The Defector

by Mark Chisnell

  I kicked my shoes off and gingerly pushed with a toe at the one broken box edge that was not connected to the circuit board. The plastic was hard and brittle. That was good. The harder the better. I levered it away from the base, which was screwed to the floor. It gave suddenly and my foot slipped. ‘Shit.’ I cursed at the stab of pain. I had slashed my toe open. Hot, red blood oozed onto the floor. I looked up at Kate, grinning like a maniac. ‘Something's sharp!’

  I flicked the piece of plastic towards me. Dragging it closer with my bloody foot. In the box I could see the circuit board, switch and wiring more clearly now. There was a couple of metal brackets, other pieces that might have edges, if this wouldn't do it. But it would be dangerous trying to get them out. I wasn't going back to the circuit board unless I had to.

  I pushed upwards against the bindings and dragged myself off the ground. Slid the plastic into position with my feet. When I lowered myself again I could grab it. It was wet and slippery with the blood. I felt round the edges for the sharpest one. The rope constricted the movement of my hands and fingers so severely it was difficult to manoeuvre the edge into position. Difficult to get a decent grip. To apply any pressure. There was only one section of the rope I could reach. I started to work the plastic across the strands. It was multi-plait, synthetic. I could feel the heat generated.

  ‘Is it working?’ whispered Kate.

  ‘I don't know. Just wait. Be quiet.’

  I kept rubbing. Sweat mingled with the blood. Poured off my face. Ran in rivers down my bare arms. Every muscle and nerve was focused in my thumb and fingers. Tension and pain building up my forearms and spreading across my chest.

  I watched the clock tick down, gave it three minutes. I stopped, felt the rope anxiously with numb, slippery fingers. Something was happening. But not much. I felt the plastic, it was polished smooth, the edge gone completely. The plastic wasn't much harder than the rope. The heat and friction were doing most of the work. Forty minutes left. Difficult judgement. It would be real close. Go back to the box or push on? I had spent minutes on this already. And that circuit board would punish any error. I felt the rope again. Could feel the pressure of time physically, pounding at my skull. No, there wasn't enough time. I had to find something else. I had to go back to the circuit board.

  I leaned forward as far as I could and peered at the wreckage. Two right-angled mountings on opposite sides of the box bolted the circuit board in place. I could see that the board was cracked around one of the bolt holes. I strained at the ropes for a better look, the crack didn't seem to run through the circuit anywhere. And the cheap, pressed metal mounting would have an edge, it would do the job. If I could separate it from the circuit board without tripping it and blowing myself to a bloody pulp. I steeled myself again. I had to get on with it, I was running out of time. I glanced up. Thirty eight minutes.

  I pushed my right toe into the bottom of the box, and worked it up under the circuit board next to the mounting, where I could support it. Then I pushed down on the top, outside edge with my left heel. It was strong. It didn't want to break. I stopped, what did they make this stuff out of? I had another look at it, there was some whitening of the board around the crack. It would break. It had to, there was no other way, another sharp blow was too dangerous. I started again. The bolt and the solder joints dug into bare flesh. I ignored the pain. Forced everything into it. Still it held. It wouldn't budge. I paused, gathered myself. Ignored the clock. And focused everything. The strength of desperation. The strength of ten men. I needed it now. The pain and fear started in my chest and exploded in a sudden frenzied scream to fill the room. ‘Janac you bastard!!’ And it gave way with a sharp crack. Instantly my gaze switched to the lorry.

  Which sat, with its childish bright colours, in judgement on my every move. And again it decided on life. I let go a mountain of pent-up tension. That had to be the last time. I couldn't mess around with that box anymore. I put my head back, waiting for my lacerated feet to recover, sucking in air, sweat streaming. I blinked furiously, trying to clear my vision. And finally pushed my battered feet back into their shoes. But the clock wasn't waiting. No time-outs in this game. I had to ignore the pain. I sat up. The whole side of the box had came away from the base, with the precious metallic mounting holding a piece of the circuit board to it. I once again shuffled and slid to get it into my hands. Trying to stay calm, trying to work fast. I felt around my prize. I was right, the metal had a jagged, serrated edge. The circuit board too, it was hard, the manufactured edge was clean, it might do some of the work. I snapped away the pcb, so easy now, working with fingers not toes, cleared the metal edge and started work. I looked up at the clock. Thirty one minutes.

