19
Nightingale was about twenty minutes from Berwick, heading north to Edinburgh, when he saw the Land Rover behind him. It was a working vehicle, streaked with mud, and most of the number plate was obscured by dirt. It matched his speed, sticking about a hundred feet from his rear bumper, for the best part of a mile. A white Nissan came hurtling down the road, overtaking the Land Rover and staying in the wrong lane as it powered past Nightingale’s Vauxhall.
Nightingale checked in his rear view mirror and saw the Land Rover was gaining on him. The hairs began to prickle on the back of his neck. There were two men inside, but all he could see was vague shapes. He squinted at the registration plate but could barely make out two of the numbers.
As he looked back at the road ahead he realised that the Nissan had slowed and was now only fifty feet or so ahead of him. He slowed, and as he glanced in his rear-view mirror he saw the Land Rover rapidly gaining on him.
He considered stamping on the accelerator and overtaking the Nissan, but the road ahead bent to the left and he couldn’t get a clear view.
He heard the Land Rover’s engine roar and it pulled out alongside him. Nightingale glanced over but the side window of the Land Rover was so streaked with dirt that he couldn’t get a clear view of the man in the passenger seat.
Nightingale started to push down on the brake pedal but before he could make any difference to the Vauxhall’s speed the Land Rover swung to the left and slammed into the side of him. Nightingale cursed and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he fought to keep control of the car. The Land Rover veered to the right and then immediately slammed back into the Vauxhall, much harder this time. The wheel wrenched itself out of Nightingale’s hands and the car left the road, bucking over a grass verge and then crashing into a ditch. The airbag went off immediately and there was a scream of tortured metal.
The car came to a halt, nose down. Nightingale groaned, reached for the ignition key and switched off the engine. He didn’t feel like moving, but there was a chance that his attackers would come back to finish off the job so he groped for the door handle and opened the door. It would only open a foot or so because of the side of the ditch, so he wound the window down as far as it would go and crawled out. He scrambled unsteadily out of the ditch and stood with his hands on his hips, looking down the road. There was no sign of the Nissan or the Land Rover.
He took out his pack of Marlboro and lighter from his raincoat pocket and lit one as he considered his options. Jenny had taken out full insurance when she’d made the booking for the rental car, so it wasn’t going to cost him anything. He looked at his watch. If he waited for a tow truck to come out and pull the Vauxhall out of the ditch he’d miss his flight to London. He could phone a taxi from Berwick to come and pick him up, but he was starting to get a bad feeling about the citizens of the UK’s northernmost town. He was still smoking and thinking when a Good Samaritan in a pick-up truck pulled up. ‘Are you okay?’ asked the driver, a man in his fifties in a sheepskin jacket.
‘Think a tyre burst,’ said Nightingale. ‘Spun off the road. Don’t suppose you’re going Edinburgh way, are you?’
‘I am actually,’ said the man.
‘You couldn’t give me a lift to the airport, could you?’
‘Sure,’ said the man. ‘But aren’t you supposed to stay with the car?’
‘No one’s been hurt and it’s a rental,’ said Nightingale. ‘Give me a minute to get my bag. I’ll phone the rental company while we’re on our way.’ He flicked the cigarette butt into the road. Finally he’d caught a lucky break. It was about time.