The engine fired, but immediately died.

"Damn!" She exclaimed as she realised the petrol pump had shut off, due to the impact.”

Putting the car into first gear then switching off all lights she used the starter motor to propel the car. The car slowly lurched its way forward, the twenty metres to the end of the tunnel. The steering was extremely stiff without power assistance, but taking a wide arc, she covered a further 10 metres, into the darkness of the layby.

Four years previous, she had worked as service receptionist at a large garage in London and had learned many useful things about cars. She took the job to copy master keys on new luxury cars, passing them on to criminals with the customer’s details, so the car could be stolen at leisure. She made a lot of money in the six months she was there, before she had to go on the run.

Reaching under the bonnet in the light of the headlamp, she pulled out several lengths of wire and with some pliers from the toolbox, joined them together electrically. One end of the wire connected to the live side of the battery terminal, the other to a piece of chrome trim pulled off the car, and wedged under the front suspension on the good side.

To check the circuit, she scraped the trim on the steel suspension until the mud and paint burned away in a shower of sparks. The wire hissed as the powerful current flowed, and acrid smoke poured from it. Some Band-Aids held the wire in place and covered the wire joints to prevent shorting out on the car body.

Placing the petrol can so one of the exposed wire joints was over its open spout, she taped the wires into place. She modified the wire joint, so only three strands formed the connection and draped a piece of cloth over the strands, and down into the petrol. This acted as a detonator to her incendiary bomb.

In the dimming headlight, and using a broken off wing mirror to inspect herself, she stripped off her clothes, cleaned the blood from her face and hands using spit and her old T-shirt. She dressed in clean jeans, a blouse, and her favourite denim jacket. She threw her old clothes in the car.

After combing her hair into a ponytail and checking her appearance, she unscrewed the dust cover to the tyre valve of the front wheel. Using the pliers, she carefully squeezed the brass valve until it started to hiss. She wanted to set up a slow air leak, so after about half an hour or so, the suspension would settle down on the chrome trim contact, causing the wire strands to glow under the wick, and set the petrol in the can, alight. This would destroy all traces of her if the police should get to the car, before Marco and his men did.

She checked her watch; the camper might be here in about 20 minutes, and she still had a lot to do.

Running back through the tunnel she noticed the glint of broken glass and shiny black patches of blood. Nothing she could do about them, but she kicked some pieces of metal and plastic laying in the road, over the edge.

In the far distance below, she could see the lights of a vehicle. It must be the camper, she thought.

By climbing down the service steps with her bag, and Philippe’s case, to the road far below, she hoped to get a lift in the camper van. She intended to divert the driver’s attention away from the blood and glass as he went through the tunnel.

Accelerating out of the hairpin bend and moving into second gear the van slowly gained speed. The advancing headlight beam immediately picked out the unexpected figure of a young girl stood by the roadside with a canvas holdall bag in one hand and a black briefcase in the other. Anywhere else, she looked like she was waiting for a bus, but here it was nothing short of bizarre.

Max slowed down as he approached; she put down her luggage and waved him down. There was no cover for bandits to hide, so he stopped.

She opened the side door, and the interior light came on. Max exclaimed, “Young lady, what on earth are you doing way out here?”

“Oh please help me!” She cried. “I have had a bust up with my boyfriend, and he has dumped me here.”

“You have got to be joking! What kind of scumbag would do that to a girl?” Said Max.

“One who thinks he can take me on holiday with him and use me!” She said. “Well, not this baby!” She spat and then started sobbing.

“Hey! Hey! Come on, you don’t need to cry, I can take you on to somewhere where you can get help, just hand up your luggage, and we will get going.”

Carla calmed down and handed up her bags, Max placed them on the seat behind him.

As he climbed back into the driver’s seat, she turned to face him. Her angelic face radiated a warm and sincere smile. Tears twinkled in the light as she softened the intensity, of her sapphire blue eyes. She deliberately held her gaze into Max’s blue/grey eyes, so he could study her, and become entranced. Carla knew how to bewitch, and manipulate, the hardest male heart. Max, immediately fell under her spell, his soft, warm heart, doubled its beat. She deliberately leant close to him, and he could smell her warm skin and perfume. There was nothing he would not do for her, now.

“Can I have a shower?” She asked. “I take it, you have one?”

“Oh! Yes, by all means, let me get a towel for you.