  The metal had a tiny length of sharp edge. I could only make short movements across the rope, but I could feel the fibres separating under them. I looked over at Kate, who had watched this whole operation in silence.

  ‘It's ok. It's working.’ I said.

  Her whole body had been on a rack of tension and now she sagged back against the radiator. She must have exercised a superhuman restraint not to talk and distract me during the last few minutes. But we weren't clear yet. I kept working and the clock kept ticking. Twenty six minutes.

  It was brutal work. Slow, painful, demanding of both body and mind. Numb fingers that slipped, wouldn't cooperate, couldn't be seen. Strange thoughts flickering on the edge of consciousness. Concentrate. But what happened if I ran out of time? Would the button work now? I looked at the shattered box. Jesus, that would be the final irony. I glanced over at Kate. Forced myself back, to concentrate on the work. Relax. Keep the fingers moving smoothly. Try not to tense up. Try not to make too long a cut, get the metal snagged - lose time. How much time? I allowed myself a glance at the clock. Fourteen minutes.

  I could feel the progress though. Feel the rope thinning, feel the loose strands, feel the fibres gathering around my fingers. But it was hard. It hurt. Kate was watching anxiously. She could see the toll it was taking. Now she started to talk to me, a gentle whisper. Soft-spoken encouragement. You can do it Martin. We're going to make it. We are going to make it. Both of us. But the muscles were burning. All the way up my arms. The ropes constricting movement, blood flow. Sweat making it almost impossible to grip. Vision distorting. Breath shallow. The short repetitive motion was cramping. I had to stop. I dropped the piece. Flexed my fingers desperately, trying to work them back to life. Slimy fingertips wiped ineffectively against sweat soaked trousers. Useless. But I had to go on. I fumbled for the metal. Glanced at the clock. Six minutes.

  The rope was thinner now, but not thin enough. I wasn't going to make it. And what if my button didn't work? I'd stop at a minute to go. Say goodbye. No. This had to work. But it was getting harder as the rope got thinner. Harder to get the edge up against the right strands. Harder to make the cutting stroke. Frustration building. Desperation bubbling. Panic rising. Pain with every movement. Everything soaked by sweat and blood from chafed wrists. Four minutes.

  This was cutting it way too close. It wasn't going to happen. I could feel despair flooding me. Taking over. I was losing it. I couldn't work the metal against the final strands. Couldn't place the tiny edge in the right place. I flexed against it desperately. Every sinew straining for freedom, for life. But it held. Three minutes.

  Then I remembered the circuit board. The longer edge. I dropped the metal and scrabbled desperately. There, I had it. I needed that focus now. Had to stay cool. Had to stand above it. Panic would kill me. Because I was all out of time. I pushed the stiff plastic edge up against the final strands. Tensed against it. Pushed with a tool that cut. It was working. Almost too easy. Why hadn't I thought of it before? Two minutes.

  But the rope was giving. I could feel it opening strand by strand. And with a final surge of strength my arms exploded out of the bindings.

  Freedom gave me the calm that I'd fought so hard for. I could see it clearly. I knew what I had to do. I was at Kate's side, ‘Keep still.’

>   She froze.

  ‘When I get you free, go to the mattress and pull away the planks. We're going out through the window behind it.’ There had to be a window. I couldn't be wrong about that. ‘Hold the mattress up against the window so no light escapes. Then count down the time for me, quietly.’ I heaved on the final half turn that held her and she was loose, ‘Go!’

  Kate was up without a word, no questions, no panic. Carefully, high-stepping over the scramble of wires, I moved to the grenade that had been opposite Kate. I grabbed the base with my right hand so I had the spoon firmly clamped down. Then I pulled the tin clear, it came away frighteningly easily. The inside was greased. The grenade was slippery as hell. I could feel my pulse start to race. Don't drop it now. I wiped away the sweat from my forehead and glanced over, Kate had the planks clear and leaned her body against the mattress, watching the clock.

  ‘Time?’ I hissed.

