Another thought crossed his mind. He’d been working from the USB for some hours. This gave them more than enough time to narrow their search, pinpoint his location. Matt shut the computer down. He walked to the balcony and looked up into the darkening sky. Then he peered out onto the artificially illuminated street. It was eerily quiet. Not a moving vehicle in sight.
His enemies were close. And they were closing. Should he go up or down? Front or back? He chose down and back. Matt bundled his possessions together and darted across the narrow hall to the fire exit at the end of the floor. He paused to watch and listen for movement. Nothing stirred. Matt stepped onto the stairs, stopping at a small window on a landing between floors. Shadows flickered in the stairwell light below. Figures were moving stealthily upwards. He looked to the roof of the adjacent building, somewhat lower to ground. Matt opened the window and crawled through. Somehow he managed to nudge the window almost to a close and then hung from the outer sill by his fingertips. He would have to leap a couple of yards to get across to the next building, too far without some kind of leverage. Suspended in mid air, Matt was defenceless.
Panic set in. He peered down and saw a wooden balcony jutting out from the wall of the floor below, fenced by a metal railing. Matt could hear the sounds of rushing feet coming up the stairs inside the building. He had no choice. On the count of three, he released his grip and plummeted down.
The thump of a human body against hard wood was never going to sound pleasant. In Matt’s case it was painful too. He cursed madly inside as he checked for damaged limbs. There were aches and shooting pains up one leg but no obvious sign of injury.
Spotters will have heard the heavy thud and alerted assault teams. He had to move quickly. Matt hurdled the metal railing and hung from the rim. Ground was about ten feet below. He released his possessions and dropped onto the concrete. This time the pain in his leg was more severe, the subsequent limp involuntary. He must have done more damage to the limb than he’d realised.
He made for the rear of the building, hurrying uphill along the dimly lit footpath. He guessed they would expect him to head in the opposite direction. It was always easier to move downhill than up. The mapping exercise he had carried out earlier told him what physical geography to expect. It was the human geography he would likely encounter that worried him.
He glimpsed a couple, pushed up against the high stone wall to his left, making out. Matt could see the bare flesh of the woman’s leg raised in the air, bent at the knee so the man could prop it up with his hand. He heard the woman groan as the man pushed energetically into her. Nothing was going to put them off. Not even the rapidly lowering temperature of the evening air. You had to admire their hardiness.
As he neared Matt glanced sideways and saw the woman’s eyes monitor his approach. He knew instantly. Matt swivelled on the ball of his left foot and sent his other crashing between the man’s legs. Before she could react he grabbed at the man’s hair, jerked the head back and then sent it powerfully crashing into the woman’s face. The pair slumped to the floor, blood oozing from the woman’s shattered nose. Matt’s rapid search produced two hand guns and several clips of ammunition. He attached the earpiece and heard a voice calling urgently into his ear.
“Sigma, have you got visual?”
The voice repeated the question, this time with a sense of alarm. The two stilled figures were the sigma team. The caller wouldn’t ask again. They knew exactly where he was now.
He kicked at the wooden gate to the garden opposite and it sprang open. Matt limped up the garden path to the back door. Ignoring the light from the kitchen and entered. He crept silently along the hallway to the front door. He was about to leave when he saw the set of keys on the small table, by the hanging overcoats. Matt snapped them up into his hand and exited.
The door took him directly into the street. He clicked at the keys and a pair of sidelights flashed nearby. Matt threw open the door and jumped behind the wheel. As soon as the engine started he rammed the gear into drive.
Easing away from the footpath the car glided to the end of the street. As he feared, the main road was bereft of moving vehicles. He might as well have a giant plastic hand hanging over him with a finger pointing to his head. Fugitive here, the caption would read.
Matt looked across the street. He closed his eyes to form a mental image of the road out of town in his head. Around fifty or sixty metres up to the left was the tight, concrete paved turn leading to the green space built into the steep river bank. Matt remembered that at the bottom of the steep hill a road led to a bridge which crossed to the other side of town. He doubted he would get so far. Even if he were to successfully negotiate the impossibly steep incline, the car would be a complete wreck once he reached the bottom. Only a desperate man would attempt something as reckless. Matt was desperate.
The pedal thumped against the floor and the car skidded out into the open. A surge of acceleration powered the car up the road. Fast approaching headlights flashed at him. He rammed the nearing menace, sending the other car spinning over the pavement and into the wall of the building.
A second car swerved to avoid the carnage and mounted the raised kerb. He reversed, swung the wheel fiercely to the right and belted forward again. Seconds later and he was negotiating the tight bend. The pursuer failed to anticipate his sharp turn and shot passed the opening.
Matt slammed the brakes to slow his pace. He twisted the wheel violently to his left and the car manoeuvred at a right angle to the road. Another squeeze of his foot and the car neared the incline. The vehicle burst forward again, and dived over the gardened edge.
