Suddenly, she heard a police siren wailing from somewhere behind her. At the same time, a mans voice shouted, "HALT! - HALT!", immediately followed by a woman screaming from a vehicle in a lane over to her right. Alarm bells mounted above the booths, abruptly switched on with an ear piercing clanging.

        Instinctively, she pushed both feet hard against the peddles and slammed the lever out of gear. A reflex action made her switch off the motor as she looked around her to see where the shouting was coming from.

        A guard hurriedly approaching the front of her car, was reaching for his rifle which was slung over his shoulder. He called frantically to her, "Senora! - Senora!," pointing towards the Mercedes limousine which had almost pulled alongside in the lane on her right.

        Stella turned to look backwards over her right shoulder in the direction the guard was pointing and saw that the rear window of the Merc was being lowered and a hand with a gun was pointing directly at her.

        As she ducked her head down almost to her knees, she heard the CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Four pistol shots, the last two, accompanied by an exploding thudding noise as two of the bullets pierced the windscreen above her head. The bullets passed so close, she could hear the whistle and could feel her hair being blown aside.

        The shots had come through the open window behind her and gone straight on through the windscreen

        When the shots stopped, she raised her head a little above the dashboard and looked forward at the bullet holes straight in front of her eyes. She had felt the bump as the guard who had shouted to warn her had fallen heavily against the front of her car. He stayed there swaying for a few moments, then staggered backwards away from her car until he slumped against the side of the booth. Blood oozed from wounds to his chest, as his rifle fell to the floor at his feet.

        As she watched he slowly slid to the floor. He must have been hit by the bullets after they had gone through her windscreen. She looked backwards to where she had seen the hand with the gun projecting through the window and saw the back door of the Merc suddenly thrown open. A man leapt out holding a revolver and aimed it towards to the customs officer in the booth in front of him. Crack! A shot was fired and the glass windows of the booth exploded with a loud bang showering the area surrounding it with small pieces of glass.

        Soldiers who had been leaning against the furthest side of the booth had quickly ran around the booth to the front of the car unleashing the rifles from their shoulders as they ran.

        As they came into his view the man discharged his gun. Crack! Crack! Two shots rang out in quick succession as the man fired at the soldiers almost at point blank range. One was shot in the head and instantly collapsed, the other took the bullet just above the heart. Blood abruptly appeared on the mans shirt as he staggered backwards for a few paces before falling to the roadway on the other side of the boom gates.

        The customs officer, holding his upper arm, with blood pouring between his fingers, leapt out of the back doorway of his shattered booth and ran across in front of Stella's car, quickly disappearing in the lanes of traffic on her left.

        The gunman jumped back into the car which immediately started up and with spinning wheels, sprang forward to ram its way through the barrier. CRASH!! The front of the Merc burst into a shower of fragments of headlights and chrome trims. Steam spurted upwards from the shattered radiator. The heavy steel barrier shuddered, but didn't move.

        The driver quickly reversed until he slammed hard into the car behind him, then took another high speed run against the barrier. This time, the bonnet of the Merc. jammed under the boom gate. The driver threw the car into reverse again and tried to move backwards but it was jammed too tight under the gate.

        Stella. could see the wheels spinning backwards starting a few thin spurts of smoke rising from the back wheels. The occupants of the car were reaching through the windows firing towards the booths and the soldiers who had been guarding them.

        The soldiers from the front of Stella's booth had crouched down with one knee on the floor to steady themselves and had started firing towards the car. Immediately, the sound of rifle shots and, exploding glass could be heard above the deafening clanging of the alarm bells and the revving motor.

        The driver again tried to reverse. This time the back wheels were spinning at high speed and acrid smoke was pouring in dense clouds from the wheels. Stella stayed crouched down in the driving seat, but carefully raised her eyes sufficiently to peer above the sills of her windows. The wheels were still spinning sending the stench of burning rubber and smoke directly through the open windows of her car. Stella started to cough and choke, and held her face against her clothes trying to breath air through her cotton blouse.

        A soldier from a booth to their right sprang in front of the jammed car and pumped several rapid bursts of automatic fire through its windscreen. She looked over to the driver and watched horrified as blood instantly spurted from several wounds to the mans face and chest, splashing the blood on to the drivers window and the perforated windscreen.

        The car motor was still screaming its high revving, racing sound, and the smell and smoke of burning rubber was getting thicker in her car making breathing almost impossible. As she watched, the dead driver's head slumped against the window, his wide staring eyes were fixed open. As his head slowly slid down the blood spattered glass., his upper lip was forced upward exposing his upper teeth and gums. The blood from the wounds to the man's head flowed freely onto the glass and quickly obscured the gruesomely contorted face.

