

### The Milieu Principle

Malcolm Franks

Milieu Publishing

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First Published in Great Britain in 2010 by Milieu Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright ©Malcolm Franks

The moral right of the author has been asserted

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events 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 978-0-9566944-0-9

Other titles by this author

Milieu Dawn

Table of Contents

Chapter 1-The Constant Caller

Chapter 2-The Dinner Guest

Chapter 3-Packages

Chapter 4-Rendezvous

Chapter 5-Flight

Chapter 6-Rosa Cain

Chapter 7-A Warm Night in Canada

Chapter 8 -The Greyhound Run

Chapter 9-Sumac Pacha

Chapter 10-Victoria

Chapter 11-A New Life

Chapter 12-Settling

Chapter 13-Day Trip

Chapter 14-Growing Up

Chapter 15-Found

Chapter 16-Admissions

Chapter 17-The Returning Past

Chapter 18-High Anxiety

Chapter 19-Vancouver Dash

Chapter 20-Alaska Run

Chapter 21-Clarence, Henry and Willow

Chapter 22-Canadian Courage

Chapter 23-The Voyage

Chapter 24-Welcome to the Wolfgangsee

Chapter 25-Lakeside Incident

Chapter 26-First Aid

Chapter 27-Choices

Chapter 28-A Capital Adventure

Chapter 29-The Appointment

Chapter 30-A Fugitives Tale

Chapter 31-The Hope of Uncertainty

Chapter 32-Mountain Retreat

Chapter 33-Emergence of Truth

Chapter 34-The Deceiver

Chapter 35-My Name Is

Chapter 36-The Question

Chapter One

The Constant Caller

It was the sheer ferocity of the sudden downpour which tempted his wearying eyes away from the screen. The sheets of water didn't as much hit the ground as pummel away at the lush topping of the large, rectangular lawn. He'd only recently raised the horizontal blinds covering the wall of glass hoping that a rabbit, or some other form of harmless wildlife, would innocently meander across the green and provide a temporary distraction. This torrent of rain was strangely more interesting. He likened it to a reflection of the current economic climate; dank, dark and mercilessly unforgiving. He shivered amidst the murky light and his mind catapulted into whinge overdrive at the ever increasingly unpredictable weather. One minute the office was bathed in sunshine, attracting too much heat, the next it was darkened and miserable. Begrudgingly he returned his eyes to the screen, with only the loud thrashing of the rain against the windows to keep him company.

Mike used to enjoy looking at the accounts, black numbers everywhere. Now they were mostly coloured red, a truly dispiriting sight.

The gentle tap at the door was succeeded by Tina's round face appearing through the opening at the end of the room. Her dark hair was scraped back against the scalp of her small head in the ponytail setting she mostly preferred.

"Mike, we're away now."

"Okay," he replied, checking the Rolex.

"Is there anything you need before we leave?"

"Nothing thanks. I'll see you on Monday."

His attention moved back to the wide computer screen, sure in the knowledge Tina would disappear to start her weekend. The sound of the deep sigh drew him back to the open door.

"Doing anything special this weekend?" she asked.

"No, nothing special," he replied shaking his head.

Tina's second sigh prompted him to push the keyboard to one side. Turning in the swivel chair to face her he wondered what was on her mind. If nothing else, her call for attention offered an excuse to not do what he was supposed to be doing.

"What is it Tina?"

"You're going to spend all weekend in here again."

"Keeps me out of mischief," he replied with a smile.

"Taking a couple of days off wouldn't go amiss. Why don't you go away for a night or two?" she said, moving towards the end of the oval shaped meeting table.

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her.

"I take more than enough holidays."

"Making hourly international calls back to the office does not constitute a proper holiday, no matter where you are. It's time you had a real break, one where you gave your mobile to me for safekeeping and left the laptop at home."

Motioning her to one of the black leather seats surrounding the meeting table, he took the adjacent seat. He could see more of her long brunette hair now. Accompanied by the bright red colouring on her lips, the choice of appearance made her look a little older than he knew her to be. Then again, Tina had always been mature beyond her years.

"What's this all about?"

She seemed hesitant to speak. Her dark brown eyes flickered down towards her clasped hands before returning to look at his face.

"You've been getting more and more irritable with each passing day this week. I thought the way you barked at Joanne this morning was unnecessarily harsh, even by your unique standards."

"There are mistakes and then there are totally avoidable basic errors. Which one of those descriptions do you think best suits the circumstance?"

"It was a genuine mistake and far from deserving that kind of venom. You get like this when you're tired and grumpy. Why don't you go away for a couple of days? I promise we'll all still be here when you get back, as will the office."

He took some time to reflect on her well intended advice. Tina was motherly by nature, a calming influence, and the reason why she was popular amongst the staff. She was also a gifted office manager, which is why he found her so indispensable.

"Have you spoken to her?"

"We've had a little chat and she's feeling a bit better. But it would mean a lot more if you spoke to her as well, show Joanne the better side of your nature."

"I'm her employer not her nursemaid, this isn't a finishing school."

She shook her head.

"What?" he said impatiently.

"Mike, all of the girls are unsure of you, because they don't know you like I do. Hilary has no idea you're the mystery donor who paid for the mini-coach for her daughter's playschool. And Alison can't understand how the last year of her student loan debt was suddenly revoked."

"They were tax deductible," he shrugged.

"You know what I'm talking about. Would it undermine your position so much to be a little friendlier every now and again, instead of wearing this permanent Mr Unapproachable expression? It's not totally beyond the realms of possibility they could end up liking you. And I'm the one that has to pick up the pieces, like some sort of surrogate mother figure."

"Good cop, bad cop," he replied with a smile. "It always works, and you make an excellent good cop. You are perfect for the role."

"But it's you they should be looking up to, not me."

"They're staff, Tina. I pay them to do a job, that's all."

"If they were just staff then you wouldn't have bothered to ask me about Joanne. Why you insist on keeping people at arm's length I'll never understand. Even the people we do business with say you're difficult to read."

"You seem to read me alright," he replied with a slight grin.

She shook her head in frustration.

"You are one of the most infuriating of men. It's no wonder the women in your life have never stayed around for long."

The resulting silence was deafening.

"I'm sorry Mike. I shouldn't have said that."

He struggled to keep the grin in place.

"You're absolutely right. You shouldn't have said that," and his eyes narrowed.

The side of Tina's mouth twitched nervously on rising to move to the door.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," she said, turning quickly. "Amy called again, the third time today. I told her you'd gone into another meeting. Are you and Amy back ..."

"Thanks," was all he said to cut her short, and the nervous smile reappeared as she left.

Mike darted for the door of his top floor apartment in an attempt to avoid exchanging pleasantries with the two neighbours, chatting animatedly on the well-lit stairwell. Entering the large open plan space he tossed his jacket over the back of the long leather sofa. After throwing the post onto the glass coffee table, he headed straight for the kitchen area to start the coffee machine.

His left hand prised open the door of the steel coloured upright freezer, searching for a ready-made offering for the evening meal. He narrowed the choice down to either the beef or pork Sunday platter and, for no particular reason, decided upon the latter. It would take twenty five minutes according to the instruction label and he muttered at the inconvenience of having to wait so long for what was, after all, meant to be a convenience meal.

Impatiently he strode over the wood flooring, past the first of the two oval shaped pillars placed on either side of the main living area, and inspected the flashing telephone icon.

'Four new messages' it read, so he pressed the replay button to check if they were of any importance. The first was from Amy, asking Mike to give her a ring.

"Give me strength."

Having already refused to take her calls at the office today it was obvious she hadn't taken the hint. He began to wonder how many more times he would have to snub her attempts to contact him, berating himself for electing to let her down gently the way he had. Mike played the second message, it was from Amy, as were the third and fourth. What could she possibly want from him now?

He wandered over to the patio doors fronting the waterside balcony, and gazed upon the slow moving river while he toyed with the idea of returning her numerous calls. The water was peaceful this evening, rippling gently down towards the concrete bridge spanning the waterway, before meandering further downstream. The traffic crossing the man-made structure was heavier than usual for this time of night, and he supposed this was due to it being a Friday.

Mike thought about switching on the plasma screen then decided that the view in front of him would probably be more interesting. He listened to the pitter-patter of the gentle rain, beating rhythmically against the window. It prompted him to reach for the hi-fi remote control to spark the incumbent CD into life. A melody soon filled the open plan floor. Although not a favoured tune it was preferable to the previous silence in the apartment.

The quietness of his surroundings disturbed him this hour. He felt subdued and tentative, more than a little irritable, as Tina had astutely noticed. The mood had enveloped him since he first rose this morning. It always happened on this day of the year.

His thoughts returned to Amy's rash of telephone calls. It had been many weeks since they'd last spoken, leading him to believe that this episode in his life had finally ended. There really wasn't anything left to say and he reasoned it better to keep some distance between them.

The problems with the business began to occupy his mind. According to Government statistics the UK was officially out of recession. It didn't feel like it to Mike. With the credit crunch showing no signs of abating things were beginning to bite, and bite hard. Debtors were piling up. Soon, his own business would reach the point of defaulting; the top of the slippery slope.

Bank lending was prohibitive and Mike had no idea where the next meaningful order was going to come from, to ease the downturn in cash flow. Someone had told him once that when money gets tight all you have left are business acquaintances rather than friends. How prophetic that simple phrase was proving to be. Had he kept more cash reserves in the company, instead of frittering money away, things would be easier.

The gentle hum of the mobile alerted him to the incoming text, stockbroker confirmation the sale had gone through and the money was in his account. He grimaced at the news. Those shares were meant to be his nest egg, the golden goose to keep him comfortably placed in retirement. Bad enough he had been forced to sell when the market was at rock bottom, worse that it offered temporary respite at best.

He had so far resisted any notion of entering the business into administration or insolvency. While this might have suited other company directors, Mike didn't do failure. The stigma followed a man round like an unwanted stench. He had refused to employ someone once because the man's business had collapsed. He remembered telling Tina he didn't want any deadbeat losers working for him, and the guy had overheard him.

The phone rang and he ambled over to peer at the flashing LED screen, recognising the mobile number immediately, Amy yet again. He decided to let the answer phone pick up the message.

"Mike, please pick up. I know you're there because I saw you standing at the window."

His anger rose at the thought she had been watching him, stalking him even, and he considered picking up to yell a couple of light obscenities down the phone. It was one way of making sure she would finally get the message.

"Mike, it's your Dad's anniversary today and I know how it makes you feel. I had to call to make sure you were going to be alright. Please answer, even if it's just to say you're okay."

Her words threw his mind into temporary confusion. An unexpectedly thoughtful gesture and one he appreciated. He hesitated; then picked up the phone.

"Amy," he answered. "It's nice of you to ring but I'm due back out soon."

"That's fine," she replied. "I only wanted to call in case you needed anything, or anyone, for company."

Mike walked over and looked out across the river, at the walkway of the shopping precinct on the other side. He could just make out Amy's figure standing alone and she waved at his appearance by the patio doors. The memories came flooding back.

"I've made some coffee," he said. "There's probably time for one cup before I go."

"I'll be two minutes," she replied and the line went dead.

He watched her dart along the walkway, umbrella in hand, onto the pavement of the bridge. She scurried through the rain, towards the apartment.

"What have I done?" he murmured.

Chapter Two

The Dinner Guest

Amy glided past Mike in much the same way she used to expertly run rings round him on the ice rink. Throwing off her damp overcoat and wet brolly into his arms, he deposited them on the coat rail by the door. Her scent overwhelmed the lacquer smell of the wooden floor and camped itself in the atmosphere. He remembered it to be the same expensive brand he'd bought for her last Christmas, the one he'd said made Amy smell incredibly intoxicating. He turned and she narrowed the gap between them to kiss him warmly. He didn't resist.

"Hi, Mike," she smiled. "I was concerned for you."

"Actually, I'd forgotten it was today," he replied. "Maybe that explains my irritability." He hadn't, but he wanted to try and limit the conversation.

"Let's see if I can cheer you up for a few minutes then, before you go. You mentioned something about a coffee?"

She clasped her hands around his and tugged firmly as she back-peddled towards the kitchen space, smiling all the way. Following obediently he understood now what first attracted him to Amy. She was totally gorgeous.

Her perfectly groomed bottled blonde hair fell around the high cheekbones of her narrow face. The slim waist and figure accentuated by the clinging, white sleeveless dress left little to the imagination. Certainly she wasn't wearing any kind of upper support. The bright, sparkling brown eyes would make any man want to rush and dive into her embrace. For a Civil Servant she had an incredible fashion sense, an exquisite taste, and he recalled her skin as being as flawless as the white dress she was now barely wearing.

Amy seemed effervescent tonight, bright and cheerful. The happiest and healthiest he had seen her for a long while. She was a million times different from their last face to face meeting.

"You look as though you're ready to party rather than go shopping," he observed.

"All part of the course," she replied. "Looking good for every minute of the day builds up your self-esteem, it works too."

"So the treatment is going well?"

Amy never fluttered an eyelid.

"Great!" she exclaimed. "You've no idea how much better I feel these days. It's like someone has given my life back to me. I can't thank you enough, Mike."

She embraced him tightly, as if genuinely grateful, and it warmed him to know his intervention had helped.

"I'm pleased for you," he replied as he poured out the coffee and carried the mugs through to the living area.

Amy positioned herself in the centre of the long sofa, the contrast of the white attire against the black leather only serving to highlight her attractive figure. Mike put one of the drinks onto a place mat in front of her and then sat opposite, in the single chair. The initial expression betrayed her surprise at his choice, but the look soon disappeared.

"Let's not talk about me, I came to see you," she said with a warm smile. "Sounds like you're gradually coming to terms with everything."

He paused.

"Probably," he said with a shrug of the shoulders. "Have you returned to work yet?"

"Yes, just finished my second week. Everybody has been so kind and supportive since I went back and they're easing me into the old routine gently. I've been very, very lucky. If it hadn't been for you, Mike, then God only knows where or how I would have ended up. The very thought of it gives me the shivers."

"You would have come to your senses eventually. I was little more than an interested observer."

"That's not true and you know it," she said quietly, maintaining a steady gaze. "I owe you everything."

He looked into her eyes. They were vibrant, full of life and energy. Matt found it difficult to reconcile how he had failed to spot the first signs of her problems much earlier in their relationship. Looking back, they were so, so obvious.

"The counselling support has been out of this world. I don't know where you managed to find these guys, but they're absolutely brilliant. I couldn't have achieved half the things I have so far without their help and support."

Her smile said it all. She was definitely on the mend.

"Did it cost you very much to hire these people?" she asked quietly. He hesitated before shaking his head.

"No, their rates were reasonable."

There was a brief pause.

"Why did you help me, Mike?" she suddenly asked in a serious tone, gazing with all her old tenderness into his eyes. "Any other man would have run several miles in the other direction rather than get involved."

He shrugged his shoulders, trying to suggest he didn't know himself.

"Because I could, I suppose," he replied.

In truth, Mike felt duty bound. They were in some sort of relationship at the time, so believed he was partly responsible for her welfare. At least, that was the reason he'd convinced himself was behind his actions. She had no family in the area to fall back on, no support mechanism other than the 'friends' who had got her into that state. It pained him to see how far she'd fallen.

Amy kept her gaze fixed on his face.

"You should try counselling. It might help you with your issues."

"What issues. I don't have any bloody issues."

"Your commitment issues," she said seriously.

"I don't have any problem with commitment. I've haven't yet found a woman I'm happy to settle with on a permanent basis, that's all," he replied defensively.

"Not just with women. You seem to have problems with everybody. We were together for nearly a year and I didn't know you any better the last time we met from the first. If you had any close friends I never met them, and all you seem to want to do is shut the world out of your life. It's like you're afraid to let people know who you really are."

He was about to react angrily to her ungrateful criticism when she sat bolt upright.

"What's that smell?" she asked.

"What smell?"

"It's coming from the kitchen."

"Oh shit!"

He darted for the oven, closely followed by Amy. Smoke billowed out from the opened door, almost choking them both. Mike frantically waved his hands around to try and clear the air. Cautiously, he tugged at the shelf with the tea towel and then lifted out the charred remnants of his convenience meal. Amy began to laugh.

"I should have included cookery lessons on the list," she giggled.

Mike stood quietly, holding the blackened case and staring blankly down in despair. He was looking forward to this meal. A sound to the left stirred him from his deliberations. Amy was searching through the freezer drawers and the fridge to see what he had in stock.

"Don't bother, Amy. I'll get something later."

"Nonsense, it won't take very long to knock something up. Here, grab this," she said, passing over a large pack of frozen peas.

"Amy, it doesn't matter," he insisted.

She stood upright and looked him clear in the eye.

"After all you've done for me the least I can do is cook a meal for you. Go and finish your coffee, it won't take long."

"You can't cook done up like that, you'll ruin the dress."

"Then give me your apron."

He stood in silent response.

"No apron either eh? Okay, I'll have to lose the dress," and reached behind her neck to feel for the zip.

"You are not cooking without any clothes on," he said and disappeared quickly from view, returning a few moments later with an unbuttoned dark blue shirt which he tossed over to where she was standing. Her smile widened as she turned her back on him and flipped her hair up so he could unzip the dress, a manoeuvre with which he was all too familiar.

Gazing out of the patio doors across the river, he shook his head gently for allowing things to get this far. Perhaps, sub-consciously, he thought this might help Amy's recovery. More likely it was because he felt a little lonely tonight, the fifth anniversary of his father's passing.

The repast placed on the glass dining table in front of him instantly appealed, the freshly cooked ingredients steaming with flavour and colour. Mike could hardly believe such a masterful dish could be made from so little, and his nose breathed in the appetising aroma rising up from the plate.

He poured the first of the red wine into Amy's glass, one of the best from his stock, as a reward for her culinary ingenuity.

"It's not much, but it will do you a lot more good than the processed rubbish you were about to eat," she said.

The light from the brightly flamed candle flickered across her face. Amy looked radiant having been reacquainted with her dress. He realised how fortunate he had been to have spent time with her before the addiction took its toll. Though unlikely to be a permanent arrangement, he wondered how far things might have gone had she managed to resist the lure of class A drugs. It wrecked any chance of a meaningful liaison as far as he was concerned, and there was no going back.

He had once quipped to Tina, shortly after hooking up with Amy, that he was now only interested in blonde and beautiful women with figures to die for. The thoughtless remark had lent him notoriety almost as soon as it had exited his lips and he had regretted the indiscreet remark ever since.

"How is it?" she asked as the first morsel glided down his throat.

"Delicious," he replied, and it truly was, making her beam with delight.

They exchanged a few minutes of small talk, the food on the plates rapidly vanishing, before she returned to an earlier topic.

"Mike, you are one of the kindest yet most mysterious men I've met. I wish you would let me, or someone, get inside that bubble of yours. It would probably help you enormously."

"Let's not spoil a good night," he replied quietly.

"Mike, please don't push me away."

He gazed at the concerned expression. A part of him wished to rid the albatross from around his neck, to talk to someone and try and get it out of his system, the other part refused to countenance the matter.

"I know your Dad had an affair and your mum left him because of it. But these things happen all the time, all over the world. It's part of life."

"Are you trying to counsel me?"

"No," she laughed, "trying to know you better. That's all."

He paused for a few moments, not quite sure how to react to her directness. Amy appeared far more grounded now, to have so much more personal confidence.

He sighed in indecision.

"It's the betrayal," he said. "That's what I found difficult. It's the worst kind of human sin, and it destroyed them both. Dad made a mistake, which he regretted. Mum couldn't accept this weakness and took off. He betrayed her trust and she betrayed him by being unable to forgive the indiscretion and stand by him. Eventually, Dad betrayed me because of it."

Amy frowned before responding.

"How did he betray you? I'm not sure I understand."

"Mum took a coach when she left and it was involved in a serious accident. She was one of the victims. Dad tried, but couldn't live with the guilt. When he died suddenly, the pathology report couldn't find a physical reason for it. The Doctor seemed to think he died of a broken heart."

Mike paused for a moment.

"He could have stayed on this world, with me. Instead, he chose to leave. Dad often used to say 'everyone betrays you in the end,' and he was right. I've learned the more distant a man is from people, the less impact their ultimate betrayal will have."

"Do you think I betrayed you, because of the drugs?" she asked, hesitantly.

"No, only yourself," he replied after a pause. Mike shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Let's change the subject."

He regretted being open. To be honest left one vulnerable, he'd always reasoned.

"You once promised me you'd shave that beard off."

"I lied," he quipped.

"Oh no, Mike Daniels, a promise is a promise no matter how or when it was said," and with those words she jumped from her seat and grabbed him by the arm.

He considered resisting. Something made him go along with her playfulness. Within a few steps they had entered the bathroom and she sought out the razor blade and the shaving foam. With ever brightening eyes, she disrobed him of the shirt and tie and slid open the half moon shaped door to the double shower. She kicked off her shoes with a mischievous grin and stepped inside.

"You'll ruin the dress," he said.

"Screw the dress," she said. "Get yourself in here and kneel," and he obeyed.

Unleashing the shower head she sprayed the water against his finely trimmed beard to give it a good soaking, drenching her own clothes in the process, and then gently massaged the foam around his face and chin. Amy's touch was smooth and careful, first one side of his cheek then the other. Her face was a picture of intense concentration, evidenced by the tip of her tongue poking through the side of her lips. She applied the blade in short deliberate strokes, checking each one had successfully completed its mission before continuing.

After she'd finished, Amy once more doused his face using the showerhead to rinse away the excess. Stepping from the cubicle she reached across to the glass tray above the sink and tipped the bottle of after shave into her palm, returning to dab her scented hands to his face. Amy stroked the back of her fingers against the newly revealed naked area and smiled in triumph. She bent her frame and pressed her lips gently against his. He didn't need to check her artistry with the blade, for there was only one thing left to do now.

And it was glorious, on each occasion, the re-kindling of an old habit which exorcised the demons of his frustrating day and filling him with life and desire. Amy always had this innate ability to make him feel as if no-one on the planet could make love to a woman like he.

Mike awoke around three in the morning and reached to touch Amy's warm body, only to find she had left the bed. Curiosity aroused he rose and began the search, needing no more than a few short steps to spot her sitting on the sofa by the side lamp with her bare back to him. Her shoulders were gently rising up and down.

His first instinct was to believe she was consuming, again, and a fierce sense of rage surged through his naked body. He was about to surprise her by illuminating the large open plan area with a flick of the switch, when he noticed she had hold of a handful of items. They looked like photographic prints and her right hand was shaking.

She was crying.

"Amy? What's wrong?" he asked as he sat beside her.

She said nothing, hurriedly trying to push the items under the cushion of the sofa to hide them from sight. He retrieved them. The images on the photos made him gasp with shock. Women's faces disfigured by beatings and razor injuries.

"These are awful. Where did you get them from?" he asked, aghast.

She didn't respond, choosing to bury her head in her hands.

"Do you know these people?"

She shook her head.

"What's wrong? Why have you got these photographs?"

"Oh, Mike," she cried, "I'm so scared," and her body began to shake violently against him.

"Scared? Scared of what?"

"They came in the post yesterday."

He flipped the photographs over and tried to read the scribble scrawled furiously on the other side. None of it made sense. It seemed to take forever to cajole her trembling frame into some sort of order before she could talk again.

"About a year ago, I ran out of money and needed a fix. I was desperate. A friend of mine introduced me to a man at one of the local clubs, and he gave me some cash to get me through the night."

She began to cry again.

"It's all right," he said sympathetically. "Take your time and tell me when you're ready."

"He just kept offering me money, an endless supply, and I was too far gone to understand what I was getting into. When I was released from rehab, he called round and demanded his money."

"How much do you owe him?"

"The man said I borrowed seven thousand in all, but now there is interest to pay on top."

"So how much do you owe him now?"

"He says it's up to twenty five thousand."

Mike knew instantly the man was an illegal money lender.

"What's his name?"

"Bridges," she replied. "He says if I can't pay then this will happen to me," she said, pointing to the photographs.

"Is this why you came to see me?" he asked calmly.

"No. No. I didn't want you to know about this. Not after all you've done for me. I was doing so well, Mike, finally getting my life together. Now this has happened."

She began to sob loudly and he tried to comfort her. Mike realised going to the police wasn't an option. This man would terrify her from giving evidence long before any subsequent court case was arranged.

"He said the only other alternative was to work in one of his clubs," she added.

"As an unpaid prostitute," Mike said, and she nodded.

"I didn't plan for you to find out, Mike. I promise, please believe me."

He wasn't sure if Amy was telling the truth. But he was incapable of walking away and leaving her to the mercy of the likes of this man Bridges.

"I believe you," he said.

Chapter Three

Packages

The black S Class Mercedes glided to a halt at one of the openings leading to the row of parking bays. Mike could see one empty space, guarded on either side by worn looking hatchbacks. He moved along to the next opening and spotted a vacant space close to the main entrance, next to a gleaming new BMW.

Through the corner of his eye he noticed a dishevelled saloon approaching from the other direction. Mike pressed against the accelerator to beat the incoming vehicle to the opening, causing it to brake sharply. Despite his best efforts he failed to prevent a smug grin enveloping his face as he manoeuvred into the space.

The driver with the ill-fitting suit leapt from his car and hurled an obscenity at Mike as he stepped into the open. His grin widened at the angry man, increasing the level of hostility spewing from the loser's livid mouth. Mike turned his head in indifference and walked to the glass door entrance to the business centre.

He had considered re-locating once or twice before because of the free-for-all nature of the car park. It was never really a viable option compared to what he stood to lose. Not only was the location right the splendour of his vast office, complete with French windows that opened out onto the green outside, couldn't be bettered in the locality. Image was everything after all and his offices impressed each and every visitor to the company. So he masked the minor irritation and made sure he was careful in his choice of bay.

The matter held little significance for him today, compared to everything else going on in his life. Not least this morning's meeting with Ray Bridges, which was going to be a real challenge.

He'd barely made it to the porch entrance when he heard the sound of a fast revving engine and turned to see a white delivery van approaching. It screeched to an unlikely halt, inches away from the Mercedes. Mike feared for the safety of his car and grimaced in anticipation of a collision. The driver jumped from the van with a small package in one hand and a delivery schedule in the other.

"Is there a Michael Daniels here?" he asked.

"Me," Mike answered.

"Talk about good timing," said the smiling young man in the baseball cap, offering up the package. "Sign here please."

Mike exchanged his signature for the small padded envelope and entered the building without any further acknowledgement. As he typed in the entrance security code he glanced sideways to watch the van depart. The driver jammed into reverse and the van rolled backwards. Then it shuddered forward and swung away. Somehow, it squeezed past the black car without making any contact. Seventy thousand pounds of pure engineering excellence parked in front of him, and the way the driver manoeuvred round it you'd think he was driving in a demolition derby.

Mike's company, MDL, had made such good profits last year the accountant told him to invest in something expensive to avoid tax. He blew it on the car. Property might have been a better investment but he'd always wanted one, a black S-Class. There was no more obvious statement of business success in this neck of the woods then a near top-of-the-range Mercedes, replete with add-ons such as 'night assist' and xenon headlights.

With some relief, he passed through the second glass door and turned right past the unmanned reception area, through the fire door leading into the corridor. The office was a few yards further down to his left, and he opened the solid wooden door. The blinds were open, so he knew Tina was already in, and spotted the files laid neatly on the desk. He circled the meeting table and pulled open the central patio windows to let in the morning air. Rounding the other side of the oval table he took the leather seat behind the desk and switched the computer monitor into colourful life.

His interest was drawn to the small package. Mike pressed the contents with some care, in case it was fragile, to try and guess what was inside. He hadn't been expecting anything to be delivered. Deciding it would have to wait, he carelessly tossed it into the in-tray while he watched the images form on his screen, mulling over how best to approach this morning's meeting.

Amy had stayed the whole weekend. Partly because he wanted the company but also to make sure she didn't do anything foolish, such as relapse back into her old habit to screen out the pressure. Mental strength was not an attribute that could be laid at her door. They had gone shopping on the Saturday, ostensibly so he could replace the dress she had ruined in the shower. He ended up paying for many more items, as he expected. At one point Amy insisted he had his photograph taken, in one of those claustrophobic passport booths, so she could keep pictures of him without his beard. They had already agreed to go their own ways once Mike had helped to resolve her immediate problem. At least, this is what she had said.

The knock at the door signalled the appearance of Tina's friendly smile and she asked if there was anything else he needed.

"Morning, Tina. Coffee will be fine," he responded with his naturally softly spoken voice. She disappeared as quickly as she had arrived, returning a few minutes later with the drink.

"Are you alright?" she asked, depositing the mug on the desk. "You look as though you have the worries of the world on your shoulders."

"No, just the normal stuff," he replied nonchalantly. "And the fact that I didn't get much sleep last night," he added, trying to stifle the unexpected yawn.

"Amy kept you up all weekend, then? I don't know where you get the energy from," she grinned.

He smiled in response to her mischievous prodding.

"Yeah, but not for the reason I was expecting this time around."

"I daren't even begin to imagine," she said brightly. "Hey, you've lost the beard," she added, finally noticing his change of appearance.

He chose not to extend the conversation, starting to thumb through the files she had left in a meticulous pile on his desk.

"I've got a visitor this morning you don't know about. I arranged it over the weekend. Let me know when he arrives," he said.

"Sure. Is there anything else?"

He shook his head dismissively to bring the exchange to an end. Tina reacted by shrugging her shoulders to his adopted indifference and left him to whatever he was now pretending to do.

The ringing of the desk phone prompted a glance at the watch. He was sure there were still a few minutes to go before the meeting.

"Mike," said Tina, "John Hopper's on the phone. He'd like to speak to you straight away. I told him you had a meeting starting soon ..."

"It's okay. Put him through."

John's call was earlier than expected and he braced himself for the verbal onslaught sure to follow.

"Mike," spoke the caller, "I've just received a fax from your solicitor, demanding immediate settlement of the account or you'll take me to court. We talked about this a couple of days ago and you agreed to hold off."

"Something's come up, John and I need the money," he replied coolly.

"It's been two days! Things don't change that quickly," he blurted excitedly.

"A lot can happen in a couple of days," said Mike coldly.

"You know how tough things are right now. For Christ's sake, Mike, I thought we were friends."

"I need the account to be settled."

There was a brief lull in the conversation.

"Why the hell didn't you talk to me about this first? The least I deserved was a phone call beforehand. That's what I'd have done."

"Needs must," was all he could say in reply, and a further silence followed.

John was clearly on the edge. Mike was unmoved. His own needs were more important.

"What about instalments, as an option?" the caller asked.

"No. It's got to be the full amount."

"But this is going to push me under for Christ's sake. Mike, please, people's jobs are at stake here. I'm begging you. Don't do this."

He chose not to respond, adding fuel to his caller's already incendiary mood.

"How long have you been running now, five years," the line yelled. "You won't last another five if this is how you're going to treat people you two faced, devious bastard."

And then the phone line went abruptly dead.

Mike considered the exchange could have been worse. It was tough on John, but there was no other choice.

His thoughts turned to the morning's meeting, and he found it difficult to concentrate. For some reason Mike started to feel apprehensive and was beginning to regret his decision to get involved. At the time he'd felt comfortable enough, felt purposeful and confident he could handle it. Now, he wasn't sure. Anxiety and nervousness had tightened their grip. He resorted to strolling outside onto the green to get some fresh air and compose his fraying nerves. He hadn't been stood long when Tina's voice sounded out from behind.

"Your visitors are here, Mike."

He frowned with surprise at the knowledge there was to be more than one attendee.

"Okay, bring them down please."

Re-entering the office, he shut the patio doors and took the seat at the meeting table furthest away from the door. Mike lifted the folded A4 sized brown envelope from his jacket pocket, and placed it on the table in front of him.

The next rap at the door signalled the visitors' arrival.

First into view was a clean shaven bald headed man no bigger than Mike himself, only several years older. Casually dressed in black slacks, an expensive leather jacket covered the dark polo necked jumper which surrounded his skinny neck. Despite his age the man looked to be in the best of health and exuded extreme confidence. No doubt one of the benefits of a financially untroubled lifestyle, Mike concluded He was closely followed by two much bigger figures, dressed in matching attire, as if they were twinned. Mike's unease turned into fearful trepidation.

"Can I get you a drink?" Tina asked the group.

"It's okay," interrupted Mike. "This won't take long."

She returned his cold look with a surprised expression, shocked by the lack of courtesy, but said nothing as she closed the door.

Mike pointed to the seat at the opposite end of the table and the first man carefully deposited himself in the chair without speaking. The two minders stood statue like, menacingly, on either side. The seated guest waited for the conversation to start without bothering to take in the surroundings or make any complementary remarks about the quality of the office, preferring to gaze dispassionately at the face seated opposite him.

Mike pushed the brown envelope forward and rested his arms on the table, hands tightly clasped.

"I thought this meeting was just between us," said Mike.

"This is us," said the man in a gravel tone. He looked Mike up and down before shifting his gaze temporarily to the envelope, and then returned a cold glare to his host.

"I don't even have to open it to know it's not all there," the man said.

"Ten," replied Mike, studiously looking at the man's face.

He tried hard not to blink in response to the icy, withering, stare. It was only now, as the sun beat down on the man's taut expression through the patio windows, Mike was able to see the long thin scar on his guest's left cheek; the rites of passage mark he had heard about.

"At current interest rates on a seven grand loan, I reckon you've still made a healthy profit," said Mike.

The two figures locked their unyielding gazes upon each other. Mike was determined to hide his rising inner fear from the threatening eyes of the seated visitor, only too conscious of the two heavyweights in close attendance, not daring to glance up in their direction.

Neither man spoke for several moments.

"Were Amy to go to the law about your rates ..." said Mike, hunching his shoulders.

"Go to the law?"

"So I thought it better if we could come to an agreement of some sort."

"I don't do negotiation."

Mike blinked involuntarily and the man instantly noticed. He was expert in spotting fear in other people, and now he'd seen it in Mike. The man rose from the chair and moved into the seat next to his host, motioning his two colleagues into movement with a simple shift of his eyes. One of the big beasts moved to stand by the door, the other moved to cover the patio windows. Mike tried to conceal the gulp of air he quickly breathed in. The man relaxed into his new chair and smirked widely.

"You seem to have the mistaken impression you're talking to a reasonable man," said the confident voice. "If there is one thing I'm not, it's your friendly bank manager."

"Bank managers are nowhere near as convivial as they used to be a year or more ago," replied Mike lightly.

Within the blink of an eye Mike was shown the folly at this attempt at humour. The seated man lurched forward, sweeping down his right hand to violently deposit the long cosh across both of Mike's forearms.

It was the unexpectedness that stunned him into silence first. Then the pain began. A pulsating, throbbing ache entered Mike's consciousness and he struggled to control the anguished cry his mind urged him to release. Somehow he managed to hold the scream inside, probably because he was now paralysed with fear.

A sharp nod followed and the minders moved quickly to stand astride their victim. The one to his left pinned Mike's wrists to the surface of the table while the other circled his powerful forearm around Mike's neck, almost choking off the air from his windpipe. The first beast forced the prisoner's left hand down so the palm pressed to the table, despite his futile attempts to resist. Mike refused to utter any sound that might reveal signs of physical discomfort. The brute leant forward and raised the fingers of Mike's trapped hand so they were vertical to the table.

Slowly, painfully, he felt the massive strength of the minder being gradually applied. He tensed the muscles of his face in preparation for the agony that would follow. All the while the seated man grinned with sickening pleasure as the enforced pressure mounted.

"That has to hurt," he growled.

Mike refused to respond, concentrating his thoughts on preventing cries of pain escaping his lips. His adversary knew he was suffering and chose to examine the clenched muscles in the younger man's face with an amused smirk.

More pressure was applied. Mike closed his eyes tightly and braced for the horrible sound of his knuckles snapping under the sheer weight of brute force. He heard the sound of the seated man leaning forward. His head so close Mike could smell and feel the fresh peppermint breath blowing into his face.

"Squeal," he heard the man command. "Beg me for mercy and they might let go."

Mike knew he was being toyed with. He also knew if he tried to talk then his pain would show, which was exactly what the man wanted. He was singularly determined not to give him that pleasure. In open defiance he snapped open his eyes and looked into the vicious stare which hardened, and then narrowed, seemingly both annoyed and frustrated by his victim's failure to comply.

And then the pressure suddenly, unexpectedly, eased. The man fell back in his chair and gazed at Mike in grudging admiration. The surge of relief caught Mike by surprise and he almost released the painful yell he had tried hard to suppress. Instead, he resorted to grinding his teeth to try and maintain the attempted deception.

"You've got some grit, boy. I'll give you that. Just like your old man."

"You never knew my father," blurted Mike.

The man smirked again with smug satisfaction.

"You forget. Jack and I were in the same industry."

He meant crime. But whereas Dad had been on the right side of the line, a career copper, this bastard was a violent thug. Mike's first instinct was to lunge forward and rip the grin from the man's face for daring to mention his father's name. His mind fought against the impulse. Mike was no match for the giants that surrounded him and entirely at the seated man's mercy. He despised this wretched feeling of total helplessness.

The man's cold stare continued to dispassionately fix itself upon Mike. He didn't speak for several moments. And then he unexpectedly rose from his chair.

"I'll give her another forty eight hours. If she hasn't got it all by then don't even bother to get in touch, I'll find her," he spat, signalling the two henchmen to follow his lead.

Trying to ignore the painful throbbing in his limbs, Mike tried to reason with the thug.

"You took advantage of Amy when she was at her most vulnerable. Now she's trying to get back on her feet the least you could do is back off and give her some space."

The thug smiled, unmoved by the plea. Mike despised the man's self satisfied smirk, his arrogance. He wished there was a way of fighting back, wished the two minders would suddenly evaporate into the atmosphere. Then he might have had a chance.

"There has to be some room for negotiation," Mike almost begged.

Bridges face gleamed in evil satisfaction at a job well and truly done.

"Until Wednesday then," he said coldly. "Tell her not to do a runner. I've got contacts, inside the local police, and she'd be tracked down in an instant."

Mike nodded in depressing agreement. The man didn't bother to signify his intention to leave. He smirked one last time and contemptuously threw the stuffed brown envelope back into Mike's face, revelling in the power. Once the door had closed Mike finally allowed a painful curse to slip from his lips.

Tina reappeared seconds later.

"Mike. Joanne says that was Ray Bridges, the Ray Bridges. What is going on?"

"Nothing," he replied sharply, unable to move his aching limbs and not daring to reveal the level of numbing pain he was experiencing.

"The man is an animal. Please tell me you don't owe him any money."

"I told you it's nothing. Now get out and go back to work," he yelled, unthinkingly.

Tina's worried face searched for a meaningful response, but it escaped her. She stood in motionless, horrified silence at his harsh rejection.

"I thought I told you to get out," he shouted again, and she answered him by slamming the door behind her.

After she had gone, Mike cursed himself for the aggressive tone of voice. Normally he was softly spoken by nature but when he yelled, it was like a vicious bark. Tina didn't deserve to be spoken to like that. None of this was her fault. He briefly considered making an immediate apology. Instead he sat quietly and still for minutes on end while his thoughts searched for some sort of solution; a depressingly pointless exercise. His mind refused to co-operate, insisting instead his body ached, and ached a lot.

"Thought you could handle it, thought you were being clever. What a prick," he murmured.

Mike recalled the previous night, lying in bed with Amy, her trembling frame practically glued to his body as she endlessly repeated she had never intended for Mike to find out about Bridges. He still harboured some doubts. The only thing Mike could be sure of was that Amy needed help. She didn't have the capacity to face this alone. Believing she had made a serious effort to get back to some sort of equilibrium, restore some balance to her life, he had reasoned she deserved a little extra support.

He wished he'd contacted the police. Then again, he sighed, Bridges said he had men on the inside. Mike would have no idea if he was talking to a friend or foe.

"Jesus, what on earth have I got myself into?"

Now he was drawn into something that could only end badly. He shook his head in resignation, knowing full well that John Hopper would never be able to stump up the cash. He didn't have it. All Mike had achieved with the misjudged solicitor's letter was to bring a good man crashing to the ground, like a fallen warrior. Mike seemed to be making a series of poor judgements of late, one after the other.

He decided Amy would have to leave the area, at least for a while, and under a different name so Bridges couldn't trail her. He winced on lifting his arms from the table and returned gingerly to his desk. Picking up the phone with his good hand, he dialled the number for the Passport Agency. Eventually he was put through to Amy.

"Mike? How did it go?"

"Not as well as I'd have liked," he said. "Look, I know you've just returned to work, but is there any chance you can take some time off over the next week or so?"

"Probably, I'm not exactly pushed at the moment. Was it that bad?"

He paused to consider how much to relate of the morning's events.

"I thought it would be better to get you away from all this pressure, and give me some time to sort it out properly. That's all."

"Okay," she replied, "I'll go down to London and see my sister for a few days ..."

"No," he said urgently. "I mean ... it's probably better ... if you go somewhere unfamiliar, where you can't be traced."

Now it was Amy's turn to pause.

"It really did go badly, didn't it?"

"No, don't worry," he tried to say calmly. "It's probably going to take a little longer than I'd originally planned. Meet me for lunch at the usual place and I'll tell you all about it then," he ended.

He grimaced with pain as the phone dropped back into place and wondered where he should go for treatment. Dismissing the idea of visiting hospital, which would require him to explain how he had sustained the injuries, he settled upon the idea of visiting the washroom located near the main entrance.

Mike eased his forearms into the basin of cold water, hoping no-one working in the building needed a call of nature.

"If you were really smart, you'd drown your stupid bloody self in this sink," he lamented.

Hearing the door ease open, he was startled by the sharp, high pitched exclamation.

"Oh my God!" said the woman's animated voice.

"This is the gents, Tina. Women are not supposed to be in here."

Refusing to leave, she hurried to his side to inspect the extent of the injuries to his bruised arms and hand. She made an instant decision and rushed back outside, returning a few moments later with a damp soft towel.

"Keep still," she ordered.

"Leave it," he complained.

"Mike, for once in your life just shut up," she demanded, and carefully eased his left arm out of the sink to wrap the towel around the darkened skin on his forearms.

"I told you I'm fine," he argued impatiently.

"Will you please shut up," Tina repeated authoritatively. "If men were always right then God wouldn't have bothered to invent women."

He found himself being able to do little more than allow her to set about nursing his wounds. Tina gasped at the extent of his injuries while she tenderly set about easing the wet towel into place, soothing the bruising around his damaged flesh.

"Christ that's cold," he complained.

"Of course it is. I've wrapped some ice inside."

She said nothing for some time, continuing to apply her treatment while Mike winced in discomfort.

He finally plucked up the courage to look into her face. Tina glanced towards him with her tear filled large brown eyes, clearly upset to see him hurt this way and fighting to suppress her obvious emotion.

"Are you in trouble?"

"No... Yes... not really," he replied.

"That's pretty clear then," she answered.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"It's Amy, isn't it?" she insisted.

He didn't have to explain, but decided to say something.

"Amy has unwittingly got herself into a little difficulty. I offered to help."

"I don't know what you see in that girl," remarked Tina, shaking her head in disapproval.

"Apart from the fact that she's blonde, stunningly beautiful and has a figure to die for you mean?" he countered.

Tina pressed firmly against one of the bruises on his arm, making him yelp with pain.

"There's much more to life than good looking women and expensive cars. One day, you'll come to realise that."

"Maybe ... one day," he joked.

She had said this to him many times before. Tina's moist gaze kept flicking between tending Mike's wounds to his own light brown, suffering eyes.

"How much does she owe?" she asked.

"Twenty five," replied Mike.

"Thousand!"

"Yup"

"Jesus Christ, Mike. You can get better looking prostitutes cheaper than that."

"I had to help," he said, defensively, "I can't leave her to the mercy of Bridges and his crew, not after the incredible effort she's made to get herself back on her feet."

"Sod that! If you feel the need to help some of the women in your life start with those you employ, they are far more worthy. I know her sort. She's only interested in you for your money."

"Amy's not like that," he protested.

"Oh yes she is. Amy has more of a reputation than you think. Sometimes I really do despair at what goes on in that head of yours. If you took the time to get to know people properly you wouldn't get yourself into this kind of mess."

He'd never considered Amy as having a dark side, until he discovered her habit. Dumb, really.

"Is this why you pulled the rug from John Hopper?" said Tina decisively.

"How could you know about that?"

"Like he wasn't going to say anything before I put the call through. I've never heard John so angry. Keep going like this and you'll run out of friends completely."

He said nothing and Tina fell quiet for a time.

"I assumed you'd dumped her some time ago."

"I did."

"So why get involved now?"

"White knight syndrome," he shrugged. "I had this daft notion I was brave and fearless, forgot I needed armour though."

She shook her head in exasperation.

"Sort it out, ditch her once and for all and then never go back again, for all our sakes. We don't want the likes of Ray Bridges in our lives."

He decided against prolonging this topic of conversation.

"What did you want anyway?"

"Apart from being your mother, indispensable business deputy and now personal nurse, I was worried about you. That and the fact that I've taken a call from a man called Dave Laverick. He sent you a package."

"Yes, something was delivered this morning."

"He sounded worried, said he had to see you urgently today. He said there was an address in the package."

Mike was curious. It had been years since he had heard from Dave, an old friend from his schooldays.

"Under the circumstances, you might want to give this guy a wide berth. Focus on getting the Bridges problem sorted out first," she added.

He knew she was probably right. That's why he found Tina so indispensable. There was no better example of an earth mother, practical and realistic.

Although he was the head of the business Tina was the real glue that held this small company together. She organised his workload and managed the office, making sure all of the gaps were covered. This allowed him to focus on charming the customers into parting with their cash with his deceptive reserve and dry humour, without getting close to anyone in particular. Tina, on the other hand, naturally attracted loyalty from people. That's why he employed her.

"I'll go and see him," he said. "Give me some time to think."

"Yeah, that'll work. You run off and play in your big boy's toys, while I stay here and keep the ship afloat."

"Tina, he's an old mate."

"Probably the only one now," she said sharply. "I don't know why I bother to hang around here."

"Because you like looking after me," he replied boyishly and her cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

Mike's relationship with Tina was more like that of brother and sister, with her taking the role of the elder sibling. That's why he believed she would never leave. He liked her a lot, as a friend and valued employee, but their dispositions were miles apart. Tina was a homemaker by nature, a family and commitment type. Mike wasn't into domestic bliss. He looked into her eyes and gave her that winning smile he knew he possessed.

"You'll always be here," he said dryly.

She reacted by pressing the damp towel hard down onto his forearm.

"Ouch! That hurt," he objected.

"One day, Michael Daniels, you'll come into the office in the morning and find me long gone," she scolded.

"Oh, we're a long way from that day," he answered coyly, leaning forward to kiss her tenderly on the cheek, and she blushed again.

"Thanks, Tina. That'll do for now," he said. "Come on, there's something I have to give you before I meet up with Dave after lunch."

Back in his office, Mike pulled out nearly six thousand pounds of the money from the brown envelope he had tried to get Bridges to accept.

"Use that for salaries and update the payroll."

"This isn't enough for us all."

"I'll do without. There's enough for everyone else."

"Are we really in that much trouble?"

"No, no. Don't worry. There's money on its way. It will take a while to get here, that's all. I'll wait and draw mine once the bank has cleared the cheque."

Mike sounded so confident he half believed it himself. At least Tina appeared content with the explanation, preparing to leave.

"Tina," he called after her. "Give John Hopper a ring and tell him you've persuaded me not to proceed with the legal infantry. Tell him I'm sorry for the misunderstanding." Her smile widened as she left the office.

After she'd gone Mike flipped open the package delivered earlier and pulled out the contents, a memory stick with a note attached.

Lodge thirty one, Leaplish.

Amy was waiting patiently at the door when Mike arrived at the bistro. He ushered her inside, to a table in the darkest corner of the circular eating area, away from the window. Within a few minutes their order had been taken. She spotted the bruising to the knuckles of his left hand.

"Oh, Mike. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he replied lightly. "Caught it in the door this morning, wasn't paying attention."

Her eyes gave him a piercing, horrified stare before settling back into normality.

"I've got a present for you," she beamed and pushed a small brown envelope towards him, across the table.

Lifting the flap he pulled out the hard document inside.

"I already have a passport."

"Not one like that you haven't. I've got one too. I gave you the best name I could think of, but the same date and place of birth. Those photos you had taken on Saturday came in really useful."

He gasped in surprise, and horror.

"Amy, this is illegal. You could get sacked, possibly jailed for this."

"Better than the alternative," she said. "At least with these we can both slip out of the country, undetected."

Mike was stunned.

"How could you even manage to do this without getting caught? Besides, I can't just up and leave."

"Well I'm not going anywhere on my own, not without you. If necessary I'll stay here and work the debt off at one of Bridges' clubs, but I won't leave without you."

He exhaled deeply, feeling cornered and desperately ill-at-ease with her recklessly considered plan of action. Fleetingly, he considered getting up and walking away. It was never much of an option. He could never be that cold.

Crazy thoughts began to occupy his mind. Tina had suggested he took a break from the office for a few days. This would give him time to think, and Amy would at least be temporarily clear of Bridges' clutches. Working at one of the thug's clubs would mean a lifetime sentence, until her looks and figure eventually deserted her or until the drugs took their toll.

"Okay," he said. "I'll make the necessary arrangements. Take this key and use my apartment until I get back later tonight. No matter what else, stay away from your own place for the time being."

Mike had never, ever, given anyone a spare key to his apartment.

Chapter Four

Rendezvous

The Mercedes glided effortlessly along the gently undulating and winding country lanes towards its rural destination in Northumberland. Mike loved Kielder village and its forest walks, ever since his parents had brought him here as a youngster for long weekends.

There was something about the natural environment and the peaceful, relaxing pace of life of the village that soothed his soul. The place existed on a bed of serene tranquillity and community spirit. It was one of those few places left in the region which had remained largely untouched by the worst excesses of modern consumerism. There were no traffic jams up here, no grimy taste or irritating hustle and bustle.

Odd he should think this way as the high carbon emitting Mercedes wound its way round the bends, and up and down the gently sloping hills of the countryside.

With one hand on the wheel of the automatic car the other rubbed against his newly revealed chin. He had had a finely trimmed beard for so many years now Mike had forgotten what it was like to touch the skin of his jaw. It felt soft and smooth, moist even.

He found it difficult to figure out how he'd managed to get himself embroiled in this madness. If he hadn't taken Amy's call on Friday he would have still been blissfully unaware of her problems. Then again how would he have felt if he'd later discovered she'd been coerced into working for Bridges or, even worse, had her face mutilated by a razor blade. The images in his head made him shudder in horror. Despite all her weaknesses, no-one deserved to be subjected to this kind of evil.

But it did cause Mike to consider how well he really knew this woman. At times she was simply angelic, smart company and completely physically bewitching. On others she was full of doubt, timid and easily led. Whilst on other occasions ... she never did totally explain how she ended up on drugs in the first place. Equipped with a reasonably and consistently well paid, secure job she could never have been under any real financial or employment pressure. So what could have caused her to fall off the track so spectacularly?

He tried to shake the turmoil from his head as he continued along the scenic route, wanting to relax his mind and enjoy the pleasant surroundings.

Glancing forward he spotted the sign for Leaplish Waterside Park, tapped the indicator, and then turned right onto the paved track. There were a number of those irritating concrete mounds to negotiate, strategically placed to slow down the traffic, before he arrived at the car park by the lakeside.

He stopped on the upper level open-air car park as it was nearer to the exit. Stepping out into the murky daylight he looked up into the greying sky. Instead of the warm sunny summer day it should have been the overhead light had begun to darken, a light rain had started to fall and the breeze was stiffening into a chill wind. If it had been a good day the car park would have been jammed full of vehicles. His was one of only three there.

"Typical bloody June day in the UK, I should have brought the anorak," he continued to moan.

He turned up the collar of the black camel haired overcoat covering his broad shoulders, shielding the back of his neck from the strengthening breeze. The rain he could live with but he objected to wind, which he regarded as the most unpleasant of all the natural elements. He energetically pushed the fingers of both hands through his light brown hair, in a futile attempt to tidy the windswept mess. His thoughts turned towards Dave's unexpected communication. Mike's old friend was an ardent environmentalist, long before it became fashionable, though to ask for a meeting in such a remote spot during the working week was odd. Mike decided he couldn't allow this to drag on too long. Tina was right. He really should not have bothered to come. There were no solutions to his problems to be found here.

Looking up at the brown tourist information signpost he headed in the direction of Leaplish Lodge Park and strode purposefully up the bank, stopping briefly at the site map to identify the placement of Dave's cabin. Mike had considered driving but the lane looked narrow and he didn't want to risk his car getting scratched by a passing vehicle.

After a few minutes he reached the plateau and searched for the lodge. It was set near the end of the park, overlooking the reservoir. A good choice, he concluded as he hurried forward. He didn't have to knock. The door opened as he arrived, an open sesame moment, and he entered.

It was the outside balcony, through the open patio doors on the other side of the cabin, which caught Mike's eye first. From there you could get a panoramic view of Kielder Water. The decor looked expensive, the wood flooring real, and there were luxurious looking two and three seat settees in the main living area. A large screen LCD television was parked over to the opposite right corner.

"Did you get the package?" said the urgent voice, causing Mike to jump in surprise. He turned to face the speaker of the question.

"Jesus! Don't do that," said Mike as a figure appeared from behind the door. "Bloody hell, Dave, you look like shit."

"Did you get it?" the man repeated.

"Get it?"

"The USB stick. Have you brought it?"

"Yes ... no ... I've left it in the car," he muttered weakly.

The tall, slim bespectacled man cursed and then let out a deep, worried sigh. He was wearing a battered old wax jacket which smothered the fawn V-necked woollen jumper covering his skinny torso. Dave half smiled at his guest. His face looked thin and drawn, and he still retained that annoying habit of dipping his head and peering at you over the top of his glasses.

"Are you alright Dave?"

"Did you bring anyone with you?"

"No."

"Were you followed?"

"Followed? Why would anyone follow me?"

The man peered nervously out of the window before pushing the door to a close. Dave threw out his right arm and gripped his friend's hand in a fierce, trembling handshake. Standing some inches taller than Mike he always held the advantage when they shook, able to exert greater downward pressure, despite his surprisingly small hands. The dark rings around Dave's eyes were now all too evident, serving to highlight the gaunt expression that swamped his face.

"You got here just in time," said Dave.

Mike wasn't sure what to make of the odd conversation and frowned at his friend's near petrified demeanour, which began to make Mike feel uneasy too.

"What is it Dave? What's wrong?" he asked."

"They'll be coming soon."

"You're not making any sense, Dave. Who are they?"

His friend's eyes nervously darted from side to side, almost manic like.

"They won't stop, they'll never stop. Not until they find me. We have to let people know while there's still time."

"Time?" questioned Mike.

"Where's your car? Is it close?"

"Down in the car park. Do you want to go?" Mike replied, deciding to humour his friend's fragile mind.

"Yes, now. We'll go out the back way and circle our way round through the woods so it will be harder to spot us, to be on the safe side."

Mike had no idea how to react. The bold extrovert friend he last saw several years ago was now a complete nervous wreck, crazed and talking gibberish.

"Where's the back door?" asked Mike.

"Over there," replied Dave pushing his friend towards the open patio doors. "We'll climb over the balcony and head down the bank."

Mike stared at his friend, incredulous at the suggestion he had made. He believed the incredibly nervous man he was talking to had completely lost it.

"Okay," he replied softly, "that certainly sounds like some sort of plan. But we could consider the front door as a means of escape. It would be a lot easier."

Mike might just as well have whistled to the wind. No sooner had the words left his mouth then the sound of tyres screeching to a halt outside the cabin shattered the peaceful environment of the park, followed by a second set of wheels braking to a shuddering end. Loud voices barked all around, penetrating the still atmosphere.

"They're here. They've found us," shouted Dave in abject terror. "Quick. Over the balcony and run for it. I'll try and delay them."

Before Mike could react his friend leant across and shoved him with such force he was catapulted over the railings. It was a drop of nearly six feet and Mike plummeted uncontrollably to the moist earth, managing to cushion the fall with his outstretched arms. The impact on his forearms made him yell with pain and he was momentarily stunned by the shock of it all. Mike tried to shake sense back into his mind as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He leaned against the back wall of the lodge for support while he tried to re-focus.

Apart from the sound of a loudly cackling bird up in a nearby tree, all else he could hear was the sound of voices emanating through the half closed patio windows from above. They were shouting at Dave to keep still. A sickening crunch was followed by the thudding sound of something heavy falling to the floor of the cabin.

"Put him over there," demanded a deep voice. "Evans, get the residents out of the surrounding lodges and secure the area. Tell unit three to hold station."

Mike wondered what the hell was going on. Surely it was only the police who had the authority to cordon off an area in this way.

"Check him over," said the deep masculine voice.

Mike could hear a shuffling sound above him. He wanted to clamber back up to the balcony to see what was happening but his dazed mind wasn't ready to allow him to co-ordinate his limbs. The heavy bruising to his arms started to throb. Mike found it a struggle to keep quiet, his mind urging his mouth to yell out a curse.

"Clean, Sir, nothing on him," said another man's voice. The intended curse was immediately stifled.

"You sure?" replied the deep tone.

"Yes, Mr Tillman, Sir."

Tillman had to be the leader, though this didn't explain who these people were.

"What has he got?" asked Tillman.

"Found fifty quid inside his wallet, and some credit cards. Here's the one milady traced him from." The shuffling sounds continued. "That's it, Sir."

"Search the lodge. Turn the place upside down and check everything. It has to be here somewhere," ordered Tillman.

For minutes on end all Mike could hear was the place being ransacked by the brigade of thugs that had forcibly entered Dave's temporary lair. Mike should have used the furore to make a getaway. His body didn't seem able to respond. Part of him wanted to run away, the other half of his confused mind told him to stay. His friend might need him.

"There's nothing, Sir. No sign of it," said a voice, once the noise of the search had stopped. Mike recalled it as belonging to the man called Evans.

"Wake him up," ordered Tillman.

The sound of fierce slapping elicited several groans of a man's voice, growing more frequent as consciousness was fully restored. It was Dave.

"Where is it, Laverick?" demanded the deep voice.

The absence of an immediate response prompted another harsh slapping noise and another groan, only louder. An eerie silence ensued before the deep voice spoke again.

"Get to work," it said sharply.

Mike heard the sound of running water, followed by a loud gurgling noise then spluttering, as if someone were drowning. He shook his head in disbelief. Torture wasn't supposed to be practised in this country. It was the constant repetition of the noises, interspersed by yelling voices demanding to know 'what he'd done with the material' that convinced Mike he had been wrong and kept him glued to the spot.

With each persistent demand and supporting punch, Mike winced at the horrifying visions that were created in his mind. He pressed his slender frame ever harder up against the wooden side of the cabin, pleading with the heavens for the torture to end.

A nearby sound and movement caused Mike to glance to his right. He saw a person's foot appear, wrapped in a heavy looking black shoe quickly followed by a second. The pair of shoes took a few more steps down the incline of the bank, revealing first a pair of grey trousers then the matching coloured jacket. Instinctively Mike crouched to make himself as small a shape as possible, hardly daring to breathe. The figure had its back to him and began to talk to a colleague further up the incline, in between sucking hard on a cigarette. The voices were too quiet for him to hear what they were saying. What must have been an amusing quip made the man laugh and he half turned to reveal the weapon cradled in his other arm. Some sort of machine gun, like the ones you see being used in spy thrillers on the television or in the cinema.

Jesus!

He closed his eyes and prayed for invisibility. Not daring to breathe, he could feel his mind weakening with each passing millisecond his brain was being starved of oxygen. Mike heard the man move and opened his eyes to see him disappear up to the front of the cabin.

He waited a few more seconds before taking the deepest of breaths. As he gulped in the air, the sounds of ongoing torture returned to his ears. On and on it relentlessly continued.

"You're finally here," said Tillman's voice to an unknown person. "I didn't think he was going to last this long. The bastard's tougher than I expected."

"Life's just full of surprises," countered a female voice. It was cool, calm with a hint of a northern dialect. Mike couldn't place it exactly, but he'd heard the accent before.

"This is getting us nowhere," he heard Tillman say. "Cut out a kidney."

"No. No. Please," Dave begged pathetically.

"Then tell us where it is."

Silence

"Daniel's ... got it," whimpered Dave's voice.

"Daniel. Daniel who?" demanded Tillman.

"Michael, Michael Daniels ... I posted it to him," and then came an odd noise, like a last breath.

Mike froze. His body tensed in sudden panic and his heart began to pound erratically.

"Evans," he heard Tillman shout. "Pull Laverick's files. Cross reference with every name involving Michael and Daniels. I want this other bastard found, and I want him found pronto. Use public records. Tax, National Insurance, Benefits, Electoral register, the works. I want family, friends, finance, political affiliations, where he lives, where he works; right down to the number of times a day the man has a crap. Every man hour has to put on this job, right away, priority."

"What about the body, Sir?"

"You know what to do. Make sure there are no loose ends."

All Mike could think of doing was to run. He glanced to each side then looked ahead. The long grass in front swayed in the gentle breeze. Mere few feet away, it was much taller than Mike, and led down a steep bank towards a dirt road at the bottom.

He thought about composing himself by counting to five. Fear had already eliminated any rational thought. Mike sprang into the undergrowth. He grabbed handfuls of the greenery and pushed them behind his body, in the same way he would swim through water.

Progress was quick and sure amongst the wet leaves that dampened his rapidly descending frame, until he stumbled and began to fall. His left arm stretched out to an overhanging branch and he gripped it tightly to prevent himself from tumbling forward. A searing pain invaded his senses as the damaged knuckles of his hand reacted to the sudden stress, followed by a similar reaction from the strained tendons of his injured forearm.

Mike's senses wanted to cry out in pain. Somehow he managed to contain the urge, gritting his teeth to hold it together long enough for him to regain his balance and composure. He stood silently for a few seconds, forcing his mind to ignore the pulsating ache from his left limb. He listened for any sound of pursuit, not daring to turn his head and look in case it gave them an image of his face.

He steadied himself, shut his eyes tight and took a deep breath, and then burst forward to re-start the descent. Beads of cold water ran uncomfortably down the sides of his face as the tall grass brushed against him. He kept going, kept moving and kept on running. Practically sodden, he reached the road and quickly looked around to get his bearings. Across the road a path led up into the trees, perfect cover.

He ran like crazy up the dirt track, mud clinging to his black expensive Italian shoes. Mike virtually leapt into the cover of the woods, breathless and gasping for air. Only now did he dare turn and look to where the lodges were perched on the bank opposite. He observed the elevated position, looking for signs of activity. No frantic movement or noise came from the cabins. They hadn't spotted him.

Mike strode briskly back to the car park conscious that, if there were more of these individuals stationed there, his dishevelled appearance would stick out like a sore thumb. He recalled the outside toilet facilities tagged onto the end of the bar/restaurant by the waterside. Emerging out of the wooded path, he cut past the indoor swimming pool and headed straight into them. Slamming the door of the cubicle, he rammed the lock into place and sat on the toilet seat.

His mind was in turmoil as he sat there trying to catch his breath, hardly able to believe what had happened. He began to shiver from the cold wetness that had dampened his clothes and invaded his body. Or perhaps it was fear? The exact same fear he witnessed in his friend's eyes, a blind terror.

He convinced himself it was only the cold. Slipping out of his overcoat he hung it on the door peg and sat back down again. Mike remained still while he tried to comprehend the turn of events. He felt no sadness over Dave's death, just concern for his own safety. He reasoned this was because of the shock to his system.

"Why the hell did he have to give them my name?" he moaned, and then immediately reproached himself for his callousness. The man was being brutally tortured, for God's sake, and resisted valiantly for as long as he could. What would he have done?

His mind started to tick over. It would only be a matter of time before Dave's killers identified who exactly their new target was and started to track him down. Mike considered heading for the nearest police station and turning himself and the memory stick over to their custody. He wondered if this was an option at all. If these people really were Government, security services or something, then they would be alerted to his whereabouts and come for him. And what could he tell the police anyway. He had no idea why he was now a target for these people. Anything could be on the damn memory stick. For all Mike knew it was top secret stuff only to be viewed by the most privileged, the highest echelons in power. And Dave had already dismissed the police force as a safe or viable alternative.

But what else could he do? Sitting inside a public lavatory in the heart of Northumberland with aching forearms, a damaged left hand, three thousand pounds in his pocket and being pursued by unknown violent thugs was not the day he had planned. There was no way he could go home or return to the office. He wasn't even sure if he could return to his own car!

Lifting his good hand to tidy the damp errant mess of hair on his head, Mike felt something firm dig into his chest and reached for the object inside his jacket; the false passport. He pressed the document to his lips and kissed it with a passion he didn't know he possessed.

"Thank you, Amy."

Now there was hope. There had to be somewhere on this godforsaken planet he could go, an isolated space where he couldn't be found; a safe place where he could examine the contents of the USB in relative safety and see if he could figure out this puzzle. Find out what the hell was going on, a solution to all this mayhem.

Not here, though. Dave had made two mistakes by the sound of it. Staying in Britain was one, using his credit card the other. At least Mike had already learned the first lessons of being a fugitive.

Contemplating on the loo was one thing, planning for your own survival required far more convivial surroundings. As the cold began to bite into his body he decided to move indoors and get a hot drink from the bar/restaurant to help warm his body through.

Mike approached the building cautiously without truly knowing what, or whom, he should be wary of. He found a table, placed in the darkest corner of the expansive bar area, and ordered a large coffee. Tossing the overcoat on to the next seat he sipped at the warm liquid and closed his eyes to savour the simple joy of drinking coffee in a warm, comfortable environment.

There was no-one he could turn to for help other than Tina, the one person he could trust. She would do anything for him, always there when he needed her. In that respect, she was the one constant in his life.

But how could he get in touch?

Not only was it virtually impossible to get a mobile signal out here before very much longer, he assumed, any calls he did subsequently make would be monitored and traced.

He had to come up with an escape strategy. These people thought nothing of killing Dave, likely they would kill Mike too. He decided to make a few notes, get some ideas down on paper.

Taking the silver pen from his inside pocket he lifted out the empty folded brown envelope and put it on the table. Mike wished he hadn't given Amy a thousand pounds, to dissuade her from using her overworked credit card while she searched for holiday clothes. Mike hoped she hadn't spent too much of it already.

Hurriedly, he started to scribble down key words. Places he could go, what would be needed to help him get there and how to get them. In a short while a rough strategy started to emerge.

There was a plan for Bridges; one which would put Amy in the clear, if he agreed to it, and at the same time offer Mike some much needed financial resources. Somehow he had to get through to Tina, ask her to do one thing, and then say he was taking some time away from the office. He'd tell her he intended to return after a couple of days and he was switching the mobile off while he was gone.

If everything fell into place, if it all worked, he would have a head start. After that, God only knew. He was no longer concerned about Bridges. The other mob however, were an entirely different proposition altogether. He had convinced himself these people were part of a Government unit, given they appeared to have some sort of ability to access all kinds of public sector records.

Mike wondered what could possibly be so important about the memory stick, how such an innocuous looking piece of everyday office equipment could cause someone to die.

His thoughts returned to the list of things he needed and double checked the items; money, internet access, a new laptop and phone. Checking the watch he noted it had turned half past four. Time was beginning to get short. Slurping up the remnants of the coffee, he picked up the overcoat and made his way cautiously back to the car.

He wasn't sure what to watch out for, and spent some time simply observing. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary. He walked briskly towards his car and jumped inside.

The exit road took him to the left of the hill, leading up to the lodge park. As he pulled away he spotted the two, black and powerfully built 4x4's coming down the embankment. The windows of the slow moving vehicles had been blacked out.

It had to be them.

As planned, it took less than ten minutes and a few miles to travel deeper into the Kielder district. He reached the turning he sought and turned right, off the main carriageway, towards Bakethin car park on the outskirts of the village. A secluded parking area hidden amongst woods the forest setting shielded any parked vehicles from open view and, unless you knew the area well, it was easy to miss. It was a perfect hiding place for the car. From there, Mike walked the few hundred yards or so to the village library.

As he correctly surmised, they had an internet site. Logging on using his hotmail address he was relieved to find there remained a few seats to be had. Today was Tuesday and the flight would leave at ten thirty tomorrow morning. The plan was beginning to take shape.

He walked back to the public phone, not far from where he had parked the car. It didn't take long to make the necessary calls, setting up the meeting with Bridges and then calling Tina and Amy.

Tina started to lecture him about gallivanting off without a moment's notice, until he pointed out it was her suggestion he needed to take a break. Gradually, he managed to soothe her into compliant acceptance of his story and she agreed to do the one thing he asked.

Amy was ecstatic to hear she could be in the clear with Bridges. Mike told her to stay at the apartment and he would contact her tomorrow. She had no idea it was he who was now on the run.

All that remained was to patiently wait, before setting in motion the necessary chain of events. Mike stepped out of the phone booth and sighed. Soon he could be well clear of all this, as long as everything fell exactly into place.

The meal at the castle cafe was basic but nourishing, fuelling him enough to get through the rest of the night and the early hours of the next day if need be. He had tried to snooze for a few hours in the car, setting the timer on the mobile as an alarm clock. His mind wouldn't settle. The events in the cabin disturbed him greatly. For some reason his emotions wouldn't surface. He felt numb inside.

Mike was also agitated by the uncertainty over what was to come. If everything didn't fall precisely into place he had no idea what, if anything, he could attempt next. All he did know was that he was set to lose everything in life he most valued. The high-specification car, the business and its plush office, and the riverside bachelor apartment in Durham he so cherished.

Mike wondered whether anyone would really miss him. He had no real friends, only Tina. She might miss him for a while before getting on with her life. Amy would soon rebuild her life, particularly once he was able to confirm her problem with Bridges had been sorted. The chimes from the mobile phone told him it was time to make a move. He crawled into the front seat and the engine hummed into life.

Turning left from the forest opening onto the slip road, he headed out the way he had come. Only locals knew about this route and it was rarely used. The car quickly climbed up the other side of the bank towards the main road. He stopped at the junction to check for oncoming traffic before pulling out onto the main carriageway.

It was four in the morning and unsurprisingly devoid of traffic. All that stood in his way were wild animals straying across the road. He switched on the 'night view assist.' This was a mechanism that used an infra red camera to double the range of sight, projecting the image on an eight inch screen on the dashboard. It enabled the driver to see unexpected obstacles and corners in the dark much earlier.

The Mercedes smoothed through the automatic gearbox into top gear and gracefully sped into the night, giving Mike the feeling that he was being carried along on a magic carpet. After a few miles he passed the turning into Leaplish. A set of headlights flickered into life behind him, followed by a second. The beams of light pulled onto the main carriageway heading in the same direction, and were accelerating rapidly.

It was them!

Mike's heart thudded inside his chest with the realisation a chase was about to start. He had expected they would have left Kielder district by now. Instead they had waited until he reappeared, and were now right behind him. He tugged lightly at the gear lever to change transmission from automatic into manual mode.

Mike had two advantages. First, he had the night view assist switched on. Secondly, he had been here so many times he virtually knew this road like the back of his hand. Deftly he flipped through the gears with surety, manoeuvring the car through the winding road like an experienced rally driver, certainly more effectively than his pursuers. The advantages of the 'night view assist' and his local knowledge soon opened up a gap, and he found the distance between them increase with every passing mile.

Still they followed. Perhaps they were hoping he would panic and make a mistake, a miscalculation that would cause him to crash off the narrow path. Mike was determined to prove them wrong.

He pressed a little firmer on the accelerator. The car turned one way, then the other. With each bend negotiated the rear of the Mercedes swung from side to side as he steered round them. He was right on the line, on the absolute edge.

All that remained was the ninety degree turn on to the uphill road over the moors. He spotted it early and, like a Formula One driver marks his braking point, picked his spot. He slammed on the brake pedal and the car responded to his urgent command, swinging violently square to successfully negotiate the turning. He briefly lost speed as the car fought to correct its position on the narrow stretch of tarmac. The front wheels spun on the wet turf at the edge of the road. Then the rear wheels gripped. Mike pressed his foot hard against the accelerator and powered ahead. Up, up and away the car effortlessly climbed.

Pressing on over the moors he could see through the mirror the lights following were more distant. Mike began to relax, safe in the knowledge that they were unlikely to catch him now. He resolved to maintain his pace. Soon, he would be on the main highway and could go even faster.

Reaching the brow of the second to last hill he peered into the night, through the windscreen. He saw the two distant yellow beams turn onto the narrow road he was hurtling along, cutting through the blackness like searchlights in an air raid piercing the dark sky in search of prey. He estimated they were about a mile away, moving much too quickly along the winding country lane to belong to a local. They always drove carefully. He concluded it to be the third unit racing towards him, intent on cutting off his escape.

There were no turnings off this hilly, winding road and the realisation dawned on him that he'd been outsmarted. The cars behind had not been chasing him; they were herding him towards the onrushing vehicle. If he slowed or stopped, his pursuers would catch up. If he kept going he would drive straight into the path of the fast approaching car.

He was trapped.

