Milieu Dawn

by Malcolm Franks

The point of the cold blade pierced Matt’s skin at the juncture between his arm and chest.

  “Enough, Hank,” shouted a woman’s voice.

  “Stay out of this, Catherine. You had your shot.”

  The ensuing silence came from nowhere. Matt saw the cold steel rise and press against his flesh once more.

  “This is not a request,” insisted Catherine, glancing at the monitor on the desk. “There is an alternate way to extract the information from him.”

  “How?” asked an irritated Scurrelli.

  “Cut him down and I will show you.”

  The American glared, furious at her unwanted interruption, then nodded to the brute with the blade. Matt collapsed into a heap on the plastic sheeting, sliding momentarily against the surface made greasy by his dripping blood.

  “Untie him,” ordered Catherine.

  “No.”

  “Untie him,” she insisted. “And place him in the chair.”

  Matt’s hands were freed from the metal restraints. Two sets of powerful, gloved hands lifted him off the plastic sheet and deposited his limp body unceremoniously into the chair. Matt was sure his battered frame must be in agony. He could feel nothing. It took an age before he could lift his eyes to look into Catherine’s face.

  “There is a first aid kit in the next room,” she said to Cole.

  “I don’t want any help from either of you people,” hissed Matt.

  Her eyes narrowed. She motioned with her head again and Cole left. Catherine waited until he’d returned. She pushed the cloth covered package towards Matt. He looked down at the cross of red within the white circle and then returned his gaze without moving. After a moment of studious deliberation she turned the monitor so Matt could view the screen. She nodded to Cole again and he spoke into the radio. Images began to form.

  Pictures of a large dining area flickered onto the screen. He saw Martha, then Gerhardt, applauding. Others joined them in welcoming the newlyweds into the vast room. Matt had never seen the bridegroom before. He had been curious to see what the man looked like. Instead, he found he only had eyes for the bride.

  Rosa had selected a traditional Austrian dirndl dress. The dark bodice was accompanied by the similarly coloured full skirt, white blouse and apron. Her long blonde hair fell around her face and was adorned by an expensive looking tiara, no doubt a gift from the groom. Rosa looked radiant, beautiful, as if this traditional attire had been imagined all those hundreds of years ago solely for her.

  And she looked happy, the happiest he had seen for some time. She used to be a Government assassin. Now, all she wanted was to lead an ordinary and normal life.

  “You see the happiness in Rosa’s face,” said Catherine. “She is now a bride and, like all brides, she looks forward to the next chapters in her life.”

  He noticed Cole receive further instruction from a simple blink of her eyes. The camera shifted from the happy throng and concentrated on the tall windows of the room. The images slipped, concentrating their attention on small canister like appliances attached below the sills.

  “Do you notice the fittings, Matt?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Look at them carefully. Each one contains a dosage of the Milieu virus. Before its release upon the world at large it has been decided to test its effectiveness. Only through practical experimentation could one hope to be properly prepared for its true impact. Would you not agree?”

  There was no chance of him reacting. The pain in his body wouldn’t allow it anyway.

  “We shall run one further trial, in a different part of the world, to be absolutely sure. Perhaps an island off the west coast of Canada, such as Victoria, might prove to be a suitable location.”

  The inner struggle to conceal rising alarm was in danger of surfacing.

  “The celebration meal you see should last for around two hours and is to be broken only by the tradition of the bride’s pretend kidnapping by local men, for which the groom must pay a ransom to have her returned. An event usually enjoyed by all. However, before this happens the first symptoms will have been discovered and the party detained in isolation. The village residents will be immunised and the town quarantined. Rosa will be the sole member of the party to understand the horror of what is happening, the fate that awaits them. It will be the same in Victoria.”

  He thought furiously.

  “I don’t bluff easily,” he managed to say.

  “You believe me to be a monster. I may as well live up to your expectations.”

  The muscles in his face tightened. He glanced at her face. Catherine’s eyes were fixed, steady and unwavering.

  “In that one room are all the people you regard most in the world, except for perhaps the bridegroom,” she said. “Is your heart strong enough to permit you to watch them suffer an unpleasant end? And then allow the same in Victoria.”

  “I don’t have any friends, remember?” he said. “So why should I care?”

  She leaned forward, propped her elbows on the desk, and gave him a confident smile.

  “Oh but you do care, Matt. Individual loyalty is the one attribute which defines you. It is who you are. And they are the best of people, remember?

  The agonising throbbing of his wounds grew. He grimaced as spearing pains rampaged throughout his body. Matt forced out a hand and tugged at the green clothed medicinal kit. The fingers of his bloodied hands struggled to unzip the case.

