A Path Lit By Shadow (Jasper Lewingdon Book 1), page 28
Anger surged through every fibre of his body carrying him forward in pursuit of the figure he had seen, it wasn't Seleznov but he was damn sure that they were connected to him. He leapt up the steps taking them three at a time. By the time he reached the top the figure was already sprinting along Colebrooke Row. The man he was chasing was fast, probably driven by fear of capture, but Jasper was gaining foot by precious foot. The fleeing man tried to turn right into a side street but skidded momentarily on the wet pavement, by some miracle he kept his balance and sped on but now Jasper was closing fast. Jasper could hear the man's ragged breath sounding wheezy and desperate, he was almost within clutching distance but not quite. With a final effort he lengthened his stride just enough to clip the fleeing man's heel. With a crash and a yell the man tumbled to the ground, Jasper followed him down letting his knees thump heavily into his quarry's back knocking the breath out of him.
Savagely Jasper rolled the man onto his back, his fist raised and ready to pummel his face into a fleshy ruin. A frightened face stared back up at Jasper, it was Calvin Fisher.
“Please! I'm not part of it, it wasn't my doing,” pleaded Fisher.
“Where's Seleznov?” demanded Jasper.
“I don't know, he's gone.”
“Tell me!”
“I can't, they'd kill me if they knew.”
“You know what I did to your men Yuri and Stefan?” Fisher nodded. “With you it will be slower and more painful if you don't tell me.” Jasper rammed a knee into Fisher who squealed in pain.
“He's on his way to Victoria to catch the boat train.”
“Why?” asked Jasper, genuinely curious.
“He needs to get the documents out of the country as soon as possible.”
Jasper thought for a moment. He regarded Fisher with disgust before getting to his feet and setting off at a run. Fisher lay where he was for a few moments before shakily clambering to his feet and retrieving his hat from the gutter.
It was a little under a mile to where Jasper had left the Bentley. The initial surge of anger that had powered his pursuit of Fisher had now faded to be replaced by an all pervading determination to stop Seleznov. Although Seleznov had a head start on him he still had to get across London, Jasper was sure he could get to Victoria station in time to stop him. A stitch was beginning to make itself felt as he skidded around the corner into the road where the bulk of the Bentley sat silently. Jasper opened the driver's door and slid into the seat. Automatically his hands reached around the steering column to set the advance and mixture. Ignition switch on, Jasper gave a silent prayer that the beast would fire and pressed the starter switch.
The engine started to turn, slowly at first then slightly faster. Jasper gently pressed the accelerator pedal, the engine coughed once, twice and then caught in a deep growl. A few more dabs on the accelerator and the engine growled fully into life. The great pair of headlights sprang into life, the rain drawing near vertical streaks of light in their beams. First gear selected and with a boot full of accelerator Jasper tore away, the rear tyres fighting for traction on the wet cobbled road of the side street. By the time he hit the junction the car was already slewing crazily at a thirty degree angle to the direction of travel, Jasper kept the throttle open and deftly counter-steered his way out onto the main road heading south. The tyres finally bit into the tarmac surface of the main road and the Bentley leapt forward as Jasper slammed his way up the gearbox the car all the time smoothly accelerating.
A brief glance at his watch showed it was quarter to ten, from memory Jasper thought that the last train to meet the overnight ferry from Dover left at ten; it was just possible to make it if he drove as if the devil and all his host were after him. The windscreen wipers did their best but the between each stroke of the blades the screen quickly became a confused mass of flickering shimmer from both oncoming headlamps and the scattered glare of the Bentley's own lamps on the drenched road surface. Hammering down the Clerkenwell Road Jasper found himself stalled by a tram ahead of him, he hauled the steering over and swerved over onto the opposite side of the road, the back end of the Bentley fish-tailing as he went. The lights of an oncoming bus momentarily dazzled him, in desperation he cut back in front of the tram aware that he must have all but scrapped the paint off the sides of the oncoming bus as he shot past, its blaring horn rapidly dwindling in both pitch and level as he sped on.
