013. The Chase

The cabbie was unmoved by this most unusual of requests.

'Are you insane?' he gibed, '"Follow that car" indeed!'

Caroline waved a thick wad of bills under his nose.

'Two hundred pounds!' she offered.

The cabbie took it from her, perhaps a little too eagerly.

'Right, you are madam!' he said, and floored the Austin's accelerator.

The Ford already had a good head start on them, having turned left onto Regents Street. The taxi followed, cutting across traffic and pulling in a few car lengths behind their target. Caroline now saw that Hattie was slumped over in the back seat of the Ford; she had probably been drugged. The black sedan swerved abruptly and took a sharp right onto Haymarket. The Ford swerved into the wrong lane, narrowly avoiding a collision with a double-decker bus.

'What have you gotten me into?' the cabbie demanded.

One of the Ford's rear seat passengers opened a window and took aim at the taxi with a pistol. The glass partition between Caroline and the cab driver shattered as it was hit by a stray bullet. The taxi began to slow.

'What are you doing?' Caroline growled, 'Speed up!'

'What good is two hundred quid if I'm dead?' the cabbie yelled.

Caroline opened her purse and fished out a Smith & Wesson revolver. She peered past the cabbie at the Ford in front. She took aim, and took a few pot shots at the sedan's tires. It was no use. Both cars were swerving too much for her to get a clean shot. The Ford turned on to Cockspur Street and barrelled towards a T-intersection. Running a red light, it turned onto Westminster Bridge.

'Where are they going?' Caroline said to herself.

The bridge was too narrow for close quarters combat; the Ford's gunman retreated back inside. The two cars left the bridge and took a sharp right at St. George's Circus. The taxi followed the Ford down London Road and through a sharp left onto New Kent Road. Minutes later they emerged onto Tower Bridge Road, where several more shots were fired between the two vehicles. Two rights soon followed – one onto Abbey Street and the second at Jamaica Road – before the two cars emerged onto Lower Road. Caroline noticed that they were in London's industrial district. The Ford took a right at Redriff Road and tore through the gates at South Dock, the Austin taxi pulling up some hundred metres behind them.

The Ford's gunman stepped out of the car and approached the taxi with his pistol drawn. Meanwhile, the car's other occupants carried Hattie Redfield aboard a small cargo ship, the Eastern Promise. As the gunman drew closer to the taxi, he fired several shots through the windscreen, eventually taking out one of the headlights and the radiator. Cautiously, he opened the rear passenger door of the cab. It was empty. Disappointedly the man holstered his gun and returned to his comrades.

A short distance away and hidden in the shadows, Caroline Carol sat with her hand over the cab driver's mouth.

'I'll pay for the damage, I promise.' she said.

'Mmph!' was the cabbie's reply.

Caroline waited until the gunman was out of sight before removing her hand.

'Call the police.' she told the cabbie.

'What are you going to do?' he asked.

She forced a weak smile, 'What ever I have to.'

Caroline half-stood and ran to the opposite side of the dock, hiding behind a wall of wooden crates. She gauged the distance between herself, the Ford and the cargo ship. Spying an approaching Morris Z delivery van, she fell into a slow run behind it until she was close enough to the Ford to perform a quick – if not altogether elegant – barrel roll into a new vantage point at the sedan's rear bumper. She glanced up at the Eastern Promise.

It was obviously a pre-War design, probably an old Liberty ship left over from the Great War. Its hull was a hideous faded yellow colour, with a black funnel. The same colour scheme as John Brady's “Southern Continent Shipping", Caroline thought to herself. She noticed a mooring rope attached to the vessel's stern. That would be her point of entry. Waiting until the coast was clear she mounted the rope and climbed it to the top.

Caroline emerged on the deck of the Eastern Promise. Outwardly, the ship appeared deserted. She found a hatch to the deck below and quickly dropped down and out of sight. The interior of the ship was very poorly lit. She could hear voices coming from a small room further down the corridor where a thin shaft of light was shining outwards from a cracked door.

'...our destination we can dispose of the Redfield woman,' an all too familiar voice was saying.

Caroline realised that the voice belonged to Graham Spalding, the man from the auction!

'What about that customs official?' another voice asked.

'Don't worry, Jacobs here has already taken care of him.'

Caroline backed away slowly. She bumped into something soft, and felt a thick arm tighten around her chest. A gloved hand covered her mouth and she felt herself dragged backwards into a small stateroom. Caroline tried to wrestle herself free, but it was no use. The person restraining released her and switched on a table lamp, illuminating the room. Caroline was met by a very familiar face.

'What are you doing here?!' she whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED...