by Jen Cole
She hit the reply button, and typed, “URGENT This is Jo Warrington. Richard Sayers’ life is in danger! He is somewhere on Leicester Street in Carlton, possibly locked in the boot of his car. I am going there now dressed in a cyclist’s outfit. Please help!”
She clicked the “top priority” checkbox and sent the email. Then picking up her own laptop, Jo took a last look at the map on the screen before closing the lid and pushing it into a pannier bag. She assembled her bike, attached the pannier, and putting on her helmet and sunglasses, headed for the door.
The hallway was empty as Jo wheeled the bike into the lift and pressed the button for the basement. If the Hunter had agents nearby it would be better for her to emerge from the driveway than to attract attention by wheeling a bike out through the front doors. No one stopped Jo as she cycled to Lygon Street and turned south. At Queensberry, she made a right turn and cycled to Leicester. There she turned left towards the car park she’d seen on the map.
The whole trip had taken less than ten minutes and now Jo began a slow reconnaissance of the street, weaving back and forth to knock on the boots of silver cars parked by the curb and in the center-parking strip. No one responded to her knocks and eventually she drew level with the multi-storied car park – an ideal place, she realized, for hiding a car with Richard in it.
Jo cycled slowly past, noticing the automated barrier arms across the entryways. No personnel to remember who went in and out. She braked and jumped off the bike, wheeling it around one of the arms. Inside, the cavernous ground floor was filled with cars.
What now? Should I start knocking on car boots? There are so many and this is only the ground floor. Think, she told herself. If the Hunter did bring Richard’s car here, where would he park it? Surely not on a level that gets a lot of use, like this one. How high is the car park?
Jo looked around and saw an elevator in a side wall. She cycled across to it and pushed the call button. When the doors opened she would learn how many stories needed to be searched. As she waited for the lift to descend, one car exited and another pulled up to the entry barrier. The box near the driver’s window poked out a cheeky white tongue, and an arm extended to grab it.
Suddenly Jo found herself paying attention. The car was a jet black VW – a Passat! Standing by the lift she was in full view if the driver decided to turn his head but luckily he was intent upon his own business and when the barrier lifted, he accelerated to the up-ramp.
The elevator doors opened. Jo placed one hand across the cavity and leant out to watch the Passat as it wound higher and higher. Eventually she could no longer make out its progress. Her first impulse was to jump on her bike and cycle as far away from the Hunter as she could, but what if he had Richard in his car?
She stepped into the lift and looked at the buttons. There were six levels above the ground floor, the sixth being the rooftop. Levels “5” and “Rooftop” had the words “Long-term parking” beside them. Long-term parking! That would be ideal for the Hunter.
On impulse Jo pressed Rooftop, and the lift began a ponderous jerky ascent. Her heart pounded and her fingers squeezed the handlebars during the interminable trip. The doors finally, slowly opened onto a wide expanse of concrete. Few cars were parked up here. People probably preferred not to expose their vehicles to the elements for long periods.
Holding the doors open, Jo cautiously peered around them. On her left, about fifty meters down, a black Passat was parked beside a dark silver Camry. Both were backed into the short wall.
As she watched, the Passat driver emerged, and even at this distance she could see his jeans and cap. He appeared to be carrying a stick of some kind as he walked around to the boot of the Camry. Before lifting it, he looked up to scan the rooftop and she jerked back.
Now as she stood holding her hand against the door cavity, Jo wondered what was going on. The silver Camry had to be Richard’s car, and likely he was trapped in the boot right now. But why was the Hunter wasting time checking on Richard when he should be looking for her? He couldn’t be intending to kill him – he knew the rules of Play or Die. With a shiver of fright, Jo realized. He was planning to torture Richard to get her location.
She peered out again. The boot of the Camry was open and the Hunter was bending beneath the lid.
“Hey!” she yelled, waving one hand, while keeping the lift door retracted with the other. “Here I am! It’s me you want.”
