Milieu Dawn

by Malcolm Franks

Matt reckoned they would hold off for a couple of hours at most. He’d already demonstrated, by refusing to answer the telephone, he wasn’t prepared to negotiate. There was only ever likely to be one outcome anyway. While the assassin in his captivity had played her part, telling the others she was the lone survivor and under guard, Matt knew she was expendable as far as they were concerned. The assault, when it happened, would be targeted at Matt. A successful rescue of his captive would represent little more than a bonus.

  “You know I’m just collateral,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then what makes you think you’ve achieved anything? They’ll be in before dawn.”

  Matt unwound the cap and spilled two of the tablets into his palm. He offered them and the glass of water to her.

  “What are these?”

  “Painkillers, they’ll take the edge off your shoulder.”

  “I don’t have too long to wait,” she said.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “I know if I had the choice I’d rather sit in comfort than in pain.”

  She looked him up and down, uncertain of his real intent. Her eyes told him she’d decided to trust in his offer. Both tablets disappeared, each accompanied by a large gulp of water. Matt waited for them to take effect.

  “Durham … what have you given me?”

  He said nothing.

  “Durham …”

  Once her eyelids had closed he set to work. There were a collection of weapons to choose from. He selected two, the ones with the best balance, and filled his pockets with spare clips. Matt clambered out of a side window and crawled round to the SUV. He squeezed inside through a side door, leaving it slightly ajar. Britta had told him she rarely locked the SUV at night. Car crime never reared its head in the locality. He lay across the two front seats and located the necessary controls. The transmission was automatic. He released the handbrake and left the car in park. Matt checked his watch and waited.

  It was the sound of a human body brushing against the side of the vehicle that startled him. Matt held his breath, praying they wouldn’t notice the door was open. A dark clad shape slipped by on the other side, making no attempt to look inside. Matt raised his head and saw the shape indicate forward with the fingers of its hands, to either side of the gravel drive. He craned his neck. Two further shapes could be seen scurrying towards the house. The one by the car advanced too.

  Matt was concerned. They had sent four in the first time. Where was the other? He heard feet against gravel. The last team member had to be near. Again, he heard the sound. It was on his side of the car. The open door would be noticed.

  He looked to the house. The initial three were making their entry at different points. Matt spotted the top of a balaclava, rising up at the driver’s window. His feet powered against the door, springing it open. A thud sounded as it crashed into the shape and knocked the intruder away. The game was up. Matt turned the ignition and jammed his foot to the accelerator to unleash a surge of brute mechanical power. The SUV leapt forward, shuddering as it went through the automatic gears. He knew the assault team would be calling it in.

  Seconds, and the temporary barricade was in view under the moonlight. Two saloon cars straddled the exit, one slightly behind the other. Matt reduced pressure on the pedal, and then slammed his foot back down. The SUV lurched forward. He switched to full beam and lowered the front windows. He ducked as holes began to riddle the windscreen. Matt took a breath and braced himself.

  The impact vibrated right through his body. He could hear shouts as the two barriers in front of him were shunted aside. Momentarily, he lost drive and panicked. Had he damaged the transmission? Matt rammed his foot to the pedal. The engine squealed like a stuck pig and he prayed the SUV would still drive. Figures emerged unsteadily from the two battered cars. He stretched an arm to either side and fired indiscriminately through each open window. Matt hammered down at the pedal once more. The SUV slipped to one side. Then it lurched forward again. He turned off the headlights and screamed out onto the main road. Matt turned left and sped along the unlit road, with only the side bulbs lighting his way. The road ahead twisted and turned and he fought the wheel to try and stay on the tarmac.

  He waited for the road to straighten before looking in the reverse mirror. There were no headlights following. Their cars must have been too badly damaged. He slowed to allow his heart rate to return to normal, bringing an image of the local reference map into his mind. An hour, at the outside, he reasoned. Then they would have resumed the pursuit in fresh transport. He had to ditch the SUV. Likely he was to be the first person in years to commit a second crime in the locality on the same night, and steal another car.

  He drove west for hour upon hour after exchanging the SUV for the hatchback. He found it hard to believe people felt comfortable enough to leave their keys in the ignition in this part of the world. He stopped only to fill up with petrol. The Swiss border had come and gone some time ago. Finally, he pulled up in a town whose name he hadn’t bothered to notice. It was so unlike him. There was a small train station, so small CCTV was not in evidence. He bought a ticket and travelled north, to Zurich.

  There were three days before the meeting with Catherine. Within that time he had to access the files on the USB whilst avoiding detection. He had the germ of a plan, though he had no idea whether it would work.

  Zurich was a stopover. He made sure the CCTV at the train station picked him up then sought out a computer accessory shop. Next, Matt found an internet café. He opened the USB and copied the files onto a handful of new memory sticks. The process took around half an hour, but he elected to remain there longer. When the police cars began their approach he made his move. Matt shuffled to the rear of the building at speed and exited. They would wreck the place. No matter, he had his duplicates.

  He took a taxi to the outskirts of town then bussed his way to southern Germany, ending his journey at Zell-Am-See. The small Austrian town was little more than an hour’s drive to St Wolfgang.

