Fear is the Key by Alistair MacLean

on.They were no more than five yards away, but thetearing and growling of the big draglines coveredour soft voices.
    â€˜Don’t be a fool,’ I said quietly. ‘I have a gun.’
    â€˜And there’s only one bullet in it.’
    She was right. Two slugs gone in the courthouse,one blowing out the tyre in the judge’sStudebaker, and two when the police car waschasing us.
    â€˜Quite the little counter, aren’t we?’ I murmured.‘You’ll have plenty of time to practisecounting in hospital after the surgeons have fixedyou up. If they can fix you up.’
    She looked at me, her lips parted, and saidnothing.
    â€˜One little slug, but what an awful mess it canmake.’ I brought the gun forward under the coat,pressed it against her. ‘You heard me telling thatfool Donnelly what a soft lead slug can do. Thisbarrel is against your hipbone. Do you realize whatthat means?’ My voice was very low now, verymenacing. ‘It’ll shatter that bone beyond repair.It means you’ll never walk again, Miss Ruthven.You’ll never run or dance or swim or sit a horseagain. All the rest of your life you’ll have to dragthat beautiful body of yours about on a pair ofcrutches. Or in a bath chair. And in pain all thetime. All the days of your life … Still going toshout to the cops?’
    She said nothing at first, her face was empty ofcolour, even her lips were pale.
    â€˜Do you believe me?’ I asked softly.
    â€˜I believe you.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜So I’m going to call them,’ she said simply.‘Maybe you’ll cripple me – but they’ll surely getyou. And then you can never kill again. I haveto do it.’
    â€˜Your noble sentiments do you credit, MissRuthven.’ The jeer in my voice was no reflectionof the thoughts in my mind. She was going to dowhat I wouldn’t have done.
    â€˜Go and call them. Watch them die.’
    She stared at me. ‘What – what do you mean?You’ve only one bullet –’
    â€˜And it’s no longer for you. First squawk out ofyou, lady, and that cop with the gun in his handgets it. He gets it right through the middle of thechest. I’m pretty good with one of these Colts –you saw how I shot the gun out of the sheriff’shands. But I’m taking no chances. Through thechest. Then I hold up the other cop – there’ll beno trouble about that, his own gun is still buttoneddown, he knows I’m a killer and he doesn’t knowmy gun will be empty – take his gun, wing himwith it and go off.’ I smiled. ‘I don’t think anyonewill try to stop me.’
    â€˜But – but I’ll tell him your gun’s empty. I’lltell –’
    â€˜You come first, lady. An elbow in the solarplexus and you won’t be able to tell anybodyanything for the next five minutes.’
    There was a long silence, the cops were stillthere, then she said in a small voice: ‘You’d doit, wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜There’s only one way to find out the answer tothat one.’
    â€˜I hate you.’ There was no expression in hervoice, the clear grey eyes were dark with despairand defeat. ‘I never thought I could hate anyoneso much. It – it scares me.’
    â€˜Stay scared and stay alive.’ I watched the policemenfinish their tour of the parking-lot, walkslowly back to their motor bikes and ride away.
    The late afternoon wore slowly on. The draglinersgrowled and crunched and crawled their implacableway out towards the sea. The sidewalk superintendentscame and went, but mostly went andsoon there were only a couple of cars left in theparking-lot, ours and the Ford belonging to theman in the green coat. And then the steadilydarkening cumulus sky reached its final ominousindigo colour and the rain came.
    It came with the violence of all sub-tropicalstorms, and before I could get the unaccustomedhood up my thin cotton shirt was wet as