The Mercedes glided effortlessly along the gently undulating and winding country lanes towards its rural destination in Northumberland. Mike loved Kielder village and its forest walks, ever since his parents had brought him here as a youngster for long weekends.
There was something about the natural environment and the peaceful, relaxing pace of life of the village that soothed his soul. The place existed on a bed of serene tranquillity and community spirit. It was one of those few places left in the region which had remained largely untouched by the worst excesses of modern consumerism. There were no traffic jams up here, no grimy taste or irritating hustle and bustle.
Odd he should think this way as the high carbon emitting Mercedes wound its way round the bends, and up and down the gently sloping hills of the countryside.
With one hand on the wheel of the automatic car the other rubbed against his newly revealed chin. He had had a finely trimmed beard for so many years now Mike had forgotten what it was like to touch the skin of his jaw. It felt soft and smooth, moist even.
He found it difficult to figure out how he’d managed to get himself embroiled in this madness. If he hadn’t taken Amy’s call on Friday he would have still been blissfully unaware of her problems. Then again how would he have felt if he’d later discovered she’d been coerced into working for Bridges or, even worse, had her face mutilated by a razor blade. The images in his head made him shudder in horror. Despite all her weaknesses, no-one deserved to be subjected to this kind of evil.
But it did cause Mike to consider how well he really knew this woman. At times she was simply angelic, smart company and completely physically bewitching. On others she was full of doubt, timid and easily led. Whilst on other occasions ... she never did totally explain how she ended up on drugs in the first place. Equipped with a reasonably and consistently well paid, secure job she could never have been under any real financial or employment pressure. So what could have caused her to fall off the track so spectacularly?
He tried to shake the turmoil from his head as he continued along the scenic route, wanting to relax his mind and enjoy the pleasant surroundings.
Glancing forward he spotted the sign for Leaplish Waterside Park, tapped the indicator, and then turned right onto the paved track. There were a number of those irritating concrete mounds to negotiate, strategically placed to slow down the traffic, before he arrived at the car park by the lakeside.
He stopped on the upper level open-air car park as it was nearer to the exit. Stepping out into the murky daylight he looked up into the greying sky. Instead of the warm sunny summer day it should have been the overhead light had begun to darken, a light rain had started to fall and the breeze was stiffening into a chill wind. If it had been a good day the car park would have been jammed full of vehicles. His was one of only three there.
“Typical bloody June day in the UK, I should have brought the anorak,” he continued to moan.
He turned up the collar of the black camel haired overcoat covering his broad shoulders, shielding the back of his neck from the strengthening breeze. The rain he could live with but he objected to wind, which he regarded as the most unpleasant of all the natural elements. He energetically pushed the fingers of both hands through his light brown hair, in a futile attempt to tidy the windswept mess. His thoughts turned towards Dave’s unexpected communication. Mike’s old friend was an ardent environmentalist, long before it became fashionable, though to ask for a meeting in such a remote spot during the working week was odd. Mike decided he couldn’t allow this to drag on too long. Tina was right. He really should not have bothered to come. There were no solutions to his problems to be found here.
Looking up at the brown tourist information signpost he headed in the direction of Leaplish Lodge Park and strode purposefully up the bank, stopping briefly at the site map to identify the placement of Dave’s cabin. Mike had considered driving but the lane looked narrow and he didn’t want to risk his car getting scratched by a passing vehicle.
After a few minutes he reached the plateau and searched for the lodge. It was set near the end of the park, overlooking the reservoir. A good choice, he concluded as he hurried forward. He didn’t have to knock. The door opened as he arrived, an open sesame moment, and he entered.
It was the outside balcony, through the open patio doors on the other side of the cabin, which caught Mike’s eye first. From there you could get a panoramic view of Kielder Water. The decor looked expensive, the wood flooring real, and there were luxurious looking two and three seat settees in the main living area. A large screen LCD television was parked over to the opposite right corner.
“Did you get the package?” said the urgent voice, causing Mike to jump in surprise. He turned to face the speaker of the question.
“Jesus! Don’t do that,” said Mike as a figure appeared from behind the door. “Bloody hell, Dave, you look like shit.”
“Did you get it?” the man repeated.
“Get it?”
“The USB stick. Have you brought it?”
“Yes ... no ... I’ve left it in the car,” he muttered weakly.
The tall, slim bespectacled man cursed and then let out a deep, worried sigh. He was wearing a battered old wax jacket which smothered the fawn V-necked woollen jumper covering his skinny torso. Dave half smiled at his guest. His face looked thin and drawn, and he still retained that annoying habit of dipping his head and peering at you over the top of his glasses.
“Are you alright Dave?”
“Did you bring anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Were you followed?”
“Followed? Why would anyone follow me?”
The man peered nervously out of the window before pushing the door to a close. Dave threw out his right arm and gripped his friend’s hand in a fierce, trembling handshake. Standing some inches taller than Mike he always held the advantage when they shook, able to exert greater downward pressure, despite his surprisingly small hands. The dark rings around Dave’s eyes were now all too evident, serving to highlight the gaunt expression that swamped his face.
“You got here just in time,” said Dave.
Mike wasn’t sure what to make of the odd conversation and frowned at his friend’s near petrified demeanour, which began to make Mike feel uneasy too.
“What is it Dave? What’s wrong?” he asked.”
“They’ll be coming soon.”
“You’re not making any sense, Dave. Who are they?”
His friend’s eyes nervously darted from side to side, almost manic like.
“They won’t stop, they’ll never stop. Not until they find me. We have to let people know while there’s still time.”
“Time?” questioned Mike.
“Where’s your car? Is it close?”
“Down in the car park. Do you want to go?” Mike replied, deciding to humour his friend’s fragile mind.
“Yes, now. We’ll go out the back way and circle our way round through the woods so it will be harder to spot us, to be on the safe side.”
Mike had no idea how to react. The bold extrovert friend he last saw several years ago was now a complete nervous wreck, crazed and talking gibberish.
“Where’s the back door?” asked Mike.
“Over there,” replied Dave pushing his friend towards the open patio doors. “We’ll climb over the balcony and head down the bank.”
Mike stared at his friend, incredulous at the suggestion he had made. He believed the incredibly nervous man he was talking to had completely lost it.
“Okay,” he replied softly, “that certainly sounds like some sort of plan. But we could consider the front door as a means of escape. It would be a lot easier.”
Mike might just as well have whistled to the wind. No sooner had the words left his mouth then the sound of tyres screeching to a halt outside the cabin shattered the peaceful environment of the park, followed by a second set of wheels braking to a shuddering end. Loud voices barked all around, penetrating the still a
tmosphere.
“They’re here. They’ve found us,” shouted Dave in abject terror. “Quick. Over the balcony and run for it. I’ll try and delay them.”
Before Mike could react his friend leant across and shoved him with such force he was catapulted over the railings. It was a drop of nearly six feet and Mike plummeted uncontrollably to the moist earth, managing to cushion the fall with his outstretched arms. The impact on his forearms made him yell with pain and he was momentarily stunned by the shock of it all. Mike tried to shake sense back into his mind as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He leaned against the back wall of the lodge for support while he tried to re-focus.
Apart from the sound of a loudly cackling bird up in a nearby tree, all else he could hear was the sound of voices emanating through the half closed patio windows from above. They were shouting at Dave to keep still. A sickening crunch was followed by the thudding sound of something heavy falling to the floor of the cabin.
“Put him over there,” demanded a deep voice. “Evans, get the residents out of the surrounding lodges and secure the area. Tell unit three to hold station.”
Mike wondered what the hell was going on. Surely it was only the police who had the authority to cordon off an area in this way.
“Check him over,” said the deep masculine voice.
Mike could hear a shuffling sound above him. He wanted to clamber back up to the balcony to see what was happening but his dazed mind wasn’t ready to allow him to co-ordinate his limbs. The heavy bruising to his arms started to throb. Mike found it a struggle to keep quiet, his mind urging his mouth to yell out a curse.
“Clean, Sir, nothing on him,” said another man’s voice. The intended curse was immediately stifled.
“You sure?” replied the deep tone.
“Yes, Mr Tillman, Sir.”
Tillman had to be the leader, though this didn’t explain who these people were.
