She reached the road on her hands and knees, just behind the Russian car. Fifty yards away Jerry’s car was stopped against the side of the road. She could make out two men, one standing above a lump on the ground, the other kneeling beside it. Her brain began to seethe; however incompetent he might be, Jerry had been growing on her.

  She hitched up her tattered skirt, tucking it into the holster belt to free her legs entirely, and crawled along the embankment, knees sinking into the rain-softened earth.

  ‘He is armed,’ said the kneeling man. ‘But the gun has not been used.’

  ‘He could still have something to do with the countess. Finish him off. From those shots Tserchenko must have found her. She had better be alive.’

  Anna had dropped on to her stomach and wriggled along the muddy parapet; she was now within twenty yards of them. She extended her arms, the Walther again held in both hands. ‘I’m alive,’ she said.

  Kamarov turned with a gasp, reaching for his pocket, and she shot him through the head. The other man also turned and started to rise. Anna’s first bullet struck him in the abdomen and he dropped to his knees again, gasping in pain. Anna’s second bullet was to the head.

  She stood up, and walked to the men. Both were dead. But she was more interested in Jerry. The headlights were still on, and she knelt beside him. He had been struck in the body and was bleeding heavily. But his eyes were open. ‘Anna,’ he whispered. ‘Anna! I guess I wasn’t much good.’

  ‘You distracted them,’ she assured him, and rolled him on to his back; his revolver was still in its holster. ‘How much pain?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s all around. God, Anna, I’m going.’

  ‘Not right now.’ She tore open his shirt to expose the wound, which was jagged and nasty and bleeding copiously, then slid her fingers round his back. There was no exit wound, so the bullet was still in there. But she reckoned it was too low to have hit a lung, and in any event there was no blood mixed with his gasping breaths. In fact, she thought he might have been hit roughly where Hannah Gehrig had hit her, seven years ago.

  She had survived with only a scar. But she had had help readily at hand. Jerry was lying on a deserted road, as far as she knew several miles from the nearest habitation, and even if the wound was not fatal he would certainly bleed to death if something wasn’t done, and very quickly.

  She put up her hand to brush hair from her face, and stared at the mud. She looked down at herself; both she and the remnants of her gown were also covered in mud. Mud! Probably germ-filled mud, but it might work, until she could get help, which would certainly include antiseptic injections.

  It was time to think with her usual clarity; there was a lot to be done to cover them both. Jerry seemed to have lost consciousness. She pulled off his jacket, removed his belt and holster and threw them down the slope into the shallow ravine, then took off his shirt. She crawled to the embankment and scooped up as much mud as she could carry, returned to him, and packed the wound; it certainly stopped the bleeding. Then she tore his shirt into strips and bound it round his body. There wasn’t quite enough so she tore off what was left of her gown from the waist down, and used that as well.

  As any help she could obtain would obviously concern the police, she took off her own gun belt and carefully cleaned it and the pistol – which was now empty in any event – to remove any fingerprints, then threw them down the embankment. Then, gritting her teeth and using all of her strength, she got Jerry into the back of his car, covered him with his jacket, and inserted herself behind the wheel. McLachlan had said that she was ready to take her test; she hoped he was right.

  This car, a large American make, was totally unlike the vehicle in which she had learned. It had no gear stick but instead a lever on the steering column. It took her some seconds, accompanied by some terrible grating noises, to get the hang of it, and then it was necessary to make a five-point turn on the narrow road, and on one of them the wheels almost went over the edge. Swearing, she corrected the error and then was driving back towards the city. McLachlan had never allowed her to drive faster than thirty miles an hour. Now she found it simple to push the speed far past that, and race towards the distant lights. Before long she encountered a car coming towards her, and straight at her, it seemed. Its horn blared and she swerved violently to avoid it, her immediate reaction that she should try to stop it to obtain help disappearing in the effort, while before she could recover the other vehicle had vanished into the night.

  ‘Idiot!’ she muttered, but a few minutes later she heard the wail of a siren. She looked in her rear view mirror and saw two lights gaining on her very rapidly. Police! Just what she wanted. She slowed, and the two motorbikes drew abreast of her, waving and pointing. She obligingly pulled into the side of the road and braked, and their faces appeared at the windows on either side. The man nearest her spoke rapidly, and she shook her head. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I do not speak Portuguese.’

  The man on the other side of the car was shining his torch into the interior, lingering on the long, white, if mud-stained legs, and then on the bodice of her dress. ‘I speak English,’ he said. ‘Do you realize, senorita, that you were breaking the speed limit, and driving on the wrong side of the road?’

  ‘Was I? I did not know that.’ That’s why that car nearly hit me, she thought.

  ‘Have you been drinking, senorita?’

  ‘No, I have not been drinking. I have only ever driven in England before. I did not know it was different here.’

  ‘Do you realize that you are covered in mud and blood?’

  ‘It’s not mine. The blood, I mean.’

  He considered this for a few moments, then said, ‘Let me see your driving licence.’

  ‘Ah. I haven’t got one.’

