Milieu Dawn

by Malcolm Franks

Matt rose at five. He slept little, despite the aching tiredness of his body from the previous day’s long journey. The sun had leapt into the sky, showering daylight over the rooftops of the tightly crammed buildings.

  After a long bout of indecisive deliberation he still hadn’t decided whether to leave discreetly, or opt to face Gratia to say goodbye. Eventually, he snatched at the hotel writing pad and scrawled out a note. Reception would ensure she received it.

  He ordered breakfast before showering. The trolley arrived as he finished dressing. After eating he took a coffee out to the balcony, hoping to catch some sun while he took a final view of the city centre. Matt fell back into the cushioned seat as his gaze drifted in an arc, from right to left. The panoramic search had neared its end when he caught sight of a figure emerging onto the adjacent balcony.

  Her hair, dampened from the shower, was about to keep an appointment with a turquoise coloured hairbrush. Underneath the figure hugging camisole, brown belted denim jeans hid her legs from view. The texture of the thin strapping to her lime green top looked like the finest cashmere, providing a subtle contrast to the colour of her skin. The casual attire accentuated her figure, the hips particularly prominent. Gratia placed the brush on the table and raised her slender arms to push both sets of fingers through her raven hair, tying it behind her head with an elastic bangle. She seemed unaware of his presence.

  He watched as she stepped gracefully towards the far end and look down into the streets below. A sharp noise caught her attention, prompting her to lean further over the wooden rail to get a closer look. She held her position for some time.

  Then she stood and turned unexpectedly, instantly spotting Matt sipping at the cup and quietly watching her. There was no welcoming smile as she stepped back to the centre of the balcony. Matt forced a half smile to try and break the ice.

  “Morning, Gratia. You’re up early.”

  His welcoming words made her stop, but failed to elicit a response. The subsequent smile was uninviting. Though she held her gaze for several moments, her eyes were distant and devoid of emotion. All it took was a short step to the side, and she had silently slipped off the balcony into the suite without answering.

  Matt sighed and looked back out over the rooftops. Though he had decided not to call on Gratia before he checked out, her negative response disappointed him. He took a sip of coffee and refocused his mind on the journey ahead. Hotel reception should be bringing up travel details soon. Matt had asked for flight, rail and coach timetables as well as details of local car hire companies.

  His watch told him it was after six, time to make a move. He stepped back into the suite just as the rap sounded to alert him to the arrival of the information, which he gratefully accepted.

  Matt hesitated to close the door. He should speak to Gratia one last time. Irrespective of her present antipathy towards him, the least she deserved was the courtesy of a face to face farewell. He walked the short distance to her suite and spotted the door ajar. Rather than knock and wait, something made him enter.

  “Gratia, it’s Matt,” he called.

  A few steps and he entered the main living space, looking much like his own suite. She was nowhere to be seen.

  “Gratia,” he called again, pushing gently at the en-suite door.

  Matt found himself being hurled backwards by the sheer force of the door being kicked against him from the other side, catapulting him into the living area. Momentarily stunned he saw two figures emerge. Both were brandishing long blades with serrated edges. He jumped to his feet as they stepped forward. No-one moved as the two sides eyed each other up and down. A third figure stumbled through the opening.

  Gratia appeared with frightened eyes, her hands held behind her back. A third assailant, smaller than the others, appeared behind her. The man held the back of her hair, pulling it down so hard her head tipped back to reveal the vulnerability of her open neck.

  “Easy,” said Matt. “You can’t kill her now I’m here. Not without taking me out as well.”

  The two men approached and Matt backed away, his eyes darting from side to side in search of any kind of implement to help his defence. The only thing within reach was a silver tray, holding the untouched contents of a continental breakfast.

  His assailants took another step forward. The largest man, to the left, was built like a mountain. He was accompanied by an older looking, slightly smaller man. Matt assumed him to be the leader as he was in front. Menacingly, the man sneered as he tossed the blade between his hands while he advanced. Matt’s trained mind kicked into auto mode in preparation for the fight to follow. The third intruder was unlikely to release his grip on Gratia, so posed no immediate threat. Bringing down the biggest man would take some effort so the group’s leader was the obvious first target. If Matt could dispose of him then he might have a chance.

  He grabbed for the silver tray, scattering and shattering the chinaware against the nearby writing desk, and readied for the first lunge.

  It came quickly. Matt used the tray to slide the blade away and turned a hundred and eighty degrees to push his back into the man’s front. The sharp point of his elbow crashed into the man’s midriff and winded him. As the assailant dropped to his knees Matt used the point of his elbow again, this time against the man’s jaw, and he tottered and then fell onto his back.

  The second man, distracted by his accomplice’s cry, shifted his gaze. Matt used the distraction to bring his foot between the man’s legs. The man crumpled in pain and Matt followed up his assault with a snap of his foot to the side of the head. The assailant with Gratia released the knife from her throat and edged forward. She used the opportunity to step to the side, lift her knee, and then send her foot forcefully backwards into the man’s groin.

  “Gratia, get out!” Matt called.

  The big man had recovered and lunged with the knife. Matt evaded the thrust, grabbed at the hair covering his neck and rammed the head against the dining table. He turned and saw the small man had regained his balance. He headed straight for Gratia.

  Matt made to rush over when he felt a hand grip his ankle. He crashed to the floor as the leader of the pack started to rise to his feet. Matt spun on the floor and sent a foot crashing into the man’s jaw. He toppled slightly then continued to rise.

  Panic set in. The two downed men were recovering quickly. Using the tray as a lightweight discus, Matt sent the object spinning into the side of the leading thug’s head and jumped to his feet. He turned towards Gratia. The smallest man was already directly in front of her, knife held aloft and ready to strike. Matt knew he was too late.

  “Gratia!” he shouted.

  The knife swung down from over the attacker’s shoulder. Gratia swayed to her left. As the man continued the downward arc of his thrust, Gratia’s bare foot raised and crashed into the side of the man’s face. Thrown sideways, he turned. Another small foot shot towards him, this time targeting the groin. As he dropped to his knees, Gratia snapped her leg to each side of the man’s head. The thug collapsed onto the floor.

  “Matt, behind you,” she called.

  He instantly ducked as the blade passed over his head. Matt propped his arms against the floor and swung a leg in a circle, toppling the leader and forcing him to spill the blade from his grasp. Matt darted for the knife but was tripped up. Crawling towards the weapon, the leader’s hands scratched at Matt’s clothes in a desperate attempt to stop his progress. Matt kicked with his foot, and heard the crunching sound of the man’s nose breaking under the impact. They continued the frantic struggle. Both men rose to their knees and tried to land a telling punch. Finally the man overstretched. Matt caught the thug with a fierce blow to the Adam’s apple. Unable to breathe, the man was defenceless. He fell to his side, gasping for air. Matt elected to finish the job by wrapping his legs around the opponent’s neck. The man knew what was coming. Matt twisted sharply. The brutal sound of snapping bone had yet to leave the atmosphere when a heavy mass fell onto Matt, pinning him to the f
loor. The biggest of the assailants raised his arm to bury the knife. Matt reached up and gripped at the man’s wrist. The downward movement was checked. But the big man was strong, stronger than Matt. He looked into the angry face and saw the maddened eyes bulging with effort, saw the fierce desire to kill.

  Slowly, the serrated blade inched ever closer to the jugular vein of Matt’s neck. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Matt, feeling the point of the blade touch against the skin of his neck, made one last desperate plea.

  “Gratia, run for it,” he called.

  He heard what sounded like a little thump. The strain in the man’s eyes tightened and his face contorted in pain. Thick red liquid dribbled from the twisted mouth as the man convulsed. The pressure on Matt’s neck slackened, allowing him to slip from underneath the heavy frame. The man slid sideways, motionless.

