I realised too, that if I made my way back to the Manor now, Gilby was likely to spot my footprints across the grass when he came back. I checked my watch. It was edging towards ten. I thought regretfully of my lost beauty sleep and decided to wait him out.
The Major was only inside the range for a quarter of an hour, which was more than enough time for me to have lost most of the sensation in my toes. I watched the lights in the Manor start to blink out as people called it a night.
When he reappeared, locking the door behind him, Gilby walked quickly straight back along the path, not bothering to check who might be following. He reached one of the sets of French windows on the ground floor and let himself in.
I wondered briefly if they went round locking all the exterior doors at night. In which case I was going to have fun getting back in myself. Perhaps it would be a good idea not to find out. I started forwards, but a movement over to my left stopped me in my tracks.
I wasn’t the only watcher in the woods, it seemed.
Another figure emerged into the moonlight about thirty metres away and made for the range doorway that the Major had just come out of. I was suddenly thankful that I hadn’t been whistling to myself to pass the time.
Apart from the fact that the figure was clearly a man, I was too far away to recognise who it might be. He was bulked up in heavy clothing, a wool hat pulled down low around his face. Now why didn’t I think of that? My own ears were pulsing with the cold.
Whoever he was, the man also had a key to the range. Did that mean he was one of the instructors, or a light-fingered pupil?
This time, though, as the man entered, the range door didn’t fully close behind him. I hesitated for a moment, briefly remembered my other promise to Sean, that I wouldn’t confront anyone else, then hurried across the frigid grass before my nerve failed me. It was a stupid manoeuvre, I knew, but too good an opportunity to miss.
I couldn’t remember for the life of me if the door squeaked. I pushed it open very carefully with my fingertips, like that was going to make a difference. It swung silently aside and I slipped through the gap, making sure it didn’t latch behind me.
There were no windows in the indoor range. There wasn’t any need for them and the lack of glass enabled the interior to be almost completely soundproofed.
I discovered when I got inside that the lights in the cramped vestibule had been switched on, too. After the clean silver blue of the moon outside, the ceiling tubes threw out a dull harsh glare the colour of stagnant pond water onto the blockwork walls.
The range area itself, off to my right, was still in darkness. I bypassed that and crept through to the room next to the armoury, where we’d been shown how to strip and clean the SIGs. It was very dark in there. I had to pause long enough just inside the doorway for my eyes to adapt.
I moved cautiously across the floor, trying to recall the exact layout of the room. There was a large table in the centre, its dirty plywood top ingrained with burnt powder and gun oil. Even though it was so dark, I crouched below the level and crabbed my way across the room. Where was he?
Beyond me was the armoury section. Normally this area was blocked off by a steel door, held shut with a selection of locks and padlocks that would have had Harry Houdini muttering nervously about not realising that was the time.
But not any more.
The locks were disengaged and the padlocks hung open to one side. I slunk through the open doorway, trying to blend into the paintwork on the jamb. Across in the corner was the weapons’ store, a secure caged area. The lights in the cage were on, bleeding out across the floor, but because the sides were stacked high with gun cases, it was difficult to tell if my mystery man was inside.
With a dry mouth and damp palms I edged forwards until I was right up against the bars. I peered in through a tiny slot between two cases. Something moved across the other side of the gap, close enough to make me jump and recoil. With a silent curse I glued my eye back to the gap.
I could just make out part of a work bench against the far wall. It had a vice bolted down to the corner with wall-mounted plastic boxes for nuts and screws above it. On the bench itself was a small wooden crate.
As I watched, the man moved in front of the bench and began levering the lid off the crate. It was cold enough in there for him to still be wearing his hat, his breath clouding against the light. Because of the position of the bench, his back was towards me. I still couldn’t make out the details of his face.
When the lid of the crate was off he dumped it to one side and disappeared from view. I tensed, in case he was about to walk out of the cage. The walls of the armoury were bare. There was nothing big enough to hide a rat under. Damn, why did I have to go and think about rats?
Even if I did find a place of concealment, what the hell did I do if he walked out of the range and locked the door behind him? It wasn’t the kind of place where there was likely to be a convenient fire exit.
Fortunately, the next moment I heard him dragging something across the floor inside the cage. I couldn’t see what it was, but if his grunt of effort was anything to go by, it was heavy.
When the man reappeared in my field of vision he was carrying three packages, wrapped in oiled cloth. He carefully placed two straight into the crate, hesitated for a moment, then started to unwrap the other. I had a frustrating few seconds unable to see much more than his back and arms as he worked, then he shifted his position slightly, and it all became chillingly clear.
The contents of the package was a compact submachine gun. The man slid out the wire stock and tried the weapon for size into his shoulder, ducking his head to squint through the open sights.
Beyond firing a few during my time in the army, I was no particular expert on submachine guns, but I had no difficulty in recognising the Lucznik PM-98 the man was holding. I’d had one in my own hands only two days ago, when I’d picked up the Peugeot driver’s fallen weapon.
I’d no difficulty recognising the man who held it now either. As he turned I caught my first proper full view of his face.
Rebanks.
Question was, what the hell was Gilby’s weapons’ handler doing with a case-load of machine pistols?
I didn’t have the chance to expand much on this train of thought. Behind me there was a clatter from the other room, followed by a deafening clamour as somebody punched the fire alarm.
I flinched back. The alarm bell seemed to be ringing right next to my head, incredibly loud, but it didn’t quite mask the faint slam of the outer door. I didn’t think I’d been followed in, but whoever had done so obviously wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to get out again unobserved or unhindered.
Shit! I jerked to my feet and began to make a dash for the doorway into the darkened room next door. I didn’t stop there, but went full-pelt for the exit, hoping shock had gained me enough of a head start.
I almost made it.
I was only half a dozen strides from the outer doorway when I felt Rebanks make a grab for the back of my jacket. His fingers closed down hard, and I was caught. In the darkness my capture took on nightmare proportions. I fought down the spike of panic and tried to rely on cool, logical thought.
He hadn’t seen my face near the cage, didn’t know it was me. It was dark enough in the outer room so if I could escape now, I could get away with this. I hadn’t zipped my jacket up and, all too briefly, I considered jettisoning it. Pointless to leave it behind. It would lead them straight to me.
Instead, I braked suddenly and dodged sideways. Rebanks had been at full stretch reaching for me. The additional movement unbalanced him. He stumbled, went down onto his knees, but he didn’t let go.