  ‘What did you say, senorita?’

  ‘I mean, I haven’t got it with me.’

  ‘I think you had better get out of the car, senorita.’

  ‘Listen,’ Anna said. ‘There is a man in the back seat who is very badly injured. That’s where I got the blood. I must get him to a hospital. That is why,’ she added. ‘I was driving so fast.’

  The flashlight beam moved, reluctantly, to the back seat. ‘That man is dead,’ the policeman said.

  ‘No, he is not dead. But he will be if he does not get help, quickly.’

  ‘That is a wound. Did you wound this man, senorita?’

  ‘Well, really,’ Anna said. ‘He is my boyfriend. Do I look the sort of woman who would go around wounding her boyfriend?’

  The flashlight played on her face for several seconds, then the two policemen talked for a few moments, then the English-speaker said, ‘Very good. We will take you to a hospital. But you drive carefully, eh?’

  *

  ‘It is remarkable,’ the surgeon said, in English. ‘All of that mud.’ He surveyed Anna, and clearly considered adding, ‘All of this mud.’ In view of her tattered condition she had been given a hospital gown to wear while she waited to find out Jerry’s condition, but she had also obtained the use of a mirror, briefly, and knew that there was mud on her face and embedded in her hair.

  ‘It was the only way I could stop the bleeding,’ she explained.

  ‘And it did that. There will have been bacteria, of course . . .’

  ‘Will he live?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We have got the bullet out. There are some broken ribs, and he will be in hospital for some time, but we have given him a transfusion and an antibiotic injection and I do not think there will be any danger of infection.’

  ‘Thank God for that. Then if you’ll excuse me, I really would like to get back to my hotel and have a bath. I will call again tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah . . .’ the surgeon looked at the waiting nurse, who spoke in Portuguese. ‘There is a police inspector downstairs waiting to interview you,’ he translated.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Anna complained, and looked at her watch, having to clean mud from the dial. It had been seven thirty when she had reached the hospital, and although the emergency operation had been started immediately, it had still taken a long time. Now it was eleven fifteen. ‘I made a statement. All I wish to do is get out of these torn and filthy clothes.’

  ‘I understand,’ the surgeon said. ‘I am sure he will not detain you long. But you know what the police are like; they have to dot Is and cross Ts.’

  Anna sighed, and allowed herself to be escorted down to a private room.

  ‘I am Inspector Jaime d’Andrade,’ said the little man with the big moustache. ‘You appear to have had quite an experience, senorita.’ He also spoke excellent English.

  ‘Yes, we have.’

  ‘The young man is going to be all right?’

  ‘So the doctor says.’

  ‘That must be very relieving to you. Just as I am sure it will be relieving to you to know that my men have been to the scene of the incident and have found evidence corroborating your story. But it is so unusual I would like to go through your statement again. Do please sit down.’

  Anna sighed and sat opposite him across the table; he picked up the statement that the traffic policemen had required on reaching the hospital, and which had been carefully written down by the English-speaker. ‘You and your boyfriend were taking a drive in the hills before going out to dinner.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘And you were overtaken by two cars, driving very fast and very erratically.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And soon after they passed you, they began shooting at each other. You could recognize this? That they were using guns, I mean.’

  ‘I was in the British Army during the war,’ Anna said, which was reasonably true, but she felt it prudent to add, ‘In the ATS. The Auxiliary Territorial Service.’

  ‘And they taught you to shoot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not that you have ever had to use that skill, eh?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But you recognized the sound. Very good. You and your boyfriend were still driving behind them.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t know what was going on.’

  ‘Of course. Then you say, one of the cars left the road and plunged down the embankment, and burst into flames.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But the shooting went on.’

  ‘The people must have got out of the car before it caught fire.’

  ‘If the shooting went on, it would appear that one did, anyway. There is a body in the burned out car, and two others not far away. But the other two bodies were found some distance away from the car that remained on the road. Were these the men who shot your friend?’’

  ‘Yes. When we saw what was happening, we stopped, and my boyfriend got out. I begged him not to, but he felt he might be able to help. Then one of the men shot him.’

  ‘But you got him into the car, turned it, and drove away. The men did not shoot you as well.’

  ‘They may have fired at me. There was a lot going on.’

  ‘But if they did fire at you, they missed, eh? I think you behaved most gallantly, Senorita O’Flaherty. And then somebody fired at them, as they no doubt deserved. But you must have stopped at some stage after escaping.’

  ‘Yes. Mr Smitten was groaning terribly, so as soon as I felt we were safe I stopped to see if I could help him.’

  ‘That is when you packed his wound with mud. And ripped your dress?’ He looked down at the table, as if attempting to see through the wood to her legs. ‘And got covered in mud yourself.’

  ‘I could think of nothing else to use to stop the bleeding. And I tore my dress deliberately to use as a bandage.’

  ‘And that was also when you lost your shoes?’

  ‘Ah . . . yes. I didn’t realize it at the time. I think they got stuck in the mud and came off. I was so distraught I never noticed it until I was back in the car. Then my only thought was to get Mr Smitten to hospital.’

