’ll try something else. That attack shows we’ve put them on the defensive, now.’
Sabatino looked worried by the implications of this violence. The contrast between the mood of their conversation and the serenity of the English garden all around them — bathed in sunshine — was stark. Their food arrived, but a cloud hung over their lunch while they ate. Straker had to eat carefully and hesitantly, his fat lip making chewing particularly uncomfortable.
After an hour, they left the pub. Emerging onto the main road out the front, they looked both ways, and made to cross over.
Straker was instantly aware of something. Over to his left.
Looking that way again — as if being extra careful while he crossed the road — he made a mental picture of everything in view. Some way down was a car, parked among others on the opposite side. He was sure there was something about it. Under his breath he said: ‘That black Range Rover — two hundred yards down there on the left — is trouble … don’t look round!’
Her face registered concern.
Straker walked them back up the side road to his car.
‘How? How do you know?’ she asked, her voice also indicating concern.
Straker’s 14 Int Company experience and his two tours with the Hereford Gun Club were not really for public discussion. ‘A bit of military training and hard experience in Iraq.’
‘What does that car being there mean, though?’
‘That we need to be on our guard going back to the factory.’
Sabatino nodded. ‘Just as well I’m doing the driving, then,’ she said in a nervous attempt to lighten her mood.
Straker checked under the car again before they got in.
Sabatino fired up the engine, swung the Morgan round the rest of the elegant sweep in front of the Old Parsonage, and headed back down towards the war memorial to rejoin the B4035, the Shipston to Banbury road.
As she pulled up to the junction, Straker said: ‘See if you can clock the Range Rover when you check both ways — but don’t make it obvious.’
She looked left and lingered slightly to the right. ‘Yep. It’s still there. What now?’
‘See if it’s going to follow us,’ said Straker without taking a look himself.
Sabatino turned left and accelerated gently away up to the speed limit. Reaching the end of the village, she accelerated a little more as they headed up Holloway Hill, out into the countryside. The Morgan’s 3.7 litre V6 purred effortlessly up through the revs and gears, comfortably reaching fourth towards the top of the hill.
Despite the aches in his side, Straker leant forward to take a look in the wing mirror of the passenger door. As the car crested the rise — emerging through the tree line on the upper side of the spinney — his field of view improved, enabling him to see further back down the road behind them. ‘It’s definitely there.’
Sabatino had a discreet look for herself.
‘Okay, keep going,’ said Straker. ‘Let’s get some distance between us, but don’t make it look like you’re trying to get away. Don’t want them to know we know they’re there.’
Sabatino accelerated on, the car responding well on the smooth tarmac surface as they headed for the foot of the next hill by Coombe Slade.
With the road still level, Straker took another look in the passenger-door mirror.
The Range Rover was there all right, hanging back about a quarter of a mile.
They started climbing the hill, the ribbon of grey road leading off into the distance — its neat dashed white line running up the middle — standing out against the fields of crops on either side. The Morgan gave more without protest. At the top of that hill, Sabatino eased off at around the sixty-mile-an-hour mark. Here, the road straightened out, with good visibility for at least half a mile. She looked back in her mirrors. Drifting to the left-hand side of the road, she said: ‘What if we gently invite them to overtake?’ and allowed the Morgan to drop its speed.
‘Worth a shot. This’d be the perfect place for them to get by.’
Straker watched in the mirror to see the reaction. He saw the Range Rover emerge round the last corner behind them as it joined them on the straight. Now the Morgan had slowed, the size of the vehicle’s image in the mirror started to grow larger.
Sabatino’s sedate pace on such a straight road with good visibility was a clear prompt for the car behind to overtake.
The Range Rover continued to close in.
Straker watched in the passenger-door mirror.
The Range Rover was approaching — as it continued to accelerate.
It looked like it was building up speed to overtake.
It was closing in.
Still on their side of the road.
It stayed on their side of the road.
It wasn’t showing any sign, though, of pulling out.
It was still getting faster.
Getting closer and closer.
Now heading straight for the back of the Morgan.
Sabatino looked on disbelievingly. Then swore ferociously.
Urgently, she revved the engine, double declutched, dropped two gears, and started accelerating hard — racing the V6 up to a straining growl. Sabatino hammered the engine, desperate to build up speed to get away.
But it wasn’t enough.
They could hear the sound of the bulky Range Rover closing in behind them.