        Immediately, the driver had been shot, the other doors were thrown open. Three men jumped out and ran away from the Spanish side of the border, firing in all directions as they ran, ducking and weaving between the cars to avoid being shot.

        Suddenly soldiers and police, emerged from everywhere, rifles and hand guns at the ready but useless in such confined positions as they could not be fired without the risk of shooting civilians. They quickly set off in pursuit of the fugitives.

        Stella's knuckles were gripping the wheel so hard that she felt they would burst as her attention was riveted on the action in the lane alongside her. At last, the high revving motor of the Merc gradually slowed as the spring loaded accelerator pushed the dead mans foot away.

        The smoke from the skidding tires was now so thick that her coughing threatened to choke her. With great effort, she managed to release one hand from the wheel and vigorously wave the smoke away from her face. She moved her head to the open window on her left to gulp in fresh air and as she did so, someone opened the back door of her car and immediately she felt something cold and hard pressed against the back of her head.

        She didn't need to be told that someone was holding a gun to her head.

        Speaking in French her uninvited passenger commanded her to drive forward. The boom gates had not yet been lowered after the van which had preceded her. Stella turned the key and started the motor, she put the lever in gear and let out the clutch. In her trembling nervousness, she raised the clutch too quickly and stalled the engine.

        She turned the key again but the engine wouldn't fire. Again she tried and again. After four or five tries. the engine finally coughed into life . She raised the clutch, a little slower this time and the car slowly moved forward under the raised barrier

        She could see in the driving mirror the man behind her was crouched down on the seat ensuring he could not be seen from outside. She quickly realized what she must do. Drive across to the police post on the side of the road about fifty metres away. When she got there she would jump out of the car and make a run for it, leaving the police to handle her passenger.

        As she slowly started to move out of the white lines of her lane, the gunman behind her had anticipated her actions and was waiting for her to make such a move. He jammed the gun barrel hard against her neck again and growled, "Stay in your lane".

        Stella. quickly climbed her way up through the gears. In the rear and side mirrors she could clearly see the police and soldiers running in all directions. Speaking English, she explained over her shoulder to the man behind her, that she was a stranger. "You will have to tell me where you want me to drive you."

        As they started to clear away from the surrounding parked traffic, the man slowly rose from his crouched position, to a height where he could see out of the windows. In unmistakably French accent, the man said, "So - you are English. Don't worry, I don't want you to take me very far. Drive carefully and don't make trouble and you will not get hurt."

        As she drove, Stella. took surreptitious glances as often as possible at the mans face in her mirror, each time making mental notes. Swarthy complexion, typical southern Mediterranean features, dark thick hair, heavy moustache, probably mid thirties.

        She thought she could pick out a faint scar under his left eye but couldn't be sure. She tried several times to focus on that part of his face, but each time she looked, his face was turned away and she was obliged to look back at the road. Then she noticed in the mirror, the back of his gun hand resting on the back of her seat, it was almost covered with a large tattoo, what appeared to be a red flower, possibly a rose.

        Finally, she held her stare in the mirror until he turned to face her. Yes! there was definitely a scar, and then their eyes met. He realized that she was examining his face - probably remembering details that could identify him. He brought his gun hand back and brutally brought the barrel of the gun hard across the side of her head and ear.

        Stella winced at the sharp pain of the impact causing her to swerve dangerously. She quickly recovered control and kept quiet, struggling to hold back the tears. She was sure the stinging ear had started to bleed. "Keep your eyes on the road, don't look at me." The man snarled.

        She continued driving in silence along the narrow winding cliff edge road for a few more minutes until the road ahead widened with a grass verge. The man tapped her shoulder. "Pull over here, this will be far enough for me. Remember - do not look round. I will let you escape."

        Stella slowed the car and heard the door opening. "Don't stop. Go quickly and don't look back." Before she finally came to a stop, the man got out of the car and slammed the door. As she drove away, she saw in the mirror, the man running down the steeply sloping mountain towards the trees skirting the river at the bottom of the valley.

        She accelerated away from the scene, hurriedly putting as much distance between her and the incident as possible.

She cursed her stupidity for making that impulsive decision, when leaving her hotel this morning. Instead of heading back to France, she had decided to drive the last few kilometres down the valley which carried the road through the country of Andorra as far as the Spanish border. Purely a whim of curiosity, - just to satisfy herself that she had seen the full extent of the tiny country, before retracing her route through the town, and back into France.