With no ground beneath its tyres, the front end dipped and began an uncontrollable descent. Matt could see through the mirror no-one had followed. He bounced up and down in the seat, courtesy of the uneven surface underneath the wheels. Looking forward, he could see headlights crossing left and right on the road below.
The car plummeted downhill, picking up speed despite the obstacles in its path. He was thrown from side to side as the vehicle somehow stayed upright. A loud bang followed the heavy impact of him hitting a boulder, briefly pushing the car sideways before resuming its descent. The irregular clunking sound told him something was broken.
There was no stopping. Matt bounced ever more violently up and down banging his head against the interior roof, a sure sign of suspension damage. Then he saw the metal barrier at the side of the carriageway looming into view. Instinct made him open the door and jump.
Matt touched the ground at an awkward angle, jarring his left shoulder into shocking pain. The sound of the car crashing into the barrier filled his ears. Grimacing in agony he looked up and saw the car had bounced back from the road and rolled onto its side. Flames began licking at the wreck.
Passing drivers slammed on their brakes to try and provide assistance to whoever they imagined was inside the stricken vehicle. This was his chance. Matt stumbled to the road, left arm bent to his shoulder to reduce the pain.
He looked round and saw a powerful beam from the top of the embankment trying to search him out. Straightening his posture he staggered towards the nearest car pointing at the bridge. A woman with mousey brown hair, around Matt’s age, remained at the wheel of the SUV. The front passenger door had been flung open to allow her companion to investigate the wreckage of Matt’s car. He jumped in beside her.
“Drive,” he shouted.
Her face contorted into fear and she froze with terror. He screwed up his face with the painful effort of producing the handgun from his side pocket, and pointed it to her stomach.
“Drive,” he repeated.
She stared, incredulous; unable to move. Matt cocked the trigger.
“Bitte,” he said thoughtlessly, the German word for please.
The SUV launched forward. They had only travelled a few yards when an idea came into his head. As they closed on the expensive saloon car ahead, he reached over with his healthy arm and pulled at the steering wheel. The SUV responded by skewing sharpl
y to the side, crashing into the long bonnet of the saloon. The impact spun the car ninety degrees, front and rear now covering the two lanes of the carriageway behind.
“Go,” yelled Matt.
The woman turned the wheel and launched forward again, towards the bridge.
“Please don’t kill me,” she whispered.
Matt’s head fell back against the rest. He groaned with the increasing pain.
“I don’t want to kill anybody,” he said. “I just need to get away from here.”
There was something about the way he spoke those words that reassured the driver, drew the fear from her eyes.
“Where shall I take you?”
“Anywhere, anywhere but here,” he said.
They crossed the bridge. She took the left turn and drove along the other side of the river, towards a tight right bend.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you. And for the damage to your car,” he grimaced. “I promise I’ll get out soon.”
She negotiated the bend and glanced towards him.
“You are bleeding.”
“Probably,” he said.
“I mean it. You are bleeding!”
He looked down at his left arm, blood seeping freely from an open wound. The driver peeled off her scarf and handed it to him.
“Tie it firmly, just above the wound.”
“It’s alright.”
“If it was alright I would not instruct you otherwise. Do as I tell you. I am a doctor.”
He hesitated.
“Either you fix it in place or I will stop the car,” she said.
Matt wrapped the flimsy piece of material around his arm and attempted to tie the ends. The car swung to the left and jerked to a halt. The driver leaned over and knotted the scarf into place. Without a further word she released the handbrake and the SUV sprang forward once more.
“Thank you,” said Matt.
“I do not want your thanks. I wish only for you to be out of my car.”
“Stop,” he yelled.
The vehicle pulled to a halt once more. Matt tugged at the handle and the door slipped open.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting out, like you asked,” he said.
“Do not be an obstinate pig. You are in no condition to be left alone by the side of a dark road at this time of the night.”
What is it with German women labelling him as stubborn and likening him to a farmyard animal, he thought. He looked with some bemusement at her face. Then he shut the door.
“I live close by,” she said.
Matt wasn’t about to argue the point. All he could feel was nauseating pain.
“What about your partner, back there?” he asked.
“He is a colleague, old and persistent. I have been trying to lose him all night,” she said.
Had it not been for the throbbing pain he would have burst into laughter. His arm felt numb. Something was wrong. Matt tried to move the limb, succeeding only in encouraging the beginnings of an untidy grimace. She caught sight of his pain through the corner of her eye.
“So you’d rather chauffeur a fugitive than a lecherous old man?” he groaned.
“Real fugitives don’t say please when they want you to start up the car to make an escape. Neither do they offer to release their captive at the first time of asking. Or apologise for the damage they have caused.”
“I’m still practising,” he said.
The edgings of a smile formed on her lips. The SUV pulled off the road for the third time. On this occasion it headed up a dark, muddy path. Shortly after, the path opened onto a gravel drive and an impressive looking detached residence hove into view.
