Another sound – this time ahead of him, the other way down the track. Despite the surge of adrenalin, he bent down and grabbed a fistful of gravel. Wrestling with the rucksack still across his shoulders, he heaved it round, slid down one of the zips and tried to ram as much of this latest gravel sample into it as he could.
Straker had to move, even while twisting round to close the zip.
Instead of mechanical sounds, Straker suddenly heard something unexpected. Something dreaded.
Dogs!
His heart raced.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a vehicle breaking into view. Its engine was roaring. Despite that noise, he could still hear the other engine coming from the other direction. Wasn’t its engine racing too?
Then, taking Straker completely by surprise, was another sound altogether.
Rifle shots.
They started firing.
Firing at him.
THIRTY-TWO
Several shots rang out.
What the fuck were these people doing?
Straker was still some distance from the hole in the wall. He ran down the line of red-and-white covered tyres.
A burst of automatic rifle fire echoed off the mature trees all around. Rounds from behind struck the ground at his feet, throwing up mini-explosions of gravel.
Shit, these people were serious.
Straker needed to throw them off their aim – present the most difficult target he could. As he sprinted, he darted from side to side – running in a pronounced zigzag pattern – just about making it to the hole in the wall.
As he went to dive through it, several rounds pinged off the breeze blocks on either side. Chips of concrete were spat into the air. Straker felt a number of stings down the left side of his face.
Fuck!
Straker now had a dilemma. His most direct escape was straight up the grassy slope and over the crest line into the avenue beyond. But that would present an easy target to the firers behind. Instead, the moment he was through the wall, he swung round to the right and, bending double, dropped his body below the top line of the concrete wall. It seemed to work. He was out of sight and behind some sturdy cover.
But where now?
Twenty or so yards ahead Straker could see the treeline edging the bank. He would be able to get there, still using the wall for cover. But then where would he go? The undergrowth beyond looked impenetrable. More shots pinged off the top of the wall above him. They made his decision for him. Straker pushed on – awkwardly still bent double – heading for the treeline.
He closed in on the foliage. His hunch had been right. The undergrowth was heavy. Insanely thick. How could he possibly get through it quickly? Raising his arms in front of his face, Straker leant forwards and lunged into the dense mass of branches.
Behind him he could hear the second vehicle pulling up on the edge of the track. Doors were opened and slammed shut. Voices were raised. The dogs were getting louder. Although struggling through the dense foliage, Straker was at least now out of the circuit. They wouldn’t pursue him any further – on the outside – would they? They’d only want to drive an intruder off their premises?
Whatever their intentions, Straker knew he would be a lot safer by getting away. He fought the tangle of branches all around him. The palms of his hands, the front of his forearms and shoulders were being lacerated by some fearsome thorns. It took a huge effort, and the blocking of considerable pain, to move through this undergrowth.
He ploughed on, aiming for the turfed avenue he had used to gain access to the place. Thorns were shredding his tracksuit and puncturing the skin. How much further? It couldn’t be that far to the track, could it?
Voices could still be heard behind him. They were soon drowned out by the dogs. The barking was getting louder. It meant they were giving chase, didn’t it? Had they picked up his scent? How far behind him were they? Were they going to come out through the wall after him?
Straker stumbled out from the undergrowth, finally breaking the treeline into the long grassy avenue he had jogged down to get there. Now sprinting flat out, he headed off along the ride in the direction of the Alexander Nevsky church. He could see the beautiful gold onion-shaped dome glowing in the early morning sunlight across the river ahead of him.
Crack – thump.
A rifle round pinged past his head.
Straker had to get out of their line of sight. He darted diagonally across the avenue, throwing in a couple of zigzags to disrupt the shooters’ lay.
More shots rang out.
These people weren’t content with just getting him off the circuit. They were now firing at him in a public park. What did that mean? Who were they? They couldn’t be a private security firm: they wouldn’t have authority to fire weapons in a public space, would they? Didn’t shooting at him out here mean these people had to be police? How could the police be reacting so excessively to an intrusion into the circuit? More rounds were fired at him. Just before he dived into the treeline on the opposite, left-hand, side of the avenue he heard: crack – thump.
Then he heard the dogs. Baying dogs. They must be out in the open now – in the avenue. Their cries were getting louder. They had to be loose.
Shit!
Straker ran on under the trees, this stretch of ancient woodland boasting mature trees with a coherent canopy overhead: the undergrowth here was much thinner. Straker was able to make much better progress. But if the dogs were now loose, they, too, would be able to cover the ground quicker through this section of the forest.
Straker heard them directly behind him.
They were giving chase. Their bark bounced off the trees, reverberating between the sizeable trunks. It made for an eerie sound.
Straker broke through another treeline into a small clearing. A picnic area and bower. Permanent wooden tables and benches were dotted around. At that time of the morning it was empty, of course. With full exertion, Straker sprinted straight across it, spotting a narrow overhung single-track path leading out from it on the far side – offering him an exit. As he ran on, the dogs were still behind him. They’d be hunting by scent. Straker was still in serious danger of being caught.
The narrow lane away from the picnic place continued on through the trees.