The figure froze momentarily and then began a galloping run towards her. Jo stepped back into the lift, frantically thumbing the ground floor button and sobbing with relief when the slow-moving doors closed before the Hunter reached them.
During the sluggish journey to the bottom, Jo’s mind raced, but her uppermost thought was, lead him away. Someone in BEAM must have read her email by now, so her job was clear – get the Hunter as far from Richard as possible so the BEAM agents had time to find and rescue him.
For a split second she wondered if the Hunter would phone his detectives and order them to move Richard. But no, he wouldn’t want them knowing he’d locked an innocent person into the boot of a car. Richard would stay right there until either his own people found him or the Hunter returned, and if she had her way, BEAM would get there first.
The lift doors opened to the sounds of screeching tires and roaring engine. As Jo ran out with her bike she saw the Passat speeding down a ramp only one floor above. She raced to the entrance and was weaving around the barrier arm when it turned into the final stretch and accelerated towards her.
Jo turned right onto the footpath. Out of sight of the Hunter, she spun a hundred and eighty degrees, and waited with one foot on the pedal. The Passat smashed through the flimsy barrier arm and swept right with a squeal of tires. As soon as it had cleared the entrance, Jo was on her bike cycling fast back across the entrance and on towards Victoria Street.
When the Hunter realized Jo’s feint, he threw the Passat into a screeching U-turn, swiping cars parked in the middle and along the curb, but during his maneuver, Jo reached the main road. Her heart sank.
Though Leicester Street was empty of traffic, Victoria was full. Trams, trucks and cars sped past. There was no way to cross. Turning left into Victoria Street wouldn’t work. The Hunter would simply follow and no doubt succeed in ‘accidentally’ hitting and killing her.
She heard a roar. He was coming down. Spinning around, she turned her back on Victoria and cycled up Leicester Street’s second lane with the center strip of cars between herself and the Hunter. As he reached the end, the Hunter swept around through the clear zone and accelerated towards her, but Jo squeezed back between the parked cars to the other lane and cycled up it a short distance before stopping with one foot on the ground.
To get into her lane, the Hunter would have to drive a hundred meters up to where the center parking ended at the next clear zone and make a U-turn. Alternatively he could pull up level with her and try jumping out and running between the parked cars to catch her, but he’d be on foot and she had her bike.
The Hunter seemed to be having the same thoughts and he slowed to a crawl, pulling up within calling distance. He flashed her a grin through the barrier of cars between them.
“Touché Jo. But how long do you think you can keep this up?”
She declined to answer and spinning her bike towards Victoria Street, began cycling in that direction. To her dismay, the Hunter did not continue up the street to the clear zone, but simply reversed, staying level with her. Again she turned tightly and cycled north. In his lane, the Hunter kept abreast. He was right, she couldn’t keep this up, but if she left the protection of the central strip of cars, he’d be on her in a flash.
She stopped and turned to face him through the parked cars.
“Is there anything I can do to persuade you to call this off?”
The Hunter threw back his head and laughed. “You think you can offer me something of greater value than fifty million dollars? You do place a high price on your virtue.”
&
nbsp; “I was thinking more of an appeal to your decency. The fifty million would be blood money. Do you think you could live with yourself afterwards?”
Again the Hunter burst into laughter, and Jo saw actual tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. Taking advantage of his temporary blindness, she stood on her pedals and cycled hard, but with barely a pause, the Passat was once more abreast, and Jo could see the end of the center-parking strip coming up.
A feeling of exhaustion and lethargy settled upon her. What was the point in continuing to cycle up and down this lane? The end had arrived and the Hunter had won. It was time to stop and accept her fate. But the thought of Richard trapped in the boot of his car kept her going. Once she was dead, there would be no barrier to the Hunter killing Richard. And he would probably do that rather than leave a vengeful boyfriend on the loose to track him down.