The woman darted from her seat, around to the passenger side of the vehicle. The best he could do was to slide his legs to the side. She allowed him to grip her arm with his one good hand and pull himself upwards. Once out of the seat she slid am arm around the small of his back while his arm rested on her shoulder.
“Come, we need to have a good look at your injuries.”
Without her help Matt would never have made it to the door. The pain in his leg had worsened to the point where he couldn’t put much pressure on it. She patiently supported him up the three long wooden stairs and through into the hall.
“This way,” she said.
The woman led him through a long passageway into a vast, brightly lit kitchen space. The row of polished high quality kitchen units, replete with marble toppings, was broken only by the AGA cooker. She eased him into a hard backed chair by the rectangular dining table. He groaned as she untied the knotted scarf then she slid the jacket sleeve from his arm.
“I thought so,” she said.
“Thought what?”
“The wound needs stitching. Can you move your arm?”
“No.”
She re-tightened the temporary bandage.
“Let me see your leg.”
He tried to move it but the limb was reluctant. She leaned forward and reached for the buckle on his belt.
“Hey!”
“I am a doctor. There is nothing new for me to see.”
He surrendered limply as she eased the trousers from his body. Her first touch to the naked leg made him jump.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. Your hands are cold.”
She was distinctly unimpressed.
“How did you do this?”
“Fell onto a balcony, from a height,” he said.
“Hmm, first things first,” she said, mostly to herself.
The woman disappeared into a small connecting room, returning seconds later with some medical equipment.
Matt winced constantly as she cleansed the wound to his arm. Once the bleeding subsided she reached into a small bag and produced a long needle, thread, and a large syringe.
“I shall deaden the wound.”
“No. That won’t be necessary,” he said.
She shrugged.
“As you wish,” she replied.
He didn’t look. The feel of the cat gut slipping through both ends of his skin before tightening was bad enough.
“What is your name?”
“Britta,” she said.
“Thank you, Britta.”
She glanced up at him.
“What is your name?”
“Matt. You take a great risk in helping me.”
“Yours is not the face of a hardened criminal.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not a bad man.”
“A bad man would likely have thrown me from the car, or worse.”
“Teutonic logic, eh?” he said.
“Female logic,” she replied.
Matt accepted the verbal wrist slap in good humour. He looked upon his carer. Her mousey brown hair had been cut short to suit her little round face. The light brown eyes were in proportion to her small nose and thin lips.
“You are surprisingly brave for a man,” she said.
“Brave?”
“To refuse the anaesthetic,” she said.
“Bravery has nothing to do with it. I need to stay alert.”
“What is it you have done, or alleged to have done?”
“Best not to ask,” he said.
“I am curious.”
“Don’t be. As soon as you’re finished I’ll be gone.”
She shook her head.
“You need to rest first.”
“No, not an option,” he said. “Believe me. You don’t want to be caught harbouring me from the outside world.”
Her brow furrowed. He saw her cut the excess thread. The bandaging was quick and precise.
“Do you have any spare clothes in your rucksack?”
“Some, why?” he asked.
“If you are not going to rest then at least shower and change before you leave. The clothes you are wearing are soiled and will raise suspicion.”
Her offer surprised him.
“Why are you doing this, helping me?”
“I am a doctor. It is my dut
y to mend.”
“But not to harbour a fugitive,” he said.
She looked at him blankly.
“Come, I will show you to the guest room.”
He took a long shower. The watery heat against his aching flesh helped ease some of the muscular pain though he still couldn’t move his left arm. Mostly dried, he limped over and sat on the edge of the bed. The struggle to put on a fresh pair of shorts was tediously unequal.
“Feeling better?” asked Britta, entering the room.
“Yes, thanks. I’ll be on my way soon.”
She approached with something in her hand.
“Painkillers,” she said. “They will help to ease the physical discomfort. There are more you can take with you.”
Matt tossed the two tablets into his mouth and washed them down with the fizzy liquid from the glass she handed to him.
The initial sensation was odd, like a burst of adrenalin. He widened his eyes to accommodate the strange glow taking control of his senses. Matt could feel Britta’s hand stroking his head.
“How does it feel?”
“A little odd to be honest,” he said.
“It will pass soon.”
“What … what will pass soon?”
He shook his head to try and clear the fuzziness from his mind. It didn’t work. He tried again. The fuzziness got worse. Matt was having difficulty concentrating. The corners of the room blurred to his vision. He looked up, barely able to make out her face.
“Britta … what was in those tablets?”
“Hush now,” she said. “You must lie back and rest for a while.”
He could feel her pressing his body towards the bed. This wasn’t what he wanted. Not what he wanted at all. Next, he felt his head being cushioned by the plush pillow. She lifted his legs onto the covers. Matt’s mind screamed for him to stand. He couldn’t.
“Britta … what have you done?”
He didn’t hear the answer. His eyes had forced themselves shut. And then his mind collapsed into darkness.
Chapter Thirty Three
Broken
Milieu Dawn Page 32