Chapter Five

Flight

Mike's heart was in his mouth. Already the plan was in tatters and he'd only done a few miles. He'd completely failed to anticipate they might have a plan too. What could he do?

He was fast running out of road, and time. His foot lifted from the accelerator as he descended the penultimate slope, mind frantically searching for an answer. Now the car was climbing up the last bank. A few more seconds and he would be at the top, a blind summit. The road was tight and narrow, difficult to turn round any sort of large vehicle. He glanced at the image on the screen, clearly identifying the brow of the hill.

It was instinct more than anything. Mike's hand reached to the gear stick and switched back into automatic mode. Then he turned off the headlights and brought the car to a halt, just below the crest of the hill.

Mike tried to stay calm while he sat, motionless, counting the seconds and constantly looking through the rear view mirror for the ever nearing headlights from behind. Closer and closer they got. He wasn't sure if he could cope, if he was up to it, if he had the balls to see it through.

Two beams of light shot up into the night, pointing towards the sky as the vehicle hit the summit. The yellow rays swung round the corner of the winding road and flashed back down hill. Mike switched on, the headlights from his car blasting into the cabin of the onrushing driver.

He had stopped so close to the top, and they were travelling so quickly, the big 4x4 shot past the stationary Mercedes in surprise and confusion. Brakes slammed on as it desperately tried to reduce the pace of its descent, succeeding in skidding sideways down the road. The vehicle came to a rest astride the two lanes of the narrow road, blocking traffic from both directions. The pursuing headlights shone into view and spotted the stricken 4x4 blocking their path causing them to brake frantically before they too slid to a standstill at the bottom of the dip.

Horns blared in testosterone fuelled frustration at their predicament. Mike was already moving forward. Re-engaging the 'night view assist' he released the brake to motion the automatic gearbox into life. Once over the brow of the hill he pressed the accelerator hard to the floor and the three litre engine catapulted the sleek machine forward, glorying in the opportunity to fully flex its powerful mechanical muscles.

In seconds, he was gone.

'How easy was that?' his mind celebrated.

The watch read seven thirty five. Dawn had broken some time ago and Mike was beginning to think Bridges wasn't going to show. A silver saloon appeared from around the tight corner at the top of the steep hill, and circled the small station car park before pulling up.

First out were the two minders. Once they'd examined the immediate area, Bridges appeared from the back seat wearing his self satisfied smug grin. Mike stepped away from the stone column to face the smirking man.

"Bridges," he acknowledged.

"Daniels," the man replied. "This is what you're after." He held out a folded A4 sized brown envelope.

"That doesn't seem much," commented Mike.

"Ten," the man replied. "Taking economic conditions into account, I reckon you've still made a useful profit." His smirk widened in amusement at the mirror reflection of Mike's feeble attempt to pay Bridges off yesterday.

"I said fifteen," Mike retorted, seeing no humour in the irony of it all.

"You asked for fifteen, ten is all you're going to get," was the gravely reply.

"The car is worth a lot more than that, and you know it," insisted Mike.

"Take it or lump it," the man replied. "If you don't want the deal then I'll have the twenty five I'm owed already, and we'll call it a day."

It was clear from the stony expression on Bridges face he knew Mike couldn't pay, and there was no time to argue the point. Besides, the two minders were primed and ready. Mike had no choice than to accept. Reluctantly, he handed over the car keys in return. After a quick inspection the man motioned his two thugs away.

"I'm away off to the big smoke today," he said, meaning London. "Think I'll give the Mercedes a bit of a run out, see how it handles," he smirked triumphantly.

Mike felt the urge to punch the smug bastard, except the two minders were still in attendance. Soon, he thought, very soon.

Bridges took the wheel of the Mercedes while one of the minders entered the front passenger seat next to him. The other brute got back into the silver saloon and sped off.

The S Class reversed from the parking bay and started to edge forward when Mike suddenly remembered and tapped at the driver's window. The pane of glass lowered slowly and Bridges triumphant face appeared.

"Side pocket," said Mike, "I've left something and I need it for work."

Bridges spotted the small padded envelope and tossed to Mike's waiting grasp.

"It's a shame about Amy," the gravel voice said.

"Amy?"

"Yeah, haven't you heard? Someone tipped the local force a heavily gunned drug dealer was operating out of a riverside apartment in the City. An armed police unit stormed the place with all guns blazing. Sadly, only Amy was there and she got caught in the gunfire. They found a grand in her purse along with a false passport though."

Mike was stunned into silence, unable to fully absorb the man's words.

"Crying shame a lass that age," continued Bridges, shaking his head slowly in mock disappointment at the loss of such a young life. "You can only wonder as to which reckless fool would possibly want to involve her with the law."

And with that he laughed out loud before prompting the Mercedes forward with a touch of the accelerator, waving his hand from the open window as the car moved away. Mike wanted to scream at the departing vehicle, wanted to hurl abuse at the man who had taunted him. Nothing came from his lips. He could feel the rising emotion, bursting to escape. It stayed there, bottled up and capped, reluctant to appear. Unable to release the pent up frustration, Mike looked helplessly to the sky. Nothing happened. He turned dejectedly to implement the next stage of his plan, and got into the taxi which had pulled up alongside.

Shocked into a stunned silence as they journeyed, Mike's conscience filled with unmitigated guilt at his own, hapless role in Amy's demise. All he could think to do was sleep. As if this would, somehow, end his misery.

"Are you all right mate? I've been trying to wake you for over an hour. You're costing me a bloody fortune."

Mike quickly realised it was the taxi driver speaking to him through the open rear door.

"Tough night," said Mike, unapologetically. "What time is it?" he asked, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

"Ten near enough."

"How much do I owe you?" Mike asked.

"A bloody fortune mate, that's how much!"

"Give me a minute," said Mike.

The driver was a tall man who you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of in a dark alley, and he had every right to be pissed off. Mike could sense he was a decent sort, like the vast majority of people in the north east. His eyes began to more clearly identify the facial features of the voice, a small head with a round face and gentle eyes. The man's grin revealed a missing tooth to the left side of his mouth. Mike watched as the driver raised himself up off his haunches and step to the front of the car. He fumbled into his pockets before sliding out into the brightening sun to hand over a wad of notes, which lit up the driver's face as he counted excitedly. Then he frowned at the newly emerged passenger.

"Fresh notes, you're not Mafia are you? The filth is just over there."

"No," replied Mike shaking his head gently.

"Fair enough," said the driver, and without another word he got into his seat and sped away.

Mike looked across to his destination. He'd been left in the open air short stay car park, about a hundred yards or so right in front of the two storey terminal building. He ran the fingers from a hand through his hair as if using a comb, to try and tidy up his unkempt appearance, in desperate need of a wash and clean up. The morning was pleasantly warm, too warm for the overcoat he was wearing. He wondered if it would be this hot in Toronto, as he made his way along the long rows of parked cars. Considering the airport usually numbered around twelve flights per hour max, both incoming and outgoing, the car park was surprisingly crammed with vehicles.

He entered the middle of the three wide revolving doors granting access to the terminal, and looked up at the electronic departures board. A loudspeaker announcement boomed through the wide floor, calling for passengers on his flight to make their way to the departure lounge. He hastened for the airline ticket desk.

"Morning," he announced confidently to the smart dark haired young girl behind the black-topped counter. The pretty woman had a friendly and welcoming smile, though perhaps a little overdone on the makeup.

"Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked in a well practised customer friendly smile.

"My secretary called yesterday about a ticket for Toronto," he said.

"What name, Sir?"

"It was booked on my behalf by someone called Calder," he responded.

She turned her attention to a small box file placed on the counter behind, and retrieved the documents he'd requested.

"Here we go, one window seat, standard fare, open return. Is that right?"

"That's fine. I'm a bit late though, hope I haven't left it too late." he said.

"You're in luck, the flight has been delayed."

He offered up his new passport as verification. She shook her head and handed him the ticket, pointing him towards the check in desk.

"You better scoot," she said with her professionally trained smile and he thanked her.

With the seat ticket secured he took the short escalator up to the first floor, to where the customs area provided the final obstacle to the departure lounge. Reaching the narrow passage at the top of the escalator he moved to the side and slipped off his overcoat, which was now making him uncomfortably warm. It was beginning to smell too, due to the dampness not being properly dry-cleaned from the garment. He reasoned he was probably starting to honk a bit too.

Mike double checked he had the necessary documents ready; passport and boarding card. For some reason he'd kept the earphone to his mobile, which he'd left in the rear passenger door of the Mercedes. He tossed the object into a waste bin and took a deep breath. Bridges had said the police discovered a false passport on Amy. The next few minutes was going to be incredibly risky.

The sound of loud voices coming from the rising escalator alerted him to a large group of approaching holidaymakers. They were mostly young men who, by the sound of their revelries, had already consumed substantial levels of alcohol. Mike tagged on to the end of the group. A few more steps and they had reached security.

Nervously he placed the loose change, his watch and belt into the grey plastic tray. As he watched the conveyor system move the items slowly forward, Mike could feel the palms of his hands beginning to moisten, the skin underneath his hair dampen with perspiration.

The tray slipped through the X-ray machine. Mike followed his possessions by walking through the passenger detector. It beeped. The duty officer motioned him to repeat the action. The machine bleeped again. He was directed to the side and told to raise his arms up level with his shoulders. The personal detector bleeped as it reached Mike's chest.

"There's something in your shirt pocket," the officer said, dispassionately.

Mike pulled out the object, the memory stick.

"Damn, I was supposed to leave this back at the office," he responded. The officer shook his head disinterestedly and ushered him through.

Entering the corridor leading into the large, circular shaped departure lounge, Mike made a beeline for the row of shops. He bought a suitcase small enough to be considered as hand luggage, then toiletries and some cheap shirts, using cash for every purchase.

He spotted the newly opened technology shop. There wasn't time for a considered choice. He opted for a cheap known brand with a sizeable memory capacity and asked the assistant if she could give it a charge before he boarded, as there was an important e-mail he had to send. Her initial reluctance soon succumbed to his charm offensive, and he headed for the wash room to freshen up.

Wiping the water from his face with an unpleasantly coarse paper towel he glanced in the mirror. Mike looked very different without his beard. The shape of the face didn't seem as long now and his nose appeared to be more prominent. A morning shadow had emerged around the newly resurfaced chin and his light brown eyes were cradled in dark puffy bags, taking the edge off his more youthful looking face. At least he smelt better.

Mike returned to the main concourse and bought a cup of coffee from the main cafeteria, at the far end of the open space. He was fortunate to find a single unoccupied seat next to a large flat screen television, and settled back to watch BBC news 24. The sports report was finishing and England's cricket team were performing poorly again. He yawned and decided to look around.

The place was surprisingly busy. Hundreds of people were either sat round the seemingly insufficient number of tables available, crammed into the rows of waiting seats or leaning against the walls. The merry group of youths he had encountered earlier searched for the nearest bar to refuel. Immediately behind a hugely fat woman was shovelling a freshly made breakfast into her large mouth, while her small skinny partner tried to entertain their two unruly children.

His view drifted back towards the cafeteria where a blonde woman in jeans and a yellow top was buying a drink, and caught his attention. She was petite, about five foot five he guessed, with a figure to die for. Her face was round with a set of large blue eyes of outsized proportion to the rest of her body. She exchanged words with the overworked cashier and looked up in his direction. A sunny smile lit up her pretty face. Embarrassed she had caught him looking at her, he shifted his gaze back to the television. Seeing the woman caused him to think of Amy, and his spirits sank.

"In breaking news, we are receiving reports anti-terror police have been involved in a fatal shooting incident on the M1 motorway, close to the south of Newark. Specially trained units succeeded in blocking the path of a suspect vehicle, a black Mercedes saloon, travelling at speed along the southern carriageway of the motorway. After shots were heard to be exchanged, the driver and passenger of the vehicle were found to have died. We will have more on this story later."

Mike smiled at the news report as he sipped his coffee and turned to peer out of one of the large windows. What goes round comes around, he considered.

"In a separate incident in the North East of England," began the second newscaster, "police are reporting a fatal shooting after an armed drugs raid at an apartment in Durham City, in the early hours of this morning."

Mike's head snapped round to the television.

"A young woman was found dead by police when they stormed the premises after an alert posted by concerned local residents."

Something inside told him he had to listen to this report and he felt a strange sense of foreboding.

"The woman, identified as Amy Snowdon, was believed to be part of a northern based drug cartel operating within the city for some time."

The colour drained from Mike's face and his jaw dropped open as if it had a mind of its own.

"A man, believed to be her accomplice, escaped from the scene."

A picture of a bearded Mike flashed up on the screen and he stared incredulously at his own image, followed by camera shots of his apartment and the streets of the surrounding area.

"Police want to interview this man, named as Michael Daniels. Anyone sighting or have any information on the whereabouts of this man should call the phone number below immediately."

A series of numbers flashed across the bottom of the screen. Mike's heart went into freefall as he stared blankly at the television, unable to hear what the newscasters were saying.

He felt as though the whole world was closing in around him, and the stress and pressure of events finally began to take their toll. The emotions that had been suppressed by shock over the last day started to find their way to the surface. His hands began to shake and his body tremble. Only a quick sip of the hot coffee in front of him halted the urge in his body to throw up.

Everything that had happened within the last twenty four hours, descended into his mind like an unstoppable avalanche of horror. His heart began to pound, the pulse of his body raced erratically and he struggled for breath. Mike bit into his fingers to stop a cry of anguish from bursting from his lungs, filling the surrounding air with a wail of grief. He kept it inside, just, but he knew it was a losing battle.

He surged towards the washroom, clumsily knocking people from his path as he made his way, and stood before the first available basin. A quick turn of his right wrist forced the water to pour from the tap and he scooped it to his face to douse his eyes. Mike repeated the exercise several times until his face was drenched and then, slowly, he raised his head to look into the mirror. Beads of water rolled over his cheeks, dribbled down the chin and dropped into the basin below. He watched transfixed, as the liquid wended patterns down his now haunted expression.

Was it water from the tap, or were they tears? He neither knew nor cared. Other men passed him by, their curiosity briefly drawn to the strange figure standing staring at the mirror as if caught in some sort of ethereal trance. Up until now this had all seemed like some kind of slow motion dream, or that he had somehow been sucked into a video game or a Hollywood action movie. It was none of these. This was all too frighteningly real.

Mike stood in abject silence. A cold truth bit into his soul. Dave was right, they would never stop, and they would come for him too. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He was fooling himself into thinking it could ever be possible to be rid of them.

There was no escape.

That's when he decided upon the unthinkable, concluding it was the only viable option. He had to surrender and take his chances.

Mike strode out onto the concourse, searching for the information signs pointing to the public telephones. Resigned to his fate he searched for the inner courage to make the move. Leadenly he made his way towards a telephone booth, taking a one pound coin from his pocket as he walked.

More than enough, his mind confirmed. It was not as if he had to say much. Only that he was here, waiting at the airport. Come and get me.

Lifting the receiver, he dropped the coin into the slot and pushed the first of the dialling buttons with his index finger at the same time as an announcement came over the loudspeaker system.

"Will passengers for Toronto flight number... please make their way to gate twenty six ready to board."

The message repeated. Mike couldn't make out the flight number because of the noise and movement in the departure lounge. Not that this mattered. There was only one flight to Toronto from Newcastle Airport. The finger of his hand hovered over the dialling buttons as his subconscious unexpectedly took control of his thinking. Four people were dead in less than twenty four hours, including Bridges and one of his brutish minders. He would almost certainly be the fifth. Passengers were boarding the plane now. And Canada was a big country.

Placing the receiver back into its holder he reached for the new passport in the inside pocket of his jacket, prised it open and smiled. The first name was the same as his grandfather, the surname the place he had lived in all his adult life; easy to remember. Security hadn't pulled him for having a false passport so it was unlikely the boarding officials would either.

A burst of adrenalin surged through Mike's veins and he found himself heading for the technology shop to pick up the laptop. They could search for Michael Daniels for as long and as hard as they wanted, he couldn't care less.

"Beware, Canada," he said softly, approaching the departure desk. "Matt Durham is coming to town."

And he gave the airline assistant the broadest of smiles as she checked his boarding pass.

Chapter Six

Rosa Cain

"Thank you," said Matt, handing the dishes to the stewardess. Now they were airborne he was enjoying the view from the window seat. The place next to him was empty, not that he was complaining. The flight would take seven and a half hours and the additional room was a godsend. He could maximise the space and kill some time with a bit of research.

He started up the laptop hoping the shop assistant had given it a decent charge. Once loaded he keyed in his name and chose a password, M44MDL, the registration of the Mercedes. He always used the same one. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out the memory stick and inserted it into the USB port.

Matt waited for over half a minute. Nothing happened. Then the screen divided in two and a message grew out of the middle, gradually increasing in font size to about sixteen or eighteen. The message stopped enlarging and began to float from one side of the screen to the other, and then move up and down. Irritatingly, it would not sit still.

"Bloody hell Dave," he muttered, "you always had to show off, you big lump!"

His mind flashed back to Leaplish and he chastised himself for the thoughtless remark. He had to blink rapidly to try and dismiss the images from his mind.

"Concentrate," he told himself.

The message read, Sumac Pacha. What the hell did that mean? It continued to float around the screen for minutes on end and he followed it with his eyes, moving from left to right then up and down before left to right again.

He cursed and pressed the enter button in frustration. The screen went blank. Then the cursor re-appeared in the middle, flickering on and off, as if waiting for a response. He decided it must be an anagram. Dave enjoyed doing silly puzzles.

Over the next couple of hours he tried a variety of different combinations, all to no avail. No matter what he typed in, nothing happened. Matt decided to give it a rest. He switched the computer off to save the battery and placed it between his feet, popping the memory stick back into his shirt pocket.

Choosing to listen to some music, he pressed the earphones into place and plugged them in to the socket at the front of the seat. As the music played softly in his ear he couldn't stop his mind thinking of the puzzle, and it continued to work through the seemingly endless possibilities over what the solution could be. Perhaps it was a foreign language, or maybe one of those bizarre musicals Dave used to enjoy so much. Maybe there was some kind of mathematical context to it.

A long period of reflection followed. Matt ultimately decided to make use of the thesaurus application. It was a long shot, but worth a try. Pulling the computer onto his lap he switched on and drummed his fingers impatiently along the side of the machine while it loaded. Just as the laptop settled into readiness his attention was drawn to a glowing orange light at the bottom of the screen. A boxed message flagged up in the corner.

Warning, low battery, it said.

"Shit!"

"Would you like some dinner, Sir?" asked the stewardess, amused by his curse.

Embarrassed by the language he had been heard to use Matt listened politely as she listed the available choices; chicken or beef dinner. Matt chose the second.

"Could I ask you to put the laptop away during dinner please, sir?"

Matt nodded. He asked if the sockets built into the arm rests were suitable for PC chargers. She told him they were not and he thanked her. He would have to wait for terra firma to charge the laptop.

Frustrated by the failure of his new technology, Matt's gaze started to drift around the plane to keep his mind occupied. Over the isle he recognised the skinny man from the airport, sat between his two kids. He was reading them a story from a children's book, oblivious to the fact they had both fallen asleep. He wondered which row of seats the wife occupied. He looked behind. There she sat, spread-eagled between two of the three seats, stuffing her mouth with some cake like item without spilling as much as a crumb.

He was about to look away when he caught sight of the shape occupying the remaining seat, crushed up against the window by the fat lady's massive bulk. It was the blonde in the yellow top and delicious blue eyes, looking thoroughly miserable.

She was desperately trying to ignore the constant jostling of the other thoughtless passenger, struggling to conceal her rising impatience. She glanced towards him and smiled; the sort of 'I'd talk to you if I could,' kind of smile. He returned a weak grin in acknowledgement. Before looking away he saw her once more bemoan her imprisonment by raising her eyes to the sky, and it broadened his smile.

Matt walked out of Customs and headed down the stairs to the wide open, impossibly clean, spaces of the air terminal's ground floor. He'd been here once before and had a good idea how to get around the building.

Three day shopping break was the explanation he had given the female officer as his reason for visiting. There were no obvious indications they sought anyone in particular and he got quickly through. He took this as a good sign.

The time saved in not having to queue for luggage coming off the plane was used to convert eight hundred pounds at the foreign exchange desk and, to get some loose coins; he bought himself a pack of twenty cigarettes and a lighter. Matt walked over to a public phone booth and began leafing through the telephone directory until he got to the hotels section. It took four calls before he managed to secure a room at a hotel in downtown Toronto.

Exiting the terminal the bright warm sunshine hit him like he'd entered a sauna. He slipped off the overcoat and made for the taxi rank. They had posh taxis here he remembered, almost like limousines, and one such car pulled up alongside. The boot lid flipped open and the driver made for the rear of the car.

"It's all right, I've got it," said Matt placing his luggage inside the cavernous boot. He called out the name of his hotel as the driver re-entered his seat.

Matt headed to the rear passenger door and tugged lightly at the handle, uncomfortably warmed to the touch by the hot and beating sun.

"Excuse me," said a husky woman's voice. Matt turned to identify its owner. It was the stunning blonde in the yellow top.

"Are you going in to town?" she asked. "Fancy going Dutch on the taxi fare?"

"Yeah, of course," he instantly agreed without a moment's thought.

The driver flipped the boot lid open again to allow Matt to put her suitcase inside, and then he walked back to the car door and opened it a little wider for the young woman. She gave him a sunny smile and slid along the seat to the other side. Matt followed her inside.

Now he'd seen her up close she seemed even prettier than he'd first thought. He gazed into her blue eyes and she used them to full effect to beam back at him.

"Where to?" he asked and she gave the name of a different hotel to his, although he recalled it being fairly close to where he was staying.

"I'm Rosa, Rosa Cain," she introduced adding, "Cain with a curly C."

"Matt," he replied with a smile, "Matt Durham. I hope your flight wasn't too much fun," he said dryly and she gave out a welcoming, throaty laugh in response to his attempt at humour.

"I was this close," she said holding up one of her small hands to signify a tiny space between her fingers. "This close to asking for a box of matches so I could start a fire," and he grinned broadly.

She was round of face, with a small pert nose and those magnetic blue eyes. The lips of her small mouth were coated a glossy deep red colour which seemed to match the shape of her face.

"Gosh isn't it hot over here, much warmer than England," she said. "It always makes me want to spend more when the weather is like this."

"Spend more?"

"That's what shopping trips are for aren't they? To spend as much as you can."

"I suppose so, if you have the money to burn."

"Not mine," she laughed, "It's a birthday present from my Dad. My friend Jennifer was supposed to be coming until she fell ill at the last minute. I thought about cancelling, but didn't want to upset my Dad." Another throaty laugh filled the back of the cab with her warmth.

"Well, as long as you're sure that's what he wanted you to do, I suppose."

"Of course," she joked. "If I didn't spend his retirement pot then my sisters would, and I'm a far more deserving case," she laughed.

Matt said little during the drive into town, being unable to get a word in edgeways as Rosa chattered incessantly. Not that this bothered him, proving to be a wonderful distraction from the events of the last day or so. Rosa was very open, a typical Northerner. Although hailing originally from Kendal, in Cumbria, her accent was anything but pure Cumbrian. There was a hint of northern dialect, but it was well masked.

"Been around a bit," was how she explained it. "Picked up a little from here, a little from there; you know what I mean."

Rosa had two elder sisters, one a nurse the other a teacher, who were both married. Her mum and dad had taken early retirement together and were hoping to move permanently to one of the Costa's in Spain. She had studied Psychology at University and was between jobs.

"I love shopping," she had said. "Last year I shopped in New York, and spent a small fortune. It's an ambition of mine to buy something from every major city on the globe. Life's not a rehearsal, after all."

This phrase, life's not a rehearsal, cropped up frequently in her monologue. She was evidently someone who lived for the day, the moment, lapping up each and every minute of her young life. Her charm completely disarmed Matt, who found Rosa the total antidote to all his immediate worries as he only had to keep nodding and smiling as she spoke. There was no need to interpret each statement, no need to read between the lines of her conversation, just sit back and listen to the steady stream of her open and good natured chattering.

Normally he found talkative people a turn off. With Rosa it seemed natural. There was no 'me, me, I, I' to her words only a zest for communication. It helped she was staggeringly beautiful and, unlike the immediate conclusion he had jumped to at Newcastle Airport, she was anything but self indulged by her own beauty. Matt took to her easily.

The fifty minute drive into Toronto flashed by in what seemed like less than half the time, ending only when the taxi pulled up outside Rosa's hotel. Matt found himself rushing round to the back to lift her suitcase out of the boot while the taxi driver smirked through the mirror, seeing all too well Matt was quite taken with the young blonde woman.

"Don't worry about the taxi," offered Matt. "We'll call it a belated birthday present."

"Why thank you, Matt," said Rosa, "I refuse nothing but blows," and let out a throaty laugh which he returned with a warm smile.

"Enjoy your stay in Toronto," he called after her as she entered the hotel lobby. Rosa looked back and beamed, wiggling her hand to say goodbye.

He found Rosa's company to be an entertaining interlude, and wished the journey had taken a little longer. No sooner had he got back into the taxi then reason kicked in. There was no time for play, he had to focus, get to the hotel and charge up the laptop to see exactly what was on the memory stick. He put his hand to his shirt pocket to check it was still there.

The watch revealed three in the afternoon, Toronto time. A shower, shave and change into fresh clothes had invigorated Matt's mood. He felt positive, buoyed by the successful escape from the UK. His spirits had been lifted by this feeling of freedom, providing some sort of compensation for his tortured mind.

The laptop sat on the window table had been on charge since he arrived. He decided to leave it a bit longer. Matt was confident he'd soon find the key to open up the memory stick, now he had time to think and didn't have to put up with the constant humming of the jet engines.

Reaching out for the remote he started to flick through the channels on the fifty inch television screen to identify the news outlets. None of the North American stations appeared to carry any stories about him. He continued the search until he found one that took his attention. Matt watched intently as each item of news was relayed. There was the usual political stuff, foreign affairs and entertainment, and then an interesting article based on the latest academic environmental study. He'd always had a passing interest in the subject because of his fond attachment to Kielder, but it was no more than that.

Thankfully, global warming wasn't the dominating topic of conversation. This report focussed on overpopulation, and the impact human growth would have on future civilisation.

Current forecasts indicated the world population was set to double from around six billion to twelve billion over the next fifty years, placing intolerable pressure upon the natural environment. There were insufficient quantities of arable land, water, energy and biological resources to provide adequate quantities of food to sustain a future population of this scale. A world humanitarian crisis was fast approaching warned the report's authors. Without immediate and precise co-ordinated action, by nation states, an unprecedented global catastrophe was unavoidable.

"So what needs to be done, what can be done?" asked the concerned face of the female interviewer.

"Two things must happen," was the immediate reply. "Firstly, strategies must be developed and implemented for the careful management and conservation of the materials needed for future food production. Once finite resources such as oil are gone, they can never be replaced."

"And the second thing?" asked the interviewer.

"Growth in mankind must be managed too," he replied in serious tones. "Our estimate is the optimum population for the globe should be around two billion and we are already past that point, well beyond considered sustainable levels. The environment cannot support any further increases."

"Really?" answered the interviewer. "So you are saying it's already too late for the future of mankind?"

With the wind taken out of his sails the expert stuttered constantly in an attempt to counter the interviewer's sharp insight. She smiled politely at his obvious discomfort, but there was no hiding her sense of triumph and the interview soon ended thereafter.

Matt felt a twinge of sympathy toward the stuttering man. Public humiliation never struck Matt as much of a spectator sport, and it would take the poor guy forever to live this down amongst his peers. Who knows, he may well have raised a genuine issue. Not that it bothered Matt. He would be lucky to see out the next year never mind the next fifty, so it was of no real concern given his current circumstance.

His thoughts drifted over what to do next. Getting out of the UK had gone better than expected. However, he couldn't contemplate spending the rest of his life in Toronto hotels. He couldn't afford it for a start. More importantly he'd stayed here before, and used his credit cards. They were bound to delve into the past, previous destinations and movements.

No, you have to move on," he muttered, "Go somewhere you've never been before. Or, at least, somewhere you've never used credit cards before. Somewhere where there is no existing financial trail to follow, a cold path."

He had never fully appreciated how easy life had been in the UK. Fantastic pad, the ultimate luxury machine, access to ready cash as and when needed. All of the elements needed for a successful single man's life. Now, all he had left was a few grand in his pocket and his bare wits. Not a lot to show after years of stressful endeavour. Well, sort of stressful. Either way, it didn't seem at all much on which to base his future survival. Perhaps it wouldn't seem so bad if he actually understood why things were as they were. That last thought prompted Matt to start up the laptop. Deciding to chance his arm he would load the memory stick onto the machine and then type in the strange message, letter for letter, where the cursor flickered on the screen.

'Sumac Pacha,' he typed in. No response.

'As much a cap,' he typed in, juggling the words into some sort of sense. No response.

'A cap as much,' he typed. No response.

He repeated the task, only waited for several seconds this time after each input. Still, there was no response.

"Shit, shit, shit," he cursed.

He had started the exercise confident in his ability to unlock the mystery. Now he was consumed by frustration, convinced that its failure to comply with his demands was down to incompatibility between device and machine.

Matt collapsed back onto the large double bed, yelling more obscenities at the product's manufacturer. It took several moments for him to start thinking like an adult again. Of course it wasn't a problem of incompatibility he just hadn't worked it out properly. He lay quietly for a while, thinking of all manner of permutations. It had to be obvious, Dave was never that smart. Try as he may, the solution proved beyond him. Even after consulting the thesaurus.

His rising irritation caused his thoughts to drift back to Rosa Cain. For a few short minutes she had helped him forget the reality of his position. Now he was back on his own, his mood started to sink into despair.

Matt felt isolated, overcome with powerful feelings of acute loneliness. He'd never felt like this before. It was as if the Almighty had decided the time had come to deliver one of those 'life lessons' fate unexpectedly throws at people from time to time. All those years he had shunned close friendships. Now, when he most needed a friend, there was nobody to turn to. He had to do something to avoid becoming totally suicidal. New clothes, he decided. When in Canada, you must dress like a Canadian. I need some new clothes.

Looking through the window he could see the hot sun beating mercilessly down upon the population. He recalled the taxi driver telling him the excellent weather was expected to last for a few more days to come. Matt reached across to the table, retrieved the local guide book and flicked through the pages until he found the retail section. There was a mall close by which included a number of menswear shops. So he got up to indulge in some retail therapy.

Chapter Seven

A Warm Night in Canada

Matt was more than pleased with his purchases. Light checked shirt, dark blue 'boot fit' jeans. Really cool looking leather half boots and a soft half cotton/ half linen beige jacket, ideal for the hot climate with it being light and having enough pockets to carry a small arsenal.

He strode in the direction of the lakeside, passing the infamous CN Tower on his way. He looked up to see if his eyes could see to the top of the structure, which seemed to leap up from the ground and touch the sky. He could just make out the circular hub of the restaurant floor, near the top of the building. He decided against taking an evening meal from that height as he'd spent most of the day in the air already. He moved on.

It was almost five in the afternoon when he approached the lakeside. He hoped to get a seat as close to the edge as possible for a good view of Lake Ontario, only to find the area crammed with tourists and locals. He spent many minutes walking the front and was beginning to despair. Then he spotted a free table, under a big tree at the front of the largest open air restaurant at the waterside. It was exactly what he wanted. Matt dashed for the entrance to ensure he got there ahead of an approaching elderly couple, and the waiter led him to the table he'd spotted. Picking up the dirty glasses he offered to bring a menu.

"Yes, please," said Matt. "Can I have a large Canadian to start with?"

While he waited for his lager, Matt looked around the restaurant. The inside eating area, about thirty yards away, was virtually empty he noticed. So warm was the evening almost everybody had decided to eat al fresco.

There were probably something like fifty or more small wooden dining tables interspersed around a number of large trees, each offering shade from the beating sun by their large overhanging branches. Matt was nothing like a tree expert but, to him, they resembled oaks. The tables surrounded three sides of the inside restaurant and they were all crammed to capacity. Mostly they were families and groups of young people all hunched around eating, drinking and laughing in the shade.

What he would have given to be amongst their number, amongst noisy life. The simple pleasures of eating a good meal and sharing a couple of bottles of red wine amidst a throng of people, to be normal, seemed such a precious gift to him right now.

He turned his gaze back to the water. Having secured a prime table, slightly elevated from the ground to allow him to look over the passing throng, his was an unobstructed view of the great Lake Ontario. The vast expanse stretched out in the distance, further than his eyes could see. Over to the right, an airport sat among trees on what looked like an island in the lake. A number of ferries slipped backward and forward and a light plane flew overhead, trailing a long banner with the name Toronto Business Systems.

He sighed at the thought of having to eat his meal alone. His melancholy was broken by the returning waiter, armed with Matt's lager and an A4 sized restaurant menu. Taking a thirst quenching drink he studied the fare. It didn't take long to choose.

Sipping at the alcohol while he waited for his meal, Matt's thoughts returned once more to the next destination of his journey. He had set his mind on Vancouver Island. Although he had made a day trip there a couple of years ago he hadn't stayed, and he remembered using cash for the ferry ride. He planned to take the scenic route. Canada was a massive country. If he planned the route and transport modes carefully, using only cash, it would be difficult to track him. He'd already picked up bus and train timetables and began to thumb through each of them in turn, checking the timings and scheduled stops along the way.

"Hiya!" came a sudden voice, and he responded by looking in the direction of the call.

It was Rosa Cain.

"I've been looking for somewhere to eat for ages. Then I saw you sitting on your own and I told the waiter you were waiting for me. You don't mind do you?" she bubbled enthusiastically.

She was still talking at the speed of light.

"Of course not, welcome the company," he replied.

In truth, he really was pleased to see a familiar and friendly face.

Stuffing the timetables into his inside pocket, he moved the other seat out from under the table to allow her to sit down.

Rosa had changed into a bright orange three quarter top accompanied by a neat pair of fawn, linen trousers which half covered the brown open toed sandals on her small feet. Her hair was tied into a pony tail showing more of her beautifully rounded face, and the pink covering on her lips added to her natural beauty.

"Well this is a bit of a pleasant surprise," she beamed. "I was really beginning to despair of ever getting any grub at all tonight. You're a real saviour, Matt."

He couldn't help but feel a degree of pride. As though he'd done something worthy when, in fact, he'd been fortunate. And inconsiderate towards the elderly couple he had forcibly brushed past to get to this table.

"You must have good contacts, to get a table right by the lakeside. These things are like gold dust."

"Lucky, I guess," he shrugged.

"Ooh I doubt that, Matt Durham. You're obviously a man who knows what he wants and is prepared to do whatever it takes to get it."

He inwardly cringed with embarrassment.

"You over-estimate my prowess. Those halcyon days of empire have long gone. We're all mere tourists now, waiting our turn."

"I like that in a man," she said. "Humility, an endearing quality and very intriguing," she added, gazing deep into his eyes.

Matt felt uncomfortable. He wasn't used to being chased and it felt like he were prey. He decided to change tack.

"How's the shopping going?"

Rosa responded by sitting upright in her chair and drawing her hands down over the top her body before lifting one of her shapely legs up in the air, to show off her new trousers.

"There, see for yourself. What do you think?"

"You certainly know how to shop. Perhaps it should be an Olympic sport. You'd be my favourite for the gold medal."

She gave out another of her loud, throaty laughs and he smiled gently at the pretty woman with the warm personality.

"And what about you?" she asked. "What have you been up to these last few hours?"

"Research, on the laptop back at the hotel," he lied.

"I hope you haven't been surfing the net for information on me," she giggled.

"No, no. Only some work and stuff."

"What stuff is that then?"

Matt felt uneasy about her subtle prying, and tried to think of some sort of plausible story to counter Rosa's questioning. His hesitation to respond only seemed to fuel her interest, as if he had thrown lighter fluid onto flames.

"So what do you do?" she asked him directly, taking Matt by surprise.

"I'm afraid my life pales into insignificance in comparison to yours," he replied. "Mine is a mundane existence."

"So what do you do?" she asked again, her blue eyes sparkling inquisitively.

He smiled back and tried to hurry his mind into coming up with a vaguely acceptable, believable, answer.

"I work for a company in Newcastle, developing business systems for employers."

"You mean like accountancy packages, that sort of stuff?"

"Yeah things like that," he shrugged. "It's all really dry stuff and guaranteed to be a real conversation killer," he smilingly added trying to deflect her interest.

"My, it's amazing to think any Canadian company could be interested in the way things are done in the UK," she teased. "In fact I would be surprised if they had ever heard of Newcastle, or knew it even existed."

He feigned a smile, feeling pressured into releasing more information than he wanted.

"Yeah, well it's a very small world these days. Apparently, there's a company over here developing a new system that the boss wants me to look at. Hey, when someone asks if you want a trip to Canada, on expenses. You'd be mad to refuse."

"Gosh!" she exclaimed. "You're on a freebie too. Who is the lucky business that has the benefit of your company over the next day or so?"

"Toronto Business Systems," he replied instinctively, recalling the name on the trailer banner from the plane. "To be honest, I'm quite looking forward to seeing them and meeting some different people. It's not often a computer nerd gets to step out of the office."

His words made Rosa emit a throaty laugh.

"Ah! Poor Matt, I don't think you're anywhere near as nerdy as you say you are. You shouldn't undersell yourself."

It was a gentle, innocuous remark but it warmed him all the same. Right now Matt would accept anything to massage his ego, and this felt like the ideal fillip for his woes. Her smile widened as she watched him absorb the compliment.

"Perhaps I just need to get out more," he said. "Meet a wider range of people. Now psychology, for example, sounds like a more interesting topic for a dinner conversation."

"Ah, aren't you sweet," she said. "You really were listening to me chatter on in the taxi."

"Of course," he replied. "It would have been rude not to," looking her straight in the eye as he smiled into her friendly gaze.

"I think there is much more to you, Mister Durham, than you are letting on. I've got a psychology degree remember, fully trained to find the real person behind that look of reserve and coy humility," she joked. "An hour, that's all I'll need to uncover the real Matt. I suspect underneath the mask exists many deep, dark hidden secrets and beats the heart of a very dashing and dangerous man indeed," giving out another of her throaty laughs.

If she only knew, thought Matt, how much closer to the truth she was. He really did possess some sort of deep, dark secret. Except Matt didn't know what the secret was either. Somehow, he had to change the subject, move the topic of conversation away from himself.

"Perhaps we should concentrate on the weather instead then," he answered dryly. "Otherwise I might have to kill you to stop you from revealing my true identity to the authorities," which made her giggle again.

With the subject matter adroitly sidestepped the evening passed quickly. She talked about seemingly anything and everything over their evening meal. What she liked and didn't like, her younger days at University, and the fact she had yet to find a settled job and moved from one employer to another.

Matt listened attentively chipping in with the odd question to help her story along, not that she needed much prompting, and the banter between them took on a life of its own as the evening progressed. He ordered a second bottle of Canadian red wine, without even bothering to consider how much it cost.

The curious thing was that he found himself being drawn into her life and various escapades, no matter how mundane. For the first time in his life he bothered to delve beyond the superficial, take an active interest in someone else's existence, their life and their individual views and feelings about the world.

Whilst it was impossible to ignore Rosa's beauty, for she was truly beautiful, Matt found himself totally engaged. In addition to her warm personality there were the mannerisms and little quirks, such as the way she would frequently rub her nose for no apparent reason. And it made the evening all the more relaxing and enjoyable, helping him to briefly forget about his immediate worries.

The sky had darkened. Matt shared out the remnants of the bottle of wine and looked over to her. The lights of the restaurant burnt brightly amidst the gloom, lighting up Rosa's perfectly formed face. Artificial rays of light shone on her big blue eyes, her small pert nose and thick and luscious lips. She had propped her little head upon her right wrist and looked into Matt's steady gaze, poised to begin her full interrogation.

"How old are you?" she asked.

Matt cocked his head to one side.

"I cannot lie, thirty years almost to the day," he replied directly. At least that part of his story was true. "And you?"

"You have to guess!" she said jokingly.

Matt smiled back at her, intrigued by the slightly emerging laughter lines around the outside of her eyes. He'd always considered it odd how people noticed the fine detail in the faces of the people they liked. He tucked his right elbow into the palm of his left hand and slowly stroked his chin with the other.

"This could take some time," he said. "There's so much to consider."

She pretended to be shocked at this discourtesy and wafted her hand in front of his face in a playful clip across his nose.

"You wicked, wicked man," she yelped.

For the first time since they had met Rosa fell peculiarly silent, as if carefully studying Matt's face, trying to memorise his every feature. The music system sounded, filling the night air with melodic entertainment for the customers.

"I like this song, let's dance," she said, gripping his right hand and tugging it forward.

He didn't resist.

They made their way into the small opening in the middle of the outdoor eating area, just outside the restaurant building, where a few couples were already dancing. Standing a few feet apart, her body started to move in rhythm with the music while Matt shuffled awkwardly from side to side. He never could dance and the next few minutes were a struggle. When the song ended he turned to make his way back to the table. Rosa clasped Matt's hand and tugged him towards her, further encouraging him with another warm smile as he followed. She stepped up and put her arms around his neck, then rested her head onto his shoulder to move a little nearer.

The song was over half way through when she nudged her body even closer into Matt's firm hold and, no matter how he tried, couldn't prevent his body reacting to her intimacy. He was sure Rosa could feel his arousal and, uncomfortably, he raised his arms behind his neck and gently separated her grip from around him. He took a small backward step. In a normal environment, Mike Daniels would never have reacted this way. Matt Durham's existence however, was anything but normal.

"Perhaps we should sit down," he said.

"No," she smiled gently. "I won't let you. These are the moments in life people should live for."

Rosa stepped back up to Matt, placed her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his. Lifting her head she raised her mouth and, as he bent forward, kissed him softly on the lips. Her head snuggled into his neck, surrendering her petite frame to his hold. They moved together, like tall flowers in an open field swaying in a light breeze. The people dancing around might as well have been a hundred miles away for all the notice they took of their surroundings.

Matt pecked the top of her head. When she looked up he kissed her lightly on the forehead, then her eyelids before moving to the tip of her small nose. Their mouths met. It was an inviting kiss. The affectionate embrace subdued Matt's initial ardour helping him to relax, content to just enjoy the intimate moment.

Or so he thought. The inner voice inside his head increased in volume, grew louder by the second. How could a woman as stunning as Rosa possibly be attracted to a technology nerd? Matt lifted his lips from hers.

"What on earth does a beauty queen see in a computer geek?" he asked.

She smiled. Using her arms around Matt's neck for gentle leverage, Rosa raised her body up onto her tiptoes to put her lips to Matt's ear and whisper.

"Life's just full of surprises."

Her words shot through into his brain like a thunderbolt. His mind raced backwards in time, like a howling gale roaring backwards through a long dark tunnel. The sensation took him back to the day before, back to Kielder... and the lodge. Those were the exact same words the woman in the cabin had used!

Surely the phrase was nothing more than a coincidence, no more than a freakish occurrence. His powers of reasoning went into overdrive. He had got out of the UK in no time with a new name and a false passport. What were the chances of that, given what happened to Amy? Yet coincidence was the only plausible explanation.

Rosa felt his body tense and instinctively released her grip around his neck.

"Matt, are you alright?" she said, a look of concern on her face.

She scrutinised his worried frown, trying to follow every thought pattern.

"It can't be her," yelled the voice inside his head. "It can't!"

But he knew he dare not take the chance.

"I have to go," he said. "We'll take a taxi to the hotels."

"Matt! Tell me what's wrong."

"I have to go," he repeated.

Rosa tried hard to understand his sudden coldness towards her, but the quiet determination she had identified in him earlier had turned into a steely resolve. He wasn't going to change his mind.

"I'll get my bag," she seethed.

Nothing was said as they made their way to the taxi stand. The silence continued during the drive back to the hotels. They sat at opposite ends of the back seat with Rosa looking out of the side window now, seemingly, totally disinterested in Matt. His eyes darted towards her and he let his hand drop onto the seat, in an effort to make some sort of conciliatory gesture. She blinked to acknowledge his hand was there, and simply chose to ignore it.

He couldn't blame her. In a normal situation his behaviour would be inexcusable. Rosa wasn't to know Matt's situation was far from normal. He couldn't tell her the truth about his real circumstances.

His mind searched for words to explain his actions. She had to understand how her sunny disposition had helped the light to pierce the dark clouds that had enveloped him, how she had offered him brief respite from inner despair. Yet the longer his tortured mind wrestled with the dilemma his own silence continued, and the divide between them grew ever stronger, ever more powerful.

Matt shifted uncomfortably on the seat as the taxi neared Rosa's hotel. The car pulled to the kerb and she immediately opened the door. Instinctively, Matt reached out his hand and gently touched her arm.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and she turned to face him.

He leaned sideways and kissed her lightly on the lips. Her eyes looked sad and the warmth in her kiss had gone.

"Goodbye, Matt Durham."

Rosa spun round and stepped out of the car. She went straight through the door into the hotel without glancing back, as she had done earlier in the day when they had first arrived. It was so final, so cold, like the last farewell when lovers break up. At no time had Matt sensed any darkness in Rosa. But he'd over-reacted, assumed the worst; all because of a simple phrase.

He was beginning to understand what this new existence was all about, and that it was likely to be forever this way, full of caution over everyone he came into contact with here on in.

"This is how my new life will be," he concluded.

A few minutes later the taxi pulled up at Matt's hotel. Whilst settling the fare he glanced through the windscreen to see a saloon car parked a few yards ahead, on the opposite side of the road. Two men were sat idly in the front seats and his first reaction was to believe they must have, indeed, found him.

Entering the hotel he could see through the reflection of the glass door the men in the car had not moved.

He didn't switch the room light on. Matt walked to the window and gently eased the curtain aside. The car remained in position. A rear window had been opened to let cigarette smoke escape into the evening air. The night was still and the moon shone brightly. He watched as the smoke lifted up towards the street light and then disappeared into the black sky. If there was ever a picture book image of a stakeout, then this was it. Had they really located him so quickly?

Only a few short hours ago he'd convinced himself he had got clear of trouble. Now he was beginning to have doubts. Apart from the stewardesses on the plane, the taxi driver from the airport and the hotel receptionist, he had spoken to no-one since leaving the UK. He'd used cash to buy the clothes and kept conversation with the assistant to an absolute minimum. The waiter at the restaurant was ... a waiter. Then there was Rosa.

From Newcastle airport to the lakeside at Toronto their paths had crossed uncommonly frequently. But these things do happen. He'd spotted her at Newcastle airport not the other way round, and they'd had the briefest of eye contact on the flight. It was only afterwards they had held any meaningful conversation, purely to share the cost of a taxi to downtown Toronto. They were staying in different hotels for heaven's sake.

Is it totally unreasonable to ask to join an acquaintance for dinner when there was a shortage of tables? Even then, he'd been very careful over the tales he'd told Rosa during the meal itself. And there was nothing unusual about a man and a woman being physically attracted to one another. Two single people, having dinner alone in a foreign country; mixed with a heady cocktail of wine, good food, music and conversation to propel the evening along. All perfectly normal and natural, until he'd spoiled it with his sudden change of mood.

Matt considered ringing Rosa's hotel to ask if he could be put through to her room, to at least give her some sort of explanation. His thoughts drifted back to the moment they had embraced each other on the dance floor and the warmth that had flowed between them. And that kiss.

In a single, careless moment all had been forgotten and he'd allowed his guard to drop, left himself vulnerable to a pretty woman's attentions. He realised it was time to stop thinking like Mike Daniels, the self-absorbed businessman, and start thinking like the fugitive Matt Durham.

Much as he regretted, it was time to move. This was earlier than planned but he'd decided for the best. It was a quarter past twelve. Pressing the light stand switch, Matt retrieved the timetables from his inside pocket and started to study them closely. The next train was nine a.m. which he considered to be too late. The Greyhound bus was due to leave in forty five minutes. According to the timetable it would take an hour short of three days to get to Vancouver. Checking his wallet he counted out twelve hundred Canadian dollars. There was also some loose change in his pocket. He decided there was enough. If he acted now he could make it in time.

He hurriedly packed away his belongings before returning to the window. The car hadn't moved, neither had the people inside. Their reason for being there had probably nothing to do with him, though he knew he couldn't take the chance.

If it was him they were after any move would likely happen once Matt had turned the light off, signalling that he'd gone to bed. The light would have to stay on he decided. He counted out two hundred and fifty dollars and left them on the bed, underneath the room keys, hoping this would cover the bill.

Picking the case up he eased the door open, looking both ways to check the floor was devoid of people. The stairs were about thirty feet away. He tiptoed across, and then down the stairs, checking the shadows for any sign of movement.

Minutes later he reached ground and breezed towards the rear exit of the hotel, carefully avoiding the night porter. The door lay ahead. He pushed it open and peered out into the pitch blackness of the night, save for the small light to the left of the exit. He looked at his watch; the minute hand had edged towards half past twelve.

"Shit," he cursed.

This was not the time to be left stranded in Toronto, the proverbial sitting duck if they had found him. He tightened his grip on the case, took a deep breath and stepped anxiously out into the night.

Matt could feel the blood in his veins pumping ever quicker through his body and his heart beat faster. At first he stood motionless and listened for the slightest sound of activity, breathing in every smell wafting through the back alley. The lights of the street he needed to be on were straight ahead. He counted to three.

"Here goes," he mumbled.

To his left came the sudden sound of an empty can falling onto the hard, concrete floor and his body tensed. His eyes refused to look along from where the sound had come... but he must... he must... he told himself, and he forced his head to turn sideways.

A tramp emerged from the darkness. He couldn't make out whether the shape was male or female as it rummaged through the waste, looking for whatever it was that tramps looked for in other people's garbage.

Then, Matt felt gentle pressure being applied against his lower left leg making him jump with surprise.

"Jesus!"

The meow of the black and white cat was sharp and piercing, failing to disturb the scavenging form. As the animal pressed itself against him again he shook his leg energetically and the cat ran off towards the tramp, its cries echoing through the darkness. He exhaled in relief. A couple of blocks left for him to cover.

Feeling the beat of his heart return to normality he set off for the bus station, moving swiftly forward through the dark alley to make up time, and entered the brightly lit main streets.

There were few cars on the road, mostly taxis speeding by as he hurried along. Surprisingly, no pedestrians crossed his path until he arrived at the terminal itself and bought a ticket.

As the bus pulled away Matt slumped into one of the empty window seats near the back, the case by his side. He'd made it. Fatigue threatened to force his eyes shut. He knew he had to resist the urge to succumb to an enforced sleep, at least until they had safely negotiated the outskirts of the city.

A young girl, with long black hair and tight fitting jeans, attempted to squeeze a rucksack into the rack above her head. With one knee rested on the bus seat, the other slim leg was braced firmly against the floor. A quick hop and shove and the sack fell into place.

Sensing she was being observed the girl turned her head towards Matt. The narrow eyes of her oriental face brightened, and she offered up a welcoming smile. He acknowledged her friendliness with a short nod of his head and a wisp of a grin. Almost as quickly he moved back behind the seat.

He wasn't going down that path again.

Running the fingers of both hands through his hair, he allowed his head to sink back against the seat and his thoughts drifted back towards Rosa. Matt realised he'd been stupid to have ever got himself into that position to start with. Still, he was only a trainee fugitive, his mind reasoned; not yet a fully fledged, hardened escapee.

Even so, he had treated her unkindly. Her final coldness was understandable. Matt had allowed himself to be seduced by Rosa's attentions and then, after all the foreplay, he'd abruptly slammed the door in her face. Was she one of them?

No, he decided. More likely, she was just another airhead blonde with too much time and money on her hands.

Chapter Eight

The Greyhound Run

The hiss of the brakes informed Matt the bus had come to a regulation stop. He opened his eyes to look at the time.

Twenty minutes before noon.

"Sault Ste Marie," the driver advised over the intercom. "You all got forty minutes."

Matt stretched his arms and then rubbed his legs to get the circulation back into his cramped and tired body. It had been a frustrating journey. In the beginning he had tried to sleep between stops. Every time he closed his eyes violent images of Amy and Dave's last moments on this world would invade his mind and startle him back into sudden, unsettled life. When he had needed to stay awake, his tired body forced his eyes to shut and he'd missed the previous stops. At least now, he could do the things he'd planned to do.

Stepping out into the daylight he felt the hot sun on his back as he walked into the Station Mall, positioned by a river. He found a washroom area and set about freshening up.

After buying provisions, he shopped around for a decent CD player and a healthy number of batteries. Arriving at the music stalls he searched out the bargain racks of CD's for the long journey ahead. Armed with his new collection, he sought out a couple of recently released albums before adding a notebook and some coloured pens to the rapidly growing mound in his shopping basket.

Matt decided to wander out of the other side of the mall and find a park bench to eat his sandwiches. Looking across the vast expanse of the river he could see the good old US of A, introduced by the American town which bore the same name as Sault St Marie. The two nations were connected by the sight of an impressively built road bridge spanning the water over to his right.

According to the guidebook he'd picked up there was a tourist attraction named the 'Tower of History,' rising some two hundred feet above the ground. On a good day from there a person could look right and be able to see the massive Lake Superior, to the left Lake Huron, whilst directly south it would be possible to catch a glimpse of Lake Michigan.

All this awesome scenery, in one tiny region of the globe didn't seem fair. Matt wished he had the time to properly explore the area. Except he wasn't a tourist on holiday, he was a fugitive on the run, and the greyhound was waiting for him.

Matt marvelled at the surrounding scenery as the bus picked up speed and headed west. He would have preferred to spend some of the time fully digesting and admiring the surrounding countryside, but knew he had to work.

Over the next few hours he played with the same words, over and over again, using the thesaurus to check if any of the words he'd made up with the letters were real and spelt correctly. Matt had enjoyed puzzles, such as anagrams, when he was younger. By now he had grown fed up of the tedious exercise. And there was nothing he could think of which linked Dave with the odd phrase. Worse, he was becoming entirely disinterested with the whole thing despite its importance. Attention span had never been one of his strong points and Matt was getting decidedly bored. He typed in the phrase for the umpteenth time and juggled the words around.

Nothing happened. Despite his continued typing the screen refused to co-operate, and his mind began to rage at the unfathomable task his old school chum had left him with. Matt switched off the laptop to return to the CD player.

Looking down the index on the case he spotted a familiar song and moved onto the track. It was the signature tune he'd used at the farewell party from his last job before setting up the business, a song about moving on and leaving the past behind. He considered it to be highly appropriate, a mirror reflection of his current circumstance.

Turning up the volume, his head started to bob up and down to the opening riffs and steady beat of the drums. As the track built in tempo and the chorus approached, Matt could contain the urge no longer. Though he'd always considered he had the singing voice of a eunuch on speed, he just had to let it all out! No sooner had he started to screech the lyrics of the chorus then he felt an energetic tap on his shoulder.

"Hey man," said the irritable voice. "The journey's gonna take long enough without listening to that god awful sound."

Matt's initial bemusement turned to sheepishness, and he agreed not to inflict his wails of tuneless melody upon the surrounding passengers.

He returned his gaze to the front and could see the driver's face peering through his mirror, grinning like a Cheshire cat. For a man looking to keep a low profile in this new country, Matt was making a distinctly poor fist of it.

Not long after, the bus pulled up to allow the driver a comfort break. Most of the passengers took advantage of the stop. Matt chose to use the time to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. Looking on in awe at the surrounding scenery, he could feel a set of eyes staring at him from behind.

"You like our country?" asked a man's voice.

Matt turned and smiled at the driver. This man's face was different to anything he'd seen before. Neither white nor black, Asian or oriental, the skin texture looked a worn reddish complexion. And his eyes were as dark as he'd ever seen in another human being.

"It's amazing," he admitted, "totally awesome."

"I'm Charlie," said the driver. "You're British eh?"

"Yes. I'm Matt, Matt Durham."

The men exchanged a firm handshake before continuing their conversation on the way back towards the bus.

"It's good you appreciate our world. Too many Canadians take this scenery for granted."

"They shouldn't. This is like no land I've seen anywhere else in the world. It is so fresh and pure I couldn't even begin to put it into words."

"Sumac Pacha," said Charlie.

Matt took two more paces before it dawned upon him.

"What did you say then, Charlie?"

"Sumac Pacha; they are the words of my ancestors."

"You're a native descendant of the Americas?" asked Matt, his mind beginning to engage.

Charlie found Matt's observation amusing.

"Yeah, I kinda thought the colour of my skin sort of gave it away," he said with a smile.

Matt apologised but the driver light-heartedly waved away the Englishman's protestations. On reaching the bus, Matt turned sharply.

"What does it mean in English, Charlie, Sumac Pacha?"

"Beautiful Mother Earth," he replied.

The response froze Matt to the spot.

"I could kiss you, Charlie."

The driver's face screwed up in obvious confusion, then in fear Matt might actually carry out what he had threatened to do, before giving out a polite smile. Matt could barely conceal his elation as he clambered into his seat and grabbed at the laptop. By pure chance he had stumbled upon the key to the puzzle. After hour upon hour of frustrated effort, all he had to do was ask a bloody local.

Memories flooded back of the European city breaks he and Dave used to take, and how his friend would fill the long journey times by burying his head in all manner of books about ancient civilisations. The tomes seemed to both enchant and entrance him in equal measure; to an extent he became monosyllabic. It was one of the abiding memories of their formative years, Dave's fixation with the past and all things natural.

Matt cursed himself for not making the obvious connection sooner. His excitement rose as the display page settled into view and the original message appeared, Sumac Pacha. All he had to do was type in the English translation.

As the words boldly shone from the computer, an orange light began to glow on the base of the screen. Warning, low battery, read the message.

"Shit, shit, shit," cursed Matt. "You're not helping much are you?" he said, looking to the sky.

No sudden formations of dark clouds appeared. There was no lightning or sudden downpour of rain, no thunder.

"Yeah that's right, take a lunch break why don't you. It's not like I'm under any real pressure," he moaned.

Pulling the bus timetable from his jacket pocket he scanned the itinerary for the route stops ahead. An hour at Thunder Bay, not long enough to charge up the battery. After that almost two and a half hours at Winnipeg, arriving around seven the next morning. The place will probably be shut, the voice inside his head moaned. What kind of schedule is this? Don't they like having fugitives in this country?

His eyes scrambled down the timetable. There would be an hour's stop at Regina, an hour and a half at Calgary. Again, not long enough for a full charge. It was going to have to wait until Vancouver.

Packing the computer back into the case he turned his attention to the newspapers he'd bought. They were dated two days ago, so were hardly current. Nevertheless he worked his way through each page of the British broadsheets, looking for any sign of a report following up from the TV broadcast he'd watched at Newcastle airport.

There were no references to a murder in Durham City, but there was an item about the motorway shooting near Newark where Ray Bridges met his glorious end. He considered this odd, to cover one yet not the other. True, these were national newspapers and London editions; but even they would likely carry stories of vile misdeeds out in the sticks. That is, if Government wanted them to be publicised.

Then again, the motorway shooting had a suspected terrorist aspect, whereas Amy's death was just a common or garden drug related murder. He needed to get hold of more recent press. Maybe he could buy some papers in Winnipeg, if it was open. For the moment, he could only suffer the long journey ahead as best he could.

What followed was an educational field trip. Matt expected these to be some of the longest three days of his life, a tedious and seemingly endless road trip; the bus pounding away mile after mile with nothing other than his music and his thoughts to keep him occupied. It was anything but. He sat in awed silence as the colours of the world were presented to him by the unique landscapes that unfolded before his eyes.

Matt had done the usual touristy things on previous visits to Canada. The major cities, the Rockies on a crowded train full of tourists etc. Granted, the polar bear watch at Churchill was pretty special. This was different, stunningly unique. Space was everywhere. The roads were almost completely devoid of traffic and he had seen all kinds of wildlife. At times the surrounding ground was both rich and green whilst at others it was dusky and prairie-like, followed by views of snow-capped mountains. This had been the first occasion in his life he had really bothered to observe the world around him. He took the time, had the time, to properly appreciate what nature had to offer. Beautiful Mother Earth was the phrase Charlie had used. There was no more apt description. The memory stick assumed less and less importance with each passing mile.

Despite being transfixed by the sights that surrounded him Matt knew he had to maintain concentration at each scheduled stop, carefully checking that no-one lay in wait for him. No-one was.

The other drawback was that meaningful sleep continued to evade him. When he did eventually drift off, the dead faces of Dave and Amy re-appeared in high definition focus. These horrifying visions would constantly cause him to jolt back into life. They forced his mind into staying awake, forced him to keep remembering. In addition to marring the journey they prevented him from doing the one thing he most wanted to do, which was to forget.

Chapter Nine

Sumac Pacha

The time approached nine in the evening. Three days had passed since the bus pulled out of the terminal in Toronto. He needed to find somewhere to park for the night, and that would be tough at this hour of the day. Previously he'd stayed in Vancouver's best hotels. Impossible on this occasion, they were far too public. He needed to find a quiet B&B, except didn't know of any.

Arriving at the station he waited as the other passengers slowly collected their hand luggage and gradually filed off the bus. He looked outside and watched, and then watched some more.

"That's it, Matt. End of the line," shouted the driver.

The Englishman had managed to strike up a mild rapport with each of the friendly drivers on the long journey across the country.

"Joe," he called out. "You don't know of any half decent B&B's do you? Somewhere quiet, slightly out of the centre."

"There's hundreds," answered Joe, and paused to think. "No, I'm probably not the best person to ask. Never stayed in one of them, sorry."

Matt thanked him and picked up his luggage before deciding to head downhill from the station, towards the harbour. There should be a few places around there.

Walking through the wide city streets, dominated by the high-rise buildings on either side, it didn't take Matt long to recall exactly which part of town he was in and the direction he needed to go.

Finally he came to Canada Place, where the cruise ships docked alongside the shell-shaped roof outside the Pan Pacific Hotel, a residence he'd stayed in once before a year or so ago. His room had an ocean view, as they called it, which provided a panoramic vision of the bay. Just getting up in the morning was a sheer joy. You could look across the water to West Vancouver, rising up from the bay like a green mass, dotted with houses built into the hillside.

To the left a new convention centre was being built, he remembered, and below sat the terminal where the cruise ships would load and unload their human cargos on almost every day of the week. Every few minutes there would be the sounds of seaplanes, either landing or taking off from the water of the bay in front of the hotel. Most would carry tourists on sightseeing trips around the area or to nearby destinations, such as Seattle or Victoria. Matt was thinking about flying tomorrow. For now, all he needed was a room for the night.

He spotted the porter on duty outside the hotel, and asked about B&B's close by. The porter was, like all Canadians he had met, unbelievably polite and extremely helpful. The West End Guest House, he had said, was good value. It was a block away from where they were but likely to be busy.

Matt walked up the driveway to the pink fronted building, and entered the guesthouse to be greeted by the reception area.

"Just got off the bus," he told the man at the desk, "I'm desperate for somewhere to rest my weary body for the night. You were personally recommended," he said with a polite smile.

The man was tall and thin, the long nose disguised by the good head of longish blonde hair surrounding his head. He had a pebble sized birthmark on the right side of his chin.

"Brit eh?" said the man.

Matt nodded enthusiastically.

"You lot never plan," continued the man as he started to pour over the reservations register.

"That's how we lost the empire," chirped Matt cheerfully, forcing a wry smile to appear on the man's face.

"I'm Greg," he said. "And you are one very lucky, lucky man. We've got one cosy double left!"

Matt laughed as he completed the form. It had been a long time since he'd done that.

"You're a star, Greg."

"I'll show you the way," offered the blonde-haired man, picking up a room key. "Up the stairs here to the second floor, Mr Durham."

"Matt," he replied. "I prefer to be called Matt."

"Here for long?" asked Greg.

"No, passing through. Working my way across Canada," he answered.

A few minutes later and they had arrived at the room.

"Have a good night, Matt," said the Canadian.

"Thanks, Greg. I really do appreciate this. Good night."

The small room was adequate; double bed pushed up against the large window, tight wardrobe against a desk which opened out and he could work from. The en suite had been fitted with a modern power shower, more than good enough for one night. Matt didn't bother to unpack, just put the laptop on charge and took a long, long time to clean his body.

Climbing between the luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets of the firm bed he repeated the phrase in his head, determined to ensure it would not escape from his tired mind. Sumac Pacha, Beautiful Mother Earth.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Matt slept as though he had never slept in his life before.

Sitting at the desk, Matt opened the file on the computer and waited patiently for the system to load. It had been a brilliant breakfast, his first hot meal for days. Greg had wandered across as he was about to tuck into the fried eggs and asked to join Matt while he finished his coffee.

They shared some pleasantries on the weather, Matt's views on Canada thus far, and then Greg asked the question he'd always intended.

"Where are you staying tonight, Matt?"

"Are you propositioning me for the evening, Greg?" he had replied dryly, and the Canadian laughed aloud at the humorous quip.

"No, no," he said. "You're not my type."

"What's on your mind?"

"I'm supposed to be having dinner here with my fiancée tonight," said the Canadian, "She's got this friend, a really nice girl called Jenna. Anyway it seems the poor thing has had a hard time at work lately and, sisterhood thing and all, she wants her friend to tag along with us to help take her mind off things."

"You'd like me to balance the table," said Matt, "a blind date."

The Canadian sat back and peered disappointedly at the Englishman.

"Yeah, you're right," he finally said. "It's a crap idea now I think about it. I would have chucked in the meal though, if you'd been interested."

Matt returned Greg's steady gaze with a visibly amused expression, careful not to refuse the offer completely out of hand. It was a free meal, after all.

"How about if you had the room for another night, on the house?" asked Greg, clearly desperate to avoid having his planned romantic evening spoiled and hoping the Englishman would negotiate.

Matt was trying to decide if he was really in a position to turn down a free dinner and accommodation for the night. It was not beyond the realms of possibility he would end up sleeping rough before long. How ugly could this woman be anyway?

"And a sandwich at lunchtime," he offered.

"Hell, I'd even chuck in an extra slice of bread," replied Greg.

"Done," said Matt.

Having accepted his host's gracious offer, Matt knew it meant he would have to work hard for the rest of the day. Sumac Pacha appeared on screen. Matt pressed enter and waited for the cursor to reappear.

"This better be right."

He typed in Beautiful Mother Earth, pressed enter again, and waited. A new icon sprang into view with the initial M. Matt double clicked on the mouse and the initial gave way to reveal an unfamiliar word.

Milieu

"Now we're getting somewhere."

He double clicked and this revealed a man's bespectacled face.

"My name is David Laverick," the face said.

Dave's image started the presentation by telling the reader his place of work. His job was to monitor intelligence of the most sensitive nature.

"What you will learn," said Dave, "will send repercussions across the globe. The threats posed by international terrorism are nothing compared to what I am about to reveal."

He had certainly caught the reader's attention. After this brief introduction the screen opened up again and a vast, seemingly never ending, list of individual files appeared.

"This is going to take forever," Matt mumbled.

Each file led into a series of others. There were minutes of meetings, sub-group meetings, short and long meetings. Some contained briefing papers, numbered scenarios, and lists of locations from all around the world. Matt's heart sank looking at the sheer volume of material.

Matt decided he needed to understand what the word Milieu actually meant. He opened up a blank document, typed in the word and clicked on thesaurus. Environment, was the first word to catch his eye, followed by surroundings, background and setting. Beautiful Mother Earth resembled something of an environmental phrase, he reasoned. Perhaps this is the context in which the word was being used.

"Right, nothing else for it but to start from the beginning," he mumbled again and proceeded to click on the original briefing paper and set of minutes, both dated two years ago.

The briefing paper referred to a number of research projects currently underway, sponsored by esteemed sources such as The Food and Agricultural Organisation of the United Nations, relating to the growth of the world's population. Their estimates suggested potential increases of between three and six billion people over the next fifty years.

As the world population expanded food shortages would become increasingly severe, conceivably with the numbers of malnourished reaching three billion. Unless population growth was able to be 'controlled' then the natural resources required to produce sufficient food supplies, (such as water, fertile land and fossil energy) would be exhausted within three decades.

Matt found the content of the studies to be both fascinating and truly alarming, reminding him of the interview he'd watched on the television in his hotel room in Toronto. There were many similarities between these papers and the issues the man on the screen had attempted to raise. He scrolled the pages of the reports to try and identify the various authors and noticed one of the names to be Professor Elliott Anderson. He was the one and same man who had been interviewed on the television. Making a mental note of the name, Matt continued to work through the research.

The first set of minutes turned out to be a meeting of the security services of each G8 member state held behind closed doors in Moscow, and chaired by the representative of Russia. G8 meetings brought together the heads of Government from the USA, UK, Germany, France, Italy, Canada, Japan and Russia. As he read on, it soon became clear this wasn't a normal G8 meeting involving the hundreds of politicians and officials who usually turned up to these international gatherings. This was very secret, involving only a limited number of people. The single agenda item involved a discussion on the merits of bringing in China and India to the group, as these were fast developing economies.

After an apparently heated debate it was eventually agreed the American representative would approach the Chinese and Indian Government representatives, through designated intermediaries. One had asked for some other national states to be considered. The prevalent view was a membership of ten was as big as could be handled.

Matt inspected the list of attendees. Hank Scurrelli was from the USA. Bill Francis, Canada. Chen and Tanaka represented China and Japan. Then there was Armande and Bertolli from France and Italy. Kohler was German and Palyenko from Russia. The name of James Kimber appeared, though he was not designated to a named nation state.

None of them meant anything to Matt until he got to the end, when one particular name leapt up from the page. John Tillman, Head of UK Covert Operations Group. Matt had no idea such a Department existed. Tillman was very definitely a Government employee, working within a unit hidden from the naked eye of the general public.

One by one he continued to work his way through the documents following the ever more complex and detailed trail of this specific group's deliberations on the issues at hand, a fascinating path of debate and decision making which took him all day as he had supposed it would.

Matt had only ever had a passing interest on green issues. Now he had a better understanding. The greater number of humans living on the world the greater the demand upon the planet's finite resources, and the faster they were expended. Global warming, caused by mass consumption of fossil fuels, had been the issue to catch the media's attention. He now realised the real problem lay in over-population. Somehow, the growth and gluttony of mankind had to be subjected to restraint. The only question was how.

After some absorbing hours he checked his watch and saw it was twenty past four in the afternoon. He decided to view one final piece of the complicated jigsaw before taking a break, a presentation by the American called Scurrelli. After this, he would try to find an internet cafe to do some online research of his own.

Scurrelli didn't formally introduce himself to the group and Matt concluded he was already known to the others. The American set the scene.

"Every piece of research has arrived at exactly the same conclusions," he stated. "World population growth is out of control and will exacerbate with each passing year, further deteriorating the imbalance between supply and demand of basic commodities."

"Already, marine stocks are perilously low and world land-based food production is struggling to meet current global demands. The world's environment is at breaking point, threatening civilisation as we know it," he continued.

Scurrelli highlighted those studies which talked of a thirty year window of opportunity for mankind to mount an effective response to the looming crisis.

"In reality, gentlemen," he said. "We have nothing like this sort of time scale," and then he went on to set out an anticipated sequence of events.

Not long into the future, probably within ten years, nations could expect sharply increasing prices for basic commodities. This would cause population unrest, particularly in the West as people's standard of living was eroded by increasingly higher costs of living.

Between ten and fifteen years global shortages would begin to show as a problem the Governments of the world were struggling to resolve. Food, energy and even water prices would become so prohibitive rationing would have to be introduced. World production would fall leading to swathes of company closures, creating mass unemployment. With insufficient revenues collected from diminishing industrial bases, Governments would be unable to fund sustainable support packages for their unemployed, or have sufficient monies to counter the expected surge in crime and criminal activity.

Somewhere after fifteen years social cohesion would start to erode, then completely collapse. Civil breakdown would ensue. Mass unrest would lead to violent disturbances within each of the G8 states, who would topple in a domino effect.

All this will happen because the global environment could not sustain the needs of an ever expanding world population.

"We do not have fifty years to act," he told the collected audience. "More likely, it is less than ten."

To date, three potential solutions had been considered by G8 Governments, Scurrelli had advised. The first involved a 'natural' culling process of indigenous populations of the developed world.

The elderly and the infirm were to be the primary target groups. Logan's Run was the metaphor he had likened it to. This would be achieved by denying citizens life-enhancing drugs, on the basis of cost. It was believed any initial bad press would be superseded by the eventual indifference of the healthy majority. However life expectancy rates were on the increase and, as population life spans continued to grow, this option was unlikely to control or reduce numbers to manageable proportions within the agreed timescale.

Option two was to impose birth restrictions, limiting fertile women to one lifetime pregnancy, as they do in China already. In the cases of the disadvantaged and criminal classes there would be measures to prevent child bearing completely, through a comprehensive sterilisation programme. It would be impossible, however, for each member state to have sufficient manual resources to police the system effectively. This would lead to a growing underclass of illegitimate children running around the neighbourhoods of each member state.

A third option was to toughen sanctions against rogue states and intensify resource shortages to third world countries. This would prevent their economic development and result in increasing numbers of regional conflicts, costing the lives of millions through violence and starvation. Such measures could be effectively 'managed' by the G8 Governments. The concern here was the process would be both too slow and have too little impact.