  Along the way he had visited other internet cafes, adding to his USB collection. At the last stop he printed off hard copy and researched all manner of news sites, from Al Jazeera to the Vancouver Sun. Matt reduced his sleep patterns to little more than an hour a time. As he entered the outskirts of Zell-am-See he felt as though he’d been running all his life, and was close to exhaustion.

  Matt knew the town layout from a previous visit. He took residence in a centre hotel, asking for a room with a balcony. An adequate space, he considered. A dark and short entrance led into the living area with the washroom accessible through a wooden door immediately to the right. Two single beds had been pushed up to the wall on the left. Opposite was a coffee table and two-seater sofa, from where you could sit and watch the mid-sized LCD television sat on top of a desk housing a mini-bar.

  There was one afternoon left to kill before the meeting, enough time to read through the hard copy. Stepping onto the balcony Matt realised the poor choice of room he had made. The hotel was located right next to the main through road of the town. It was busy, and noisy, providing an inadequate environment for quiet study. Disappointed at his carelessness, Matt returned to the room and switched on the television. He found the channel he searched for, soon realising he’d missed the Euro news headlines, sport being the current feature. Irritably, he decided to shower and changed before returning to watch the box at the stroke of the hour.

  The headlines offered little of interest, though he watched for a while. Matt was about to switch off when a familiar face appeared on screen and a news bulletin reported on Britta’s murder. He turned up the volume. The perpetrator had left no clues at the crime scene and police were asking for witnesses to come forward. The assailant was believed to be a passing vagrant or refugee. Strangely, the authorities made no attempt to link or finger him for the killing.

  The photograph of Britta’s face withdrew from the screen and sadness began to smother his beating heart, gripping and squeezing the will to liv
e from his veins. Breathing became erratic, sporadic. Matt hammered his fist against the wall in a desperate attempt to release the emotion. He could feel nothing. The fist smacked against the surface once more. Now he could feel it, physical pain. The sensation wrested his mind out of its spiralling dive into oblivion.

  He tired of the chase, wearied of the killing. When would it all end? Matt realised he had become a monster, a mirror reflection of his enemies, able to take life without thinking and without a second thought. He had become demonised, soulless. Maybe it was time to do as others urged.

  No, said his conscience. He still had the files. Matt looked at his hand. He’d managed to dislocate one of his fingers. It was impossible to concentrate in this confined space. He knew of a place where he could work undisturbed. Matt snapped up the papers and left the room, hoping to find a doctor’s surgery along the way.

  This was something Matt had always wanted to do, though he would have preferred less stressful circumstances. The young attendant’s foot pushed gently at the blue rubber surface and the circular dinghy slid from shore. The lake in Zell-Am-See is smaller than the Wolfgangsee, probably half the size, but still left an ocean of open space.

  Matt started up the motor and aimed the craft at the centre of the watery mass. Once comfortable he had reached the mid point he switched off and allowed the dinghy to sit quietly on the placid lake. The centrally housed attachment carrying the barbecue was soon aflame. Matt laid down the two steaks on the grill and sat back. He wondered how these plastic craft never set alight during cooking. The young attendant assured him their safety record was one hundred percent, so how risky could it be? He opened one of the cold bottles and swigged at the lager as he waited for the food to charcoal. All manner of thoughts invaded his mind as the level of alcohol in the 330ml bottle rapidly descended.

  There was enough evidence in these papers to confirm the existence of a conspiracy. What the information lacked were specific names. The original conspirators were now all dead, bar Hank Scurrelli. Catherine said the American was under house arrest, so there had to be something else in these files for his opponents to continue the chase. He drained the bottle of its remaining contents, still troubled by what Rosa had said which continued to bug him. It must be important for the issue to keep gnawing away at him the way it did. Matt started to read.

  Thirty minutes passed without a hint of a breakthrough. He looked over at the falling sun and smelt burning. He sniffed at the air. Then he remembered. The papers spilled onto the floor of the dinghy as he reached for the grill.

  “Oh f…f… flaming grill steaks,” he yelled.

  Charred was too kind of a description. No amount of living bacteria could have survived on the burnt surfaces of the meat, never mind the edibility of the food. He switched the barbecue off and poked at the remains with the hand grip, managing to prise the blackened shapes off the grill and disappointingly toss them into the lake.

  Today had not been a good day. Now he was going to have to spend unnecessary time recovering the papers and put them back into order. Matt collected the scattered documents one at a time and resumed his position.

  The cap of the third bottle fell to the bottom of the dinghy, at the same time as the gentle vibration of the mobile alerted him to an incoming text. As promised, Rosa had forwarded details of the rendezvous. Matt didn’t see the point in taking a copy of the files through to Catherine; he’d already decided what to do, circulate the evidence to as many news outlets as possible. The political classes weren’t up to the job of sorting this out.

  That one thought triggered his mind. Now he remembered what Rosa had said which was so important. At first he didn’t want to believe. How could he have been so stupid? It was so blindingly obvious. Why hadn’t he twigged it from the start?

  Deceptions didn’t get any bigger than this.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Appointment with Darkness