  Recovering to a kneeling position he could see the blade deeply embedded in the back of the man’s neck. Gratia was stood, hands clasped over her mouth and eyes tightly shut.

  She had killed.

  Matt picked up a blade and rose to his feet. His arms circled the horrified frame to provide comfort. She began to tremble, slightly at first, then with ever increasing vigour. He tightened his grip and whispered soft and even tones into her ear. Easing her head gently against his shoulder Matt spotted the last, the smallest, of the triumvirate rise to his feet. The man reached for the fallen knife and shook his head to clear his mind. He saw the lifeless bodies of his two colleagues and looked at the embracing couple. Matt could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

  “No,” Matt said to the man. “Go. This is enough.”

  The would-be assassin thought for a moment. Then his eyes darkened with rage and he tightened his grip around the handle of the knife. He lurched maniacally forward. Matt pushed Gratia onto the bed and readied for the assault. The man swung wildly, in a wide arc. Matt took evasive action. Another lunge followed. Again, Matt moved to avoid the pointed end.

  “Enough,” snapped Matt. “Go.”

  There was no reasoning with the enraged mind. The man threw a remnant from a broken cup to distract Matt’s attention and lunged again. Like a matador Matt evaded the gesture, allowing the man to pass his body. He wrapped an arm around the assailant’s throat and violently twisted the head back and to the side.

  What was once a living being shook violently and then crumpled away from Matt’s body.

  He returned to the bed where Gratia had watched the final drama unfold. He knelt before her and placed a hand on each of her arms.

  “Are you alright?”

  Her Guinness eyes were dull, lifeless, deadened in shock over what she had done. He stroked gently at her cheek with the back of his hand, and then pushed away the raven hair surrounding her face.

  “The image will stay with you forever. Most of the feeling too,” he said. “The best way to cope is not do what I did and hold everything inside. Otherwise it eats away at you, makes it harder to let people in.”

  He looked into her eyes. They shifted slightly from their blank, forward stare and gradually met his gaze. Matt found it hard to read her mind. He smiled and returned his hand to her cheek.

  “Thank you, for saving my life,” he said. “Matt Durham would have been a corpse by now if you hadn’t done what you had.”

  Her eyelids fluttered briefly.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked. “The word impressive doesn’t come close to a suitable description.”

  The fluttering turned into a furious blink. Matt realised her pent up emotion was about to escape to the surface. He pulled her from the bed, onto her knees, and embraced her tightly, smoothing her hair with soft even strokes. Her body trembled unevenly at first and then burst into uncontrollable life.

  Her tears seemed to flow forever though it could only have been a short while. To Matt, it felt like there was more behind her distress than what had just passed. An outpouring of all those suppressed emotions any one person bottles up inside these days. To cry is viewed as a weakness, particularly those in the cold corporate existence of the modern multi-national world. And he found his own emotions reacting to her grief in a surprising way. As they knelt, huddled together, something stirred inside him. The longer he held her, the more he wanted to keep hold of Gratia. The touching of their bodies offered up as much comfort to him as it did to her, a mutual safety net.

  Once she had settled, Gratia pushed gently away from his hold and looked up through moistened eyes. She used both hands to wipe away at the excess tears, those that had filled her eyes but had yet to fall.

  “Kickboxing,” she said. “I do kickboxing.”

  He smiled.

  “You do it well. Remind me never to make you angry.”

  She spluttered a laugh.

  “I can’t remember the last time I cried,” she said.

  He raised his hand slowly to her face. She glanced at the open palm and returned an approving look. Confident she had consented, he brushed the raven hair behind her ear and she tried to smile. He cupped his hands round hers.

  “I wish I could,” he replied softly.

  “You have never cried?”

  He shook his head.

  “One of those things, I guess.”

  “Not even once?”

  “Came close a couple of times,” he said with a shrug.