Jo made a tight U-turn and headed down the lane, ignoring the Hunter’s car reversing parallel with her. She would try a blind dash over Victoria Street. If by some miracle she got safely across that wide, busy road, she’d lead him on a merry dance through the market she’d seen on the other side. If she didn’t make it, being hit by a car or tram was no worse than what the Hunter planned. And if he didn’t kill her himself, he would forfeit his prize, so at least he wouldn’t profit by her death.
Twenty meters before the end, Jo realized there was a way she could buy Richard some extra time and stopped. The Hunter drew level and grinned at her.
“Give up?”
She’d stay here, keeping him talking as long as possible. The minute he got tired of it and leapt from his car, she’d make her suicide run across Victoria Street.
“I’ve just thought of a way to beat you.” Jo returned his grin.
“This I have to hear.”
“I arrange to die by a hand other than yours.”
“A lose/lose situation.”
“Correct. I die, but you miss out on your prize.”
“And how do you plan to find someone to perform this deed within the next ten seconds?”
Jo glanced involuntarily towards Victoria Street and the Hunter immediately understood.
“Try that,” he said quickly, “and your boyfriend will suffer for it.”
Jo went cold.
“Dear Richard and I have already had such fun together, and pain is an item in endless store. Tell you what, I’ll do you a deal. You join me in the car right now and I promise two things. Your death will be quick, and I’ll leave Richard alone. On the other hand should you succeed in killing yourself, I give you my guarantee that your boyfriend’s death will be as protracted and agonizing as I can make it, and I do pride myself on a certain expertise in that area.”
Jo wobbled in a sudden wave of dizziness and her stomach heaved. Time did a strange shift and she found herself floating in a slowed-down world, aware, though from a state of supreme detachment, of events occurring around her. A car drove past her, signaling left. A postman travelled up the Hunter’s side of the road on his motorized scooter, and a woman, fishing in her handbag, began crossing towards the car park. Near her front wheel a couple of little sparrows pecked at a squashed piece of piecrust. How cute they were, and so bold to be scavenging in such a dangerous location.
Jo felt herself dismounting from the bike. The sparrows flew off as she pushed it between the parked cars. Numbly she leant it against a center parking meter and took a step towards him. The Hunter, grinning, watched her coming. Behind him, the postman had driven right up to the front passenger window. Seeing Jo, he began turning away. Blatman! The face from Richard’s laptop. Her father’s assassin.
“Murderer,” Jo screamed, running around the front of the Passat. Wobbling, the postman kicked his bike into gear, but she threw herself at him, vaguely aware of the Hunter also leaping from the passenger door. The bike went over and all three landed on the road.
In a blind rage Jo went for Blatman. As she raked his face her ears rang with screams and she realized they were coming from her. A hard fist hit her in the stomach and she collapsed onto the bike. Two bodies struggled beside her and a boot kicked sharply against her arm. She rolled, trying to get out of the way. On the road in front of her was a gun. She blinked and stared at it stupidly. The end had a long cylinder. A silencer?
A hand grasped her leg and she threw out her arm to grab the gun as she was dragged along the road. Twisting she looked up into the snarling face of the Hunter. As he threw himself at her, she squeezed the trigger. The snarl froze and he dropped heavily on top of her.
Almost immediately he was kicked off and the fluorescent jacket of the postman loomed. His swinging foot struck the gun from her hand and she heard him curse as it skidded under a parked car. A siren wailed into the street and Jo she could see the dilemma in his eyes. She lifted her knees and raised her fists. Killing her would be no quick thing. He turned and ran. She closed her eyes.
“Jo Warrington? Are you Jo?”
Strong hands were lifting her to a sitting position. The earsplitting wailing abruptly cut off and she raised her head to see a large man squatting beside her.
“Are you all right?” he said. “I’m from BEAM.”
Two police cars, their lights flashing, had boxed in the black Passat and a little distance away an ambulance stood waiting. Men were coming towards her with a trolley and Jo began to object before she realized it was for the Hunter.
