The Milieu Principle

by Malcolm Franks

This was Matt’s second day in the Belgian capital. He’d been to Brussels a few times over the years on weekend breaks, to visit the bi-annual flower festival held in the Grand Place, so knew the city reasonably well. It was the café culture Matt found attractive on the continent, particularly being able to sit outside in any one of the many restaurants in and around the Place for as long as you had the time.

  The grey, damp-filled drizzle was proving to be irritatingly persistent. Although Matt had visited this part of the city before he decided to use his newly acquired skills to properly map the area, marking all of the entry and exit routes around the old palace and then identify any vantage points to be had.

  The palais appeared smaller than Buckingham Palace. He was sure this was influenced by the surrounding buildings tightly pressed up around, and the fact it was possible to get much closer to the front of this palace than the one in London.

  Open-topped tourist buses regularly pulled up outside. The occupants, mostly Japanese tourists, would disembark and take endless numbers of photographs before continuing on their tour.

  Opposite the palace was a large park bordered by tree-lined dusty paths, interconnected by others, all running into the centre of the wooded area before travelling to the other side.

  In the summer the leaves of the plentiful trees provided shade from the hot sun for picnickers, or those eating lunch on one of the many park benches. On this wintry day the area was almost devoid of people, either locals or tourists.

  Matt recognised immediately this was the wrong place for a clandestine meeting, providing virtually no supporting cover should it be needed. Rosa would never have allowed it if she had been with him. He did the smart thing and consulted the street map for alternatives. The nearby church, St Michael’s, could be no more than a few hundred yards away. He decided to wait until the last possible moment to redirect the contacts.

  Ten minutes to two read his watch, enough time for one last sweep of the area before the meeting. He had to be confident there were no surveillance units in operation and these people weren’t being followed.

  The mobile phone alerted Eva-Maria to the text message.

  Ariel, Michael hopes you will pray with him.

  Matt watched as the young woman held the phone up to her young companion to let him see the message. Both appeared confused about its meaning, the man in particular animatedly shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. They looked anxiously around from the front of the palace in the hope of some inspiration.

  Eva-Maria pushed back the hood of her rain jacket as the drizzle halted and the sun threatened to burst through the grey clouds overhead. Casually dressed in tight fitting blue jeans snuggled into a pair of soft brown boots, the leggings were complemented by a loose fitting white halter top. The blonde hair, tied in a pony tail, revealed the high bone structure of her face.

  The young man failed to disturb his baseball cap as he tried to work out the meaning of the message, preferring instead to unzip his waist-length black leather jacket and reveal the name of a heavy metal band on the shirt underneath. The baggy green trousers smothered his trainer shoes, making his legs look shorter than his chunky torso. They talked for an age, undecided on what to do next, concern mounting on their young faces.

  Matt was about to send a second text when the young woman raised her hand excitedly, and they began to hurry in the direction of the church. They’d sussed it.

  He watched for surrounding movement as they stepped away from the palace. Nothing obvious happened. If they were being monitored they were unaware of it.

  Quickening his pace from the vantage point, Matt arrived at the bottom steps to the church several yards ahead of the couple. Skipping his way up to the top entrance he peered inside and prepared the next text. He strode inside as he released the message and took the first available seat to his left.

  This house of God was enormous. Rows of pews stretched out in front of him towards the altar, able to accommodate many hundreds of worshippers. The sides of the interior were adorned throughout by a myriad of differently sized and shaped statues.

  The wait seemed interminable. He sat with head bowed, as though in prayer. Through the corner of his eye he caught sight of the two shapes and they sat directly in front of him, onto the seats he had instructed in the message.

  Glancing to the side he could see no-one had followed and the young pair sat quietly, respectful of their surrounds. The young man even removed his cap. Matt sent the next message, hoping her mobile was in silent mode. It was.

  Have you spoken to Ms Vogel?

  Yes.

  Will she meet me?

  Yes.

  Hotel de Ville, Grote Market, eight pm, tonight, was his next message.

  Impossible, read the reply.

  I leave tomorrow, this is the only time.

  No response followed. Matt thought he’d miscalculated and had erred with the directness of the last message. He decided to wait.

  I will advise her, came up on his screen.

  Thank you for your help, Eva-Maria. Goodbye.

  The young woman stirred in front of him, suddenly agitated and whispering frantically to her colleague. Matt thought it better to remain in his seat. Another message appeared.

  Is my brother with you?

  She didn’t know about Johannes. For a brief moment he had no idea what to say, not wanting to prolong this gathering any more than necessary.

  No, was his reply.

  I am unable to reach him and no-one knows where he has gone. I am very concerned.

  There was no easy way to tell her, and he didn’t want to lie.

  It is difficult to contact him at the moment.

  Will you let me know when it will be possible?

