by Iain King
Ting…
The faint metallic noise came from far off, further down the corridor. They looked at each other, surprised.
Both men remained silent for a moment.
Frank shrugged, but Myles couldn’t dismiss it. He started walking, then jogging towards the noise – along the underground corridor, to where the lighting wasn’t so good.
He stopped to listen again.
Nothing.
His instincts were confusing him. He halted, tried to sense what could have caused the sound, then wondered if he had imagined it. He was about to turn back when he noticed an empty box file on the vault floor.
He picked it up and called over to Frank. ‘Was this you?’
Frank indicated it wasn’t.
Myles looked at the label on the empty file.
De-Nazification interviews, 1945 – box 4
It must have fallen down somehow – although that didn’t explain why it was empty.
He peered into the darkness, looking for a shelf with a space on it.
Something didn’t seem right. The shelves were messy, as if someone had been rummaging through the archives. But there was something else, too.
Myles froze, and heard movement close by.
Someone was there.
He peered into the gloom, searching for whatever he could find, whatever didn’t belong.
Then he saw them: a pair of eyes.
Scared eyes.
They were looking straight back at him.
Suddenly a man rushed out, ramming into Myles who tumbled to the floor, box files raining down on his head.
He could see the intruder running away. The man had something clutched in his hands. He was heading back towards the stairway.
Myles called out, ‘Frank – stop him!’
But Frank was too shocked to react. The thief fled past him. Myles jumped back to his feet and started chasing him down the corridor, pounding up the museum’s metallic stairs three steps at a time. His clumsiness made him trip, but he recovered.
Myles raced back past the trench exhibition, ducking under the beam as he ran up the main staircase and towards the ground floor.
He heard Frank’s call out behind him. ‘I’ll get the police…’
But there was no time to get the police.
Myles stumbled again as he reached the top of the stairs, falling onto the polished surface of the main hallway. Quickly he pushed himself back up.
He scanned the exhibits: rockets, the American army jeep, tanks, information displays, a submarine... The museum was full of hiding places.
Then he heard a clank: the outside doors.
Myles swivelled to see the exit doors were still moving – the thief must have just barged through them and escaped.
Myles dodged a donations bin near the entrance and grappled with the heavy glass door which swung back in his face, slowing him down. Finally he reached the park outside. At last he could see the thief again. The man was racing away from him – past the souvenir section of the Berlin wall, over the well-kept grass, towards the main road...
Myles tried calling. ‘Hey you…’
The thief turned around to see Myles’ tall frame at the entrance of the museum, and the man’s eyes filled with terror.
Quickly he turned and kept running.
Myles sprinted on as fast as he could. Gradually he was catching up. He could see the thief ’s rucksack. The man’s canvas jacket. His trainers…
The thief was approaching the end of the path, forced to slow down as he approached the busy road. The rush-hour traffic was too fast to cross. Myles had him trapped.
Myles saw the man turn and face him again, his eyes flickering around in panic. Myles was getting closer, still running straight at the man. His arms reached out to grab him, but the thief swiftly stepped aside and Myles stumbled, off balance again.
Myles saw the man dash into the traffic. A small car braked as the thief ran in front of it. Back on his feet, Myles manoeuvred around the stopped car. An angry commuter honked at him, but Myles kept on, still chasing the thief.
Their eyes connected again.
That was when Myles felt the huge force of a van smash into his side. He felt his leg bend, and his body twist away. For a moment, he was weightless as he was flung high into the air. Then agony surged through his leg.
Cars stopped around him, and backed up all along the road. People climbed out and moved towards him.
But Myles soon realised the people were not interested in him. He tried to see through the crowd, through the cars and through the pain and saw people helping the thief, desperately trying emergency medical procedures on his blood-covered face. None of them were any use.
The man Myles had been chasing was dead.
BUY NOW!
Acknowledgments
Thank you: to Andy Bearpark, Lou Perrotta, Mark Russell, and Rob Shenton for keeping the secret; to Jolyon Shotton, Mareike Schomerus, Whit Mason and the Bookouture team for superb support and advice; and particular thanks to Claire Bord, Clare Hulton, and to my family, for all their wonderful wisdom.
Published by Bookouture
An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN
United Kingdom
www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Iain King 2016
Iain King has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-910751-74-9