There's nothing earth shattering here, concluded Matt, nothing which wasn't already in the current public domain.

The premise of overpopulation was little different from the scenario the expert tried to discuss on the television interview. Granted the civil liberties brigade would have much to say about withholding life enhancing drugs, but the debate is already raging amongst the developed world where cash resources are finite. And the idea of limiting the size of family units is an idea already gaining ground in the west. As for the third world no-one really cares for the starving millions much because, if they did, the developed world would have sorted those issues out decades ago.

Certainly, there was nothing from what he had read so far which could cause these people to cruelly torture then murder Dave. And it certainly didn't seem reason enough to pursue Matt to the ends of the earth. For what is in these statements, surely not?

Matt could feel his eyes tiring and decided to tuck into the sandwich that Greg had brought up earlier. He returned to the small screen. Scurrelli was summarising.

All G8 Governments had been briefed, he advised, and the only aspect upon which they were all agreed is none of the options presented to them were in any way feasible.

"Gentlemen," Scurrelli concluded. "Time is against us. Whilst the leaders of the globe fudge and fiddle the world continues to burn, so it falls to us to provide direction and take a lead. For if they will not act then we must, before all control to the levers of power is lost. No less than the future of mankind is at stake and we must respond."

The American moved his presentation on to describe progress against one of the measures currently in place, the development of detailed intelligence on individuals.

Citizen data was being compiled from a range of sources including Government and medical records, banking details, travel patterns, electronic mail, recordings of mobile and landline telephone conversations. Anti-terrorism tactics had been the explanation given to political masters as the purpose behind these breaches of civil liberties, and the activities had so far remained unchallenged. Analysis of the data was ongoing and it was hoped, within another thirty six months or so, all citizens will have been effectively categorised by the original deadline.

Matt leaned back in the chair, stretched his arms upwards and yawned. He wanted to continue as it seemed to him an important point in his research had been reached. But he felt drained, mentally exhausted even. He decided to take a break, see if he could find an internet connection and try and trace this Professor Anderson guy. Perhaps he could shed some more light on the subject. If nothing else, having to listen to a voice would give his eyes some much needed relief.

Matt muttered at the ringing phone. It was Greg checking he was still alright for tonight.

"Yeah, I'm up for it," he replied. "I just need to nip out for a few minutes to do a bit of last-minute shopping."

He returned to the screen and looked for the next file in line, entitled Affirmation. Later, he decided.

It took Matt almost half an hour to find an internet cafe. He paid his fee, bought a coffee and settled into the nearest available seat. Typing in the name of the person he was trying to locate, the instant response caused his jaw to drop.

'Respected academic mown down by hit and run driver,' said the headline, and Matt could scarcely believe the news as he read through the article. The professor had been returning to his car after a late night function in town when he was hit by, what police described as, a substantially built vehicle travelling at high velocity given the extent of the injuries from the impact. It was almost certain, the report added, Professor Anderson would have died instantaneously.

Matt was incredulous. It was only a few days ago he had watched the man being interviewed on television. Indeed, the next stream mentioned his appearance on that particular show. Some sort of sixth sense prompted Matt to type the name of the interviewer into the search engine. Within a few seconds numerous entries appeared bearing the interviewer's name, Beverley Krantz.

He wasn't sure why he continued to work his way through them but he did, finally stopping at an item reporting an awards ceremony in New York with accompanying colour photograph. Ms Krantz was stood in the foreground clutching her award, surrounded by a number of other people.

Matt scanned along the long stream of names in the caption underneath, linking each one to an individual face above. The second to last name made Matt gasp.

Hank Scurrelli.

Immediately his eyes rose to the picture to put a face to the name. He was a somewhat tall, thin man looking to the inch an exact replica of Count Dracula. Krantz and Scurrelli clearly knew each other, and well enough to pose together for a photograph.

Professor Anderson wasn't the victim of an accident. He was taken out, murdered. Tonight would have to be Matt's last night in Vancouver, he concluded.

"Victoria," he whispered, "first thing, tomorrow."

The minute hand clicked into place to signal eight o'clock had arrived when Matt entered the bar area. He saw Greg perched on a stool, anxiously checking his watch.

"I didn't think you were going to come."

"A deal is a deal," replied Matt, smiling.

Greg suddenly bounced from the stool and brushed past the Englishman. Matt looked into the wide mirror above the bar to see two figures in the reflection. The Canadian approached them and Matt turned.

The taller of the two was dressed in a dark grey pencil skirt topped with a bright white blouse, looking an exact replica of Diana Ross in her heyday. Matt half expected her to break out into a motown chorus of 'ain't no mountain high enough.'

The second was smaller, a few inches shorter than Matt. The part Caucasian, part oriental features of her face were showcased by strikingly dark coloured almond shaped eyes. Long brown hair tinted by golden streaks surrounded the smooth, flawless skin of her cheeks tempered with the lightest application of make-up. The wide belt fixed around her waist emphasised prominent hips, while the open necked sweater tucked into her trousers clung gracefully to her svelte frame. Matt had always been struck at how Canada's mixed race society appeared, on the surface at least, to be more relaxed than in the UK. He wondered which of the women was to be his companion.

"Matt, I'd like you to meet my fiancée, Althea," introduced Greg and the coloured woman held out her hand. "And this is Jenna," he added.

The woman's slim lips widened into a smile, causing her almond shaped eyes to twinkle under the artificial lighting.

She was different to what he'd expected, not that he knew exactly what to expect; except he had formed a picture in his mind of being introduced to a sullen, sad and deeply unhappy individual. Jenna appeared a little shy but far removed from the image he had conjured up in his mind. Matt was pleasantly surprised.

"Hello, Matt. I've been looking forward to meeting you," she said nervously. "When Greg told me you were here for the one night and feeling a little lonely, I thought it was the least I could do. It's never much fun being gooseberry."

Matt's sideways glance caught Greg's sheepish grin. He briefly considered giving the Canadian his fiercest scowl, to emit some sort of dark displeasure. It would have been a churlish and pointless action. Jenna was, after all, more than presentable. Her obvious reserve meant he could expect a subdued rather than raucous evening, but it was only for an hour or two. A nice girl, he had concluded. This shouldn't have surprised him. Almost every Canadian he had met so far on his journey had been unbelievably nice. It was almost as if it was a national trait.

"What can I say, the man's an absolute star," replied Matt.

With the ice sort of broken, a hugely relieved Greg ushered the group towards their seats at the round window table. Matt could sense Jenna remained a little apprehensive about the evening's arrangements though he wasn't about to let it bother him too much.

"So what brings you to Canada?" asked Althea as she sipped at a glass of white.

Matt paused for thought, his mind rapidly searching for some sort of believable story.

"I used to run my own small business, in the North East of England," he began. "While it was a lot of fun, I was working all hours God sends and not making a huge amount of money. So I sold up and decided to use the proceeds to try and fulfil a lifelong ambition of travelling the world, while I'm still young enough and have the energy to do it."

He could see they were interested.

"At the end of it all I hope to write up the stories of my travels, some sort of independent tourist guide, and see if I can get it published. Try and make a small fortune. If nothing else I should have a lot of fun, or die happy in the process." He shrugged nonchalantly, the deadpan delivery amusing his companions.

"Wow," said Althea, "what a fabulously unique idea. Why start with Canada?"

"There's something about the open spaces, the contrasts in geography between each state, and the unbelievable range of wildlife. I find it compelling. You seem to have every natural phenomenon of the globe locked up into this one big country; Sumac Pacha."

"What did you say?" asked Greg and Althea in unison, bemused by his ending words.

"Beautiful Mother Earth," chipped in Jenna.

Matt turned to look at his partner for the evening, surprised by her unexpected contribution. He had tried to impress his dinner colleagues by showcasing his shallow knowledge of Canadian history. Jenna's intervention changed everything. Rather than feel irritation, Matt was impressed. Her few words broke the slender uncertainty between them and, for the first time, both held their gazes. There was real contact between them now.

"How did you know that?" he asked.

"I studied some history at High school briefly, The Native Peoples of the Americas. The phrase sort of stuck."

He smiled warmly and she responded by returning in kind, her almond shaped eyes now openly relaxed to his presence.

"Wish I had the courage to do what you're doing," she added, fully engaged with the Englishman's tale.

Matt's story was sort of true. He didn't want to prolong this topic of conversation much beyond what he'd already said however. Once a person had started down a path of making stuff up on the hoof it became increasingly harder to keep track of everything. He hurriedly began to think of a way he could sidestep the line of conversation.

"To be honest, it's actually very self indulgent. Not at all courageous when you compare it to other more demanding vocations of life such as the armed forces, inner city teaching or medicine for example."

"Like Jenna you mean. She works as a children's nurse," said Althea.

"Really," enthused Matt, his mind joyously celebrating the sudden opportunity to turn the conversation. "You see, it's people like you Jenna who deserve admiration and respect, because of the selfless dedication your job requires. How long have you been doing this now?"

"I qualified just over five years ago. If it's okay with you, I'd rather not talk shop on a night out," she said politely.

His heart briefly sank. Then he remembered.

"Quite right, Jenna; work should be a no go area over an evening meal. Let's talk about happier events. When is the date exactly, Althea?"

Fortunately it was a subject she was bursting to talk about. With Greg regularly adding some additional insights, the pair covered the next forty five minutes in colourful detail about the forthcoming ceremony. They planned to wed at the end of the tourist season, after October. As the happy couple virtually exchanged vows before them Matt and Jenna sat politely and quietly, her eyes making oft and sparkling contact across the table.

When the conversation did eventually move on to subject matter which could involve them all, Jenna's personality increasingly came to the fore. Matt discovered her to be surprisingly bubbly and energetic, and both smart and funny. As time ticked by, he found himself becoming more and more settled in her company.

By the time it had turned eleven, the two near newlyweds were ready to retire for the night, judging by the constant peering at their watches. Jenna showed no signs of wanting the evening to end. Within a few more minutes the soon to be wed couple made their excuses to leave.

Her almond shaped eyes gave Matt the nicest smile as he tipped the red wine into her glass before refilling his own.

"They seem to have deserted us," he said.

"I'll try and cope with the situation if you will," she replied. "That is, unless, you've had enough of me by now."

"Not at all, far from it."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "You're not just being polite?"

"Totally and unquestionably, with a 'may God strike me down with a sudden bolt of lightning' type of certainty," he said with a warm smile. And he meant it, causing her to smile even more broadly.

"Do you like it here, in Vancouver?"

"Yes I do. In fact there isn't a part of Canada I've come across I haven't liked so far, and there's still so much to see. The place is just so enormous, not forgetting the cruises you can do from Canada Place. At this rate I'll be over sixty before I start my world tour."

She laughed. It was open, warm and gentle.

"I should warn you. Stay too long and this Government will automatically nationalise you, it's their way of expanding the population," she said, and he grinned.

"I could think of worse things in life."

A temporary silence fell between them. Neither found it uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry by the way," he said, "for raising work at the dinner table. It was a pretty thoughtless act on my part," forgetting the reason why Greg had asked him to attend.

Her brow furrowed at first, and then quickly dismissed whatever thought she had in her head.

"That's ok. It's been a tough week, that's all."

He gently pried for an explanation. She generalised, at first, before slowly opening up.

Matt had this image in his head whereby young sick children were admitted to hospital with symptoms of things such as measles and chicken pox and, after a brief and happy stay, they were promptly returned to the loving bosom of their families fully recovered.

The reality was totally different, and Matt was humbled to discover some of the real medical conditions of her patients. The level of care and treatment each patient required was equally fascinating. He listened intently as she described the life or death responsibilities even she, a 'mere' nurse, could be faced with during her daily duties. And then there were the emotional attachments formed to patients, not unsurprising given the nature of the job.

Jenna described a recent example of a baby born with horrendous terminal ailments she had nursed up to death. She began to waft her hand in front of her eyes in an effort to hold back emerging tears. Fumbling into her bag to locate a paper tissue, she lightly dabbed it against her eyes. Despite all the experience she still found it hard. This was the second fatality of the week.

Matt never gave it a second thought. He moved into the next seat and gently eased her head against his shoulder for comfort, which she gracefully accepted.

"I'm being silly," she said, slightly sniffling. "Trust me to spoil a good evening."

"Not at all," he replied gently, "I've been trying to think of a way to get close to you all night. Never considered making you cry would work," he joked.

She wanted to laugh, succeeding only in spluttering out a few tears. It had touched Matt deeply as he'd listened to her words of dedicated care. Jenna's descriptions had opened his eyes to an aspect of life's tapestry he had forever taken for granted in his previous existence.

Jenna explained how she lived alone in Vancouver. She had re-mortgaged just before interest rates crashed, so had failed to derive any financial benefit. When she wasn't doing her normally weekly shifts she worked overtime to help pay the bills. When she wasn't working overtime she did housework. Once the household chores were completed Jenna crashed out, trying to recover enough energy for the next working week.

Her circumstance lent little time for a social life, which is why she seemed intent on making the most of the evening. Matt was happy to participate. He had been expecting only to have to be polite for a couple of hours over dinner, now he was fully engaged.

"So what did you do before you became this high powered businessman?" she asked.

"A truly boring, unimaginative and personality bypassed Civil Servant, for more years than I care to remember," he said.

"It could never have been that bad, surely," she laughed.

"Oh yes it was," he insisted. "There were so many sets of instructions we had to consult another rulebook to see if the first set of instructions were still valid."

Jenna giggled out loud. Her almond shaped eyes gazing directly into his as she covered her mouth to stop her laughter making too much noise, in the now empty restaurant area.

"Well at least you didn't have to think too much."

"Which was the problem," he said, "independent thinking was forbidden. It was considered treasonous to have original thought. How anyone can happily allow themselves to have their lives dictated each and every day is totally beyond me."

She laughed some more, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

"You're not a rules man then, the settling down type. Not content to amuse yourself with the everyday domestics of life we mere mortals have to endure."

He smiled at the observation.

"No. Not really. Life's too short to confine yourself to a routine existence, surrounded by household duties and snotty faced children. You probably think I'm selfish," he added after a brief pause.

"We can't all be the same," she replied with a generous smile.

"What about you, Jenna? What does the future hold for you?" he asked.

"One day," she replied, "when I've found the right man to provide me with a nice big house full of healthy, energetic kids. You know, all those responsibilities you seem to want to avoid in life," she teased.

Matt wasn't in the least offended. If anything, Jenna had expressed her vision of the future in such warm and cosy terms he could almost see the attraction.

Before they knew it the time had reached half past midnight. Matt apologised for keeping her up to this hour and set about ordering a taxi using the phone on the reception desk.

"Couple of minutes," he said, on returning, "if that's alright," and she thanked him.

"Is it too much to ask about you're next port of call?"

"Victoria. Just a quick visit though then I'll move on. If I don't keep moving I'll never be able to fit the whole country in before the money runs out."

"You could always find work there," she suggested. "The demand from employers for seasonal staff at this time of year is huge, particularly in Victoria. It could help you to build up some cash for the rest of your journey. Who knows, the longer you're here the more you might want to stay."

Matt couldn't decide if Jenna was asking him to hang around or if she was trying to be helpful. The arrival of a set of headlights onto the drive cut short his deliberations.

"I'll escort you to the cab," he offered.

The stroll was relaxed, as they exchanged meaningless small talk to fill the time. He opened the cab door for Jenna and, as she turned to say goodnight, he lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed it.

"Tonight has been a real pleasure," he said, and she smiled appreciatively.

"I've enjoyed it. You've been a good friend and perfect gentleman tonight."

He felt slightly embarrassed. Back in the UK no-one had ever been able to accuse him of being a good friend, even less a gentleman.

"You do realise the next time I see a nurse I'll think it's you, haunting me into returning to Vancouver," he said, and she laughed loudly.

They stood for several awkward seconds before he plucked the courage to lean forward and kiss her cheek. He stepped away as she lowered her svelte frame into the car. Matt was about to close the door when Jenna's face suddenly re-appeared. She placed a piece of paper into his hand and then reached up and hugged him before re-entering the cab and lowering the window.

"Perhaps we'll meet again some other day, when you're not playing gooseberry," she quipped, and it made him smile.

"Good night, Jenna," he said as the window closed and the vehicle moved slowly away down the gravel drive.

Her departure brought home the isolation and loneliness he felt. This was to be his future. A few snatched hours of human companionship, here and there and only every now and again. But it could never be any more than that.

Chapter Ten

Victoria

Once his eyes had welcomed in the morning Matt clasped his hands together and placed them behind his head. The outside sun was trying furiously to burst its way into the room from the other side of the curtains. Reaching up a hand he tugged one open, and daylight invaded the room with bright sunshine. As he cradled his head in the palms of his hands Matt looked up at the ceiling to see a large, full bodied spider making its way across the surface.

"Morning, Tillman."

The spider scurried away and he chuckled. He'd spotted the beast on the first night deciding to leave it as the bloody thing looked ready for a fight; too big and scary to pick up and put outside. Besides, who else did he have to talk to? He pictured his eventual interrogation. They would demand to know who knew about the files. Tillman, he would be tortured into admitting. Now that would cause a stir.

His thoughts drifted back to last night. The piece of paper Jenna had given him held a note of her telephone number and a scribbled bit of text which read, in case you ever come back to Vancouver.

Matt had warmed to her to the point of worrying about her lifestyle. Jenna had got caught up in the never-ending trap of working every hour God sends just to stand still. She deserved better from life. He wished there was some way he could help. Had he been living a normal life then he might have been better placed to support her.

But a normal life was beyond him now. He was a fugitive on the run. Matt couldn't hang around in Vancouver because he'd stayed here before, thereby leaving an earlier paper trail for them to follow. If they were still trying to trace him, this would be one of the places they would ultimately search. Matt decided to keep her number though, for he was sure he would like to meet up with Jenna again. He didn't know when, or if, it was ever going to be possible.

About a hundred yards after leaving the hotel Matt stopped in his tracks and looked around the immediate vicinity. No-one seemed to be following him. One part of his mind rejoiced in this feeling of freedom, the other cautioned him to continue to be wary and remain on guard at all times.

He'd considered catching the ferry then decided, if they were looking for him over on the west coast, they would surely be checking the terminal at Tsawwassen. The brief mental debate resulted in the decision to walk down the inclined pavement to the harbour, where he could see two floatplane terminals.

As he approached the first he could tell it belonged to a large operator. There were at least three sizeable looking sleek white planes moored behind a large sign, giving the name of the company. The employees standing inside the office were dressed in expensive looking uniforms talking amongst each other. Matt concluded they would probably keep records. He decided to walk on.

The next was anything but a large operator terminal. The burly man with the gingery brown full head of hair watched as Matt neared. Dressed in a light blue jacket and dark blue trousers, a uniform of sorts, his arms were crossed under his ribs, resting on the protruding stomach slightly bulging over the top of his trousers. His grey eyes fixed upon Matt.

"What time do you fly?" asked Matt.

"What time do you want to fly?" was the gruff reply.

"Oh, I thought you would have set times or something."

"We're an air taxi lad. We come and go when the punter asks us to," he said, again a gruff tone in his voice.

"Victoria?" asked Matt.

"One hundred and thirty dollars," replied the man.

"Good enough," said Matt. "Can I sit up front?"

"That's an extra twenty dollars."

"You must live well," said Matt, smiling, "I'm trying to work my way across Canada."

The man slowly looked Matt up and down. There wasn't much to this young, confident man with the disarming smile. Certainly below six feet tall with a slender build, there was not much appearance of muscle on his frame either.

"Not enough meat on you, lad, to work your way around this country."

He continued to inspect Matt's slim frame. Then his face broke out into a large grin.

"One hundred and thirty it is then," he confirmed, nodding Matt towards the door of the yellow painted seaplane.

Matt counted eight green cloth seats in the main fuselage behind the pilot, and was curious as to why the man was happy to take him to Victoria on his own. Hardly economical, he mused, clambering into the tight fitting space of the cockpit.

A few minutes later and the single engine plane had ferried out into the bay, ready for take-off. The pilot had a good look around and then checked the sky above, to make sure there would be no obstacles in their path.

Matt gripped each side of the small seat, the noise of the engine filling his ears and the smell of the fuel invading his nostrils. The pilot, glancing sideways, saw Matt's grip tighten and smiled as he pushed the throttle back. The engine roared at the lapping waves and then the machine jerked suddenly forward.

Picking up speed the plane skimmed the flat surface of the water and, within a minute or so, the floats had lifted from the sea and the plane rose sharply into the sky. Matt released his grip as the pilot glanced back at him.

"Take offs eh!" he said

"And landings," confirmed Matt. "They both give me the jitters."

The man chortled loudly, his hands manipulating the controls to level the plane.

"Stanley Park is coming up below us," he said, as the plane banked round to its left and headed out of the harbour area.

Matt looked down at the large forested island seemingly glued on to the end of the main bay. It was inhabited by huge, tall trees rising from the ground, reaching up into the sky as the plane banked gently right.

"I'll take yur over the bridge," said the pilot. "It's called the Lions Gate Bridge," he continued. "After 'the Lions', the two mountain peaks north of Vancouver."

They crossed the path of the huge suspension bridge at the same time a blue and white hulled cruise ship squeezed itself underneath the massive structure.

"Pretty impressive eh?" said the man.

Matt had to agree. The natural beauty of the Park, linked to West Vancouver by the Lions Gate, was a monument to man's ingenuity in bridging the void between mankind and nature. A few moments longer and they were headed over the inland sea towards the southern gulf islands.

The pilot took another glance at the passenger, curious of his fare.

"There's likely one of three reasons a lad yur age is doing what yur doing," he said.

"What would they be?" asked Matt.

"Yur could be running from a woman," the pilot gently enquired, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon.

"No, no woman involved."

"A bad debt?" asked the pilot.

"Never lend or borrow is what my Dad used to say."

A brief pause ensued.

"And the third?" asked Matt curiously.

"Must be the law, then," was the pilot's answer.

Another pause followed.

"Third strike and out!" countered the passenger.

He knew he didn't have to say anything but Matt didn't feel at all uncomfortable talking to this gruff, burly man.

"I'm Jack," said the pilot introducing himself.

"Matt," was the reply.

Jack crossed his right arm over his left and shook the passenger's hand vigorously.

"Yur can see the ferry port at Tsawwassen to yur left now," Jack pointed out.

Matt turned his head and saw the large terminal glistening in the sun. A white ferry was headed into the docking area, and a second was about to depart the other way. The sky was light blue, virtually cloudless. In contrast the calm sea below was coloured a dark blue, dotted with a number of differently sized vessels making their measured way across the inland sea separating the land masses.

"What kind of work do yur do?" asked Jack.

"Anything really," was Matt's reply, "anything, more or less."

"Are yur stronger than yur look?" grinned the pilot.

"I've done some weights," said Matt defensively.

"Dirt bother yur?" continued the older man.

"Not especially, got something in mind?"

"It's the tourist season. There's always a lot to do in town keeping those monkeys happy," he bellowed, and Matt gave him an acknowledged smile. "Yur got anywhere to stay?" asked Jack, to which the younger man shrugged.

"How do you get to fly one of these things?" asked Matt. "Looks like fun."

"Seventy hours flying time," shouted Jack above the noisy engine, "and yur gotta be a Canadian citizen so's yur can get a licence!" he bellowed loudly, clearly amused by his own unique sense of humour.

By now, they had reached the Southern Gulf Islands. Matt looked down at the dark green covered landscapes below him, barely habitable. Dotted along the shores were isolated numbers of houses built into the forest edges, and one of the white ferries was weaving its way through the dark channels between the islands.

"Awesome," said Matt out loud. "A man could live here all his life and never tire of the natural beauty all around him. No wonder you Canadians keep it to yourselves."

The pilot took the plane around the toe of Vancouver Island before levelling the yellow flying machine. He readied to make his descent into the wide mouth of the estuary, leading to Victoria, the capital city of Vancouver Island.

"This is the outer port," said Jack as they made their way. "We're headed for the inner harbour."

Matt could see a narrow opening leading into a large oblong shaped mass of water, possibly one to two miles wide. The plane passed the opening and gently fell upon the water then ferried towards the long stretch of land ahead.

"There she is, the Inner Harbour," informed Jack.

To their right was a small, walled port area where a variety of cruiser boats were moored to wooden jetties. Over the road in front sat the imposing Fairmont Empress hotel. The wide massive structure, built at the height of British colonial power in the region, completely dominated the harbour front. Matt had popped into the hotel on his one day trip here a couple of years ago. It had been extended and modernised over the years but retained many of its original features and proudly boasted of the retention of its old British customs, such as afternoon tea and scones served at four each afternoon. Further to the right was a long building set away from the harbour in a park like space, the middle of which housed a large green dome-like structure.

"The Parliament building," said Jack. "Pretty as a picture when lit up at night, from one end to the other."

As they neared the central harbour side Matt caught sight of the floatplane mooring terminals, some several hundred yards or so away to the left. The first set of structures clearly belonged to the large operator he had first seen in Vancouver, judging by the large sign and sleek white planes. Beyond lay a smaller wooden jetty, with a cabin office set away from the waterside. Jack taxied the plane towards those moorings. As the plane drifted against the buoys, a young man snared it to the land with a rope.

Matt clambered out first so his case could be handed down to him by the pilot. Jack followed him out and went to help the young man struggling with the mooring rope.

"Well done, Johnny, yur starting to get the hang of this."

Moving out of the shadow of the wing both men blinked as the sunshine hit their faces. It was then they noticed the small figure in front. Using their hands to shield their eyes from the sunlight, Jack recognised the figure immediately.

"Hello, Missy," he bellowed. "Yur beginning to weaken to the old Carter charm, I can tell."

The small young woman smiled weakly in return. It was the smile of a woman needing help and assistance, but a thank you was as much as she was prepared to offer in settlement.

Matt couldn't help but hold her steady gaze as she looked over Jack's shoulder at the new face behind. Her porcelain coloured skin was the first thing to strike him, rather than the dark rimmed glasses protecting her soft brown eyes. Matt's open smile caught her gaze.

This new man's face was longer than it was wider. His light brown hair had been pushed back behind the ears, the length disguising the fact his ears were a little longer than average. His manner seemed confident and friendly, betraying no sense of apprehension or caution about meeting someone for the first time.

"This is my new buddy, Matt. He's come to help us both this summer," said Jack excitedly.

Her smile widened revealing the dimples in her cheeks, temporarily detracting Matt's attention from her slim, pinkish lips.

"I'm Grace," she introduced holding out a small, dainty hand.

"Matt," said his softly spoken voice through a healthy smile. "Matt Durham."

The shake was no more than a soft touching of hands, but warm and welcoming.

"So, how are you going to help us Matt?" she asked of the stranger.

"Any way I can," he replied. "You name it, I'll do it."

"Careful!" she laughed. "That sort of offer could land you in big trouble."

Her comment brought a grin to the faces of the two men, knowing she had not meant the quip in quite the way they had interpreted it.

The group of three walked towards the small cabin office on the harbour side. Jack had his arm resting lightly over the small woman's shoulders while Matt followed obediently from behind.

"What can I do for yur?" asked the burly man.

"I'm sorry to bother you Jack, and I know you're really busy, but I think Holly is right about getting someone to work on site for me."

"So yur want me working at yur bar as well as running me own businesses!" he boomed loudly, amused by his own unique sense of humour.

"No, it's not what I meant," she said, taking his comment with a greater degree of seriousness than he had intended.

Realising her discomfort he pressed her shoulder firmly to pull her body against his masculine frame, as if providing shelter from some imaginary rain. Watching from behind, it was obvious to Matt the woman in the billowy white skirt and loose-fitting black t-shirt was uncomfortable with the enforced proximity of her body to Jack's.

"I'm not being serious, Missy. What is it exactly yur have in mind?"

"I thought if I could get the small room on the top floor ready then I might be able to employ a resident handyman, someone to do all the heavy work around the place," she said. "I try, but some of the things are so ..."

Jack squeezed her even closer to him.

"Hush, Missy, I think I've found the perfect solution. We'll talk it through over a coffee."

He turned to the young girl in the cabin office and spoke as they walked by.

"Donna, if anyone comes tell them the pilot's on a half hour break," and he tightened his hold of Grace's shoulder.

"Matt," he continued. "As yur got the cheap rate for the flight over, I reckon yur should pay Grace for her wonderful coffee."

The small woman took the opportunity to stop walking and turn around to the new man, extricating her body from Jack's grip in the process.

"Is that okay with you?" she asked politely.

Matt nodded and gently pushed his way between them as he stepped forward, creating a temporary barrier between the two.

"Just point the way," was his smiling reply.

He turned to the right to look at Jack's now furrowed face and grinned. Then he moved his smiling face to look in Grace's direction and she mouthed a thank you back at him. Matt ushered her to the front. She led the two men to the right, up the gentle ramp like paved incline towards the road. They might have taken the steep steps to their left but this would have led them slightly further away from their ultimate destination, a white stoned building on the corner of the street ahead, some two or three hundred yards away. Before his new elder friend could begin to catch up with Grace, Matt engaged him in conversation.

"So how many years have you been flying aeroplanes then, Jack?"

The burly Canadian's expression represented a picture of disappointment as he replied to Matt's question, his brain still trying to work out how the love of his life had escaped from his grasp. As the two men talked, Grace turned round and smiled broadly at the younger man.

Grace placed the tray onto the oblong shaped wooden table and sat on the chair between the two men. They watched as she poured the freshly made coffee into each of the three mugs and topped them up with milk.

Matt was entranced by the subtle gliding movement of her feet as she walked, like she was pushing her tiny feet through beach sand. He noticed her small hands and even tinier wrists, so thin he expected them to snap in two from the weight of the coffee jar.

Jack was the first to add sugar, pouring three heaped spoonfuls into the mug and stirring vigorously. Matt offered the sugar bowl to Grace. She declined with a bright smile and he tipped a half measure into his mug with the other teaspoon.

In answer to Grace's questions Matt explained he came from a small town in England. After leaving public service he had set up his own business before selling out to pay off his debts, deciding to spend his new freedom travelling the world as much on impulse as anything else.

Matt related his story with humility and dry humour, in typical British self-deprecation. Grace quickly warmed to the stranger. Jack was charmed too, but the clock was running. He gently tapped the watch on his wrist and glanced across to her.

"I'm sorry, Jack, you came to help me and here I am talking to your new friend instead. You said you had a solution?" she asked him.

Jack got straight to the point.

"I need labour, yur need labour, and he needs to labour,"

Jack chuckled, pointing to the Englishman. "He also needs somewhere to stay but, by the sound of it, he's got no cash to pay for a roof over his head," he added.

Matt grinned sheepishly, in embarrassing agreement with Jack's assessment. He glanced towards Grace to gauge her reaction. She cocked her head to the side and smiled at him, conscious of his uneasiness.

"It seems to me, Missy," Jack continued. "He can work for me during the day and then he can work here in the evenings."

He pompously straightened his posture before continuing.

"I can pay the beggar in cash and yur, because yur business needs to build up cash flow, can give him a roof over his head. Like the small room on the top floor." he explained.

Grace's eyes lit up, realising the breathtaking simplicity of Jack's cunning plan.

"This way," the Canadian added "yur get the help yur need at no cost. I get the help I need for the summer, off the books so to speak. In return, Matt gets a place to stay and a bit of cash to visit the rest of the world once we're done with him."

Like a proud peacock Jack thrust out his chest to underline the obvious attraction of his own ingenuity. He chortled loudly in triumph.

"That's quite brilliant, Jack," she said teasingly, "except for possibly one thing."

It was like pricking an overblown balloon with a sharp pin, Jack's pumped out chest deflated in an instant. Crestfallen, he muttered, almost to himself,

"What, what have I forgotten?"

"Matt!" said Grace playfully. "You've forgotten to ask Matt!"

"Oh!" he said, suddenly feeling slightly silly.

"Well, Matt," said Grace. "It's down to you. What do you think of Jack's rather bold and brilliant idea?"

She looked at him through soft brown eyes and a wide smile bringing a surge of relief to his beleaguered soul.

"Tough choice," he replied, "I could probably do with a job and I don't have anywhere to stay, though this might be because I snore a lot." he said, with a deadpan expression.

Grace, recognising the wit, burst into a hearty laugh whilst Jack looked bemused until he caught on. Jack knew he'd come up with a simple, brilliant plan. Somehow though, it had lost the feeling of being his special moment of triumph with which to impress the landlady.

Grace extended her slender arm and asked Matt to shake on it before either of them changed their mind. It was an offer no man in his right mind could possibly refuse he had replied, adding that as soon as they had finished coffee he'd park his gear and start on whatever needed doing to the room.

As the two new acquaintances continued to laugh and share jokes Jack sensed a bond had been forged, and regretted it immediately.

The gentle knock preceded Grace's voice coming through the slightly ajar wooden door.

"Matt, I've brought you a coffee. You've been working non-stop for hours. I thought you English people believed in taking regular breaks," she said mischievously.

"When in Rome," he said. "I assumed you were expecting me to work North American hours."

She laughed at his dry humour.

"It is half a sugar you take isn't it?"

"Yes, thanks," he said stepping down from the ladder."

She watched as he descended to the floor, paintbrush in hand, his slim and naked upper torso dotted with spatters of white paint. She noticed the succession of dark marks on his forearms, almost tattoo like in their patterns.

"Oh Matt, what happened to your arms?"

It was too late to conceal them from view.

"They're fine, honestly," he blurted in hurried explanation.

"Let me see."

"Grace, they're really are okay."

"Don't be silly. Even I can recognise heavy bruising when I see it. Now let me have a look."

Reluctantly, he surrendered up his limbs for inspection. She took several minutes to examine the injuries, noticing Matt wince when she pressed at the edges of the dark masses.

"How on earth did this happen?"

"Something heavy fell across them, shortly before I left the UK a few days ago," he said somewhat defensively.

Grace looked into his face, shook her head in open disbelief and her face produced a worried frown.

"They need to be strapped," she insisted.

"No, they'll be fine in a couple more days."

"Matt, this is very deep bruising. If you had been middle-aged, instead of a young man, then whatever was behind the force of this accident could easily have broken some bones. They need to be attended to or you won't last long working for Jack. The work at the jetty is heavy and manual."

She looked at him to imply she wasn't prepared to argue the case, and he meekly nodded.

"Wait here," she ordered, and disappeared from the room, returning laden with all manner of medical supplies.

Grace tended to each arm in turn, anointing the bruises with a soft cold liquid gel and then wrapping the bandages tightly around each injury. Her touch was soft and gentle, the lightest he had ever felt from a woman. Matt gazed upon her intently as she busied herself with the task at hand. Every now and then she would look up and smile in reassurance.

"How come you know about this stuff?" he asked.

"I did First Aid training a few years ago. It's always come in handy from time to time, which is lucky for you," she smiled warmly.

"Will you tell Jack?"

Grace shook her head and smiled again.

"Not as long as you let me keep on top of this. It will take more than a few days for them to properly heal."

"Okay," he said. "What's the price of your silence?"

She laughed loudly.

"There's no price, silly. We're nice people in Victoria."

And she was nice, very nice. Matt found himself warming to the small, porcelain coloured doll of a woman. When he first arrived this morning his immediate future was anything but certain. Now, by pure chance, he had a roof over his head and work to occupy his mind.

You do move in mysterious ways, he thought, glancing through the window and up into the sky outside.

Chapter Eleven

A New Life

Grace took a deep breath and turned to the eight staff assembled behind. Matt, replete with long sleeved red linen shirt to match the attire of the others, stood at the front.

"This is it everybody, ready!"

A collective applause broke out and they cheered and hollered as she reached for the handle with her dainty hands and pulled the door open. A mass of people stood outside and they too, started to clap and cheer, whooping with delight. Standing at the head of the throng was Jack, armed with a magnum of champagne.

"I know, I know," he said. "Yur sell alcohol but hey, this is yur opening night Missy and yur should enjoy every minute."

His face broke out into a large grin and bent his huge frame to kiss her cheek.

"Stand back everybody!" he yelled to the queue outside. In a single movement of his arms, he shook the bottle and then popped the cork, spreading the frothy champagne far and wide over the waiting masses and they cheered again.

"The first drink on these premises has to be yurs," he said gleefully, handing it to Grace.

The frothy bottle dwarfed her tiny frame and she struggled to keep a hold as she raised it to her thin lips. She attempted to gracefully sip at the rim, taking what she believed to be a small mouthful of champagne.

The bubbly alcohol pushed its way out of the neck of the bottle and spilled over her mouth, ran down her slender jaw and dripped onto the newly laid carpet. Determined not to be beaten she raised the bottle once more to her mouth.

More cheers followed as champagne showered the rest of her face, covering her glasses with froth and dampening her newly ironed white blouse. She stood back from the bottle, spluttering to regain her breath, shakily handing it back to Jack. He followed her inside, leading the orderly and good-natured crowd behind him. While the staff hurriedly began to take the first food and drink orders of the night, Matt took his position behind the bar. Jack perched himself onto a stool close to where Grace stood, wiping the champagne from her face and blouse with a small towel. With a broad smile, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"Yur deserve this," he said, "It's gonna be a humdinger of an opening night and yur'll make a small fortune from this crowd," he added.

"I couldn't have done this without you, Jack," she replied smiling back at him. "If you hadn't volunteered to put in those extra hours the place would never have been ready on time. Your drinks are on me tonight, a token of gratitude."

"Why thank you, Missy. I promised the place would be ready on time when I first quoted for the work, and I always keep my word. Anyway, it was more a labour of love as far as I was concerned."

Jack held his gaze but she quickly turned away to watch the room fill up. Grace's eyes circled the downstairs area of the pub with pride, looking at all of the happy smiling people sitting at the real wood tables. Candles flickered at each one, bouncing the light off the newly decorated reddish interior. Combined with the glow of the softly-lit wall fittings the whole effect threw dashes of light across the faces of the customers. It gave an ambience of the intimacy and warmth she had envisaged in her mind, how she'd hoped the opening night would look.

"Got another present for yur, Missy," said Jack, producing a photograph of Grace from the deep side pocket of his desert jacket. Roughly eight by six, it was framed within a slim gold coloured border. "It's to go above the bar," he said, "I got the camera guy from the Vancouver Sun to give me a copy of the picture he took of yur for the editorial, and had it framed."

"Thank you, it's a very sweet thing to do," she replied, placing the frame on the bottom shelf of upturned glasses.

She leaned forward and pecked his roughly hewn cheek in gratitude, discreetly and speedily withdrawing from his reach. Jack leaned towards her.

"Yur got green eyes," he said. "I never noticed them before Missy."

"It's the light Jack," she responded patiently. "My eyes are brown."

He peered closer at her slender face, covered by shoulder-length dark brown hair. Almost black at first sight, it was well brushed though not particularly styled. Her dark-rimmed glasses dominated the top half of her features, highlighting the pale complexion which gave Grace a China doll look.

"Brown it is," he said. "Maybe it's me who needs glasses."

She smiled patiently, the loneliness of his existence evident in the grey eyes. Jack mulled over how to frame his next sentence when a statuesque woman's shape joined them.

"Looks like it's going very well, Grace," she said, entering the conversation.

Holly had become the owner's best friend in the few short months Grace had been on the island. She was all Grace was not. A picture of manicured perfection, the plentiful make-up and bottled blonde long tresses were shaped to sit perfectly around Holly's lean face. Her Amazonian stature, long legs and striking bosom left her rarely short of male admirers. She was a 'trophy gal', according to Jack.

"Thanks, Holly. You don't fancy getting your hands dirty do you? Serving or the kitchen perhaps?" asked Grace.

"In these nails?" was the instant response. Holly raised her hands to show off the brightly red painted false nails.

"Perhaps not then," laughed Grace.

Jack knew his chance had gone.

"My table should be ready now," he said to Grace, "I'll go and sit myself down."

He stepped off the bar stool and walked his burly frame towards the two-seat table by the window. Jack had hand picked this table, the best in the house, hoping Grace would join him later. With Holly here, there was little chance Grace would be on her own for the rest of the night. Whilst not the best looking man on the island Jack had money, from his building and air taxi businesses, and considered himself to be generous. Grace would surely realise, eventually.

Another time, he thought.

Holly smirked gleefully at Grace.

"Saved you there, then," she giggled childishly. "Just in time too, by the way he was leaning towards you."

"Don't be cruel," said Grace. "Really, Holly, Jack has many good qualities about him."

"Such as?" was the curious response.

"Such as he would never, ever let anyone down," said Grace in defence of her roughly hewn friend.

"You mean he would never let you down," laughed Holly. "You must know he's got the absolute shakes for you."

"Holly!"

"Everyone else can see, and you're not completely stupid. You know how he feels about you."

"Holly, stop it. Jack is one of the best friends you could possibly have. He's very loyal and caring," insisted Grace.

"So is a dog," was Holly's reply.

Grace smacked her female companion's arm with a half clenched fist, in feigned disgust at her unkindness.

"Even pets have feelings," said Grace, "Oh, now look what you've made me say. Jack deserves better. I'm so ashamed of myself!" she exclaimed, holding her hands to her pristinely white cheeks.

Holly giggled loudly at her friend's indiscreet remark and instant self-rapprochement, causing some of the surrounding customers to look to see what was going on. Grace's cheeks reddened with embarrassment. Holly giggled even louder, adding to Grace's discomfort.

She was about to chastise Holly further when she felt the young, tall man with blonde hair brush by behind her.

"How is it going upstairs, Tim?"

"Like clockwork," he replied, busying himself with lifting a drinks order from the bar.

She offered to help but he told her not to worry, the staff had everything in hand. Grace noticed Matt wiping the wooden surface with a towel.

"Are you managing to keep up?"

"Walk in the park," he replied.

"Hello," said the tall woman standing next to his boss.

Matt smiled without making any direct response to the owner of the unnaturally husky voice.

"Holly, this is Matt. He's my new resident handyman."

"Oh really," she remarked, edging her impressive bosom towards him. "And just what exactly are you handy at?"

Matt smiled in amusement at Grace's horrified expression before glancing back to her tall friend.

"A bit of this and a bit of that," he replied with a grin. "I'm mostly better at this rather than that."

"And what exactly is this and that?"

"Serving time as a rule," he shrugged. "Probably explains why I'm so comfortable behind bars."

Holly singularly failed to appreciate the humour, her face a picture of horrified bemusement. He could see Grace's eyes widen, and then smile. Matt's attention was drawn away by Tim, returning for another round of customer's drinks, and he moved away to set about preparing the sizeable order.

"He's a bit of a strange one, very odd," remarked Holly. "Where on earth do you find these waifs and strays?"

"You think any man not immediately attracted to your boobs is a bit strange," replied Grace.

"Well they are pretty impressive. How could he not notice them?"

Grace laughed at her friend looking admiringly upon her own chest.

"Matt will be fine. He's already shown hard work isn't a problem."

"Do I detect a little bit of interest there?"

Grace laughed again.

"No, not like that," she smiled. "I just think he'll fit in well, be good to have around."

"Be careful, Grace. There are some real weird people in the world today. For all you know he could be a mass murderer. I'd be a little nervous about having this guy living under the same roof as me."

"You worry too much."

A voice called from behind.

"Grace, there's a telephone call for you," called Tim.

"Who is it?"

"Didn't catch the name, but he's got a loud voice."

Grace looked puzzled

"Okay, I'll take it," she said.

The time approached midnight when Grace locked the front door. She turned to see Matt busying himself with replacing the washed glasses to the shelves above the bar. A few steps later and she had joined him.

"It's okay," he said. "You get up to bed. I can take care of things down here."

"No, I can't leave you on your own. Besides, you're going to have to be up at the crack of dawn to start work for Jack."

"Grace, everything is fine. You've had an eventful and tiring day. The rest will do you good. Go on, get yourself upstairs."

She stood for a few moments and watched.

"Holly is not as forward as she pretends," said Grace.

"Seems like a real handful your friend, in more ways than one."

"So you did notice?"

"How could anyone not? She uses the bloody things as a pair of weapons."

His words made Grace laugh out loud, knowing exactly what he meant. Holly's unique assets often diverted attention from her true personality.

"Don't be fooled by the bravado. Holly is quite a sensitive and caring person once you get to know her."

He glanced across.

"If you say so," he grinned. "I'll try and keep an open mind, though I suspect I'll have to keep the window shut tonight for fear she'll fly into to my room in the dead of night and try and suffocate me with her breasts."

She laughed again. Though they had only recently met, she felt comfortable with this new man. Not in the slightest bit threatened by his presence. Grace disappeared for a few short minutes and returned to present him with an unmarked, white plastic bag.

"I bought you a present," she said.

He stopped abruptly, clearly surprised. She handed him the bag and he lifted out the contents. Inside were a number of red, long-sleeved shirts.

"I'm pretty sure they are the right size," she said. "They all have long sleeves, to cover the bandages on your arms when you're working. You can't wear the same shirt every night. Well, you could, but you might start to smell a little."

Matt was touched. Although she had done this purely to help him fit in with the rest of the team, he regarded it as a thoughtful gesture on her part.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, silly," she smiled. "I'm just looking after my employees. They are the most important part of any business, as you would well know from running your own company back in the UK."

Matt didn't know, having never once made any kind of openly supportive gestures towards his own employees. He'd been far too cold and aloof for that.

"Thank you."

"I think I will turn in," she said. "See you tomorrow night, after you've finished work for Jack. Remember to shower when you get in and I'll reset the bandages."

Grace raised herself up on her tiptoes and pecked at his cheek, smiling as she sank back down to her feet.

"I'm pleased you're here," she said.

"Good night," he replied as she headed up the stairs.

Thirty minutes passed before Matt got to his room. Built for a single occupant there was enough space for a small double bed, pushed up against the window to the right. A small, slim wardrobe filled the opposite wall accompanied by a two-drawer desk armed with a wicker chair. He headed to the drawers and found the memory sticks and then retrieved the laptop from the wardrobe. Matt stood for several seconds, and then replaced everything. It had been so long since he had done any manual work and his body was tired, too tired to bother with the memory sticks tonight. He undressed and climbed into bed.

Matt rose early to make sure he would be at the jetty in good time, determined to make the best possible impression. The additional research he should have done last night would have to wait. He had decided the immediate priority should be to prove his worth to Jack and Grace. This way he could keep a temporary roof over his head, and earn some much needed income in the process.

The jetty was stationed about five hundred yards to the right of the main inner harbour front, out of immediate eyesight of the tourists thronging the inner harbour, which was a good thing. Unless someone was actively looking for a person matching his description, Matt could work in relative obscurity during the day. Who was going to notice an ordinary young man labouring at the harbour?

Jack quickly spotted the bandages on the Englishman's arms.

"What are they for?"

"Sweatbands, I'm guessing it's going to be very hot work down here."

"It's a funny place to have sweatbands."

"Each of us has our own way flight master," he replied dryly.

Matt spent the early part of the day cleaning the two floatplanes. He tidied the inside of litter and vacuumed the floor and seats. Once completed, he used the hose to wash down the outside fuselage and rub away the dead insects glued to the yellow surface. On the first occasion he had to pull a plane to the jetty with the rope, to moor it securely, he couldn't manage on his own because of the injuries to his arms. The machine was so damned heavy Jack had to give him a hand.

"Thought yur said yur had done weights, lad," said Jack amused by his young companion's struggle.

"Light weights," was his deadpan reply.

He understood now why Grace had insisted upon the tight strapping to his arms. Without these dressings he would have failed miserably to negotiate his way through the first morning. Surprisingly though, Matt enjoyed the exertions of his role. Though physically demanding he felt fit, healthy and alive.

It all felt so different to his past existence. The clean odourless air and bright sunny day was a million miles away from the grey weather, clogged road arteries and unhealthy atmosphere of the UK. Somehow, this place was beginning to feel like home.

Jack returned from his first excursion to Vancouver having only carried a single passenger each way. The operator a little further down the jetty meanwhile, had a queue of people lined up to board. For an entrepreneur Jack hadn't seemed to grasp the concept of economies of scale, and Matt wondered why. He plucked up the courage to question the Canadian.

"Sam, that's why," he replied gruffly.

Matt frowned with confusion.

"Who's Sam?" he asked.

"The pilot who quit so he could go and work for those bastards down there," he said pointing to the large operator. "No loyalty, no loyalty at all," Jack moaned. "Yur give people a start in life by teaching them how to fly, and they just turn their backs on yur at the next best offer. I know why they did it, took Sam on. They're trying to put the squeeze on. Take my business away."

Jack was clearly 'old school,' operating to a set of business morals that no longer existed in the modern world. In his eyes a person stayed with his employer through thick and thin, working until you dropped to provide for your family without complaint. Matt seized upon the opportunity.

"Why don't you teach me to fly?"

Jack cocked his head and glared at the young Englishman.

"Bollocks, lad; yur not even a Canadian, how would you expect me to get yur licensed properly?"

"Jack, look at those queues over there. How much longer do you possibly believe you can survive without another pilot? So I wouldn't be licensed. Who's going to find out?"

The burly man looked him up and down, uncertain as to how to respond. Matt believed he had caused the Canadian to at least give the matter some thought.

"And another thing," said Matt. "I've been looking at their flight schedules. Those people standing there are going to have to wait for another forty minutes for the next flight. They'd rather wait because they have no idea what your flight patterns are. There isn't one shred of information around here to tell anybody when you fly or how much it will cost."

Jack sort of sneered and stormed off to get a coffee. He returned with two plastic cups, one for Matt.

"People think flying is easy to learn," he said gruffly.

"If it was easy there would be hundreds of operators down here," Matt replied.

The Canadian turned his gaze towards his competitors.

"I thought it was the new machines," he said. "These days, people seem to prefer sleek and smart to practical."

Matt spotted the megaphone by the side of the cabin.

"Wait here," he said.

Jack watched as Matt strode across and put the object to his mouth, directing the open end to the patiently waiting queue.

"The next Carter Travel flight leaves in five minutes," he called. "Prices start from a hundred dollars one way to Vancouver, one hundred and eighty for a return. Management apologises to all travellers for the delay in receiving information leaflets, which should be with us tomorrow."

Matt placed the megaphone back onto the ground, making sure he kept his back to the queue.

"No matter what happens," he said to Jack. "You are going to take off in five minutes, with or without passengers. Now, tell me what's happening."

"Sup up," said Jack. "We're going to be busy."

"Right, before you go. Give me some cash and I'll get a few leaflets and a sign printed for when you get back."

Jack pulled out a battered leather wallet from his trouser pocket, noticeably worn and misshapen at the edges. Matt swore he heard it creak as the Canadian flipped it open.

"Uh oh," said Jack. "We're about to get a visit from one of our competitors, not looking at all happy with yur little stunt."

"You get the passengers on board. I'll see to him."

"It's a she, devil troll. Jesus she looks pissed."

"Better get on board quick then," said Matt.

Jack disappeared towards the plane as Matt turned to see the tall, short-haired figure striding purposefully towards him. Her face was red with thunder, contrasting with the navy blue skirt and white blouse of her uniform. The dark, narrow eyes looked set to burst from their sockets and assault Matt's face like a pair of enraged piranha fish. She was almost upon him when Matt raised his right hand.

"Sorry about the noise," he said. "I wasn't sure if it still worked. Do you think it disturbed anyone?" He looked around the harbour. "No, doesn't look like it. Must be just you then."

He was sure he saw her stamp her feet, much as bulls do before they angrily charge a waiting matador. Matt held his ground as her eyes fired imaginary missiles of death in his direction. Matt smiled politely. Then, with all the precision of a veteran soldier, she spun on her heels and stalked back from whence she came. Matt breathed a huge sigh of relief. God, she was a truly fearsome sight.

With the immediate danger over Matt turned his attention back to Jack, helping the passengers to board. Despite his employer's evident strength and vigour Matt marvelled at the way the big Canadian gently, and kindly, handled his human cargo. The fragility of the elderly and the delicacy of the young were treated with equal measure of respect and care. His rapport with these customers was instant.

Matt liked this gruff, rough no-nonsense bull of a man. He had overheard Holly poke fun at Jack's lumbering frame last night. She had been unkind.

Chapter Twelve

Settling

Matt settled quickly into his new routine. The daylight hours were filled working for Jack at his floatplane service. By night he worked for Grace at The Keg, her franchise pub restaurant. And he was occupied every day of the week. The work was mentally undemanding and remuneration sparse, the handicap of low paid employment, but it suited him. He had no time to spend money anyway, and therefore managed to save the major proportion of his lowly income.

In the UK his salary had been obscene, causing him to spend excessively and with wanton abandon. This gradual realisation of the gluttony of his past life humbled Matt. He'd almost forgotten about the bachelor pad and the plush office, the engineering excellence of his chosen form of transport. These images were now but distant memories of a life that had never really existed, a world from a different dimension and time.

Two weeks had passed without incident convincing him his pursuers had decided to give up the chase, though he had not completely forgotten. Each night after work he would take out one of the memory sticks from the desk drawer and leave it next to the laptop. Every time he would replace them almost immediately, in the drawer and wardrobe respectively. He told himself further investigation was no longer necessary. Matt was working and living with people he felt comfortable with, in an environment he found both relaxing and exhilarating at the same time. And with each passing day his fitness returned, courtesy of Grace's endless patience in applying her treatment at night. Life didn't get any better than this. So he put all of his energy into here, and now.

Best of all, the disturbing visions that had dominated his sleeping hours began to evaporate. He was gradually learning to relax, and this helped to slowly banish the horrors of the past from his mind.

Matt looked on as Grace unravelled the bandages from around his arms. This was one of those comfortable silent moments to their growing friendship. He sat quietly and watched intently as she tended to the bruising while Grace said nothing as she lightly applied the gel to his injuries, apparently lost to the acute concentration the treatment required. He decided to break with tradition and speak.

"Jack likes you," he said.

She was silent at first

"He thinks he does."

"Thinks?"

Again, she went temporarily silent. Her hands smoothed the sticky substance over his forearms and then gently massaged it into his skin. The manipulation of her fingers felt slightly different on this night to earlier occasions, moving further up his arms than before.

"Jack has lived alone for a long time," she said. "When I arrived on the island the loneliness was starting to play on his mind. I think he misinterpreted my appearance as some kind of divine intervention."

"Don't you like Jack?"

"He's a lovely guy. Far more thoughtful and considerate then he would have you, or anyone else for that matter, believe him to be."

"But?" said Matt.

"You don't really think we're compatible, do you?"

Now it was his turn to fall into contemplation, weighing up the personality traits he'd observed about the two of them.

"No," he replied.

She smiled.

"Holly would be a better match for Jack," she said.

"You are kidding!"

"Not at all," she said. "All Jack wants is someone to look after, whereas Holly searches for someone to look after her."

Once Grace had explained her thinking, it was blindingly obvious. Despite her frequent put downs of Jack, even Matt had noticed how she often touched at the burly Canadian's frame whenever he made her laugh. It caused him to think on the matter further.

"Grace, how would you feel about having a lock-in one night of the week, after everyone has gone home," he said. "On a Saturday say; you and me, and Jack and Holly."

She looked up into his face. He could see in her eyes her mind was toying with the suggestion. Then she smiled.

"I think you might just have come up with a very good idea."

"I'll organise it."

"No, it might be better if it came from me," she said. "It is my place after all," and she laughed gently.

Grace fell back into silence as she tightened the bandages. Matt kept his gaze fixed on her face, deep in concentration. There was something about her that drew him, though he had no idea what. He noticed her blink twice, so knew she was aware of him looking at her.

"Why Victoria, Grace?" he asked. "Why choose Victoria to settle down?"

"Ooh, let's see now," she said. "Probably for much the same reasons you're happy to stay here on the island."

"Me?"

"You don't have to be a rocket scientist to work it out," she laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"Victoria is the perfect escape from the real world. Not only is it a beautiful place to live, the people are mostly so wonderfully content. To live in here in Victoria is to be cocooned from mainstream society. It keeps people grounded, and real. I recognised it on my first visit and it was always eventually going to be my home."

"Wow, that's pretty profound," he replied.

"So profound, you've noticed it too. Leaving here after a few months won't come easy to you, Matt."

And she was right, he had noticed it. Grace was far more perceptive then he had realised. What intrigued him most about her explanation was her comment that living on the island represented an escape for her too. He wondered what she was hiding from.

"There is one thing I would change about Jack," she said.

"What?"

"Find a way to get him to stop calling me Missy."

Matt laughed out loudly.

"Yeah, and with me it would be lad," he chuckled.

"There," she said with a wide smile. "That will do for another night."

The next day Jack decided to treat Matt to a day in the air. He watched amusedly as the young man focussed his attention on every manipulation the Canadian made of the machine's flight controls. They had set off early, before the tourists rose from their comfortable beds, so Jack could familiarise Matt with the area. After circling Victoria the flight path extended to cover Sooke Harbour and Port Renfrew to the west, and then Swartz Bay and Nanaimo over to the east side. At Campbell River, Jack flew over the snow-capped mountains and the giant fjords, and then pointed out all the new housing developments that had sprang up on the islands over the last few years.

"Civilisation," Jack muttered darkly, "it will be the death of this place!"

Matt could see what he meant. The unspoiled beaches and the meandering rainforests of the islands represented pure, unspoilt beauty. But you didn't have to look far to see how the new housing developments had started to encroach upon the natural environment, stealthily edging and eroding their way into the landscape.

"I'll show yur something," Jack said on approaching Vancouver harbour. "Put these on," he added, as they neared the Lions Gate Bridge, and he handed Matt a pair of sunglasses.

Jack guided the plane down towards the sea before levelling out to about a hundred feet from the surface. The bridge was looming up fast in front of them when Jack suddenly pulled back on the controls and the plane rose sharply.

Just as Matt was beginning to wonder what on earth his friend was playing at, a sharp piercing light reflected from the steel bridge. The ray of light entered the cockpit, blinding Matt instantaneously despite the sunglasses.

"Jesus! What the hell was that?" he yelled to his chortling friend.

"Nobody knows," said Jack. "A certain time of the day at a certain point of the summer, for about three months solid, the sun catches the bridge and just blinds yur."

Matt was still trying to regain the focus in his eyes.

"Killed a pilot once, that sun," Jack added. "Didn't see it coming and flew straight into the park, down there," pointing to a spot close to the shore in Stanley Park. "Nearly got me the first time," Jack continued as the plane sailed over the bridge, "I wouldn't recommend yur try it lad, not even if yur had been flying for years."

A few minutes later the plane gently touched the water in the harbour and ferried towards the waiting passengers, with Jack still chortling at Matt's feverish attempts to try and regain focus in his eyes.

Despite Jack's oafish humour Matt appreciated the opportunity to accompany the Canadian over to Vancouver, a kindness the older man was not obliged to provide. The man may well be a little gruff and rough at the edges, but he had the most generous of hearts.

Life took another unexpected twist later in the day. Matt had taken a customer's order when he noticed Jack and Grace sharing a cosy drink at a window table. They motioned him over.

"Here, come and take the weight off your feet," said Grace, smiling as she poured him a glass of red wine.

"This looks like it could be trouble," said Matt. "Both of my employers locked together in a little secretive chinwag."

"Right, lad," Jack began, "Me and Grace have been having a little talk ..."

"I was right the first time," chipped in Matt. "This is going to be trouble."

Grace tapped his arm playfully and laughed.

"Of course it isn't. I've told you before, we're all nice people here in Victoria," and smiled warmly.

"We're agreed," said Jack, "if we keep working yur every day of the week then we'll wear yur out before the season ends. So we've decided to let yur have one day a week off, just to keep yur healthy."

Matt sat back in surprise. It was the last thing he'd expected them to say.

"So," continued Jack, "yur can have any day of the week yur choose as long as it isn't between Monday and Saturday."

"Sundays sounds pretty good," replied Matt, dryly.

"Deal," smiled Grace, raising her glass and tipping the edge against his glass.

"Hang on," said Matt, "what's today?"

"Friday, silly," laughed Grace.

"Is it alright if I make a quick call," he asked.

His two employers nodded in unison, their faces etched in curiosity. Matt made for the hallway to use the phone. Picking up the receiver in one hand, he unearthed the piece of paper from his pocket and started to dial.

He felt oddly nervous as he waited for an answer, full of anxiety in the hope she had not forgotten about him. The line picked up.

"Jenna? It's Matt. Matt Durham."

"Matt? Where are you?"

"Victoria. I took your advice and found some seasonal work over here. I wondered if you wanted to meet up some time, catch a movie or something, as long as we can meet on a Sunday."

"You mean this Sunday? Oh yeah, that would be great."

After agreeing to meet up at her apartment, Matt returned to the table to his two bemused employers.

"What's her name, lad?" asked Jack.

"Jenna," he smiled coyly. "I met her in Vancouver."

"Huh! Bit of a dark horse yur, lad"

Matt glanced across to Grace and was surprised to notice the smile had temporarily abandoned her china white face. She spotted him looking and the usual smile immediately re-appeared.

"Vancouver people are nice too," she said quietly.

The exchange of glances and her words took no more than a few seconds, yet in that short while Matt's own curiosity was aroused. It was out of character for Grace not to smile, even for a few moments. He hoped he hadn't inadvertently said, or done, something to offend her.

Chapter Thirteen

Day Trip

Matt arrived at the door of Jenna's wooden built bungalow shortly after nine in the morning. Armed with a bouquet in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other, he waited patiently for her to answer.

The door swung open and Jenna's tired, sleep filled face appeared, hair tousled into an erratic mess to complement the dark rings under her eyes.

"Oh Matt, I haven't tidied yet," she confessed through a horrified expression. "I must have accidentally dropped off."

"I can always come back later."

"No, no. You've come a long way to see me," she said, leading him inside. "It's my fault I'm not ready in time. Are those for me?"

"Yes. I thought I should bring something but couldn't make up my mind. What the hell, I thought; I might as well bring both."

Tears found their way into her almond shaped eyes and she began to cry. Instinctively, he laid the gifts on the side table and wrapped his arms around her.

"Hey, it's alright. What time did you finish?"

"Eight this morning," she sobbed. "I thought I would have enough time to clean up before you arrived but..."

"Hey, it's okay." he soothed.

Matt stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. She was near exhaustion. They stood motionless for a while until her tears subsided. His heart went out to the svelte shaped angel of mercy. Matt realised she was fit to drop and wished he'd left his visit for another day. It was in her nature to try and accommodate him, despite all the other demands upon her time and energy.

Tenderly, he lifted her frame in his arms and carried her from the hall into the main living area. Jenna's head rested against his chest as he located the long sofa, placed in front of the small screen television perched on the glass stand, and he eased them gently into position.

"You should have cancelled," he said. "You need sleep far more importantly than me turning up on your doorstep."

"They rang yesterday and asked if I could cover a night shift as overtime. Nights always pay well. I said yes thinking I would be okay for today. We were busy, one of those nights when we were constantly on our feet."

"Well, you can afford to put your feet up today."

"No, it's your day off and I promised to spend some time with you."

"Jenna, there'll be plenty of other Sundays. Anyway, as you've already said, it's my rest day too. I'll be perfectly happy to spend an easy day here with you."

The conversation relaxed into a lull. Matt continued to stroke gently at her hair and peck at the top of her head. After a while, he heard her breathing settle into a deep and regular rhythm. Jenna had drifted into a much needed sleep. He smiled at the situation. Though he'd been looking forward to spending this day with her, he understood his time would be better spent allowing her to rest in his arms.

After almost an hour she displayed no sign of immediate movement. He craned his head to look into her face and it was clear she was well gone, lost to unconsciousness. He decided the best thing to do was put Jenna to bed, and carried the light frame into the hall to search for her boudoir. Matt located the bathroom first, then the small dimensioned second bedroom. The next opening revealed his destination.

The struggle to lift back the covers of the double bed with his foot nearly had him collapsing into a heap on the floor but he managed, eventually. Laying her down, Matt considered the merits of undressing her outer garments.

Bending forward, his fingers touched at the plastic button of her blouse. Courage deserted him and he shot back up into an erect stance. He thought some more. Were Jenna to stir in the middle of this exercise, she was more than likely to regard him as possessing some sort of perversion. They barely knew each other, so to be caught undressing Jenna as she slumbered on her own bed could easily be misinterpreted.

He bent forward again. The first two buttons loosened and the blouse sprung open to reveal naked flesh. Matt jerked back into an upright position as if he'd been on the receiving end of an electric shock. Scratching at his jaw with indecision, he pondered on the dilemma. Did it really matter she slept fully clothed, he mused. Probably not he reasoned, though he never enjoyed the circumstance.

Boldness returned and he set about the task delicately, easing first one arm free then the other. He slid the jeans from her legs, and deposited them on the nearby wooden chair to accompany the discarded blouse. Matt gently rolled the covers back up over her underwear clad body and tucked the sheets into place.

She never moved.

He thought about returning to Victoria, only to decide there were things he could probably do around the house to help for her out.

Matt sought out the kitchen first, washed the breakfast dishes and then cleaned the benches using a pack of wipes he found in the cupboard. Once finished he moved from there into the bathroom, and then onto the living space. An aged vacuum proved a little temperamental and took its time to react to his instruction. Matt persevered, forcing the damn thing into successful obedience. The laundry machine seemed fairly straightforward, as long as he'd guessed correctly as to which were the soap powder and conditioner compartments. He hung the damp clothes onto the washing line in the small garden once the washing cycle completed.

By noon he had begun to feel peckish and re-entered the kitchen in search of sustenance, only to be greeted with a disappointing array of health foods. Unperturbed, he checked Jenna remained in a state of deep unconsciousness and then nipped down to a local shop he had spotted earlier. Armed with the necessary foodstuffs he returned to the house and made himself a thickly layered sandwich, which he devoured whilst reading the local paper he had also bought. Then he watched a bit of television.

The final credits of the afternoon weepy rolled up the screen. He'd seen it once before and it didn't upset him the first time. He felt no more involved on this occasion. It killed some time though. Rising from the sofa he spotted the opened mail on a side table and sauntered the few steps needed to reach them.

Matt hesitated briefly, until he could resist no longer. The statement slipped easily out of its protective envelope. He was only interested in the final balance, located at the bottom of the final document. Jenna's overdraft neared fourteen hundred dollars.

He reacted with barely subdued anger at the figure. What kind of society, he wondered, asked people to devote their lives to caring for others yet didn't value their dedication enough to pay them a decent living salary.

People like Jenna deserved much more from the community she served, deserved to be freed from the burden of excessive debt. It was not as if, looking at the expenditure items he then examined, she spent wantonly. The vast majority of her costs were the monthly dues she owed simply to live in her own property. Matt regarded the situation as nothing less than scandalous.

He checked his watch. Another hour and he would have to leave. Matt crouched to check the progress of the ready meals in the oven and stood back up again. Out of nowhere, a pair of arms snaked round his body from behind and held him tight.

"I'm so embarrassed," said the voice.

He turned to face Jenna, clinging to him like a limpet and yawning uncontrollably in a zombie like state of ongoing sleepiness. Matt hugged her back and kissed at the unkempt hair of the scantily clad figure.

"I can't believe I've slept through the entire day. What must you think?"

"The same as I've thought since the day we first met. You work far too hard and need to take a break every now and again."

"I have to work. I've got bills to pay."

"You won't be able to pay any bills if you're tucked up in hospital suffering from physical exhaustion. I'll pay you not to do weekend overtime."

"And what would I have to do in return?" she replied with a mischievous smirk.

"Behave," he said. "You just have to be here when I call. Give yourself time to relax and recover some energy."

She tightened her grip around his waist and he could feel the tension ease from the muscles of her body.

"You've been cleaning," she suddenly said.

"It's what I do for a living."

Jenna started to sniffle.

"Hey. Now stop that," he said. "I was happy to do it, I wanted to do it."

"You must think I'm pathetic."

"Not yet. I soon will if you're not dressed in time for this average ready meal I've got gently simmering in the oven."

His gentle stroking of her hair brought the brief tears to an end, enabling Jenna to recover her poise.

"I need to shower," she said.

"Then hurry up. Ten minutes is all you've got before I start to dish up."

Matt arrived back at the waterside a few minutes later than planned. Jack was tapping his foot impatiently against the ground. He spotted Matt approaching and motioned him to hurry. As he neared, Matt understood Jack's unease. The plane was full, and his late arrival was the only thing holding them up.

The two men took their seats at the front and Jack edged out into Vancouver harbour. A couple of minutes later and they were airborne.

"Good day?" asked Jack.

"Surprisingly peaceful," Matt replied with a nod.

Jack levelled the plane and turned to his friend.

"Right," he said. "It's all yurs."

"What's mine?"

"The plane," said Jack. "Yur wanted to fly. Well here's your first lesson. Grab the wheel in both hands and keep her steady."

"I can't do this!"

"Suit yur bloody self," said Jack, reaching for the controls.

"No! Wait," said Matt, cautiously wrapping his hands around the wheel in front of him.

"Relax yur grip and treat her gently," said Jack. "I'll take over when we get closer to home. If yur show me yur got some aptitude for this, we'll look to do landings next week."

Jack smiled inwardly as he watched his younger employee revelling in the opportunity. Both were quiet for the next few minutes.

"How do yur find it?" asked Jack.

"Absolutely bloody fantastic," replied Matt.

Chapter Fourteen

Growing Up

With each passing day Matt began to take more and more responsibility at the controls of the yellow machine. Any earlier long held fears of either take-offs or landings had evaporated from his mind. Then, one magical sunny day, Jack asked Matt to fly the whole journey from start to finish while the Canadian took a breather. Matt found himself in complete control of the plane. It was one of those did the earth move for you moments. And boy, did it move.

There was something about the wide openness of the light blue sky, the ability to soar through the air like a bird in flight, which Matt found beyond compare. To him, this represented the ultimate in freedom.

Jack bristled with pride at the results of his steady tuition. The older man had noticed how the inner demons within his friend were visibly quelled each time Matt took temporary control of the instruments. Now, as he took full charge of the yellow machine, they seemed to have been totally cast aside.

Everything came together at the same time for Matt. His fondness towards the burly Canadian had grown into a huge respect, particularly now Jack was schooling him to be a pilot. Matt had taken Grace's advice and looked behind the bravado façade of her statuesque friend, finding underneath a woman of considerable warmth and charm. In this respect, she mirrored the nature of the burly Canadian Matt had come to regard more as an elder brother. To Matt, Holly was now an integral part of his newfound family.

His Sunday visits to Jenna assumed greater significance each time. He painted the wooden frame of her bungalow one Sunday. On others he attended to the small garden, ridding the borders of weeds and laying down a fresh lawn. In between household chores they enjoyed trips to the picture house, and took in a CFL (Canadian Football League) game at the local stadium. Jenna grew visibly happier with life in general, showering Matt with tactile yet innocent affection in return for his company.

An added bonus of these Sunday excursions was the dissipation of any lingering reservations Jack harboured about Matt's residence at The Keg, and therefore his close proximity to its landlady, despite it being his original idea.

And then there was Grace. More and more often she stayed up to help him with the final chores of the night. There was little time for conversation during the evening's opening hours so this gave them the opportunity to exchange friendly banter. Though the length of their conversations grew, both avoided asking direct questions of each other.

She had trusted Matt immediately. He had told her he was looking only to work during the summer before moving on, and Grace had accepted his explanation without question.

Matt sensed Grace was curious about the unexplained bruising to his arms but she passed no further comment, nor did she ask him any questions about what he got up to on his days off with Jenna. Matt's interest was aroused by the fact she never mentioned the merest detail of anything about her past, not even her childhood.

On occasions, he would look up from what he was doing and catch Grace gazing in his direction. She would give him that warm friendly smile she had, and then turn her attention to busying herself with a customer or to another member of staff.

During his five minute breaks Matt would stand and observe her, fascinated by the manner in which she would float between the tables of customers. Whoever she talked to welcomed Grace openly and she would return the warmth of their receptions as if she had known them all her life.

Eventually Matt could resist the temptation no longer. He had to know more about the mystery of her hidden past. Matt cornered Jack on their next scheduled lock in, a Sunday night as it happened.

"Grace Amanda Fox is her full name, lad," Jack began. "She arrived about eight months ago, shortly after a personal tragedy from what I can gather. Holly knows the full details though she'll not tell. I've heard the name Mark mentioned once or twice, but all Grace has told me is she wants to build a new life here in Victoria and put the past behind her. I guess it's why she bought The Keg."

No sooner had he finished speaking than they were joined by Holly and Grace. Although they had done this on several previous occasions, Jack and Holly remained oblivious to their mutual attraction.

"How was yur day off then lad?" asked Jack.

It seemed a perfectly innocent question.

"Good," he replied.

"Jenna? Yur had a big grin on yur face all night."

"Jack!" interjected Grace, "you can't ask him that."

Matt's glance darted across to Grace. She returned his look with a warm, knowing smile. The older man looked on, bemused.

"Why? He never talks about her," Jack said defensively.

"You big oaf," said Holly. "That's Matt's private business. If he wanted to talk about Jenna, then it's up to him."

The Canadian's shoulders slumped in dismay.

"Come to think of it though, Matt," said Holly, impishly, "I am pretty curious myself. Who is this mysterious woman that has captured your attentions, exactly?"

Again, Matt glanced over to Grace. Her eyes continued to shine and the smile remained intact.

"You should bring her over," encouraged Holly. "Then we could all meet her. See what she's made of."

