Hawk's Cross

by David Collenette

  Inactivity hadn’t done me any good so far.

  The air smelled musty; “years of swirling dust and spider farts” as I’d heard someone say years ago about the theatre I used to work in from time to time. It had seemed funny at the time. However, there was something else and I sniffed the air: the sharp, sour smell of cigarette smoke but from where? I’d heard nothing and I could see the whole room. No one was anywhere close.

  Next to me was a vent in the wall and the smell seemed to be coming from the vent. I got up and opened the damaged door. Behind the wall the pipe from the vent went downwards, and along a short corridor I could see a set of metal stairs leading down.

  Someone was downstairs. I couldn’t call out for Roche or they’d definitely hear me so I decided to take a look. I crept along the corridor and quietly made my way down the stairs, taking care not to make more noise than was absolutely essential.

  If I could just take a look I could see what was down there. If I saw someone then I could sneak back up the stairs and try to find one of the others. It was an idea and certainly near the top of the list of ideas I’d had so far.

  At the bottom of the stairs I found myself in a small corridor with a closed door at one end. The pipe from the vent led off towards that room.

  ***

  Claudia was watching Terry as he sat reading, wondering how long she had left. She knew she was going to die, the only remaining questions on her mind were how and when.

  As she watched him she noticed that his attention had turned to the door behind him. What had caught his attention? Had he heard something he wasn’t expecting?

  He turned to look at Claudia and then his eyes went to the ceiling. The footsteps that had been present before were no longer there. He frowned.

  ***

  I walked up to the door and listened carefully; nothing. What to do? I could go back upstairs and wait for the others but inactivity hadn’t been my friend, so I decided to quietly push open the door to take a look at what was inside.

  As carefully as I could I turned the handle and, surprisingly, the door opened with hardly any sound.

  I walked in carefully and towards a table with a computer tablet sitting on it. At first the room appeared to be empty but as I walked around the corner towards the table I saw a cage and, to my surprise, Claudia. She was staring towards me and, as she recognised me, the look on her face turned to surprise and then to fear.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d expected from someone who’d been held captive for so long but I wasn’t expecting fear and shouting, “Matthew, get out now!” but it was too late.

  A hand grabbed me, clearly belonging to someone hidden behind the door I’d opened, and threw me across the room, so that I stumbled to my knees on the hard, cement floor.

  I turned around to see a guy standing a few feet away, smiling at me over the barrel of a pistol. This one not silenced.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he shouted but I said nothing. “No matter. If the black bitch has a friend, she won’t have one in a minute.”

  Claudia sobbed but I’d had enough. No more inactivity. I jumped up and ran at the guy. He wasn’t expecting it and was slow to react.

  I body-slammed him and carried him across the room and into the opposite wall. His hand flew out and hit the brick, and the gun flew out of his grasp and clattered across the floor.

  But what now? I’d never been in a fight and had no idea what to do next. He took advantage of my hesitation and shoved me away, bringing up his foot and kicking me in the stomach. I flew backwards, fighting for breath. Curled up on the floor I looked up as he was standing up straight. “I’m going to fucking love this!” he said and reached behind himself and pulled another gun from the waistband of his trousers.

  Smiling, he drew the slide back on the gun and aimed it at my head.

  ***

  Roche was making progress room to room. They’d checked the upper levels and found no one and so were now moving throughout the rest of the theatre.

  At the end of a corridor he met with Sandrine and Monique who had been securing the other areas.

  “Nothing,” said Sandrine. “We’d better head back to the kid.”

  Just then a shot rang out in a distant part of the building. They looked at each other briefly and broke into a run, heading back to the room behind the foyer. As they ran another shot rang out, then more.

  Matthew was nowhere to be seen but a door that had been closed now stood open to a small corridor beyond. They ran to the door.

  ***

  For the second time in half an hour I stared down the barrel of a gun and I prepared to die.

  The guy used his thumb to pull back the hammer of the gun but before he fired, a loud bang exploded around me, echoing off the tiled walls.

  Blood appeared on his shirt and then another bang, blowing off part of his upper leg. I looked towards the source of the noise to see that Claudia had reached through the bars of the cage and had picked up the discarded gun. She was holding it in both hands, smoke trailing up off the barrel.

  The guy held out his hand to stop her, mouthing something as a plea for his life, but Claudia was unstoppable. Tears ran down her face and I could feel the rage in her, the look of a wounded animal on her face.

  Bang; more blood.

  Bang; the side of his head exploded as the bullet went in through his cheek, opened up and tore off the other side of his head. The fearful expression on his face gone, neutral, as he passed beyond the reach of anyone, and he fell to the floor, dead.

  It took me a while to find the key to open the cage and by the time I was working on the lock the door was kicked open and Roche, Sandrine and Monique burst into the large room, guns aiming and sweeping the area.