“What has he got?” asked Tillman.
“Found fifty quid inside his wallet, and some credit cards. Here’s the one milady traced him from.” The shuffling sounds continued. “That’s it, Sir.”
“Search the lodge. Turn the place upside down and check everything. It has to be here somewhere,” ordered Tillman.
For minutes on end all Mike could hear was the place being ransacked by the brigade of thugs that had forcibly entered Dave’s temporary lair. Mike should have used the furore to make a getaway. His body didn’t seem able to respond. Part of him wanted to run away, the other half of his confused mind told him to stay. His friend might need him.
“There’s nothing, Sir. No sign of it,” said a voice, once the noise of the search had stopped. Mike recalled it as belonging to the man called Evans.
“Wake him up,” ordered Tillman.
The sound of fierce slapping elicited several groans of a man’s voice, growing more frequent as consciousness was fully restored. It was Dave.
“Where is it, Laverick?” demanded the deep voice.
The absence of an immediate response prompted another harsh slapping noise and another groan, only louder. An eerie silence ensued before the deep voice spoke again.
“Get to work,” it said sharply.
Mike heard the sound of running water, followed by a loud gurgling noise then spluttering, as if someone were drowning. He shook his head in disbelief. Torture wasn’t supposed to be practised in this country. It was the constant repetition of the noises, interspersed by yelling voices demanding to know ‘what he’d done with the material’ that convinced Mike he had been wrong and kept him glued to the spot.
With each persistent demand and supporting punch, Mike winced at the horrifying visions that were created in his mind. He pressed his slender frame ever harder up against the wooden side of the cabin, pleading with the heavens for the torture to end.
A nearby sound and movement caused Mike to glance to his right. He saw a person’s foot appear, wrapped in a heavy looking black shoe quickly followed by a second. The pair of shoes took a few more steps down the incline of the bank, revealing first a pair of grey trousers then the matching coloured jacket. Instinctively Mike crouched to make himself as small a shape as possible, hardly daring to breathe. The figure had its back to him and began to talk to a colleague further up the incline, in between sucking hard on a cigarette. The voices were too quiet for him to hear what they were saying. What must have been an amusing quip made the man laugh and he half turned to reveal the weapon cradled in his other arm. Some sort of machine gun, like the ones you see being used in spy thrillers on the television or in the cinema.
Jesus!
He closed his eyes and prayed for invisibility. Not daring to breathe, he could feel his mind weakening with each passing millisecond his brain was being starved of oxygen. Mike heard the man move and opened his eyes to see him disappear up to the front of the cabin.
He waited a few more seconds before taking the deepest of breaths. As he gulped in the air, the sounds of ongoing torture returned to his ears. On and on it relentlessly continued.
“You’re finally here,” said Tillman’s voice to an unknown person. “I didn’t think he was going to last this long. The bastard’s tougher than I expected.”
“Life’s just full of surprises,” countered a female voice. It was cool, calm with a hint of a northern dialect. Mike couldn’t place it exactly, but he‘d heard the accent before.
“This is getting us nowhere,” he heard Tillman say. “Cut out a kidney.”
“No. No. Please,” Dave begged pathetically.
“Then tell us where it is.”
Silence
“Daniel’s ... got it,” whimpered Dave’s voice.
“Daniel. Daniel who?” demanded Tillman.
“Michael, Michael Daniels ... I posted it to him,” and then came an odd noise, like a last breath.
Mike froze. His body tensed in sudden panic and his heart began to pound erratically.
“Evans,” he heard Tillman shout. “Pull Laverick’s files. Cross reference with every name involving Michael and Daniels. I want this other bastard found, and I want him found pronto. Use public records. Tax, National Insurance, Benefits, Electoral register, the works. I want family, friends, finance, political affiliations, where he lives, where he works; right down to the number of times a day the man has a crap. Every man hour has to put on this job, right away, priority.”
“What about the body, Sir?”
“You know what to do. Make sure there are no loose ends.”
All Mike could think of doing was to run. He glanced to each side then looked ahead. The long grass in front swayed in the gentle breeze. Mere few feet away, it was much taller than Mike, and led down a steep bank towards a dirt road at the bottom.