  ‘You are a woman of great courage and determination. But I see that you have scratches on your arms and legs. And some bruises. How did you get those?’

  ‘As I explained, when I got out of the car my feet caught in the mud, so I tripped and rolled down the slope. I had to climb back up.’

  ‘Of course. Your determination is exemplary. Well, that seems to cover everything. I’m afraid that we will have to retain your car for a few days, for forensic examination. Oh, and we will require your driving licence.’

  ‘Ah!’ Anna said. ‘I do not have a driving licence.’

  He raised his eyebrows; his moustache seemed to move upwards with them. ‘You were driving an automobile.’

  ‘Well, I had to, if I was going to get Jerry to a hospital. I have taken driving lessons, but I have not yet received my licence.’

  ‘As I said, you are a courageous woman. I do not think there will be a prosecution. Now, one of my men will drive you to your hotel. I assume you are remaining in Brazil for a while?’

  ‘I am on holiday. I am not going anywhere, certainly until Mr Smitten is recovered.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Anna stood up. ‘May I ask, have you any idea who these men were, why they were shooting at each other?’

  ‘Well, we have some ideas, but very little else. None of the victims appear to have been carrying any identification. At least the man in the car may have, but his body and his clothes were almost entirely consumed by the fire.’

  ‘Ugh!’

  ‘I am sorry, senorita. I did not mean to upset you.’

  ‘I am only glad I did not see it.’

  ‘Of course. But there are also some very confusing aspects to this case, which will take some unravelling. As for instance, five men are dead. One would suppose there would have been one survivor, at least.’

  ‘Maybe the survivor got away,’ Anna suggested.

  ‘That is possible, certainly. But if he wanted to get away, why didn’t he use the remaining car? The keys were in the ignition. And then, we have recovered six weapons. Four of them are large calibre automatic pistols. Our findings will have to be confirmed by the post-mortems, but by our initial forensic examination of the bodies, and the report of the surgeon who operated on your friend, both the man in the car and your friend were hit with shots from these guns. But there was also a very large calibre revolver lying in the bushes. This was not used at all. In fact, it was still in its holster when we found it. But the really puzzling thing is that the other four were each hit, and killed, by a small calibre bullet. That indicates the sixth weapon, a Walther PPK, which we also found in the ravine. You know of this gun?’

  ‘I have never heard of it.’

  ‘Well, it is a very small pistol, and fires a very small bullet. It is used mainly by women, for protection rather than as an intentionally lethal weapon. Why should men armed with much more effective weapons choose to use this small gun, if they intended to kill the opposition?’

  ‘You say all these men were killed with this gun.’

  ‘No, no. Four of them were. Three with a single shot, the other with two. Whoever fired that gun was a professional marksman, because, do you know, in the belt alongside the pistol itself there was a silencer. Not the sort of thing your average person carries, and indeed, the average person carrying such a gun, for self-protection, does not use a gun belt. But here is the most puzzling thing of all. There were fingerprints on all of the weapons, except for the heavy Colt, which as I said was never drawn from its holster, and the Walther. Whoever fired that gun took the trouble to wipe it clean of prints before throwing it away.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Anna said, ‘that makes it plain. There had to have been a sixth man.’

  ‘But you saw no such man.’

  ‘I didn’t see any of them, Inspector. It was dark, and as I said, they started shooting the moment we stopped and Mr Smitten got out. When he was hit my only concern was to get him back into the car and get away. Look, Inspector, I am very tired, I am filthy, and I have had no dinner. May I please be taken back to my hotel?’

  ‘No dinner,’ he said, and looked at his watch. ‘My God! It is past midnight.’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna said grimly.

  ‘Of course you must be taken home. Please forgive me for keeping you here so long. It is such a mystery, you see.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Anna commented.

  The Gathering Clan

  ‘Senorita O’Flaherty!’ The somewhat sleepy reception clerk woke up with a start as he peered over the counter. Anna had left the bed-gown at the hospital, and he was looking at a mud-stained face, a mud-stained and bloodstained tattered dark green top, a mud-stained pair of white knickers, and two very long mud-coated legs, with mud-covered bare feet. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘There was an accident,’ Anna explained.

  ‘But you could be hurt. I will call the doctor.’

  ‘I have just come from the hospital and I am perfectly all right. Now listen. I have had no dinner. Is room service still available?’

  ‘Room service is available twenty-four hours of the day, senorita.’

  ‘Remind me to recommend this hotel. Right. I want you to send me up a plate of ham sandwiches, a yoghurt, and a bottle of that rather nice Freixenet wine. Pronto.’

  ‘Of course, senorita.’ He took her key from the cubby-hole, and with it, two slips of paper. ‘Ah—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A gentleman called to see you.’ He studied the first slip. ‘At half past seven this evening.’

  ‘What sort of gentleman? What did he look like?’

  ‘I do not know, senorita. I was not on duty at that hour. This gentleman seems not to have asked for you by name, but by description, which the clerk recognized.’

  That needed thinking about. ‘And the other message?’