Two lights approached swiftly from the rear. A large, powerful car was gliding effortlessly up the long hill. In less than a minute the other car was fifty yards behind them. A window wound down, and a hand was thrust out with something in it that glinted.
“Get down!” Tane yelled from the back seat.
The rear window shattered. Glass was everywhere. The shots continued. The Morris Minor veered wildly.
They must have hit one of our tyres, thought David.
The other car drew abreast of them and swung towards them, forcing them to the edge of the road where the seal disappeared into a black gulf. He glimpsed two occupants.
“They’re trying to push us over,” cried Tane.
There was nothing between them and the edge.
“Hold tight!” David yelled, and braked.
The big black car missed their front mudguard by inches. The Morris Minor skidded helplessly towards the brink. At the last moment the tyres gripped, and he spun the wheel. The car swung away and screeched to a stop, straddling the road.
The big car – a Mercedes – had stopped. The doors opened. The two occupants advanced on them with revolvers pointed. One was the tall, distinguished-looking man with a long, cadaverous face whom David had last seen in the hallway of St Peter’s Vicarage.
“Tane,” came the suave and cultivated voice of Randall Richardson. “I’ve come to bring you the drugs you need and to rescue you from your kidnappers.” He indicated his companion. “My orderly is here to assist me.”
“You tried to kill us,” David said angrily, but he realised that he was wasting his breath. The tall, bronzed, muscular curly-haired orderly had the physique of a street-fighting rugby forward and eyes which conveyed cold and mocking hatred. Never had he met a man who in his looks and bearing conveyed such an impression of physical menace.
The two men walked to the edge of the seal, Randall Richardson pointing to the Morris Minor and talking in quiet tones to the orderly. The orderly got into the Mercedes. “Please remain in your car,” said the psychiatrist. “We’re just going to move it out of the way of traffic.”
The Mercedes reversed then approached them from behind. Suddenly it accelerated.
“Jump!” David yelled.
Three bodies jetted from the Morris Minor. A split second later there was a crunching sound as the two cars met. The great weight of the Mercedes pushed the other towards the edge of the road. But the Mercedes did not stop, and they saw with horror the little old car disappearing over the edge. They heard a series of sickening metallic crashing sounds as the car hit trees and rocks on its way down. Then silence.
Oh Miss Milliken, how can I explain this? thought Kate.
As David lay stunned and sore on the asphalt, he saw the curly-haired man get out with his revolver and walk towards them. As he did so, he looked towards the psychiatrist who nodded. When he got to David, he raised the revolver. In sickening helplessness, David saw the man’s eyes looking at him over the barrel. The orderly was actually grinning.
The shot did not come.
Instead, lights lit up the road, an engine roared, tyres screamed, a door slammed and footsteps came pounding.
“Accident? Can I help?” A weather-beaten, stocky, ginger-haired man in a green ranger’s shirt was shining a torch down on them.
“Oh, Mr Burton, how nice to see you!” shrilled Kate.
The ranger made as if to examine the bodies lying on the road. But these bodies immediately showed remarkable signs of life. Tane, under cover of the ranger, launched himself at the psychiatrist. David at the same time set his sight on the orderly’s ankles and brought him down with a flying tackle while Kate wrenched his gun from his hand.
“I thought you were sick,” David said to Tane admiringly.
“I don’t need my doctor now,” Tane replied.
The ranger moved to gain control of the situation. Swiftly, he placed his foot on the revolver which had flown from Randall Richardson’s hand. “Now then, what’s really going on here?” he demanded.
Randall Richardson rose slowly to his full distinguished height and brushed down his immaculate suit. The other man did the same. They looked loftily at the bloodstained and dust-covered figures of Tane, David and Kate. The contrast could hardly have been more pointed.
“Mr Burton,” the doctor began, “I think I recognise you from the TV programme as the ranger in charge of the Waitoa Huia Sanctuary.”
The ranger nodded.
“I am Randall Richardson, psychiatrist and owner of the Glenfern Hospital. This is my orderly, Donald Borrow. This young man,” he pointed to Tane, “is my patient, Tane Ngata. These two young thugs here are his kidnappers. You would have heard the regular police warnings.’’
The ranger nodded, but looked puzzled. “I know one of them.” He eyed the revolver Kate was holding. “Miss Fairweather, can’t I hold that for you?”
Kate shook her head determinedly.
The psychiatrist continued. “You will be aware from the warnings that the kidnapped patient is violent. You have just seen evidence of this in his unprovoked attack on me, his doctor. You will also have seen the violent character of his kidnappers by their attack on my orderly. Being aware of the personal problems of my patient and his need for daily drug sedation to prevent possible violent attacks, I have considered it my duty to assist the police, taking as you see adequate precautions.”
“It is very rare, you must admit,” added the orderly, “that a doctor will risk his life to help his patient.”
“As the condition of my patient is rapidly deteriorating, and as I have travelled down from Auckland with the drugs which he needs urgently, may I suggest, Mr Burton, that you assist us. First of all, will you return my gun to me. Secondly, will you assist me to disarm this young lady? Lastly, will you use your radio to contact the police and advise them that we have apprehended the kidnappers. I need hardly remind you of your public duty.”
Everything had gone very quiet. The night was still, moonless. The ranges enfolded them like a blanket. They could smell the sweet scent of the rewarewa forest. A morepork sounded quite near. Far away down, a little stream tinkled.
David’s mind raced. Any moment, he knew the ranger would stoop down and pick up the gun. The only reason he had not picked it up before was because he felt a necessity to be impartial. Now he looked impressed by Randall Richardson’s story which David had to admit was convincing. Was it worth making explanations? With such a weight of evidence against them, it would be uphill work. And it would mean delay. And every moment lost favoured their pursuers.
“Mr Burton, your Land Rover’s moving,” he yelled.
At the same instant he swooped for the gun under the ranger’s foot. It was enough. For just that fraction the ranger had glanced round.
“Tie them into the Land Rover, Tane. Into the Mercedes, please, Mr Burton!”
The ranger hesitated, but not for long. He got into the Mercedes. Tane followed, after making good use of the rope from the ranger’s Land Rover and extracting the key from the ignition. Last of all came Kate, retreating coolly in the style of a female Arab hijacker.
David fumbled with the controls, then heaved a sigh of relief as the great car purred into life
A moment later he looked at the speedometer. 100 miles an hour. They needed the pace. His hands shook on the wheel as in his mind he saw again the cold eyes of the doctor and his “orderly”.
It was not a good experience to meet people whose object was to kill you.
CHAPTER 34
“Let him go back to his bloody asylum!”