"Holly, really, you're as bad as Jack," scolded Grace.

"No, its okay," answered Matt, "I don't mind."

He did mind though.

"Well," said Holly, "give us the low down, Matt. Is she a blonde, brunette, ginger perhaps? I'll bet she looks like our Gracie here. Petite and white as the snow."

Matt could see the look of disapproval on Grace's face at her friend's remark but felt obligated to say something about Jenna.

"She's mixed race actually," he replied, "part Caucasian, part Oriental. She's small, slim and very energetic."

"Oh is she really!" teased a giggling Holly, and Grace thumped her friend's leg under the table.

"No, no," said Matt shaking his head from side to side, "I didn't mean it that way."

"So what does she do, Matt?" asked the ever inquisitive Holly, revelling in Matt's discomfort.

His reticence to talk openly about Jenna in any detail confirmed to her Matt held an underlying affection for Grace, as she'd suspected.

"No, no, let me guess," insisted Holly. "She's either in sales or some kind of marketing environment, where it's always flustered and busy. This would her explain her ... energetic personality."

Jack saw his chance to playfully add to the Englishman's unease.

"I reckon a dentist or dental nurse," he said, "Matt's teeth have never been so white," and he chortled loudly, echoed by Holly.

"I've got it!" shouted Holly excitedly. "She's a secret agent planted to get close and persuade you to reveal all of your deep dark secrets, all those things you keep hidden from the three of us," she enthused.

Jack and Holly laughed together in stereo, like a pair of schoolchildren teasing a new boy in class. It was harmless stuff as far as they were concerned and he understood their good-natured, if misguided intentions.

Grace continued to look horrified by their playful prodding into Matt's personal life, conscious of his discomfort. He smiled to let her know it was okay, to confirm he was refusing to take any real offence.

"Paediatric nurse," said Matt, finally. "Jenna looks after new born babies with health problems at the local hospital. She loves the job and, by all accounts, she's very, very good at it."

It was a profession to be respected, and it quietened Jack and Holly's mirth.

"Not a job I could do," continued Matt. "Particularly when you hear about the state of some of the patients they have to attend to. She puts her heart and soul into it and I have nothing but the utmost admiration for Jenna."

He said it with a level of pride which surprised him and glanced over to see Grace approved. Their two friends had now fallen silent, slightly embarrassed by their churlishness.

Grace decided to steer the conversation away onto different matters recalling an incident from a few days earlier, when she discovered Matt couldn't cook.

"He wouldn't admit it at first," teased Grace.

Their two friends almost seized up with laughter as Grace recounted the event in greater detail, having woken up earlier than normal one morning to find Matt nibbling at a chocolate biscuit for his breakfast. Matt remembered it as an occasion when the unspoken attraction between the two of them almost erupted into the open. Entering the kitchen wrapped in her yellow kimono dressing gown, she insisted upon showing him how to make a simple breakfast. Matt recalled how Grace had stood close behind him, holding his hand while he attempted to stir the ingredients. He could feel her soft breast pushing hard up against his back.

Grace made no attempt to resist the close contact between them. But she must have been aware of their touching bodies.

"You nearly cost me a dear friendship," he said

"Me? how?" Grace asked laughingly.

"The Sunday after," recalled Matt. "I decided to surprise Jenna by making the evening meal as her shift didn't finish until five in the afternoon."

"And?" questioned Grace amusingly.

"Jenna said the meal was very well seasoned."

"And?" she quizzed again.

"I took Jenna out for a burger," he replied dryly.

His three companions fell about helpless in uncontrolled roars of laughter at this misfortune. Grace, in particular, laughed until she cried. Matt joined in with their amusement, realising he was indeed fortunate to be living this new life.

Though this was not a world of unlimited wealth and expensive material pleasures, it was rich with heart. Between them, Jack, Holly, Grace and Jenna had provided Matt in their own ways with the perfect sanctuary, welcoming him into their little community without hesitation or suspicion.

Jenna showered Matt with affection whilst Grace gave food and shelter. Holly provided the amusement and Jack a regular income. This fresh world had taught him new skills and how to accept the diverse nature of human beings.

Matt felt as though he was growing up all over again. He had pushed the Milieu files to the back of his mind, for it suited him to close his eyes to the rest of the world. And, with no paperwork in evidence of his presence here, there was no audit trail to follow. It was the perfect cover.

'I'm untraceable,' thought Matt.

Chapter Fifteen

Found

The last night of August, and the Keg was filled with customers. Lights were low, the music played, and the wine and beer flowed. A typical night as the chatter swept through the ground and upper floor dining areas with gaiety and laughter. Good humour and bonhomie filled the building from top to bottom. Some sang along with the melodies from the music machine, others exchanged jokes and told stories of comedy to lighten the darkest moments of human existence. The mood of the evening seemed especially convivial on this night. It was a classic evening in Victoria.

Matt was watching Grace from the bar as the jukebox played a ballad he vaguely remembered. The powerful voice sang the opening lines gently as Matt's eyes settled upon her effortless movements, gliding from one table to the next.

"That I feel myself surrender;

Each time I see your face;

I am staggered by your beauty;

Your unassuming grace;

And I feel my heart is turning;

Falling into place......."

He marvelled at her inborn talent to be accepted by any and all, no matter their mood or temperament. It was a true art. Feeling Matt's eyes upon her she looked up and smiled.

As the song continued and both held their gazes Matt found himself being magnetised by her soft brown eyes and inviting smile. The mood drew him unerringly towards her tiny frame. He sensed she was all too aware of the powerful attraction.

"Matt, Matt!" came the loud call from behind him. Holly had arrived. "Stop ogling my best friend. I'm here now."

And so she was. All make up and mascara, dressed in tight fitting jeans with her cleavage revealed by the low cut of her white cotton top. She towered over the bar, her ample bosom demanding attention.

"That ship won't leave harbour for some time yet," she said, referring to Grace. "I'm always available though," she laughed again.

Matt smiled back, poured out her favoured Jack Daniels with ginger and passed it across the bar.

"Jenna's the only girl in town for me, Holly."

"Yeah, yeah, and there goes another flying pink elephant," she replied.

They began to tease each other relentlessly until Grace interrupted them, reminding Matt there were customers to be served. It was enough to move him away from the bar and into the waiting tables full of customers.

"Not made your move yet then," said Holly, girlishly.

"What move?" replied Grace, coyly.

"Don't think about pretending with me, girl," she smirked. "It's as plain as the nose on your little china white face."

Grace peered up at Holly through her dark rimmed glasses and smiled weakly. Her eyes darted away towards where Matt was standing.

"Admit it," continued Holly, "you fancy him rotten!"

"No I don't!" was Grace's half hearted reply. "I don't fancy anybody. Anyway, it's far too soon."

Holly looked at her friend with heartfelt sympathy. She recognised Grace was still struggling to move on with her personal life and this filled her with concern.

"Take a careful look at the tight bum in those jeans and give me one good reason why not," counselled Holly, nodding in Matt's direction.

Grace turned and smacked her friend playfully on the arm.

"Oh do stop it!"

Holly rested her fingers on Grace's slender forearm and leant towards her best friend.

"Don't leave it too long," she said in a caring, comforting tone of voice. "You need a man in your life, if only for a short while, and he's a good man."

"With a girlfriend," retorted Grace.

"A girl who is a friend, you heard him the other night. Don't cut off your little white nose, Gracie, nobody gets any younger in this life."

Midnight had turned when Matt brought in the last ashtray and emptied its contents into the waste bin. Grace appeared from upstairs with a black bag half full of rubbish.

"I'm bushed," she said with a heavy sigh. "This job doesn't get any easier. I need a drink, a nice long refreshing alcoholic drink."

She was still smiling, always smiling.

Matt poured out two glasses of the house red wine and sat opposite. They began to chatter, as friends do, when Grace stood up and went over to the jukebox.

Typing in the code to bypass the money slot mechanism, she flipped through the record labels until she found the tune she was looking for. Returning to the table the melody of the earlier song came over the sound system. She took a big sip of her wine and smiled wistfully.

"You were listening to this at the bar," she said. "Does it hold fond memories for you, an old lover perhaps?"

"It's a pleasant tune," he replied casually.

Grace looked down at her wine, her fingers moving around the rim of the glass, in deep thought. Matt treated her silence with courtesy. He found his gaze drawn to her slender finger wending its way around and around. He waited until she was ready to speak.

"This was our song, mine and Mark's," she eventually said, slowly.

It was the first time Grace had mentioned his name.

"We'd only been together for a few months before he..." she bit her lip as water filled her eyes, and concentrated her gaze on the red liquid in the glass. Matt placed a comforting hand gently over hers.

"You don't have to talk about it," he said quietly.

"No ... No. It's fine," she continued. "It's time."

Grace went on to explain how she had met Mark through work. They didn't have normal jobs, neither being attracted to the nine to five living most couples settled for. A whirlwind romance she explained, the work bringing them close very quickly. Deciding to get married was an impulse on Mark's part, but she had jumped at his proposition. Although their jobs had an element of danger she simply wasn't prepared for the news when it reached her. It was hard to believe it should happen so suddenly.

"I hadn't seen him for three days when it happened."

The tears that had been welling up in her eyes began to rush down her white cheeks, dropping and then splintering onto the wooden surface. At first he watched in seeming helplessness as the full scale of her sadness began to reveal itself, and then his heart responded.

Matt raised her hand, which lifted them both up from the table, and placed his arms firmly around the doll like figure before him. Grace burst into a sea of tears as she moved into his tight embrace, sobbing uncontrollably onto his chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept crying as her body heaved up and down in rhythm with her sobs.

"Ssshhh," Matt said softly, stroking her hair and gently placing his lips on the top of her head. He tried to comfort her in the only way he knew how, which was to hold and hug her as close as close could be.

A dam had burst. The endless months of holding back the despair of Mark's departure, holding back the grief, had finally been released. Matt had never felt the urge to protect as strongly as he felt it now. This gentle creature enveloped so securely in his arms gave him a feeling of immense strength and power. They stood for some time, long after the ballad had ended. Once her sobbing had eased Grace nestled further into Matt's embrace. She wanted to feel secure, protected from the past and the uncertainties of the future.

Matt slowly bent his frame, and lifted her into the air. Her arms snaked around his neck and she rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her light frame up the stairs.

"This is the last stop," he said on reaching the door to Grace's room. Bowing his head forward, he kissed her softly on the tip of the nose.

She looked up into his eyes, the warm expression behind his smile evidence of how much he cared for her. Slowly she lifted her hand and began to softly trace the outline of his face with her index finger. Down his cheekbone, round his chin and then she pressed the finger lightly to his lips.

Reaching behind, she twisted the round wooden handle and eased the door open, to allow Matt to carry her into the large room and gently place her upon the Queen sized bed. The powerful bulbs in the hallway threw a beam of light over Grace's soft, white face, the half open door reflected in her dark rimmed glasses. He could see her eyes were both welcoming and hesitantly nervous.

His lips brushed her forehead first. Then they fell upon her right cheek before landing gently on her pink lips as she stroked the back of his head with her small hand. His mouth moved on to her neck and kissed softly at the white scented skin. He could feel her breathing gather pace and her body quiver with expectation at the continued touch of his lips. From the bottom of her neck he moved upwards towards the outline of her delicate chin.

That's when he felt the first drop of warm water on his cheek quickly followed by another, then another. He raised his head to look for the source and saw tears falling freely as she looked back at him in sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "This was wrong of me."

Grace could not speak. She wanted Matt to continue but her brain refused to allow her mouth to open. Instead the tears continued to fall, rolling down the sides of her cheeks onto the bed linen, her hands tightly clasped around Matt's forearms which were astride her frame.

"We both need a good night's sleep," he whispered. "I'll see you in the morning."

Her grip on his arms tightened. She didn't want him to go.

Don't leave me, she wanted to say. The words refused to escape from her mouth.

Matt afforded Grace no further time to object. Pecking her on the forehead he offered a reassuring smile, and then lifted his arms from her tight grasp. With his thumbs he gently smoothed the droplets away from underneath her eyes, the light motion bringing her tears to a halt. He spoke no more. Matt rose slowly from the bed, turned towards the door and closed it quietly behind him.

Neither of them managed to sleep.

Grace rolled from one side of the large Queen bed to the other, trying to convince herself she had got caught up in a moment. Her outpouring of grief had galvanised her senses. It had made her want, no, need the physical presence of a man to counter those emotions. She had felt so safe in Matt's arms, as if she had been wrapped up snugly inside a security blanket. All demons would be turned away at the door, all darkness deflected away into space. Nothing could break the impenetrable barrier he had provided in those few, short minutes.

Grace wanted to joyously surrender her body to him right there and then abandoning all reason, all care. The touch of his lips had electrified her body, had galvanised her soul and then... and then, the image of Mark's face had flashed into her mind.

Go away. Go away, her inner voice screamed. Leave me alone, I need this man. But he would not go away. He was not ready to leave her.

Matt had held her for a few short minutes but it was enough for her to know, enough for her to realise how much she liked him. And then, at the point at which Mark's spell might finally be broken, he let her go.

Tomorrow would be awkward, unnecessarily so. They were unlikely to get this close again.

"Damn you, Mark," she whispered.

Matt lay on his bed, looking out of the open window to his right side, up at the stars. He felt his body begin to relax and his heart rate slowly return to normal. Those few moments he had held Grace in his arms had made his nerve ends tingle with excitement. He inhaled deeply to draw in her scent still upon his clothes.

He had found the mystery of Grace. It was heartbreaking to finally discover how sad she had been all this time. How long she must have bottled up those emotions. The urge to make love to her had almost completely overpowered him, as if this one act would somehow mend her shattered soul and bring her suffering to an end.

"You were right to back away," he told himself. "It would have been wrong."

Matt's mind was in turmoil, knotted with confusion. Over these last few weeks his liaisons with Jenna had strengthened from a casual friendship into a deep affection. The events of the night had him thinking he'd let her down. He felt a commitment to Jenna, given he was entirely comfortable with her presence in his life.

Yet in those few short moments with Grace his heart had pounded that little bit faster and his pulse had raced that little bit quicker in pure, unadulterated excitement. She had brought to the surface feelings he had never experienced before. Matt berated himself for the loss of emotional control, believing it to be a form of betrayal. The one human sin he despised above all others, and one he contemptuously believed was beyond his capacity to exercise.

To cap it all, tomorrow's first conversation with Grace was going to be awkward now he had revealed the true level of his affection. Matt realised, should he continue to hang around, the emotional attachment to Grace would only get stronger. It was inevitable.

Tomorrow would be September. This meant the summer season was drawing to a close and the tourists would depart. Soon, there would be fewer flights to make and only a limited number of punters would start passing through the doors of The Keg. It was time to think the unthinkable, time to make his next move.

The Milieu files loomed back into his consciousness. Deep down, he had always understood he was going to have to face up to this dark and sinister shadow over his life eventually, to address the problem once and for all. But not right now. He just couldn't think straight.

Matt rested for a few more minutes before rising. He walked over to the wardrobe and retrieved the laptop from behind the left door. Turning the lamp on at the desk he pressed the start button and settled into the less than comfortable wicker chair to wait. Heavier than expected, when he first saw it, it was nevertheless adequate.

Double clicking the internet icon took him onto the web and he typed in 'job opportunities in Whistler.' If he was lucky he could get a temporary job there, where the tourists would go for the winter season. Tourism meant employment. Low paid and temporary employment but a lot of jobs and, with luck, cash in hand. He was right, there were hundreds.

Matt looked at his watch, it was one-thirty in the morning. Knowing he had to be up at five thirty, he decided to wait and have a better look after he had finished his day's work with Jack.

The site asked him to leave an e-mail address and a password. It was too late to give the matter any considered thought so he typed in M44MDL, the password he'd always used, switched the computer off and climbed into bed.

"Please let me sleep," he said to the sky. "At least let me rest a few hours before I have to rise and face the day."

"I'll fly," Jack ordered curtly, to Matt's obvious surprise and disappointment. The Canadian was wearing what he called his 'desert jacket' because of its sand colour and deep outside pockets, which was unusual for him. Although it was only six in the morning, the air was cool rather than cold.

Thinking no more about it Matt released the moorings and climbed into the front of the plane beside his friend. Nothing was said as the floatplane eased away from the jetty and coasted to the middle of the bay.

Soon, they were in the air. Jack remained silent as he pointed the plane to fly west. Already the sky was light blue. Matt looked down at the dark blue sea rippling gently, and looked forward to another beautiful day.

The continued silence began to unnerve Matt. Throughout the few quickly passing weeks he'd known him, Jack had never been this quiet. Usually you couldn't shut him up. He wondered if he had said something the wrong way. Perhaps his friend had picked up on the awkwardness between him and Grace since the other evening. The plane dipped sharply and headed for the water. Matt recognised Parry Bay looming up in front of them. Never the busiest of places, at this hour it was completely devoid of human activity. It was an odd place for Jack to set down.

The floats gently skimmed the surface of the flat sea and Jack ferried the plane towards shore, stopping two hundred yards or so short of the cobbled beach. The plane sat on top of the sea, the water lapping gently against the floats. Matt couldn't understand why they had stopped here.

The Canadian fumbled for something in one of his deep jacket pockets. It took him a few moments to free the object and then he turned to face his passenger.

Matt looked upon the pilot's cold expression. He glanced down and saw the pistol in his friend's right hand, pointing directly at Matt's stomach. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Jack, what are you doing?"

Chapter Sixteen

Admissions

So Jack was to be his assassin.

"Open yur door," said the Canadian as he cocked the pistol in his hand.

Lost for words, Matt's mind began to race. Of all people, he never expected it would be his friend to pull the trigger to end his life.

"Open yur door, I won't tell yur again," he said curtly.

Matt obeyed and looked down at the sea beneath the plane from the open door. He wondered if he would die quickly, or if it would take hours for his life to drift away. Perhaps he would float on top of the water for a while. Maybe he would simply sink to the bottom of the bay.

He held his breath.

A loud bang sounded and Matt felt the whoosh of a missile whistle pass his chest. He exhaled deeply in the knowledge he was still alive, for the moment at least.

"One lie, yur tell me one more goddamn lie and the next bullet goes through yur thick skull. Do yur understand?"

Matt nodded in relief. The next few minutes were going to be very difficult.

"That's yur, ain't it," Jack growled, slapping an open newspaper into Matt's lap.

There was a picture of a bearded man with the caption 'Fugitive Michael Daniels.' Matt turned his attention to the sub heading, "UK Murderer on the run in Canada." He looked up to see Jack's face red with thunder.

"Read!" Jack repeated gruffly, his grey eyes consumed with menace.

It was the Vancouver Sun, page three, dated yesterday. Matt skimmed through the lengthy report. Before he got to the end of the column Jack interrupted.

"Not running from the law, working yur way across Canada yur said. Yur devious little shit!"

Matt's eyes focussed back on the article in an attempt to try and gather his thoughts and decide how best to answer his Canadian friend, placate his anger. He knew he had to think quickly.

"What kind of lowlife kills women? Yur scum, that's what yur are, scum!" Jack bellowed.

Matt turned his head to look at the sea, unable to look his friend directly in the eye, not with all the emotion welling up inside.

"Has Grace seen this?" he asked quietly.

"How dare yur even mention her name to me, yur filthy dirty murderer!" was the shouted, angry reply.

Matt shook his head gently.

"So why bring me here Jack? Why not just turn me in?"

"Because yur owe me, I took yur in and gave yur a job. I gave yur my trust and friendship, and all the time yur were lying to me."

Matt raised his head and saw Jack's moistened eyes. He recognised his betrayal had cut deeply, almost as much as the vileness of the alleged crime reported. The realisation of what he had done cut through Matt's soul. He had abused the trust of friends, getting them to believe he was someone he wasn't. The one human weakness he despised above all others, the trait of betrayal, had now become an inherent part of his own make up. Matt loathed himself for it.

"Yur owe me an explanation," said the older man, his voice beginning to crack.

"I didn't kill anyone, Jack," he answered quietly.

"Then why do they say yur did?" he shouted, raising his voice again. "Are yur forgetting I'm the one with the loaded gun, lad."

"Then either shoot me, turn me in, or let me out and I'll make my own way from here," he shouted back.

Anger was rising inside, lighting a fire in his heart. Jack sensed the growing seeds of fury in the young man's disposition.

"Is that what happened, lad? Did yur have a falling out? Did yur get angry and snap? Did yur lose control?"

"I can't tell you," said Matt firmly, struggling to retain control of his rampant emotions.

"Sixty seconds, that's all yur got left!" hollered Jack. "All the time yur got left to tell me how yur could do such a thing, before I put a bullet in yur."

"I can't tell you," shouted Matt again, glaring at his friend.

The water in his eyes had evaporated under the burning glow of rage Jack could now see in his gaze. The two men stared at each other, eyes locked and neither prepared to yield. Both men struggled to think of what to say next. Matt had wanted to tell his Canadian friend, to tell someone, but he was fearful of the consequences.

"Why can't yur tell me?" yelled the older man. "Why? Why?"

"I don't want you involved, Jack."

"I'm already involved lad, Grace too. Yur've been working for us these last few months."

"You're not listening to me," yelled Matt. "It's my problem and I will sort it."

"Yeah, like yur've been sorting it out these last few weeks yur've been working for me and Grace using a false name. Yur haven't even got the balls to admit to any wrongdoing."

"I haven't done anything wrong!" blurted Matt. "Nothing; I've done nothing, nothing at all."

"Well if that's right yur should be able to tell me then, shouldn't yur lad."

Matt shook his head in frustration. He didn't want anyone else in any way connected or involved with this. But Jack was right about one thing, he did deserve some sort of explanation.

"If I told you the truth they could kill you too, gun you down like a dog the same way they gunned down this woman they say I killed," Matt answered back.

The two men continued to eye each other. Jack, desperately trying to decide if he was being told the truth, was unable to determine if this was another lie among many. A pause followed before Jack broke the silence.

"What sort of trouble have yur got yourself into, lad?" he said in a gentler disbelieving, voice.

Matt shook his head again, the only response he could think to initially muster.

"Something I wish I hadn't," he confessed. "I'm running or hiding, or something... but not from anything I've done. A friend entrusted me with information some other people want returned, at any price. The problem is the currency these people deal in is human life. My friend, the one who gave me the information, he's dead now too."

Matt finally looked away and gazed upon the isolated beach in front of them.

"I'm sorry, Jack," he whispered. "I never meant to mislead you or anyone else. I thought this was the only way I could be safe from these people. Instead, I may have put you in danger; Grace, Holly and Jenna too."

He took a deep sigh and looked at the newspaper article again. The Vancouver Sun, they must know he is in the area. How did they find him?

"Jack, pulling the trigger is probably the best thing you could do right now, for all of your sakes."

There was a brief pause and then the engine started up and the plane began to move.

"Shut the bloody door," yelled Jack.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Back to Victoria, and remember, I'm the one with the gun," Jack replied.

The plane climbed quickly into the sky, soaring above the waves below as it pointed back towards Victoria Harbour.

"And no," Jack added, levelling the plane, "Grace hasn't seen it. She's never looked at a newspaper since she arrived on the island."

'Thank God for that one small mercy,' thought the younger man.

Matt braced himself for inevitable captivity. He could have attempted an escape but it would have involved a physical struggle, and he wasn't prepared to fight with Jack. Once the plane had been moored and they were back on land, Jack instructed Matt to take off his checked shirt. Jack then lifted the wooden chair from the office and told Matt to sit down, producing a set of battery operated hair shears. The young man's eyes widened, horrified by the sight of the massive looking piece of equipment in his friend's hands.

"No, no Jack. Not all of it for God's sake!" he whined.

"Sit down and shut up," was all Jack bellowed, as he stood behind Matt and pushed him down on to the seat with his strong arms.

The air filled with the sound of the shears cutting through Matt's fine head of light brown hair. It didn't take long, minutes at best.

"Done!" heralded Jack, and then disappeared into the cabin and produced a small, dirty mirror for Matt to inspect his new appearance.

At first the young man shut his eyes, fearful of the horror to be unveiled when he re-opened them. He could hear Jack chortling behind him.

"Don't be such a big Nancy," he yelled, and chortled some more.

Matt lifted an eyelid and peered at the mirror. Then he forced the second eye into the open. He still had hair! As he raised his arm the mirror revealed the full extent of Jack's handiwork. The lengthy hair had been replaced by a crew cut which, surprisingly, suited his now more prominent face. Running his fingers over the top of his head he noticed the remaining hair seemed a much lighter colour than before. His mother had told him he was born with blonde hair, which had darkened slightly as he got older. He certainly looked different, younger even, and his face appeared broader and more masculine than before.

"Enough of that," said Jack, whipping the mirror out of Matt's hands.

"You're in the wrong business," said Matt. "Ever thought of opening a barber shop?"

The Canadian clipped the back of the young man's head and told him he was being a cheeky so and so. Matt stood up, brushing the freshly sheared locks of hair off his shoulders and chest.

"I need a shower," he said, "or this stuff will prickle me to death for the rest of the day."

Without warning he felt a powerful jet of ice cold water blast against his body. Trying to protect his exposed body with his hands, he could see Jack pointing the hosepipe at him.

"Yur said yur needed a shower!" the Canadian laughed gleefully.

Matt fought against the liquid pressure hammering into his torso, stepping ever closer to where the Canadian was standing. Once he had reached the older man they began the tussle for control of the hosepipe. Matt succeeded in prising it from Jack's grasp, forcing it to fall onto the wooden floor of the jetty.

The two men wrestled for physical superiority. It was no contest. Despite Matt's youth the older man was as strong as a bull. Gradually he forced the younger man to the end of the jetty before a final push saw Matt tip over the edge, falling into the bay with a mighty splash.

Bouncing through the surface to gasp in some air he could see Jack above him, almost doubled over with laughter. Matt grinned back at the big man and made his way to the jetty where Jack held out an arm to help his friend. As they reached to grip each other for the lift to dry land, Matt decided to reach with both hands. Jack was expecting the sleight of hand and pulled his arm away. Matt fell back into the bay, to the mirth of the big Canadian.

"Had enough?" Jack chortled.

Matt nodded as he made his way back towards the jetty for a second time.

Back on dry land the two men fell to the floor in fits of laughter, like two schoolboys after a bun fight. In tandem, they rolled onto their backs and clasped their hands behind their heads to gaze at the ever warming sun now beating strongly upon them. They continued laughing at their own silliness for a few more minutes.

"I have to leave, Jack," said Matt, taking the levity out of the situation.

"I know," replied his friend in a resigned tone. "The cut might buy yur a little more time... twenty minutes or so," he added.

The clever quip had them briefly in stitches again.

"Seriously Jack, if you've made me then others probably will."

"I know," came the reply, "I've been thinking about it on the way back to town. I have some friends up in Neets Bay, near Ketchikan. Salmon farm it is, almost completely isolated apart from the tourists during summer. I'm sure they'd put yur up over the winter if I asked them."

The two men kept looking up to the bright blue sky. They had been friends throughout Matt's stay on the island. Now it felt like they were blood brothers.

"Have you ever thought of Holly, Jack?" asked Matt unexpectedly.

"Holly? What do yur mean lad," was the gruff reply.

"You know, Holly," emphasised Matt.

"No"

"Well you should. Take my word for it. A match made in heaven, I promise you."

The two men lay in silence.

"Really?" said Jack, after a few minutes pondering.

"Really," said Matt, "give it a try old friend, trust me."

At first, this sudden mine of information had Jack bemused as he began to consider the possibility. Matt heard him mumble to himself.

"Holly?... Holly?... Holly."

His murmurings warmed Matt inside as he realised it had finally clicked with the older man. He let him continue to revel in his thoughts for a while before Jack turned his head.

"Grace is going to miss you, lad."

The young man smiled.

His last favour to his friend done Matt rose to his feet and they stood and faced each other.

"You are a good person Jack Carter, the best. No-one could wish for a better man to be by his side," said Matt.

He threw out his arm to shake his friend's hand. Jack pulled Matt towards him and they hugged, as men do, slapping each other vigorously on the back.

"I'll take yur up tomorrow," said Jack. "Yur can't leave Grace without saying a proper goodbye. Johnny's working today until six. I'll need someone to moor the boat later though when I get back from Vancouver," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Matt readily agreed to return at six. Jack told him he'd see if he could get some punters on board for the late trip back to Victoria. Matt turned and made his way to The Keg. His heart felt buoyed by the new kinship he had formed with Jack, a feeling of friendship he had never experienced before. And at least he had no more decisions to make. The news article had made them for him. Matt had to disappear from both Jenna and Grace's lives.

Grace looked on in horror as the man with the damp clothes and short haircut pushed the front door shut.

"Excuse me, we're not open yet," she said firmly. "It's too early in the morning."

He turned and a curious, quizzical look came over the delicate woman's face as she stared at the stranger before realising who it was.

"Matt?" she said. "What on earth have you done to yourself?" she asked in bewildered surprise.

"Bit of an accident," said Matt, "got a little damp."

"I meant your hair," she said, approaching him slowly.

"That was the second accident," said Matt, dryly.

Perplexed she looked closely at Matt's face, to study his features, and then burst out laughing. He grinned meekly back at her. It was the perfect ice breaker, completely dissolving the awkward barrier erected between the two after the other night's close encounter in her bedroom. His grin turned into a smile, and then broad laughter too in response to her infectious giggles of amusement. Standing next to him she reached up with her hand and ran it over his neatly cropped hair.

"It tickles!" she laughed.

As she lowered herself back down from her tiptoes her hand slid slowly, gently over the side of Matt's face.

"I need to talk to you," he said, solemnly.

She cocked her head to the side and the quizzical look re-appeared on her face.

"Shouldn't you change out of those wet clothes?"

"No. Let's talk first. It won't take long." He pulled a chair out from under one of the tables for her to sit down.

Grace listened as Matt explained something unexpected had turned up and he had to leave, as early as tomorrow. He regretted the unavoidable speed of his hasty departure. What particularly saddened him was the fact he would be leaving behind some of the best friendships he'd ever made. In fact, he had come to regard Victoria as his real home. His words were earnest, heartfelt, and his gaze never wavered from her soft brown eyes as he spoke. When he'd finished, he reached across the table and gently placed his hand on top of hers.

"Is it because of the other night?" she asked, with a hint of sadness.

"No, no, please don't believe that," he said quietly.

He wanted to stay, he insisted, and leaving her behind was absolutely the last thing on his mind.

"And I mean, the last thing," he reiterated.

Grace hesitated to reply. She looked down at Matt's hand, gently stroking the skin on her forearm, trying to provide reassurance. His fingers lifted to her chin and he gently raised her face up to look at him.

"I would have waited for you, Grace... no matter how long it would have taken," he whispered, understanding his heart had overruled his mind.

Her expression never changed, even as his words reached her ears. They appeared only to confuse Grace further. Having admitted his affection towards her he was now about to pack and walk out of her life, possibly never to return.

Realising he could say no more Matt rose from his chair and, encouraging her to also rise by lifting her hands from the table, he cradled her in his embrace.

"Oh! You're still damp and smelly!" she complained. "Go and clean yourself up," and she stepped away smiling, always smiling.

He grinned back and headed upstairs to shower and change. As he disappeared from the bar area Grace turned the key to the front door.

Wrapping his body in the towelling robe, Matt tiptoed across the hall and entered his room where the fresh clothes were already laid out over the wicker chair. He dried the last drops of water from his torso with the orange towel, standing at the half length mirror hanging on the wall opposite the open window.

The light tap on the door, hurried him into tightening the robe around his body. Grace walked in.

She was wearing the pale yellow, silk kimono robe which complemented her dark hair and pale complexion. He noticed her feet were bare. Grace tugged at the cord around the robe allowing the kimono to fall open, partially revealing her wafer thin figure. It slipped away from her shoulders and fell to the floor as she tentatively approached. With each step towards him, Matt felt his own desire rise uncontrollably.

The soft touching of lips sent an electric charge coursing through his body, as though he'd stepped onto a live electric wire, causing the adrenalin to pump madly around his body. Grace tugged at the cord of Matt's robe and pushed it away from his shoulders to free his strong arms. His body shook with anticipation at the thought of her soft skin touching his.

The next kiss, warm and inviting, sent a shudder down his spine. His arms folded around her delicate body and his hands stroked gently up and down the smooth skin of her back as they kissed.

Placing a hand under each thigh he raised Grace up level to his face and the kisses became more intense, more passionate. Matt's arms were stronger now, from working at the jetty, and he held her comfortably as the pace of their desire increased. Neither could wait, nor wanted to wait, a moment longer. He lowered her gently down. That first touch as he entered made her moan with pleasure, and she closed her eyes to allow her mind to fully enjoy the physical connection. As Matt pushed deeper inside, her groans became louder and he could feel her body tremble in sheer delight at his firm presence inside her.

He moved his head to look into her eyes and saw the tears streaming down her face from underneath the closed eyelids. Unsure, he softly tried to kiss them away and her brown eyes opened to give him a loving smile. He knew then these tears were not being shed in sorrow but in liberation, in freedom from the past.

With her fixed upon him he made to take a step towards the bed.

"No," she whispered quietly, "Stay, just as we are, just for a moment," and she placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him to encourage his co-operation.

Matt had made love to many women throughout his life. Now he only wanted to make love to one, to Grace. Locked together, neither wanted the moment to end, wishing instead for eternity to call upon them there and then.

Chapter Seventeen

The Returning Past

The two lovers had lay and chatted endlessly about how they had got to this point, from the small beginnings of their first encounter when Jack introduced them. Both had confessed to an initial attraction which grew with each passing day, the sort of conversation new lovers always seem to indulge in. The initial contact, the first meaningful glance and locking of eyes, the sudden rush of adrenalin and feelings of flushed excitement.

During a brief lull, Grace snuggling tightly into him, Matt's thoughts turned back towards earlier events. He couldn't believe that at the same time his new life had finally come together his past had caught up with him and why, after all these weeks, his enemies decided to resume their murderous pursuit. He'd been living here undetected for so long it led Matt to foolishly believe he was in the clear. Now he was going to have to revisit The Milieu files and open up a past life he had tried hard to suppress all these weeks. He had to get to the bottom of this thing. Matt realised he'd been stupid to ever believe it would go away, miraculously dissolve into the atmosphere.

Fortunately, Grace felt obligated to rise from their bed and help Tim prepare for the days' customers. Matt suggested he start packing and she agreed. Instead, he decided to use the time to delve back into the files and try and get some answers.

"Now then, Mr Scurrelli," Matt murmured as he clicked on the icon labelled affirmation. "It's time for your deep dark secret to finally be uncovered, and tell me exactly why you're so determined to screw up my life."

This first section of the file summarised the considerations Matt had read up on before, when he had first arrived in Vancouver.

Three proposed options had been dismissed by each G8 Government due to political sensitivities and, though well aware of the impending crisis global overpopulation would bring, they were simply unwilling to address the issue. They weren't prepared to make any of the difficult choices.

"Gentlemen, our political masters are refusing to act," said Scurrelli. "So it is left to us, the paid officials charged with the security of each sovereign nation, to take the necessary action. It falls on us to do what must be done."

Scurrelli outlined progress on each of the individual elements of the plan to date.

Firstly, efforts in the area of resource conservation were well advanced. The gradual storage of vital basic commodities in secret locations around the globe had gone undetected, helped by the sharp economic downturn which had reduced global demand. Despite Government interventions to kick-start individual economies, the group had managed to exert sufficient influence on the international banking sector to limit the flow of capital, thereby restraining economic activity and reducing demand for raw materials and natural resources.

Progress on the second phase, the collection and analysis of personal data, had gone extraordinarily smoothly. Already substantial numbers of 'desirable' future global residents had been identified. Particular progress could be reported on vast numbers of individuals determined to be of genetically and morally weak disposition.

The details on individuals held by public records such as medical, financial, criminal, communication and civil action files had proved to be effective sources. Whilst there remained considerable work still to be undertaken on this element, it was expected the programme would be completed well within schedule.

Scurrelli then circulated amongst the group the first draft of a new global legal constitution, prepared by a specialist in the particular field. Members were requested to study the initial proposals in detail over the next three months and provide their individual feedback directly to the American.

Matt spotted a link to another document and concluded this was the said constitutional framework. He clicked on the mouse and a massively impressive piece of literature sprung into view, too big for Matt to cover right now. He quickly flicked through what he believed to be the key headings until he reached the end. He skimmed over the author's name without taking much notice, though he was struck by the bold and expressive signature writ across the document's introductory page.

The next subject was finance. The American reported that accumulated, and accumulating, costs had grown too large to conceal within individual nation State budgetary mechanisms. However, he could report that agreement had been reached with carefully established financing arms to underwrite the current and anticipated expenditure burden.

"With the project now established on a secure financial footing," reported the American, "I can confirm we are now able to implement the final phase," he said.

Scurrelli recounted a number of previous global health scares. Spanish Flu, SARS, Bird Flu and, even more recently, the Swine Flu epidemic. Though all had been subsequently contained, the incidents had allowed the concept of viral catastrophe to ferment in the wider public consciousness.

"And it has been widely reported civilisation should expect one such deadly mutation to consolidate without warning, spread rapidly around the globe, and inflict devastating consequences. The world expects it to happen," said Scurrelli. "We shall not disappoint the masses."

The files had taken a very ominous turn.

"We have identified a strain," reported the American, "a by-product of extensive research into an environmental virus. Our scientists predict this strain will target only humans, penetrating the immune systems of over ninety eight percent of the global population. This offshoot has been allocated the code name The Milieu Derivative."

"What?" said Matt, and his eyes began to blink furiously in disbelief.

Scurrelli went on to describe how this airborne virus, once released into the atmosphere, would circulate the globe within twelve months. Affected individuals could expect to live for no more than three days once contaminated.

"Relatively quick and painless," was how Scurrelli explained it.

By starting the virus in a lowly populated area it would take root on a small scale initially. This provided sufficient time for the outbreak to be widely reported through media outlets and for Governments to be seen to react, much as happened in response to aforementioned epidemics.

"National strategies will be invoked by Governments to inoculate populations against the viral spread. Our people will be at the heart of this process, ensuring only those who have cleared the selection criteria will receive authentic vaccination and be shepherded to designated safety. All others will be treated with ineffective placebos and nature will be allowed to run its course."

"Jesus Christ!" yelled Matt as he pushed the computer away and recoiled from the desk, knocking the chair to the floor. He gawped at the screen, incredulous.

They were planning for their own survival, preparing to abandon their own peoples. Hundreds of millions no, billions, would die!

"No, no, no. It can't be true," he gasped.

A realisation hit him. He had left the public sector at the point Civil Service mandarins had dictated the process of formal sharing of citizen information, between Departments, was to commence. They were readying, preparing for this, even then! No wonder they would kill to keep this secret. Matt understood now he would always be a fugitive, forever on the run, unable to return to any form of normal life or to share it with anyone else. He was a loose end they needed to tidy away. He was a dead man, and so was anyone else who came into contact with him. Matt didn't want to but knew he had to force his attention back to the screen.

Scurrelli was describing the expected chain of events once the virus had been released.

Social breakdown was expected to be dramatic and quick, as the mounting number of deaths created nationwide panic in every country of the globe. Once nominated people had been removed to safe locations, all that would remain would be dying masses fighting over ever-diminishing resources.

At worst this holocaustic process would take two years, at a maximum, to complete. All that survived of the unwanted would be the two percent blessed with a natural immunity to the virus. These remaining peoples would represent only pockets of resistance and be mopped up by the armed forces of the new order, on the basis they must be the carriers of the epidemic and therefore designated as unsafe. The new world constitution will then be introduced, and selected high calibre individuals will be nominated into positions of power. After a period of turbulence, estimated to take a maximum of five years, the planet will be left with a smaller, intellectually gifted, morally and genetically strong population.

The outstanding agenda item was formal commitment to the agreement, hereby to be titled as The Milieu Principle. The document was duly signed by all.

"Are there any questions?' Scurrelli asked.

"Elliott Anderson," said the Russian. "People are starting to listen to what he has to say."

"We're on it," interjected the Canadian delegate, a man called Bill Francis. "A protocol is in place to discredit and destroy, as and when required."

The files were two years old. These people had planned Anderson's murder well in advance, he concluded. The remaining questions and answers seemed to bear little further significance. What was missing from the file was a start date for the release of the virus.

It had turned nearly five thirty in the afternoon when Matt finally emerged, looking pale and drawn. The Keg was about three quarters full of customers and all of the staff busily attended to the tables of customers.

On seeing Matt, Grace quickly walked over and grasped his hand to escort him to the front entrance of the building. He said nothing during the short journey.

"Matt, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, perhaps this is one shift too many," he replied lamely.

Grace frowned with curiosity at his subdued demeanour. He removed her concern by easing forward and kissing her tenderly on the lips, adding he should be back within an hour or so. She hugged him tightly, reluctant to allow him to leave. Turning back into The Keg after he'd departed she heard Tim's voice shout out.

"Now!" and, collectively, the entire room burst out into spontaneous applause. It signalled the warmth of the local community towards Grace and caused her to blush brightly, the deep red colour on her cheeks all the more prominent against her white porcelain-coloured skin. Practically skipping her way back to the bar with a coy smile on her face, Grace talked engagingly to almost all of the guests as she fluttered through the room. Tim emerged from the rear hallway.

"You've got a phone call Grace," he said. "It's the guy with the bloody loud voice, again."

Arriving at the jetty, newspaper in hand, Matt could see his old friend had yet to return. He asked Donna if there was any word from Jack and she confirmed he was on his way back from Vancouver. She asked if it was possible to finish early now he'd turned up, to which he readily agreed.

The next lonely twenty minutes were spent trying to come to terms with what he'd discovered, and then studiously searching the paper for news of any kind of viral outbreak around the world. Although there were none, it failed to ease his inner alarm or prevent his mind from slipping into despair.

In a few short hours Matt's existence had gone from happy contentment to despair, from exhilaration to utter desolation. Doing nothing was no longer an option. The Milieu virus would eventually catch up with him and everyone else who hadn't been selected. He couldn't allow all these people to be murdered. Matt had to think of something, come up with some sort of strategy and plan, despite the overwhelming odds ranged against him. But what could he do?

All he knew for certain, for the immediate future at least, was he had to put as much distance between himself and Victoria as possible. Nobody was safe around him.

Glancing up he caught sight of Jack's plane emerging from the sky in the far distance. It took another ten minutes before the plane ferried up to the jetty. From what Matt could see Jack would be lucky if there were more than three passengers on board.

Catching the rope, he hauled the machine in and began to secure it firmly to the shore. He could hear the passengers' feet stamping onto the wooden structure as they clambered out of the plane. He sensed a figure standing behind him.

"Matt, is that you?" asked a voice. "What on earth have you done to your hair?"

Turning to face the enquirer, the sun temporarily blinded his sight, preventing him from recognising the owner of the question. The figure stepped to the side to block the rays of light and his eyes began to re-adjust.

At first he saw the little feet, wrapped within the light brown open toed sandals. Then the wide bottomed light blue linen trousers came into view hanging underneath the white blouse, barely clinging to the edges of the woman's shoulders. A shock of long blonde hair, perfectly groomed, surrounded the wide blue eyes gazing down upon him.

"Rosa?"

Chapter Eighteen

High Anxiety

Matt was lost for words. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about Rosa's sudden and totally unexpected arrival on the island. He wondered how he could explain away his presence here in Victoria, working on a floatplane jetty. Or his sudden departure from Toronto, when he'd panicked and ran away from her.

Unsure how to react, he slowly rose to his feet and looked at her impossibly beautiful face. With his mind galloping in confusion he did at least realise he had to say something. Of all the welcomes he could have offered, such was his state of flux, he could muster only one thing.

"Hello Rosa, this is a long way to come for a weekend shopping spree."

She gave a hearty, throaty, laugh.

"Anytime, anyplace, anywhere," she replied. "Wherever the mood and my Dad's money allows, remember?"

Her face beamed and she seemed genuinely happy to see him. A deafening silence ensued. The atmosphere prickled with an air of both tension and expectation as he struggled to take in this new, and unwanted, complication to his life.

"There you go, Miss," said Jack, suddenly appearing to their side as he placed a small suitcase next to the feet of the blonde woman.

"Why thank you, Mr Carter," she said.

Her eyes darted towards Jack and then back to Matt, armed with an expression of shock, that rabbit in the headlights look.

"No hugs for an old friend?" asked Rosa.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Matt, trying to be calm. "You took me by surprise."

Jack's grey eyes widened as the two young people stepped towards each other and affectionately hugged.

"Yur two know each other!" he said.

With her arms around Matt's neck Rosa raised her body up and pecked at Matt's cheek before snuggling closer into his body. She breathed in deeply and raised her lips to whisper into his ear.

"We need to talk," she said, and held him tightly.

Still trying to come to terms with this new situation, Matt remained silent.

'Talk, about what?' he wondered, as she released him.

Jack stood, mouth agape, his eyes now almost fit to burst out of their sockets.

"Yur really are a dark horse, lad," he muttered.

"Fancy a drink Matt?" she asked, stepping away. "That's if you're finished here for the night, of course," she continued.

Her eyes glanced back towards the gruff man standing beside them. "I'm absolutely starving as well!" she added.

"Yur in luck girl," chirped in Jack. "The lad works at The Keg pub restaurant at nights, just up the path to the right there."

"Fantastic!" she remarked to the older man. Her cheery disposition and broad smile completely charmed and disarmed Matt's friend.

"I'm done for the night anyway," advised Jack, "got a meeting now. I'll lock up and head off. Matt will look after yur," he said to Rosa.

Leaning over to his young friend's ear, Rosa heard him tell Matt she was a real knockout, making her beam. Matt despaired at his friend's attempts to leave them alone. Then again, he didn't know about Grace.

"Don't forget your suitcase now, Miss," said Jack pointing to the luggage at Rosa's feet as he hurried to lock everything down. Matt, open eyed, had never seen his friend in such a rush.

"Well?" said Rosa, smiling.

He picked up her suitcase and they linked arms to stroll up the ramp incline towards The Keg, leaving Jack to continue securing the jetty area. They walked in silence. Rosa, keeping a firm grip on Matt's arm, looked around the inner harbour area to digest the surroundings as the conversation refused to flow. Both knew the evening in Toronto was in the past. Instead, their relationship had become infected by wariness and caution.

"Is your middle name Samson?" she suddenly asked.

"Samson?"

"You seem to have lost the strength to talk since you had your hair cut short," she giggled.

Her humour brought a smile to Matt's face. They walked some more before stopping at the top of the bank, when she looked around again. He assumed she was taking in the views of the harbour, and the Parliament Building dominating the horizon over the other side of the bay.

"This is a beautiful spot, Matt. I can see the attraction for you here."

"It's one of them," he said.

Rosa linked her arm back into his and they continued to stroll, quietly.

"She smells nice," said Rosa, referring to Grace's scent on his clothes. "Is she local?"

"Local ...ish," was his reply. He paused for a moment then continued. "Yes, she is nice."

Still feeling hesitant, he eventually decided to take the plunge and ask her directly.

"What are you doing here, Rosa?"

"It's okay," she replied, shaking his arm. "I'm not here to shatter your idyllic life."

"Not so idyllic," he sighed, "I leave tomorrow."

The news brought Rosa to another halt and she turned and looked to Matt, the surprise evident on her face.

"My, you don't stay in one place for too long do you," she countered. "Will you be saying goodbye to this one?"

He winced at the sharp barb. It felt like a boxer's punch to the solar plexus, leaving him winded and struggling to breathe. He squirmed inside with embarrassment. Taking a long, deep breath he decided to ignore Rosa's remark.

"Where are you staying, the Empress?"

Rosa nodded towards the wooden bench fixed to the floor of the harbour walkway below them.

"Over there," she said, "unless some gallant knight can offer me sanctuary for the evening."

"You haven't booked?" he said, aghast.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm a creature of impulse, as you know," she responded laughingly.

"Rosa, that's reckless!"

"Yes, Dad," she said impishly, tugging at his arm.

Matt looked to the skies for some divine intervention. He could have decided not to help her. He wasn't like that.

"Come on then," he said.

As she squeezed his arm gently, the memories of Toronto come flooding back into his mind. He remembered how much he had enjoyed her company. Matt dearly wanted to believe in extraordinary coincidences, but this was one hell of a mighty coincidence.

Pushing the door to The Keg open Matt ushered Rosa inside and immediately looked for Grace. She was nowhere in sight. He caught Tim's eye and went over to talk to him.

"Where's Grace?"

"Had to go out," Tim replied. "She expects to be back around nine. Hope she's not your sister," he said, nodding towards the stunning blonde standing at the door.

"As far as you're concerned she is."

Without Grace to consult, Matt made the decision himself. Rosa could have his room for the night. He wandered back to where she was standing.

"I've got a bed for you, for tonight. If you want to eat first I can take the suitcase up for you. Tim will take your order," he suggested, pointing to the other side of the room. "It'll only take me a couple of minutes to park your case."

"I'd rather shower first, if it's okay with you."

"Yes, of course," he said. "That was thoughtless of me. Let me take the case and show you the way."

Rosa followed him through the maze of tables towards the stairs. Passing the bar area, she peered at the photograph resting on the shelf of wine and beer glasses and asked Matt whose picture it was.

"That's Grace, the owner," he said. "She's out at the minute. I'll introduce you when she gets back."

Matt was surprised at Grace's absence. It was probably as well she wasn't there. At least this way he could get Rosa settled for the night, and give him time to think of how to explain her unexpected arrival to Grace. He wondered what Grace would make of it all, how she would react to the sudden arrival of a beautiful blonde from Matt's past turning up on her doorstep. He considered how easily he might accept such a surprise if it were the other way round.

With great difficulty, he thought.

The night got progressively quieter with only a few customers remaining at their tables, finishing their drinks. Despite this, Matt had been kept reasonably busy, too busy to spend any time with Rosa who had eaten in her room. Tim provided what amounted to a personal service.

With Rosa, men were like moths to a light bulb Matt had concluded.

All the while he had kept his eye on the clock, watching and waiting for Grace to make her return. Every time the door opened he expected it to be her. There was still no sign, and it was now ten o'clock. He made the decision to go up and speak to Rosa when Grace appeared through the front door, carrying a hard paper shopping bag from 'La Senza' in one hand and a plain white plastic bag in the other.

"Hi Grace," he called and headed for the bar where she'd stopped.

Bending slightly to kiss her lips, he noticed a cardboard box inside the white bag. Like a child whose mother had returned from a weekly shop, he couldn't resist peering inside the plain carrier to see if there was anything in it for him.

"Hey nosey," she cried, drawing the bag away. "There's nothing in there for you."

His disappointed expression brought a smile to her face, amused by his boyish behaviour.

"There," she said. "This is for you," and handed Matt a long thin envelope carrying a vaguely familiar motif.

Matt recognised the name but couldn't remember where he'd seen it, until he opened the letter. He gasped in surprise. A seven day cruise through the Inside Passage, up the coast of Alaska. Now he remembered the name, they were cruise specialists.

Leaving Canada Place in Vancouver, at five the following afternoon, the itinerary would take them up the Alaskan coast to Juneau, Skagway and Ketchikan then return to Vancouver. Instantly, he knew he couldn't go. There would be customs, border control and US territory to navigate.

Grace flung herself excitedly at Matt.

"Please say you'll go, please," she begged, holding him tight. "Tim's agreed to look after The Keg and we'll have a whole week together. I've always wanted to go on a cruise!"

Her eyes were bright, insistent and her face radiant with happiness.

"Grace ..." he began slowly,

"Surely you can grant me a single week, at least one week, before you go," she interrupted, pleading with her soft brown eyes.

His thought processes degenerated into a whirlpool of wild, conflicting emotions. To agree would be a reckless decision on his part, given the circumstances. Yet his heart wanted to spend this time with Grace.

"Sounds absolutely fantastic," he heard himself say.

Grace flung her arms around Matt's neck and kissed him madly about the face and lips with happiness, her joy there for all to see.

Somehow during this one night, his logic now told him, he was going to have to disappoint her. But not now, not right at this point in time. He simply didn't have the will to refuse her so publicly. His heart wouldn't let him say no.

"Shall I give you a hand with those bags?" he asked, once she'd calmed.

"No. Certainly not, you only want to peek." she replied, easing them away from his reach.

Then he remembered, Rosa.

"I need to tell you something," he said quickly, touching the skinny forearm to attract her attention and prevent her from disappearing upstairs. He told her about Rosa. She was an old friend needing a place for tonight only, he explained to Grace. He apologised for not consulting her first.

"That's fine," she said, adding mischievously, "Where will you sleep tonight?"

"Bathtub, it seems."

She grinned and reached up and kissed him again.

"Thanks, Grace," he smiled back.

She headed up the stairs. Passing the door to Matt's room, Grace noticed it was slightly ajar and peered through the open space. She thought about introducing herself to their guest when she caught sight of the woman, standing at the window.

The long blonde hair flowed down her back, covering most of the blue snugly fit t-shirt she was wearing. The light blue jeans clung tightly to her body, revealing an exquisite shape and figure. Matt's guest moved her head to look out of the window to see what was below, her features reflecting through the glass window lit up by the street lights outside. Grace could make out the profile of the woman's pretty face and decided against an introduction. She continued on to her own room.

The time was approaching eleven thirty as Matt and Grace worked rapidly to clear up the remaining glasses. They had said little to each other while they hurried to complete their chores, desperate to retire for the night. Rosa had remained upstairs.

"I'll finish up here," said Grace smiling, a yellow duster in her hand. "You go and attend to your friend. I won't be long."

"Are you sure?" he queried, and she nodded.

"Just don't be too long," she grinned.

Matt wondered at her easy acceptance of Rosa's arrival, her complete confidence in him, although it was so typical of her good nature. Taking the glasses from her hands and placing them on the table, he wrapped his arms around the doll like figure. They stood in silence, breathing in each other's scent.

"Don't you be long," he whispered softly in her ear.

"I won't," she said, "but you have to let go of me first."

They laughed, the way young lovers do at the start of any intoxicating relationship. They kissed wantonly. On any other night they would not have stopped except Rosa was upstairs, waiting for Matt. He relaxed his grip from Grace's delicate frame and made for the stairs.

"You wanted to talk?" Matt asked Rosa, after gently knocking and entering the room.

She closed the lid of the laptop and pushed it to one side.

"Hi Matt," she replied, as he went to sit on the bed.

He looked into her beautifully formed features. She draped an arm over the back of the wicker chair and turned to face him. Rosa was different now, from Toronto. Her eyes sparkled and her smile remained warm and friendly, though he felt he could detect a degree of detachment.

Matt wondered if he had made a fool of himself by the lakeside. It was beginning to feel like it. Not that it mattered now. He took the plunge.

"Rosa, about Toronto ..."

"I didn't come here to talk about Toronto, Matt," she said smilingly. "Or should I say Michael, Michael Daniels?" she suddenly quizzed and an earnest, steely look took control of Rosa's steady smile.

Her words were like an arrow to his heart. Their eyes met. Neither blinked, nor dared to blink, both watchful for any movement in the other's expression. Matt knew pretence was futile now.

"How did you find me?"

"Do you always use the same password, car registration?"

He raised his eyes to the sky and inwardly cursed at his carelessness.

"That's not enough to pinpoint my exact location."

"No, house to house did the rest. You were lucky it was me who interviewed Jenna," she said coolly, making his eyes widen in obvious concern.

"Don't worry, I didn't hurt her," Rosa added, to his immediate relief.

Their gazes fixed again. Deep down he'd known all along, about Rosa, there were too many coincidences. He just didn't want to believe she was one of them. Rosa had never once given Matt the impression she had any desire or intention to harm him, at least, not until now.

His eyes darted to each side of the bed, looking for something he could use to defend himself with. It was going to be tough as she will have been highly trained. Rosa's eyes followed his furtive, desperate glances. She knew what was running through his mind, what he was thinking and for what he was searching for; a makeshift weapon.

The continued silence between them was eerie. She lifted the index finger of her right hand and moved it slowly from side to side to try and dissuade him from any rash action on his part. Her confident expression told him Rosa believed she was firmly in control.

Finally, he spoke.

"Michael Daniels is dead, killed in a shoot-out with police. My name is Matt Durham."

"Well Matt Durham will be dead soon too, unless you..."

Matt didn't give her the opportunity to finish. He grabbed the pillow behind him and leapt forward to try and pin her to the ground and smother her sweet, pretty face.

She was ready for the attempt. In the blink of an eye Rosa threw away the wicker chair, twisted her body to place the weight on her left leg and snapped out her right. The foot caught Matt neatly under his ribs, into the pit of his stomach, throwing him back onto the bed with unbelievable force. He fell heavily, loudly.

Gasping for breath, Matt recognised he was incapable of another rapid assault. Instead he sucked in deeply, trying to fill his lungs, trying to recover some energy and prepare. Her kick had been expertly placed, fully immobilising his body. It was not quite enough to damage him, other than his ego.

Rosa relaxed her stance full in the knowledge Matt was temporarily helpless. He realised he was at his assailant's complete mercy. She stepped across the floor towards the bed and stood in front of her hapless victim. Rosa coolly watched as he struggled to regain some strength. She could tell what was on his mind, build up some energy and prepare for another lunge.

"Don't try it Matt. I'm too good for you. Listen ..."

Matt saw the wicker chair rise above her head and then swing down. A thud followed as the chair crashed across her shoulders sending her petite frame collapsing onto the bed beside him, shattering the wooden object in the process. Now, it was Rosa who was immobile.

He looked up and there stood Grace, a dark look in her eyes, the darkest expression he had ever seen on her face. She bent down and picked up a broken leg from the shattered chair, at one end a sharp point from where it had broken away. Moving towards Rosa's prostrate body, she raised the weapon above her head and readied to plunge it into the blonde girl's motionless body.

"No, Grace! No!" he shouted.

Summoning energy from somewhere, he leapt across the bed and grabbed Grace's raised arm, poised to strike, forcing her away from Rosa. They struggled. She surprised him with her physical strength, moving wildly to try and free herself from his hold on her upper limbs.

Gradually he managed to pin her body against the wall with his hip and push her arms above her head, pressing her tight against the wall to assert some measure of control.

"The bitch was going to kill you!" Grace screamed. "Don't let her get up Matt, don't let her hurt you again. Finish her!"

Matt was startled by the venom spewing from her mouth, the sheer viciousness of her urgings.

"Grace! Grace! Stop it!" he yelled back.

Matt could feel her attempts to struggle free were beginning to weaken. He kept a tight grip on her wrists until she released the improvised weapon. Finally, she was still.

"I'm not going to kill Rosa," he said gently. "I won't kill anyone."

"Oh Matt," she said looking up with trembling, tearful eyes. "How much trouble are you really in?"

"It's all okay, it's okay," he soothed.

Matt shifted his weight to allow Grace to move away from the wall. Instinctively, she flung her arms around him, as if in search for forgiveness.

"I was so scared for you," she cried, "I didn't know what to do, didn't know what I was doing," she sobbed in explanation.

He held her close, tight, while his confused mind struggled to rationalise the situation and search for an effective course of action. Grace clung desperately to her lover, too scared to let go and be released into uncertainty. He eased her away and asked her to stay still while he went to check out Rosa's condition. As the blonde woman silently lay there he felt the beat of her pulse on her neck. She was breathing, probably concussed, he concluded. Grace looked on as Matt pulled out the mobile phone from his jeans pocket.

"Are you ringing the police?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Jack," he replied.

A woman answered the phone and it took a few seconds for the voice to register in Matt's mind. Now he understood Jack's earlier rush to leave the jetty.

"Holly, is Jack there?"

"Huh!" was her first response. "Don't you two see enough of each other during the day," she complained. "Matt!" was the only clue she offered.

"Bad timing, lad," said Jack, answering the phone in what sounded like a state of delirium.

"Emergency Jack, need you at The Keg, now!"

Matt paused, considering whether there was any point explaining the situation. He pressed the 'end call' button instead.

Jack took less than ten minutes to arrive, cursing Matt all the way there and when he was let in through the door. Matt led him upstairs to where Rosa lay motionless on the bed.

"Jesus!" exclaimed Jack "what happened, is she dead?"

Matt shook his head.

"I said she was a total knockout, not that you had to knock her out, lad," Jack added.

"She needs the hospital," said Matt.

"Where's Grace?"

"She's okay. Here, give me a hand."

Between them, they managed to gently roll Rosa over and Matt picked her up in his arms.

"What did you bring, car or pick up?" he asked Jack. Old faithful was the response, meaning the latter. "Get the case and the computer," instructed the younger man.

Swiftly, they moved down the stairs and outside to the waiting vehicle. Jack got into the passenger side and Matt lifted Rosa into his arms.

"Is she one of them?" asked Jack as they sped off.

"Yes... no ... maybe," replied Matt, undecidedly.

"Jesus," said Jack, rolling his eyes. "If it's no I can understand the rush to hospital. If it's yes then stop and I'll chuck her in the harbour. Jesus knows what I'm supposed to do if it's a maybe!"

"I'll explain on the way," Matt said to his friend, as he pressed the accelerator to the floor.

The hospital was minutes away, giving Matt enough time to bring Jack up to speed. Yes, Matt did believe she had been sent to find him by his enemies. He didn't know whether she had called it in. In fact, Matt thought Rosa was trying to help him until Grace misread the situation. Only two things were important now.

First, he had to get Grace away from The Keg. Despite his better judgement, Matt had decided to go with her on the cruise. The gauntlet of US border controls was an unfortunate risk Matt was going to have to take.

Second, someone would have to watch over Rosa until she recovered. Use Holly if you have to, Matt told Jack. Once she was out of hospital Matt would contact her. He would buy another pre-pay mobile and give his friend the number.

"Use text, don't ring," Matt insisted.

"I thought I was the captain of this ship!"

"Finally..." said Matt,

"Finally," Jack said, "yur said there were two things!"

"Finally," Matt repeated, "Grace and I will need a lift to Vancouver, as close to departure time as possible."

He looked at Jack as the pick-up pulled alongside the hospital entrance and grinned.

"I'll get the door for you," he offered.

The watch read three in the morning by the time Matt had returned. He hurried up the stairs. Grace was on her bed, still dressed in her black T-shirt and white, knee length billowy skirt. Her knuckles were white with anxiety.

"How is she?" she asked jumping up to greet him, almost afraid to let the question fall from her lips.

"Looks like she'll be okay," said Matt."

Grace burst into tears. He moved to comfort her.

"I don't know what happened," she cried, "I can't explain, I thought she was going to hurt you."

"It's alright," he soothed. "Jack and Holly are going to take care of everything."

Matt kicked off his shoes and led her to the bed where they lay down. She snuggled into him and they cuddled silently. It didn't take long for Grace to start asking questions.

"Hush now," he said, gently kissing her forehead. "It's been a long day of surprises and we both need to rest. We've got the whole of next week to sort a few things out."

His reassuring words and the gentle stroking of her hair seemed to do the trick. Within a few minutes he could hear her breathing softly, rhythmically, as she slept.

The ordeal of getting through US Border controls started to occupy his mind. He could easily end up being arrested, forced to the ground and then handcuffed before being lead away into captivity right in front of Grace. He wondered if Rosa had come to the island alone, or whether she had accomplices in place. She said they needed to talk, suggesting she hadn't come to kill him, at least not yet.

Then the worrying images of Grace's attempt on Rosa's life, and their subsequent tussle, entered his mind. The fierceness in her eyes, the almost insane desire to harm another person, had shaken Matt to the core. Yes, she was trying to defend and protect him. Nevertheless, the surreal moment presented an unseen side of her personality. He began to wonder how well he knew Grace.

Matt wanted to stay awake, to worry some more. His body insisted it was time to rest. A large spider appeared on the ceiling and made its way across the painted surface. Tillman had sent his brother to watch over Matt.

Gradually his eyelids, getting heavier by the second, forced themselves shut and he entered a light restless sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

Vancouver Dash

Grace felt the gentle nudge and tried to force her eyes open to welcome the morning light.

"I've brought coffee," said Matt, "breakfast too."

Her face turned towards him and smiled. Stretching her arms to the bed head, a yawn took control of her face and she realised she remained fully clothed.

"I thought we were leaving it to the last minute?"

"Jack thinks it's a bad idea," said Matt. "He thinks we should leave early, and I've agreed. You've got half an hour to eat, shower and change."

"That means I've got ten spare minutes," she smirked.

"Grace, I've lived in the same building as you for over eight weeks, you need to start, now!" he said playfully.

His body swayed to avoid the onrushing pillow and it fell harmlessly onto the rich, wool rug.

Grace devoured the eggs, which were surprisingly tasty, and ate energetically at the freshly buttered toast as she watched him carefully place his clothes inside the already half full suitcase. One by one he positioned the neatly folded shirts on top of each other.

She looked admiringly at the muscles on his bare torso, rippling in rhythm with his movements, courtesy of the energetic workload he enjoyed at the floatplane jetty. From the beginning she had been attracted to this unassuming, softly spoken stranger with the ready wit. He was unlike other men she had known; not that she could put her finger on it exactly, he was simply different.

A quick sip of coffee and she had risen from the bed in search of a warm, secure hug. He heard her movement and approaching footsteps.

"Grace. Shower," he emphasised, pointing his arm to the room across the hall.

She stamped her feet in mock disapproval as he continued to point to the hallway. In a pretend huff she snatched up the clothes laid on the bedside chair and stormed out across the hall.

The sound of hot gushing water brought Matt's feverish activity to a halt. Kneeling by the open suitcase, under the large double window, any detached observer might have thought he was deep in prayer. Matt had never believed in any higher Authority. Like all people under extreme duress, however, he wished someone was looking kindly down upon him.

"Please keep these people safe," he said quietly. "Take anything else, but keep them safe."

He shook his head and sighed sadly. Of course there was no divine being, no higher court, only several billion flawed people inhabited this planet. A vibration in his pocket alerted him to an incoming message on the mobile, a text from Jenna responding to his earlier question.

Course I'm ok, c u Sun, it said.

Rain check, talk later, he replied and quickly switched off. His relief at the news was replaced by feelings of guilt and remorse. An image of Jenna's smiling face appeared in his mind and he cursed himself for lacking the courage to at least tell her something, give her some sort of explanation for his sudden departure.

It was cowardly to walk away without saying anything, whatever the circumstance. Grace's safety however, was all Matt was concerned with right now. Odd thing though, he considered. Of all the jobs he could have chosen to do first this morning, it was the message to Jenna that took priority.

"Are yur in secure Grace?" asked Jack, looking behind him at the small figure in the first passenger seat of the plane.

She nodded back, pointing to the closed seatbelt. The plane ferried away from the jetty into the open. A floatplane slowed to their right to allow him to position for the take off.

"Never seen that little birdie before," was Jack's mumbled comment as they passed the unmarked machine.

Within minutes they were airborne and headed towards Vancouver. While Matt and his friend chatted up front Grace gazed out at the islands, marooned amongst the vast waters below, from the window.

A whistling noise whisked by the side of the cockpit. This was quickly followed by another, then another. The pilot tightened his grip on the controls

"What was that?" asked Matt.

"Bullets, lad," was Jack's urgent response. "Some bastard is shooting at us."

"What!"

The plane banked sharply to the left and climbed higher, towards the sun.

"Matt, what's happening?" shouted Grace from behind.

She'd left her seat to peer into the cockpit, grabbing tightly at the frame for balance. Matt unhooked his seatbelt and turned to help her.

"Grace, go back to your seat and strap yourself in."

Another whistling noise was followed by the sound of breaking glass.

"Aarrgh!"

"Jack, Jack!"

Blood began to roll from the top of the pilot's scalp. The plane veered left again and swooped downwards. Matt quickly realised his friend was in no condition to fly. Reaching for the seatbelt, Matt frantically fumbled for the release catch and tore it away from Jack's waist. The plane was beginning to dive, the engine threatening to stall.

"Matt!" cried Grace, "Matt!"

"Quick, Grace, pull his arm," he shouted.

As she tugged feverishly at Jack's shirt, Matt grabbed the belt around Jack's trousers and gave a mighty heave. The big man slid from his seat and then fell backwards, on top of Grace. Matt leapt into the pilot's chair and pulled furiously at the controls. Two more whistling sounds shot by as they began to spiral towards to the sea below, the ever darkening mass of water growing closer by the second.

"Grace, grab hold of something," he called, and pulled with all his might at the wheel, half expecting the instrument to snap from its fittings.

He pulled hard at the wheel again, every sinew of his arm locked in combat with controls that wouldn't obey his commands. Matt leaned back in the pilot's seat and tugged frantically, in the mistaken belief this would give him extra leverage. Still the plane refused to yield to his efforts to right their path, insisting upon carrying them ever more quickly downwards to their watery destination.

"Now, it's got to be now. If you're really there then show yourself goddamn it, show yourself," he yelled, plane hurtling ever nearer to its grave.

Then, as if a giant invisible hand had reached down from the sky, the front of the plane lifted and arched away from the deep water. The floats skimmed the surface of the sea as it steadied and began to climb in the opposite direction.

There was no time for celebration. More whistling sounded from Matt's side of the plane and he banked sharply away from the land mass now rushing towards them. The sudden change of direction allowed him to catch a glimpse of their assailant. It was the unmarked plane from the inner harbour!

Matt turned again. This time towards the islands from which they had first set off and weaved amongst the channels of ocean separating the land masses, flying metres from the surface of the water. First left and then right, then left again.

He couldn't shake them.

The whistles grew louder, closer and more frequent. Their pursuers in the chasing plane began to anticipate the desperate shifting patterns of its prey.

"Do something Matt!" called a terrified Grace.

"I'm trying!" he yelled back.

A white ferry loomed into view, heading serenely towards them as they galloped into its path. Matt made his choice quickly and pointed the yellow machine towards the bow of the vessel. Their attackers followed.

The pilot of the ferry could see them nearing. As Matt closed the gap, the ferry captain's face changed from one of concern to utter horror at his imagined images of their impending collision. The distance between them narrowed from a mile or so to a few hundred yards.

A feint of the right wing served to encourage their pursuers to copy his move, and then he tipped the plane violently to the left just as they came upon the sea vessel and its terrified captain. Only metres separated the plane from the ship as the yellow machine slid to the left. Taken by surprise, the pursuing plane had no option other than to pass to the right side of the white boat.

It bought them only a few seconds, but each one was to their desperate advantage. One of the smaller islands now appeared before them and Matt recognised it immediately. Banking the plane to the left he circled the forested mass. Their pursuers, expecting the plane to continue to head back to Victoria, were wrong footed enabling him to further extend the distance between the two flying machines.

Grace had managed to struggle free and help Jack into one of the passenger seats, buckling him tightly into it. She shouted loudly towards the cockpit.

"Matt, head back to the inner harbour, they can't touch us there," she screamed.

For a fleeting second he agreed. Then it came to him.

"I've got an idea," he shouted. "Buckle in and hold tight."

Pointing the craft towards Vancouver he zigzagged along the surface in wide turns, as their pursuers tried to narrow the gap. The wind whistling through the hole in the side window of the cockpit added to his discomfort.

"Right, catch me if you can," he muttered, continuing to manoeuvre the plane from side to side.

They had breathing space. He knew it wouldn't last for long.

The ferry terminal at Tsawwassen appeared to their right. He steered as if to make for the imposing structure before he veered away, again confusing his enemy. Matt urged the plane to hurry and go faster, like a jockey talks into the ears of his mount during a race. The machine could move with no more haste. They sped along the still surface of the water, mile after mile. He knew they were travelling quickly, though it seemed like a snail's pace.

Their destination appeared and Matt throttled back, reducing speed to allow his assailants to gain ground. He lifted the plane to around a hundred feet from the surface.

"Matt, what are you doing?" shouted Grace. "They'll catch us at this speed. Do something!"

"Cover your eyes and keep your head down," he called.

The whistling sounds re-started. They were getting nearer and nearer. He took a deep breath and looked for the marker, hoping it was the right time of day. Stanley Park appeared and he saw the Lion's Gate Bridge come into view.

"Steady, steady," he told himself.

Matt spotted the marker. At least, he hoped this was the marker. The chasers were getting close, too close for comfort, and were almost upon their quarry.

"This is it!" he yelled, and prayed he was right. There were no sunglasses. He shut his eyes tight and prayed.

"One, two, three," he shouted.

Matt pulled back on the controls to force the plane to sharply rise up into the sky. There was no way of knowing exactly how close they were to the bridge. All Matt could do was picture the flight path within his own imagination. If the images in his mind were wrong, even slightly out of sync with reality, they were as good as dead.

He waited for the impact ... nothing.

Guessing they were clear he opened his eyes as he banked the plane left, away from the imposing structure once in front of them. His lungs sucked in the air with relief as he saw the clear sky ahead, and he turned almost full circle to look behind and take in the landscape below.

Smoke billowed from a patch of darkness on the ground, on the edge of Stanley Park. Flames were starting to lick round the edges of what remained of a battered fuselage.

It had worked!

"Are you all right back there?" he shouted.

"I can't see, I can't see," cried Grace's animated voice. "I think I'm blind!"

"Don't worry, it'll pass," he replied. "How is Jack?"

"I heard a loud bang. Are they gone?" she shouted back.

