The World in My Pocket

‘Hurry!’ Bleck shouted, panic in his voice.

Morgan touched the end of the rag with the lighted match, then ran past Ginny and dived behind his cover.

The flame ran up the rag and into the gas tank. There was an immediate explosion. A blast of scorching air struck Morgan, making him gasp.

Black smoke and a huge orange-coloured flame engulfed the road.

‘She’ll be fried!’ Bleck yelled, shielding his face against the heat.

Morgan knew there was nothing he could do for Ginny. He switched his mind from her and looked down the road. He caught sight of the truck as it came into the bend to the bottleneck.

‘Here they come!’

Bleck grabbed up the rifle and slammed the butt against his shoulder. The sight weaved before his eyes as he desperately tried to steady the rifle.

The big flame had died down now and the smoke had cleared a little. The car was still burning furiously, and the heat was scorching.

Ginny lay motionless in the middle of the road.

From where Bleck lay, the spectacle looked horribly realistic. The motionless girl, blood on her arms and her skirt, her long legs spread like those of a sawdust doll and the blazing car built up a convincing picture of a fatal accident.

Morgan cursed himself for not getting the car further away from the girl. Even where he lay, he found the heat intolerable. She was at least twenty feet closer to the blaze and he was sure she was being scorched alive. But she didn’t move nor show the slightest sign that she was suffering.

The truck came through the bottleneck.

Morgan’s fingers gripped the butt of his .45. He could see the driver and the guard. He watched their change of expressions when they saw the blazing car and the girl in the road. The driver slammed on his brakes, stopping the truck fifteen feet or so from where Ginny lay.

What was the next move to be? Morgan wondered. What were these two going to do? Everything now depended on this moment: his hopes and his plans hung in balance.

The guard was leaning forward, staring. The driver was shifting his gear stick into neutral.

Morgan saw both the side windows were open. At least that conformed to his planning.

There was a pause which seemed interminable to Morgan while the guard and the driver stared through the windshield at Ginny. Then the guard said something to the driver, who nodded.

This badly bothered Morgan. These two were too cool and unflustered by what they were seeing. Then he saw the guard reach forward and pick up a hand microphone.

For God’s sake! Morgan thought. He’s going to radio back for instructions!

He wondered if he should break cover and attempt to take them both. If he had thought they would have done this, he would have had Bleck on the other side of the road so they could come up on either side of the truck, but he dare not try a lone rush against these two.

He wondered how Ginny was feeling, lying there, being slowly scorched, not knowing what was happening, but aware that the truck had stopped within a few feet of her. Even in this crisis Morgan found time to admire the girl’s nerve. To lie there, waiting, not knowing what was happening, in the scorching heat, was a test for the strongest nerves.

He watched the guard talk into the microphone. He could hear his voice, but not what he was saying. This would mean their escape time would be cut down, Morgan thought. As soon as the truck went off the air, the Agency would know something was wrong and would set off the alarm.

The guard had now ceased talking and had hung up the microphone. He said something to the driver, then opened the truck door and got out. The driver remained where he was, watching through the windshield.

Morgan wondered what Bleck was doing. From where he lay, he couldn’t see him.

Bleck was sighting the rifle at the guard as he walked quickly towards Ginny, and he was cursing under his breath because his hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t hold the rifle steady, and this threw him into a panic.

By now the guard was within ten feet of Ginny, and Bleck knew any moment Morgan would break cover.

The rifle sight wavered on the guard: on him a moment, off him the next.

Bleck heard a rustle of shrubs as Morgan came out on to the road. He did what he shouldn’t have done. He took his eyes off the guard and looked quickly to his right.

Morgan was moving fast and silently up to the on-side window of the truck, his .45 in his hand.

The guard was now bending over Ginny, but not touching her.

Perhaps he had a suspicion that there was something wrong with this setup. Perhaps he felt he was being watched. He suddenly looked back over his shoulder.

Morgan was now at the window, his gun pointing at the startled driver, who sat paralysed.

Ginny sat up abruptly.

The guard whipped around and his hand smashed down on her wrist as she was lifting her gun. His movement was unbelievably fast. With his left hand he hit her across her face, knocking her flat. With his right hand, he whipped his gun out of its holster.

The two movements were too quick for the eye to follow.