  A few seconds later they realised that there was no threat left and they relaxed. Looking back on it, I should have said something cool like, “What kept you?” but I didn’t.

  Roche looked at me, then down at the dead figure lying on the ground and then back at me. He raised an eyebrow but all I could think to say was, “Hi.”

  We all went back up to the foyer and Monique and Sandrine took Claudia outside and away, leaving me with Roche.

  We sat on the floor of the foyer and sipped water from bottles.

  I looked over at him. “I don’t understand.”

  Roche laughed. “I’m not surprised. OK, you deserve an explanation.”

  He lit a cigarette and explained.

  They worked for an organisation based in Paris, the name of which I wasn’t given; their mission was to infiltrate and eliminate terror groups. Not all terror groups are religiously minded and not all were obvious in their methods.

  They’d been watching Ethan for a number of years as he’d become richer and more powerful, his global empire expanding. With his wealth and power his ideas had become more radical.

  At first they were satisfied to watch. His motives and methods, although not legal, were preferable to pushing him underground and gave them access to other people and information they wouldn’t be able to get if he wasn’t around: “Keep your enemies closer.”

  About a year or so ago his wife died in an apparent suicide and Ethan became more unstable. His activities became more violent and uncoordinated and he became harder and harder to track.

  Then, this unknown person came on the scene with apparently no background. They didn’t know anything about me but they knew that I was involved with Ethan, that I’d had contact with his wife in the past and was seen at the club where Claudia worked, a club owned by another organised crime network.

  Previously, Monique had been brought in with an elaborate cover story and had, over some time, been introduced to Ethan. She’d infiltrated his organisation and set herself up as his unknowing assistant.

  She had demonstrated skills to Ethan that he ha
d found useful and he had shown her more and more trust as time went by.

  When Ethan blew up the underground station he had crossed a line which could no longer be ignored, and they decided to intercept him and take him down. However, about that same time he seemed to disappear off the face of the earth and so did I. They failed to find either of us and almost gave up looking until Ethan, equally keen to get hold of me to, presumably, continue the games, decided to kidnap Claudia in an attempt to smoke me out.

  When they’d seen the advert for the missing person they knew that it would likely get my attention and so Roche was set up as a contractor working for the club owners to seek revenge for the killing and kidnap.

  Once I’d been captured and they worked out what my story was, it was decided that Sandrine and Monique, working for Ethan, would have to appear to kill Roche and recapture me to be delivered to Ethan.

  Sandrine had shot Roche with blanks and explosive blood capsules, called squibs, which had completed the masquerade and convinced Ethan’s other men who had been with her that the threat from the other side had been eliminated.

  As Ethan was so keen to get my attention, it was hoped that my recapture would bring Ethan back out of hiding, and it did. He let them know his location in the disused theatre and the rest of the story I already knew.

  I’d asked about the people who had tried to kill us in France and it turned out that the club owners, or the organisation behind the club owner, did indeed have revenge on their minds and when I popped back up their own people had located me, as they had put two and two together, came up with seven, and blamed me for the killings.

  Somehow they’d managed to switch the duffle bag to place the tracker, and this part seemed to still bother Roche as he had no clear idea how that had happened, but Roche’s people had provided the protection to assist our escapes.

  “It’s a lot to take in,” I conceded.

  “Life’s complicated,” said Roche.

  “But you let people die. People died before the explosion at the Tube station.”

  “Unfortunately we live in a hard world, Matthew. Would you pull the wings off a butterfly?”

  “No.”

  “Would you do it to save a life?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What about a dog?”

  “To save a human life, maybe.”

  “What about a child?”

  “No.”

  “To save a thousand?”

  I had no answer. I’d been presented with too many difficult choices recently to be able to give an immediate, black and white answer.

  At last I said, “We saved Claudia.”

  “But hundreds have died and hundreds more die to terrorism every day. Does saving one person matter?”

  Absent-mindedly I found myself rubbing the cross on my wrist. “It does to her,” I replied.

  “Yes it does.” Roche nodded.

  “It matters to me too,” I said and I started to feel tears running down my cheeks. I’ve come to realise that I cry a lot. I’d never thought of myself as an emotional person, but then I’d never really attached myself to anyone enough to care.

  I sniffed and rubbed my eyes to clear the tears. “Sorry,” I said. I was sick of crying, especially in front of Roche.

  Roche stood up, tugged me to my feet and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’m amazed you’re not permanently dehydrated. Come on, let’s get out of here. This place stinks like shit.”

  23

  I’m sitting on the steps at Trafalgar Square, staring at a pigeon dropping on the floor, my drawing pad on my lap. It’s been a few weeks since we’d found Claudia and the days were beginning to warm up again as February gave way to March and the first hints of spring were beginning to appear.