He thought about composing himself by counting to five. Fear had already eliminated any rational thought. Mike sprang into the undergrowth. He grabbed handfuls of the greenery and pushed them behind his body, in the same way he would swim through water.
Progress was quick and sure amongst the wet leaves that dampened his rapidly descending frame, until he stumbled and began to fall. His left arm stretched out to an overhanging branch and he gripped it tightly to prevent himself from tumbling forward. A searing pain invaded his senses as the damaged knuckles of his hand reacted to the sudden stress, followed by a similar reaction from the strained tendons of his injured forearm.
Mike’s senses wanted to cry out in pain. Somehow he managed to contain the urge, gritting his teeth to hold it together long enough for him to regain his balance and composure. He stood silently for a few seconds, forcing his mind to ignore the pulsating ache from his left limb. He listened for any sound of pursuit, not daring to turn his head and look in case it gave them an image of his face.
He steadied himself, shut his eyes tight and took a deep breath, and then burst forward to re-start the descent. Beads of cold water ran uncomfortably down the sides of his face as the tall grass brushed against him. He kept going, kept moving and kept
on running. Practically sodden, he reached the road and quickly looked around to get his bearings. Across the road a path led up into the trees, perfect cover.
He ran like crazy up the dirt track, mud clinging to his black expensive Italian shoes. Mike virtually leapt into the cover of the woods, breathless and gasping for air. Only now did he dare turn and look to where the lodges were perched on the bank opposite. He observed the elevated position, looking for signs of activity. No frantic movement or noise came from the cabins. They hadn’t spotted him.
Mike strode briskly back to the car park conscious that, if there were more of these individuals stationed there, his dishevelled appearance would stick out like a sore thumb. He recalled the outside toilet facilities tagged onto the end of the bar/restaurant by the waterside. Emerging out of the wooded path, he cut past the indoor swimming pool and headed straight into them. Slamming the door of the cubicle, he rammed the lock into place and sat on the toilet seat.
His mind was in turmoil as he sat there trying to catch his breath, hardly able to believe what had happened. He began to shiver from the cold wetness that had dampened his clothes and invaded his body. Or perhaps it was fear? The exact same fear he witnessed in his friend’s eyes, a blind terror.
He convinced himself it was only the cold. Slipping out of his overcoat he hung it on the door peg and sat back down again. Mike remained still while he tried to comprehend the turn of events. He felt no sadness over Dave’s death, just concern for his own safety. He reasoned this was because of the shock to his system.
“Why the hell did he have to give them my name?” he moaned, and then immediately reproached himself for his callousness. The man was being brutally tortured, for God’s sake, and resisted valiantly for as long as he could. What would he have done?
His mind started to tick over. It would only be a matter of time before Dave’s killers identified who exactly their new target was and started to track him down. Mike considered heading for the nearest police station and turning himself and the memory stick over to their custody. He wondered if this was an option at all. If these people really were Government, security services or something, then they would be alerted to his whereabouts and come for him. And what could he tell the police anyway. He had no idea why he was now a target for these people. Anything could be on the damn memory stick. For all Mike knew it was top secret stuff only to be viewed by the most privileged, the highest echelons in power. And Dave had already dismissed the police force as a safe or viable alternative.
But what else could he do? Sitting inside a public lavatory in the heart of Northumberland with aching forearms, a damaged left hand, three thousand pounds in his pocket and being pursued by unknown violent thugs was not the day he had planned. There was no way he could go home or return to the office. He wasn’t even sure if he could return to his own car!
Lifting his good hand to tidy the damp errant mess of hair on his head, Mike felt something firm dig into his chest and reached for the object inside his jacket; the false passport. He pressed the document to his lips and kissed it with a passion he didn’t know he possessed.
“Thank you, Amy.”
Now there was hope. There had to be somewhere on this godforsaken planet he could go, an isolated space where he couldn’t be found; a safe place where he could examine the contents of the USB in relative safety and see if he could figure out this puzzle. Find out what the hell was going on, a solution to all this mayhem.
Not here, though. Dave had made two mistakes by the sound of it. Staying in Britain was one, using his credit card the other. At least Mike had already learned the first lessons of being a fugitive.