The scenes of the heart of London flew past as Jasper swerved through the night time traffic cutting past any vehicles too slow or too cumbersome to be countenanced sharing the same piece of road as the Bentley. The whining gearbox and transmission wailed in appreciation of the use the car was getting, the torquey three litre motor snarled and throbbed in accompaniment. Trafalgar Square hove briefly into a view, as Jasper skidded around it scattering the few pedestrians that dared to try and cross in front of him. As he exited heading into Whitehall a police constable attempting to direct traffic stood in the road, the white reflective cuffs of his coat clearly picked out in the Bentley's lamps as he motioned frantically for Jasper to stop. Jasper sounded his horn as he bore down on him, the officer realising that there was no way this vehicle was stopping leapt aside, a cascade of water thrown up by the Bentley's passing covered him. Jasper wasn't sure but he thought he heard the plaintiff sound of a police whistle behind him summoning assistance.
Skidding around Parliament Square Jasper risked a quick glance at his watch, it read five minutes to ten. Jasper pressed harder on the accelerator, the Bentley strove to respond. Jasper was now driving straight down the centre of Victoria Street forcing all other traffic from his path. The lights of the Palace Theatre glittered ahead promising a chance of success in his quest. Jasper stamped on the brakes hauling some speed off the hurtling beast before tugging the steering over to the left. The Bentley twitched before settling its nose straight toward the open area in front of Victoria Station that even at this time was still a confused mass of buses and taxis dropping and picking an almost never ending stream of passengers. The Bentley was still intent on careering ahead as Jasper fought to bring it to a halt, it slithered and twitched like a trout fighting against the angler seemingly determined on burying itself in the line of taxis parked in front of the station entrance beneath the canopy advertising destinations including Calais. A final desperate yank on the steering wheel threw the Bentley into a sideways drift that scrubbed off just enough speed as the car crabbed to a halt at forty five degrees across the line of taxis and forcing one driver to mount the kerb to avoid a collision.
Jasper killed the engine and sprang from the Bentley running full pelt for the station entrance. Curses and shouts followed him unheeded as he sprinted into the station concourse. The great station clock's hands clacked round indicating ten o'clock. From ahead a guard's whistle blew. A desperate dread seized him as he tried to find which platform the boat train was leaving from. Twenty yards away he caught sight of a station attendant taking down the bright green painted wooden destination board with 'Dover' emblazoned on it in white. Another attendant was already starting to close the concertina style lattice shutter over the entrance that led through the tall cast iron railings that separated the station concourse from the platforms.
Jasper yelled as he ran over to the two attendants who paused and looked at the spectacle of this mad, drenched man sprinting towards them. The taller of the two railway men blocked Jasper's way to the gate.
“What's up mate?” he demanded.
“I must get on that train!” said Jasper, half shouting and gesticulating towards the line of green coaches still in the platform, a few doors could be heard slamming followed by a further shrill blast from a whistle on the platform.
“Sorry mate you're too late, she's just this second leaving.”
“You don't understand-” Jasper started to push past and head for the gate which was promptly slammed shut by the other attendant who stood on the other side. The taller man tried to shove Jasper back.
“Eh! You don't understand pal-”
The attendant's words were cut short by the feral snarl as Jasper turned on him, but before he could act the express locomotive let out a loud, shrill whistle followed by an echoing whoosh of steam escaping from the cylinders as the huge driving wheels started to turn. There was a sudden drumming pounding thump as the wheels started slip, a huge plume of black smoke shooting upwards from the engine's chimney. The driver caught the slip in time and the thundering transformed into a slow, solid ponderous beat as the train pulled slowly from the platform. Jasper smashed his fists against the closed gate and watched the train ease away. From one of the rearmost carriages he realised he was being watched. A cold sickening sensation spread upwards from his stomach as he realised it was Seleznov. As he watched despairingly Seleznov took off his cap and waived it at Jasper as if bidding fair well to a loved one.
The tall station attendant had already taken a couple of steps back by the time Jasper turned round and stalked past him completely oblivious to his presence now. Jasper stopped and whirled back to look at the station attendant. The man took a pace back from the wild figure that confronted him.
“What time does that train reach Dover?” demanded Jasper.