  A conversation as surreal as it was comforting. Three men lay dead on the floor and they were talking about whether they had cried before. The words seemed therapeutic, meaningless chatter in the context of what had happened. Impulse caused him to raise a finger and touch against the outline of her jaw. Gratia’s gaze fixed on his eyes and she forced a smile.

  “There is little consolation in knowing there was no other choice, but it helps to soften the demands of the conscience,” he said.

  He applied his thumb in even strokes to the outline of her jaw. Her skin felt soft to his touch, the motion visibly relaxing her tensed facial muscles whilst at the same time cementing their locked gazes. Matt lowered his head. Gratia copied the movement. Their faces edged closer, to the point where they were almost touching. She placed a hand onto the side of his neck as he rested a fist against the floor for balance.

  “Ouch! Bloody hell,” he cursed.

  “What, what’s wrong?”

  Matt inspected the reason for the pain to his hand. A piece of broken cutlery had dug into his skin and blood trickled out of the small wound. Gratia started to laugh.

  “We have successfully fought off the hostile attentions of three dangerous men without a scratch, and now you injure yourself on a piece of broken crockery.”

  He laughed at the irony. Gratia started to rise.

  “There is a first aid box in the bathroom.”

  “Bring plenty of plasters,” he said.

  “It is not a big cut.”

  He grinned.

  “I have something else in mind.”

  She didn’t question his comment, returning shortly after with an assortment of medical looking bits and pieces. Gratia used an antiseptic wipe to clean the wound and then fixed the elastic dressing in place. Matt searched the small box for the rest of the plasters.

  “I shall call for the police,” she said.

  “No, not yet,” he said. “Give me a hand with this.”

  He held up his right hand and pointed to the plasters.

  “One on each finger, to cover the tips,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “No fingerprints.”

  She did as he asked. Once complete, he searched through the clothes of the bodies looking for clues. He checked every pocket of the dead men. The process took several minutes.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Not a mobile phone, letter or even a credit card. The clothing and footwear is commonplace and local so doesn’t give us any leads either. I wonder who they were. More importantly, I wonder who sent them.”

  He glanced at Gratia, her eyes filled with concentration.

&nb
sp; “How do you know to do such things? Searching bodies for clues with taped fingers, so as not to leave any fingerprints.”

  “That’s not important,” he said. “Whoever sent these guys will pretty soon know their men had failed to complete their task, which means they may well try again. We have to get away from here, the sooner the better.”

  “We?” she said. “It was my room they entered.”

  “And it was both of us they were looking for.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they weren’t surprised to see me,” he replied. “They knew exactly who I was, otherwise they would have hesitated.”

  “We can not just leave.”

  “You’ve been here often?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’ll know the manager?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get him up here, fast. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  While they waited, Matt covered the windows. He noticed Gratia packing her case.

  “No, leave the case,” he said. “We need to run light.”

  “But I may need to change.”

  “When we are safe,” he said. “Is your bracelet pure gold?”

  “Yes.”

  He slid it from her wrist and tucked it into a pocket of one of the dead men.

  “An attempted robbery,” he explained.

  Soon after, the manager arrived. The ensuing conversation took longer than Matt would have preferred. Eventually, the manager agreed to wait until they had checked out before calling in the local police. Their luggage would be forwarded on. The old adage, about money talking, had never been so amply demonstrated. Gratia’s name meant something here; held sway, carried substance. The manager practically bowed in submissive apology.

  “How are you feeling?” Matt asked, once they were alone.

  “I’ll survive,” was all she said.

  Matt wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction. He decided not to push it. She had to focus her energy on what was to come.

  “Once we’ve got you back home you should beef up your personal security. I’ll go on to Seattle,” he lied.

  Her Guinness eyes offered no clues as to what she was thinking.

  “No you won’t. You’ll go to Russia next.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “From there it is easier to travel on to China, then Japan if necessary.”

  “Not every person on the planet thinks the same way as an international lawyer.”

  “You don’t need to be a lawyer to work it out,” she said.

  She really was something else. Matt inwardly smiled in appreciation of an agile mind.