“Blatman!” she said.
The man looked at her questioningly.
“The postman – he’s an assassin.”
The man looked at the Hunter’s body. “He did that? Don’t worry, he didn’t get away. The police caught him.”
Jo frowned. “I don’t understand. He was going for the Hunter, but the game has two and half more days to run. They wouldn’t send an assassin unless the Hunter had killed an innocent… Oh God. Richard!”
“We found him. He’s been taken away in an ambulance.”
“Is he…” she couldn’t finish the words.
“I haven’t seen him myself, but my associates tell me his injuries are not life threatening. He’ll be okay.”
Tears spilled from her eyes and the man squatting opposite, reached out a tentative hand. “Are you hurt?”
She smiled through the blur. “No.”
…
In a bright private room eight stories above a teeming city, Richard sat in a hospital bed. His arm was in a sling and a cage kept the blankets off his lower body, but he was loaded with analgesics and feeling no pain. Outside the open door, the sounds of nurses talking and teacarts clinking were reassuring in their normality.
He smiled up at Jo who sat in the chair beside him, holding his hand.
“You are truly amazing,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m relieved it’s over. I don’t think reality’s set in yet.” She shuddered. “I was just about to get into the Hunter’s car. If the sight of Blatman hadn’t turned me into some kind of a mad thing, I’d be dead right now.”
He squeezed her hand. “It’s the Hunter who’s dead. We’re safe.”
“I killed him,” said Jo, in wonder. “My session with the police is going to be a long one. At the moment they think I was an innocent bystander, but they’ll soon realize I was the shooter.”
“Yes, in self-defense against a very nasty specimen. They know what the Hunter did to me and it’s clear there was a hit man going after him. The gun you killed him with was Blatman’s. It’ll all work out.”
Jo squeezed his hand. “I hope you’re right.”
“What I don’t understand is why Fitani would set an assassin onto the Hunter before the five days were up.”
“Maybe he killed someone in the course of getting to me.”
Richard frowned. “Seems unlikely. He was a careful operator.”
“Can you think of another explanation?”
“Jo, what if your words finally got through to Fitani, and he decided to stop the game?”
She shook
her head. “I can’t see him breaking his own rules. Bumping off the Hunter without reason wouldn’t be sporting. If Fitani really did decide to call things off, he’d more likely offer a consolation prize – say five million instead of fifty.”
“Do you think the Hunter would have accepted that?”
Jo remembered the delight on his face when he thought he had her. “No, he enjoyed the game too much. I’m guessing it woke something in him, and even after killing me, he wouldn’t have stopped. With his prize money he could have found ways to hide from the law while he went on an endless murdering spree.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Richard had his own memories of the Hunter, which were going to take some time to fade. His eyes drifted to the young dark-haired woman watching them from the foot of his bed. She had neither picked up his chart, nor wheeled in a tea trolley. They were expecting to be interviewed by the police, but this woman’s grey track pants and hoodie were definitely not police issue.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Jo spun to face her and the woman gave them a tentative smile.
“Hi. I’m Angela, from Danny Fitani’s time. I’m glad you got the Hunter yourself, Jo, but I’m the one who sent the assassin.”
“Why?” Jo breathed.
“You freed my people.” There was a vitality behind her words. “You showed us honor, courage and truth. We can never thank you enough.”
Richard frowned. “Where’s Fitani?”
“In the thick of the revolution.” Angela smiled. “He’s our greatest convert.”
“So,” Jo remembered her last conversation with the host. “The blurred areas did not clear to reveal a great gift?”
The girl gave a short laugh. “Oh, there was a gift all right, but not one the Executives ever intended for us. On the backs of our labor, they’d created a paradise for themselves – kilometers of parks and gardens. Even great treed forests teeming with wildlife. And mansions – huge spreading edifices, occupying hectares of precious land and Jo, the people they housed!”