“Oh, ahh...it should get in at around quarter to twelve.”
“Thank you,” Jasper replied before running back in the direction he had come from.
Back at the Bentley there was a small group of people gathered arguing about what to do about the car blocking the taxi rank. A taxi driver was already sat in the driver's seat when Jasper appeared alongside it.
“Get out!” he ordered.
Not used to be being ordered to do anything the taxi driver looked at Jasper.
“Who the hell are you? Have you any idea what you're costing me leaving this here? You're a bloody liability, they should lock you up! If my-”
Instinctively Jasper pulled the Colt from his coat pocket and pressed the muzzle against the cabbie's forehead.
“Fuck off or die!”
The taxi driver, hands held aloft, slid out of the seat as fast as he could, likewise the small angry gathering now became a rapidly expanding circle of people trying to get as far away as possible from the wild eyed maniac brandishing a gun. Jasper clambered into the vacated driving seat and fired up the Bentley. The engine roared into life at the first press of the ignition. The huge head lamps shone with a gleam that seemed to capture something of the madness that was now driving Jasper.
Gunning the engine he slewed the Bentley round. The back end was still slithering and squealing in protest as he pointed the huge bonnet out into the traffic on Victoria Street and gave the car her head oblivious to the blaring horns, squealing tyres and the frantic efforts of other drivers trying to get out of the way. As he reached the Vauxhall Bridge the Bentley was pushing eighty miles an hour, the wide carriage way providing an unofficial clear lane down the centre of the bridge. Every car, bus, tram or lorry was now a personal attack by Seleznov; yet another obstacle that must be overcome without a second thought for the consequences if he was to have any chance of getting to the ferry before Seleznov could escape across the channel.
The rain had now stopped, the clouds were fast clearing from the east to be replaced by the hard white light of a full moon. The Oval flew past, the tyres of the Bentley scrabbling to stick to the road surface, the steering starting to get vague. Rather than back off Jasper hit the throttle harder forcing the near two tonnes of car to drift around the long left hand curve before straightening up to hammer across the junction with the Portsmouth Road without a glance left or right. Jasper was distantly aware of the traffic he passed but now he was driving like an automaton focused only on getting out of London and onto the road that would get him to Dover ahead of the train and Seleznov.
Jasper guessed that it must be about eighty miles to Dover, the train was due there at about quarter to twelve. That meant that the train would average about forty five miles an hour over the journey. What was the top speed that an express might be reaching? Seventy, eighty? The Bentley should be able to match the train for top speed but would Jasper be able to keep the speed up long enough to beat the train to Dover and not actually kill himself in the attempt? There again if he did die in this last attempt to stop Seleznov was he any worse off than at the moment?
As he headed away from central London the traffic on the road was lessening with only few cars and the occasional bus by the time the Bentley reached the flat straight road across Blackheath. The moonlight now showed in stark relief the road ahead and Jasper pushed on harder than he had ever driven a car before. As the speed built up the wind was pulling at the fabric of the collapsible soft top, the buffeting starting to compete with the deep growl of the motor and the singing mechanical whine of the gearbox. The headlamps picked out the stark white road sign with its simple black lettering indicating that Canterbury was fifty miles ahead. Jasper resisted the temptation to check his watch, he was driving as fast as he could push the Bentley; he would either be in time or he would fail.
What was his plan when he reached the ferry? The thought of what he would do when he got to Dover hadn't really crossed his mind, he had just been focused on the chase. Somehow he couldn't see Seleznov just standing there and saying “well done old chap, here's the secret documents you've been after.” The uncomfortable presence of the Colt pressing against his ribs was making itself felt. Jasper realised that it was becoming second nature to just pull it out and use the threat of violence to get what he wanted. He could take Seleznov, threaten to shoot him if he didn't cooperate.