  Catherine reached to assist in releasing the opening. Matt somehow found the energy to pull the pack away from her grasp. He pawed at a piece of gauze and dabbed it gently to a wound. The sheer effort drained at his sapping strength. Matt felt as though life was ebbing away, almost to the point of falling into unconsciousness. With each passing second he could feel his resolve weakening. Somehow, he had to find a way of digging deep into his reserves and find the strength to concentrate.

  “Not really much of a proposition,” he said. “Surrender the lives of billions, including mine, in exchange for a handful of people in Austria and Victoria. Negotiation is not a strong point of yours, is it?”

  “On the contrary, it is the strongest possible hand. I offer you freedom and a clean slate. And all the people you value in life will also be allowed to survive,” she said.

  Her steady gaze ignored his obvious physical distress.

  “There will be a human cull. Perhaps you might delay it further than planned, and this would be regrettable. However, there is a process in place that cannot be halted.”

  Matt looked at her blankly, incredulous of her words.

  “There is nothing right about the taking of lives that don’t deserve to be lost.”

  “Innocent casualties are indeed unfortunate. I wish this would not happen but it is a consequence of what must be done. However, you have my assurance these numbers will be kept to a minimum. Our primary target will be the criminal classes, followed by those who already endure hopeless misery and suffering.”

  “Be careful, Catherine. You’re in danger of exhibiting the first characteristics of being a humanitarian,” he said.

  Her icy stare hardened, unforgiving of the sarcastic tone in his voice. Remarkably, she retained her professional composure.

  “The future path for our planet is now set. At best you can succeed merely in postponing the inevitable. What you can prevent however, is the early passing of those you value.”

  So this is what it had come down to, a game of chicken. In truth there were no more cards to play, from either side. Could he allow these people to die? Would Catherine really carry out her threat? The eyes had it. She would do whatever it took to force his compliance.

  “I used to admire you once upon a time,” he said.

  He tried to sound as disgusted as his battered and bleeding body would allow.

  “Think on your predicament in this way. Those who will perish are not known to you, as you are not known to them. The people in this room however, mean everything to you. There must be a cull, to preserve the species
. Who would you prefer the victims were to be?”

  The inner emotion briefly subsided within him. The cold logic of their case wasn’t lost on him. But this didn’t make it right. He had made his decision. There was no way he could agree to her terms.

  “No,” he said.

  “As you wish,” she said sharply.

  Her head turned towards Cole and nodded for the order to be implemented. He raised the radio to his lips and pressed the speaker button. Matt closed his eyes, waiting for the words to spill from Cole’s mouth.

  Matt had long considered he might lose his own life in this struggle. He had mentally prepared himself for the possible outcome. Somehow, the reality of the threat to those he most cherished never quite seemed possible, never truly existed in his mind. Matt had brought this down on their heads. He felt despair. Memories flooded into his mind of a conversation he’d had with Britta.

  “Not everyone is there,” he heard himself whisper.

  Catherine’s right eyebrow rose sharply. She lifted her hand to stop Will Cole giving the order. He took his finger from the button and slowly allowed the radio to fall from his mouth.

  “Who is missing?”

  “Gratia,” Matt replied.

  The name slipped from his mouth as though it had a life of its own. He could see Catherine rationalising the effects of his request. He watched as she turned the monitor from his view then intertwined the long fingers of her hands.

  “It is not possible,” she said. “There is far too much public interest.”

  Her words temporarily drained the remaining power from his eyes. He had to refocus.

  “Gratia, or there’s no deal.”

  Catherine’s surprise was evident. Two of her fingers rested on the keyboard. He noticed her furtively glance at Scurrelli before returning her studious gaze to Matt.

  “Why Gratia Fuchs?” she asked.

  “She helped me. The least I owe is to free her from a life behind bars or execution.”

  Matt resisted the temptation to shift his gaze from her icy stare, meeting her cold expression with one of his own. He had to hold his nerve. She finally broke the stand off, having made her decision.

  “It is imp…”

  “Please,” he heard himself say.

  Catherine glanced at the monitor. Matt noticed its image reflected in the window behind her. Words appeared on the screen. They were too far away for him to be able to read the incoming message. Matt allowed his head to drop back, as if racked by needling pain. He spotted the camera fitting above the window pane. Someone else was watching events unfold. And they were giving Catherine instruction as she spoke. The Austrian woman looked up at Scurrelli for a second time. A wisp of a triumphant smile crossed her lips. She returned her attention to Matt.

  “The files must be back in our custody within the next two hours,” she said. “Then the deal is sanctioned. You have my word.”