  “How will you fix things back here later?” he asked.

  “My lawyers will resolve matters.”

  He wanted to say something deep and profound. The right words deserted him.

  “Okay,” he said. “We have to move.”

  The street outside was already overcrowded. As Matt looked on at the melee he realised the encierro was not far away from starting. Whilst the mass of people would provide a degree of cover, mobility would be restricted. He could only hope they had got out in time.

  “Are we going for the car?” she asked.

  “No. Chances are it’s already under surveillance.”

  “So where are we going?”

  “Follow me,” was all he said.

  Matt stopped at the lavish main entrance and closed his eyes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting my bearings,” he replied.

  He mentally pictured the surrounding area, from images of walking through the streets to the hotel and his recollections of the town centre map. The running of the bulls covered a number of streets in the old village; Santo Domingo, Town Hall Square, Mercaderes, Estafeta and a final section called Telefonica before entering the bull ring. About half a mile in total, he estimated. The run passed in front of the hotel, one of the fastest parts of the course. Although only supposed to last around four minutes the streets took an age to clear when it was over.

  Once he had directions clear in his mind, Matt took several moments to study the immediate area looking at windows and arched doorways. He could see nothing of obvious concern, though amongst this throng he’d have to be very lucky to pick out anything untoward.

  “Ready?” he said.

  She took a deep breath.

  “We’ll be fine,” he smiled.

  They sprang from the door into the excitable crowd as the second rocket sounded; signalling to the runners the six bulls and six steers had been released. Matt kept a tight hold of her arm. Pushing his way past a heavy shaped woman he saw the glint of steel blades. He looked the other way, same again. Instinctively, he pulled Gratia down to her knees.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve got company. Bad company,” he said.

  Her face screwed up in horror. Matt had to think quickly. There was no way through the heavy crowd without coming face to face with the blades of death.

  “I know you can fight,” he said. “But how fast can you run?”

  He didn’t need to explain. She was more than up for the adventurous suggestion.

  “God you’re scary,” he said, and her eyes sparkled.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Seconds later and they heard the first of the runners approaching. Matt barged through the mass of people, head crouched, and she followed obediently. They reached the wooden barricade together. Figures dressed in white shirts and trousers with red waistbands hurtled passed them.

  “Now,” he shouted.

  The gap in the wooden barricade was more than big enough for them to climb through. Angry spectators shouted Spanish obscenities as they started to run. It was all too easy to impede or trip other runners, causing them to fall and thereby leaving them to the mercy of the bulls. But this was the last of their concerns.

  Both picked up speed, caught up amidst the rash of frenzied runners. Bustled and jostled by arms and bodies, from the side and behind, they kept to a constant pace for a hundred yards or more. Despite their distinctive clothing, they were moving too fast within the body of runners to be caught from the side. There were only the bulls to worry about now.

  Matt remembered that between two and three hundred people were injured each year during the encierro, mostly caused by runners falling or being pushed to the ground. They had to stay on their feet.

  The sounds of the heavy thudding of powerful legs grew. The bulls were closing. Runners started to panic. One man lost his balance and fell in front of Matt. He hurdled over the rolling figure and tugged sharply at Gratia’s arm. She copied his movement. But they had lost pace. People behind were pushing at their backs with hands and elbows to hurry them along. One fierce nudge followed another. Matt sensed Gratia was tiring and looked to the sides for an exit, one they could dive through. He tugged her sideways. She adjusted direction. A runner brushed against her trailing leg and Gratia began to stumble. Matt reached as she fell and was thrown off balance. He tumbled to the floor. Gratia was on the ground behind him. It felt like hundreds of individual feet were trampling around and on top of their bodies. Then he saw the bulls, galloping and snarling crazily behind them.

  The largest mass of muscle lowered its head, horns poised to rip at any defenceless flesh in its way. The beast saw them sprawled along the ground. It veered from its path and headed towards the nearest living defenceless being, towards Gratia.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reliving the Past