Matt looked to the sea as a man's head broke the surface of the water below, gasping for breath and rubbing his eyes. Someone had managed to get out of the chasing plane.

"We're clear," he assured her, knowing the reprieve could be only temporary at best.

Ferrying towards the mooring buoy Matt could hear Grace soothing Jack back into life, using the first aid kit to cleanse the wound. The older man's groans grew louder as he regained full consciousness, then he began to curse as only Jack could curse. Securing the rope tightly, Matt climbed back into the plane to check on his passengers.

Grace grabbed him around the neck and clung to his body for comfort. Jack's head turned towards him and grinned.

"That's my boy. Knew yur had it in yur lad, yur a natural." he said proudly.

Matt made to check his friend's wound. Jack told him to leave be, he was fine, good enough to fly back to the island. Holly would give him all the nursing he would need, and winked at the young man.

"Get yurself along to the cruise terminal lad, and take yur lovely young creature with yur," he added.

He rose to his feet and began to stagger, trying to regain his balance. Grace helped him to steady himself. The man has the strength of an ox thought Matt, in admiration of the burly Canadian.

"I'd better check the damage up front before you go," he said, and rapidly disappeared into the cockpit.

Clambering into the pilot's chair Matt retrieved the item from his inside jacket pocket and unpicked the sticky tape wrapped around it. Reaching underneath, he placed it firmly against the underside of the seat and pressed, fixing it against the surface. Confident it was secure; he stepped back into the main body of the plane and unloaded the luggage onto the jetty. First he helped Grace out of the machine and then Jack stumbled from the plane onto the wooden surface.

"Are you sure you're all right?" asked a deeply concerned Matt. "We can take you to the hospital, there's plenty of time."

Jack flatly refused to even consider the possibility. He wanted to get back to the island as soon as possible and get the window of the plane repaired. Besides Holly being there, Rosa also needed to be looked after he reminded his young friend.

The handshake was firm and true, the subsequent man-hug heartfelt. One fortuitous encounter had brought two strangers together, turning chance contact into the strongest possible bond of friendship. Matt handed his friend an envelope and a piece of paper. Grace watched from her position some feet away, standing next to the suitcases.

"Get this to Jenna," Matt said of the envelope.

The burly Canadian checked the contents.

"There's over fourteen hundred dollars here!"

Matt smiled.

"If we make it through the next week I can always ask her for it back. The number is the new mobile. Give it to no-one, not even Holly."

A final shake of hands and the two men separated. They waved Jack off from the jetty as he ferried the plane out into the harbour and readied to take off. Covering his eyes from the sun's glare with his left hand, Matt comforted Grace with his right and they watched the plane climb into the sky.

"What did you give Jack?" she asked.

"Instructions," he said and they started the uphill journey to the cruise terminal, less than half a mile away. "C'mon, I'm in desperate need of coffee," he added, prompting Grace to drop her line of enquiry.

Striding purposefully away from the jetty, up the inclined pavement towards Canada Place, his mind filled with worry. He hoped Jack was going to be okay. He prayed Rosa would recover to give him information, and increasingly fretted about the way he'd treated Jenna. He wondered how he was going to successfully negotiate US Border Controls.

Even if he got through that obstacle the thought of being trapped on a floating island for a week with nearly two thousand other people, any one of them a potential informant, filled him with apprehension.

Finally he worried about how he was going to keep Grace safe from danger. She had appeared to cope remarkably well with the adventurous flight from the island, but had now gone quiet as if in deep reflection.

Matt believed her silence to be a sign of shock and he was concerned about her ultimate reaction, once the day's events had finally sunk in and her body fully recovered from the dramatic trauma of their journey.

Holding hands across the plastic round table outside the coffee shop at Canada Place, while they waited for the time to pass towards embarkation, few words were exchanged. Every now and again Grace would glance across. He was sure she was almost at the point of asking him directly about what the hell was going on exactly. As it turned out she didn't.

Matt guessed this was due to the public arena they were sat in. He knew the questions would arrive and he would have much explaining to do. A truly inauspicious start to what, for most people, should be the trip of a lifetime. First, however, there was US Border Controls to negotiate.

Of all the people from their schooldays, why the hell did Dave Laverick have to send the bloody memory stick to him?

Noon arrived and they descended the lift of the Pan Pacific, down to the embarkation floor. Queues of holiday makers awaited in the massive stone-walled area, funnelling through the specific cordoned pathways for whichever cruise liner they were destined to board.

It seemed to take forever to get to the front only for them to be shepherded into yet another large room, crowded with red plastic backed chairs mostly already occupied by expectant holidaymakers. Their luggage had been taken earlier by the cruise line porters, to be delivered to the cabin whilst they were subjected to Border Control checks.

The scene resembled a mass immigration point. Dialects from all over the globe could be heard talking. There were Americans, Canadians, Japanese, Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Europeans and an awful lot of Australians.

Grace had rarely spoken in the hours that had passed since Jack returned to Victoria. Matt was becoming increasingly concerned about her state of mind, as they sat on the back row of plastic seats and waited for their turn.

Four people at a time would be ushered to the waiting Border officials, the resulting queues being asked to move forward onto the seats vacated. It took another hour before they reached the end of their row of seats.

Matt watched closely as the four people in front were led to the long wooden counter. The female Border officials on the other side eyed the approaching tourists with official disdain, probably boredom more like. Each holidaymaker was asked a series of questions whilst their documents were examined, then they had to look through a machine with one of their eyes to record the patterns of their iris.

Matt realised what a stupid idea this was. He felt Grace's hand wrap around his own as he watched the proceedings unfold.

"Matt," she said softly. "Are you alright?"

So engrossed had he become with the process in front of him, his anxiety rising with each movement towards the front of the queue, he had neglected to give Grace any attention.

"Fine," he replied. "It's a fascinating process."

She could tell he was lying and squeezed his hand gently to try and provide him with a degree of comfort.

"We don't have to go," she said, "if Border Control is going to be a problem."

Her directness took him by surprise, almost challenging him to reveal the reason for the uneasiness he had obviously failed to conceal. Far from being in shock she had, instead, used the preceding hours to try and mesh the pieces of the puzzle together.

Matt wasn't sure how to respond, feeling trapped and uncertain. His mind sought to understand why, of all times, she should ask him this question now.

"Grace, this is hardly the place," he said defensively.

"Then we'll have the discussion as soon as we get on board," she insisted, "or I'll get back off again."

He didn't get the chance to answer. A cruise official stood over them, urging them up to the counter.

"Hurry please, we're behind schedule," said the official.

Matt glanced up at the Border Control counter where four women looked across, waiting for them to step forward.

Courage, his mind urged.

At first he hesitated. Grace's reassuring smile provided him with the confidence to approach the counter while his heart pounded and his pulse raced. To turn away now would raise suspicion and cause alarm, he reasoned. For better or worse he was going to have to endure this torrid examination.

Matt held the gaze of the uniformed woman over the counter his smile fixed, false and unfaltering. Yes, he was an Englishman who had come to visit his Canadian girlfriend and they were taking a cruise together, something they had both wanted to do for some time. He hoped this holiday would lead to the 'moment' he told the short, squat official.

The woman looked up from inspecting his passport and stared back at him, unflinching. She really couldn't care less.

"Place your eye up to the viewer please," she motioned with her extended arm.

Within seconds it was over. Not even the merest hint of difficulty. Matt struggled to hold back his surprise at the ease with each they had cleared him to board.

A photographer lay in wait as they reached the gangway leading into the blue hull of their temporary home.

"Take your picture, sir?" he asked enthusiastically.

Matt chose to ignore the request and forcibly pushed his way through, leaving behind the disappointed young Filipino man. The throng of people queuing to use the elevators encouraged Matt and Grace to take the wide, thickly carpeted, staircase up to Deck six where their cabin awaited.

They walked silently up. Neither noticed the paintings or marvelled at the sumptuous décor, both failed to take in the smells and scents of opulence surrounding them from every direction. She wanted an explanation and was making every effort to reach their floating hotel room as soon as possible. Matt wanted her to know the truth, yet feared the knowledge would make Grace a target too. Not telling her though, would lead only to distrust and tension in their relationship.

Matt ushered Grace into their suite. At the far side, some twenty or so feet away, the doors to the veranda lay open letting in a gentle breeze. The large Queen sized bed, pushed up against the left wall, filled the middle of the cabin. Their suitcases had been placed tidily on top of the bed. Between that and the balcony a small table sat next to the sofa, opposite the television screen built into the cabinet unit placed against the other wall. The gold coloured wallpaper had seen better days though it remained an impressive looking space.

Their cabin was on the opposite side to the terminal, hidden from sight of the Pan Pacific hotel, providing a view across to the far side of Vancouver bay. Matt was about to comment on the room when he felt Grace's arms surround his waist from behind. Her head rested between his shoulder blades and he could feel her beating heart. She spoke quietly.

"Well, what is going on in your life exactly?"

Matt toyed with the idea of fully explaining the situation so Grace would understand why she was probably safer here, for the time being anyway. He knew he had to be certain about Rosa, and her intentions, before they could return. Until Jack got in touch, he couldn't be sure.

"We should get settled first," he sighed, "then we'll talk."

"No, Matt," she replied. "I need to know."

It was a demand rather than a request. Extricating his body from her arms he lifted the two suitcases off the bed and stacked them against the door. He returned to hold her, gently stroking her hair with a series of slow even movements.

Having decided in his mind how much detail to reveal, he led her over to the sofa. Matt stretched one leg along the seat cushions whilst the other was balanced to the floor. Grace clambered in between and snuggled her frame against his, allowing them both to gaze at the view out of the patio doors.

He told her a limited amount without mentioning the Milieu files by name, or of its intentions, only it would be wrong to surrender up the information he had been given.

"Who are these people, Matt?" she had asked with a worried frown upon her small delicate white face.

He told her he didn't know who precisely they were, which was mostly true, though he believed there was a Government perspective. They will kill anybody who has contact with this information, he told her, which is why he hadn't shown it to anyone. It was safer, he explained, for Grace not to know any of the detail. She nodded in agreement.

"Your friend, Rosa, is she one of them?"

Matt confided he wasn't exactly sure. More than likely she was connected. He hoped not in a bad way. It was better for Grace to be on board, and away from Rosa for the time being. He could almost hear her mind processing the information, trying to make sense of a surreal situation. She didn't appear to be overwhelmed by the scale of it all.

"What are you going to do? What can you do?" she asked.

There were some ideas he intended to explore. He hoped the next week would help him to crystallise his thinking. At her insistence, he promised to include her in any decisions he would make.

"I hope you've put it somewhere safe," she said, referring to the information. "And you've made enough copies as back up."

Yes, he had said, they were hidden in various places. Only he had knowledge of the locations and Matt reinforced it was better for her not to know where.

Once he'd finished explaining and Grace had run out of questions, the conversation stopped. She gave a big sigh and pushed her head harder against his chest. Both sat quietly for a few minutes, deep in thought. Matt wondered what was going through her mind. Eventually, he could resist the silence no longer.

"I never intended to get you involved in all this."

"Let's not worry about that now," she replied, looking up at him with her soft brown eyes. "There is a whole week ahead of us to decide the future."

Placing her hand upon his cheek, she kissed him softly on the lips and smiled. "I'll start unpacking while you go and get some air."

Matt stepped out onto the veranda and breathed deeply at the fresh air instantly filling his lungs. Reaching for the railing in front he felt his left hand begin to quiver. He struggled to keep the arm still as the shaking intensified. Setting his grip upon the railing he squeezed with all his strength and the shaking gradually subsided, replaced instead by the pain of aching muscles in his hands once he'd relaxed his grip.

He wondered if he had the inner strength to go on. People had always seen him as someone who coped with any given situation, ever calm and in control, because he never revealed his true emotions.

In truth, he was the same as any other person on the planet, sometimes fearful and sometimes afraid. He just preferred not to show it. He was afraid now. And not for his own safety, but for the lives of everyone he had touched since fleeing from England. Now he knew the full story, the full potential impact of his enemies' intentions, the whole complexion of his situation had changed. He cursed himself for not making the effort to read all of the files earlier, as he should have done. Tina had accused him once of being laid back and laissez faire, to which he had reacted sharply. He realised he had been guilty of exactly that, and more. There were no happy endings in sight. This thing had turned into a fight to the finish. It was either him or them.

Turning to look inside the cabin, he gazed upon the small figure filling the wardrobe with her items of clothing and footwear.

Dear, gentle Grace, he thought, goodness personified. She didn't deserve to be involved in this mess.

Unconsciously he felt inside the side pocket of his jacket, and his hand touched the pack of twenty he had bought a long time ago in Toronto. It had been nearly eleven years since he had last smoked. He placed the fresh cigarette between his lips, lit the end and inhaled deeply. It should have made him cough and splutter for air. It didn't. Such was the stress and tension sapping his energy it brought a sense of relief instead, like a shot of adrenalin to the brain.

The surge of nicotine added much needed clarity to his tired and weary mind. Matt had run and they had pursued him. He had hidden and they had uncovered him. What else could he do?

He already knew the answer. It was time to return the fight to his enemies. The only thing to be decided was how.

And, in an instant, a plan began to formulate in his mind.

Chapter Twenty

Alaska Run

"This way Madam, Sir," said the tiny waiter as he ushered them to their allotted table on the upper floor.

They were led through the vast upper arena of the two-tiered restaurant. In the middle of the room there was a large hole where stairs led down to the lower eating hall. It made the upper floor look circular in shape, spreading around each side of the staircase.

Almost all of the waiting staff were from Indonesia or were Filipino. They scurried around the floor like worker ants, whisking in between the tables in their white, crisply ironed jackets attending to the needs of the guests.

The subdued lighting made the room appear darker and more intimate, candles flickering at each table to accentuate the mood. The sun had set making it too dark to take in the view of the ocean outside. Matt guessed there were some two hundred tables or more on the upper floor, slightly crammed together. Some could seat up to eight people, others were set for two.

The waiter led them towards a table for four, next to one of the large windows at the side of the restaurant. Matt had hoped they would have their own table. It soon became clear they would have to endure their evening meals with another couple.

"Hello," said Grace, introducing herself to the rounded, plain looking woman.

The woman's long dark tresses failed to camouflage her cherubic features, while her tight black dress did little to conceal the fact she was carrying some excess baggage. She seemed cheerful and friendly enough. Matt took his place opposite the woman's partner and held out his hand in greeting.

"Matt, Matt Durham," he offered.

"Pleased to meet you, Robert Evans," he said. "Most people call me Bob. This is my wife," he added, diverting Matt's attention to the woman sat next to him.

"Hello, I'm Chrissie, Chrissie Stoner, ooh," and she started to giggle. "It's not Stoner, I'm called Evans now! Bob and I just got married. It's so hard getting used to a new name," she laughed. "I bet your wife had the same problem."

"Not really," replied Matt disinterestedly. "We've still to tie the knot."

He felt Grace's heel jam into his foot, hard!

"Oh, I hope I haven't said the wrong thing. You looked like a perfect match and I, obviously, wrongly assumed. I do apologise." She emphasised the word obviously, meaning she wasn't the least bit apologetic. Not that it was of any consequence to Matt.

"He's still wriggling Chrissie. I sense he's starting to tire though," said Grace amused by her fishing simile. It made the other woman laugh out loud.

"Keep fighting it," urged Bob. "Struggle for as long as you can. Look at me, and I'm only twenty five."

The woman laughed out loudly again, finding the subject extraordinarily hilarious.

For God's sake, he thought, give yourself a humour bypass or this woman will screech you to death. He glanced to his side and was surprised to see Grace sharing in the woman's vociferous laughter. This pleased Matt, for he was happy to see a smile on her face.

The two couples quickly established both men were from British descent, and the ladies originated from Canada.

"Fancy," said Chrissie. "What a coincidence. Do you think it's because there's not enough women to go round in the UK, Grace?"

She chuckled, and the two women laughed together.

A long meal awaited, and another six after this!

The repast took slightly longer than an hour. The time passed quicker than he anticipated, mostly because Grace appeared relaxed and enjoyable of the company. Neither of them had to say too much, the conversation being dominated by their confident table partners. Grace took to the new acquaintances, particularly Chrissie with her constant irritating and screechy laughter.

Bob told how he ran his own UK based business, which he had set up in 1998. He met his new wife whilst on a business trip to Montreal. Chrissie worked for a small business in the city before leaving to join Bob's outfit, Evans Packaging. She described the move as a leap in the dark, risking all to be with Bob. The move had worked out perfectly.

Matt ordered champagne for the meal, in celebration of the recent union. They reciprocated with a bottle of Canadian red, which disappeared with alarming speed.

He consumed little of the alcohol himself preferring to let their table partners take full advantage, though it certainly lightened his mood as the evening wore on. It was as well he kept his wits about him or he wouldn't have noticed the woman looking at him, a couple of tables away. Matt offered a brief smile to the elderly grey haired woman, carefully studying his face as if trying to place it. He promptly turned his attentions back to the people around his own table.

Sipping the remnants of the coffee, Matt suggested to Grace a stroll around the deck to take in some air.

"What a good idea," said Chrissie. "Grace, how would you feel about some good old fashioned female company on your tour?" Grace nodded happily. Matt smiled at the newlyweds delight in Grace's acceptance of the suggestion. On the inside, his heart missed a beat.

Their pace along the deck was slow and sure. The two men engaged in meaningless small talk while the women strolled ahead, talking animatedly like re-discovered friends catching up after a lost period of time. Every so often Grace would turn and smile at Matt, checking he was reasonably content with the arrangement. He wasn't, but there was little he could say or do about it.

"Look over there," said Bob. "There's a ship headed back to Vancouver. It looks bigger than ours."

He stopped to observe the fully lit leviathan of a vessel over to their right. After a brief pause to watch the ship disappear behind them they resumed their stroll. The two women were now well ahead. Bob walked sedately, in no hurry to make up lost ground. He started to question Matt about his background and current status with Grace. Bob regarded them as a good match and was curious about how the two had met, given she was Canadian and he English.

Matt rolled off the tale about selling up to travel the world and of meeting Grace in Victoria, where she ran a franchise pub restaurant. They were a new couple, still getting to know each other, and he believed it was much too early in their relationship to talk about Grace at any length. This had the desired effect of limiting the conversation about the two of them, allowing Matt to change the subject back to small talk.

After four circuits of the ship the men finally caught up with their two female companions, waiting patiently by the door leading back into the interior.

Bob suggested a nightcap. Grace admitted to being bushed for the day, so they bade goodnight and retired to their suites. She was indeed tired, asleep from the moment her head hit the pillow on this first night.

"Carter?"

"Hello, young lady," said the burly man seated in the visitor's chair. "How are yur feeling today?"

Rosa moved uneasily in the bed, discomforted by the severe bruising to her back and shoulders, wincing at every movement. Her eyes gradually regained their focus and she began to inspect her new surroundings. The white walls made her feel cold, feeling as though she was lying in a room without heating, and the smell of disinfectant hung in the air. There was ample space around the bed, with a two drawer clothes chest and a small wardrobe positioned on the wall opposite. Moonlight shone through the partially open window, throwing yellow light on the surface of the floor, helping the small lamp light up the room. She struggled to lift her painful frame.

"Here, let me help yur," said Jack kindly.

Rising from the plastic chair he placed a supporting pillow behind her.

"There, that'll help yur," he added.

"Where am I?" she asked hazily, uncertain of these new surroundings.

"The hospital, yur've had a nasty accident. Yur need time to rest and heal."

"How long have I been here?"

She tried to recall the incident.

"Couple of days," was Jack's languid reply.

"Days, how many days?" she asked.

The memories began to flood back, flowing madly into her head the way water rushes through a dark tunnel.

"Matt? Where's Matt?" she asked anxiously.

"Gone," replied Jack. "Yur've missed him. Doubt yur'll find him now."

"He's in deep shit. You have to tell me where he is."

"Yur don't need to worry. He's in a safe place, somewhere where yur can't hurt him."

"It's not me he needs to worry about. Tell me, where is he Carter?"

Jack looked upon the young woman's urgent expression, trying to decide whether to believe her or not. He sat quietly in response to her animated words, studying the concern in the blue eyes dulled by the pain affecting her slender body. Rosa kept her gaze on the older man's face, determined to convince him of her cause. She wanted to wince some more with the discomfort but there was too much at stake. She decided to try a different tack.

"Jack, what does Matt mean to you?" she asked.

The question surprised him, as did her reference to his first name. It prompted an involuntary admission.

"He's like a brother to me, family I never had," he replied quietly.

"Well he'll be your dead brother unless you help me. In fact, he might already be dead."

The finality of the statement stung Jack into responding.

"How do I know that? How can I be sure yur mean what yur say?"

Rosa thought quickly. She needed more than words, she needed evidence.

"What have you done with my laptop?"

"All yur stuff is over there, either in the wardrobe or in the drawers," he said casually.

"Bring it to me, Jack," she said. "I'll show you."

For no obvious reason Jack felt himself being convinced by the pretty blonde woman, though he didn't fully understand why. He rose and ambled across to where the furniture held her belongings.

"Jack?" she asked, "I need to dress too."

"No clothes, yur need to rest," he replied.

"We don't have time to argue. Just pass the first thing you lay your hands on."

He brought the computer and a set of clothes, including underwear, jeans and a t-shirt. Rosa decided to dress while the laptop loaded.

Jack stood and watched as she struggled from the bed. He thought better of offering assistance, until she asked for help to undo the ties at the rear of the hospital garment. As it fell aside from her back she slowly and painfully twisted her head round, to see the burly Canadian gazing at her naked flesh.

"Turn around, you dirty old man," she said sharply and he instantly obeyed.

"I object to the old bit," he muttered back, turning to face the wall.

The quip made Rosa smile. Matt had chosen his friend well. Gradually, she managed to force her aching frame into the clothes provided, gently lifting each limb and easing them into either a sleeve or a trouser leg. Jack winced with every groan Rosa made as she dressed.

"Shoes," she called out, and Jack threw a dark coloured pair of covered sandals towards her.

Then he heard the sound of light tapping behind him.

"You can look now," said Rosa.

"Looks good on yur," he said, nodding in approval.

"Not me, the computer screen you big lump," she scalded, and he walked across and peered at the screen.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Listen, can you hear it?" said Matt.

Chrissie was the first to answer.

"Hear what? I can't hear anything!"

"Exactly," said Matt, "absolute silence, isn't it magical."

All four were stood on the deck of the white painted bow of the ship as it sliced a path through the freezing cold waters, miniature icebergs floating past the dark blue hull of the iron mass. They were sailing up a narrow channel between two great landscapes of dark green forest. The trees were planted to every inch of the ground and rose up steep slopes, towards the top of each mountainous snow-capped peak. It was a truly awesome sight.

They were less than half a mile away from each shore yet not a sound of wildlife could be heard in the still, windless air. Even the water holding them afloat seemed unable to stir into noisy action, despite the liner's steady progress up the channel as it cut through the dark green liquid. Were a pin to drop Matt was sure it would echo for miles around, like a huge clap of thunder in a storm. Yet, in the midst of the deathly silence, the sun shone brightly and warmed the faces witnessing this incredible scene. It was nature, in all its glory.

This was the third day of the cruise. The ship had already stopped once, at Juneau, a place where it was normal for the rain to fall for three hundred days of the year. They had taken a tour boat to watch humpback whales leap from the sea before their massive frames crashed back into the ocean. The wondrous excursion marred only by the close proximity of the newlyweds. They stuck to Matt and Grace like industrial cling film and suffocated his desire to revel in the freedom of the vast open spaces.

Despite their claustrophobic presence Matt had resigned himself to accommodating the situation, particularly as Grace had warmed to the couple. She found their companionship a relaxing distraction though it discomfited Matt. He found himself revealing increasing snippets of information about them with every passing hour. He was sure their interest was innocent, probably normal. However, their questioning was persistent. And he was wary.

At least he had the nights alone with Grace. They talked at length during the dark hours as they cuddled in bed, watching the brightly twinkling stars through the open curtain. For the first time they talked about their individual histories, their families and friends and their upbringings. Then they would chat about the day's events and their newly acquired friends, the newlyweds, before Grace would return to the same subject. He gave little away about the plan he was formulating in his mind, fearful too much knowledge could ultimately lead her into danger.

Matt enjoyed holding Grace at night. He would wrap his strong arms around her and she would press her body tight against him, responding to the affection by almost purring in satisfaction. They had yet to make love on the boat, the sea air seeming to draw the physical strength from Grace's delicate frame. Eventually the need for sleep overpowered them, and they would wake the next morning still caught in each other's embrace.

The images swirling around in Matt's mind were suddenly disturbed by Bob, patting the pockets of his dark blue plastic anorak. He pulled out a mobile phone.

"It's a text from work. Sorry love," he said apologetically to Chrissie, "I'm going to have to answer it."

He kissed her cheek and apologised again before striding purposefully away, into the coolness of the ship's interior. The two women turned their attentions back to the scenery and the ice floes approaching the ship's bow. Matt took out his mobile from the front jean pocket and looked at the screen. No messages.

He couldn't understand what was keeping Jack from getting in touch. If Bob could receive a signal in this wilderness, then so should he be able to get one. The thought of not knowing about how events were unfolding back in Victoria was bad enough. The fact three days had passed without a word from Jack was becoming a matter of real concern. He peered at the open deck above and caught sight of a grey haired woman looking down upon him. It was the same woman who had so closely scrutinised him in the restaurant on the first night, and he felt slightly unnerved by what he regarded as her constant monitoring.

Grace was showering when the message from Jack arrived. Matt lay on the sun lounge out on the veranda, inhaling deeply on a Marlboro.

'Yur been tagged and tailed, get off the boat. Pick up?'

It was not the message he had been expecting.

The three people had been sat in Holly's enormous kitchen since early morning. Almost a whole day had passed since Jack had sent the message and they were beginning to fear the worst.

Holly poured yet another coffee and carried it across to Jack, sitting on the stool by the breakfast bar. She placed an arm around his shoulder and he responded by wrapping a strong arm around her waist. Rosa stretched her arms gingerly in the air, still feeling the bruises ache as she extended her hands towards the ceiling. She settled into the chair by the wooden table, in the centre of the room. The silent, nervous wait continued. Holly made for the sink and set about washing the dishes while she gazed out of the window, looking down at the freshly mown lawn of the garden. She hoped the call would arrive soon and put the smile back on her lover's face, finding it hard to cope with the sad look in his eyes.

The green light on the mobile started to flash, the quiet humming noise sending a gentle vibration skimming across the table top. Jack sprang from his seat and grabbed at the phone.

"Is it Matt?" asked Rosa.

Jack nodded. He opened the text and she looked over his shoulder to read the message.

"SK 22.30, what does that mean?"

"Skagway, at ten thirty," he said, looking at his watch.

Rosa inspected the sailing schedule before referring to the map of Alaska.

"The ship is due to leave Skagway at ten, their time. It's a long way, Jack. Can we make it?"

"We have to," said Jack. "If we leave now it's possible."

He wasn't sure. Rosa walked over to the holdall on the bench and pulled out a handgun and clicked the magazine free to check it was fully loaded. Holly looked on, aghast.

"Is that real?"

Rosa's eyes darted towards the woman at the kitchen sink before returning to the bag, to pull out two further magazines and strap them to her belt.

"Jack, must you do this?" asked Holly, fearfully.

He moved to where she was now sitting, at the wooden table, and squatted beside her.

"We're his only shot to get away," he said calmly, "I can't let him down."

"It's too dangerous."

"That's why Rosa is coming. She's trained to protect big oafs like me," he said, grinning broadly.

His words failed to comfort her. Jack understood the danger and was determined to play it down, placating Holly with humour and small, tender gestures. He spotted the wry smile on Rosa's face through the corner of his eye.

She knew Tillman worked a target in teams of three. If Matt did get off the ship alive he would likely have all three to deal with. There was every prospect their own arrival would make them targets as well.

Holly's distress steadily rose as she watched, transfixed, as the younger woman continued to expertly examine the tools of death at her disposal. Jack worked hard to reassure Holly but his intentions were lost in her fear, falling on deaf ears.

Leaving the case, Rosa emptied the plastic supermarket bag to reveal a box of hair dye and a large pair of scissors.

"Jack?" she asked, nodding at the other two holdalls under the wooden table. "They're cargo for the plane. Can you load them for me please, while Holly helps me with these?"

He nodded and kissed Holly on the end of the nose.

"Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. We'll pick Matt up and be back as soon as we can. Don't worry. Yur won't get away from me that easy."

He gave her the nicest smile, the warmest gaze.

The real Jack, thought Rosa, glancing across and witnessing their intimacy. She'd taken to the big Canadian. He never ceased to surprise her.

Jack carried the holdalls outside and Rosa ushered Holly upstairs to the bathroom. The older woman stopped halfway and turned to confront Rosa's energetic pursuit up the stairs.

"Rosa, I don't want to lose him," she said, her eyes moist with fear.

"No chance," said Rosa. "I'm too good for that to happen."

Holly felt better.

Grace and Matt sat shivering together on the covered bench. The ship grudgingly disappeared from sight. It had taken several long minutes for the huge iron mass to manoeuvre away from where it had docked, and then turn itself around for the next leg of its journey. Lit up from bow to stern by the many hundreds of lights, switched on to try and dispel the blackness of the night, the huge shape resembled a floating candelabra as it cut a path through the silent waters of the deep sea inlet.

Another liner, bigger and brighter with its extra lighting, moored a short distance from shore where it would anchor until the morning. The shapes of the tall mountain range sitting behind were lost in the pitch blackness of the night.

Cold continued to bite into them, now the warmth of the ship's heating had taken flight from their bodies. The bench was placed about a hundred yards from the pier and a good half mile from the centre of Skagway, a tiny frontier-like town comprising no more than what seemed like half a dozen short streets in total. Like most urban areas on the coast of Alaska it was accessible effectively only by sea or floatplane. As the lights of the cruise ship were finally extinguished from view, Matt reached into the shopping bag he had been carrying and produced a fleece jacket.

"Try this," he said. "It'll help to keep out the cold."

"When did you get this?"

"While you were taking one of your long showers, I nipped downstairs to the shop. Not pretty but effective."

She slipped her arms into the sleeves of the jacket and pulled up the front zip. The fleece lining helped to retain what little heat remained in her delicate frame. This was the last thing she would have chosen to wear, the dark brown fake fur exterior patterned as it was with images of wolves and bears.

"Matt, what's going on?" she moaned. "I don't understand why you had us bundled off the boat, or even how they would allow us get off. How are we going to get home? It's hardly a bus route. This is crazy."

"I told the ship's captain there is a family emergency and a floatplane is on its way."

"And is it?"

"Yes, Jack's on his way as we speak," he answered.

"But why," Grace replied, the pitch of her voice heightened in further irritation.

"Jack sent me a message."

"What kind of message?"

"Text, to say we were under surveillance on the boat. He's agreed to come and pick us up."

"And you believed him? Jack's hardly an intelligence expert. More like someone who needs a dose of intelligence."

"I did some checking on the library internet, as a result of Jack's note," he continued, "on our two newlywed friends."

"Matt! That's disgraceful. How would you feel if someone did that to you without your consent, invaded your privacy?"

Her mood was dark and unforgiving, a complete contrast to everything he had previously understood her to be.

"That's not important. I've found out some interesting stuff about them," he insisted.

"Stuff?" she seethed. "They're a perfectly ordinary down-to-earth couple enjoying a honeymoon cruise, which is more than can be said about either of us or, more particularly, you!"

Whilst Matt understood her anger at being involuntarily taken off the boat Grace's unpleasant and barbed responses towards his attempted explanation, given their circumstance, was beginning to get under his skin.

"There is an Evans Packaging in Slough, with a director called Robert. But the picture on the website looks nothing like the guy we've been dining with the last few nights," he said. "I arranged for a note to be delivered to let them know we were both ill, as cover."

"You're being paranoid and completely over-reacted to Jack's message. He's not exactly the brightest light bulb on the planet," she said scathingly.

Her cutting remark raised the anger building inside. It was so unlike her.

"Think what you will about Jack but he's like a brother to me. I'd trust the man with my life, with both our lives. If he tells me we are in danger then I believe him."

As the temperature of the debate rose their warmth towards each other cooled. They hadn't argued before. Matt insisted he was right to be ultra cautious, whilst a cold and dispirited Grace refused to accept his pleas for understanding.

"Shush!" he said suddenly.

"What?"

"I thought I heard something. Maybe it's Jack."

The conversation stopped and they could hear the drone of an engine, steadily growing louder. The flashing wing lights of an airborne craft appeared in the dark sky, heading towards them from the direction the cruise ship had taken. The lights lowered from the sky, onto the surface of the sea.

"I'll carry the cases," he told her, promptly taking one in each hand and lifting them from the ground. "With any luck Jack will have the heating on," he quipped.

He strode energetically towards the wooden jetty stretching out into the water, close to the main platform where the cruise liner had docked. Matt had covered most of the distance when he thought he saw a movement ahead of them, and ducked instinctively. A noise flashed over his head, magnified by the still night. It sounded to him like a missile being ejected from a blowpipe.

He looked again, straining his eyes to see ahead. He could feel his heart beat a little quicker, the adrenalin pump a little faster through his body. There was no movement, no unusual shadows flickering in the moonlight. Rising to his feet he took another step forward and heard the blowpipe sound again, followed by a stinging sensation to his left shoulder.

Within a few paces he felt the intensity of the stinging grow. The rising discomfort made him stop, and he dropped the suitcases to the ground. He reached to touch his aching shoulder and felt the warm, thick liquid seeping through his shirt. There was no more stinging, only pain; a hot and sharp unbearable pain. And then the nausea started. Dropping to his knees he shouted for Grace to get away. He collapsed onto the ground and rolled on to his back.

The sight of the stars glittering in the night sky was all he could see as the temperature in his body dropped to mirror that of the cold, concrete floor he was lying on. His mind finally absorbed the shock to his system, the increasing pain in his shoulder and the liquid seeping from his body. He'd been shot.

Matt had never felt pain like this before.

Not here. Please, anywhere else but here, he thought. This can't be the place.

Grace had caught up with him and knelt by his side. There was only one, dimly lit, street light nearby. The moon shone, not bright enough to illuminate all of her face. He struggled to keep his eyelids raised as the rising pain dug deeper into his psyche.

"Go, Grace. Run. Hide," he urged.

Gently she lifted the lapel of the jacket from his shoulder and inspected the wound. A hand started to urgently pat his body and search through his clothes, digging into his pockets whilst he gasped for air. He felt the hand arrive at the small pouch on the inside of the jacket and pull back the zip, freeing the object from his protection while he lay helpless.

Matt's eyes were fixed upon Grace's figure as she rose to her feet with the freshly retrieved object in hand, poised to speak into the mobile phone.

"Bill Francis," she spoke, and then waited.

He assumed she was calling for help, a doctor perhaps to tend his bleeding wound. Then he remembered the name. Bill Francis, it was a name from the Milieu files.

"It's me," she said. "The target's disabled. I've found one copy but there are more," she continued into the machine.

"No, Grace!" he called. "You don't know what it contains, what's in the files, what's at stake."

The moonlight brightened and caught her face, revealing her eyes. They were cold and dark, aloof and dispassionate, as they were when she had assaulted Rosa in Victoria. He tried to stretch out his healthy arm to grasp her leg, to shake some sense into her. She stepped adroitly out of his reach.

Grace continued listening to the device, taking instruction whilst ignoring Matt's begging; his plea to her humanity.

"Skagway," she replied, "his friend has landed. I'll take care of it," he heard her say. More instructions followed.

"What shall I do with the target?" she asked.

Matt knew the answer, the mental picture of the order being relayed already in his mind. Finish him!

Grace flipped the phone shut and slid it into the side pocket of the fleece coat. He watched in horror as she knelt down to pick something up and then stood upright, pointing the weapon straight at him.

"Where are the copies?" she enquired coldly.

"Grace, don't do this," he begged again. "You can't return these files, you mustn't give them up."

His pained expression failed to alter her cold, inhuman stare.

"It hardly matters," she said, shrugging her shoulders with the realisation he wasn't going to comply. "You've already told me no-one else knows. It would have been a bonus, that's all."

"Grace, this is the wrong thing to do," he whispered. He was struggling to believe, didn't want to believe what his eyes now told him. "For so many reasons," he added.

She said nothing in reply.

"Grace, you know I love you and wouldn't lie. Surely that counts for something."

Her finger rested on the trigger. Matt saw her expression change as though in mental turmoil, in sudden doubt about the instruction given. He wondered if he had got through, hoping reason had succeeded in winning the inner argument. Then he heard her cock the trigger, and he knew. Matt closed his eyes to avoid witnessing approaching death. He felt like crying.

Dear gentle Grace, the woman he believed to be the love of his life, was about to end his very existence. As the pain ate into his shoulder he heard the blowpipe sound one more time, and darkness consumed him.

Chapter Twenty One

Clarence, Henry & Willow

"Matt, Matt," shouted the woman's voice.

The slapping of the fingers against his cheek stirred him gradually into consciousness, back into life. His senses began to return, his eyes re-focus. The woman's face loomed above him, her shoulder-length dark hair almost camouflaged by the darkness of the cold night.

"Grace," he grimaced in pain from his shoulder. "Thank God, thank God you've come to your senses."

"Matt," replied the woman's throaty voice. "Get up, there's not much time."

He forced himself to obey the instruction, pushing his body away from the cold surface with his one healthy arm. The woman's face was clearer now, the wide blue eyes revealing her true identity.

"Rosa?"

She helped him on to his knees. A man's shape crouched behind her, looking at something on the floor and muttering quietly away.

"Oh, Missy," the figure said. "How could yur?"

The realisation for Matt was more painful than his wound.

"Grace, Grace," he called, trying to haul his body over the ground to her prostrate form.

Jack heard his friend's cries and turned to prevent him from nearing. Matt fought like a tiger to get closer. They held him back, forced him away, until his energy was spent.

"It was yur or her," Jack said forcefully, trying to get the message through to the devastated Englishman. "Rosa had no choice."

Matt wanted to cry. He wanted to wail to the moon and curse the dark sky, bellow into the darkness. But he no longer had the strength. Instead he slumped back against the wooden post behind him, defeated.

"Are yur okay, lad?" said Jack sympathetically. He nodded in weary response. Rosa checked his wound.

"You're lucky," she said. "It went straight through."

Matt turned his head to look at her. There was no fire in his eyes, no rage at the precious life she had taken from him, only sadness.

"Keep still," she ordered.

Powder fell from a plastic bag onto his wound. At first, he felt nothing. Then it hit him, like a red hot poker burning into his flesh. He gripped Jack's shoulder and squeezed with all his might to try and contain the agony coursing through his system, his face contorted in pain. And then it was over, and he gasped in relief.

"Grace," whispered Matt softly, pointing to the lonely, prone figure.

"It's too late for her, lad," said his Canadian friend.

"No, that's not what I mean," replied Matt. "She's got one of the memory sticks."

They raised him to his feet, Rosa using her body as a prop to support Matt as they made for the floatplane. Jack went to search Grace's lifeless body. The bullet hole in her head was small and neat. Her facial features were still, almost peaceful, and the glasses remained in place. Jack saw the memory stick in her open hand and grasped it quickly before picking up Matt's suitcase.

"Goodbye, Missy," he sighed, and turned away from the lifeless body lying on the cold surface.

"Sandra Hayes was her real name," said Rosa, as she eased the dressing away from Matt's shoulder to examine his injury. "I met her about three years ago, on an op in Austria. She retired soon after."

Matt said nothing as Rosa gently prodded the wound with her fingers, preferring instead to absorb the information in silence. Her eyes glanced in his direction, trying to gauge his reaction. Three days had passed since he had last spoken, masking both his physical and mental pain.

"Rumour had it she was having an affair with the head of section, and she was besotted with him. He dumped her when offered the top job at the CSIS (Canadian Secret Intelligence Service). He had to be respectable and Hayes had a reputation, so he took another woman for a wife and ditched her. The op lasted three days and he called after it finished. She never got over it."

"Grace was married," insisted Jack, standing in the corner of the room, "to a guy called Mark."

"William Mark Francis was the head of section. Everyone knows him as Bill Francis." answered Rosa. "He's a tall, uber-confident man with one of the loudest voices on the planet. Only Hayes called him Mark. They were never married."

She glanced again at Matt and received a negative reaction, a cold and blank stare.

"I don't understand," questioned Jack again. "Her name is Grace Amanda Fox."

"That was the name she took on retirement from active service. According to the files, Francis contacted her after Matt left Toronto. She wouldn't play ball. They met up some weeks later, the day I arrived in Victoria. He finally persuaded her to sign up once she'd met up with Evans and Stoner on the cruise ship. Who knows what he promised her."

Rosa shrugged her shoulders in seeming disinterest as she continued to apply the dressing to Matt's wound.

The room felt confined to him, cabin like. There were only a small wooden table surrounded by four chairs, apart from the two bunk beds behind Matt. Jack was leaning against the wall in the corner, next to the tiny window with his arms crossed, watching Rosa set about her medical task in obvious admiration.

"What's the stuff yur put on his wound in Skagway," he asked.

"We use it in the field," she replied, "for bleed wounds. It burns away any infections and cauterises the damaged flesh."

"Like a hot poker?" asked Jack

"Yes," she said. "We call it the magic dust.

"Explains why my shoulder still hurts," said Jack, referring to the vice like grip Matt had used on him when Rosa first applied the powder.

"Evans and Chrissie Stoner are active agents," continued Rosa, looking straight into the Englishman's eyes. "Tillman likes his teams to work in groups of three."

Matt's head fell back and he closed his eyes, cursing with the realisation.

"Evans," he murmured. "He was at Kielder. And you're the one he called milady."

They were his first words since the Skagway rescue. Rosa hesitated, unsure how he would further react.

"Yes. That's what the little shit used to call me behind my back," she admitted, wary of Matt's likely response to her confession.

"Isn't there anyone on this freaking, God forsaken planet who is exactly who they say they are," he shouted angrily, contemptuously.

"Says the man with two names," quipped Jack in retort.

Matt sighed in recognition of the irony of what he'd said, the craziness of the situation.

"I need to call Jenna,"

"No. Never," said Rosa forcefully.

"I have to warn her."

"No, Matt. No-one else knows about Jenna."

"You don't know that," he hissed.

He looked into her eyes and could tell she wasn't sure.

"Try and contact Jenna and then they will find her, kill her too."

He knew she was right.

"There," she said. "Should do it for now," discarding the soiled and bloody bandages.

"Where exactly are we?" asked Matt.

"Neets Bay," replied Jack. "At the salmon farm I told yur about. Henry's outside. If yur gonna start talking to people again, I'll introduce yur both."

They offered to help him but he refused, preferring instead to struggle on his own. He cursed at the pain as he rose, arm held tightly in the makeshift sling.

Stepping into the sunshine onto the wooden patio, he saw the dirt track spearing off to both left and right. No more than six feet wide, the other side of the path was thick with tall grass reaching up towards the trees lining their way. To their right, attached to the hut, a vast wooden structure sat several feet from the ground held up by wooden beams.

"That's where they grow the salmon," advised Jack.

Matt peered over the edge to look upon the mass of shiny skinned fish packed tightly into the wooden reservoir. "Around ten thousand of the slippery suckers are grown each summer. Very tasty they are too," added the Canadian.

The trio walked the fifty or so yards leading them to an open space where Matt could hear a river, or large stream, trickling into the huge expanse of water to their right. Further ahead, a man's figure stood with his back to them. A long pony tail of light ginger hair hung from his neck over the back of the pink, short sleeved shirt tucked into khaki coloured short trousers.

Henry was massive, as broad as he was tall with muscles to match. The thick beard of gingery greying hair complemented the colouring on his head, a truly fearsome sight. Like Jack he had grey eyes too; only his were more sunken into his face, and smaller, which made his wide nose appear flatter.

His strong, articulate voice welcomed them openly to Neets Bay. Standing next to a large, open sided gazebo like structure placed on the river bank he smothered both Matt and Rosa in a hearty embrace. Jack and he had been friends since their army days, he explained, and they kept in regular touch.

He told them the rest of the staff had gone into Ketchikan to celebrate a fellow worker's fortieth birthday, returning later tomorrow. Although his job was to work on the salmon farm he had come to Neets Bay primarily for the bears. He adored the beasts.

"Bears, what bears?" asked Rosa.

Henry stood aside to reveal the sight of two great brown masses perched upon a circular plateau of large flat stones, right in the centre of the gently flowing river. They were watching the water intently, paying no attention to their human audience, eyes rapidly darting from one side to the other as they homed in on their prey.

"The biggest one is Clarence," said Henry. "That's Willow next to him. They've popped down to the river for lunch."

"How many bears are there here?" questioned Rosa.

"Around thirty I would think," replied Henry, making them gasp. "This is a viewing station, where the tourists come with their cameras to take their holiday snapshots," he added, referring to the gazebo.

Matt and Rosa edged forward. A fish leapt above the surface and was snared in Willow's powerful jaws. For a large, cumbersome beast she had moved with the swiftness of a bird in flight. Seconds later Clarence's huge paw splashed into the flowing liquid and tossed a salmon from the safety of the water. The fish struggled madly, flapping its body wildly inside the mouth of the captor. The struggle was futile.

The giant frames waddled to the shore, closer to where their human spectators stood, plumped themselves down on the bank and began to rip the skin from their prey. Neither animal feared or were disturbed by the human intrusion, their concentration fixed solely upon the meal at hand.

"Why don't they chase us away?" asked Matt, amazed by the indifference of the two beasts to the human spectators.

"You haven't got what they need at this time of year," advised Henry. "It's the skin they're after rather than the meat. They need the oily nutrients to store in their bodies to help them through hibernation."

The two younger people stood quietly and watched, mouths agape, as a clutch of seagulls appeared and descended onto rocks close by the feasting giants. Once the skins of the fish had been devoured, the two beasts made their way back into the river and the birds feasted upon the spoils.

It was nature at work, providing resources for every species on planet Earth. Matt thought back to the Milieu files and the potential carnage it would instigate. He wondered if scenes like this would survive the conspiracy's effects.

"Have you got a computer?" he asked and Henry nodded. "There's something I have to show you all."

Matt's three companions sat in stunned silence as he released the memory stick from the computer, disbelief etched all over their faces. He looked at each in turn. None seemed prepared to accept what they had seen. Jack was the first to speak.

"Can they really do that?" he asked.

"They can and they are," responded Matt.

"So the world is screwed!" was Henry's observation. "And we can't do a goddamn thing."

"Not screwed just yet," said Matt, "and something can be done."

"What are you thinking of Matt?" were Rosa's first words.

"Officials from ten Governments are involved in this," he said. "Meaning many other Governments are not involved and know nothing about the conspiracy. Somehow, I have to get these files into their custody and outmanoeuvre this supposed group."

"I don't see how that's going to help," said Jack, "they're hardly going to declare war against these bastards."

It was left to Rosa to try and be constructive.

"Getting this information to them will not be easy," she advised. "The UN will be impossible. Security is so tight and they'll be watching. You'd never get through, either in New York or at their Euro offices."

"There is a way," insisted Matt, "of getting the information to a large group of other Government officials, all at the same time."

"Yur gonna call a conference!" Jack exclaimed.

"Don't have to, Jack. The European Commission meets regularly and is much more open to outside contact. Dozens of other countries attend. And when they meet they all gather together in one place. Once word is out there'll be uproar. It will kill this thing stone dead."

"What if they're already in on it?" asked Jack. "Yur can't trust politicians, they're all in it for themselves."

Matt shook his head in disagreement.

"For the conspiracy to work, secrecy is everything. Tell too many people and the secret will out. Nature of the beast for someone to talk, nature of the beast for Government officials therefore to try and keep secrets," he replied. "I'm convinced there are many still in the dark about this thing."

Matt could see they were considering his words, thinking through his outline plan. It was a daring, almost suicidal, plan they told him.

"It's a long shot, Matt," said Henry after some additional thought. "You'll need to be a genius to get through security at any one of these events, and you'll need a helluva lot of luck. What makes you think you can pull it off, all on your own?"

"I don't know if I can. The alternative scenario is a life on the run watching every shadow, every stranger's movement. That will be my life until the virus eventually catches up with me and everybody else."

"There must be another way," said Jack.

"I'm open to suggestions old friend," he replied. "If there is a better way then I'd be more than happy to take that option."

The ensuing silence told him all he needed to know.

"I might know someone who could help," said Rosa eventually. "Someone with the resources and contacts you'll need. We'll need to get to Austria though."

"Austria, where's that?" asked Jack, causing considerable mirth amongst the remaining three.

"Did you say we?" Matt asked Rosa, suddenly dawning on him what she had said.

"Of course, wherever the mood takes me, remember?" she grinned. "Besides, you're going to need someone to watch your back."

"Why didn't yur tell me this at Parry Bay? Why tell me now?" asked Jack.

"Because I was naïve and stupid enough to think they'd leave you alone if you knew nothing. I was wrong."

"How do yur work that out?"

"Grace," said Matt. "She was going to finish us both at Skagway, even though I'd already told her you weren't involved. These people don't want any loose ends."

He looked across at Rosa and she nodded slowly, signalling her agreement to Matt's assessment.

"How much longer can we stay here?" he asked her.

"You need to rest the shoulder for at least another couple of days, minimum," she said authoritatively. "We should be okay for a while as long as Jack stops coming to visit."

"I've gotta check on my buddy," complained Jack. "I've been careful."

"The world has changed since the black and white movies of the fifties, Jack," Rosa responded. "These days there are all sorts of ways to follow someone, including Holly."

No sooner had Rosa spoke then Jack's mobile rang. He looked at the screen to check the name of the caller.

"Speak of the devil," he said cheerily. "On my way love, should be back around ..."

"Jack, there's some Chinese men here," said Holly.

"Chinese men, I don't know any Chinese men."

The comment made Rosa leap from her chair to prise the phone partially away from Jack's ear, enabling her to listen in to the conversation.

"They want to know where Matt is, and they're scaring me, Jack," Holly's voice trembled.

"Tell them I have no idea where the young buck is. Tell them I'm on my way back so they can ask me to my face ..."

"Mr Carter," spoke an oriental voice. "Your friend is not being very helpful to me. I hope you will fully co-operate."

"Who the hell are you? Put Holly back on the phone yur oriental scumbag!"

Rosa snatched the phone from the burly Canadian and pressed the end call button.

"What do yur think yur doing?" he yelled at her. "Give me the bloody phone before I snap yur pretty neck!"

She stared back at him, her eyes catching his furious look with a steady unflinching gaze.

"That was Jie Hsun, from Chinese Intelligence," she said calmly. "Holly is dead now."

Jack lurched forward in the manner of an enraged bull to a red rag. Rosa, with a matador-styled turn to her side evaded his lunge, causing him to fall to the floor.

"He was tracing the signal to get a fix on our location," she added coolly. "Hsun only wanted to keep you talking for as long as he could to buy some tracking time."

Rosa's spoke plainly, without emotion. The fury mounted in Jack's eyes as he prepared for another assault, prompting Henry to stand between the two.

"Listen to her, Jack," he said quietly.

"Jack. I'm sorry. Truly, I am," said Rosa, sympathetically. "Jie Hsun leaves no-one standing. That's his trademark, and he takes pride in it."

They could see the rage building inside the Canadian. Her unwavering gaze fixed on Jack's eyes. He was crouched, motionless. Rosa prepared herself for another charge from the bull-like man. It never came. Instead he strode to the door and stormed out into the baking sun.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Matt incredulously.

She nodded, placed the mobile phone on the table and stepped towards the door.

"No, I'll go," said Matt.

Jack had walked the few yards to the viewing station. He was looking across to the other side of the river as if he'd spotted something important. Matt approached cautiously, deciding to stand a few feet behind the burly Canadian.

"Jack," he called, as if in request to join his friend's side.

There was no answer, a refusal to even turn and look at the younger man.

"Jack, this is my fault," said Matt softly. "All of this would never have happened if I hadn't come to Victoria and entered your lives. Now we've both lost someone. I'm truly sorry."

The Canadian looked upwards to the bright blue heavens and exhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and then falling in slow motion. He could not respond.

Matt stood quietly, not sure whether to add to his earlier words or simply return to the cabin. A few silent moments passed before he decided to leave Jack to his grief.

"It's not yur fault lad. Yur shouldn't be thinking like that," said Jack.

Matt walked up level to his friend and they stood together and stared across the river.

"I've been a bachelor all my life. Never been able to keep a woman for long, never been in love. Thought it was the way it was meant to be," confessed Jack.

He paused, trying to regain the strength in his voice, trying not to burst into loud sobs of despair.

"Then, along came Grace. Thinking back, it was obvious to all but me we were no match for each other. It was down to yur to show me Holly. She'd been right in front of me all these years, and I never noticed."

He paused again, struggling to hide the inner emotions that were so painfully obvious to his friend.

"Jesus, Matt ... I'd only just found her," he blurted.

A steady stream of tears started to roll down his rugged features. Jack made no attempt to hide them from his friend. Matt placed his good hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezed gently. There was no point in further talk, or Matt would have cried too.

They returned their attention to Clarence, and watched in silence as he ambled back into the centre of the river and fished for his next meal.

Chapter Twenty Two

Canadian Courage

Henry cautiously made his way down the dirt track. Dawn had already broken and the sounds of nature arising were starting to fill the air. He strolled through the gently meandering track, first curving left then right, the trail bending like a lethargic river taking its own time to steadily make its way downstream to the sea.

The fresh scratch marks on the trees told him bears were close by. He knew he had to be watchful. The only predictable quality he had come to learn about the resident bears was their unpredictability.

After five minutes he neared the clearing at the lakeside. A dark shape moved in the undergrowth to his right, causing the tall grass to shiver in the sunlight. He recognised Clarence once the beast had raised its head to inspect the sound of Henry's footsteps. Of all the giants he had encountered at Neets Bay, Clarence was probably the most aggressive. Another rustling sound came from behind and he turned sharply to catch sight of yet another dark mass lifting itself from the waterside. Vigorously, it shook its huge frame to scatter the unwanted water from its thick coat.

Quickening his pace, to put as much distance between them as possible, he covered the remaining hundred yards or so to the clearing. He stopped and looked around to make sure there were no other beastly surprises lurking in the vicinity. Bears could be damned quiet when it suited them.

The two portable latrines opposite were set on a wooden platform at the edge of the area. A large tree with huge overhanging branches stood tall and upright next to the toilets. The wooden jetty spread out into the water to the left. At the entrance of the walkway to the moored flying machines sat a small storage unit, padlocked at the front.

The full stretch of the long jetty came into view as he stepped forward, and it was then he noticed the third plane. The green coloured machine belonged to the Neets Bay employees, the yellow one was Jack's. He didn't recognise the white unmarked plane moored alongside.

Suddenly a black clad figure leapt out at him from behind the tree, brandishing a large serrated knife. Recalling his army training Henry managed to elude the man's initial lunge. The figure regrouped and returned, swinging his arm in a wide arc towards the big man's chest trying to rip through his light clothing.

He swayed back to avoid the sharp blade.

Another lunge, only this time the big man managed to fold his right arm around his assailant's neck. One sharp twisting movement and the crack of a neck bone shattered the silence.

The black clad assassin collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Henry rolled the body over with his foot and leant down to unpeel the balaclava from the man's head, revealing an oriental face.

Henry wondered if this be the very same Jie Hsun who Rosa had mentioned. He had no further time to find out. A burst of gunfire erupted from behind the latrines, peppering his broad back with metal missiles of destruction. It was too late for Henry to react and he slumped forward, over the body of the man he had killed.

Six more black clad figures slowly approached Henry's limp frame. They nudged his body with their feet until satisfied he posed no further threat to their progress. The smallest man made gestures with his hand to the others, and they began to run up the trail towards the salmon farm.

"What was that?" asked Matt, reacting to the sound of rapid cracking in the distance.

"Gunfire," Jack yelled, leaping from his stool to reach for the shotgun propped up against the door. Rosa checked the handgun was full and handed it to Matt.

"Release the safety catch and..." she said.

"I know about guns," he said to cut her short. "I spent a couple of years in the Territorial Army."

The hand held radio on the table crackled into life. Jack pressed the receive button to take the message.

"Six, there's... six ... on their way," came Henry's weak voice, and then it stopped abruptly.

Rosa checked her semi-automatic and nodded towards Jack. Together they turned the table on its side and pushed it up against the door.

"It's the only way out," he said.

Both scoured the small interior. Rosa pointed to the ground. He nodded and they kneeled down to hammer furiously at the wooden floor. No sooner had they crouched then the first bullets whistled through the wooden walls of the cabin.

"Matt, down!" shouted Rosa and he fell to the floor, the wounded shoulder hitting the surface hard.

His two companions stopped hammering at the floorboard to listen for movement. Matt spotted a crowbar in the corner of the confined room. Reaching for the tool he forced the pointed edge in between two of the wooden planks as Jack made to help him.

"No," said Matt, "you keep watch."

Using all the strength from his one good arm he loosened a plank from the floor and began to lift it away. Another burst of gunfire followed, zipping into the room and shattering the coffee mugs perched on the shelf above them. More gunfire, this time cutting into the table pushed up at the door.

Then, an eerie lull followed.

Rosa knew their attackers were preparing to move in. She motioned to Jack to watch the door as the wooden balcony outside creaked with footsteps. The intruder had reached the side of the doorway when Jack pulled at the triggers of his weapon, releasing the flames of death from both barrels to break through the light wooden frame out into the waiting sunshine. They heard the sound of a body slumping to the ground.

Jack re-loaded as Rosa raised five fingers to indicate the number of remaining assassins.

Next, a shadow darkened the window frame and was met with rapid fire from her semi-automatic. This time a man screamed before collapsing against the cabin wall.

Four, she mouthed.

Matt had managed to prise two of the floorboards away from their fittings, enough for them to squeeze through. He tapped each of his friends on the shoulder. Rosa indicated she would go first, followed by Matt with Jack bringing up the rear, and they nodded in agreement.

Rosa slipped her slender frame through the opening and slid her body quietly along the ground. She could see a pair of black clad feet ahead, circling behind the cabin. Two well placed shots to the ankles brought the man crashing to the ground and she finished him with a bullet to the brain.

Three

Matt painfully lowered his torso onto the ground, blood starting to ooze from the re-opened wound. Rosa's eyes widened at the sight of the red liquid seeping through his shirt. He blinked to indicate he was okay. Jack tugged at another plank to separate it from the floor, enabling him to join his comrades.

With half their force destroyed in the first assault, Rosa knew instinctively their attackers would regroup before making their next move. She watched for signs of movement amongst the foliage. Everything was still and quiet, deathly. Convinced they had retreated to the far side, she motioned to her companions to head into the undergrowth, using the same order as before.

The journey through the forest was painstaking. At first they crawled deep into the forest, sliding along their stomachs over the ground inch by inch. Once hidden by the gloom of the woods they crawled on all fours. With each rustle of the undergrowth ahead Rosa would signal them to stop and be silent. She would listen and watch intently for movement until satisfied they could progress. Bursts of gunfire could be heard behind as they edged towards their destination, becoming more infrequent and distant with each foot of their slow and steady progress. It took over half an hour to make the short journey to the clearing.

Crouching at the edge of the trees they looked around for signs of life. Henry's massive frame was slumped over the lifeless form of an assassin near the jetty.

Jack noticed the increased flow of blood from Matt's shoulder and whispered ahead to Rosa, pointing to the semi-automatic. She handed it over with the two remaining clips of ammunition and took the handgun from Matt. The older man nodded them towards the jetty. Rosa used her body to help Matt to his feet behind a tree.

"Go," whispered Jack.

The pair stepped out into the clearing and stumbled forward to the jetty. Jack followed, back pedalling as he covered his two comrades with the shotgun, the semi tucked into the belt around his waist. It felt as though they were moving in slow motion towards the moored floatplanes. They had reached the first wooden plank of the jetty when, suddenly, a shot reverberated around the clearing. A cry of pain followed and Jack fell backwards onto the ground.

"Jack!" shouted Matt.

The Canadian, holed in the chest was bleeding profusely.

On the far side of the clearing the assassin carefully fixed his sights on Matt. He checked for distance and wind speed, determined to down the target with a single strike.

His eye focused through the lens to bring the weapon into line with the side of Matt's head. Once sure he had a clean shot, his finger moved down to the trigger and he began to apply gentle pressure.

There was no warning or sense of danger, and total surprise. The massive paw crashed against the back of the assassin's skull and tore the flesh from the back of his head. The sheer force of the blow catapulted him out from his hideaway and onto the dirt track. His brain, reeling from the sudden impact, was still trying to assess the damage when Willow fell upon him from her standing position and ripped at his throat with her powerful jaws. He had no time to scream.

The three fugitives could hear Willow's frantic assault. Rosa raised her hand.

Two

They dragged Jack's injured body to cover, behind the two lifeless frames lying atop each other, and propped him up against them. Matt looked to Rosa to tend to his friend's injuries. She made a cursory inspection and glanced at the Canadian.

"I'll cover yur," Jack gasped, blood seeping from his mouth. "Get the hell out of here."

She tugged at Matt's arm, gently at first, then with greater force at his refusal to leave his fallen friend.

"Matt," she hissed, "move your arse!"

"No, I'm not leaving him."

"Go lad," said Jack urgently. "I'll hold them."

His grey eyes pleaded, practically begged, his young friend to do the sensible thing. They scuttled towards the plane. Matt looked over his shoulder. The Canadian's breathing grew heavier, more laboured. A weak smile crossed the injured man's face.

Rosa set the other two machines aflame by firing into the petrol tanks with the semi automatic she'd dug out of one of the holdalls. Matt taxied the yellow plane away from the shore. Devastated about leaving the Canadian, he jerked back on the controls to take the plane up into the sky.

Jack checked the last clip of ammunition in the semi and waited. Two assassins remained and he was all too aware they were closing in for the kill. Seeing the yellow machine rise from the surface of the water he knew, however, his job was done. They'd got away.

That's when he saw the shadow of a figure, thrown by the ever strengthening sun, over his shoulder. He raised the semi and pointed it upwards as the figure came into view. The last three shots of the semi escaped out of the barrel, followed by a high pitch scream and a heavy thud to the ground. Jack realised the fifth assassin to be culled was female.

One intruder remained. He decided to try and find better cover. Painfully, he began to drag his weakening body and the shotgun over the ground to the storage unit, leaving a bloody trail in his path.

The sound of light footsteps approaching told him it could only be the final assassin. He eased the shotgun, with its two remaining cartridges, close to his body and waited. Judging the enemy to be upon him he rolled his body over to lift the weapon. A dark coloured boot kicked it from his grasp, throwing it out of reach.

"Mr Carter," the slightly high pitched voice said, "I am Jie Hsun. It is such a pleasure to meet you at last."

A gloved hand pulled away the black balaclava from his head, revealing a small face with short cropped hair. The dark, almost black, eyes were narrow and boldly cast. They bore the hallmarks of the inner strength and ferociousness of a man trained to kill. The small figure exuded a lithe agility evident in the manner he reached behind his back to unsheathe the samurai sword. The long sharp blade pointed towards Jack, clasped within both the assassin's hands. Gently he rested the blade upon the open wound in Jack's chest.

"That is a nasty looking wound, Mr Carter," he said. "Do you know I am expert in First Aid, as well as in torture?"

Jack's eyes never wavered, despite the pain.

"If you tell me where your friend is going, I may well be able to help repair you and keep you alive."

The assassin's cold and icy stare fixed itself upon the Canadian. He meant none of it. Jack's continued silence prompted Hsun to dig the point of his sword into the open wound, making Jack groan.

"Well, Mr Carter?"

"Look ... up," gasped Jack in between deep breaths. "He's ... in... that... plane, go and get him."

The assassin dug his sword a little deeper into the wound forcing Jack to cry out in pain.

"Well, old man?" said Hsun, "I am losing my patience."

Life ebbed a little quicker from the Canadian's body. Jack knew time was short.

"I'd... rather... eat ... Chow Mein," he groaned at the Chinaman.

Recognising the insult Hsun's expression altered from mockery to one of blind, savage rage. Furiously, he lifted the sword above his head and sneered at the injured man's terrified face beneath him.

"Matt, what the hell are you doing?" shouted Rosa.

The plane arched round in a tight circle and headed back to the jetty. He switched the engine off as they approached the narrow channel leading to the bay, so they could run silent. Rosa gripped her seat in apprehension.

An undercurrent of warm air lifted the wings of the plane, allowing it to skim the tops of the trees with its floats before dropping down on the other side. Matt looked ahead for his friend and saw the black clad assassin raise his arms above his head.

"Jack," he yelled.

He turned his attention to the assassin and spotted the sword gleaming in the sunlight.

"Get away from him, leave him alone," he shouted. "No, no," he screamed.

Jack felt rather than saw the weapon disappear inside his body and cried out in agony at the fierce intrusion. He could not see the smile on Hsun's small, round face but heard the Chinaman ask his question again. He refused to answer.

Hsun tweaked the blade gently to the side with one deft movement of his index finger, and Jack cried out once more as the searing pain shot through his nerve endings. Again the question came and, again, it was answered with silence. The fingers of Hsun's hands tweaked the blade sharply to the right and Jack squealed again with the pain inflicted by the black clad, grinning torturer.

"Mr Carter, I can prolong this agony for some considerable time to come. Surely this is not what you want. Give me the location and I will end your unfortunate suffering. You will then be at peace with your lover."

"Give me the gun!" yelled Matt.

"I thought you refused to kill anyone."

"When did you hear me say that?"

"It was the last thing I heard you say before I passed out, after the bitch hit me with the chair."

She meant Grace.

"I lied," he shouted. "Now give me the fucking gun," and she passed it to him.

Hsun neither heard nor saw the metal bird swiftly and silently glide towards him, until a huge shadow appeared. He felt the solid surface of the float crash into his head, shattering his jaw and lifting him into the air before throwing him back onto the ground.

Matt restarted the engine and raised the plane above the tree line at the edge of the clearing. The yellow machine flew high and circled to return to the scene. Matt dipped the wing as they approached the writhing figure of the assassin and pointed the gun out of the open window. Bullets spat out of the weapon in rapid order to the surface below, entering Hsun's stunned body and making it jump from the ground with each impact.

Jack heard the gunshots and managed to force one last tired smile from his lips.

"Hold on Holly. I'm coming," he whispered, and his weary grey eyes closed for the last time.

"I have to bury him," insisted Matt.

"There's no time, another team will be here soon," replied Rosa. "We have to go."

"Rosa, I'm not going to leave him like that," said his voice, choking with emotion.

"Matt, there isn't time. We have to leave!"

"He was my friend," he whimpered.

"I know," she said gently touching his arm. "Jack knew it too. That's why he was prepared to sacrifice himself, to buy you some time. Don't waste his precious gift on sentimental procedure and learn from his courage."

"Learn? Learn what for Christ's sake!"

"To choose your field of battle and that sometimes it's necessary to leave the dead behind, exactly as they lie," she counselled.

He chose not to respond.

"Jack," he croaked.

Matt could see the blade protruding from the Canadian's broken body, glint and shimmer in the summer rays. Raising his head to the sky he roared at the sun with the rage of a wounded lion, so the world might hear his pain.

To an observer it would appear an act of insanity. Rosa understood. They had wanted to grind this small unimportant little man into the dust, swat him into oblivion. Now, instead, they had created a demon. They had unleashed a monster of their own making, in their own image.

Matt paused to consider Rosa's advice and knew she was right.

"Which fucking way?" he spat.

"North," said Rosa pointing ahead.

Chapter Twenty Three

The Voyage

Rosa dabbed tenderly at the shoulder wound and Matt winced in discomfort.

"Ouch!" he yelped as she pressed a touch too firm for his liking. He withdrew his shoulder from her reach and banged his head against the under frame of the top bunk.

"Stay still you big girl's blouse," she chided, grinning as he rubbed the back of his head with his good hand. He returned his shoulder to her care, and she continued the task of lightly applying the medication.

The cabin was tiny, little of the natural daylight being able to force its way into the room through the small porthole shaped window above the top bunk. The low wattage light bulb added little illumination. A hand basin was perched on the opposite wall, barely eight feet from where they sat on the bottom bunk. The toilet-cum-shower room was too small to fully extend arms to each side. Nevertheless they were on the move, providing both with a degree of security within this small prison.

Matt's eyes rested upon the woman nursing him back to health. Her now-dark hair did not seem at all out of place on her pretty frame, surrounding her small face with half moon shaped tresses. Her blue eyes shone ever more brightly, sparkling underneath the black fringe that now covered her forehead.

The dabbing had finished when she placed a slim index finger to his wound. She began to circle it gently, feeling the contours of his damaged skin and studying the colours of the bruising to his shoulder. It seemed a fascination to her.

"I've never been shot before," said Rosa's concentrated face. "How does it feel?" she asked.

"Painful," he replied. "I wouldn't recommend it."

A throaty laugh rang out from her mouth, the same throaty laugh she had revealed when they had first met. His memory returned to Toronto, to the time the sunlight had shone down upon her blonde head at the taxi stand revealing her exquisite features and infectious smile. So much had happened since.

Matt wasn't sure what to make of Rosa. He knew now he could trust this woman, which was a good thing, but he also understood he knew little else about this trained assassin. Matt thought he knew Grace, believing her to be a certain kind of person. History had shown him to be so abjectly wrong.

"Is Rosa Cain your real name?" he asked, deciding to take the bull by the horns.

They had been travelling for over a week and he had yet to ask her any direct questions about herself.

"Rosamund Elizabeth Cain," she replied. "I am an only child with no surviving parents, born on the twentieth day of June nineteen hundred and eighty."

"How did you get into a job like this when there are so many other, different things you could have done?"

Rosa chose not to answer, preferring instead to watch her finger continue its meticulous circular journey around his wound, as if locked in place like a needle stuck on a long playing record.

"I'm sorry, Matt... you had to find out about Hayes, I mean Grace, the way you did," she whispered.

Her contrition took him by surprise.

"You don't need to apologise to me," he said. "I wouldn't be alive today if you hadn't been watching over me. I owe you my life."

Her piercing blue gaze rose up to search out his eyes, and a narrow smile pursed her luscious lips. Matt couldn't be sure but thought he could sense a degree of loneliness in her expression, as though she were in need of a comforting touch. It was so unlike her.

Matt instinctively raised his good hand and cupped it round her slender jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Her eyelids closed and she tipped her head sideways into his open palm, to allow his thumb to move deftly across and caress her lips. He wondered if she was thinking back to Toronto, to the warm evening air, the view of the great lake Ontario and that dance in the open under the dark night sky. Perhaps it had meant something after all, and her sub-conscious wanted to escape back to that night.

Her eyes flickered open as his light caresses continued around her mouth. He bowed his head to reach for her lips with his own kiss. Rosa's hand rose to his arm and gently lifted it away. Then she stood and carried the small bowl of dirty water to the hand basin and started to empty the contents down the sink.

"That's not going to happen," she said quietly, confusing his mind.

Neither spoke for some time.

"The night in Toronto ..." he eventually began.

She turned from the basin and busied herself with picking up and clearing away the rest of the medication.

"Work," she answered. "I'm not employed now."

She didn't mean it as a put down. It felt like one.

"Now I feel foolish," he said, not expecting her to respond.

"You shouldn't," Rosa replied. "It really wouldn't have been too much of a chore for me," not looking at Matt as she spoke.

The admission did little to prop up Matt's diminishing ego. Not one insult but two, in quick succession.

"Besides," she continued. "I'm already spoken for."

Not ideal but a little better, he thought.

Her loyalty to this unknown person was a further surprise to him. Whilst it did not ease his sense of belittlement he warmed to her unexpected, old-fashioned virtuousness.

"You miss him, her perhaps," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

A smile returned to Rosa's face, an affectionate grin.

"Him," she sighed. "Yes, I do. And I worry. I've tried to cover my tracks, but you can never be sure. When I looked into your eyes, in Skagway, it brought it all home."

He shook his head at the memory.

"How are you feeling now, about Grace?" she asked.

Now it was Matt's turn to sigh.

"I still can't quite believe it. Grace seemed so real, as if she had genuine feelings for me."

"Try not to be too hard on yourself, Matt. She was one of Canada's finest. Though I can't say I cared for her much."

"I thought she loved me."

"Of course she did, that's why she tried to kill you."

"I don't understand how she could do it."

Rosa chose not to respond, knowing only too well Hayes was a crack markswoman, more than capable of only needing a single shot. It was a constant source of mystery to Rosa how Matt had managed to survive that night.

"I keep getting it wrong, with women," he said. "Perhaps I should seriously consider turning."

Now the throaty laugh returned to full volume. Rosa returned her gaze and affectionate smile to his forlorn expression.

"I wouldn't say that," she smiled. "Jenna's a lovely girl. I liked her very much."

"Swap tales, did you?" he said. "God, I even managed to make a pig's ear out of that. Doubt Jenna would want to see me again either."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I suspect you're no longer her type, now you've discovered your dark side."

"Type!" he exclaimed. "What sort of language is that?"

Rosa began to laugh.

"You must have known Tillman would do the research while you were keeping low in Kielder. Why do you think it was me they sent on the plane, after the take off was delayed."