  ‘Minute fifteen.’ she called softly.

  I moved as quietly and cautiously as I could over to the other grenade. Tried to wipe my free left hand on my trousers.

  ‘One minute’ came the calm voice.

  No time left to be careful. Same routine as before, but one-handed, I grabbed the base of the grenade, held the spoon down and flicked the tin clear in one motion. It was every bit as well greased as the first.

  ‘Fifty seconds.’

  I turned and ran back towards the window. Noise wouldn't make any difference now. ‘Pull the mattress away, towards the end wall.’ I yelled pointing. She started to move. There was the window with its protective mesh on the outside. We would need a grenade.

  ‘Hey!’ the voice was from the outside. It was a guard, attracted by the light from the window - like a moth to a flame. And then he appeared, an apparition in the frosted glass. I was going to kill a man. I jammed a grenade onto the windowsill and jumped back. Kate was ahead of me, almost at the corner. She fell to the floor. I dived and pulled the mattress over us. Swore viciously, almost lost the other grenade from a desperately slippery hand. And time ticked on, seconds. The delay was set long. That bastard Janac. Giving you plenty of time to think about it once you'd pressed the button.

  The explosion was flat and short. But loud. My head was ringing as I threw off the mattress. With most of the shrapnel directed away from us by the window recess it had only been hit in a few places. And there the energy of the flying metal had been safely absorbed before it got through. Kate didn't need to be told what to do, she was already at the window, climbing carefully past broken wood and twisted metal. The guard had disappeared and she was half-way through it before it occurred to me that there might be others outside. But there were no shouts as she dropped down. Then I heard the clock tick over. Time's up. The door handle twisted as I pulled myself into the hole. I let the spoon go. There was a yell behind me. I jumped clear, lobbing the grenade back as I went. The shouts turned to panicked warning.

  Kate was motionless, staring at her van, which had been outside the window. I had a millisecond snapshot, all the windows had been shattered, blood, flesh and shrapnel slashed and spattered the paintwork. But a deep, basic survival instinct forced me away, before my mind could register the rest. I had to ignore the carnage. We weren't going to be leaving in that, was my only conscious thought.

  I grabbed Kate's arm and pulled her down and into the wall just as the second grenade went off. I felt the edge of the blast wave across my back. And then I was moving, dragging Kate with me. Kept us low and against the wall. The lights in the room had gone out with the explosion. We were in deep shadow. I heard shouts behind, but confused with screams of pain. We turned a corner and I stopped Kate. I looked back. There was no one following us. No one moving outside the building at all. Behind me Kate was throwing up. I turned, ‘Are you alright?’

  She was on her hands and knees, staring at the pool of her own vomit. She nodded slowly, shaking. Spat, blew her nose. ‘Did you see him?’ she croaked.

  ‘No.’ I said quickly, lying, ‘Come on, we have to keep moving.’ I helped her to her feet, trembling and dry retching. Then took her hand and led her cautiously but quickly across the fairground. Pain stabbing up from my battered feet with every step. We dodged from one boarded up ride or stall to another. There were no sounds or signs of pursuit. I wondered who had been caught in the blast of the second grenade. I guessed it was a casualty that was preoccupying the pursuers and giving us a headstart. Maybe more than one. I didn't dare to hope that Janac was dead. The gate was in sight. One final, fifty metre dog-leg and we slipped through the gap in the fence. There was a large brick building in front of us. Behind there was only darkness. No pursuit.

  We ran down the side of the building and a park opened out in front of us, with the ramparts of the harbour bridge towering above. I held Kate back in the shadows until I had the chance to take one more look behind. Still quiet. Just the rumble of cars overhead and somewhere, the distant whine of a siren. We left the cover and ran towards a huge stone pillar, one of the bridge supports. Ducked behind it and ran across the remaining open ground to a road beyond. We slowed to a walk as we made the tarmac, turned left and passed a collection of businesses typical of any suburb; off-licence, take-aways, newsagent and pub. I glanced at my watch, noticed the chafing around my wrists and immediately started to feel the pain from them. I was already limping, trying to keep my weight off the worst of the cuts on my right foot. It was three thirty. There was no one around, apart from the cars on the bridge hundreds of feet above us. But it wouldn't be long before the city started to stir. I took us a block back from the shops, then turned left and headed north.