        The glorious warm morning with sparse traffic, had encouraged her to wind down all the windows. She drove slowly as the road gradually descended through the valley, allowing her attention to the road to be distracted by her admiration of the scenery; - the fascinating unfamiliar scents and colours of an enormous variety of mountain shrubs starting at the side of the road and climbing high up the steep mountain sides.

        After driving a few kilometres, she came to a bend in the road and immediately caught up with a slow moving van. Before she could overtake the van, the lane on her left filled with traffic. She was surprised when she noticed in her rear view mirror, that the large Mercedes limousine which had been immediately behind her, moved out of her lane and quickly pulled alongside her on her right, between her vehicle and the kerb. Then she realized the road had widened allowing another lane to form on her right.

        Suddenly, between the lanes of traffic ahead, she saw the line of Customs and Passport Inspection booths straddling the road. She had already arrived at the border - much quicker than expected.

        She quickly looked around her for a space to allow her to turn, so that she could double back to head back up the valley away from the Frontier, but it was impossible. She was tightly hemmed in on both sides, with more traffic quickly packing in behind her.

        As the traffic slowed and approached the barriers, each vehicle branched either to the left or right to select one of the lanes leading to each individual booth.

        She had deliberately omitted Spain from her itinerary, so she did not have an entry visa for Spain, nor the necessary 'Green Card', nor even the bail bond which was virtually mandatory. Now she somehow had to explain to the border guards, that she had to turn around. She hadn't intended to cross the border, she had unwillingly been funnelled into the traffic lanes leading to the customs booths.

        As she waited for the vehicle ahead of her to be processed, the fumes from the surrounding vehicles started to fill her car through the open windows. She became impatient, wishing the officer would hurry with the van in front of her. Hopefully, within a few minutes, she would be through this customs post and she could double back and make her way to Perpignan on the French coast.

        In the lane on her right, but a little further back, the big Mercedes saloon with darkened windows was delayed behind a long truck with Spanish registration plates and Spanish advertising all over it. The inspector had handed back the documents to the driver and was laughing and chatting to him.

        The driver of the French registered Mercedes must also have been getting impatient. He lightly tooted the horn a few times, clearly reminding the chatting officer there was a queue. The truck driver's burly arm reached out of the window, his hand closed into a fist, then he ceremoniously extended his middle finger skywards and with a short thrusting upwards movement gave the following driver, the offensive salute which knows no language barriers.

        The Mercedes driver must have been insulted and in response, pressed hard on his horn. No longer the respectful, courteous 'toot'. Gone was the Entente Cordiale. This was a long, long held blast from a frighteningly powerful horn. It was held on and on, probably only for a few seconds, but for what seemed much longer.

        The boom had been raised to allow the truck to pass and as the truck pulled clear, was immediately dropped to form a barrier for the Mercedes.

        As soon as the truck cleared the gate, the driver opened the door and climbed down. The bearded man was short, yet he would have to be described as a huge man. He was clad in stumpy legged jeans, with the bottoms of the legs hanging in folds above his boots. His bulging chest covered with a thick mat of curly black hair, was almost entirely protruding above the top of the singlet. The mat of hair continued over the exposed parts of his back and arms. His massive arms looked even brawnier than when stuck out of his window. He slowly ambled with the gait of a gorilla towards the following vehicle.

        Whether intended or not, offence had clearly been taken. There was a matter to be settled. Stella murmured quietly, to herself. This looks like Trouble with a capital 'T'. She glanced at the inspector still busy with the vehicle ahead of her, hoping that he would hurry with his work to allow her to get away from here as quickly as possible. The way the man was looking as he approached the Mercedes, it was highly likely, almost inevitable, that the scene was soon going to get ugly and she didn't want to be a witness.

        The loud horn had attracted the attention of two policemen and two soldiers who had been leaning against the booth in front of Stella. The four men pulled alongside 'Gorilla' and also slowly sauntered towards the car.

        When the truck had moved forward, the officer from the booth had stepped out onto the road preventing the Mercedes from moving forward to occupy the front space in its lane.

        Above the traffic noise, through the loud speaker mounted on the outside of the booth, she heard a telephone ringing. The guard in front of the Mercedes in the lane on her right, walked back to his booth and through the glass walls could be seen picking up the phone. After a few seconds of conversation, he took a step outside the booth and looked as if he was checking the licence plate of the Merc and could be seen nodding his head, confirming something to the caller.

        At last, the officer in Stella's lane finished his inspection of the documents of the van driver ahead of her and with a friendly smile pressed the button to raise the barrier and waved the driver forward. Stella slowly took pressure off the foot brake and started to ease the clutch allowing the Citroen into the space which was about to be vacated by the van and moving a little more forward in line than the Merc. That was when the whole world exploded..