Contemplating on the loo was one thing, planning for your own survival required far more convivial surroundings. As the cold began to bite into his body he decided to move indoors and get a hot drink from the bar/restaurant to help warm his body through.
Mike approached the building cautiously without truly knowing what, or whom, he should be wary of. He found a table, placed in the darkest corner of the expansive bar area, and ordered a large coffee. Tossing the overcoat on to the next seat he sipped at the warm liquid and closed his eyes to savour the simple joy of drinking coffee in a warm, comfortable environment.
There was no-one he could turn to for help other than Tina, the one person he could trust. She would do anything for him, always there when he needed her. In that respect, she was the one constant in his life.
But how could he get in touch?
Not only was it virtually impossible to get a mobile signal out here before very much longer, he assumed, any calls he did subsequently make would be monitored and traced.
He had to come up with an escape strategy. These people thought nothing of killing Dave, likely they would kill Mike too. He decided to make a few notes, get some ideas down on paper.
Taking the silver pen from his inside pocket he lifted out the empty folded brown envelope and put it on the table. Mike wished he hadn’t given Amy a thousand pounds, to dissuade her from using her overworked credit card while she searched for holiday clothes. Mike hoped she hadn’t spent too much of it already.
Hurriedly, he started to scribble down key words. Places he could go, what would be needed to help him get there and how to get them. In a short while a rough strategy started to emerge.
There was a plan for Bridges; one which would put Amy in the clear, if he agreed to it, and at the same time offer Mike some much needed financial resources. Somehow he had to get through to Tina, ask her to do one thing, and then say he was taking some time away from the office. He’d tell her he intended to return after a couple of days and he was switching the mobile off while he was gone.
If everything fell into place, if it all worked, he would have a head start. After that, God only knew. He was no longer concerned about Bridges. The other mob however, were an entirely different proposition altogether. He had convinced himself these people were part of a Government unit, given they appeared to have some sort of ability to access all kinds of public sector records.
Mike wondered what could possibly be so important about the memory stick, how such an innocuous looking piece of everyday office equipment could cause someone to die.
His thoughts returned to the list of things he needed and double checked the items; money, internet access, a new laptop and phone. Checking the watch he noted it had turned half past four. Time was beginning to get short. Slurping up the remnants of the coffee, he picked up the overcoat and made his way cautiously back to the car.
He wasn’t sure what to watch out for, and spent some time simply observing. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary. He walked briskly towards his car and jumped inside.
The exit road took him to the left of the hill, leading up to the lodge park. As he pulled away he spotted the two, black and powerfully built 4x4’s coming down the embankment. The windows of the slow moving vehicles had been blacked out.
It had to be them.
As planned, it took less than ten minutes and a few miles to travel deeper into the Kielder district. He reached the turning he sought and turned right, off the main carriageway, towards Bakethin car park on the outskirts of the village. A secluded parking area hidden amongst woods the forest setting shielded any parked vehicles from open view and, unless you knew the area well, it was easy to miss. It was a perfect hiding place for the car. From there, Mike walked the few hundred yards or so to the village library.
As he correctly surmised, they had an internet site. Logging on using his hotmail address he was relieved to find there remained a few seats to be had. Today was Tuesday and the flight would leave at ten thirty tomorrow morning. The plan was beginning to take shape.
He walked back to the public phone, not far from where he had parked the car. It didn’t take long to make the necessary calls, setting up the meeting with Bridges and then calling Tina and Amy.
Tina started to lecture him about gallivanting off without a moment’s notice, until he pointed out it
was her suggestion he needed to take a break. Gradually, he managed to soothe her into compliant acceptance of his story and she agreed to do the one thing he asked.
Amy was ecstatic to hear she could be in the clear with Bridges. Mike told her to stay at the apartment and he would contact her tomorrow. She had no idea it was he who was now on the run.
All that remained was to patiently wait, before setting in motion the necessary chain of events. Mike stepped out of the phone booth and sighed. Soon he could be well clear of all this, as long as everything fell exactly into place.