  I tried to think through our options, work out what came next, but my mind was a mush of emotional reaction to the close escape. I had seen what that grenade had done to the guard. It could have been me. And it had been me that killed him. My head was spinning with it all. And Kate too, hurrying along beside me, was silent, caught up in her own thoughts. My shirt was soaked with sweat, sticking to her back, the wetsuit top pulled down and flapping around her thighs. I realised she still had bare feet. I pulled up in a patch of shadow. I suddenly felt exhausted, every part of me hurt. ‘Kate. We have to find somewhere to hide, figure out what to do, we can't go far without clothes and shoes for you.’

  She nodded, ‘The skiff club is just down here. Maybe my stuff is still on the grass.’

  That would make life a lot simpler. ‘Ok, let's check it out.’

  Kate led through a hilly maze of dark, quiet streets, lit mostly by the moon. I followed, unsure if she knew the way precisely or was just looking for something she recognised. I stopped often, watching and listening. But there were no sounds of pursuit or action. Finally there was a glimmer of light on water, glittering between the chimneys.

  ‘Down here.’ she said and turned into the blackness of an alley. We moved even more cautiously down the steep, broken pavement. Silent houses stood over the fences on either side, trees whispering quietly in the breeze. Kate stopped just short of the road, I pulled up beside her and looked across at a theatre.

  ‘The club is just down there.’ said Kate, pointing to her left, about to step out towards it.

  I grabbed her and pulled her back. ‘Wait!’ I hissed fiercely in her ear. Something in me had picked it up and then I heard it - the grumble of a car engine in low revs. Its lights appeared, throwing our alley into even darker shadow. It was coming down the street towards us. We both shrank back, pushed under the foliage of an overhanging bush. The lights were close now, and then the car slid past. I caught a glimpse of a shadow inside, the glow of a cigarette.

  The car continued, out of sight. Then I heard it pull up. The click of doors, quiet voices. Silence. I moved slightly, and Kate grabbed at me.

  ‘It's ok. You move back up the alley. Wait for me at the top. Stay hidden.’ I breathed into her ear. I felt her move off, then I crept down to the corner and edged one eye round it. No more than fifty yards away, Janac's taut skull and cropped hair were fram
ed by the open car window. My instinct had been right. The cigarette flared brightly and glistened off what looked like blood on his hand. I pulled back, pulse and breathe surging. He had been hit. But he wasn't dead. And now he'd want revenge. I heard footsteps, they stopped, more talk. I risked another look; a man I didn't recognise was at Janac's door. He exchanged a few words and then moved back into the shadows of the club park. Janac put out the cigarette between his fingers, dropped the butt on the road, and the car drove slowly off. I watched a last swirl of smoke climb neatly into the air for a moment, before the wind caught it and whipped it into shreds. I glanced up the alley, no sign of Kate. I slid back from the corner and worked my way quietly up to the top, body in the shadows, eyes behind me and fear dogging every step.

  Kate's whisper made me start. She was hiding behind a wall. I told her what I had seen. ‘We have to find somewhere to hide and quickly. Somewhere good that will be safe in daylight, but near some big, busy shops, we'll need food and clothes before we can do anything.’

  She thought for a moment as I watched her face. Even in the darkness I could see the strain. And I could hear the fear and exhaustion in her voice when she said, ‘North Sydney is just up the road from here. Plenty of shops there, and nearby there's the elevated main road running down to the bridge, underneath it is a park, maybe there's somewhere there.’

  I nodded my agreement and Kate led off.

  But progress was infinitely slower now. Janac might be round every corner, behind every wall. In each rumble of a car engine, in every imagined footstep. Nerves and senses pitched like tuned piano wire, we moved from one patch of shadow to the next. One at a time, so there was always someone watching and listening. Instinct had saved us once, now I wanted to trust something more tangible. But it made for agonisingly slow progress. And the more that time ticked on, the more I became distracted by the pain. Physical and mental. I forced it down, concentrated on the movement, on the shadows and the silence, on Kate's signals. But it kept coming back. What the hell were we going to do?