Matt was openly shocked.

"Everyone said the same, all your colleagues and business associates. I'm only interested in blondes with a figure to die for. It's what you're famous for. Tillman thought you were a prize prick. He couldn't believe how you somehow kept managing to disappear out of sight."

"Did he now?" said Matt sarcastically. "How did they know I was catching a plane anyway? You were all supposed to be chasing the bloody Mercedes."

"CCTV, simply shaving a beard off is hardly much of a disguise. They spotted you as soon as you entered the airport. Bridges was identified in your car early. The authorities had wanted to take him out for some time. It was too good an opportunity to miss and classic Tillman; oops, wrong guy. You didn't have to leave your mobile on in the car though. We were already tracking it from the inbuilt signal on the satellite."

Matt felt himself getting angry.

"So why didn't they have me arrested at the airport, there and then? Why carry on with this madness?"

"Because Tillman thought you might be part of a wider network. That's why they let you get out of Kielder. So you could be followed. See where, and with whom, you ended up."

"So you tailed me," he said sharply.

Matt went quiet, mulling over Rosa's words and feeling his temper rise at each passing second.

"They never thought to consider you might have caught the early Greyhound. I suppose calling it in two hours later than I should have done might have helped. They took weeks to work out what had really happened."

Now Matt was completely confused. He sat silently for some time, trying to make sense of what she had said. Rosa waited for him to speak again.

"Why? Why did you wait two hours? Surely that would put you in the frame? Why did you help me, Rosa?" he asked, disbelievingly.

At first he didn't think she was going to answer. She stared blankly at Matt with a glazed look. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not sure really. An accumulation of things I guess," she said. "Evans led the raid on your apartment and found your girl there ..."

"Amy" he interjected.

"Yes," she replied slowly. "It didn't bother him, never gave it a second thought. It wasn't meant to happen. She reached for the phone and tried to dial your mobile, and Evans fired. Then, I met you in Toronto. I'd been given this profile of you. According to Tillman you were nothing more than a flash and shallow womaniser with a big car, an arrogant prick. But any other man would have jumped me once I had you interested on the dance floor. Instead you backed away, which was really kind of sweet. You were nothing like what I expected, nothing like your profile at all."

Oh yes I was, he thought, all those things and more.

"We're told in training," she continued. "It's when people are placed under extreme duress their real personality shows through. And yours was ... absolutely fine. You have a good heart, Matt, a very good heart. You remind me of someone else."

He began to feel a different emotion towards Rosa, a close bond. A level of friendship he had felt once before, with Jack; a sort of kinship.

"I've done so many bad things," she said wistfully. "When you showed me what was on the memory stick I realised how bad they were, unforgivable."

He reflected for a moment before responding. "I forgive you, Rosa Cain," and she smiled wistfully again.

Matt decided it was time to change the subject, focus on the future and try and lift Rosa from her melancholy.

"How did you manage to get us on this ship?" he asked.

"I told you. I know someone who might help. His family owns a lot of cargo ships," she answered, now busying herself with routinely tidying the cabin.

"This is going to take us an age to get back to Europe," he sighed.

"That's good," Rosa insisted. "It will allow plenty of time for you to heal and for me to give you some much needed training."

"Training?" he said.

"To help you survive. I might not always be around, and what would you do then?"

She was right. If his plan was going to have any chance of succeeding he needed to be capable of far more than mere deception. Neets Bay had shown him that. They hadn't talked about his brutal slaying of Jack's assassin, the dark side she had referred to earlier. To Rosa this was a part of the world she already inhabited, one he would also now have to become familiar with.

Strangely, he felt no remorse over the incident. His initial feelings of guilt over the deaths of Jack and Holly had passed quicker than expected, replaced by a burning desire to wreak revenge on those responsible. The events of those fateful days served to heighten this determination, to repay in spades those responsible for taking the human treasures from his life. The thirst for revenge grew stronger within him each passing day, dominating his every waking thought and every sleepless night.

He was different now.

Rosa knew it, too.

Any loitering semblance of Michael Daniels had been well and truly extinguished; to be replaced by a harder, meaner individual called Matt Durham.

The two bare footed figures circled cautiously, staring intently at the other, watching for the slightest offensive manoeuvre. Rosa made the first feint, dipping her right shoulder as if to change the direction of her movement before rebalancing the weight on to her left leg. Swiftly her right foot shot towards her male opponent, aiming for the chest. He expertly evaded the riposte by swaying to his left.

Barely a further second had passed before she was pinned to the floor, her left leg swept away by his right foot. She crashed onto her back and his body rushed to trap her to the gym mat.

"Submit," he roared triumphantly, sweat dripping from his brow with the intense physical effort and concentration he had had to employ.

Rosa struggled to shift his frame from across her shoulders, breathing heavily with the exertion.

"That hurts," she managed to gasp out.

He responded by gently easing the pressure on her body. Sensing her chance, her freed right hand thumped into his groin. The blow caused him to release his grip and allow Rosa to regain the initiative, to sit atop her opponent's shoulders with her fingers poised to pierce his eyes.

"How many times have I told you," she said with a large grin. "Never give an enemy a chance, man or woman, no matter what they say or do. They won't give you one."

Matt exhaled deeply, more in irritation than anything else. He was sweating profusely now, soaking his t-shirt and loose fitting sweat pants and gluing them to his skin. Rosa was breathing heavily too and there were glimpses of perspiration running down the sides of her arms.

He looked up at the high ceiling above Rosa's head, to the dark grey steel beams stretching across the roof of the ship's gym. A vast space, it had provided plenty of scope for their activities. The cargo ship, wending its way across the globe, was heading for Valencia, in northern Spain. The place had almost become a second home to them.

It had been another two hour workout within the gym. He had gradually acquired the skills of hand-to-hand combat, helping his body develop agility and greater litheness.

Rosa had instigated the training regime. From mapping to spatial awareness, from moving with extreme stealth to the art of killing silently; and from weapon handling to knife fighting and First Aid. She had taught him much.

He had proved an outstanding student too. The intensity with which he had thrown himself into learning these new skills had surprised even his tutor. Matt was desperate to learn, to excel at anything and everything she could teach him.

All of this stemmed from his burning desire to succeed in his chosen mission; that of sating revenge on his enemies. Yet for all his new ruthlessness, she sensed a hesitation still in him when it came to hurting a woman. Perhaps it was just her, she thought, although he'd come close on several occasions to really hurting her.

Rosa had come to enjoy the constant physical contact, bringing them closer together as the voyage unfolded. The man she had first encountered in Toronto was still there but had developed a harder demeanour, adding to his physical attraction. Matt's shoulder had healed well, though still gave him the odd twinge of pain now and again.

"How's your shoulder?" asked Rosa, sat astride him.

"Good," he replied, "getting better every day. I wish I could say the same about my combat skills." he moaned.

She giggled at him, playfully.

With her dark hair tied back, the blue eyes sparkling with life and her shapely figure wrapped tightly in black bottomed leotards and a cross tied skimpy white top, she looked every part a mischievous imp teasing a clumsy frame.

"You're doing fine, certainly a match for most people. By the time we get to Valencia you'll be an absolute champion, I promise. Never forget though, your biggest asset and your most dangerous weakness is in there," she said, pointing to his brain. "Only champions in these crafts learn to use their head properly."

He knew she meant every word and nodded to acknowledge her wry grin.

The uncontrollable urge was quick, sudden and totally unexpected. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Rosa bent forward and kissed him passionately on the lips.

"What was that for?" he gasped in surprise.

"Encouragement," she replied impishly.

He gazed upon her mischievous expression, her twinkling eyes.

"So what do I get when I beat you?"

"No more encouragement," she said quickly. "If ever you should beat me, then you won't need any further incentive."

"Jesus Christ! Whatever happened to the concept of rewarding success?"

She gave out a throaty laugh and began to urgently tickle his ribs, causing him to double up with laughter. The playful intimacy lasted no more than a few seconds and it set Matt thinking, though only for a short while.

"Okay, so what's next to do?"

"Biology," she replied.

"Sounds interesting," he said.

"Don't get too excited, my boy. Somehow, I have a feeling you're not going to be very good at this exercise."

He looked at her, puzzled. This surely wasn't another of Rosa's unthinking put downs.

A slight smirk crossed her lips as she looked upon him, his newly grown hair matted with sweat. Beads of salty liquid dribbled from his brow and ran down the side of his face, past his bright and hopeful eyes.

Rosa crossed her arms and reached for the rim of the white top circling her midriff. In a single, effortless movement she lifted the garment from the top of her body.

Matt looked into her eyes. Rosa's amused grin dared him to submit and lower his gaze. His ongoing resistance served to further her amusement at the inner struggle evident on his face. Her smile widened, luring him on. Matt could feel his resolve weakening and wondered why she was teasing him this way. Rosa raised her right hand and pulled at the elastic band behind her head. She shook her mane to release the darkened hair, allowing it to fall down around her bare shoulders.

"Take off your top and follow me," she said, rising from atop him.

"Rosa, the door," he said, unsure what to expect next.

"It's already locked, now follow me."

Obediently he pursued her towards the shower chamber, his mind alive with any number of possibilities. Rosa stopped at the large mirror by the entrance to the lockers, opened one, and produced two black marker pens.

"Draw my liver," she said, offering him a pen.

"What?"

"Take the pen and draw exactly where you think the liver is located in my body."

He paused for a moment and tried to picture in his mind what he had been taught at school, biology being one of those lessons he never paid much attention to. He began to mark Rosa's torso. She started to smile as he drew, alerting him to his error, and was therefore all the more determined to get everything else right. He concentrated hard for the remainder of the lesson; heart, lungs, kidneys etc.

"Right," she said. "My turn," and then proceeded to draw the same diagrams on Matt's torso.

Standing side by side, looking at their reflections in the mirror, Rosa began to giggle.

"I did say you weren't likely to be very good at this," she remarked impishly.

"Touché," he responded with disappointment, barely able to conceal his disgust at getting it so wrong. He kept looking at her naked torso and then comparing it to his own, frequently shaking his head in the process. After the humour, Rosa's expression turned serious.

"In the field, decisions are instant and there is no room for error. So you have to have knowledge in order to make the right call. When one of the team is wounded you have two choices, repair and rescue, or a gun with a single bullet."

He nodded, hanging on to her every word.

"When we reach Europe, we will be under constant threat and the odds are at least one of us will get hurt. You have to be able to make the right call."

He nodded again.

"What next?" he asked.

"Shower, of course," she said, and left him standing there in deep concentration.

Rosa straightened the belt on her trousers and walked to where Matt stood patiently, having finished showering some minutes earlier.

"Take off your top," he demanded.

She frowned at first then spotted the marker pen in his hand.

"You can always take another shower. I don't want to make another mistake."

After he'd finished, Rosa looked into the mirror.

"Excellent," she said. "You really are a quick learner."

Chapter Twenty Four

Welcome to the Wolfgangsee

Two more weeks passed before the ship made Valencia. Activity on the docks appeared hectic as the great cargo ships were relieved of their containers by the industrious speed and efficiency of the dockside workers.

While Matt helped with the unloading, Rosa busied herself with the ship's inventories. To all intents and purposes they were part of the ship's fabric of society, going about their duties entirely above suspicion. Night had fallen by the time the remaining containers had been removed from their resting places on the ship.

After sharing a hearty meal with the crew the two fugitives disembarked onto shore with their belongings. Rosa had told Matt they would be contacted here, though had provided no detail as to by whom or how. Ten further minutes passed as they waited patiently at the side of the ship, filling the time with meaningless small talk.

Headlights appeared, adding to the dockside illumination and making their presence by the ship more conspicuous. Matt decided they were too large and too many to belong to an ordinary passenger car.

The long HGV drew up alongside and they heard someone jump out from the cab on the opposite side, the driver's feet hitting the ground with a heavy thud. A figure, around the same height as Matt, came into view.

Dressed in denim shirt and dark jeans, his feet were clad in black Timberland labelled half boots. He strode energetically towards them.

"Johannes!" shrieked Rosa. She skipped towards the approaching figure and leapt against his chest, tucking her legs around his waist.

She kissed frantically at the man's cheeks, delighted to be re-united with the reddish haired stranger.

The masculine face was shaven of facial hair, revealing a strongly defined jaw and high cheek bones. Matt noticed his left ear was pierced with a metal ring, small and round in circumference but thick with gold. The guy had money.

This had to be the man in her life. Not that this concerned him unduly. Matt was happy for her. Rosa had made it clear during the voyage their relationship was to be a business arrangement only. Now he understood why. Her total being, everything she was, belonged to this man.

For several moments Rosa and her beau prolonged their welcome embrace. Once she had been lowered to the ground the man looked at her fellow fugitive, standing quietly by.

"I am Johannes," he said in a thick Germanic dialect. "You must be Matt, the man Rosa has spoken about."

He thrust out a large fist and clasped Matt's hand in a firm handshake. The man's dark brown eyes matched Matt's gaze and he studied the Englishman's face while they greeted each other.

"Pleased to meet you, Johannes," he responded.

"Come, we have a long distance to journey and much to talk about on the way," said the Austrian. With that, he led them into the cab of his lorry.

Safely ensconced within the vehicle, the three began to share information about the current situation.

"Do not worry about border controls," said Johannes as they approached the exit gate, "I am well known here."

Sure enough they passed unchallenged from the dockside and were soon out onto the main roads, away from the main town. Rosa did most of the talking initially, snuggling up to Johannes and providing Matt with a potted history on the man in her life and on how they had got together.

She had met him by chance, when she was on the op in Austria, three years ago. He came from a wealthy family, his father having developed a business in transportation which included both road haulage and ocean cargo. Although he was now responsible for the commercial empire Johannes enjoyed life on the road, and it was not uncommon for him to do some of the wagon runs.

Keeps me normal, was all he added to her commentary.

This 'hands on' approach had endeared him to his workforce and caused Matt to recall his own approach to management back in the North East of England. Rosa spoke with pride on the positive comments the employees had for Johannes. She was clearly much in love with this down-to-earth, very grounded, man.

They appeared a peculiar match at first. He soon twigged it was Johannes' very ordinariness, despite his wealth, she found attractive. He was a man at total ease with himself, largely undemonstrative yet capable of open displays of affection. Rosa, her guard completely let down, was almost childlike in his presence.

Matt warmed to the Austrian. In a different world he was sure they might well have become friends. As the journey unfolded, Johannes brought them up to date with the progress he had made.

"My step sister, Eva-Maria, works in the Department for Constitutional Affairs at the EU in Brussels. She has spoken to the head of Department, a woman called Catherine Vogel, who I think will help you. She is a good person, also born in St Wolfgang. All the best Austrians are," he joked. "She holds much influence in the Commission."

"Catherine Vogel?" questioned Matt. "That's a familiar name."

"She is well known," said Johannes, "with a reputation throughout Europe for her beliefs in democracy and freedom. Catherine was heavily involved in the development of The Lisbon Treaty, which is how she came to assume her position. That's how you will most likely have heard of her."

"No," said Matt, "I've never really followed the detail of the EU too closely. Then again I've never really been into politics much until recently."

"How else could you know of her?" asked Rosa.

"I'm not sure. Her name is familiar though, for some reason or other."

He searched the inner recesses of his memory, trying to place where he had seen the name before.

"If you are not with comfort about Catherine, then I am not sure who else you could talk to," said Johannes.

Matt shook his head, disappointed his memory had deserted him. It was probably nothing. All the same, it nagged at him.

"Okay, Johannes. If you firmly believe this woman can help us, then we have to meet her."

"She gave me an e-mail address," and the Austrian took out a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. "This is a safe contact point. I hope she will meet us in St Wolfgang."

The writing read, 'TheCathedralkeeper@europa.eu.'

"Is this secure Rosa?" asked Matt. "Is any e-mail address safe these days?"

"As long as there were no key words used, it should be alright," she responded.

The driver handed over another piece of paper.

"This is the message I had sent and the reply back from Catherine."

Rosa inspected the wording of each contact.

"It looks okay, as long as they are not already monitoring the site."

"How would we know?" asked Matt.

"We don't," Rosa replied. "Johannes believes it is safe. It's your call."

Matt was bothered without understanding why and tried again to recall how the name seemed familiar, only for his memory to continue to let him down.

"How long will it take us to get to St Wolfgang?" he asked.

"Around two days," said Johannes. "Longer, if Rosa does not take her share of the driving."

"Rosa!"

"I have a licence," she chipped in. "Girl of many talents," she laughed.

"Having a licence is one thing, being able to drive this monster safely is an altogether different issue," remarked Matt, and she reacted by thumping his arm in mock anger.

Johannes caught the playfulness between them from the corner of his eye. He had noticed their relationship appeared close. The physical contact was frequent, affectionate and not in the least part forced. He reasoned this was due to the months of time they had spent together, alone, in each other's company.

Johannes was a man who had always been comfortable with his own persona. For the first time in his life he felt insecure, harbouring reservations on his ability to retain the love of this woman. Despite the passionate welcome he had been given he found himself consumed with doubt, suddenly unsure about Rosa.

The mid afternoon sun shone brightly outside as the vehicle came to a halt at the service station. One by one the three occupants climbed out of the cab into the brisk, cold breeze of the day. Matt and Rosa shivered under the sunlight, folding their arms together to retain some heat in their bodies, their breaths weaving pretty patterns in the sub zero air each time they exhaled.

Johannes took the rapid drop in temperature in his stride, handing them a fifty Euro note apiece before pointing them towards the service area.

"Food and a warm drink," he said ushering them towards the building's entrance. "I will join you soon."

He turned and headed for the small brick office set to the side of the lorry bay area. Matt and Rosa hurried from the cold air into the warmth of the service station. They looked for a table away from the windows, towards the rear of the building where it was gloomy and few others were located. Assuming the place operated on a self service basis they approached the hot meal counter, only to be advised to return to their seats and wait to be attended.

The place was spotlessly clean, typical of the country. If they had been in the UK, Matt was sure the tables would have felt grimy with bits of food deposited on the floor around their feet.

Not here, though.

Their meal soon arrived, piping hot and deftly presented on a square plate accompanied by a large steaming hot cup of coffee. Hungrier than they had imagined, they devoured the food almost as soon as it had been placed upon the table with barely a word of conversation.

Matt had no idea what he had eaten. There was no English menu and he had to guess at the contents of his order, loathe as he was to alert Rosa he had no understanding. But it was meat and very tasty.

Taking a sip from the large round cup of coffee he looked up to see Rosa struggling to contain her throaty laugh. He couldn't understand what should be so funny about taking a simple sip of coffee.

"You are the last person I would have expected to eat horse meat," she remarked, her smile subsiding into a more serious expression.

"What!" he yelped, and spewed the hot brown liquid back into the coffee mug. His response returned the laughter to Rosa's face, her mirth only louder and throatier than before.

Johannes appeared out of nowhere and sat in the seat next to Rosa, curious about the playful banter between them. The incident cemented his view they had established a deep and strong affection. It discomfited him.

"We are close to St Wolfgang. From here we go by car, as soon as you have finished."

He rose from the chair almost as quickly as he had sat down and made for the exit. Rosa, sensing all was not well with Johannes, followed him immediately leaving Matt to settle the bill.

Within half an hour they had reached the edge of the Wolfgangsee. They were in the Salzkammergut region of Austria, an area of the country where vast lakes sat in plains surrounded by huge mountainous peaks capped with snow. The Wolfgangsee is one of these lakes.

Sat in the back of the cavernous Mercedes, descending the bank from the wooded edged single lane carriageway, Matt caught his first sight of the enormous stretch of water. The lake stretched into the far distance; so far he could not see its end. Despite the winterish conditions the mass looked calm and serene, placid even. The shape of a passenger ferry could just be made out on the horizon of the water, heading away from them.

St Gilgen was the first village into view on reaching the bottom of the bank. To the right of the road Matt could see a cable car structure rising up into the adjacent mountain, the Zwolferhorn, according to Johannes. The attached cable cars moved slowly up into the sky and then disappeared into the heart of the forested landscape. To the left a small village sat by the lakeside, revealing numerous chalet-shaped three and four storey houses built in layers from the ground.

He remembered Johannes saying the houses in Austria were constructed this way to accommodate several generations of individual families. The eldest would occupy the lowest floors, the next generation the one above and so on. Matt considered the arrangement to be exceptionally clever in its pure simplicity.

The road hugged the shores of the great lake. Johannes explained the waters of all the seven lakes in the region were virtually fit enough to drink from source. It was certainly true of Lake Fuschl as he had drunk from the lake there himself, an impressive anecdote. He pointed Matt's attention across to the other side.

"St Wolfgang," he said proudly.

Matt noticed the wooded hills first. Then a small looking village came into view. The tall thin white church tower was the first building visible, followed by a string of houses spread out along the lakeside to the right. It was a truly picturesque setting.

Circling the Wolfgangsee took another ten minutes. Driving past the village of Strobl, also built at the lakeside but directly opposite St Gilgen, they reached the outskirts of their destination. The car filed down the narrow street, lined by pretty painted houses and shops, before coming to rest outside a gasthof.

"Why are we stopping?" asked Rosa.

"I have a room here for Matt," replied Johannes. "This is where I hope Catherine will come to meet you," he continued, looking at his male passenger in search of Matt's approval.

He nodded, understanding Johannes wished to separate him from close proximity to Rosa. For all his masculine assurance and swagger, Matt considered the driver to be unnecessarily disturbed by his girlfriend's attachment to the Englishman.

"Where will I stay?"

"At home of course," said Johannes, feigning surprise she would think it could be any different.

"Johannes is quite right," interrupted Matt. "We shouldn't be together."

"But I want to be at the meeting too," she insisted.

"You will be," said Johannes. "Matt will need time alone to prepare. This way he will be undisturbed."

Matt's reassuring smile confirmed his agreement with the Austrian's summary. He patted her shoulder gently as he exited the rear of the car. Johannes led him down a gentle slope into the hotel, to the reception point immediately to the right of the entrance door.

"Guten Morgen, Wilhelm," he said to the heavyset man behind the desk.

"Johannes!" welcomed the man excitedly. They continued to exchange pleasantries in their native Germanic tongue for some few minutes longer.

Matt was introduced to his host, Johannes' cousin as it turned out. Before separating, he was handed a package by Johannes and told the costs of his room and refreshments had already been settled.

"We will call later tonight," were Johannes' parting words.

Wilhelm led Matt to his room. He noticed the computer on the ground floor, by the stairs. A useful tool, he considered.

The room finish was of a higher standard than he expected. A recently refurbished shower room and separate toilet were situated immediately to either side of the door. There were two single beds inside the oblong sized room accompanied by a desk, chair and television cabinet. At the end of the room the single patio door opened onto the wide wooden balcony overhanging the roof of the floor below, offering two views of the lake around each side of the building directly in front. Had Matt had to make his own reservation at the gasthof he would surely have asked for this room.

Wilhelm explained the hotel had been renovated last year to accommodate a growing influx of tourists to the town, particularly from Britain. He hoped his guest approved of the refurbishment, which Matt confirmed, and then left the Englishman to freshen up from the journey and settle into his new surroundings.

Matt decided to open the curious package he had been given. Inside the envelope he discovered several thousand Euros, more than he dared estimate, and was instantly grateful to the Austrian.

His watch read four o'clock, time to shower and change and then use his newly acquired skills to find his bearings around the town.

Stepping from the hotel Matt decided to test his training. Two phrases came to mind, mapping and spatial awareness. She had made him practice endlessly. First he had to memorise every avenue and alleyway in and around the town, including exit routes. If something went wrong he would have to find his way around the vicinity, without thinking.

Secondly he needed to acquire a thorough understanding of measurement and distance, between each street and potential exit point. He had to understand where these points led to and how long it could take to get there. Matt had already checked out the fire exits in the hotel, and was sure he could find them blindfolded if necessary.

Surveying the scene from the front door, he noticed the narrow alley immediately to his right running along the side of the gasthof. It would lead to the small square at the rear of the building, underneath his room window, he would later discover.

Matt chose to walk the twenty feet or so to the main street in front of the hotel and turned left, past the newsagent, where he counted twenty paces down the slight incline leading to the main square. On the other side there were two cafes and a bar pressed up against each other, so tightly packed it seemed they were deliberately huddled together to shield themselves from the cold.

A left turn took him through the square to the red painted building, the most expensive hotel in the village as revealed by the three high spec German automobiles parked in front. This led him to the back of his own hotel and he saw exactly where his room was situated. There was a short drop from the balcony onto the roof below, the restaurant, and another ten feet or so from the roof to the ground.

Next, he wanted to seek out the hotel boathouse down by the lakeside. He turned right and moved purposefully towards the waterside. The streets in this part of the town were narrow, with a series of smaller avenues leading off to all directions on either side.

By pure chance he caught sight of a shop, just off the first turning and looked through the window. He made up his mind quickly, though variety of choice wasn't one of the shop's keenest selling points. Matt used some of the money Johannes had given to him for the purchase.

Returning to the main path he made his way to the lake and turned left. This took him along the waterside, passing several other boathouses before he came to the one owned by the hotel. Matt retraced his steps and counted again.

I can do that blindfold now.

"How do you find St Wolfgang?" asked Johannes.

"It's a beautiful place," Matt replied, "I can see why you don't want to live anywhere else. There was only one building I could see up for sale."

"A single apartment," confirmed Johannes. "It will not go unsold for long."

"I hope you've been doing your homework, Mr Durham," said Rosa and he nodded, as if in deference to a respected teacher. "Let's see then," she added.

A series of questions followed, after she asked him to close his eyes. Matt had to offer up descriptions of a number of places within the village. He provided detailed responses to every probing question. Street and shop names; the colours of buildings and the number of windows; entrance and exit points; ferry timings. He was picture perfect.

"I've taught you well," she laughed.

He raised his hand to cut short her merriment and reached down to his trouser leg and produced the freshly purchased large, serrated knife from its sheath.

"Hmm, I have taught you well," she said in admiration of his choice of weapon.

Offering the blade back to Matt, she then made her excuses to powder her nose. After Rosa disappeared into the heart of the restaurant the two men turned their attentions to the peaceful lake, its surface glistening under the moonlight. They gazed out of the window of the lakeside restaurant in silence, bar the noise from the water fountain in front coloured by the lighting of the roof bulbs shining from above. A few minutes passed before Matt turned to look at his host and break the tranquillity.

"Why transport?" he asked."

"Austria is located in the heart of Europe. Most, if not all, goods traffic passes through the country to get from one side of the continent or the other. It is therefore the staple industry of my country. Shipping became a natural extension to the overland transportation of goods," he shrugged.

Matt was impressed with his European companion, clearly a man of vision.

"Thank you for the money, Johannes. You have been very generous."

The Austrian did not respond, appearing to have something else running through his mind. Matt waited for him to speak.

"Rosa likes you," he said slowly, almost in a subdued tone of resignation.

The statement was not unexpected. Matt looked across the dark lake and thought carefully on the response he would give.

"Yes, she does," he replied plainly. "However, it is you she is in love with my generous friend."

Another pause came between them.

"Did you make love to her?" Johannes asked, without a hint of emotion.

Matt turned his head and stared the Austrian in the eye.

"No."

His gaze never faltered.

Johannes clearly had it in his mind some form of physical attraction existed between the two, given the amount of time they had spent so close together and their behaviour since. He had been convinced something had happened between them. Even if it had been true, Matt would have lied. A half smile emerged on the Austrian's face, in relief as much as gratitude.

"I did sort of make one enquiry," added the Englishman glumly.

He raised his shirt sleeve to reveal the extent of the heavy bruising to his upper arm. Johannes roared with laughter at the Englishman's deadpan expression.

Matt was relieved to put Johannes' mind at rest, pleased the issue had been raised and now resolved. He felt sure a tentative friendship had been secured.

Rosa was pleasantly surprised by her lover's lighter and more relaxed mood when she returned. Whatever the slightly tense atmosphere she could sense between the two men before, it had appeared to lift in the short time she had been away. She peered questioningly towards Matt a few times during the evening as they chatted on. He smiled back on each occasion, without commenting, pleased not to have come between them.

They planned the next day. His two hosts would show him the sights of St Wolfgang and the surrounding area during the day. Catherine Vogel was set to arrive later in the evening because of work commitments. All three would attend, at the gasthof, where Matt would reveal the Milieu conspiracy. The big question, Johannes was convinced, were not so much if Vogel wanted to help more how she could engineer an audience for Matt with those States not involved in the conspiracy.

As the evening drifted by and the red wine flowed, fears over the unknown future diminished and the atmosphere became more frivolous. The friendship between the two men became fixed on this night and Matt was pleased his two companions had rediscovered their mutual affections. He envied their happiness, wishing he too had a companion by his side on this still and peaceful night.

At the evening's end Johannes and Rosa retired to his home just outside the village while Matt returned to the third floor hotel room, to the quiet space.

He slept little.

The bedside lamp threw its light onto the white walls and ceiling, providing enough illumination for him to make out the four corners of the room as he lay quietly. His mind turned towards tomorrow evening and the hope this would mark the beginning of the end of the nightmare.

If everything went to plan, details of the Milieu conspiracy would soon be in the right hands. The following furore would cause international repercussions, stopping the project in its tracks.

And when it was over, then what?

There was no way he could return and resume his old existence. He no longer cared for it. Canada would have been a welcome option, though he was not sure he could face going back to constantly re-live old memories. All he did know was, when it was all over, he wished only for a quiet and peaceful life.

Gazing at the ceiling he could see no spider crawling along the surface. No-one was watching over him, like in Canada. Apprehension invaded his mind, and a sense of foreboding crept into his soul.

Catherine Vogel, the name resonated around his mind like a glass marble in an empty sweet jar. He was sure he knew the name from somewhere.

In the morning, Johannes arranged for the trio to visit the hotel built on the peak of the Schafberg. The mountain stood almost six thousand feet up from ground level, the quickest access to the peak provided by the steam cog railway line.

As a rule the train didn't carry passengers after October, the end of the tourist season. Johannes had exerted local influence to provide Matt with this treat.

"I will show you the beauty of Austria and the quality of its people," Johannes had said.

Matt was introduced to Martin first, the regular train driver, a small wiry looking man with jet black short hair and a passive grin. He helped the driver load the boxes of supplies into the single carriage before they set off.

After passing through the edge of the village the route took them steeply upwards. The track was channelled through the mountain, such that all you could see during the first two thirds of the journey were large rocks and boulders on either side. The steep gradient of their ascent never allowed them to go much quicker than a snail's pace. Fortunately, they were in no hurry and the gentle slow ride was, in its own way, relaxing.

Once they had reached the Schafbergalpe, the second stop along the way, the view began to open up and it was possible to get the first real glimpse of the surrounding meadows and forests. From there, it took a further ten minutes up the gently winding track to reach the end station, situated beyond a short dark tunnel which led onto a wide plateau.

Matt looked up to see the hotel, a further one hundred yards or so higher, built into the sloping mountain peak. It looked like the oblong shaped building had been raised by giant crane to the summit, and then pounded into the side of the mountain by an equally giant sledgehammer. The hotel was not so much built, as wedged into the rock of the peak.

To the left there was an additional structure, looking like a separate residence. Further along the ground sloped off before straightening and narrowing into a rocky spur, around one hundred yards or so away. Jutting out into the mountainous air, it offered a sheer drop from the peak to the valley below.

"Will you help me please, Matt?" asked Martin and he readily agreed.

Matt unloaded the boxes and then helped to carry them over to a pulley system on top of the tunnel. Once secured, Martin called up to the hotel in German and the supplies began to rise on the wooden pallet up the final incline.

"You did not have to help," said Johannes, "Martin always looks for a way to reduce his workload."

"Enjoyed it," replied Matt. "Come on, I want to get to the top now," and he led them briskly up the footpath, passing a small half roofed wooden structure on the way.

"What's that meant to be?" he asked.

"Sty," replied Johannes. "During the tourist season pigs are kept on the mountain, as are some other animals."

"Wow!" said Matt once they'd finally managed to reach the viewing station at the peak of the mountain. "Is that stunning or what!"

Despite the lateness of the year the winter sun was shining brightly, lighting up the scenery of the region. As he turned full circle, no matter which way he faced, all he could see were lakes and mountain peaks spreading out far and wide into the distance. Matt felt like he was looking down and across upon the whole of Austria.

"Come," said Johannes, "I would like you to meet some special friends."

They strolled down the incline onto the concrete walkway and made for one of the wooden tables placed on a large patio area. Though approaching winter, it was warm enough to sit comfortably outside of the hotel.

A man and woman appeared from inside and approached the three friends with happy faces. The small jovial faced woman seemed particularly pleased to welcome them while the taller, lighter coloured haired man smiled politely.

"Johannes," beamed the woman, "and his beautiful Rosa."

She embraced them both excitedly with the tightest of bear hugs, and then turned her gaze on the Englishman.

"This is Martha and Gerhardt," introduced Johannes, "the hotel owners. We have been very good friends for many years."

"Matt," he said, offering his hand to the ebullient woman.

"Matt? This is the English word for carpet is it not?" she replied with a frown. "What is your real name?"

Rosa gave out one of her throaty laughs at the unintended humour of the Austrian woman.

"Matthew," she said. "His full name is Matthew."

"Matthew it is then," agreed Martha, smiling warmly.

They chatted for some time before the Austrian woman finally brought coffee. Matt was intrigued as to how such a hostelry could ever be financially viable, given its extreme and remote location. Apparently the place was highly used during the summer season.

"Everybody wants to sleep on top of a mountain for at least one night of their lives," explained Gerhardt proudly.

Once the main tourist season was over the hotel was not as busy, used only by small numbers of winter hikers who would climb to the peak from time to time. On occasions, the place could be unoccupied by guests for a number of days.

"This is a good thing, Matt," added Gerhardt. "I enjoy the peace and quiet, apart from Martha's constant talking," and she responded by clipping his shoulder with a clenched fist.

Martha soon found a way to bring the conversation back towards a favoured topic.

"So when will it be? When will you marry?" she asked directly. "Do not leave it too long beautiful Rosa. Although Johannes is the best of all men even he cannot wait forever. He nears an age when his seed will soon begin to weaken."

Johannes laughed at her well intended enquiry while Rosa appeared embarrassed by the directness of Martha's words, though said nothing. Johannes talked about his step sister, Eva-Maria, with almost paternal pride. His little Ariel was how he described her, after Disney's Little Mermaid, because she could swim like one and had the independence of mind to match.

One day, Johannes hoped, he would have a daughter of his own. He needed a good woman first of course, but this would happen in time he had added and smiled at his girlfriend. The matter had clearly been a discussion point between them for some time. Her job had always made it impossible.

Maybe this is what had led Rosa to begin to question her old vocation in life. Her tepid enthusiasm for this project however, told Matt she had yet to fully agree with her partner. Perhaps she had seen too much of the darkness of this world, enough to make her wonder. Not that this stopped Johannes talking about having children and the wonderful environment St Wolfgang provided for them.

Matt couldn't disagree. The place had a peace and serenity about it most other places would find difficult to match. And on a clear summer's day, you could see for tens of miles in every direction. The natural environment all around felt wonderfully clean reminding him of Canada, the country he so enjoyed. It was clear Johannes felt the same way about his home country.

"Johannes enjoys life up here on the mountain," said Rosa. "Whenever I call and he's not at home I go to his lodge, in the hills to the west of the village, where he has a replica model of the railway. If he's placed the toy engine at the top of the mountain I know exactly where to find him, every time."

The Austrian smiled.

"A man can almost touch the sky up here," he said. "Yet still be close enough to the ground to see what is happening below. There is no place in the world like it."

Matt recognised the sentiment, understanding exactly what the Austrian was trying to convey. He felt as though he was in the presence of a kindred spirit, a man after his own heart.

"Sumac Pacha," said Matt.

"What?" Rosa asked.

"An old saying of the true native peoples of the Americas, Beautiful Mother Earth is the English translation."

He looked up to see Martha's furrowed brow.

"Are you sure you are an Englishman?" she asked, and Rosa gave out one of her deep throaty laughs.

For the afternoon, Johannes treated them to a lake tour on the hotel speedboat. No more than a few minutes and they had reached Strobl, at the left hand side of the lake from the village. Then they went the full length of the water, all ten miles, across to St Gilgen. Matt kept remarking how placid the waters were, almost devoid of current. Johannes assured him it was very possible to drift across the lake. As they approached St Gilgen Matt caught a better view of the cable car leading up into the mountains, stretching up further than the eye could see.

The long wooden pier, pressed against the right side of the shore, had been constructed for the official passenger ferries. To the left sat a smaller wooden pier jutting directly out into the lake, suitable only for the mooring of smaller craft such as the speedboat they were travelling in.

Once onto land they strode briskly up the inclined street leading into the village centre, passing between the two tourist shops situated by the lakeside, and found a café for afternoon coffee.

The time passed quickly for Matt in the company of his friends. He listened to the stories of how the relationship between Rosa and Johannes developed and the Austrian's madcap, and increasingly desperate, pursuit of her affections.

On their return across the lake to St Wolfgang, Matt considered the similarities between this episode of his life and the one he briefly had back in Victoria. That previous life ended in death and destruction. He prayed history would not repeat itself here in Austria.

Chapter Twenty Five

Lakeside Incident

Annika lifted the last plate from the table and placed it on top of the others, to carry them to the kitchen. Matt watched her expertly weave between the tables of the circular shaped end of the restaurant with the heavy load. Her short brown hair made her appear boyish from behind as she entered the other half of the room. The second part of the restaurant was oblong shaped, housing a few more small tables and the self service buffet area. Though more brightly lit than where they sat the space had a less cosy feel, less intimate.

The meal with the hotel owners, and their two remarkably well behaved children, had been pleasant and relaxing. Rosa and Johannes arrived to join them at the long table by the window, overlooking the small square beneath Matt's room. They had dressed in matching clothing, black polo necked sweaters and slacks, which Matt found mildly amusing.

Large numbers of people milled around outside in the artificially illuminated darkness, exchanging pleasantries. In St Wolfgang everyone knew everyone else. Matt decided it was time for some additional research.

"Tell me some more about Catherine Vogel," he asked.

Julia, the slim blonde wife of the owner decided to speak first.

"Catherine and I are related, as cousins," she began. "She was the cleverest and most attractive girl of our year at school. All the boys admired her allure; even Wilhelm and Johannes were smitten, though she was careful not to break their hearts, until..."

"Until?" enquired Matt.

Wilhelm took up the story.

"Until her parents were killed in a motorway accident, along with her brother. She alone survived, unharmed, neither a scratch nor even a hair out of place." He shrugged, unable to explain the miraculous escape.

"That was the change," chipped in Julia. "She became so focused, so driven to try and do good things for the world. In the process, she became distant from others and has rarely been seen in the village since leaving for Brussels. Her work has separated her from St Wolfgang and you feel she is no longer a part of the village community."

There was a sense of sadness in Julia's eyes towards her cousin. Matt got the distinct impression there was more than mere disappointment at the loss of a close friendship.

"She started work at the EU as a lowly clerk, gradually working her way up the career ladder," said Wilhelm taking up the story, "interrupted only by the birth of a child, Eva-Maria, borne from an indiscretion."

Johannes then spoke.

"Catherine asked my mother, who had always wanted a daughter of her own, to adopt the child so she could return to her work. Catherine has become one of the most powerful and influential people within the EU as Head of the Office for Constitutional Affairs."

"She wouldn't be the first person to give up a child in order to further a career," remarked Matt.

A cold pause followed, leading Matt to believe he had said the wrong thing. He felt uncomfortable. Julia was the first to respond.

"It is not our way. Although Catherine provides money and opportunity for Eva-Maria, she has never acknowledged to the child she is hers. It is not the village way to surrender a child like this."

Though the words were spoken without emotion she clearly disapproved of the circumstance.

"Will she help us?" asked Matt.

"I believe she will," answered Johannes. "What Catherine has sacrificed in one part of her life she makes up to the world in other ways."

He looked across at Julia and smiled, only for her to glance away from him to signal her disapproval. The uneasy silence was broken by the ringing tone from Johannes' mobile phone. The call did not take long and the resulting expression on the Austrian's face told Matt all he needed to know.

"The flight to Salzburg has been delayed by the poor weather," reported Johannes. "The delay is expected to take many hours. Catherine has decided it would be better to try again tomorrow."

"Another day won't hurt," replied Matt, trying to display calm. Rosa could see through the veil and recognised the depth of his disappointment.

The time had turned eleven when the party decided to call it a night. Julia had retired earlier, taking the children. Matt took one last look out of the window at the night sky as he finished his coffee.

"How odd is that?" said Matt. "All the street lights have gone out."

Turning back he noticed the serious expression on Rosa's face. Leaping from her chair she moved quickly to stand at the side of the window and peer out into the darkened streets. She nodded to Johannes and he whispered into his cousin's ear, who was horrified by the short exchange of words. Matt was puzzled. He looked to Rosa as Wilhelm rushed to depart, switching the lights off as he left.

"They're here," she whispered.

He knew instantly. A series of hand movements and they moved away from the restaurant window to head up the stairs towards Matt's room passing Wilhelm and Julia, each with a child in their arms, making for the cellar.

One by one the three companions crawled into his room on their bellies, squeezing their bodies between the narrow space of the half-opened door and the frame. Matt slid along the floor to the other end of the room and pulled the curtain across the patio door.

Rosa reached for the holdall she had brought earlier in the evening and left in Matt's room. Hurriedly she pulled out the weaponry, checking each item was loaded before distributing it amongst them.

"Put something dark on," she hissed to Matt and he instantly obeyed, carefully strapping the new knife to the bottom of his leg.

Rosa reached back into the holdall and produced the final items of the mini arsenal, silencers. This is why they had dressed in dark clothes, he realised. They had come prepared, as a precaution, and it was as well they had. Rosa constantly told him to plan for every eventuality.

Matt eased the patio door open and edged cautiously onto the balcony. There was no sign of movement and he turned to the others to indicate they were clear. Johannes went first, sliding over the railing and lowering his slim frame gently onto the slated restaurant roof underneath. Matt went next, followed by Rosa. It was the same order for the drop to the ground.

The Austrian moved stealthily across the little square, checking the path in front before signalling Matt to follow. No words were spoken, only nods of the head or hand and finger gestures. Silently, they moved on, hoping they would meet no obstacles to the boathouse.

Matt could see Johannes ahead, but had lost sight of Rosa behind. It was the cardinal sin, to retrace your steps during an escape. He had to make sure she was alright. He leaned against the side of the wall and bent his head round the corner to look into the street; nothing.

He looked again. This time he could see a figure, no, there were two black clad figures struggling in the doorway of the shop from where he'd purchased the knife. The tussling had ended. He couldn't make out who had got the upper hand. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

His trained mind sprang into action and closed his eyes to picture the alley from memory. The shop front was probably no more than ten yards from where he stood. To the left was a large fake barrel, about six feet away; the shopkeeper used it during the day to display his wares. On the other side a giftware shop was edged by the raised footpath. Two of the street cobbles had loosened against the kerb and they rattled together when stepped on, which would give his approach away. Confident he was picture perfect, Matt stole silently forward.

"Now, now," whispered the man into her ear, "No sudden movement now. We wouldn't want to damage that face of yours would we pretty, pretty?"

He pressed the blade of his knife hard up against Rosa's throat, forcing her into submission. She could smell his breath blowing hard against her cheek and it sickened her to be under this man's control.

"No sharp, acid remarks milady," he continued. "Perhaps you'll learn to be more pleasant now."

Rosa made another attempt to free herself from being pinned to the door by the aggressor. He wasn't prepared to loosen the advantage he had struggled to achieve.

Slowly, the man moved his free hand up from his side and placed it on Rosa's hip, loosening the dark jersey from her slacks. She made to move and he pressed a touch harder with the blade to insist upon her still co-operation. He whispered further into her captive ear, causing Rosa to screw up her face in revulsion.

His hand lifted up inside her garment, creeping slowly like an encroaching spider, until he reached her wired bra. He pushed the garment upwards to release her breast and began to knead the bosom and stroke her nipple.

"There, that's not so bad. Is it milady?" he taunted. Rosa was screaming inside for help, the humiliation of his forced attention bringing moisture to the rims of her eyes.

The man wanted more and his hand slipped down her body, over her bare stomach. His breathing became more erratic as his hand moved towards its target, prising the top of the slacks away from her flesh. The tips of his fingers pushed down in search of her femininity. Her body went rigid as his breathing grew heavier and he pushed his face against Rosa's head. Feeling him up against her, she was determined to shut out his vile touch from her mind.

"Hello, Bob, fancy bumping into you again so soon," came the soft voice from behind.

The man could feel the barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head, bringing his hand movements to a sudden halt.

"Be a good lad and let the lady free," the voice insisted, pushing the weapon harder against the man's skull.

"Matt?" replied Evans, nervously.

He took his hand from Rosa and loosened the blade from her throat. She spun away and reached for her own knife. Matt shook his head and beckoned her away from the assailant.

"Matt, I'm here to help you," said Evans edgily, his eyes fixed on the doorway in front of him.

"Of course you are, Bob, now stay perfectly still for a moment," and he took a pace back.

"Matt?" questioned Evans, trying to summon the courage to face his captor. "Let me talk to Tillman. He's close by. I'll try and cut a deal for you."

"Tillman's here?"

"With the rest of the team, I'm on point and he'll be here soon. Listen to me Matt, I'm probably your best shot," begged Evans.

A vision of Amy's face appeared in Matt's mind, and he allowed his finger to squeeze the trigger. The blowpipe sound he remembered from Skagway fractured the stillness of the night, releasing the bullet into his opponent. Flesh and blood spattered out from the other side of Evans' head against the glass door of the shop and his body slumped to the ground.

This was Matt's second kill, and he felt no more than mere satisfaction.

He hurried to catch up to with the others, gliding among the shadows with the deftness of a cat. He could see Johannes and Rosa's outlines ahead. Another black-clad body lay at the Austrian man's feet, the neck twisted out of shape.

Rosa signalled the way and they stole down the dark lane towards the boathouse. A shape emerged from the shadows and Rosa fired twice to bring the figure to the floor. Striding carefully up to the downed opponent she pointed her weapon and fired twice more.

A few yards later and they had reached their destination, a large wooden shed-like structure built on stilts jutted out into the water. Spotting the heavy padlock they realised they hadn't brought the key. Silence was essential. Smashing the lock would create too much noise and attract unwanted attention.

Johannes motioned towards the ice cold water and led the way. They waded to the front of the boathouse, shivering in the almost freezing temperature of the lake. Johannes handed his weapon to Rosa and submerged under the surface. They waited until he'd found the open slat and pulled himself inside. Moments later and the first of the boathouse doors swung open, allowing his comrades to enter the wooden-framed structure.

The speedboat moored inside sat motionless on the surface, the water barely lapping against its sides. Johannes searched for the keys hanging from a coat rack nearby. Rosa climbed into the boat as Matt pushed at the other door and gently eased it open. Matt knew his work wasn't done and continued round to the rear of the machine. He grimaced as the water seeped ever colder into his wet clothes, making his lower limbs ache.

Free from its moorings, he was able to push the boat out from its shelter and close the doors behind. The mass started to float gently away and he swam quickly to the side to be hauled on board by Johannes' strong arms.

Rosa had found a blanket and rubbed furiously into Matt's legs and torso to try and revive the circulation. Meanwhile the Austrian attempted to manoeuvre the drifting structure away from the shore into the heart of the lake. They prayed the darkness would cover their getaway. The floating vessel took an age to move away from the boathouse, all of them conscious the merest sound would echo across the lake.

"Where are we going?" mouthed Matt, feeling returning to his legs.

"St Gilgen," Rosa mouthed back.

They listened intently to the sound of the black, cold night.

"Shiessen," muttered Johannes.

His two fellow escapees joined him at the wheel. The moon reflected across the lake in front of them. They were drifting right into the path of the beam of light. Within seconds they would be caught in its glare. Anyone looking from the shore would spot them immediately.

Gradually they drifted. Slowly and inexorably the boat moved forward until the front of the vessel was unmasked by the moonlight. Each of them hardly dared breathe for fear of discovery. Inch by painstaking slow inch the full shape of the boat emerged from the darkness, its occupants powerless to prevent their unveiling. To start the engine would give their location away. All they could do was sit, wait and scan the shoreline.

The first shot flew over Rosa's head, whistling through the air as it passed her by. A rapid stream of missiles followed, prompting Johannes to start the engine and force the gear lever forward. Two shapes loomed out of the darkness of the village and sped towards them, flashes of light spitting from the sides of the approaching speedsters to announce their murderous intent. As their escape vehicle increased in pace Rosa and Matt returned fire, Johannes steering a weaving pattern through the dark waters.

A splash appeared at the side of one of the pursuing vessels, signalling a fallen opponent, then a second. Still they surged forward to try and narrow the gap to their prey. Another burst of gunfire came close, causing them to duck for cover. Rosa slotted a fresh magazine into the machine pistol, counted to three and jumped up to fire a retaliatory burst.

It was the sickening thud of metal into flesh that alarmed Matt, throwing Rosa behind him by the sheer force of the impact. She crumpled to a heap on the deck. Johannes sensed the danger.

"Rosa!" he cried, but could not stop.

Matt could see the small frame bent double, the extent of her injury he could only guess. Unaware if she was alive or dead he knew he had to return fire, and used the machine pistol that had fallen from her grasp.

The speedboat screeched to a halt at the small wooden jetty at St Gilgen, the heavy impact of bouncing into the structure throwing Matt from his crouched position. Johannes leapt from the driver's seat and carried Rosa's wounded body onto shore. He ran to place her behind the cover of a wooden chest-like structure, where the jetty joined the mainland. Matt followed from behind, back pedalling as he watched for the arrival of the chasing boats.

The streetlamp above illuminated Rosa's wound. Blood seeped from underneath her jumper, to the left of her stomach, and dripped onto the wooden floor. Matt saw the anguish in Johannes' eyes.

"Go," he said, "I will hold them."

Matt shook his head.

"Go! Now," yelled the Austrian. "Get to Brussels, seek out Catherine and tell her everything before it is too late. Go, Matt!"

He threw the mobile phone to the Englishman and then snatched the machine pistol from Matt's grasp. He turned away and, without looking, fired a retaliatory burst into the pitch darkness above the lake. Matt ran into the cover of the village ahead, carrying a semi automatic, without any kind of understanding of where he was going.

With each galloping stride Matt could hear the blowpipe sounds, resonating in the dark, get further and further away. Something, instinct or an inner feeling, made him stop. He could see Johannes from his vantage point at the top of the sloping footpath leading to the waterside. The Austrian, crouched under the street lamp, was once again checking the ammunition.

Matt glimpsed a shadowy movement, a dark clad figure, crawling round the side of a building to the left of Johannes' position. The assassin edged closer to the Austrian, unaware of the approaching danger. To your left, Johannes, look to your left shrilled Matt's mind.

He had to help. Matt looked for the least visible approach to the waterside. His own weapon was fully loaded with one spare clip. He moved swiftly down the path, scanning for any other sudden movements in the shadows. He'd lost sight of the circling killer.

Nearing his objective, Matt glanced up to see the Austrian rise from behind the protective wooden cover and fire into the night. The hidden assassin responded by rising from his cover and firing a fusillade of shots. Johannes squirmed after hitting the ground, pain etched on his face. There was no attempt to cry out into the night.

Matt watched in silent despair as Johannes turned his head to seek out Rosa's gaze, propped up against the wooden chest close to where he now lay. The Austrian tried to shuffle his body nearer to her. Unable to get his body to co-operate with his brain, Johannes reached out with his arm.

Desperately, he extended his arm to stretch out the fingers of his hand and try and touch his wounded lover. Rosa could barely see him through her glazed eyes but instinctively tried to comply. Straining every muscle and sinew they groped in the darkness for any kind of contact, missing the comfort of each other's touch by millimetres. They were heartbreakingly close.

Matt quickened his pace to try and reach the stricken couple before the night took them. There were only yards left. A quick sprint over the short distance, that's all it would take to join them. His eyes locked on to his friends, still searching hopelessly for each other's touch.

Suddenly a black clad shape appeared. Seeing Johannes movement, the assassin fired several times into the Austrian's dying frame. Rosa, hearing and recognising the chilling murder, whimpered in lonely despair. Exhaling deeply, her head tilted gently to the side. Matt was sure her blue eyes had managed to seek him out, see him crouching in the shadows. Then her eyelids closed. And she was gone.

Matt fell to his knees, raising his head to the blackened sky in search of an explanation. Why these people, he demanded to know. Why? Haven't you taken enough already? There was no reply.

The rage took over his mind and the urge to kill became all-consuming. God he was going to make them pay. His hand wrapped tightly around the handle of the gun.

Three more figures appeared on the jetty at the same time the noise of a car engine could be heard accelerating away from the village centre. The second man's head turned at the sound, the bright streetlamp lighting up his features.

"How many?" he asked fiercely, in a deep masculine voice.

Instantly, Matt knew it was Tillman.

"Two, Sir. The target's missing. He must have made it to the getaway car."

Tillman cursed and looked down at Rosa.

"You fucking bitch," he spat at the dead beauty and started to kick repeatedly at her lifeless form.

Tillman turned his raging anger upon the three assassins, and then yelled into the radio the news the target had eluded them once more.

Matt crept ever nearer, the sound of Tillman's angry voice berating his colleagues' sloppiness getting ever louder. Matt checked his weapon one more time, and then felt for the spare cartridge in his pocket. He leaned against the wall of the lakeside shop, ready to pounce.

In a single sweeping movement he swung into the open and fired at each of the standing figures, from left to right, one shot apiece. Their bodies crumpled to the ground, one after the other. He paused and listened. Matt waited to hear if there were any sounds of life, and then cautiously approached the fallen.

Turning the first body over with his foot he looked at the face beneath him. A youngish man, his blonde hair speckled with blood, groaned slightly as he stared up at Matt with eyes pleading for mercy. Matt had already decided there would be none.

Pointing the pistol at the young man's frightened face he squeezed the trigger to silence the groans. The second and third assassins were already dead. He fired into them anyway to make certain, emptying the ammunition clip in the process.

Snapping the new cartridge into place he suddenly felt a blow to his calf and his legs gave way, toppling him to the ground and spilling the gun. Before he could react he felt a strong, powerful arm reach around his neck.

Choking pressure exerted around his throat. Matt gasped for air as he struggled to slide a hand between the vice like grip and his own windpipe. He thought he'd created an opening. A false impression, air refused to enter his lungs.

He could feel his consciousness weaken as he flailed around in a desperate attempt to break free. The pressure upon his throat starved his brain of oxygen, the fuel needed to think effectively, and he could feel his mind begin to surrender the unequal fight. He remembered the knife. Using the fading remnants of his awareness, he reached down to his leg in search of the weapon. Fingers scrambled for the handle and he managed to grab the butt and unleash it from the sheath.

The assassin was focussed on ending Matt's life and failed to spot the arm rise. Then he felt his quarry drive the knife forcefully into his thigh. The resulting cry of pain failed to relieve the iron grip around Matt's throat. Desperately, he pulled at the serrated implement to free it from its fleshy store. The assassin shouted out again, momentarily easing the tight hold around Matt's neck. It was enough.

Matt gulped madly at the air, sucking it into his lungs to try and invigorate his body. Sliding to the side of the assassin, he used the new surge of energy to power the blade viciously into the man's groin.

A pitiful scream split the stillness of the night, filling the air with the sound of untold agony, and the attacker released his grip. Matt rolled away from the wounded figure and gulped in mouthfuls of air.

Seconds, that seemed more like minutes, passed by as Matt sought to recover. His fingers searched the ground and located the semi. Rising unsteadily to his feet he stepped up to the writhing figure of his assailant.

Tillman's agony was writ across his face, hardly daring to breathe as each draw of the atmosphere brought the sharp, piercing pains from his groin back into his mind. Matt looked upon the helpless figure, smiling at the agonised expression on Tillman's face.

"Mr Tillman, it really doesn't look as though you're going to make it on to the ark after all," he said.

"Fuck you, Daniels," cursed Tillman.

"Durham, Matt Durham is my name," he replied quietly.

"Well fuck you, Durham. You insignificant little shit."

"That's not very Queen's English of you."

Tillman's breathing was heavy and erratic, broken only by the sound of pain induced cries. Matt stared at his adversary, pointing the gun to the wounded man's head, wondering how long he should let the man suffer.

"I should have stopped you, straight away, in Kielder," groaned the mutilated Tillman.

"But you didn't, and here we are. Doubt you'll be able to stop me now."

"It's only a matter of time," hissed Tillman.

"Not unless I get you all first."

"Grow up man. There's too many of us. You might as well put the gun to your head and pull the trigger now."

"The world will know about your dirty little secret soon enough, and once they do there won't be any point in killing me." Matt paused for a second. "Well at least it won't be you that pulls the trigger."

"Think you can stop it? You can never stop it," hissed Tillman, "It's going to happen whatever you do."

"I can stop it," insisted Matt, his voice calm and steady.

"Don't be a fool. It has to happen. The world can't go on like this, or civilisation will die. The human race will become extinct. Is that what you want?"

Matt shook his head, slowly. It was the way these people rationalised their actions he found so depressing.

"What I don't understand is why we even bother to elect Governments. We vote them in and what happens? As soon as the going gets tough they go right ahead and plan for a future, without us."

"Politicians!" gasped Tillman. "They want us to strip the land bare. Mass consumption keeps people happy, encourages them to re-elect the same crowds into power. Those bastards only have the attention span of one election at a time. And they're mostly useless anyway."

The confession caused Matt to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"So who does manage these things?" he asked, not sure whether to believe his wounded, terrified foe or not.

"The same people, the only people with the capacity to plan for the future. It's the paid officials, stupid, and they'll always be in place. That's why you've got no chance."

Tillman took a deep, painful breath trying to force his mind into ignoring the pain.

"Don't believe you, Tillman. It's not possible to do any of this without some sort of acknowledgement from the political classes."

"God you're naïve. Elected Governments don't run the country, we do. Only those in office at the time, the able ones, will get a ticket on the day. We can only provide protection for the few if the species is to survive."

"You mean your species, Tillman," Matt spat back. "You and your kind don't give a damn about ordinary people, only yourselves. A world managed by a handful of Civil Servants. Yeah, that'll work... not!"

"You know nothing. Only the best will survive. Those with the best minds and the best character, those people free from physical and mental impairment."

"Looking at the files I don't see too many people coming anywhere near the criteria you've described. Your name is mentioned for a start."

"Get a grip, man," hissed Tillman. "There are too many people on the planet. Every one of them expects to be fed, watered and housed. They all believe they have a God-given right to waste precious resources. Before long, there won't be enough land and water to grow all the crops needed to feed the growing army of ungrateful bastards."

The irony was that Tillman actually had a point. But he was responsible for the murders of Matt's friends, so he had to die.

Amongst the dead, a brief eerie silence ensued. Both men now seemingly out of any further contribution to the debate.

"Durham," gasped Tillman, in a last effort to save himself. "You could be selected and given a new start. The opportunity to live in a world freed from terrorism and crime, where the unhealthy ceased to drain the state; because their presence will have been obliterated from the planet. You could spend the rest of your days in safety and peace, ever considered that?"

He'd heard enough. Matt had nothing and no-one left to live for. All that remained was a raging desire to kill.

"Consider this, Tillman," he snapped, and wrenched the blade from the man's body, the serrated edge tearing away the flesh from the wounded man's groin.

Tillman's shrill scream pierced the night air. Matt didn't wait for the howls of agony to subside. He pointed the semi at Tillman's head, and fired three times.

"Prick," he said, contemptuously.

Matt left his fallen enemies and returned to the speedboat to pick up a rucksack and find something to cover the bodies of his dead friends. He remembered Rosa's words. Sometimes you have to leave the dead behind, exactly as they lie.

Matt returned to look at the face of the dead woman, her big round blue eyes now closed to the cold darkness of the night. Even in death, she retained her beauty. The sound of a distant speedboat told him the clean up team was on its way.

He picked up the rucksack stuffed with supplies and turned to leave them, exactly as they lay.

Chapter Twenty Six

First Aid

Matt had gone four paces when the first groan sounded. The rucksack fell from his grasp. He turned to face the noise, gun in hand, ready to shoot everything and anything that moved.

Silence

He began to doubt the reality of his own senses when he heard the weakened groan for a second time. Angrily, he stepped forward and kicked at the lifeless form of the first assassin, then the second and third. They were all dead.

Tillman, the voice inside him shouted, and he approached the slumped form ready to administer further brutality. It was still. Then the groan sounded again.

"Rosa, Rosa," he called, and scrambled across to her limp body.

Cradling her head in his hand the blue eyes flickered into slow motion life, pain evident in the dulled brightness of her eyes.

"Johannes," she whimpered.

Matt thought for a moment, not sure quite what to say at first. Then he whispered the news she didn't want to hear.

"He's gone. Stay still, Rosa."

She looked to the sky and started to breathe erratically, each heave of her bosom only adding to her physical pain. Matt placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Rosa, please. Keep still while I examine you."

Matt eased up the dark jersey and moved his head to allow the street lamp to shine onto the wound. He closed his eyes and pictured the second diagram he had drawn on her torso, when they were on the ship, and then snapped them open again once clear in his own mind about what he had to look for.

The news was encouraging, no vital organs were damaged. He moved his hand round the other side of her body and felt the skin of her back to search for the exit wound. There were no holes to be found. His hand touched a mound of flesh. Somehow, the bullet hadn't pierced the other side and had lodged just under the surface of her skin.

"Matt," she said quietly, "I can hear them coming. There isn't time."

"Then I'll make the time."

"No, Matt. You have to go."

"No!"

"I've told you before, to leave the dead behind."

"Well you're not dead and I'm not leaving."

"I'm not going to make it anyway," she whimpered.

"Don't you fucking dare!" he shouted angrily. "One more word of abject surrender and I'll drown you myself."

"They'll catch you."

"They will if you don't stop your pathetic whining. Christ, I thought you told me you'd been trained for this sort of event. You're just a wimp really."

He glanced at her face and saw her blue eyes burning with sudden indignation, aflame from his contemptuous insult.

"That's my girl," he said quietly.

Matt didn't bother to warn her, just forced the cloth handkerchief into her mouth and then poured the magic dust over the wound. Her muffled screams made him wince as he recalled exactly how it felt. It was soon over.

"Back in a jiff," he said, and then disappeared from her side to one of the tourist shops.

She heard the sound of breaking glass. Matt reappeared with towels from the shop. Feverishly, he wrapped one of the dark garments round her body and then proceeded to tighten it round her slim waist.

"Right," he said, "get your arse into gear."

"There's nowhere to go, no place to hide from them," she whispered.

"Yes, there is," he replied confidently. "The one place they won't think to look."

Forcing Rosa to her feet, he carried her towards the small jetty. She wondered what was going through his mind, taking them to the very place where the clean up team would arrive. She thought he'd lost it.

He stepped hesitantly into the small rowing boat, fighting to retain his balance, and gently laid her down next to the rucksack. Running back to shore he grabbed the additional towels and placed some of them under her body, to cushion her from the hard surface, then draped the remainder over her trembling frame.

"Not one word," he demanded, and slipped over the side to push the craft away from its moorings.

Clambering back into the boat, Matt shivered from the cold water and gripped the oars. He started to row away from the shore, steering the boat into the pitch blackness of the lake where the beam of the moon didn't shine.

At first he hurried. Once their silhouettes had disappeared from view he slowed his pace, and then stopped altogether to allow them to drift free of the shore.

An age seemed to pass before the speedboats of the clean up team surged by. Matt waited until they were almost at St Gilgen before he started rowing again, inching them closer towards St Wolfgang.

Rosa was asleep, maybe unconscious, as he continued the escape. He shivered constantly despite the physical effort. After a while, the muscles in his arms and shoulders began to ache with cold and tiredness. He knew he couldn't let up.

The darkness he didn't mind, it disguised the real distance of their journey. It was the silence that unnerved him. Even the blades of the oars being dragged through the water seemed to make no sound at all. On each occasion he turned to look ahead the lights of St Wolfgang neared ever closer, and Matt used these images to further motivate his tired muscles.

He kept going, minute after minute, and for what seemed like hour after hour. Repetitively and monotonously drawing his strokes as they hugged the shoreline, he thought of nothing else other than ultimately reaching the end. Matt felt on the brink of exhaustion when he finally spotted the point where he expected to land. It was so close.

The sudden sound of a droning engine made him look into the black distance. His eyes caught sight of the two beams of light being thrown over the surface of the water, one on each side of what could only be a motor boat.

A second engine sounded, coming from the direction of St Wolfgang, the steady beat of an engine humming through the still water. He turned to see two more beams flashing to either side.

Rosa's body had left its reported position. They would have explored the village; now they had decided to focus their search on the lake. Matt strained his eyes to look around the enveloping darkness for inspiration. He estimated they might have ten minutes, maybe a touch more, before the searchlights sought them out. He could see nothing.

In desperation he steered the craft towards the nearest part of shore and pulled frantically at the oars, the counting of his strokes increasing in speed. The sound of wood hitting wood brought him to a standstill. Another rowing boat, this one tied to a fixture, ran up alongside them and gently bobbed up and down. Matt peered into the darkness and could see the outline of land a few yards ahead.

He lowered himself into the cold lake, praying for shallow water. His feet pedalled frantically underneath the waterline before resting on firm ground. Waist high in iced liquid Matt had no time to complain. His arms reached into the craft and, with a surge of extreme effort, lifted the human cargo from inside; almost losing his balance in the process.

Matt took several moments to regain his footing, gritting his teeth to help him focus, and managed to keep Rosa dry. He waded the few yards needed to stumble ashore and placed her on the ground resting up against a tree. He checked to make sure she would be hidden from view, out of sight of the searching beams.

He still had to retrieve the rucksack and moor the boat to the other fixed craft. If it started to float free then his pursuers would know. Matt re-entered the water, cursing at the drop in temperature of his body, and waded towards the boats. His hands, bitter with cold, somehow managed to tie the two craft together and then he picked up the rucksack.

The shoreline was almost within stepping distance when the first beam of light flickered across the surface of the lake, edging closer to his stranded frame.

There was no more time.

Instinctively, he threw the luggage deep into the long grass and turned to see the approaching light. Seconds, he guessed, as he waded out into deeper water.

The searchlight was virtually upon him when he lowered his upper frame below the icy surface. The freezing cold was instant, making him want to scream with the shock to his system. He suppressed the urge to yell.

Looking up from under the surface, he saw the yellow beam flash from side to side as the motor boat slowly neared. The light fixed upon the two rowing boats and edged closer. The motor craft was virtually above him. He could make out the silhouettes of two of the crew leaning over to peer inside the wooden frames. Muffled voices spoke as they continued their visual search. Matt could feel the pressure building for him to take another breath.

Still they looked as they rested on the surface. Matt could wait no longer. He swam with urgency and panic underneath the hull to the other side and surfaced. A huge gulp of air and his head disappeared into the lake, the underwater swim taking him further away. Matt heard the engine rev, and then the motor boat moved and steered away.

His head punctured the surface allowing his lungs to suck in air in rapid chunks. Once his breathing had returned to normal the piercing cold bit into him.

Matt half swam, half crawled to the shore and scrambled to the tree where Rosa lay. He could barely feel the muscles of his limbs with his freezing cold hands, as the dampness turned into penetrating cold. He had to keep moving. With rucksack in place he, somehow, managed to raise Rosa from the ground and began to stagger along the tree covered path towards St Wolfgang.

Left, right, said his mind in repetitive boredom. One step closer, another step closer. God, he was tired. His brain urged him to stop and rest. Matt found himself surrendering to the thought and dropped to one knee, when another voice in his head demanded to be heard.

Stop and you're dead, stop and Rosa's dead too. Stop and you've cost the lives of billions of others. So he stood back up and kept going, and going, and going.

Dawn had risen as he struggled to the door, directly below the blue and white for sale sign. Placing Rosa gently onto the ground he started to rummage through the rucksack until he found what he was looking for.

The first time he tried his hands wouldn't stop shaking, and the second and third. The sound of footsteps concentrated his mind and kept him steady while he tried to unpick the lock for a fourth time. Matt leant against the door to force it to spring open and he hauled Rosa into the apartment, dragging the rucksack behind him.

He lay still for a while, trying to focus his thoughts, trying to ignore his cold aching limbs. Move, said something inside. He reached for her limp body and dragged her down the short narrow corridor, into the single bedroom.

After tugging back the sheets, he cut away Rosa's bloodied jersey and undressed her trousers. Matt eased her into the warmth of the single bed and covered her up. He sank to the floor, feeling close to exhaustion.

A part of him just wanted to lie there and die. The survivor inside refused to let him co-operate. His clothes were damp, his muscles ached and his eyes tired as he forced himself to undress, discarding the surrounding wetness from his body. He threw one of the towels over the bare floor, collapsed onto it, and then tried to cover the rest of his naked body with another. It didn't quite work.

Matt wanted desperately to sleep, massaging his limbs to get some warmth back into his body. The rubbing seemed to have little effect other than stopping him from getting any colder. A shopping list began to emerge in his mind, things he must have to attend to Rosa's wound. With chattering teeth Matt repeated the list in his mind, over and over again. He daren't forget a thing.

Nine a.m. and Matt startled back into life. The shops would be open now. He redressed into the damp clothes, fumbled for some of Johannes' money from the rucksack, and emerged into the street.

No-one seemed to notice.

Twenty five minutes later he had returned. There wasn't time for luxury items such as fresh clothes, only the bare essentials. The sales assistants and few other shoppers around kept giving him odd looks, weird glances of apparent disdain. He reasoned this had to do with his damp and smelly clothes, trembling hands and sunken pale-faced expression.

Discarding his outer garments he tried to unscrew the cap on the whisky bottle. The constantly shaking hands prevented him from succeeding. Matt could feel his body getting colder and colder and realised if he didn't do it now then he would soon be incapable.

Finally the lid came off and he gulped down a mouthful of the brown liquid. As a rule, he didn't drink spirits at this time of the day. A flush of warmth shocked his system. It felt good, so he took another swig.

Rolling Rosa gently onto her side, he lightly dabbed the spirit soaked cotton wool bud over the mound underneath her skin. It took several attempts to free the scalpel from its position in the leather case, and then dowse it with whisky, before he could point the sharp end at the mound. Matt tried to exert some downward pressure. His hands shook even more furiously. The next two attempts produced the same result.

"Come on."

Again, the shaking halted his attempt.

"Come on, how bloody hard can it be to pierce skin with a knife?"

This time he doused his own hands in the brown liquid and rubbed them together as hard as he could. He returned to the mound. The incision was small, to the side of the lump under her skin, and lacked precision.

Rosa, still unconscious, didn't seem to feel a thing. He pulled back her flesh and gently eased the tweezers around the metal object. On the first attempt, it slipped from the grasp of the tweezers. There was no other choice other than to go in again. Rosa began to moan with the intrusion. He tugged ever so gently. The bullet retained its reluctance to move, so he gripped firmer and decided to give it an almighty heave.

The metal object flew from her body and shot across the room, bouncing off the wall opposite and then hitting the floor. Blood seeped from the wound so he dabbed a cotton wool bud and pressed it hard against the injury. Again, Rosa moaned in her unconscious state and he realised he would have to work fast.

Threading the needle proved an impossible chore as his hands continued to tremble, taking them in opposite directions from where he wanted them to go. Pushing the staples into the heavy duty machine was little easier. With persistence, and a good deal of anger, he finally managed. The stapling was scruffy and wayward, but good enough to seal the wound.

He rushed the wrapping of the bandages round her body, removed the now dirty towel from underneath, and lifted the bed covers back over her beautiful frame. She seemed to snuggle into the warmth of the single bed and Matt believed this to be a good sign.

Though far from a perfect job his attempt had, if nothing else, successfully removed the alien object and her wounds had been cleansed. With Rosa safely tucked between the sheeting Matt could only wonder how he, of all people, could be capable of such a thing.

Basking in the sense of achievement lasted mere seconds as Matt's own body now reacted to the drop in adrenalin. His hands shook ferociously and his body trembled. He could feel his mind shutting down, as if someone had reached over and switched the light off.

Trying to fight off the sensations he took another large swig of the brown liquid, causing him to feel nauseas. The effort to discard his remaining garments drained him of what little energy he had left, and he slumped hard against the stone wall. Matt tried to cover his shivering body, feeling his mind slipping and sliding into unconsciousness. He tugged weakly at the towel, too weakly for it to move.

Open mouthed, Matt's head fell back against the wall and his eyes forced themselves shut, pushing him into a delirious state of absolute mental and physical exhaustion.

A blurred image entered Matt's slow motion dream. He heard a woman's voice calling.

"Matt, Matt," called the voice.

Was it Jenna or Grace? He couldn't be sure.

"Matt," she repeated. "Hold my hand and come to me."

His eyes remained shut; refusing to focus on the woman's image. He was convinced her voice wanted to lead him into danger, betray him into a trap.

"Matt, please. Take my hand," the voice said again.

He was tired; so, so very tired.

"Let me be, leave me alone," he heard his weakened voice reply. "I can't go any further."

"You can, you have to go on," said the voice. "But first you must come to me."