The meal at the castle cafe was basic but nourishing, fuelling him enough to get through the rest of the night and the early hours of the next day if need be. He had tried to snooze for a few hours in the car, setting the timer on the mobile as an alarm clock. His mind wouldn’t settle. The events in the cabin disturbed him greatly. For some reason his emotions wouldn’t surface. He felt numb inside.
Mike was also agitated by the uncertainty over what was to come. If everything didn’t fall precisely into place he had no idea what, if anything, he could attempt next. All he did know was that he was set to lose everything in life he most valued. The high-specification car, the business and its plush office, and the riverside bachelor apartment in Durham he so cherished.
Mike wondered whether anyone would really miss him. He had no real friends, only Tina. She might miss him for a while before getting on with her life. Amy would soon rebuild her life, particularly once he was able to confirm her problem with Bridges had been sorted. The chimes from the mobile phone told him it was time to make a move. He crawled into the front seat and the engine hummed into life.
Turning left from the forest opening onto the slip road, he headed out the way he had come. Only locals knew about this route and it was rarely used. The car quickly climbed up the other side of the bank towards the main road. He stopped at the junction to check for oncoming traffic before pulling out onto the main carriageway.
It was four in the morning and unsurprisingly devoid of traffic. All that stood in his way were wild animals straying across the road. He switched on the ‘night view assist.’ This was a mechanism that used an infra red camera to double the range of sight, projecting the image on an eight inch screen on the dashboard. It enabled the driver to see unexpected obstacles and corners in the dark much earlier.
The Mercedes smoothed through the automatic gearbox into top gear and gracefully sped into the night, giving Mike the feeling that he was being carried along on a magic carpet. After a few miles he passed the turning into Leaplish. A set of headlights flickered into life behind him, followed by a second. The beams of light pulled onto the main carriageway heading in the same direction, and were accelerating rapidly.
It was them!
Mike’s heart thudded inside his chest with the realisation a chase was about to start. He had expected they would have left Kielder district by now. Instead they had waited until he reappeared, and were now right behind him. He tugged lightly at the gear lever to change transmission from automatic into manual mode.
Mike had two advantages. First, he had the night view assist switched on. Secondly, he had been here so many times he virtually knew this road like the back of his hand. Deftly he flipped through the gears with surety, manoeuvring the car through the winding road like an experienced rally driver, certainly more effectively than his pursuers. The advantages of the ‘night view assist’ and his local knowledge soon opened up a gap, and he found the distance between them increase with every passing mile.
Still they followed. Perhaps they were hoping he would panic and make a mistake, a miscalculation that would cause him to crash off the narrow path. Mike was determined to prove them wrong.
He pressed a little firmer on the accelerator. The car turned one way, then the other. With each bend negotiated the rear of the Mercedes swung from side to side as he steered round them. He was right on the line, on the absolute edge.
All that remained was the ninety degree turn on to the uphill road over the moors. He spotted it early and, like a Formula One driver marks his braking point, picked his spot. He slammed on the brake pedal and the car responded to his urgent command, swinging violently square to successfully negotiate the turning. He briefly lost speed as the car fought to correct its position on the narrow stretch of tarmac. The front wheels spun on the wet turf at the edge of the road. Then the rear wheels gripped. Mike pressed his foot hard against the accelerator and powered ahead. Up, up and away the car effortlessly climbed.
Pressing on over the moors he could see through the mirror the lights following were more distant. Mike began to relax, safe in the knowledge that they were unlikely to catch him now. He resolved to maintain his pace. Soon, he would be on the main highway and could go even faster.
Reaching the brow of the second to last hill he peered into the night, through the windscreen. He saw the two distant yellow beams turn onto the narrow road he was hurtling along, cutting through the blackness like searchlights in an air raid piercing the dark sky in search of prey. He estimated they were about a mile away, moving much too quickly along the winding country lane to belong to a local. They always drove carefully. He concluded it to be the third unit racing towards him, intent on cutting off his escape.
There were no turnings off this hilly, winding road and the realisation dawned on him that he’d been outsmarted. The cars behind had not been chasing him; they were herding him towards the onrushing vehicle. If he slowed or stopped, his pursuers would catch up. If he kept going he would drive straight into the path of the fast approaching car.
He was trapped.
Chapter Five
Flight
The Milieu Principle Page 4