  Yes. Goodbye, Eva-Maria.

  He switched the phone off.

  There was a time in his life he might have cared. Today, there could be no such sentiment. Matt watched them leave, the disappointment drawn upon her young face as they made for the exit. He sat silently, head bowed, and began to plan ahead for the meeting with Vogel.

  Moments had passed when a scream shattered the inner silence of this house of God. He turned. The young man had fallen backwards and collapsed to the floor. Matt leapt up to investigate and approached the stricken figure. He spotted the small round hole in the young man’s forehead. Instinctively, he pulled Eva-Maria away from the open high wooden doors and pushed her up against the stone wall of the church.

  She continued to scream frenziedly, her body shaking with fear, unable to control the flailing movements of her arms. Matt used his strength to pin the screaming girl to the wall and smother her in his grasp.

  “Eva-Maria, Eva-Maria,” he shouted to the terrified soul. “Be still and calm yourself.”

  The few other people in the church had left their seats and neared cautiously. The last thing he needed was to be involved in a turkey shoot, which would happen if they came any closer.

  “No,” he yelled. “Stay back, stay away from the door,” and they retreated into the safety of the high-domed church.

  Eva-Maria continued to resist his efforts to subdue her, so he exerted more of his physical strength to overpower her body. Forcing her arms up against her chest, he pressed hard with his body to trap her upper limbs. As she slowly stilled, the realisation dawned upon her.

  “Mr Durham?”

  “We have to move Eva-Maria, quickly.”

  Grabbing hold of a hand he pulled her away from the wall and led her deeper into the sanctuary of the church. A priest appeared to their left and called to him.

  “Father,” Matt responded. “We must use another exit.”

  The priest hesitated, a look of astonishment on his face.

  “Father, this child will die here unless I get her to safety. There is no time, please.”

  It took only seconds for the priest to witness the terror upon the young girl’s face and make his decision.

  “This way, my son,” and he led them past the altar to th
e rear door and on into his chambers.

  There wasn’t time to take in the detail of the sculptures of the surroundings as he hurriedly followed the dark suited man, tugging Eva-Maria behind him. They hastened through two more doors before the priest halted. He turned and looked to Matt, then reached into his pocket and offered up a set of keys.

  “Take these. The vehicle is outside, across the street. What else can I do for you?”

  “Call the emergency services, and thank you,” he replied, referring to the car keys.

  The priest pushed open the door, allowing the daylight to break into the room and illuminate the stale darkness.

  Matt peered outside to get his bearings, the shadows from the tall buildings engulfing the narrow street. He closed his eyes to picture the area in his mind from the mapping exercise yesterday. Pressing the button in his hand the side lights of a silver car flashed from the other side of the road.

  “I am grateful to you, Father,” he said, and took a firm grip of Eva-Maria’s trembling hand. “Can you run just a little further?”

  She nodded vigorously, somehow deciding to put her trust in this complete stranger.

  “Now!” he shouted and they leapt through the rear door.

  A man on a small motor bike sped passed them, heading downhill. The sniper’s bullet hit the motorcyclist in the chest and threw his body away from the machine, causing the cycle to slide a little further along the road before thumping into a parked car. Matt realised there was no time to reach the safety of the priest’s vehicle. He yanked her hand towards the fallen motor bike as she struggled to keep pace. The engine was still running when he pulled the machine from the ground and sat astride. Eva-Maria never questioned his intent, merely copied his action and sat on the rear pillion, clasping her hands tightly around his midriff.

  In a flash they were gone, accelerating madly back up the hill of the narrow street, using the massive structure of the church as cover from further missiles.

  Memories of his youth, when he used to rally-cross as a child, came flooding back to Matt as they continued to rise up the bank. They sped passed a parked 4x4 as the side window folded and collapsed inwards, pierced by a rifleman’s bullet. Eva-Maria screamed at the sight of the window shattering into pieces, gripping her accomplice even tighter.

  Matt knew they would have to leave the main arteries of the road network. It would take no time at all for roadblocks to be put into place to trap them. He remembered the park and turned sharply, weaving between the startled drivers of the oncoming traffic as further whistling noises whooshed above their heads.

  The machine leapt from the ground as it shot over the road into the green space and he pointed the bike upwards along the tree-lined path. Clouds of dust were thrown up as he accelerated forward. Matt turned sharply again, taking the path leading into the centre of the park.

  The few pedestrians they encountered jumped to the side to avoid the onrushing machine as Matt formulated their escape route. Another turn, downwards this time, and they muscled their way to the end of the park leading past the palace.

  Without stopping to look, he burst onto the main road and turned sharply left along the carriageway, missing an onrushing vehicle by centimetres and almost losing control. The rear end of the bike shivered from side to side. Somehow, it stayed upright.