He felt his body crawl towards the woman's voice, climbing up before sinking down into a comfortable place. A warm body wrapped around his aching figure, held him close.

It felt so good, the touch of hot flesh against his freezing cold shivering body. He felt her fingers stroke his hair and softly caress the features on his face, the same way she had done before.

"Grace, don't let go of me," he whispered. "Promise you won't leave me."

"I won't," said the woman's voice. "I promise not to leave you, but now you must sleep."

And he fell into a deep, death-like trance of exhaustion.

The gentle easing of the depression in the mattress springs forced Matt to open his eyes, not fully understanding at first exactly where he was. He turned his head to see Rosa standing in her lingerie with her back to him, cursing at the remnants of her torn jersey.

"How did I get in here?"

"Hi, Matt," smiled Rosa. "It was your turn, remember?"

"No."

"Well it was. Your turn, I mean."

"I had the strangest dream," he said,

"You had a few, kept calling Jenna's name in your sleep."

"I did, really?"

"Several times," Rosa replied, smiling.

Gradually, his mind refocused, and his hand darted to his left knee to scratch an irritating itch.

"Hell's teeth, I'm naked!"

Rosa let out a hearty, throaty laugh which she quickly cut short.

"Don't make me laugh. It hurts when I do that. Anyway, I didn't peek."

He suddenly remembered and sat upright in the bed.

"How are the injuries? Let me see."

"Everything's fine, you don't have to worry."

"Rosa, let me see."

She gave him a dark look, as though she didn't take kindly to being given instructions, and then huffed out loudly before moving her back closer towards him. Matt gingerly prodded the bruised skin around the staples, smugly satisfied with his handiwork.

"Now the front," he demanded.

"Matt!"

"The front wound, Rosa. Now," he ordered.

Another big huff of indignation followed, before she slowly eased her torso round to enable Matt to examine the injury. It took him a bit longer to properly inspect the damaged area.

"Not too bad at all."

"The rear could have been neater," she observed sharply.

"How's the head?"

"Head?" she questioned.

Matt gazed into her blue eyes, trying to look into her soul.

"Johannes," he whispered.

Rosa turned away and shook her head.

"There's nothing to talk about," she said.

"Rosa,"

"I said no," she snapped, striding to the bathroom.

Matt jumped up and dressed. A few minutes passed before Rosa returned. He was sure her eyes were moist.

"Rosa," he said, holding out his arms.

"I'm perfectly fine, Matt. People come into your world and then leave again. It's the natural order of life. Something you should be getting used to by now."

She said it with an amazing degree of calmness, and then turned her back on him. He thought about saying no more on the subject, to leave Rosa to deal with the loss in her own way. Something inside wouldn't allow the matter to rest. Matt approached from behind and wrapped his strong arms around her small frame, pulling Rosa into his grasp. She made to shake him off.

"Don't, Rosa. Please." he said softly. "You'll re-open the wounds."

His calm words brought her slight resistance to an end and her head dropped back onto his chest. She looked up to the heavens. Matt couldn't be sure, but thought he could hear a tear being shed.

"This wasn't meant to happen," said her subdued voice. "If anything, it should have been me. I would have deserved it."

She sighed deeply. Matt was sure he felt an escaping tear drop onto his hand.

"I never thought he'd leave me."

It pained Matt for her to be in this distressed state. After all the training, the many years of bitter experience and denied sensitivities, Rosa was still much the same as everyone else. She had no special exemption from being deeply hurt by the passing of a loved one. Matt knew now he could patch up Rosa's body and heal her physical wounds. What he didn't have the power to do was to take away the emotional pain.

"I won't, Rosa," he whispered into her ear, "I promise not to leave you."

The phrase echoed in Rosa's tortured mind as she recalled the words she had said to Matt, a few hours earlier.

"I won't," she had soothed. "I promise not to leave you, but now you must sleep."

Chapter Twenty Seven

Choices

Matt's second shopping trip resulted in fresh clothes for them both. Rosa, with only a bra left to cover her torso, was unable to influence his selections. Pick only plain colours, she had said, whites and darks. Like all men with an independent streak, he had to experiment.

"Do you like it?" he asked as she held the coloured top up to her neck and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"Its fine," she replied, screwing up her face in horror at his choice.

Fortunately, he'd turned away to examine Johannes' mobile phone and missed the look on her face. Scrolling down the call history Matt found what he was looking for, a number for Eva-Maria. He had a contact; and this fresh information invigorated his soul, filled his heart with renewed hope. The plan was back on track.

While Rosa dressed, Matt's thoughts loitered over the issue of who had betrayed their location at St Wolfgang to Tillman's death squad. Could it have been Vogel? She was the obvious choice.

There was only one way to find out.

"Guten Tag Johannes," said the quiet voice answering the phone.

"Eva-Maria?" he asked.

"Wer ist das?" she enquired.

"My name is Matt Durham. Your brother asked me to give you a call on this number."

The line went silent and he wondered what to say next.

"Eva-Maria, are you still there?"

"Repeat your name please, sir."

"Durham, Matt Durham," he confirmed, "I am the friend coming to Europe by boat Johannes told you about."

"Yah, I recall now. Where is my brother, Mr Durham?"

Her voice sounded hesitant and cautious, perhaps a little frightened.

"Johannes cannot come to the phone, that's why he asked me to call. He said you would be able to help me."

"How can I help you?"

"Your brother has told you I have information for your superior, Ms Catherine Vogel. I wish to meet her privately so I can be sure it is safely received."

Another silence followed. Matt thought he could hear a man's voice in the background.

"Where do you call from?" she asked.

Matt had no intention of revealing his location, particularly over the phone.

"I will be in Brussels in around six days," he said, avoiding a direct answer.

"Six days!"

She had expected him to be closer. Both were now wary of each other. This was not proving to be an easy conversation.

"I will need to consult her diary. It is possible we must first meet before Ms Vogel will agree to see you," she advised.

"Okay, I will ring you on another day, to finalise all of the arrangements."

"Mr Durham, do not go. I must ask you something else."

Her increasing anxiousness convinced him someone close by was monitoring the conversation.

"I'll ring again, soon," he said hurriedly and switched the phone off to avoid it being successfully traced.

"Who was that?" asked Rosa, entering from the bathroom.

"Eva-Maria,"

"So when and where are we meeting?"

"She's getting back to me a little later. Likely I'll see Vogel in Brussels."

"You mean us," said Rosa.

Matt didn't give it a second thought.

"No, I'm going alone."

"You are not going without me."

He turned and looked into her eyes, knowing he was about to say something she would find both painful and upsetting.

"I can't afford to carry any passengers."

"Passengers!" she shouted.

"Rosa, you're not fit enough for this job."

"Who do you think you are? Five minutes training and now you think you're a fucking expert. It takes years, not days, to get to my standard."

"I'm not disagreeing, Rosa. But this is the only hand we've got at the moment. You said it yourself on the boat; we'll be under constant threat. Yet you can't fight, can't run. In fact you can't even walk quickly. You'd be a liability on this op."

Rosa stared disbelievingly as he spoke the words she found so belittling. It felt like he was trying to humiliate her.

"I can still do some things," she said defiantly.

"Yes, you can. Except they are none of the things needed for this particular job."

Her eyes spat fire and rage. Were Rosa her normal healthy self then she'd likely have broken Matt's neck. He understood difficult choices had to be made if they were going to have any chance of succeeding.

"I will recover," she insisted.

"You will," he said. "But it will take weeks, and we don't have that sort of time."

Matt knew he was right, and he could tell from the open disappointment in her eyes she understood this. He would have liked nothing more than to have Rosa by his side during the next stage of the perilous journey, advising and guiding while covering his back. Her injuries made it impossible to contemplate. There would be enough going on to occupy his mind, and he needed to focus on them rather than having to constantly check on her condition.

"Where will you stay while I'm gone?" he asked coldly.

Rosa failed to answer at first. He guessed she was still trying to think of an indisputable reason why he needed to take her. The eventual reply was whispered in resignation and defeat.

"Johannes' lodge up in the hills, few people know anything about it. He called it his escape cabin. I'll go there."

"Good," replied Matt. "Sounds like an ideal place to hole up until I get back. Will you be alright on your own?"

"Yes!"

The conversation had not been pleasant. Rosa was the last person he wanted to leave feeling diminished. There was too much at stake however, and he hoped she would eventually come to realise this.

Matt picked up the rucksack and emptied the contents out onto the bed. There were few items he needed to take. The real benefit of the activity lay in successfully managing to bring the ill tempered debate to a conclusion. As he pretended to sort through the array of items he could feel Rosa glaring menacingly into the back of his head. The sensation lasted for some considerable time before seeming to ease, and then he felt Rosa's presence by his side.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked.

Matt stood and thought for a few moments. There wasn't anything else and Rosa already knew that. It was the gesture which pleased him.

"I won't contact you while I'm away. Just suddenly arrive back in town a week or so from now and brief you then," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied quietly. "That's how I would have handled it."

He turned and gazed into her beautiful face, saddened by his lonely departure.

"Thanks," he said. "Don't worry, I'll be back to the village soon enough. I promised not to leave you, and I won't. I will not let that happen."

Sipping coffee at the small, round outside table on the edge of the square, it dawned on him. Eva-Maria had to know about Johannes. It was likely she'd been told Matt was responsible.

If he could be accused of wrongdoing in the UK, there was every chance the authorities would try the same thing here.

Quite probably they had convinced Eva-Maria he was a wanted criminal, and she had therefore agreed to assist them in bringing him to justice. The more he thought about the call the more he was persuaded he was being lured, drawn into a trap. His earlier euphoric feelings of hope and aspiration were beginning to disappear, much as the steam from his coffee evaporated into the air around him.

Here he was in Salzburg, the heart of Europe, lost amongst the many similarly looking squares in the centre of town with no way forward and with no obvious escape route. There were two people left in the world Matt Durham could trust. One was recovering from injury amongst the wooded hills of St Wolfgang, while the other was nursing children back to health in Canada.

Johannes had told him Vogel was a good person, and could be trusted. Matt wasn't certain of this. As impressed as he was at Rosa's tales, on the capabilities of national security services to track and pinpoint targets around the globe, he remained unconvinced they had any idea as to the whereabouts of Matt and his companions.

The cargo ship had never been stopped or searched during the voyage, and the HGV vehicle travelled unchallenged throughout its journey across Western Europe. Something, or someone, had tipped these people off. He was beginning to wonder if he was doing the right thing by heading in to Brussels to meet this woman.

Matt's mind was in turmoil, racked with indecision. It was so unlike him, to be unsure and not know what his next move should be. He nibbled at the food, hunger suppressed by the new assessment of his circumstances.

I'll give it one more go, a last chance, he thought. Looking across the street to the mobile phone shop an idea formed. All contact with Eva-Maria had to be under scrutiny, he reasoned. It was time for a stealthier approach.

The room of the guesthouse was barely big enough to swing the proverbial cat. A thin and narrow space, the tiny window sat high on the wall and was unreachable without the aid of a stepladder. The shower room appeared bigger than it actually was due to the more evenly proportioned dimensions. It was however clean and tidy, though it seemed to him everywhere you stayed in Austria seemed dust-free.

At least he was off the street and nobody had sought to check his passport. If he hadn't asked the waitress at the café, he would never have found this place on his own. Matt tossed the rucksack onto the single bed, alongside the shopping bag holding his new clothes. The priority was the mobile and he plugged it in to charge. After a quick shower and change of clothing, he typed Eva-Maria's number into the new phone and prepared the text.

Little Mermaid, Sebastian said you might help me.

Johannes had said it was her favourite film as a child. He would sing her to sleep at night pretending to be Sebastian, the crazy lobster. Few people would realise the connotation in the message, though it was a long shot. His enemies could be monitoring all of her incoming communications, and there was no guarantee she would either understand the message or wish to respond.

Uncertainty remained his only companion, filling him with ongoing doubt about meeting up with Vogel. Matt didn't have a clue what this woman looked like. They could replace her with anyone and he would be none the wiser.

He glanced at the watch, three fifteen it read. All he could do was sit back and wait.

Seven o'clock arrived. Matt decided he could be imprisoned in this small room no longer, electing instead to wander into the town for an Austrian beer or two. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a good lager. Picking up the phone he felt a gentle vibration, alerting him to the arrival of an incoming text.

Message from Ariel, it read. Only one person knew of this number. Hastily, he fumbled for the open button.

Two pm, place des palais on Friday, will be with friend. Confirm.

Using the scroll button he worked his way through the message and a photograph of two people began to reveal itself. They both appeared to be very young, work experience trainees by the looks of it. One of them was female, the other male.

The skinny young girl with brown eyes had long blonde hair and a prominent nose. Her wide mouth smiled broadly. The young man at her side beamed profusely, he was almost childlike with his cherubic features. They could be no more than in their late teens, he guessed.

They had given him four days to make the journey to the Belgian capital. It made sense to get there before, preferably within the next thirty six hours. It would be a challenge using local service routes, but he responded immediately.

Confirm, he wrote and pressed the send button.

Now he could enjoy a cold lager that little bit more.

Rising promptly, Matt felt a little more positive. After an early breakfast he strode out along the river for some much needed exercise. He considered crossing the bridge to the other side of town, changing his mind after consulting the local map which showed the police station was located there.

The brownish colouring of the river water surprised him. He wondered if this had anything to do with the vast salt deposits in the region, which is how Salzburg got its name originally. It was the single, most important natural resource which led to the city achieving prominence within Europe during earlier centuries. What struck him most about the town was its size. He had imagined it would be a vast urban area filled with all the latest designer shops, goods earmarked by expensive pricing labels and a McDonalds on every corner. This part of town retained much of its medieval charm and the people were uncommonly pleasant and helpful.

He arrived at the bookshop he remembered from yesterday and sought out the map and transport sections, identifying the items he needed for the journey.

A short walk took him to a café, through the archway after the small newsagents. A newspaper headline caught his attention. The word Vogel was writ in bold above the colour photograph. He pulled a copy from the rack.

Catherine Vogel sprechen, it said. He didn't understand the rest. The woman was stood at the lectern with her hands raised above her head, her palms facing forward as if basking in some kind of adulation.

So this is what she looked like. The photograph intrigued him. There was something about her facial features which seemed familiar, resembling another face from the back of his mind. Then he twigged it. Matt recalled the photograph he'd been sent on the mobile the previous night. He realised the similarities between Vogel and her daughter. Meeting Eva-Maria would be like meeting a younger version of his ultimate confidant; a sort of mini-me moment from one of those daft spy-spoof movies.

Weird, he thought. Matt found it hard to rationalise how any person would want their own child working so closely to them yet deny any blood connection; unreal. Even odder, he thought, what type of parent would involve their own flesh and blood in something as dangerous as this? There could be no better example of mankind's inhumanity to man, or woman in this case; the purest form of evil. Perhaps she was unaware of the danger.

He decided to study the woman's picture more closely, see if it offered up any clues as to the type of person he would be dealing with. Late thirties, he guessed. Her strong features, hidden under the expansive smile, concealed the ambitious persona he was aware lurked beneath. The blonde head of shoulder length hair was perfectly set around her face, from where her green eyes seemed to sparkle and shine, taking the emphasis away from her prominent nose and wide mouth.

Powerfully dressed in a dark business suit she looked the consummate professional, while at the same time the accompanying knee length skirt reminded people of her femininity. Two shapely legs provided ample evidence she worked hard on retaining her trim, slim figure. Catherine Vogel would have turned many a young man's head in her youth, and probably as many today, he considered. Whilst a single photograph had told him some things, there remained much more about the Austrian woman to be revealed. This article would help, if he could only read the language.

Matt returned to the bookshop and sought out an English / German dictionary to help translate the article. There would be enough time on the journey to Brussels to make inroads into its content.

Catherine Vogel, he mused for the umpteenth time. Why did the name bother him so much? There remained something that troubled him. He knew it was locked away somewhere within the dark recesses of his mind, and wished he could find the trigger to bring it to the surface. He considered whether to tail her for a couple of days, monitor Vogel's movements and see what he could discover. This would be the safest option.

No, got to go for it, he decided.

Chapter Twenty Eight

A Capital Adventure

This was Matt's second day in the Belgian capital. He'd been to Brussels a few times over the years on weekend breaks, to visit the bi-annual flower festival held in the Grand Place, so knew the city reasonably well. It was the café culture Matt found attractive on the continent, particularly being able to sit outside in any one of the many restaurants in and around the Place for as long as you had the time.

The grey, damp-filled drizzle was proving to be irritatingly persistent. Although Matt had visited this part of the city before he decided to use his newly acquired skills to properly map the area, marking all of the entry and exit routes around the old palace and then identify any vantage points to be had.

The palais appeared smaller than Buckingham Palace. He was sure this was influenced by the surrounding buildings tightly pressed up around, and the fact it was possible to get much closer to the front of this palace than the one in London.

Open-topped tourist buses regularly pulled up outside. The occupants, mostly Japanese tourists, would disembark and take endless numbers of photographs before continuing on their tour.

Opposite the palace was a large park bordered by tree-lined dusty paths, interconnected by others, all running into the centre of the wooded area before travelling to the other side.

In the summer the leaves of the plentiful trees provided shade from the hot sun for picnickers, or those eating lunch on one of the many park benches. On this wintry day the area was almost devoid of people, either locals or tourists.

Matt recognised immediately this was the wrong place for a clandestine meeting, providing virtually no supporting cover should it be needed. Rosa would never have allowed it if she had been with him. He did the smart thing and consulted the street map for alternatives. The nearby church, St Michael's, could be no more than a few hundred yards away. He decided to wait until the last possible moment to redirect the contacts.

Ten minutes to two read his watch, enough time for one last sweep of the area before the meeting. He had to be confident there were no surveillance units in operation and these people weren't being followed.

The mobile phone alerted Eva-Maria to the text message.

Ariel, Michael hopes you will pray with him.

Matt watched as the young woman held the phone up to her young companion to let him see the message. Both appeared confused about its meaning, the man in particular animatedly shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. They looked anxiously around from the front of the palace in the hope of some inspiration.

Eva-Maria pushed back the hood of her rain jacket as the drizzle halted and the sun threatened to burst through the grey clouds overhead. Casually dressed in tight fitting blue jeans snuggled into a pair of soft brown boots, the leggings were complemented by a loose fitting white halter top. The blonde hair, tied in a pony tail, revealed the high bone structure of her face.

The young man failed to disturb his baseball cap as he tried to work out the meaning of the message, preferring instead to unzip his waist-length black leather jacket and reveal the name of a heavy metal band on the shirt underneath. The baggy green trousers smothered his trainer shoes, making his legs look shorter than his chunky torso. They talked for an age, undecided on what to do next, concern mounting on their young faces.

Matt was about to send a second text when the young woman raised her hand excitedly, and they began to hurry in the direction of the church. They'd sussed it.

He watched for surrounding movement as they stepped away from the palace. Nothing obvious happened. If they were being monitored they were unaware of it.

Quickening his pace from the vantage point, Matt arrived at the bottom steps to the church several yards ahead of the couple. Skipping his way up to the top entrance he peered inside and prepared the next text. He strode inside as he released the message and took the first available seat to his left.

This house of God was enormous. Rows of pews stretched out in front of him towards the altar, able to accommodate many hundreds of worshippers. The sides of the interior were adorned throughout by a myriad of differently sized and shaped statues.

The wait seemed interminable. He sat with head bowed, as though in prayer. Through the corner of his eye he caught sight of the two shapes and they sat directly in front of him, onto the seats he had instructed in the message.

Glancing to the side he could see no-one had followed and the young pair sat quietly, respectful of their surrounds. The young man even removed his cap. Matt sent the next message, hoping her mobile was in silent mode. It was.

Have you spoken to Ms Vogel?

Yes.

Will she meet me?

Yes.

Hotel de Ville, Grote Market, eight pm, tonight, was his next message.

Impossible, read the reply.

I leave tomorrow, this is the only time.

No response followed. Matt thought he'd miscalculated and had erred with the directness of the last message. He decided to wait.

I will advise her, came up on his screen.

Thank you for your help, Eva-Maria. Goodbye.

The young woman stirred in front of him, suddenly agitated and whispering frantically to her colleague. Matt thought it better to remain in his seat. Another message appeared.

Is my brother with you?

She didn't know about Johannes. For a brief moment he had no idea what to say, not wanting to prolong this gathering any more than necessary.

No, was his reply.

I am unable to reach him and no-one knows where he has gone. I am very concerned.

There was no easy way to tell her, and he didn't want to lie.

It is difficult to contact him at the moment.

Will you let me know when it will be possible?

Yes. Goodbye, Eva-Maria.

He switched the phone off.

There was a time in his life he might have cared. Today, there could be no such sentiment. Matt watched them leave, the disappointment drawn upon her young face as they made for the exit. He sat silently, head bowed, and began to plan ahead for the meeting with Vogel.

Moments had passed when a scream shattered the inner silence of this house of God. He turned. The young man had fallen backwards and collapsed to the floor. Matt leapt up to investigate and approached the stricken figure. He spotted the small round hole in the young man's forehead. Instinctively, he pulled Eva-Maria away from the open high wooden doors and pushed her up against the stone wall of the church.

She continued to scream frenziedly, her body shaking with fear, unable to control the flailing movements of her arms. Matt used his strength to pin the screaming girl to the wall and smother her in his grasp.

"Eva-Maria, Eva-Maria," he shouted to the terrified soul. "Be still and calm yourself."

The few other people in the church had left their seats and neared cautiously. The last thing he needed was to be involved in a turkey shoot, which would happen if they came any closer.

"No," he yelled. "Stay back, stay away from the door," and they retreated into the safety of the high-domed church.

Eva-Maria continued to resist his efforts to subdue her, so he exerted more of his physical strength to overpower her body. Forcing her arms up against her chest, he pressed hard with his body to trap her upper limbs. As she slowly stilled, the realisation dawned upon her.

"Mr Durham?"

"We have to move Eva-Maria, quickly."

Grabbing hold of a hand he pulled her away from the wall and led her deeper into the sanctuary of the church. A priest appeared to their left and called to him.

"Father," Matt responded. "We must use another exit."

The priest hesitated, a look of astonishment on his face.

"Father, this child will die here unless I get her to safety. There is no time, please."

It took only seconds for the priest to witness the terror upon the young girl's face and make his decision.

"This way, my son," and he led them past the altar to the rear door and on into his chambers.

There wasn't time to take in the detail of the sculptures of the surroundings as he hurriedly followed the dark suited man, tugging Eva-Maria behind him. They hastened through two more doors before the priest halted. He turned and looked to Matt, then reached into his pocket and offered up a set of keys.

"Take these. The vehicle is outside, across the street. What else can I do for you?"

"Call the emergency services, and thank you," he replied, referring to the car keys.

The priest pushed open the door, allowing the daylight to break into the room and illuminate the stale darkness.

Matt peered outside to get his bearings, the shadows from the tall buildings engulfing the narrow street. He closed his eyes to picture the area in his mind from the mapping exercise yesterday. Pressing the button in his hand the side lights of a silver car flashed from the other side of the road.

"I am grateful to you, Father," he said, and took a firm grip of Eva-Maria's trembling hand. "Can you run just a little further?"

She nodded vigorously, somehow deciding to put her trust in this complete stranger.

"Now!" he shouted and they leapt through the rear door.

A man on a small motor bike sped passed them, heading downhill. The sniper's bullet hit the motorcyclist in the chest and threw his body away from the machine, causing the cycle to slide a little further along the road before thumping into a parked car. Matt realised there was no time to reach the safety of the priest's vehicle. He yanked her hand towards the fallen motor bike as she struggled to keep pace. The engine was still running when he pulled the machine from the ground and sat astride. Eva-Maria never questioned his intent, merely copied his action and sat on the rear pillion, clasping her hands tightly around his midriff.

In a flash they were gone, accelerating madly back up the hill of the narrow street, using the massive structure of the church as cover from further missiles.

Memories of his youth, when he used to rally-cross as a child, came flooding back to Matt as they continued to rise up the bank. They sped passed a parked 4x4 as the side window folded and collapsed inwards, pierced by a rifleman's bullet. Eva-Maria screamed at the sight of the window shattering into pieces, gripping her accomplice even tighter.

Matt knew they would have to leave the main arteries of the road network. It would take no time at all for roadblocks to be put into place to trap them. He remembered the park and turned sharply, weaving between the startled drivers of the oncoming traffic as further whistling noises whooshed above their heads.

The machine leapt from the ground as it shot over the road into the green space and he pointed the bike upwards along the tree-lined path. Clouds of dust were thrown up as he accelerated forward. Matt turned sharply again, taking the path leading into the centre of the park.

The few pedestrians they encountered jumped to the side to avoid the onrushing machine as Matt formulated their escape route. Another turn, downwards this time, and they muscled their way to the end of the park leading past the palace.

Without stopping to look, he burst onto the main road and turned sharply left along the carriageway, missing an onrushing vehicle by centimetres and almost losing control. The rear end of the bike shivered from side to side. Somehow, it stayed upright.

Matt sped along the road, narrowly missing a pedestrian crossing their path. The wind gushed into his eyes making it hard to see clearly ahead. At the last minute he spotted the marker and, without warning, applied the brake hard causing the front tyre to smoke and the approaching car to swerve into a signpost.

"Hold on!" Matt yelled, and he felt the young woman cling ever harder to him for dear life.

A sharp right had the bike mount the pavement, skimming the legs of a jogger, and head for an opening in the railings. This led them to a set of steep steps pointing down into the heart of the old city.

The machine shook hard as he manoeuvred through the bodies jumping to avoid their reckless approach. Matt thought it was set to fall apart. He could hear the sound of loud yelling voices behind them as he skipped the last step and jumped the machine onto a cobbled road sloping downwards.

He weaved between the on-road vehicles, for a further hundred yards or so, and then powered through the gap in the traffic into the steeply-dropping narrow alley. Matt braked hard to reduce speed as they neared the market stalls on the edge of the Grand Place. The machine's velocity disappeared by the time the bike came to rest.

Squeezing the front wheel of the machine into one of the empty bicycle slots bolted into the ground, he left the key in the ignition and they hurried away from the now silent engine.

"Walk, don't run," instructed Matt sharply, as Eva-Maria hugged his arm tightly, fearful of the consequences of letting go.

The Grand Place was an area Matt knew particularly well and he led her down a street immediately adjacent, towards a small bistro he had visited regularly in his earlier years. They hurried along the cobbled street behind the main square, and he ushered her inside the red fronted building and up the three entry steps leading to a platform. Immediately to the right of the wooden railing, three steps led them back down into an alcove table next to a bay window, and he pushed her into the space.

Eva-Maria sat up against the wall, breathless and trembling. Her moist eyes looked set to burst into a river of tears.

"Don't!" he ordered, "You must not bring attention to us. Close your eyes and take deep breaths, count up to a thousand if necessary."

His authority and sharpness startled the young woman and her eyes widened with the force of his instruction. Yet, she knew she could trust him. Gulping air into her lungs, Eva-Maria closed her eyes and counted in her mind, slowly and meticulously. Gradually, her trembling eased and her breathing relaxed back into its normal rhythm. She re-opened her eyes to the two coffees and schnapps that had been placed on the table.

The stranger, his back pushed up against the opposite wall, looked furtively out of the window at the passing pedestrian traffic as the people walked by. They were oblivious to the danger from which the two agitated fugitives had narrowly escaped.

"Mr Durham?"

"Quiet!" he said. "Drink your schnapps," and she obeyed.

He continued to watch, for what seemed minutes on end, until something caught his attention. In the blink of an eye he turned, downed his own schnapps and then started chatting cheerfully to his partner on a subject she found completely bewildering. Her startled expression was in danger of giving them away.

"Smile girl. Smile," he hissed urgently.

Without thought or reason she instinctively put her arm on Matt's shoulder and leaned towards him to affectionately stroke his ear with a long index finger, the broadest smile a man could ever wish to see enveloping her face. Eva-Maria nodded in agreement, then threw back her head and laughed at the humorous joke Matt had never told. The pretence lasted mere seconds. It was enough. Her glance revealed the two men outside had moved away from the window and headed down the cobbled street.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, unsure whether to scream or cry.

"Be brave Eva-Maria, be strong just a little bit longer," he counselled the young woman. The shape of a woman's figure in an apron came down the steps and stood before them.

"We close now, for the afternoon," the tall, dark-haired woman said.

"Ask if we can speak to the owner," Matt requested of his young companion.

"I am the owner," said the woman tetchily, forcing Eva-Maria's face into a smile.

"One hundred Euros, in cash, to let us remain inside for one more hour," said Matt boldly, pressing the notes onto the surface of the table.

The woman shook her head.

"One hundred and twenty?" he countered.

"More coffee?" the owner asked, and Matt nodded.

"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Matt again, turning his attention back to the young girl.

She wasn't sure what to think, or say. She stared blankly back at the stranger trying to understand why she had trusted him. The same question lingered upon her lips.

"Where is my brother, Mr Durham?"

"Matt, call me Matt," he said gently.

She sensed something was wrong and had to know. This was the one question he didn't want to answer.

The bistro owner busied herself with placing the clean glasses back onto the shelves above the bar, keeping a watchful eye on her two remaining customers. She wondered why they would be together as he spoke quietly to the young woman, his right hand softly brushing her hair in smooth, even strokes. They were years apart.

It was only when the young woman started to sob and cry, burying her head into the man's chest for comfort that the owner stopped and gazed down upon them in the alcove.

Married men, she thought, when will young girls ever learn?

Chapter Twenty Nine

The Appointment

Matt sat at a square wooden table by the large round hearth placed in the middle of the room, on the first floor of the guest hausen. From his vantage point he could see the two corner entrances into the Grand Place from where he expected Vogel to appear.

The view directly across to the Hotel de Ville, the town hall, was obstructed by a giant decorated Christmas tree in the middle of the large square. The Grand Place looked as it sounded. A huge square in the old part of town bordered on every side by tall fifteenth and sixteenth century buildings.

Ornate stone décor littered the walls of the tall structures, none more so than the Town Hall where layer upon layer of detailed miniature statues clung to the sides of the building. An opulent and awe inspiring sight.

Apart from the town hall most of the other places looked as though they had been converted into restaurants or public houses, usually occupying between two to three floors each. The remaining levels appeared to harbour office space which, Matt had decided, would attract very high premium rentals due to the exquisite location.

At most there were six routes in and out of the Grand Place, one at each corner and two small alleys between the buildings on the side of the square where Matt sipped his lager. The area was heavily populated as usual. He hoped the bright street lights of the square would help to reveal his contact, should she choose to appear at the appointed time.

The last drops of lager emptied from the glass into his mouth. His watch read seven fifty-nine and he looked at the empty message box on his mobile.

Matt considered ordering another drink to settle down and wait a while longer. More and more people were beginning to gather and fill the square for the evening.

A tall shape entered the Grand Place from the lower corner entrance, to the right of the other side of the square. Dressed in full length black winter coat, replete with fur edgings on the cuffs and collar, the woman's blonde hair could be seen from underneath the rear of the Cossack hat upon her head.

It was Vogel.

He checked the prepared message. Delayed by 5 minutes it said, and pressed the send button. There was little time for the sweep. He quickly made his way down the stairs, latching on to the end of a group of revellers stepping out of the building into the square.

The two narrow alleys were clear of people so he headed for the uppermost corner on his side of the Grand Place. He could see the warm breath of a person blowing into the darkness, the air from the lungs hanging in the night air. The shadowy figure, wrapped up from the cold in heavy coat and thick scarf, whispered into his collar. He had to be one of a team.

Matt lifted the heavy cosh from his pocket. Nearing the dark shape the opening conveniently emptied of people, giving him the opportunity for a short swing of the weapon which thudded against the back of the man's head. Matt caught the man's fall and dragged him onto the bench at the other end of the corner opening. Curious pedestrians looked at him as he straightened the man's form on the bench. Smiling back, he cupped his hand and raised it to his lips to suggest the man was drunk. The revellers thought nothing more and continued on their way.

Matt ripped at the earpiece and radio from the unconscious body, and attached them to himself. All he could hear were German sounding voices. He double checked his watch. Six minutes after eight. There was no more time.

The next message instructed the contact to move towards one of the alleys on his side of the square, allowing him to watch for movement. A figure from each of the opposite corners trailed Vogel, keeping a distance of around ten yards.

He took the straight route to the first, passing the contact as he walked briskly forward without her noticing him. The cosh dug into the pit of the man's stomach and he crumpled to the floor, shorn of breath and doubled up in pain. The impact of Matt's knee to the head rendered the man unconscious and he slumped to the ground.

People gathered to help the stricken figure and Matt rounded the growing crowd, circling the Christmas tree to come up from behind on the third minder, a beast-sized shape of a man. Matt stretched upward as he powered the solid plastic shape into the back of the target's neck to make sure he would stay down.

Vogel turned to inspect the commotion. She hadn't seen him. Hurriedly he sent the next text and he saw her read the message.

His eyes darted around the growing mass, searching for the fourth target he was unable to locate. He cursed as he moved towards the next position, monitoring Vogel's movements as he walked.

She disappeared into one of the side alleys and he spotted a smaller, slender-framed and slightly-built figure following from behind. The woman was speaking frantically into the radio, trying to raise the others. She used the word 'hilfe', which he knew to mean a cry for help. No matter, it had to be done. He caught up with her as she entered the darkness of the alley. Sensing his presence the woman turned sharply to defend herself. The cosh hammered against the roof of her skull and she collapsed to the floor.

Striding out of the other side of the short alley he passed Vogel standing just down from the bistro. Now thirty yards apart, the subsequent message instructed Vogel to walk down to the next street corner and turn right.

Matt sped the half distance of the cobbled street to reach the glass door of the Hotel before the contact. He made to the room on the third floor, where the light was already on.

Eva-Maria's frightened face looked up at him from the unmade sofa bed, pushed up against the long whitewashed wall in the narrow room. The door of the stand-alone single wardrobe, pointing sideways to the main door, was open and he slammed it shut.

"Go, upstairs," he instructed, and she stepped hurriedly to the open brown wooded stairs to the right at the end of the room, leading up to the mezzanine.

Turning the light off, he followed. After drawing the curtain to the small window at the bottom of the steps, they stood next to each other by the large double bed.

Minutes passed before the gentle rap on the door sounded.

Matt pressed his finger to his lips to signal the young girl to remain silent and stepped quietly down to sit on the bottom stair.

"Enter," he said loudly.

The door pushed open, allowing the glare of the corridor lights to invade the darkness of the room. A shadow from the tall figure was thrown across the hard, nylon fibre carpet. Matt took the gun from his pocket and crossed his arms over his lap, holding the torch in his other hand.

He held his breath, half expecting a rush of armed police officers to burst into the room. The seconds ticked by, his ears almost deafened by the clicking of the mechanical hands on his watch.

The figure cautiously stepped through the doorway and stood at the end of the room.

"Shut the door," he said calmly.

The sound of the catch slipping into the lock told him she had followed his instruction. He shone the torch into her face, causing her eyes to squint.

Vogel had arrived.

"Take off all your clothes and throw them over here," he demanded.

The figure stood still, her stance openly defiant and her face unyielding. He turned the torch off, and waited.

Silence

A few moments ticked by before a shuffling noise began. The sound of a heavy coat dropping to the floor was followed by noises of further layers of garments being angrily discarded to the carpet.

She threw the clothes over to the bottom stair by his feet. He felt each item, checking for wires and transmitters but there was none to be found. The torch shone back across the room to the woman, standing boldly in her acutely feminine lingerie. He turned the beam back off.

"I said all of them."

Her anger could be felt from where she stood, rising ever more rapidly close to boiling point. She chose to obey. The remaining garments were clean. Once more the torchlight fell upon her aggrieved expression and slowly wound down over her naked body.

A tall woman of slight and slender frame, she carried no excess weight he could see. The waist was narrow, the body trim and shapely. Matt saw Ms Vogel was a natural blonde.

"Turn round," he demanded, and she twisted to reveal her long back with its creamy white still youthful looking skin. There were no wires or microphones taped to her body so the beam of the torch meandered around the floor at her feet, revealing only bare carpet.

"Okay," said Matt, throwing the clothes back. He left the torchlight shining upon the huddled mass and waited until she'd lifted the final item off the floor.

"Lights, Eva-Maria," he called up.

The brightness of the artificial light made them all blink furiously, almost resulting in the young woman losing her balance and falling down the steps.

Vogel's face lit up with unfettered joy.

"Eva-Maria!" she screamed, "I have been so worried for you, child." Vogel opened out her long arms in offer of a comforting embrace to the young woman.

The teenager's eyes enlarged with incredulity and fear as she moved behind Matt, expecting him to provide a protective shield from her jubilant superior.

Vogel's arms fell to her sides, dismayed by the young girl's reticence to approach.

"Stay away!" shouted Eva-Maria to the older woman. "You placed me in mortal danger. I could have been killed!"

"No, no, I would not do such a thing," Vogel exclaimed defensively, her voice begging forgiveness. "How could I know what would happen, I do not have the capacity or the authority to make such a thing happen. I would never have placed you in such danger. You must believe me."

Eva-Maria clung firmly to Matt, wrapping her arms around his waist, terrified he would release her into danger. Gradually he coaxed her forward and put a reassuring arm across her shoulder. She immediately buried herself into his warm, secure hold.

Vogel gazed at the stranger's affectionate, almost paternal, defence of her own daughter. Emotions stirred inside, making her senses prickle. Feelings she had locked away into the dark recesses of her brain, more years ago then she cared to remember, came rushing to the surface of her mind. Lost for words, she envied the apparent adoration the young woman afforded to Matt.

"Eva-Maria, I would never hurt you. I would never have you hurt child. I can not bear for you not to believe me."

She opened her arms again in a welcoming gesture, her face contoured with anxiety and apprehension.

"Come child, come to me, please."

"It's alright," Matt soothed to Eva-Maria. "She means you no harm."

In slow motion, the young girl stepped cautiously towards the tall imposing figure of her boss. Inches separated them when Vogel reached forward with her arms and snatched Eva-Maria into her grasp.

It was the hug of a relieved and grateful mother to a child brought back from peril into safety. Vogel looked to the ceiling in heavenly gratitude before fixing her gaze upon Matt. The natural authority had completely deserted her, replaced instead by a mother's tenderness towards her child. Eva-Maria started to sob quietly in the woman's arms.

"Johannes is dead, my brother is dead," she cried.

Her distress brought tears to the rims of Vogel's eyes. Matt considered whether they were genuine. At the Wolfgangsee he had wondered if it was Vogel who had betrayed him. Even he could not believe she would contemplate imperilling her own daughter.

Impossible to conceal with pretence, he decided.

A touching scene under normal circumstances, it meant nothing to him now. There was too much at stake, too much to do and not enough time to do it. He had to move things along.

"You were followed," he said coolly, throwing the ID card of the first man he'd downed in the Place, onto the unmade sofa bed. "You don't strike me as the careless type."

Releasing her grasp on the young woman she picked up the document and read inside, before dropping it to the floor.

"Local Police bodyguard," she replied. "Security has been tightened after the shooting today. It is believed you are the one responsible." Vogel informed, returning Matt's steady stare. "Even as we speak they search for you."

"But it is not true," sobbed Eva-Maria. "He did not kill Piotr. I would be dead if not for Matt."

"Yes, and this is why I have come," she said in response to the young woman's support of him. "I am grateful to you for Eva-Maria's life Mr Durham. I will help you if it is possible."

Matt wanted to trust her, not least because she was the only person left able to help him. He remained uncertain, unsure as to her motivation, whether he could put his faith in her.

"Once I have shown you these files you may decide it is not possible."

Vogel continued to hug her priceless daughter.

"You must allow me to get Eva-Maria to a safety. Then we will be able to talk."

"She is not safe here?"

"No person is safe with you. Not even I am secure in your company."

Her words cut deep. Images of the people he had met along his journey flashed through his mind. They were mostly all dead.

She reached into her shoulder bag and produced a mobile phone, holding the item up to the light for him to see.

"You will let me make the call?"

He hesitated. Knowing he had few options, Matt nodded in agreement and she dialled the number. The call took seconds to complete.

"They will meet us at the corner of the street. I will return in one hour," she informed him.

"No, no, I do not want to leave Matt, I want to stay here," shrieked the agitated young woman.

She tried to free herself from Vogel and return to his side, but the older woman gripped her tightly. Matt realised a decision had to be made.

"Eva-Maria," said Matt quietly. "She is right. You will be safer under the protection of Ms Vogel. It is too dangerous for you to be with me."

The struggle ended as abruptly as it had begun. The young woman looked across to him, her watery eyes surprised by his suggestion.

"I promise," he said, slowly. "You will be fine. Trust me, Miss Vogel will ensure you come to no harm."

Matt considered saying more then concluded it was not for him to reveal to Eva-Maria the secrets of her parentage. While he had doubts about his own trust for this woman, he was convinced she would do everything needed to protect her own daughter. And she had far more resources available to her with which to do it.

Eva-Maria made a further attempt to elude her mother's grasp, prompting a sharp reaction from Matt.

"Eva-Maria," he called tersely. "You heard what Ms Vogel said. Even now the authorities search for me. On my own I have a chance, with you I have none. I do not want you with me."

He had spoken harshly, coldly, leaving Eva-Maria with no doubt he wanted to abandon her to Vogel. The hurt in her eyes was evident, almost causing him to relent. But it had to be done. In a fit of blind temper she pulled herself free from Vogel and yanked the door open before storming out into the corridor, without bidding him farewell.

Vogel's gaze to Matt softened in the realisation he had put Eva-Maria's safety above his own.

"One hour and I will return. That is my promise," she said, before leaving.

Matt closed the door and turned off the lights. Making for the window he opened it wide to let in the evening chill and looked down into the narrow street below. The smell of the flavours of the Italian food, being cooked at the take-away in the building opposite, wafted towards him. They mingled with the sound of the belly dancers' music as it drifted into the night sky from the adjacent restaurant.

Hidden from view, he could hear people chattering as they wandered through the street. Their good humour and festive spirit a total contradiction to the loneliness he felt. Matt wondered if he had made the right decision, letting Vogel go free.

Then, he saw them, at the end of the street. A large black Mercedes saloon pulled up and the two women disappeared into the back seats. Off it sped, into the night.

At least Eva-Maria was safe.

Chapter Thirty

A Fugitive's Tale

An hour passed slowly. He sat in the unlit room and waited, hoping for Vogel to return as she had promised. Every now and again he would shine the torch on his watch, only to discover less than five minutes had passed since he'd last checked.

He kept a vigil over the street below, seeing nothing to concern him. No masses of armed police had cordoned off the area. No black clad assassins had entered the street to silently invade the hotel. And there were no snipers positioned on the roofs of the buildings opposite.

Time, he mused, constant yet seemingly so variable; such a precious commodity.

He'd known Jack for just a few short months but it was long enough to know they would have been lifelong friends, had things turned out differently. Holly would have kept Matt amused for the rest of his life.

Johannes was one of the most decent men Matt had ever met in his life. He had it all, including beautiful Rosa, yet never sought to flaunt this good fortune; a truly remarkable man.

Too little time had been spent with Jenna, a true angel of mercy. She had shown Matt there was something noble about caring for others. And all she sought in return for her giving was the normality of family life.

And then there was Grace. He preferred not to think of her as Sandra Hayes, for that woman could surely have never been so freely accepted by the residents of Victoria. She could never have generated the level of passion within Matt that Grace was able to draw from him.

He sighed at the injustices of time and life. Here he was in Brussels, holed up in a small hotel room in the political capital of Europe, with no idea if he was being helped or betrayed. And there was no Rosa around to guide him. He missed her.

A rap at the door shook him from his melancholy, forcing his mind to refocus. The adrenalin surged through his body, his pulse raced and his heart beat faster. Now he would find out the truth about Vogel. Was she friend or foe? Was he right to have trusted her.

Matt held his breath, unsure what to expect. The loaded gun pointed towards the door as if it had a mind of its own. He wanted to believe in Vogel, wanted her to be true. Without her help there was no way this nightmare could ever end, and he knew this was his last chance of salvation.

He braced himself for a sudden rush of enemies into his darkened cell, an onslaught of bodies to enter and overpower him through sheer weight of numbers, bringing his life to a vicious and violent end.

The door pushed slightly ajar. No-one entered. Then a shadow crossed the frame, followed by another and another! They must be readying for the assault.

She had betrayed him!

Heart pounding inside his chest, Matt felt his grip on the gun quiver with the unwanted fear of certain death.

Rosa's training took control. He'd drop the first assailant at the entrance, causing an obstacle for the others and buy him precious seconds. Widening the window opening would help to free the gas from the canister to follow. There wasn't time to open the window in the mezzanine.

Matt pushed the damp cloth he'd prepared up to his mouth and nose to avoid inhaling the debilitating fumes, knowing his eyes would sting for a short time before he would be able to refocus on his enemies. The magazine cartridge was full, the silencer fitted. He was ready to take down as many as possible before the inevitable end would arrive.

The wooden floor of the corridor creaked with the pressure of a footstep and he raised the gun and took aim.

"Come on, come on you bastards, what are you waiting for?" he whispered, grip tightening again on the weapon.

A silhouette appeared at the doorway and the outline of a tall, shapely woman emerged into the room.

"I have returned, as promised," said Vogel, "I made sure not to have been followed."

"Leave the light off," replied Matt, exhaling in absolute relief.

Closing the window he made for the table lamp and switched it on as Vogel closed the door behind her. Johannes may have been right. Perhaps he could trust her after all.

"Let me take your coat," he offered and she slipped her arms out of the sleeves of the black, knee length slim fitting garment.

She stood and watched as he placed it on a hangar and hung it in the wardrobe, his hand brushing the real fur collar of the coat.

"I wasn't sure you would return," he said as the wardrobe door clicked into place.

"Did I not say I would?" she replied pointedly.

The sharpness of the response made her sound cross and impatient. It was not the start to the evening he had hoped for.

"Yes, you did," he said. "I apologise for doubting you."

She had changed into more casual attire. The fawn coloured designer looking slacks sat trimly around her waist, the wide rims perfectly circling the brown leather half boots encased around her feet. Her white wide collared blouse hugged the upper portion of her body, tightened around her waist by the broad black belt with the large rectangular buckle. Her light coloured hair surrounded the collar of the blouse. Freed from the Cossack hat, her locks looked more golden than he had originally thought.

"Thank you for coming back, Ms Vogel."

"Catherine," she replied. "My name is Catherine."

"Matt," he proffered in response.

There was no handshake, only nods of acknowledgement. Both looked upon the other, unsure and uncertain as to who should make the first move, speak the first words.

"You are different to how I imagined," she remarked.

"Should I have been taller, wider perhaps?" he answered quizzically, bulking his body up in a mock gesture.

The quip made her smile, a broad pleasant feature of her face.

"Gentler," she said.

"Gentler?"

"With Eva-Maria, you were very caring. I had expected coldness, for the ice to be in your eyes. But they are kinder."

He shrugged away her words, slightly embarrassed by what he assumed to be a compliment.

"How is your daughter?" he asked, suddenly realising his mistake. Rooted to the spot, his mind feverishly sought out a solution to this problem of his own making.

The muscles in her face tightened and the texture of her eyes darkened, fixed still and impassive. Matt thought to find a suitable, believable explanation.

"Only a mother could hold her own child in that way," he explained.

Her mind rationalised his statement. The texture of her eyes softened.

"She is fine, in good hands for the evening," she replied and an ever so slight, almost half, smile crossed her lips.

"Good," he said "She is a nice girl with much to offer the world."

Only a matter of feet separated them. She narrowed the gap by stepping towards him and placed a hand on each of his shoulders, so she could move her lips closer to his face and peck his cheek. The scent of her perfume circled his head and hung in the air around him as she stepped back.

"Thank you," she said, "for risking your life to protect my child. Now I reward you with my full attention for the rest of the evening."

Matt was struck by the openness and warmth she exhibited towards him. This was not at all what he had expected from a seasoned politician. He may have saved her daughter's life but a simple acknowledgement was about the most he expected in return. Catherine could see his confusion and the slight smile returned to her face, amused by his bewilderment.

"You know your presence here tonight puts your life in danger too," he warned.

"I will only be in danger if you reveal our little secret, this clandestine rendezvous," she quipped, the slight smile turning to a full grin on her thin, bright red lips. "Is it your intention to do such a thing?" she teased.

"No, no, of course not," he muttered defensively, feeling boyishly foolish in her presence.

He sought to dismiss this awkwardness by focussing his attention on preparing the laptop, placed on the set of drawers next to the small flat screen LCD television, directly opposite the sofa bed.

"How long do you have?" he asked. "This will take a couple of hours at least."

She motioned to suggest there was no problem with time and reached for the hotel phone to dial reception.

"You must be hungry. I will order some refreshments."

The intention stopped him momentarily, his cautiousness obvious. She returned his look of concern with a broad, and reassuring, smile.

"Eva-Maria reserved the room, is that not correct?" she said, answering her own question. "A woman's voice would therefore be much better, would it not?" she added.

He listened intently as she spoke to the receptionist. The words were in German but he was savvy enough about the language to understand she had asked only for food and drink. Matt turned his attention back to the computer. While his fingers danced around the keyboard she sat on the sofa bed and waited.

"What is this you intend to show me?" she asked.

"It's a modern day horror story, Catherine."

Matt watched Catherine avidly throughout the presentation, glued to the images on the computer screen, though she barely seemed to notice his interest. The expression on her face hardly altered from one of intense concentration for the entire period of time.

She had kicked off her half boots and sat quietly, huddling against one of the arms of the sofa bed with her legs folded as the story was unveiled. It was as though she was curled up on a home sofa, tuned in to a good thriller on the television.

Whilst he had ate heartily she had contented herself with a few cups of coffee, sipping at the rim after cooling the surface of the liquid with short breaths through her pursed lips. Every so often she would throw back her head to shake the golden hair free from the collar of the blouse, and then push the disturbed locks further away using her hands. The long, thin fingers of each hand would draw slowly forward around her neck, and then slide down to the locket held just above her bosom by the thin gold chain. A well practised routine, he considered, but no less erotic.

Matt had built up a picture of her persona from articles he'd translated from the newspaper, from internet sites, and from what others had said about her in St Wolfgang. He expected fierce drive and ambition to be evident, along with extreme confidence and a highly disciplined approach to her actions and words. These attributes she clearly did possess, yet the episode with Eva-Maria and her thank you kiss on his cheek, had demonstrated an unexpectedly tender and vulnerable side to her nature. It had softened his attitude towards the elegant, authoritative woman.

The final segment of the presentation flashed up on the screen, taking him by surprise as the time had passed quickly. A few moments later it had ended and the room lapsed into a dark and eerie silence.

His eyes darted over to her figure, huddled securely to the sofa bed. No words were uttered, her gaze remained fixed on the blank screen. Matt considered starting up the conversation deciding instead to move to the window, opening it fully to let in the chill evening air. The street below was quieter, though noises from the Grand Place could still be heard echoing into the night sky.

Catherine remained silent.

He opened the pack of twenty and lit one up. This was a no smoking hotel so he made sure to lean well out of the window, immediately feeling the evening chill of the frosty air on his ears. His carbon monoxide breath hung in the night, frozen in space.

A smell of strong perfume suddenly invaded his nostrils and a long thin hand appeared over his shoulder to reach for the cigarette. The pink varnished nails of the fingers from the intruding hand freed the object from his grasp.

And then she appeared beside him. Wrapped back up in her overcoat with her elbows placed on the sill, she inhaled deeply at the cigarette. It was all done in extreme slow motion.

"You are full of surprises, Catherine. I had a clear vision of you as an ardent anti-smoking campaigner."

"I still enjoy, from time to time," she replied, blowing the smoke out into the night, "when there is no-one to watch."

A wry smile emerged on his face as she handed it back to him.

"Yeah, most of the pleasure is in the sheer unadulterated naughtiness of it all," he replied with a deadpan expression.

Now it was her turn to smile.

"What did you make of it?" he asked, turning the tone of the conversation.

"It is very disturbing, truly frightening," she responded. "What is most surprising is they appear to have succeeded in keeping such a thing secret from the rest of the world."

"But there should be no secrets, Catherine. These people are all paid officials from what I can see apart from the last name, Kimber, who doesn't seem to have any official responsibilities whatsoever. So somebody must know who these people are."

"I am vaguely familiar with one or two of the names. The man Kimber, I understand, is a self-made multi-billionaire in America," she replied.

She took the cigarette from his hand and breathed in once more, returning the almost spent shape back into his possession. For a few moments neither spoke, preferring to gaze out over the rooftops of the buildings opposite.

"How did these files come to you?"

"A friend, not that it matters now," he sighed. "It is what I do with them which is important. It would be wrong, and there is far too much at stake, for me to do nothing."

Their shoulders touched as they leaned at the window, her perfume growing seemingly ever stronger the longer she stood beside him. Matt breathed in the Austrian woman's feminine aroma, thinking how best to engage her.

"Many years ago," he said, breaking the silence. "I would come here with friends for the biannual Flower Festival. In the evenings we would sit at one of the pavement cafés in the Grand Place. We would drink, smoke and chatter; generally fool around, all the way through to the early hours of the morning. They were memorable days and memorable nights, unbelievably memorable times."

"You have shown this information to friends also?" she asked.

He paused for a moment and she noticed the muscles of his face tighten.

"No. I don't have any friends left."

There was no sadness in his voice only a flat, emotionless tone but her sideways glance caught sight of his aggrieved expression.

"Because of these files," she said, more in confirmation than request.

"Yes, because of these damn files!" he answered, tossing the cigarette stub into the street.

She could sense the pent up frustration, the rage simmering beneath the surface of his apparent calm exterior, and waited for him to regain his composure.

"Do you hear that Catherine?" he suddenly asked.

"Hear what?" a perplexed look on her face.

"The voices of many people who have come to enjoy an evening in the Grand Place, the noisy conversations and the sound of laughter gathering pace. The delight of parents at their children's excitement when they see the huge Christmas tree parked in the middle of the square, promoting pictures in their little heads of the day they will soon be opening presents under their own trees....."

His words tailed off into the night. The images conjured up by his descriptions flashed through her mind. She couldn't remember the last family Christmas.

"I hear the noises," she responded, a smile of curiosity lighting up her face.

"Now shut your eyes Catherine, and listen to nothing else but my voice."

"Are you going to tell me a fairy story?"

A wry smile swept over Matt's face at her humorous aside. The question wasn't posed in sarcastic tones and he accepted it at face value, as a friendly tease.

"Close your eyes and judge for yourself," he replied.

The curious smile remained as she obeyed his bidding.

"Ten years have passed since this cold night, a night when you leaned out of a hotel window next to a complete stranger and broke the rules by sharing an illegal cigarette," he began. "The night is as cold on this future evening as it is this very eve."

Her smile widened further in amusement.

"There is no Christmas tree in the square of the Grand Place this particular year for a pandemic has swept across the globe, decimating two thirds of the world's population. The people are wary of mass congregation and physical contact. They are hesitant and cautious. Many are still afraid and fear for their lives."

"They have been informed by the leaders of the new world constitution this particular viral strain specifically targets the weak and the infirm, and those blighted by genetic disorder or are mentally diminished. It has also been said those closest to such unfortunates are also at peculiar risk, because of the way the virus mutates. Once it has infected specific bloodlines the mutation grows ever more powerful and deadly. The people are encouraged to report signs of both physical and mental deformity so the authorities can clamp down on any further outbreaks."

Matt paused to allow the images to slowly frame in her mind, to seep deep into her consciousness.

"By now, a woman called Eva-Maria has produced twins whom she and her young partner love dearly. However, in one of those devastating quirks of fate that can never be explained, the children were born with mild deformities not obvious to the naked eye. The couple withdraw to Eva-Maria's home village to decide their next course of action, for it is the new law children with such debilities must be given up to the State. But it has never been the way of the village to surrender up a child, and they determine to say nothing over the ensuing years."

He noticed discomfort on Catherine's face and felt sure his words were having an impact.

"On this cold night the children are huddled close to their mother, waiting for the father to return from work in a nearby village. He nears his family with a happy smile, unaware others lie in wait. A fellow villager has become suspicious of the small family, observed them closely and then decided to contact the authorities."

"As the father nears the door to his home the armed police of the new world order spring from their lairs. Valiantly he tries to repel their forced entry but is overpowered by sheer weight of numbers and subsequently smitten down, for he has been treasonous to the State."

A pained expression had full hold of Catherine's face and he was surprised she had not asked him to stop. He reasoned this was due to the old adage of the horror flick, not wanting to see but needing to watch.

"Suddenly the door is thrown open, burst wide by a burly policeman leading others and each carrying a black weapon of death. Eva-Maria understands immediately why they have come and stands in front of the children to protect them from these harbingers of death. The young mother is tossed aside like a rag doll by the rough policeman, the force of his blow causing her body to become broken as she crashes against the stone fireplace. Just before she loses consciousness from the pain of her injuries, she hears the screams of the children ..."

"Enough!" snapped Vogel, blinking furiously at the evening sky. "You have made your point."

"This is the scene several years hence, Catherine; after the Milieu conspiracy has taken effect," he said. "Not just one more, cold dark December night but yet another vicious, murderous night of the future. A night led by a world state corrupted by absolute power."

He could see her head shake slowly from side to side in an attempt to discard the vision he had so tellingly painted. Matt recognised the moment had come.

"The new world planned by these people will begin with order and optimism but, as it begins to grow again, the old failings will reappear and the weakness of the human psyche will re-emerge. This will ultimately lead to the rebirth of another Milieu conspiracy, Book Two if you like. It is as sure as night follows day."

She breathed in and exhaled, shoulders rising and falling in a perfectly practised rhythm.

"It can't happen, Catherine. I won't allow it to. It shouldn't matter if you're rich or poor, healthy or disadvantaged. Every person should have the opportunity to live. No-one has the arbitrary right to take that away, not even Governments."

"You should take up politics," she responded, lightly.

"Urrgh! A dark and cold world I have absolutely no wish to inhabit," he said. "It is filled with unsavoury people who do not mean what they say and who do not say what they mean, present company excluded of course."

The delightful half smile returned to her face.

"I desperately need some help, but I'm almost afraid to ask," he continued. "If you did agree to assist me it is vital you tell no-one of your involvement. And, after tonight, we should never meet again. I don't want your name added to this ever-growing list of people murdered because of these files, because of me."

"You certainly know how to win a girl over," she said dryly.

Another wry smile appeared on his face. She had shown surprisingly good humour, despite the dark conversation.

"All I need," he said, "is a list of contacts. The files tell us those involved in this thing. I need names of people in those EU Governments that aren't involved. People you believe can be trusted to use this information wisely. That's all."

"Were I to identify and give you these names, what is it you think they could achieve?" she asked.

"Detente," he replied.

She cocked her head at him, a curious smirk on her face. He decided to explain further.

"Think of the Cold War and the nuclear stand-off between the US and the Soviet Union," he said. "Each side could have destroyed the world with their missiles. The reason it didn't happen was because both knew the other had the capacity for destruction. In effect, they each deterred the other."

Her eyes focussed a little harder as he continued.

"Those Government officials involved in this conspiracy can't afford for their secret to be made public, to become known. It is the threat they may be revealed, by any one or all of the other member States of the Commission, which would stop this project."

She paused, as if to consider his reasoning.

"But is that the real solution?" she asked. "Even if you stop these people with their plan, there is still the problem of too many people on the planet and too few resources with which to support them," she countered. "This latest recession is merely a blip, a short recess amidst the mad scramble for the consumption of the world's finite raw materials. Even now, some countries threaten to protect their own by refusing to export their home produce."

"Trust a politician to play Devil's Advocate," he said, knowing only too well she had a point.

The sound of her mirth cut through the night air.

"I do not mean to tease you, Matt. You must forgive the natural instinct of a politician," she replied with a grin.

His weary smile confirmed he had not taken offence at her temporary amusement.

"I seek only to counsel wisely," she said quietly, returning to a more serious tone. "To reveal this conspiracy is surely right on many levels, but the revelation alone will not halt their progress as they can know of no other solution. And until an alternative measure is in place you, of all people, can never be safe from them."

"Perhaps there is a way," he countered.

She glanced back, a look of curiosity returning to her face.

"Should I succeed in getting this information to the right people it might, just might, open up a proper debate between nation states. They may even try working together to resolve their differences. It would certainly make a pleasant change from the constant bickering."

"There is no guarantee it would work. Co-operation is easy to say. In reality, it is very hard to achieve. And before this could happen you must first get this information to them before it is intercepted."

"Then I will need to get the files to them collectively."

"So you do ask I risk everything. Sacrifice all, possibly my life, in pursuit of a bold and likely reckless plan."

"I still believe there are some people who enter politics for the right reasons, people who want to use their position to improve society not destroy it."

"You have romantic notions of the motives of politicians."

"Not of any of them Catherine, only you," he answered.

Matt sought out her eyes with his soft smile and searching gaze. If there was any doubt before, he had caught her full attention now.

There were many things Catherine had expected him to say to her. This wasn't one of them. Her surprise evident, she returned his engaging smile with a puzzled look.

"I've read up on your speeches, your public statements, the ideals you argue the EU should stand for. If these are all true statements, then who better to lead a co-ordinated world effort than an organisation independent of individual Governments. Who better to assume the lead role than someone who is respected and admired by all of the individual components of that institution?"

She gasped at the extraordinary statements spilling from his mouth.

"You have researched me!" was her astonished response.

He nodded appreciatively.

"You have spent too much time in your own company, thinking like this," she said.

"Apart from trying to stay alive, I haven't really had time to consider much else."

They returned their gazes out of the window, looking up to the stars in the night sky, shoulder to shoulder.

"It is a leap of faith too far," she said, shaking her head with incredulity. "It could never be this way. The Americans, for sure, would never allow this to happen."

"They're not at their strongest, and your reputation in the States has never been higher. China, Japan, India; none of them are trusted. And no European country could be elevated above the rest. The Canadians are just interested observers."

"That is a little simplistic," she argued.

He put the flame of his lighter to a fresh cigarette, inhaled, and then handed it to her. Matt was determined not to falter.

"That leaves the EU, an institution searching for its true place in global society for longer than I can remember."

All of a sudden he had her thinking, inspired even, by his bold utopian dream.

"It is fantasy," she said.

"Picture the scene, Catherine," he said, to pick up the line of argument. "Once I distribute the information these people will naturally seek to gravitate to someone with no obvious enemies. You fit the bill perfectly."

"I think there was a little too much Cognac in the coffee, it can have a bad effect on the mind."

"You would know Catherine, you've drank most of it," he replied smartly, nodding back at the near empty glass coffee pot. The quip went over her head without even entering her mind, which was now in overdrive.

His glance caught her studious gaze. Her eyes glistened as the moonlight shone upon her face through the open window, highlighting her natural femininity. He could sense her inner turmoil, judging it to be a conflict between political ambition and the desire for self preservation.

"Your place in history awaits, Catherine. That is why you, of all people, originally went into politics isn't it?"

Matt's quiet tone failed to disguise the challenge he had astutely laid before her. After all the charm, the easy manner, he had made his point very directly. He knew her better than she thought, making her realise the extent to which she had underestimated him.

"And what of Matt Durham, what does he seek in return for saving the world?" she asked, emphasising her final words.

He paused, suggesting he had not given the subject any thought. Catherine had the feeling he had long since decided this.

"Nothing, other than my life returned to me."

"What? No money, no position, no recognition. That's all?"

"Yes."

"To do what exactly?" she asked

"To just live it," he said. "I want a life without interference from the state, without obligation to the state, without fear of the state."

Catherine frowned in disbelief at what she understood to be his naivety.

"For someone who has risked his life to rescue the world you insist on having nothing in return?"

"Absolutely shit all."

They stood quietly, each locked in their thoughts.

"Why did you not consider the other option?" she asked.

"What option would that be?"

"Negotiate with those responsible for the conspiracy. You have a much stronger hand to play than you might think."

He sucked in a deep breath of air.

"Because it would be wrong, surely you can see that?" he questioned, shocked at the suggestion, the terse reply causing his facial muscles to tighten.

"I had to ask," Catherine uncomfortably replied. "It must surely have crossed your mind."

Thoughts of Tillman's desperate efforts at negotiation, as he waited for Matt to end his life, came flooding back into his mind.

"No, these people can't be trusted, even if you were part of their organisation," he said. "They might appear to value what people can do for them but once someone's purpose is served they'll be thrown aside, wasted and spent. These people do not seek to preserve society or civilisation, only themselves."

He hadn't meant to lose his temper. Matt checked the time on his watch. It was almost half past eleven.

"It's getting late Catherine. You should go home. I'll send a text in the next couple of days. Should you decide not to help, then I will understand."

"There is much to consider," she replied tentatively, feeling discarded.

Matt felt he had spoken too harshly. She was right to ask the question and he had reacted badly. Probably, a year or more ago, he would have viewed the information in his possession as a negotiating tool. An opportunity for further material gain. Things had changed. He had been perfectly happy in Canada with nothing, and good people had died.

He lifted her hand and placed the cigarettes and lighter into her palm.

"Here, take these," he whispered softly. "Enjoy the stolen moments they will bring. I have enough health problems."

A bright smile appeared on her face, breaking the suddenly tense atmosphere between them. She leaned toward him and placed the long fingers of her right hand to his cheek as she kissed his lips.

"Thank you once more," she whispered, "for returning my daughter to me unharmed. In leading her to safety you have saved my life also and, for this, I shall be forever in your debt."

Her soft words surprised him. They were spoken with such depth of feeling he could sense something stirring within his own emotional psyche. Matt wondered how his parents hadn't shown themselves to feel as strongly about him as this woman felt about her child.

"I'll be in touch," he managed to reply. "Be careful on your journey back home, Catherine."

She smiled limply and turned away to pick up her shoulder bag from the sofa bed. A further weak smile crossed her face as she bid him goodnight.

Once the door closed he returned the room into darkness and within seconds the internal ache of loneliness descended back upon him, infecting his soul with gloom and despair.

Chapter Thirty One

The Hope of Uncertainty

Matt had used his last card. He wondered if he'd played his hand right. Her departing kiss was more like that of a final farewell than an agreement to get involved. Not that he could blame her. Why would you want to risk your life for someone you had only just met, and didn't really know? She now knew about the conspiracy and could probably take some steps to look out for herself and for Eva-Maria, which is all she really needed to be concerned with.

He walked to the window and looked into the street below to watch Catherine leave, but couldn't see her. It was then he noticed two police officers, stood at the left end of the street, illuminated by the overhead lamps.

He glanced over to the right where another two policemen were stationed. Neither of the pairings seemed particularly interested at what was happening in between. Their attentions appeared to be focussed on examining the human presence in surrounding streets, leading away from where they were standing. Strategic positioning, he concluded. Catherine will have to be very careful not to be identified when she leaves the hotel.

The knock at the door made him jump and he reached for the gun. A second knock sounded, sharp and rushed against the wooden frame.

Maybe they had found him after all.

He moved stealthily forward, listening for any sound of weaponry being checked into place. There was no peephole in the door so he couldn't look out into the hallway.

The third rap was harder still.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Open quickly," said the woman's voice.

Matt wrenched the door ajar and Catherine burst into the room, flustered and anxious.

"There are police, everywhere. I did not dare leave for fear of being seen."

Her voice trembled to the words tumbling from her mouth, the fear evident in the wringing of her hands and the startled look in her eyes. Instinctively, he reached out and touched her hand to offer reassurance.

"Hey, it's okay, did anyone see you downstairs?"

"No, I don't think so," she uttered.

With her arms shaking he kept a firm grip of her hand, and waited patiently for the trembling to subside before releasing his hold.

"Wait here," he instructed, "I'll wander around and find a secure route off the premises."

"No," she said, gripping his arm. "It is not safe for either of us to go outside; better I stay here for the night."

He wasn't going to argue. Quietly he was pleased to have the company, to have someone else fill the empty room, and he responded immediately.

"Okay, I'll take the sofa bed."

"You do not always have to be the gentlemen," replied Catherine, her balance quickly recovered and the half smile returned to her face.

"I wasn't," countered Matt. "It's closer to the door and the window."

Her smile broadened sure his words were an instinctive quip, said more in jest in an attempt to refute any suggestion he could be chivalrous. Matt reached into the wardrobe and produced a white linen shirt from one of the hangers which he tossed over to her.

"I don't use pyjamas. This is all I can offer. Will that be alright for the night?"

She studied the garment briefly, and then nodded to signify her approval before carrying it upstairs.

The sound of the curtains at the window above being drawn filled the sparse room. He saw the bedside lamp flicker into life from his position by the sofa bed, and watched as the shadow from the mezzanine slowly discarded each item of clothing.

One at a time she slid her arms into the sleeves of his shirt and then moved to fasten the plastic buttons at the front. He continued to stare as the shadow shook its head, releasing the hair from the collar. Matt pictured in his mind the slow and careful movements of her hands to the locket that hung around her neck.

"I do have one question for you Catherine," he said.

"Shoot," she answered.

"The Cathedral Keeper, where did that come from?" he asked.

"Many years ago," she replied. "I was young and naïve. Along with another colleague we established a web site that was to be a monument to European democracy, a cathedral of truth. The Keeper was the signature we used to answer the many e-mails we received."

"I never found a site fitting that description connected with you," he replied.

"It was shut down after my friend was arrested for financial irregularities at the EU, the only one in history to be arrested as far as I know. I kept the e-mail address after the scandal. It was overlooked by the authorities, but rarely used since. I lost my naivety the day my colleague was imprisoned for he was innocent of any wrongdoing, merely a tool for someone else's misdeeds."

"So how come you weren't implicated?" asked Matt.

A brief pause followed.

"Someone looked after me. Though not in the EU he had much influence with people here and I was rescued from the situation."

"What happened to your friend?"

"He died in a boating accident soon after being released on parole. It is a tragic story, for he was very gifted."

She paused again.

"I learnt many valuable lessons from this episode."

Matt decided against delving any deeper. If Catherine had wanted him to know more she would tell him. The room fell into silence

"Will you be alright down there?" she asked

"I'm fine," he said. "I've slept in worse conditions," he added, thinking back to his last night in St Wolfgang.

She climbed between the sheets and turned off the lamp. Matt decided against making up the sofa bed, preferring to lay across it with his head against the armrest, facing the door. Carefully, he tucked the gun between himself and the backrest and settled his body in the hope he could get some sleep this night. All he could hear was the rhythmic tick of the second hand on his watch.

"Matt," came Catherine's voice from above.

"Yes?"

"Should I decide to help I will need you close, somewhere in the city, to make contact easier."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Catherine."

"You ask a lot from me. I would not be able to do this on my own. I need your help also."

Matt thought on her request. He was asking a lot. But he didn't want either Catherine or Eva-Maria in any more danger than necessary, having promised himself after St Wolfgang he would let no-one else die for his cause.

"There is too much danger for us to be seen close. People have been killed for less."

"Then how would we communicate?"

"I don't know yet," he confessed. "I'll think of something before you leave in the morning."

"That is reassuringly well thought through," she quipped, and her humour made Matt laugh out loud.

He was enjoying the Austrian woman's company, despite the dark nature of their evening. Matt had expected her to be dour; in the belief politicians wouldn't have their own, unique personality.

"Food," he said, out of the blue.

"What?"

"The restaurants by the lakeside at St Wolfgang, they should be our contact venue during the winter recess."

"How?" she asked.

"Use their dining tables to exchange information."

"Now you suggest we publicly dine together?"

Her words weren't meant to be amusing, but it made him smile all the same.

"No, nothing like that," he laughed. "We could use one of the tables as a handover, a venue to exchange handwritten messages. If we make a series of reservations for the same dining table, using alternate times, whosoever eats first can fix their message to the underside of the table with tape. The second diner can retrieve the note, make a written response, and then leave it in the same way."

"So we vary our meal times," she said.

"That's right. It's the perfect set up. There would be no phone calls to eavesdrop on, no phone texts to intercept and no e-mails to trace. No-one, bar you and I, would know there was any ongoing communication between us."

He waited for her to respond.

"Much time has passed since I was last in St Wolfgang," she said.

"At least it's away from a main conurbation and distant from any prying eyes, a little more discreet."

"Okay," she said. "I will make the arrangements through my cousin in St Wolfgang. She is a person I can trust."

A temporary silence fell between them, both minds locked into their own private thoughts.

"You were very brave to leave St Wolfgang at such a young age, and start afresh at the EU Commission here in Brussels," he said. "Few others would have attempted such a bold move.

"Some say it was a calling, though I did not recognise it as such at the time. I had an overpowering sense to try and make a difference to other people's lives and aspirations. I find it hard to put into normal language."

"Seems to me, Catherine," he said, "your speeches put it very eloquently indeed. It is a gift few other people possess and makes you a special and interesting person."

She returned to her thoughts and Matt wondered what was going through her mind.

"Thank you, Matt. Those are very kind words, some of the kindest I have heard. They mean a great deal to me."

Now it was Matt's turn to reflect.

"Yeah, it does sound a bit like a chat up line at a teen disco, doesn't it?" he said, dryly.

Catherine burst into heavy laughter, bringing a smile to his face.