  He tried to focus his mind.

  “Does that mean anything these days?”

  Catherine glanced at Scurrelli.

  “It has been agreed,” was all she said.

  Matt stretched an aching arm across the desk. He used the pencil to scribble a note.

  “You’ll find them at the hotel reception,” he said. “Each one enveloped and addressed for despatch. The instruction is for them to be mailed if I am not back by this time tomorrow, or unless someone arrives with these written words.”

  She passed the note to Scurrelli.

  “How can I be sure this is everything?” she asked.

  “Because we have an agreement and I keep my word,” he replied wearily. “There are no other copies, either electronic or hard, currently in my possession.”

  “We’ll use the chopper,” said Scurrelli.

  The American contingent galloped from the room. Matt slumped hard against the back of the chair, close to physical surrender. He turned to face Catherine. She rose, indicating with a nod of her head for Cole to leave the room. Once he had closed the door behind him she started to examine the contents of the first aid bag.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he hissed. “I don’t want any help from you.”

  She pushed the kit towards him. Matt rested a bloodied hand on the rim. This one effort sapped his reserves of energy. He paused. Willing his fingers to move, Matt nudged around at the contents in search of relief. He found the bottle and soft pads. Removing both felt like an effort too far. Somehow he kept hold of the plastic container. His other hand circled the lid. He tried to twist, unsuccessfully. Matt tried again. The same outcome resulted. All the while, blood continued to trickle from the open wounds.

  Catherine approached cautiously. He looked up through defeated eyes. She knelt beside him and hesitated. Her hands touched at his arms and lifted them gently away. He could see the concern over how he might react in her eyes. She needn’t have worried. He was physically spent. Matt watched as she opened the bottle and soaked some of its contents onto a pad.

  “This will hurt a little,” she said.

  The coldness against the wound made him flinch. After the initial shock, he thought he could feel the pain to the injury ease. She moved to the next in line.

  “You are an obstinate pig,” she said quietly. “To endure such pain when it was clear to the biggest fool on the planet you were beaten.”

  There it was again. The exact description used by others. Matt was beginning to believe there was something to this recurring assessment of his personality. He closed his eyes. His mind travelled back in time, to the last occasion her long fingers caressed his naked torso. This tenderness to her touch felt surreal. Moments ago she appeared content to sit back and sanction his brutal torture, and then murder.

  “You know I’m going to kill you for this. The first chance I get,” he whispered, on re-opening his eyes.

  She looked up.

  “I think not. Have you forgotten China?”

  “China has nothing to do with this. I never agreed to be party to global genocide.”

  Catherine temporarily halted. She stared long and hard into his eyes. Something was on her mind.

  “China has everything to do with this,” she said.

  A strange comment, he considered, though he hadn’t the will to analyse the statement with any great depth. For the moment it was enough to allow his body to be tended by Catherine’s patient and healing touch.

  “Some of these need to be stitched,” she said.

  “That’s no ordinary first aid kit. This must be a safe house, used by the secret services. You’ll find everything you need in there.”

  Catherine retreated to the first aid bag and searched. After a period of rummaging she identified the items he expected her to find. She returned to kneel at his side with the necessary equipment.

  “All I can offer is alcohol,” she said.

  Matt assumed this to mean an anaesthetic replacement. He shook his head and readied for the needlework to begin. The activity was conducted in silence. Every now and again she caused him to groan, particularly as the threads were tightened into a knot. She neared the last one. He summoned up the energy to look at her face, filled with concentration.

  “For someone who was prepared to sit back and watch me suffer a short time ago you seem to be going to an awful lot of trouble.”

  The muscles in her face relaxed into a smile.

  “Despite Hank’s words not everyone dislikes you, though you do not make it easy for people. In a strange way some have come to admire you. There is a genuine disappointment you have been on the opposite side.”

  “Remind me not to cultivate this admiration thing too much.”

  She laughed gently. Matt could scarcely believe what was happening. He was sharing humour with an enemy, whilst she mended wounds they had inflicted upon him.

  “Do you expect Scurrelli to stick to the deal?”

  “Yes. Even Hank has to answer to someone. Why do you ask?”

  “The guy is not my number one fan.”

/>   “You have often made him look foolish. He is a man who does not take kindly to being upstaged.”

  As attempts at reassurance go, this was as good as he could have expected. Despite her confidence, Matt was anything but convinced. He decided to change tack.

  “Does Rosa really believe I’m dead?”

  “Yes. I had to break the news. She has not spoken about it. Rosa masks her emotions with great skill.”

  “She’s a bit like you then?”

  Catherine smiled.

