Sure Fire by Jack Higgins Page B

message. I don’t know about you, Jade, but I think the more we keep to ourselves the better. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to Krejikistan, is it?”
    A group of armed soldiers took John Chance at gunpoint from the plane, his hands still tied. A car was waiting – a big black limo with tinted windows. But they put Chance in a jeep driven by a soldier. Two more soldiers got in the back. One of them grinned and aimed his rifle at Chance. The soldier had a tooth missing and the ones he had left were going grey.
    â€œIt’s amazing what money can buy,” Chance said cheerily. “Limousines, private jets, the services of your country’s armed forces. Good dental work.”
    The soldier jabbed Chance with the rifle and shouted at him in Russian to be quiet.
    Chance pretended not to understand and got shouted at again before the driver said: “No speak.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you say?” Chance told him and settled himself down for a long journey.
    It seemed to be a military airfield, with a high perimeter fence and soldiers on patrol. The barrier at the main gate was opened for the limo ahead of them, and it didn’t even slow down. But the jeep had to stop to allow the driver to shout at the gate guards.
    â€œSo where are we going?” Chance asked as they turned on to a narrow road and headed away from the airbase.
    â€œNo speak,” the driver said again.
    â€œIs that far?”
    The driver glared. Chance smiled back. They continued in silence. Once they reached the main roads, there were signs. They were in Russian, but Chance could read them well enough and he had a good idea where they were headed. Sure enough, afterless than an hour, they turned off the main road on to a service road that led to a massive industrial complex on the horizon.
    â€œKrejikistan Oil Subsidiaries,” Chance said out loud. “Do they fly a flag when Vishinsky is in residence or does he live somewhere else?”
    â€œNo speak,” the driver shouted above the sound of the engine. He pointed through the windscreen at the complex ahead as if there might be some doubt where they were heading.
    Once he was through the gates and into Vishinsky’s complex, Chance thought, there would be very little hope he’d ever get out again. At least, not alive. So he smiled at the driver and nodded to show he had understood. Then he hurled himself sideways.
    Chance’s shoulder slammed into the driver, knocking him into the side of the jeep. The man’s hands came off the steering wheel and the jeep lurched off the narrow strip of road on to the dry mud of the verge. The jeep bumped and jolted and the two soldiers in the back seats struggled to bring their rifles to bear.
    But Chance had been expecting it. He bracedhimself against the steering wheel so that the driver couldn’t get control back. His hands were lashed together at the wrist, so he laced his fingers together and using both hands as a single fist thumped the driver hard in the face. The jeep’s door burst open and the driver tumbled out.
    One of the soldiers behind Chance had recovered enough to bring his rifle up. Chance propelled himself upwards, pushing hard on the jeep’s floor with his feet. He twisted and shouldered into the rifle as it went off. Then he head-butted the soldier, who collapsed back into the rear seat. The jeep lurched as the bullet tore into the engine. There was a grating of tortured metal and the vehicle began to slow as it careered across the uneven ground and lurched to a stop.
    The second soldier was young, probably not yet out of his teens. He sat frozen as Chance turned towards him. His rifle was hanging from his shaking hands. Chance thrust his fists at the boy.
    â€œUntie me!” he said in Russian.
    His words seemed to bring the soldier back to reality, and he struggled out of the jeep and ran. His rifle fell forgotten to the ground.
    Chance watched the figure