  Matt sped along the road, narrowly missing a pedestrian crossing their path. The wind gushed into his eyes making it hard to see clearly ahead. At the last minute he spotted the marker and, without warning, applied the brake hard causing the front tyre to smoke and the approaching car to swerve into a signpost.

  “Hold on!” Matt yelled, and he felt the young woman cling ever harder to him for dear life.

  A sharp right had the bike mount the pavement, skimming the legs of a jogger, and head for an opening in the railings. This led them to a set of steep steps pointing down into the heart of the old city.

  The machine shook hard as he manoeuvred through the bodies jumping to avoid their reckless approach. Matt thought it was set to fall apart. He could hear the sound of loud yelling voices behind them as he skipped the last step and jumped the machine onto a cobbled road sloping downwards.

  He weaved between the on-road vehicles, for a further hundred yards or so, and then powered through the gap in the traffic into the steeply-dropping narrow alley. Matt braked hard to reduce speed as they neared the market stalls on the edge of the Grand Place. The machine’s velocity disappeared by the time the bike came to rest.

  Squeezing the front wheel of the machine into one of the empty bicycle slots bolted into the ground, he left the key in the ignition and they hurried away from the now silent engine.

  “Walk, don’t run,” instructed Matt sharply, as Eva-Maria hugged his arm tightly, fearful of the consequences of letting go.

  The Grand Place was an area Matt knew particularly well and he led her down a street immediately adjacent, towards a small bistro he had visited regularly in his earlier years. They hurried along the cobbled street behind the main square, and he ushered her inside the red fronted building and up the three entry steps leading to a platform. Immediately to the right of the wooden railing, three steps led them back down into an alcove table next to a bay window, and he pushed her into the space.

  Eva-Maria sat up against the wall, breathless and trembling. Her moist eyes looked set to burst into a river of tears.

  “Don’t!” he ordered, “You must not bring attention to us. Close your eyes and take deep breaths, count up to a thousand if necessary.”

  His authority and sharpness startled the young woman and her eyes widened with the force of his instruction. Yet, she knew she could trust him. Gulping air into her lungs, Eva-Maria closed her eyes and counted in her mind, slowly and meticulously. Gradually, her trembling eased and her breathing relaxed back into its normal rhythm. She re-opened her eyes to the two coffees and schnapps that had been placed on the table.

  The stranger, his back pushed up against the opposite wall, looked furtively out of the window at the passing pedestrian traffic as the people walked by. They were oblivious to the danger from which the two agitated fugitives had narrowly escaped.

  “Mr Durham?”

  “Quiet!” he said. “Drink your schnapps,” and she obeyed.

  He continued to watch, for what seemed minutes on end, until something caught his attention. In the blink of an eye he turned, downed his own schnapps and then started chatting cheerfully to his partner on a subject she found completely bewildering. Her startled expression was in danger of giving them away.

  “Smile girl. Smile,” he hissed urgently.

  Without thought or reason she instinctively put her arm on Matt’s shoulder and leaned towards him to affectionately stroke his ear with a long index finger, the broadest smile a man could ever wish to see enveloping her face. Eva-Maria nodded in agreement, then threw back her head and laughed at the humorous joke Matt had never told. The pretence lasted mere seconds. It was enough. Her glance revealed the two men outside had moved away from the window and headed down the cobbled street.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, unsure whether to scream or cry.

  “Be brave Eva-Maria, be strong just a little bit longer,” he counselled the young woman. The shape of a woman’s figure in an apron came down the steps and stood before them.

  “We close now, for the afternoon,” the tall, dark-haired woman said.

  “Ask if we can speak to the owner,” Matt requested of his young companion.

  “I am the owner,” said the woman tetchily, forcing Eva-Maria’s face into a smile.

  “One hundred Euros, in cash, to let us remain inside for one more hour,” said Matt boldly, pressing the notes onto the surface of the table.

  The woman shook her head.

  “One hundred and twenty?” he countered.

  “More coffee?” the owner asked, and Matt nodded.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Matt a
gain, turning his attention back to the young girl.

  She wasn’t sure what to think, or say. She stared blankly back at the stranger trying to understand why she had trusted him. The same question lingered upon her lips.

  “Where is my brother, Mr Durham?”

  “Matt, call me Matt,” he said gently.

  She sensed something was wrong and had to know. This was the one question he didn’t want to answer.

  The bistro owner busied herself with placing the clean glasses back onto the shelves above the bar, keeping a watchful eye on her two remaining customers. She wondered why they would be together as he spoke quietly to the young woman, his right hand softly brushing her hair in smooth, even strokes. They were years apart.

  It was only when the young woman started to sob and cry, burying her head into the man’s chest for comfort that the owner stopped and gazed down upon them in the alcove.

  Married men, she thought, when will young girls ever learn?

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  The Appointment