  “I like Rosa. From the very first moment I met her.”

  “Well she’s in for a big surprise when I turn up for what’s left of the reception,” he said.

  “No,” was the instant reply. “After business is concluded you must return home immediately and never return.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “Very,” said Catherine. “Once you leave here you cannot come back to Europe. Not only is this part of the deal, it is also better this way.”

  “Better for whom?”

  “For everybody,” she said. “Rosa has married and starts a new life. Martha and Gerhardt will return to their old one. Any sudden reappearance on your part can only disturb what has become settled. Your life is back in Victoria, Matt. Go home and enjoy it.”

  “Just like that,” he said edgily.

  Catherine looked up. Her measured gaze was intended to impress upon him the importance of her next few words.

  “You have won them a reprieve. Do not underestimate the value of this achievement. Nor doubt the consequences of jeopardising this hard won concession. For once, do exactly as you are told.”

  It was an impressively earnest display. Catherine almost managed to sound as if she cared about other people.

  “And if they decide to visit Victoria, what then?” he asked.

  “They won’t.”

  Catherine said it with such certainty Matt believed there were some measures in place to prevent the situation from ever happening.

  “I suppose you’re probably right. Rosa is pregnant after all,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “I believe she is ready for motherhood.”

  The affection towards Rosa in Catherine’s tone gave Matt cause to consider.

  “So would you really have done it, released the virus at the wedding?”

  No sooner had he spoke then she yanked the final two ends of thread together, causing him to yelp aloud with the sharp infusion of sudden pain. She muttered an apology of sorts but he understood the context.

  “Why is Gratia Fuchs so important to you?”

  He thought for a moment.

  “I told you, she helped me. It would have been wrong not to help her in return.”

  “Is this the only reason?”

  “It’s the only one I can think of right now.”

  He recalled the images he had witnessed on the screen. The groom was giving his speech. Rosa’s happy beam was fixed on to the audience. Martha was both over-excited and tearful while Gerhardt smiled patiently, constantly stretching his neck in a futile attempt to try and escape from the collar and tie.

  “Gratia will want to see her father,” he said.

  “That will not happen,” replied Catherine. “Her release can only be granted if it is done with discretion and secrecy, away from the public eye. The challenge you have left us with to free Gratia is immense, because of her previous position in society.”

  Matt realised instantly what she meant.

  “Previous! So she won’t be able to return to her job, or her profession. What the hell do you expect her to do?”

  She glanced up at him.

  “For someone who you believe is owed only a favour, you exhibit a great deal of concern for her welfare.”

  He decided against answering.

  “Likely her freedom will involve a fresh identity and a new occupation. Gratia will have to find her own way in life once released,” she added. “There, though it is less than perfect the stitches should hold. Give me your hands.”

  He offered up his open palms and she began to wipe the drying blood from the deep incisions, caused by gripping the wire too tightly.

  “There’s no guarantee your madcap plans will succeed, you know that don’t you. Some of the people you don’t want to survive are bound to slip through the net.”

  She chose to ignore his words. Catherine made to stand up and move away. Matt grabbed at Catherine’s wrist to prevent her leaving.

  “Why did you intervene, with Scurrelli?”

  “Intervene?”

  “I got the impression you wanted to stop him from killing me. Why?”

  She thought for a moment.

  “We are friends, Matt,” she replied. “China, remember?”

  He released her wrist and she rose. Matt watched her return to the first aid bag and search inside, returning to his side with bandages.

  “Try and move forward,” she said.

  He forced himself to sit upright. Catherine circled her arms around his torso and proceeded to wrap the bandage around his body. As she tightened the dressing a groan was forced from his mouth. She rose, walked to the water machine and returned with a half full plastic beaker. He guzzled the water and winced.

  “I will see if I can find a fresh shirt. Is there anything else you need?”

  “The window,” he said. “I’d like to sit by the window.”

  Catherine helped him round to her chair, after turning it to face the large glass pane. He heard her switch off the monitor on the desk.

  “What happens next?”

  “I search for a shirt and then we wait for Hank to return.”

  He nodded. She was about to disappear through the door when a final question arrived in his mind.

  “Does Rosa know, about your involvement in this?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “I will not be long,” she replied, and then disappeared.

  Matt glanced at the camera fitting. Someone was watching him. He raised his arms to try and stretch the aching muscles of his body. His wounds wouldn’t allow them to rise very far. Seemingly disappointed, he lowered them and gazed out of the window. Matt sank back into the chair and his left hand rested on the keyboard. He glanced up to the camera at the same time as exerting downward pressure onto the screen print button. He prayed the machine would run silent. It did.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Forest Walk