  I wasn’t really staring at pigeon poo; I was actually lost in thought, as I was quite often these days, and it was some time before I became aware of a person standing over me.

  I looked up and shielded my eyes from the sun. A memory flashed of my first meeting with Ethan and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Of course it wasn’t Ethan, it was Roche.

  He sat down on the step next to me.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Ça va bien,” I replied, with the only French I’d learned.

  He smirked. “I have a birthday present for you.”

  “I don’t know when my birthday is,” I replied.

  “Then it could be today; stop creating problems where none exist.” He handed me a thick envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “We’ve closed down Ethan’s affairs and returned most of his assets to the correct countries. This is payment for your assistance in bringing down a major international terrorist.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “We have a policy that everyone gets what they deserve. It’s paid out, no one knows what anyone else gets and you don’t get to argue or complain. It’s how I pay all of my bills and it’s how I’m paying you.”

  I stared at the envelope as he got up and prepared to walk away. I asked, “Will I see you all again?”

  Roche turned to me: “You see that cross on your wrist? Rub it off.”

  “I can’t, it’s permanent.”

  “Yes, yes it is.”

  “My life has changed forever,” I said. “It will never be the same again.”

  Roche smiled. “C’est la vie,” and turning, he walked off through the crowds and was gone.

  I got back to my house, or rather my plastic crate shelter that smelled mildly of cat urine, and sat on my bed. I opened the envelope.

  I didn’t know quite what to expect but it certainly wasn’t this. It was a pack of papers containing a birth certificate (with today as a birthday, twenty-four years ago), a national insurance number, a UK passport, a UK driving licence with a post-it note on it saying ‘Please be careful’, a letter from a solicitor telling me that he holds the deeds for a flat that I apparently now own in Kensington and a bank statement with cards for an account with NatWest Bank currently holding a large sum of money. It was hard to see how much as the tears in my eyes were blurring my vision but I counted five zeros. There was also a mobile phone with a charging cable and a key which I assumed was for the flat.

  I had a new life, or to be more accurate, I finally had a life.

  During the weeks following, I found my flat and bought some furniture. Claudia’s number was in the new phone and I found out that they’d found her a job working on a cruise ship. We arranged to meet for dinner a week on Thursday when she got back in to catch up.

  I’d called round to see Patch, using the excuse that I wanted to settle any outstanding bills and close my tenancy. In reality I just wanted to see him and his wife. I’ve always been on my own and I’d never realised how much I needed other people until this past year.

  As evil as he was, Ethan had taught me something: he’d taught me that you can’t live in isolation; we’re all connected to each other and bear responsibility for each other, whether we like it or not. Whether that drives us to buy a coffee for someone on the street or give someone a new life, it doesn’t really matter.

  What matters is that we recognise that connection and embrace it, because in that connection lies our salvation.

  I think about Roche, Monique and Sandrine a lot. I’m pretty sure I’ll see them again and I wonder when. I also wonder what that might mean and the thought makes me a little anxious but also a little excited.

  Through a solicitor I’d managed to make an anonymous donation to a trust fund for Oliver Geller. I didn’t like Karen; she seemed like a mean person. There, I said it. However, she didn’t deserve to die and Oliver didn’t deserve to lose his mother. I know what that’s like and I wanted to help in some way.

  My thoughts often run, as
you can imagine, to the people hurt and killed in the explosion, the guy in the chair, the waitress and others who died in France. I don’t know who these people were and I have no idea how to find them. I’ve learned that you can’t help everyone but this isn’t an excuse to not help the ones you can.

  Life lessons learned from killers, both Ethan and Roche. I’ve made the choice that Roche is one of the good guys but I have no real idea if this is true; I guess our perception of good and bad is almost entirely subjective.

  I’ve also learned that there are many different layers of misery that people can suffer. Mine had always been fairly bland by comparison – loneliness – but the misery of others can be far more varied than I’d realised. I thought about Ethan’s wife and her longing to be free, even at the expense of her life. I thought of Claudia and the ordeal she endured during her confinement and on and on it goes; Oliver Geller, the families and friends of the other people who died.

  However, what else I’ve learned is that for every type of misery there’s a thousand ways we can be happy and we continue to aspire to happiness every day. From simply enjoying the colours of a distant field to the deep joy of gaining friends and a purpose in life, we each have our own idea of what we want to be, and knowing what we need to be happy is probably the greatest gift anyone can have.

  I opened a drawer and removed a photo that Roche had given me: a photo of the girl he’d saved, now a woman with a partner and child. I found myself smiling as I studied the photo of the three of them smiling out at the camera.

  I placed the photo on the mantelpiece above my flame-effect fire; it deserved to be on display and I thought that the best spot was here, next to the knife that was given to me by the man with the family on the ferry. It was a rusty old folding knife, not really much use for anything, but it was important to me.