Even as he started to run the scene through his mind Jasper knew it wouldn't work. Would Seleznov really believe that Jasper was capable of killing someone in cold blood when Jasper knew deep down inside him he couldn't do such a thing. Even as a child when his father had taken him hunting he could never bring himself to kill something for the sport of it. It annoyed his father endlessly especially as Jasper had proven himself a competent marksman against any manner of target, just not one that was alive. Perhaps that was why his brother Francis had always been his father's favourite; the all-round boys-own hero and an impossible benchmark against which Jasper measured himself and had continually fallen short. Francis would have no hesitation about stopping Seleznov and if necessary killing him in the process, but Francis was dead and it was Jasper who would have to find a way now.
There was an almighty bang as the front of the soft top broke away from its fixing along the top of the windscreen. The rush of wind tore it backwards but didn't completely pull it from the car. The semi-rigid canvas top now acted like a sail on a stricken schooner flapping madly and banging in a typhoon. The effect was to wrench the Bentley around, the tyres screeching and Jasper sawing crazily at the steering wheel trying to flick the car back on course. Each time the fish tailing seemed to get larger, a catastrophic pendulum that was heading for disaster. All seemed lost until the soft top broke free, but the Bentley was now careering madly and heading off the road. Too late to pull it back in line Jasper held on like grim death keeping the wheels straight as the car bounced across the verge and into a grassy meadow area.
Thankful that there was nothing hard to hit Jasper nursed the Bentley back onto the road praying that she wouldn't bog down on the damp grass. The suspension groaned and protested as the Bentley thumped over the low undulations of the meadow and back onto solid tarmac. Silently Jasper apologised to the Bentley and cursed himself for letting his mind wander. Steadily he built his speed back up listening for any signs that he had done lasting damage with his off-road excursion.
The near miss and the now fresh and cooling wind over the top of the windscreen had shaken Jasper from his reverie. Quite how he was going to stop Seleznov was largely irrelevant if he never made it to the ferry at all. Clearing his mind he focused purely on the act of driving the Bentley; soon Dartford was behind him and Watling Street was all but empty apart from the occasional lorry that was glimpsed briefly in the Bentley's headlamps before becoming a distant memory in the wake of spray and exhaust left by Jasper's passing. Ahead lay the narrow streets of the Medway Towns and a chance to see if he had gained any time on the Victoria to Dover express.
The largely rural scenery was rapidly giving way to an urban landscape as the Bentley tore down the long hill leading to the crossing over the River Medway. The road was narrowing now, hemmed in by houses on either side. Jasper was forced to slow the progress of the Bentley hauling the speed down to something a little more manageable in the tightening space. Ahead he could see the stark outline of the bridge that carried the railway over the road and on toward the long curved embankment that led to the crossing over the Medway. Still closing at speed, to his dismay the silhouette of a steam locomotive slid into view, great gouts of smoke flecked with glowing embers bursting from its chimney with each thrust of its pistons as it hauled the heavy train into the tight curve leading to the rail bridge. In response Jasper put his foot down and the Bentley responded. As he shot beneath the bridge the last carriages of the train were just crossing it.
Through the narrow high street Jasper hurled the Bentley as fast as he dared, the tall houses and shops provided a masonry canyon along the tarmac chicane. Thankfully there was no other traffic about as he used every inch of the road, and some of the pavement to make it through. Hardly at any time did the direction the Bentley was heading coincide with the direction its bonnet pointed as the tyres slipped on the damp road surface. Jasper felt a brief surge of hope as he slewed out onto the road bridge carrying him over the wide tidal bend of the River Medway. He had no time to take in the majestic beauty of Rochester's tall grim castle and ancient cathedral spire; he was now racing neck and neck with the express that was running parallel on the rail bridge.
The massive torque of the Bentley's three litre motor told as its speed steadily climbed, fifty, fifty five, sixty miles an hour. The express, hauling a long heavy train was falling behind but Jasper knew that it didn't have sharp curves or other trains in its path to slow it down. At a near suicidal speed Jasper entered Rochester High Street. If anyone decided to stagger out of one of the many pubs that lined the high street and into his path there would be little that he could do to avoid them. A dab on the brakes and a quick correction of the steering and the Bentley continued its flight through the streets and into Chatham. The narrow street hugging the long meander of the river forced Jasper to drag the speed of the car down, every dab on the brake felt like an acceptance of defeat knowing that all the time the express would be picking up speed, reducing that hard won gap.