"And did it work often, this special and interesting person line?" she asked between a burst of giggling, which also had him now in a fit of stitches.

"Put it this way, I never got to finish a dance."

Their joint laughter lasted for a long while and it took some time before they settled back into a mature frame of mind. The ensuing silence caused them both to reflect.

"You should tell her," he said, finally.

"Tell who, what?" she asked, confused by the unlikely contribution.

"Tell Eva-Maria she is your daughter. It would make such a difference to both your lives; make them better, more fulfilling. If she were mine, I would want her to know."

He heard her sigh deeply.

"Her arrival proved difficult, made harder by the attitude of Eva-Maria's father."

"Attitude?" questioned Matt.

"His view was I had both been careless and deliberately deceitful to have found myself with child when, in truth, I believed he wished me to bear his children."

"It's not always easy to read people correctly, Catherine, particularly in youth. Do you have contact with the father?"

"He has no interest in the child. Had I been bolder at the time I would have ignored his demands to give up Eva-Maria for adoption and kept her as my own; for she is my child; my beautiful daughter."

Matt lay quietly and listened to the Austrian woman pour out the contents of her heart. It was a conversation she had waited years to have and talked of lost time, time she could never recover. He was sure he heard her voice crack and tremble on occasion but, like the true politician she was, Catherine always managed to recover her poise. Eventually, her words stilled and darkness resumed control of the night.

"You still have time to put things right," he finally offered to break the silence. "That's if you want to take advantage of the opportunity. It would take a certain type of courage, perhaps the greatest kind. But you know in yourself you possess the mental strength to overcome such an obstacle."

"You are a good man, Matt. A man with a good heart," she told him.

"No. No I'm not," he answered directly. "A good man doesn't tell lies, doesn't deliberately use or mislead people for personal benefit. And he certainly doesn't kill people. I have done all these things over the last few months. I'm not a good man, Catherine, not anymore."

His openness surprised her.

"That is incorrect, Matt," she replied immediately. "You are still a good man, despite all of the terrible things you have said you had to do. Even good people must sometimes do bad things for the right reasons."

The expected response did not arrive. She switched on the bedside lamp and peered down. He was dozing gently. She smiled inwardly and returned her head to the pillow.

"You are a good man, Matt Durham," she said quietly, and switched off the light.

Catherine had been asleep moments when Matt opened his eyes. He heard the rhythmic patterns of her breathing as he stared into the night. Whilst much about her appeared genuine, the name Catherine Vogel gnawed away at him like an open sore. He knew it from somewhere, but where?

All he did know was that someone had betrayed him and his friends in St Wolfgang, and his enemies were waiting for him in Brussels. Vogel remained the most obvious candidate. Yet, if she were the betrayer, then why not surrender Matt up in Brussels when she had the chance? He still wondered if he had done the right thing this night.

Chapter Thirty Two

Mountain Retreat

The time had reached ten in the morning when the bus pulled into the centre of St Wolfgang. Matt felt tired and drawn but cautiously optimistic. Events had unfolded far better than expected in Brussels.

Matt and Catherine had agreed upon a plan. The Austrian was due to host a conference in the New Year to which every Interior Minister of each EU State had been invited. The topics for discussion were to be security and constitutional amendments. Catherine had suggested she would add Matt's computer presentation to the agenda under any other business, without specifically designating the conspiracy by name. This way, only the two of them and Rosa would know what was to be shown to the audience, offering no opportunity for outside interference. It was the perfect platform from which to showcase the Milieu files.

He began the walk to the lodge, to meet up and report back to Rosa. Matt looked forward to seeing her beautiful face and hoped her physical recovery was going well. He wondered how she was managing to cope with Johannes' untimely end. Despite Rosa's bravado, Matt had worried constantly about her state of mind throughout his absence. He could only hope the news he was bringing would provide her with some grain of comfort, some sense of meaningful progress.

The trek to the lodge was arduous, due to the uphill nature of the walk. His arrival was later than planned. Nearing the outer gate, Matt instinctively stopped to survey the area. This was almost second nature to him now, courtesy of Rosa's intense training.

He could see nothing out of place and strode purposefully to the door, brimming with excitement over the news he had for Rosa. He saw the door lay slightly ajar and the muscles in his body automatically tensed.

Unsheathing the knife he pressed his back against the wall of the lodge and listened for sounds of movement inside. He leant forward and gently eased the door open with the point of the blade.

There was no noise from within.

Using the reflection from the blade he slowly turned the knife in his hand to view the interior of the cabin. The couch had been pushed onto its back, cushions had been scattered indiscriminately around the floor. The drawers of the side cabinet had been wrenched away, spilling their contents. He caught sight of the shattered pieces of the hi-fi system. Matt wasn't sure if the mess had been caused by a struggle or whether it was due to a brutal search of the property.

There was no sign of Rosa's presence and his first instinct was to fear she'd been taken or, worse, murdered. We've been betrayed again, his mind ranted. And it could only be the bitch, Vogel.

What a fool he'd been!

A million or more separate thoughts galloped into his mind at the same time, creating mass confusion in his brain and scrambling his emotions. Anger was replaced by fear which, in turn, was replaced by feelings of guilt and despair. After all the effort to keep her alive, Rosa could be dead by now. And her demise would be a product of his own carelessness and stupidity in trusting an unknown. Unwittingly he had led them here, directly to her door.

No, his mind raged to the sky. You can't have her. I won't let you take Rosa. He'd promised he would never leave the way Johannes was taken from her life. He'd never considered she might leave him. Inexplicably, he felt an overwhelming sense of loss, as though someone had reached inside his body and ripped away his soul. The feeling was incomprehensible.

And then, his mind abruptly settled. Vogel was going to suffer a terrifying end, his mind demanded. But first, he had to find out what happened to Rosa.

Taking a big gulp of air he surged into the lodge, expecting to be assaulted by any number of assassins, and rolled along the hard wooden floor. He paused and prepared his body for the inevitable conflict, waited for the surge of bodies that would soon be on him. And then waited some more. Nothing happened.

Springing to his feet he began the frantic search for clues on Rosa's whereabouts. He checked the kitchen and bathroom area, the bedroom. Then he opened the back door and looked outside onto the paved outside eating space. There was no sign, nothing.

Come on, Rosa, I know you too well, he thought. You would have left something, a clue of some description.

And then he saw it. The toy steam engine placed on top of the replica model railway. Miraculously undisturbed by the mayhem, it pointed the way. Rosa, he was sure, had fled to the summit of the Schafberg.

Matt had no idea how much of a start she had. It could be minutes or hours, even days. In which case, he could be too late. He had to at least try and keep his promise.

Matt retrieved the two spiked walking poles from the lodge cupboard, a pair of gloves, several bottles of mineral water and one of Johannes' warm hiking jackets before setting off. The new pair of binoculars, too. They'd been an impulse buy on his way back from Brussels, thinking he could use them to view the surrounding valleys from the mountain top one day. He'd never expected to need them so urgently.

Normally, it would take the train forty five minutes to do the journey whilst experienced hikers could take many hours to reach the summit. Rosa would be on foot with only human muscle to rely on, a challenge at the best of times. Getting to the top on foot at this time of year would be a test of real endurance for the fittest of people. Matt hardly dared contemplate the effect it would have on Rosa's body, given the physical injuries she was carrying.

Suddenly he remembered, and pressed the speed dial of Johannes' phone. Martin answered.

"It's Matt. Are you taking supplies up to the peak today?"

"Yes, Matt. I am just about to start."

"Martin, you must wait. I'll be there in twenty minutes," and switched the phone off.

Matt surged back down hill to meet up with the train driver.

"What is it Matt, what is wrong?" he asked the Englishman as Matt threw himself onto the carriage.

"The people who killed Johannes have chased Rosa up to the mountain. I have to get up there as quickly as possible."

"You know I can only travel slowly," the Austrian replied.

"It's a lot quicker than climbing. Go Martin, now."

Nothing was said as the train moved up the narrow gauge railway. Martin noticed the agitated Englishman's nervous, practically manic, tapping against the side of the machine.

Thirty painfully slow minutes later and they had reached the Schafbergalpe. Rain had begun to fall heavily. Matt at last got a clear view up towards the mountain peak and the various buildings located on the summit.

He looked through the binoculars and scoured the area but could see nothing. Gradually shifting his gaze down, he saw three figures making slow upward progress, using the winding path through the mountain meadows. The complement was being led by a tall, fit looking man, who seemed to be berating his companions for their lack of speed. Rosa had said once Tillman liked to work a target in teams of three, and it appeared to Matt this grouping bore all the hallmarks of such a team.

Matt shifted the line of sight of the binoculars back at the summit and scanned the entrance and then the windows of the hotel. Desperately he searched for evidence Rosa had made it to the top and was still alive. Several times he swept his gaze from one side to the other. No matter how hard he strained his eyes, there was no sign of Rosa.

He was about to shift his gaze further down the hill when he glimpsed a movement in a tiny outbuilding, some yards down from the main block. It was the sty, where the pigs were kept during the summer. He imagined at first it was one such beast. Then he looked again.

No, it was definitely a person's head and it was definitely Rosa. The rain had flattened the dark hair to the sides of her face and she looked awful; drenched to the skin, pale and miserable.

God only knew how long she'd been there.

He signalled to Martin to resume the ascent. The nervous tapping of his fingers quickened, faster than the speed of the train as he tried to remain calm. Matt struggled to contain his anxiety, wondering if he could reach the troupe before they located Rosa. He wondered how he was going to manage to take them all out, knowing he needed to find a way to separate them. Taking on all three together would leave him with little chance.

The train passed through the final tunnel, metres from the last stop. Matt's attention was drawn to a flickering light he could see through the dark drizzle a little further ahead. He recognised it to be one of the men. The figure sat on a large boulder next to the summit train station, looking as though he was lighting up a cigarette. Matt raised the binoculars to his eyes and magnified the view to examine the shape in more detail. He spotted the shoulder holster.

He tapped Martin on the shoulder and the Austrian nodded. Stealthily, Matt clambered off the train before it emerged from the dark corridor, starting his circling manoeuvre to get into position.

The man saw the engine and turned to look curiously at the slowly approaching mass. There were no carriages of tourists and he wondered why it should be here at all. Martin jumped from the engine and lifted the first of the cases down.

"Supplies," the Austrian said with a smile and proceeded to carry the first package up to the pulley mechanism, just above the tunnel exit, as the man looked interestedly on.

Matt took one slow step at a time, closing undetected upon his prey.

Then he struck.

Less than a second was all it took to ram the spiked end of the walking pole into the man's throat and then withdraw it again. Blood gushed out of the neck wound as the figure jumped from the boulder, gurgled in shock, and then collapsed to the floor.

Two, Matt thought as he searched the body. The gun was in the shoulder holster, the silencer in the deep outside pocket of the all-weather jacket. Matt continued to rummage through the clothing but could find no spare clips of ammunition and cursed at the discourtesy.

A voice called down from above.

"Jenkins. Are you okay down there?"

"Yeah," he replied, and then waited motionless. He felt sure the voice would suss out the reply hadn't come from Jenkins lifeless body.

"Get yourself up here," boomed the voice.

Matt could hardly believe his luck. They obviously couldn't see him from their elevated position above. He looked across to Martin and raised his eyes in relief.

He moved swiftly back to the engine, and pulled out another of the cases. Resting it on his shoulder he shouted a few words of German across to Martin. The Austrian nodded as Matt started to walk up the path towards the hotel, package lodged firmly in place.

Passing the pig sty to his left without peering inside, Matt paced steadily uphill looking for the remaining two enemies, desperate to finish them off before they discovered Rosa's hideaway.

He could see only one, leaning up against the lower wall of the main building to rest tired and aching limbs.

"Workman coming through, Mr Francis," said the man.

Matt's recognition of the name was instant. Grace's ex-beau, the man who had called her back into active service and the man she had preferred to Matt. The loud speaking, uber-confident Canadian was a very long way from home.

He was almost upon the second man when he lifted his free hand to the case, took a firm hold of the object, and flung it at the man's head. Before the look of surprise had set itself upon the shocked face, Matt pointed and fired to the heart. The figure collapsed to the ground.

One, he thought. Matt was determined to enjoy what was to follow. He skipped up the steps to the hotel in search of the tall man, looking left and then right for his prey. Deciding Francis must have entered the building his hand grasped the handle to the door. He had just touched the wooden surface when a shape burst into view. Matt felt a blow to his chest, catapulting him along the walkway and throwing the gun from the safety of his grasp.

Stunned, Matt rose unsteadily to his feet and then another blow pushed him forcibly backwards, off the hard surface and onto the cold wet grass below. He tried to shake some logical thought back into his mind. Looking up to where he had fallen from, he saw the tall figure of a man towering overhead.

"We meet at last!" boomed out the lanky figure, leaping onto the ground in front of the startled Englishman.

Matt rose to his feet and looked into the eyes of the healthy face with the stark, black expression. Francis was much bigger then Matt, with bucket-like hands which would give him a grip of iron. In a hand-to-hand tussle the Canadian would hold the advantage. Were he to get a firm hold of his opponent, Matt would struggle to break free from the powerful looking figure.

Having lost possession of the gun, Matt could only hope his agility would be enough to balance up the unequal contest.

"So you're the murdering bastard that killed Sandra," the voice boomed again.

"Sandra Hayes died the moment you dumped her three years ago. Grace had never been happier without you," Matt replied slowly.

The two men stood, eyes locked in burning hatred for the other, neither willing to give ground or as much as blink.

"I'm going to rip you apart," spat the Canadian. "And then I'm going to throw you over the side of this mountain, piece by little piece."

Francis roared with the rage of a wounded lion and lunged for Matt's throat. The adroit sway to the left caused the attacker to miss on his first attempt. A snap of a long right arm missed the side of Matt's head by millimetres. The guy was quick, too quick.

A feint of the shoulder and Matt was thrown backwards again by the heavy foot of the aggressor, causing him to drop to the ground breathless and roll further away from the hotel.

Resting on all fours, Matt never saw the Canadian's boot lunge up into his body, just below the ribs, winding him for a second time, and he crumpled to the floor in agony.

"Get up!" yelled his attacker. "Get up, so I can put you back down again."

Matt started to rise only to be felled once more by the thick boot of the Canadian slamming against his body. This was quickly followed by a large fist smacking into his side as he tried to look up and refocus his eyes.

Lying with his back on the ground, Matt could hear Francis circling. The hate-filled figure yelled obscenities at the dazed Englishman, prodding him with his black coloured walking boot.

Matt sprang for the Canadian's legs, toppling the giant to the floor. He rained a heavy blow to the side of his opponent's head. It was enough to cause a shout of pain.

Matt rolled away from his foe and climbed on to his feet, unsteady and unsure of his balance. His mind started to clear. Every blow thus far had been to the body; he rationalised this to be his aggressor's preferred offensive strategy. His enemy was intent on draining Matt's strength through constant blows to the body.

The Canadian's limbs began the next assault, probing and prodding at Matt's steady, deliberate defence. Francis' long reach made it hard for the Englishman to strike an offensive blow, and he found himself being pushed backwards. Matt's mind was fully engaged and he was beginning to understand the Canadian's sequence of blows.

Seconds later and he was ready. Matt positioned his right leg behind his left and shifted his body sideways, ready to mount a counter-attack. His rear foot searched for firm ground and caught the rough edge of a small rock, causing it to slide out of position. He stumbled.

The Canadian needed no second invitation. Spotting his opponent temporarily unbalanced he delivered the coup de grace, and landed a heavy blow to the pit of Matt's stomach. The Englishman slumped to his knees. So fierce was the strike it completely took the air from Matt's lungs and, before he could react, further blows rained down upon him. They struck his back and his front, weakening his resistance and sapping away his energy.

Unable to absorb the continued fierce punishment, Matt was soon helpless to resist. The big man gripped his collar and dragged him ever nearer the edge of the rocky spur. Matt tried to halt the inevitable, reaching out to cling on to any object that might somehow slow his progress to the precipice. Everything he touched gave way in his hands.

Matt made one last frantic attempt to halt the interminable slide to oblivion. He desperately grabbed at one of the feet of the aggressor, only to find his fingers trampled violently into the ground underneath.

A myriad of thoughts flashed through Matt's mind. He felt sure this is what it was must feel like to be drowning, as the mental images of his life flashed by. Pictures of the past flew through his mind in what seemed like milliseconds before the passage of time came right up to date.

He wanted to strangle the life out of Vogel, wanted to avenge the loss of Grace from his life. Most of all, he wanted to rescue Rosa. In all three things he was about to fail miserably. All the while these thoughts flashed through his mind, they neared the edge.

And then they were there. Francis lifted Matt's limp body from the ground and tossed the Englishman onto the edge of the spur. One more push and he would be over, falling the full six thousand feet into the valley below.

"At least die like a man," roared the Canadian giant. "Get up and look into the eyes of the man that's going to send you to hell."

Matt gasped for air as he heard Francis' taunts and frenetic goading, determined as hell not to die like a petrified mouse. He wanted to yell at his executioner, make some kind of barbed statement to at least wound the Canadian's ego and hurt his pride. His mind had gone blank.

Matt dragged his weakened frame onto all fours and stared back into the triumphant eyes of the avenger.

All that remained was the final, inevitable, blow.

Rosa, he thought, I can't keep my promise. I've failed you.

Chapter Thirty Three

Emergence of Truth

"I'd stop there if I was you, Bill," said the woman standing behind the colossus, and he spun around to address the voice.

"Cain, where the hell did you spring from?"

Matt looked over to see Rosa pointing the gun at Francis. She looked terrible. Wet, bedraggled and with sullen eyes, she looked in no shape to even pull the trigger.

His reaction was immediate. Perhaps it was the in-built instinct to survive, or maybe it was hearing Rosa's weak voice that spurred him into action. Whichever case, it gave him one final opportunity to keep his promise.

A burst of adrenalin coursed through his veins and the fog cleared from his mind, allowing him to think straight. Matt propped his arms solidly to the ground and swung his right leg in a wide arc to catch Francis from behind, toppling the giant from his perch and causing his body to fall and slide over the lip of the rocky spur.

Matt could hear him scrambling for grip and looked down upon Francis' terrified face. A clump of rock gave way under his desperate grasp, and the Canadian used the telescopic reach of his upper limbs to stretch out a bucket sized hand. It glued itself around his other hand, clamped firmly to another protruding piece of mountain in danger of breaking away. His enemy's face was desperate, begging.

"Durham," he yelled, "for God's sake, help me man."

Matt looked down upon the frightened face.

"Sandra Hayes may well have been infatuated with a work colleague once upon a time, but Grace was in love with only one man. She was in love with me. You might want to ponder on that on your way back down," said Matt, coldly.

He lifted a foot and jammed the heel of his boot hard down against the crumbling stone, and it broke away completely. Matt felt no remorse towards the disappearing face as it dropped away from the side of the cliff face, only the inner glow of revenge.

With Francis out of sight, Matt turned to attend to Rosa and walked gingerly towards her wan, ashen face. He was inches away when it hit him.

"Jesus, you smell like shit!" he said.

A glimmer of a weak smile crossed her lips then, in cinema fashion slow motion, she began to crumple to the ground. Matt stretched out his hands to break Rosa's fall, and held her gently. The stink of her clothes from hiding in the pig sty was overpowering. This was no time to worry about that. He placed a hand to her damp brow and felt the cold perspiration.

Matt lifted her into aching arms and carried the limp figure back to the hotel where Martin was waiting, his face a picture of awed amazement over what he had witnessed.

"How is she?"

"Weak," replied Matt. "She needs to be warmed through and quickly. Is there anyone inside the hotel?"

"Gerhardt"

"Go and tell him I need a room urgently for Rosa. Any room will do."

Martin threw open the door and Matt carried the human parcel into the room. He looked around for anything that might help.

"Gerhardt has to go down to the village" said Martin. "He will visit the doctor and ask her to return with me."

"No," said Matt immediately. "No-one must know we are here. This must be kept secret, please."

The Austrian nodded.

"We shall return in the morning."

"Thank you, my friend. I much appreciate your help today. Safe journey," Matt replied, beginning to unbutton Rosa's drenched, smelly clothes.

"Gerhardt says there are fresh clothes in the room at the end of the corridor, to your left. They are unlikely to fit, but they will be clean."

Matt nodded appreciatively as the Austrian departed.

Touching her brow with the back of his hand he could feel it was as cold as ice, and knew he had to respond urgently. He raised her once more, walked into the shower and turned the tap. Using his hand to shield her eyes from the sudden surge of hot water, steam soon filled the room. Carefully, he wiped away the brownish black clumps of dirt glued to Rosa's hair and a steady stream of muddy water made its way to the plughole. He'd hoped the hot liquid would bring her to consciousness but she made no sounds of life.

Undressing the wet clothes from her body, he removed his own, and tossed them into the corner of the shower. He began to rub her soft skin vigorously; first to her arms and legs and then around her heart.

"Come on, Rosa. Show some life," he said. "Come on, I didn't come all the way back to St Wolfgang for you to give up on me."

She moaned, ever so slightly, and he responded by rubbing harder; gradually coaxing some movement into her limbs. Rosa moaned again.

"Matt," she whispered.

"That's my girl," he said excitedly. "That's my beautiful Rosa."

"You came back."

"Of course I came back. I promised I wouldn't leave you," he said tenderly.

"I'm so tired," she said, "so cold and tired."

Matt turned the shower head off, reached for the towel and wrapped it around her. Easing Rosa away from the wet area he softly massaged her damp body with another towel, and then carried her to the bed. He rubbed gently over her hair to dry the remnants of the hot water. Moments later, she was safely tucked into the double bed and he began to breathe a little easier, feeling he had done all he could to this point.

"Matt," he heard her whisper again, "I'm so cold."

He never gave it a second thought. Just made sure he was dry himself, climbed into the bed and pulled her perilously cool body against his. Matt pressed his bruised torso into hers, determined to allow Rosa to drain every last drop of heat from his body.

They lay for what seemed like an age, hours, before Rosa finally spoke again.

"So you are like all other men, stop at nothing just to sleep with me."

A weary smile crossed his lips.

"I'm pleased you're feeling a little better. Maybe I can get warmed up now."

He rolled gingerly onto his back and Rosa followed his movement to snuggle back into him, resting her head onto his chest.

"Matt?" she whispered.

"Yes"

She paused for a few moments.

"Nothing, it's nothing ... except I'm still feeling cold."

So he gritted his teeth, wrapped her tightly into his arms, and winced in silent agony as she pressed hard up against his bruised and battered body.

"Jesus, Francis really kicked the crap out of you," Rosa said, lifting her head from the pillow on seeing Matt standing at the end of the bed.

Propping herself up she looked aghast at the blackened shapes peppering the flesh of his body. The ugliest bruise erupted from underneath the belt of his jeans, and spread almost the entire length of his back.

"Yeah, the bastard was good, too bloody good," he replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. You've no idea how uncomfortable a pig sty can be. They need to do something about that."

He smiled.

"Then you'll be up for this, then?" he said, holding up the wire clippers.

"First of all, where did you find them? More importantly, what exactly are you thinking of doing?"

"Roll onto your stomach," he said, and a momentary look of horror crossed her face before doing as he'd asked.

Rosa felt the tips of his fingers descend gently upon her skin and slide lightly down the course of her spine, from the top of the neck to her last vertebrae. It made the nerves in her back tingle and she shuddered ever so gently.

Matt's sensuous touch moved to the side of its original path with painstaking slowness and circled an area of her flesh. He stopped briefly then re-started the slow circling movement with an almost uncanny, erotic feel.

She heard the snip of the cutters and could feel the first staple snap open, followed by the second, then the third. She thought to move but felt his hand gently press her form back to the mattress.

"Wait," he said, and Rosa could feel the ends of each staple being lightly prised away from her skin.

A few seconds passed before he had finished. Instead of allowing her to rise, he resumed the slow and gentle, sensual circular movements to her lower form. She thought not to try and rise again, just allow and enjoy the tips of his fingers to weave patterns over her soft skin.

Matt had no idea why he continued the exercise, only that he found it relaxing. Once again, Rosa had saved his life through an unexpected and well timed appearance. At the time he needed it most. He believed it was fated for their paths to cross at times of individual crisis, constantly zigzagging through each other's lives. He was alive today because of Rosa, and she because of him.

These interventions had brought them close, forging an unbreakable bond of friendship. Matt thought it surreal he should be touching and gazing down upon such a beauteous female form and think only that it was Rosa, true friend and loyal companion.

They were a unit, a complementary partnership. This filled him with feelings of immense pride and admiration and ... something else, though he could not begin to describe it.

Once Francis' face had disappeared from his sight, falling headlong down the mountain screaming for salvation, Matt felt something release inside him; like a terrible weight had been jettisoned from the darkest recesses of his closed and bitter heart.

Grace had dragged Matt towards the sun, burning his soul and scarring him forever. He hoped the healing process had begun and this would allow him to learn how to deal with her passing. It was time to look forward. Whilst the wound would never completely heal, he was determined not to allow her memory to crush his spirit.

This brought Matt's thoughts full circle, back to Rosa, lying patiently in front of him while he continued to exercise his deft touch around the contours of her back. She, too, had suffered a terrible loss. He wondered if she would ever find a way to eventually exorcise and release her inner ghosts and demons. He hoped so.

Matt was so wrapped in thought he failed to notice Rosa's head turn and see her luscious blue eyes gaze up. It took the soft and gentle touch of her hands to his face to shake him from the mental deliberation. She had sat up to bring her face within touching distance of his.

Neither spoke. The laughter lines around her eyes became more visible as she tenderly smiled; the affection between the two almost tangible. Rosa appeared to understand what had been going through his mind. Maybe similar thoughts were occupying her own.

"What are you thinking about, Matt?"

"A warm night in Canada," he whispered after a pause.

"A warm night ... in Canada?" she queried.

"The night in ..."

The sound of the main hotel door opening startled both into action. Matt leapt up, gun in hand, and stood cautiously at the door. Rosa sprang to her feet and dressed hurriedly.

"Martin and Gerhardt," said Matt in relief, before adding "Martha, too."

The complement saw Matt's eyes peering through the half open door and the woman raised a see through plastic bag in the air to display the eggs and other foodstuffs they had brought with them. The welcome was warm and friendly, despite the sickening odour emanating from the two fugitives. Martha doted upon Rosa like a loving mother smothers an infant child. This was the first occasion Matt had observed Rosa in a family type environment, for this is how it seemed, and she took to it like a duck takes to water.

After they had changed into slightly ill-fitting clothes, they joined the others in the kitchen and listened to Martin dominating the conversation. He told how expertly Matt had disposed of two of the bad men before witnessing the incredible beating inflicted upon him by Francis. He spoke of Rosa's intervention, which saved the day, causing Martha to beam with maternal-like pride.

Eventually, Matt broke into the monologue. He related how events had unfurled which led him to believe they had been betrayed by Catherine Vogel.

"No," said Gerhardt, immediately. "That is never possible. Catherine Vogel is the best of people and would never betray anyone in the village."

Matt pointed out many years had passed since Vogel left the village to seek fame and fortune in the Belgian capital, and it was possible for anyone to change within the strict confines of a political environment.

"No," Gerhardt insisted. "Catherine is not capable of such a thing. She may have made a misjudgement over her child, but never betrayal."

"You all know about that?" said a surprised Matt.

"But of course," said Martha. "Everyone knows about Eva-Maria, except Eva-Maria."

"It's Vogel," insisted Matt. "Everything points to her."

"Who?" interjected Martin, "who else knew of your times in St Wolfgang?"

"Only Johannes," replied Matt quietly, glancing across to Rosa's blank stare.

"And Johannes' cousin, Wilhelm," she said in even quieter tone, without lifting her gaze.

A silence descended upon the table and the Austrians seemed to retreat into their individual contemplations.

"What of Julia?" Martha asked. "Was she also aware?"

"I saw her in the village the other day," answered Rosa, quizzically. "What of it?"

Another silence ensued before Gerhardt nodded towards Martha.

"Catherine and Julia were lovers," she began, "for some years."

"That's impossible," remarked a shocked Matt, "Vogel has a child for God's sake and Julia has two of her own!"

She tipped her head sideways and shrugged her shoulders.

"This is very true but the two were, indeed, lovers. It is the real reason why Catherine hardly ever returns to the village, to avoid Julia."

Matt looked to Rosa who shook her head in surprise.

"When Catherine left for Brussels she had to make an uncomfortable choice, for she was filled with huge desire to do good things," the Austrian woman continued. "To be gay was one thing, to be involved in a gay affair with a cousin is an entirely different matter."

The pieces began to fall into place for Matt.

"Such news would have broken Catherine's career long before it had started," continued Martha. "It was a choice that did not find favour with Julia. She has been dangerously bitter since. Though Catherine does not know this."

"I can understand how this could make Julia critical of Catherine, but what doesn't add up is Julia is now married to Wilhelm and has children by him."

Martha shrugged her shoulders again.

"Men rarely notice the true feelings of women, unable to grasp the real emotion that lies beneath. Once Catherine had been caught with child Julia spoke openly of her ambition to bear two children or more, intent on upstaging Catherine at every turn. Like most others, she has many different sides to her nature."

"Many of them unpleasant," interrupted her husband.

"Hush, Gerhardt. She is misguided, that is all. Wounded by what she saw as Catherine's betrayal of their relationship."

Matt thought back to the night of the assault in the village, Julia had retired early to bed with the children. He recalled them passing the family on the stairs as they hurried to Matt's room to begin the escape. Julia remained fully dressed, as if expecting to be up later in the night. Everything made sense.

"To risk the lives of others, such as Johannes and Rosa, to avenge an unrequited love takes a very poor mind," said Matt.

"Ah, Julia clashed with Johannes often over the years," replied Martha. "He would always defend Catherine, and Julia came to view his open support unkindly. However, she shed many tears at Johannes' funeral for I do not believe she had intended that outcome."

Matt leaned across the table and touched Rosa's hand.

"Are you alright to keep talking about this?" he asked.

Rosa smiled weakly and nodded.

"Damn!" said Matt suddenly, hammering his fist against the wooden table and spinning out of the chair.

"What? What is it, Matt?" asked a startled Martin.

He exhaled deeply and then cursed again.

"Matt," said Rosa "What's wrong?"

"Catherine agreed to stay in St Wolfgang during the festive recess, so we could plan a conference for the New Year, and is due to arrive today."

"So?" said Rosa.

"We agreed to communicate by handwritten note. The notes are to be taped to the underside of a restaurant table, where we would alternate the order of our attendance. One day Catherine will eat first, the next it will be me."

"Not a big problem, then," she said.

"Oh but it is. Who do you think made the reservations? The one person in St Wolfgang Catherine would think she could trust above all, the same person that alerted the authorities to Rosa's presence in the area."

The silence around the table told him the penny had dropped with the others. His mind searched for a solution, a way he could intercept Catherine's arrival in the village before it was too late.

"She will be coming by car, through St Gilgen?" he asked.

"That would be the expected route," said Gerhardt.

"Martin, Gerhardt. I need your help. We have to get down there before her car passes through and bring Catherine up here, to the mountain, without Julia knowing."

"I'll come as well," said Rosa.

"No," he replied instantly. "You need to stay with Martha, to rest and regain some strength."

"No, Matt. I'm coming too," she insisted, rising to her feet.

He strode across and held each of her forearms gently in his hands.

"Rosa, please. There should be no danger to this and I need you well, for the conference. Stay here with Martha until we return with Catherine."

"There was a time when I used to give the orders," she said quietly.

"And no doubt you will again once you're better. For now though, let me pick up the slack until you're fully recovered.

It was an instinctive gesture, leaning forward to peck her lips with a soft kiss.

"Please," he said again, and she nodded reluctantly.

"Matt," she called out as they turned to leave. "Make sure Catherine changes everything before you bring her up."

"Everything," he confirmed.

Chapter Thirty Four

The Deceiver

The black engine moved slowly up the steep incline. The four passengers sat quietly, watching the light rain fall. Every now and again, snowflakes would replace the precipitously falling water for a while, reminding them of the impending arrival of winter.

Matt blinked at Gerhardt. Recognising the pre-determined signal, he engaged Eva-Maria in light conversation. Matt shepherded Catherine out of earshot.

"There is no need to meet at the restaurant any longer," he said. "I would ask Julia to cancel the reservations, and tell her you have decided against visiting during the holidays."

She looked upon him with a quizzical frown.

"First you meet us in person at St Gilgen, after you had said we should never meet face to face again. Then you demand we change our entire wardrobe without explanation. Now you ask I cancel all prepared plans, and deny we have ever arrived in the village. I hope you have good reason for the sudden change of heart."

Matt smiled kindly at Catherine while he considered how best to approach the subject.

"I have discovered Julia still holds strong feelings towards you."

She gasped at his unexpected words.

"They are so strong I believe they may well have distorted her judgement."

"You tread a very fine line with me," she replied sharply. "So fine you test my patience to its absolute limit."

There was fire and anger in her eyes.

"Please, Catherine. Listen to my words, for they are said for no other purpose than to keep you and Eva-Maria free from harm."

Her expression softened at his obvious concern.

"How did you come to know, of Julia?" she asked.

"That's not important," he replied, shaking his head. "But it is clear she is the one who has been alerting the authorities to mine and Rosa's whereabouts. I suspect she may have informed them of our arrangements."

"Julia would never betray me in such a manner," she said disbelievingly.

"Do not misunderstand me, Catherine. In an odd sort of way I do not believe she intends you harm, but searches for a way to thwart your ambitions in Brussels in an attempt to bring you back to the village permanently."

He could sense Catherine's mind to be in turmoil, trying to rationalise how her ex-lover would do such a thing. However she had come to trust the Englishman and his instincts about the motivations of other people.

"Do you intend to kill Julia, for her treachery?"

He was surprised to hear the question, quickly shaking his head to refute the idea.

"No. I don't believe she knows her own mind. Besides, two young children need their mother," he replied. "I cannot speak for Rosa."

Catherine was briefly silent.

"I do not wish Julia to be harmed. Will you speak to Rosa about this?"

He sighed deeply.

"No. Rosa must judge this for herself."

A further, longer silence followed.

"It happened many years ago."

"Catherine, you don't have to explain anything to me," he chipped in quickly.

"I wish you to know, to understand."

Matt sighed deeply again.

"Okay," he said.

"People often view such things as matters of the body, of inclination. Rarely do they see beyond," she began. "Julia and I connected at a young age. It was a meeting of two spirits, of two souls, and we became inseparable. Neither of us viewed the relationship as strange, and our close friendship failed to deter any of the boys from the village. So everything was ... normal."

Matt smiled patiently as she continued to recount the story of her youth.

"It was one summer's night, after we had both showered on a sleepover at the house of Julia's parents, when the first unintended touch happened. We both knew, immediately, of its true meaning. It grew from there ..."

Catherine hesitated for a fleeting moment, and Matt could sense the words were coming from deep within her heart.

"Life was spectacularly good for the next few years. No-one appeared to suspect our friendship was anything more or, if they did, nothing was said."

She paused again.

"We were so happy together. And then ... my family were taken away."

"In the car accident," Matt offered.

"Yes. I took this as a sign my life had been preserved for a purpose and, shortly after, made the decision. Julia said she understood when I told her of my intention. I could see in her eyes this was untrue."

She sighed deeply.

"Life was hard during those early days in Brussels, to be apart from her. However I believed my purpose was right and returned to St Wolfgang less and less. When Eva-Maria was conceived, I believed the bond between us was finally broken, and never returned to the village again after my daughter was adopted."

He looked into Catherine's moist eyes and found himself admiring her sense of purpose, her strength of character.

"I have returned to the village this recess because of the importance of what it is we must do together, and because it was you who asked me."

Matt sighed deeply for a third time and considered his next sentence.

"I will speak to Rosa," he said.

She met his gaze with an appreciative and grateful look.

"Thank you."

Matt had no idea how he was going to broach the subject with Rosa, though he had a good idea how she would react to his interference. Still, he had given his word and he was going to have to deal with it, somehow.

This was the fifth morning of their stay at the Schafbergspitze hotel. Matt's eyes reluctantly opened to the daylight filling the room. The weather had closed in overnight, engulfing the mountain top with dark clouds and a mixture of torrential rain and heavy snowfall.

The air temperature outside the bed covers was decidedly cold, well below freezing. He decided to roll over and make one final futile attempt to sleep a little longer, by adjusting his body into a more favourable position. The bruising from the beating he had taken still discomfited him, though it was nowhere near as unpalatable as the first night. Eventually he managed to settle into the firm mattress of the double bed.

That'll do for now, he decided as he lay quietly alone with his thoughts.

Two days ago it had been Christmas Day, sparse and barren given their current circumstances, though no-one seemed to mind. At least the past days had given all an opportunity to get to know each other, a chance to gel as a group, which was a good thing. Relationships had been formed, understandings established.

Rosa had warmed to Catherine, leading Matt to hope his eventual discussion with the blue eyed assassin might go better than he dared to originally hope. The rapport between the two women also served to ease Matt's lingering feeling of uneasiness about the name Catherine Vogel.

A cacophony of noise alerted Matt to the arrival of the Austrian owners of the hotel accompanied, by the sound of it, with Martin. He could hear Martha's distinct tones asking of his whereabouts.

"Matthew, where is Matthew?" and he bemoaned the fact he was going to have to rise from the warm bed and welcome the arrivals. They had made the effort to brave the weather, he supposed, it would be discourteous not to rise.

Not yet, he decided, a few more minutes.

"Jesus Christ!" he suddenly exclaimed and leapt naked from the bed to a chorus of unbridled female laughter.

Desperately trying to hide his modesty with the bed pillow he looked up to see Rosa accompanied by the adolescent glee of Eva-Maria, each one armed with another threatening ball of snow in their hands. He closed his eyes in resigned acceptance over what was to come, and felt each of the wickedly cold and wet missiles slam against his unprotected body. Thinking he was over the worst he opened his eyes to the diminutive form of Martha, armed in both hands, and quickly closed them shut again.

"Aargh!" was the best he could utter as the two projectiles sprayed his unshielded torso with merciless accuracy, causing even more mirth from the three intruders.

And then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone.

"You're not really a man are you?" he said looking up to the heavens. "No man would allow this to happen," as the female laughter continued to shrill in the corridor outside.

Half an hour went by before Matt emerged from the double bedroom to join the waiting throng of giggles. Catherine was working, as always, on the minutiae of the conference entirely oblivious to the earlier events.

Matt rounded the table where she was seated to get a cup of coffee when he glanced at the official looking document, and spotted it. The same bold, expressive signature he had seen once before. And he remembered. He froze, in the manner of being struck by a Star Trek phaser weapon placed on stun.

"It's you!" he yelled at the clever Austrian woman.

Catherine's startled face turned to look at him.

"You," he repeated. "You are the author of the document. You've been in on this conspiracy all the time, working against us."

She was motionless, seemingly unable to reply.

"Matt," said Rosa. "What are you talking about?"

"Catherine is the architect of the global constitution. The one they intend to invoke after they've murdered most of the world."

"No," said Catherine quietly, shaking her head.

"It is you," he yelled "I recognise the signature. Don't even try to deny it. You know the people behind this thing, because you're part of it!"

"Surely not," interjected Martha. "Surely you have made a mistake."

The room fell into an awkward silence. All eyes turned towards Catherine, her head bowed in an attempt to avoid their attention.

"Things are not as they might appear," she offered. "The document was drafted in preparation for the next extension of the EU, and circulated to others for information."

"Not as they appear?" he shouted. "The evidence is there, in the files. There's enough information for me to put a bullet right into the middle of that smart little head of yours!"

"Please, Matt. Do not press me on this issue. I do not work against you, you have my word," she said.

"Your word is worth shit all, you treacherous b..."

"Matt!" shouted Rosa. "Give her a chance to explain."

"Give her a chance! How many more chances do you want to give her? She is not trying to help us. She's leading us into a trap."

"Matt," insisted Rosa, walking over to hold his hand, "I want to hear what Catherine has to say. Please, for me. Do this for me."

He angrily shook his hand out of Rosa's grasp and turned away to look at the wall, exhaling deeply. Rosa wrapped her arms around Matt's waist from behind and rested her head against his shoulder blade.

"People have died. So many more will die ... unless I stop this thing. I have to stop it from happening," he said quietly.

"We will stop it, Matt. We'll do it together, as a team. Let her explain," she whispered softly, "I believe we can trust Catherine."

Rosa was the last person he expected to support a traitor in their midst. Nevertheless, her gentle words lessened the fury from his enraged mind.

"Alright, but she tells us here and now," he insisted, turning to face the traitor.

"I would rather we talk about this matter privately," said Catherine.

"Not an option," he replied. "You told me in Brussels you had heard of this guy Kimber. That's not true, is it? You know him, and know him well."

"Matt, please. Do not press me here."

"No, Catherine. Here and now. You know this man well, don't you?" he shouted.

He could see the reluctance in her eyes and knew Catherine was trying to conceal a truth from them. He wasn't prepared to accept it.

"Who is he, Catherine, who?"

"He is the father of my child!" she shouted back. "The man I told you of, the one who helped me when I was young and in trouble."

"Kimber is Eva-Maria's real father!" exclaimed Matt.

No sooner had the words escaped from his mouth then he realised the enormity of the careless remark. His eyes darted across to Eva-Maria, face aghast with the sudden realisation. She uttered no words, only burst into tears and stormed from the building out onto the concrete walkway into the heavily falling snow. Matt's gaze shifted to the distraught Catherine and he wished for the ground beneath his feet to open up and swallow him.

"Matthew, what have you done?" asked Martha.

He thought no more, just reached for the overcoat hanging over the back of the chair and ran after the distressed young woman.

"Eva-Maria," he called.

"Go away! Get away from me," she sobbed. He refused her demand and reached out to grab her arm from behind.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted, trying vigorously to free her limb from his desperate grasp. He had no intention of leaving her alone and tightened his hold instead. Finally, he was able to wrap the overcoat and his arms tightly around her sobbing frame so she could hardly move.

"Let me go!" she screamed.

"No, no" he soothed, "I can't let go of you Eva-Maria. I'm afraid to let go, afraid you will never trust or believe in me again."

She shook her body violently to try and free herself from his clutches. He held firm, refused to let go and release her to the elements. It took some time before she decided to give up the struggle, and allowed him to stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head without further resistance.

"How could she not tell me when everybody else knew? How could she deny me the right to know, pretending I was little more than a mere office clerk? I hate her!"

Matt's mind desperately searched for the right words, some sort of response to mend and heal a wound of betrayal of his own making.

"That night," he began. "That one night I spent with your mother in a hotel in Brussels; she in the mezzanine, me lying uncomfortably below on a hard unforgiving sofa bed. We were supposed to be talking about how to bring an end to this conspiracy. Instead, all Catherine could talk about was her daughter. The way her child smiled. The way she walked and talked; the manner in which she rubbed her nose with her thumb when confused by a word used in conversation. She talked of the way her baby had grown into the most elegant of young women, eyes shining brightly with all the hope and expectation youth naturally brings."

Eva-Maria spluttered a cry into his chest.

"Catherine talked with a mother's pride about her child on that night, as only a loving mother can. She revealed the years of mental torment she had endured at not being able to hold her own child to her bosom, until that night in Brussels. It was the first time she had been able to hold you as a mother. And it was the one, defining moment that persuaded Catherine to risk all she has achieved in life in order to help Rosa and myself."

She was silent as they rocked gently under the falling snow. Her tears had ended, replaced by a deep contemplation over his attempted words of comfort.

"Catherine can never replace the years you have both lost," he added. "Only fill the ones you have left together. This could happen, should you allow it, as your mother loves you more than life itself. I know this to be true, for she would not let me sleep that night until she had told me all about you."

He felt her arms tighten around his waist and her head press harder against his chest.

"It is you. You are the one that should have been my father, Matt ... only you."

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Steady now," he said, "I hope I've got a few more good years left in me yet," and she laughed gently.

Martha pushed the window to a close, turned and walked over to place a comforting hand on to the shoulder of the crying Austrian woman.

"Alles ist gut, Catherine," she said, tenderly.

Eva-Maria was hesitant on re-entering the room, and looked cautiously at the array of caring eyes that fell upon her nervous form. The seated woman rose on realising what had happened and turned towards the young woman, beads of liquid rolling down her sad and anxious face. She raised her arms and stretched them out towards Eva-Maria, more in hope than expectation.

The young woman's eyes moistened as she gazed upon the figure with the expression pleading for forgiveness. And then she darted towards the waiting, emotional embrace, causing Matt to experience a range of incredible, unfamiliar feelings.

Martha's words broke the spell.

"Johannes was the best of all men," she said proudly to him. "And I did not believe I would meet his like again. But you, Matthew, you are a match to Johannes," and she smiled at the human shape stood behind him.

Matt turned to see Rosa's half smile.

"You see," she said with a gleeful smile. "I was right to call you Dad in Victoria," and gave out one of her throaty laughs.

Matt smiled blankly still trying to make sense of Martha's words, what she had truly meant.

Chapter Thirty Five

My name is...

"Mother," said the young blonde woman. "Promise me you will be careful."

"Don't worry liebchen," she responded gently. "It will all be fine, I promise."

Catherine gave her daughter a reassuring smile and then wrapped her arms around the young woman and held her close in a warm, motherly hug. It was as they embraced the uncertainties began to infiltrate her mind. She realised there was more to lose now, in the shape of the young woman she held so tenderly to her bosom. Catherine had spent many sleepless nights over the holiday recess, praying nothing would go wrong with their arrangements. Doubt was ever present, nagging persistently at the inner recesses of her restless mind.

"Everything is in place. I will ring when it is ended," she soothed to the young woman.

After a final hug Catherine picked up the laptop and the plastic bag, and departed the town house they had arrived at yesterday. She made for the chauffeur-driven limousine, taking care to conceal any nervousness in her stride.

Eva-Maria walked quickly to the window and eased open the vertical blinds to watch her mother negotiate the steps from the building. Catherine turned briefly and smiled once more at her daughter before sliding onto the black leather seat in the rear of the limo.

Once the car door had closed Eva-Maria pressed the send button on her mobile to release the message. Despite her mother's insistence, she had no intention of staying at their capital residence and missing the conference today.

Message sent, read the screen and she rushed to the hallway to pick her coat off the rack and her shoulder bag off the floor, next to the small nest of tables.

The cold late January air made her shiver as the high wooden door of the building slammed shut. She feverishly buttoned her coat to avoid letting in the mid-morning chill. No sooner had she negotiated the deep steps, skipping over the slushy snow patches, than the taxi pulled up at the kerb.

"Schafen," she said to the driver through the open window and he nodded in agreement.

The door opened to her firm tug and she climbed inside. Assuming the driver was waiting for a break in the traffic she failed to notice the shadows at the windows. The rear doors opened in a flash and two people slid onto the seat beside Eva-Maria, squeezing her frame tightly between them. There was no time to scream for help. The heavy man pushed his strong arm up against her throat and pinned her legs to the seat with a tree trunk like leg. His female companion forced the damp cloth to the young woman's face and pressed down hard.

Notions of fighting back were quickly expelled. Pinned to her sitting position, Eva-Maria hadn't the strength to resist. In an instant, her head fell to the side and she was motionless.

Catherine held the back of her hand up to her mouth and nipped at the skin of her knuckles with her teeth, as the limo sought to negotiate the heavy traffic. She could feel the nerves beginning to bite. As normal, she was immaculately attired for the conference, dressed in a pristinely ironed navy business suit. The hem of the skirt rested on her knees, the white wide collared blouse was spotlessly clean, judging by the even whiter cuffs protruding from the sleeve of the jacket.

Without thinking she lifted her hands to push her hair away from the back of the collar and then slid her long, thin fingers around to the locket at the front in a well practised movement. And then she fiddled nervously at the chain.

The limo took fifteen minutes to reach its destination. The car cruised slowly to a halt outside the conference venue set in the heart of the business district of Brussels. It was one of those long thin buildings so favoured by the town planners at the time of its construction. There were glass windows everywhere at the front of the building. The long corridors were stuffed with small offices and conference rooms, auditoriums were strategically placed on the third and fourth floors.

She stepped out into the warming sunlight. Catherine briskly negotiated the twelve steps to the front entrance and breezed past the reception desk unchallenged. After passing through the security screening booths she headed directly for the senior official's lift situated some way beyond the main entrance, to the right.

Two more police officers were stood nearby and she greeted them with a nod and half smile. As with all the other on duty police they, too, were wired for communication. A few moments passed before the ring of a bell signified the lift's arrival. The police officers followed her inside to travel up to the fourth floor, without any further exchange of pleasantries.

Once the lift began its upward journey Catherine allowed her coat to slip to the floor. She reached to undo the buttons on her blouse and turned to face the two uniforms. Tugging the garment away from the top of her skirt she threw it open at the front. The policeman's hands worked rapidly to produce the item of electrical equipment from his side pocket and unfurl the wire.

He reached to lift Catherine's bra upwards when he felt the smack of his colleague's hand. A finger wagged in front of his face and pointed him to turn around. The female officer snatched the wire from his hand and began to tape one end to the section of cloth adjoining the two cups. The microphone fixed above Catherine's left breast.

"Don't get too familiar," quipped Catherine to the policewoman and she looked up with a mischievous grin.

The taping done, she began to fasten the buttons of the blouse while Catherine fumbled into the plastic bag to reveal a sleeveless woollen waistcoat.

"We're nearly there!" she exclaimed, and the policeman reached to press the hold button, bringing it to a temporary halt. With the new garment in place Catherine tucked the blouse back into her skirt and the policeman released the lift before helping her put the coat back on.

"This is going to ruin my reputation as a smart dresser," she quipped again, and turned to face the other side of the lift where the doors would open.

At the appointed stop, Catherine and the two police officers turned in opposite directions of the multi-roomed corridor to go about their business, sharing no further communication.

Catherine set about doing all the things she would normally do before an event. Designated as an EC conference it was, in effect, a meeting of 'Interior Ministers' from each EU nation state and their officials. No more than sixty people at most, she hoped, other than a few Commission employees.

She had made the organising staff triple check all of the equipment to be used; microphones, presentation slides, handouts; insisting they also check sufficient numbers of interpreters would be in position.

The attendance of head of security was requested. She wanted to ensure the arrangements were to her satisfaction, and also to check her special needs for this particular day were in place. For several minutes the two referred to the written minutiae of her notes. There was no verbal communication between the two individuals.

Once confident all was in place she started to attend to her own contribution to the event. Catherine carried the laptop to one of the private rooms available, to access the computer files to be used.

The process took twenty minutes. She was about to close the computer lid and leave for the conference room, when the commotion first came to her attention. Ignoring the sounds, Catherine gathered her belongings and stepped from the desk.

The door flung open and she heard the startled voice of her assistant, Marika.

"Sir, you cannot disturb Ms Vogel."

The man's figure filled the height of the frame of the open door. He directed his greeting at Catherine.

"So this is where you are."

Scurrelli removed the black leather gloves and presented his most feared Dracula-type smirk. He slammed the door shut to exclude Marika from the room.

"Hank," Catherine answered in surprise, trying to maintain her composure. "This is unexpected."

"I want the files," he demanded.

"Which files?"

"Don't fuck with me, Catherine," he said tersely, his eyes narrowing into a dark vicious, stare.

She stood her ground, returning his expression with a fixed glare of her own without agreeing to his demand. Seconds passed as the stand-off continued.

"Thought this might happen," he said, and proceeded to slide a mobile phone across to her. "You might want to look at that."

Catherine chose not to react, keeping her body perfectly still to keep hidden the concealed emotions.

"This is an EU event, Hank. The United States has not been invited."

"Not any longer," he replied. "Now it's a Milieu event. Check the picture if you don't believe me."

Slowly, she picked up the phone and looked at the screen. The picture revealed her worst fears. Eva-Maria, blindfolded and gagged, was strapped securely to a chair in an empty room. There were two plain clothes agents stood at her side, one of each gender. Moisture filled her eyes and she bit at her lip to prevent it escaping into view.

"This is outrageous!" she yelled at his triumphant grin, "kidnapping EU employees in this manner."

"Cut the crap Catherine and give me the goddamn files," he interrupted. "Or that's the last you see of your daughter."

Her eyes blazed with initial fury, then froze in horror. This supposed secret was not such a secret after all.

"Where is my daughter?" she asked, unable to disguise the defeat in her trembling voice.

"Near enough for you to hear the screams when they start messing with her young face," hissed Scurrelli. "Now cut out the delaying tactics and give me the fucking files."

The policeman released the finger pressure to his earpiece and pulled out a map of the building layout from his breast pocket.

"Well done, Catherine," he whispered. "Keep him talking. We need every second you can buy."

He unfolded the document and they scoured its contents. Scurrelli had said Eva-Maria was being held close, which was a useful start. No-one had planned for Eva-Maria's kidnap and unless they could rescue her before the end of the conference, all was lost. Matt used the pencil to draw a line through those rooms that could be immediately ruled out on each floor. This left several dozen others to cover in just over the hour they had left.

"Shit!" he cursed. "We need more Catherine, try and get some more out of him," he muttered.

"For all I know you could be bluffing about Eva-Maria," she said. "You probably don't even have her."

"You know me better than that, Catherine," was his caustic reply. "But I'll get her to scream if you need any convincing. Don't worry. We'll bring her into view five minutes from the scheduled end of the conference."

The reaction in her eye movement said enough. It wouldn't be necessary to inflict any pain on the child. At least she knew her daughter was close. Catherine threw the memory sticks across the table and Scurrelli stuffed them into his pocket before nodding towards the laptop.

"That as well," he ordered.

"My presentation is on there," she responded.

"You're a smart lady, Catherine. It's only an hour long event. Do it from memory."

She nudged it towards him and he leaned forward and yanked the machine away with such force the plug burst away from the socket.

"Oh dear, I might have broken it," he said.

Catherine had never felt the urge to physically harm anyone before. She felt it now, a powerful desire to reach out and claw Scurrelli's eyes from their sockets.

"Is this all of it?"

"Yes" she replied.

"Show me."

Catherine flung her topcoat at Scurrelli and he examined the garment before dropping it to the floor. He motioned the Austrian woman to raise her arms to each side.

"When I tell Jimmy about this..." she began.

"Hah," he interrupted. "Who do you think made the call?"

He was in front of her, waiting for her arms to be raised. She knew he would discover the microphone if he did the search properly. Breathing in deeply she gradually lifted her upper limbs level to her shoulders and he began to pat the sides of her torso, the wide grin on his face only a few inches apart from her.

His hands deftly brushed along her arms and then he hunched down and did the same to her legs. Standing back up he stared into her angry eyes, unyielding with defiance at his unwelcome touch, and his hands reached up in front of her bosom. A sickly, triumphant grin returned to his face while he held his hands there, daring her to react.

Catherine stood motionless, looking directly ahead over his shoulder. Unable to exhale the deep breath taken earlier, she was convinced an inadvertent blink had escaped her command and betrayed her nervousness.

More seconds ticked away. She counted them by in her head while the American held his hands close to her chest. Then Scurrelli turned abruptly, without any further man-handling of her body.

"Where's your boyfriend and his bitch?" he asked.

"What boyfriend?"

"Durham, where is he?"

"Hasn't shown," she replied. "Perhaps he's changed his mind and decided against turning up."

"Did he say this was everything?"

"Everything," she replied.

Scurrelli looked for giveaway signs in her expression but she was impassive. He glanced at his watch while his long fingers rapped in rhythm on the desk in front. Catherine was unable to judge what he was thinking.

"You better go. Five minutes before start," he said. "And Catherine, I'll be in the audience, hanging on to your every word."

She didn't reply. Choking back the tears of rage she picked up the coat and strode out of the room without closing the door. She heard Scurrelli's voice once more.

"Maplin, any sign of the targets yet?" There was a brief pause while he listened to the response. "Keep looking. The bastards are here somewhere, I can smell them."

Matt approached the next room on his list and rapped sharply against the door. He'd already crossed out the upper floors because of what Scurrelli had said to Catherine.

"Police, Polizei, Gendarmerie," he said in quick succession. There was no answer. He waited a little longer, checking his watch as he listened for movement.

The conference had been running for fifty minutes and was scheduled to last no more than an hour. Even if Catherine took some questions he guessed they had no more than another twenty minutes, at the outside. He could hear her struggling to keep the attention of the audience through the microphone, having difficulty coping with the pressure and worry over her daughter. Despite her consummate presentational skills she was in danger of losing control of the event, allowing the audience to disperse.

He slid the thin mirror, attached at right angles to the long piece of metal, under the bottom of the door. He moved it slowly to each side. There was nothing here. Crossing out the room from the floor plan he moved on. Nineteen minutes to go, he estimated.

"Police, Polizei, Gendarmerie," he called for the umpteenth time.

The sound of a chair scraping along the floor caught his attention. Swinging open, the door revealed a tall, well built, young woman.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"Security check," he answered and peered into the room. There were five to six manned desks full of official looking Commission papers. Although not designated as a working office on the plan, this clearly wasn't the temporary prison he was searching for. He thanked the girl and tipped his hat in courtesy.

Matt checked his watch again, eighteen minutes left. He was beginning to despair of finding Eva-Maria in time. He made the same call at the next room and waited. A shadow hid some of the light trying to escape from under the door. This is the one, he thought, I can feel it.

"Security check," he called, before repeating the phrase in German. The shadow moved. Someone had raised their foot away from the door. He let the cosh slip from his sleeve.

"Security check," he called once more. "Please open the door."

He pictured the scene, hand signals between the occupants trying to decide. The mirror slid underneath the doorframe to reveal a heavily-built man standing on the other side gun in hand. A tilt of the mirror revealed the back of a seated figure with long blonde hair, and a woman standing next to her.

Matt pushed the microphone up to his mouth and whispered urgently.

"Rosa, I've found her, room four hundred and one."

"On my way," she responded.

"Open up. Security check is necessary or additional officers will be called to the scene."

The sound of the lock turning tensed the muscles in his body and he tightened his grip on the cosh. Leaning back against the wall at the side of the frame, he waited. Slowly, the door prised open from the inside.

It took what felt like an age before the thick set man's head emerged through the opening, and looked down the opposite side of the corridor. Matt brought the cosh down with as much force as he could muster, to crash down on the back of the man's neck. The bulk collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud and the gun spilled from his grasp.

Picking up the weapon Matt sprang over the limp figure into the room, gun in hand. The woman turned the swivel chair in one swift moment and, before Matt could react, held the sharp serrated knife to the vulnerable neck of her young captive.

"Put the gun down," she insisted, pressing the blade against Eva-Maria's skinny neck.

She was darkly clad in a tight fitting, fully sleeved top and loose fitting trousers. Matt had no time to mess around with this woman.

"The girl's not the objective. You are," he said coldly.

His words caused a reaction to the woman's plain face and he felt the need to consolidate the point.

"Before the blade finishes its stroke the next bullet in this gun will be between your eyes," he added.

She hesitated to move. Her dark hair was drawn back into a pigtail and he noticed her shoes were flat and soft, signalling she was set for close quarter contact. Matt guessed her height to be little more than five six at best, with a build similar to Rosa. She would be nimble, fleet footed and fast he reasoned. He lowered the gun to signify his intentions and she removed the knife from Eva-Maria's throat.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Agnes," she replied, the lie writ large on her face.

"Well, Aggie," said Matt. "Are we gonna dance or are we gonna dance, as they say in the movies."

Now they were both unarmed, circling each other within the tight confines of the square shaped office, no more than fifteen feet to either side. Eva-Maria had been pushed to the corner of the room, facing the wall, able only to hear the unfolding drama.

The woman was cagey in her approach. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she made to feint one way then the next, showing clear confidence in her ability to take Matt down.

Her first meaningful attack brushed her opponent's jaw as he swayed to avoid the thrust and recovered his stance. She lunged and caught him with a blow to the leg before smacking against his chest, the snap of her knee joint sending the fast travelling foot hurtling into him. He was lucky. The foot only marginally connected with his body. Matt wavered briefly before regaining his balance and waited for the next move. She feinted, dipping her right shoulder as if to change the direction of her movement before rebalancing her weight on to her left leg. Matt recognised the manoeuvre. Her right foot shot towards him, aiming for his ribcage. He evaded the assault by swaying to his left and threw her off balance with a sweep of his leg.

Crashing to the floor in unexpected confusion she found her neck trapped between his knees, and he began to exert pressure. She gasped out aloud to demonstrate his tight grip had her in difficulty.

It was an unconscious thing, the sudden memory returning of his training sessions with Rosa on board the freighter. Her words echoed through his mind.

Never give an enemy a chance. Man or woman - without exception.

Matt thought no more. He pressed his knees together and twisted the grip of his legs. The snap of her neck was loud and brutal, but the job was done.

He gave Eva-Maria no time to think. Freeing her from the chair as Rosa arrived, he demanded she stop crying and go with Rosa to help Catherine. He waved them both away in animated fashion while he searched for the gun.

They had disappeared from view when a shadow loomed in the doorway. The first agent had recovered, filling the entire frame with his bulk. Matt looked at his watch. Twelve minutes left.

"I haven't got time for this," he said to his opponent.

The heavy man grinned, daring him to try and get past his massive shape. Seeing Matt was unarmed, he took a couple of steps inside the room. The sound of the blowpipe followed and the man fell forwards, blood seeping from the hole in the back of his head. Rosa appeared in the doorway.

"We need to spend more time on your multi-tasking," she said with a grin.

They soon caught up with Eva-Maria, taking a firm grip of her arms to rush her along beside them at an ever-quickening pace. The Austrian girl's feet scrambled to keep up with the forceful strides.

Six minutes left and Matt's heart was racing.

He could tell Catherine had reached the end of her mental agility and was desperately seeking to encourage and take questions from the floor. Then they were there.

Approaching the main door Matt could see three plain clothes men barring the entrance and he realised they had to be Scurrelli's people. He steered the two women off to the right and stopped them just inside the corridor, guiding Eva-Maria up against the wall.

"There isn't much time," he told her. "You've worked here before, is there another way in to the conference hall?"

She was feeling sorry for herself, tears forming in her eyes at the thought of how her ordeal could have ended. Rosa grabbed the young woman's arms and shook her body.

"Eva-Maria, snap out of it or they'll be burying you and your mother next to Johannes," and shook her again.

Her words made the impact they'd hoped for. The posture straightened and the wickedly piercing stare of her mother's found its way into her eyes.

"This way," she said and led them through a side room into another corridor, where a single plain clothed agent minded the side door to the auditorium.

They marched Eva-Maria through the corridor, in the manner of escorting a prisoner from the premises. The cosh slipped into Matt's right hand from the sleeve.

Less than two feet separated all four when Rosa tripped Eva-Maria and she stumbled towards the floor. The man reacted by trying to catch her fall, giving Matt all the advantage he needed to drop him to the floor with the cosh.

Three faces peered through the round window, directly at Catherine. She was summarising the event, preparing to wrap up the conference, when her glance caught them looking into the room. Matt closed his eyes and envisaged the journey back to the front entrance. He pulled up Eva-Maria's wrist to look at her watch.

"Take this," he said to Eva-Maria. "When the minute hand clicks to eight, wait for one more minute and then walk in and give it to your mother. Do you understand?" he said sharply.

"Yes," she replied and Matt set off to retrace his steps back to the main entrance.

The man on the floor began to groan. Eva-Maria lifted her booted right foot and smacked it against the side of his head.

"Shut up," she hissed.

Rosa smiled.

"Matt would be proud."

He had timed it right, approaching the entrance at a suitably hasty speed. The three men saw the uniformed figure nearing their position and moved shoulder to shoulder to impede his path. The first man recognised Matt's face.

The initial upward swing of the cosh caught him square under the jaw and sent him crashing backward, over the chair behind. The instant downward swing caught the second agent flush on the temple and he toppled into the third, felling them both.

In the struggle to lift his inert colleague off his body, the third agent was unable to release his handgun. It gave Matt enough time to take aim with the cosh, which crashed against the man's jaw, rendering him immediately unconscious.

Confident all three posed no further threat Matt retrieved their weapons. After emptying them of their contents, he turned to the assembled conference officials, jaws dropped in disbelief.

Matt tucked the ammunition cartridges into a pocket. Then plucked one of the plastic carriers from the reception desk and dropped the agent's empty weapons into the bag. Tipping his hat at the row of aghast faces, he eased the entrance door open to hear Catherine's renewed introduction. Eva-Maria entered to join her mother.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she began, confidence restored. "There is one final agenda item."

Matt scanned the room and the audience, a hundred people or more. Marika rose from her seat to the right of the presenter's table and placed a laptop in front of Catherine.

The interpreter booths spread along each wall of the main meeting hall, glass covered fronts shielding the upper sections of the rooms from the internal noise. Delegates sat within rows of adjoined desks, fronted by individual microphones to allow their voices to carry through the room. Individual headsets enabled them to listen to the interpreters.

A raised arm to the left end of the front row of seats caught the corner of Matt's eye.

Scurrelli!

He signalled to a tall woman, dressed in a grey trouser suit, standing over to his right. She spoke into her mouthpiece in response to the American's urgings. Matt concentrated his attention to the sides of the hall, counted six others and his heart sank. There were too many. They had no chance of taking them all down on their own, and to try would result in more innocent casualties.

The sense of ultimate failure brought his optimism to a crashing halt. His mind urged him to cry out as his gaze cast helplessly forward to Catherine. She had spotted his anxious, despairing look and smiled broadly at the distress upon his face.

He'd been double bluffed. Catherine had been working against them all the time, trapping them with her stories of honour and integrity, of public service commitment. As a spider patiently builds its trap, she had drawn them into her web before unleashing the scale of her deception.

How could he be so stupid?

As the seven agents moved towards him he felt his heart begin the process of surrender, shattering his spirit, crushing his will to live. He tried to send a message to Rosa with his eyes, alert her into making a run for it while she still could.

They were feet away when Catherine raised her arm to attract the attention of the head of security. Large quantities of uniformed police spilled into the room from the lower access doors to the interpreter booths. They surrounded the handful of Scurrelli's people, and quietly disarmed them.

"This final agenda point under any other business is for Government representatives only," said Catherine. "I would ask all other officials to please leave the conference."

The majority of delegates rose from their seats. Catherine nodded Matt towards a flustered Scurrelli. Rosa rushed to join him and they sat either side of the American. He started to rise and Rosa deposited him back into his chair by elbowing his midriff.

"Now, Hank," said Matt. "Be a good lad and sit quietly while the presentation is running," pushing the barrel of the gun deep into Scurrelli's stomach.

Matt inwardly cursed himself for doubting Catherine. He sat and marvelled in admiration of the clever Austrian woman, for it was she alone who had arranged for the hordes of police officers to be secretly in place; yet another example of her meticulous eye for detail, leaving nothing to chance.

The speaker system sprang into life.

"My name is David Laverick ..." said the voice.

Chapter Thirty Six

The Question

Matt's gloved hands fumbled with the controls. Whatever he tried brought an errant track into play, producing sounds that were anathema to his ears. His fingers felt like ice, chilled by a cold northerly wind common for the time of year. He sighed in defeat at his lack of prowess and let the machine decide.

Cursing at the apparent complexity of new technology he raised the binoculars to his eyes and gazed out, contemplating his return to the island to face the ghosts from the past.

A lone bird, floating in the mountainous sky on a current of air, caught his eye. He marvelled at the effortless way the creature hung there, defying gravity like no other species on the planet. As the opening chords of the next tune began to sound in his ears his mind drifted back in time.

You were wrong, Dad, he thought. Not everyone betrays you in the end. Some, perhaps most, will. But there are a small number, a few people like Jack and Rosa, who will never let you down. Such people should be treasured and always kept close.

A light tap on his shoulder made him turn and he saw Rosa mouthing his name.

"What?" he said. He removed the earphones and switched off the music player.

"So that's why you couldn't hear me. Have you managed to get the hang of it yet?

He shook his head disconsolately.

"Well you can't give up. Eva-Maria spent a lot of money on that present for you."

"I know," he said. "It'll do what I tell it too one day."

"They're nearly ready to go," said Rosa.

"I'm ready whenever they are," he responded with a smile.

Rosa stood alongside and they gazed out across the valley.

"What were you looking at?"

"Sumac Pacha," he replied.

"Yeah, she is pretty special isn't she?"

He nodded in agreement, his heart beating that touch faster at Rosa's presence by his side.

"Did you see the terrorist attack on the news?" she asked.

"Yes, it was dreadful, too awful for words. Sometimes you wonder if Scurrelli and his crowd had the right idea."

"What did Catherine say to you?"

"She reckons they've rounded most of them up. A few are still at large, but it should only be a matter of time before they track them down."

"I meant about her offer."

"I didn't raise the subject and neither did she. It's not what I want to do with the rest of my life, licence to kill and all that. Despite Catherine's insistence I have some kind of aptitude for it, I think she's wrong."

"You're not a regular nine to five guy, Matt. And you have been well trained," Rosa said, giving out a throaty laugh.

"No," he smiled. "I've killed enough, it's not for me."

She paused for a few moments.

"So, Mike Daniels will return home to the North East of England."

He shook his head.

"Catherine tells me Michael Daniels was certified as dead several months ago, killed during a gun fight with police on a motorway in England. Not that I'll miss him. He was such a prick. Besides, Matt Durham is more my sort of guy."

She nudged her head against his shoulder and laughed.

"Yeah, he's more my sort of guy too," she said. "But what will Matt Durham do for the rest of his life, hang around in Europe?"

Now it was his turn to pause.

"Apart from the scenery, there's nothing much else to keep me here. It would take more of a reason than pretty views to make me want to stay. So I've decided to go home."

"Home, where?"

"Victoria, it's where I belong. Jack was good enough to leave his estate to me. The least I could do is make a go of it. I owe him that much."

Rosa went silent for a while, seemingly deep in thought.

"Will you go and see Jenna?" she asked, quietly.

Matt hunched his shoulders.

"I owe her a grovelling apology, as a minimum. Then again, I'm probably no longer her type."

She laughed again.

"What about you, Rosa Cain? What will you do now?" he asked.

Rosa shrugged.

"Johannes was extremely generous in his will. So generous I'll never need to work again and can spend my days as a lady of leisure. More likely I'll end up being tagged as The Merry Widow of St Wolfgang."

He smiled, hesitantly.

They stood awhile gazing out over the mountains before both tried to speak at the same time, and they laughed at the coincidence.

"You go first," he said.

"A warm night in Canada," she said. "It's puzzled me ever since you said it and I ..."

"Matthew, Matthew," sounded Martha's fast approaching, breathless voice. "It is time." She stopped suddenly. "Oh my dears, I did not mean to interrupt ..."

Matt looked to Rosa. She shook her head to indicate the earlier sentence would remain unfinished.

"It's alright, Martha. I'm coming," he said.

They linked arms as they followed the older woman down the path to the waiting engine.

"You will keep your promise, about Julia?"

"Maybe," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"Rosa!"

"Alright, I suppose I did make you some sort of promise."

He squeezed her arm as they walked.

"Thank you."

They remained silent for the remainder of the stroll. He deliberated over the question on his mind. Before he knew it, they had joined up with the others.

Matt shook Gerhardt firmly by the hand then wrapped his arms around Martha and pecked her cheeks, as she cried at his departure. Turning to Rosa, he saw in her eyes she sought no physical contact from him.

"Safe journey, Matt Durham," was all she said.

"Goodbye, Rosa Cain," he smiled warmly, and climbed aboard the steam powered taxi.

Matt lost sight of them quickly as the engine disappeared into the tunnel, but soon saw them again once the train exited the other side and curved back into view. He watched as the three figures waved him down the hill, Martha's arm clinging tightly around Rosa's waist.

"Did you not ask him the question?" asked Martha.

"Not really. Matt is intent on returning to Victoria, back to where he feels he belongs," Rosa replied.

"Oh Rosa, let me ring down."

"No," she said quietly, "If Matt had anything on his mind he would have said something."

The train was almost at the Schafbergalpe. Matt raised the binoculars to his eyes to look at the trio standing at the edge of the plateau. He focussed the lens upon Rosa's beautiful face as the distance between them grew ever larger.

"Martin," he shouted forwards.

"Yes, Matt. What is it?"

The Englishman hesitated, long enough for the train to reach the steep downhill section of track. The machine lurched as it dipped sharply for the next leg of the journey. Matt glanced aside to make sure his hand had a firm hold of the railing, to maintain his balance. Once secure, he raised the binoculars back to his eyes.

When he looked back up the plateau was gone and Rosa's beautiful face had disappeared from view.

"What is it, Matt?" repeated the driver.

He hesitated to collect his thoughts.

"It's alright, Martin," he replied. "It's nothing; it doesn't matter now."

Published by Milieu Publishing,

45 Barrasford Road,

Newton Hall,

Durham,

DH1 5NB

Copyright © Malcolm Franks

Coming next;

Milieu Dawn

The brute of a man raised an arm to his chest, freeing his weapon from its holster. Matt closed his eyes and thanked God the end was near. He would have been interested to read what was on the print out. It didn't seem all that important now.

Matt had taken enough, done as much as he could. Someone else would have to take up the fight. His mind urged him to show them no fear. He re-opened his weary eyes and looked into the barrel of the gun.

ISBN 978-0-9566944-1-6

