

Milieu Dawn

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 978-0-9566944-1-6

Other titles by this author

The Milieu Principle

Table of Contents

Chapter 1- Not the Same

Chapter 2-New Feeling for an Old Friend

Chapter 3-Different

Chapter 4-A Series of Unfortunate Events

Chapter 5-Rescue

Chapter 6-Night Callers

Chapter 7-Chase

Chapter 8-The Diary

Chapter 9-Yes, Mother

Chapter 10-Gratia Fuchs

Chapter 11-Sam and Genevieve

Chapter 12-A Fool Rushes In

Chapter 13-Hameln (Ham)

Chapter 14-Rapprochement

Chapter 15-Cogolin (Cog)

Chapter 16-Pamplona (Pam)

Chapter 17-Bull Run

Chapter 18 -Reliving The Past

Chapter 19 -The China Key

Chapter 20-Stopover

Chapter 21-Into the Belly of the Dragon

Chapter 22-Which Plan is this?

Chapter 23-Heat

Chapter 24-Silent Exit

Chapter 25-Path of Reflection

Chapter 26-Old Times

Chapter 27-The Steel Trap

Chapter 28-An Air of Understanding

Chapter 29-Shockwave

Chapter 30-Lake Dancing

Chapter 31-Betrayed

Chapter 32-A Britta Good Fortune

Chapter 33-Broken

Chapter 34-A Spirit Flies

Chapter35-Running

Chapter 36-Appointment with Darkness

Chapter 37-Two Faces of Evil

Chapter 38-Surrender

Chapter 39-Walk in the Forest

Chapter 40-The Gift

Chapter One

Not the Same

One small step was all it took to plunge him into silence. Save for the crunch of the gravel underneath his feet it could have been an entirely different world. Even the groundkeeper, some yards in the distance, wasn't making any noise. Matt had been visiting this place for months and never felt comfortable. He always considered cemeteries to be the eeriest of places. The moment your foot touched the soil of these secluded spaces normal life simply evaporated, the area cocooned by a kind of invisible shield of hidden death.

The early summer sun beat mercilessly upon his back as he approached the stones of his friends. Though strong enough to stir the rims of his short sleeved shirt, the breeze did little else to help dissipate the discomfiting heat. He felt sure the edges of the flower petals were already beginning to wilt under the glare of suffocating heat.

Reaching the adjoining plots he bent and placed a bouquet at each of the two graves, before stepping back with his arms crossed. He always did this, as though this would somehow shield his body from the lurking presence of darkness.

"Hi, guys. How's life in the spirit world today?"

He waited patiently for the response he knew could never arrive. The dead can't talk.

"No, it's not a regular visiting day. I came because I need to talk to you about something, Jack. It's been on my mind for a while and I should have mentioned it before but, you know what living people are like, afraid to say exactly what's on their mind in case they upset someone."

"What's on yur mind, lad?" Jack would have said in his own imitable style. "Business too much to handle is it?"

"No, no," he disagreed. "That side of things is going great, better than expected. So well in fact a little bird tells me one of our competitors wants to buy us out. They can't compete with the prices we charge."

Matt smiled at the imaginary response.

"Yeah, I thought that would appeal to your sense of karma, the little guy taking on the big boys and winning. Doubt I'd ever manage to get the smile off your face if you were here."

He gazed at the headstone to the right and sighed, reluctant to say what was on his mind.

"I guess I should spit it out," he whispered. "Please don't be angry, Jack, but I'm thinking about moving on."

His face contorted as if violently rebuked.

"I know, I know. You left your estate to provide me with this fantastic, once in a lifetime, opportunity and it sounds as though I'm being ungrateful ..."

Explain yourself, Jack would have said.

"So what's wrong? I adore this place and I'm doing what I enjoy most in life, flying. The business is going great and I'm comfortably placed with no money worries ..."

He took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

"Coming back to live in Victoria was supposed to be easy. Somehow, things aren't the same. I have tried, Jack. Without you and Holly down here it's lonely. The people are polite enough but I know they still have doubts. I can see it in their eyes. Donna and the team are okay, but as employees you'd expect them to be."

A bead of water started to fall away from an eye. He could feel it rolling gently down his cheek, making its way down to his chin. He considered wiping it away. Instead he allowed the involuntary action to run its course.

Throughout the preceding months he hadn't grieved over the treasured lives that had been lost. Matt never cried. His father refused to allow him to show emotion when mother died; insisting crying was for girls. When Dad died soon after Matt was beyond tears. He'd maybe come close a couple of times. Somehow he'd never quite managed it.

Perhaps the moment had arrived. Having never previously cried before Matt wasn't quite sure what to physically expect from his body. It didn't appear to want to break out into loud uncontrollable sobbing, or make him shudder with such might to force him onto his knees in submission.

No, the sadness just sort of oozed quietly from his eye in a restrained and subdued manner. Perhaps this was normal, he thought, the way everybody else mourned. Then again, maybe he was different to other people. Maybe it wasn't even a real tear but a bead of perspiration.

He looked up into the bright blue sky as if the souls of his friends had changed position, from underneath the ground to the heavens above. He exhaled sadly and returned his gaze to the earth, to the carved names on the stones.

"It doesn't feel like this is home anymore. And I don't know what to do for the best. I need a vision, Jack. Some kind of sign to show me the way, point me in the right direction so I don't end up making the wrong call."

He stood quietly in the forlorn hope of a magical, mystical response. It never came. He shook his head.

"I won't leave without saying goodbye. I promise."

As he turned and readied to leave he couldn't resist a final, parting shot.

"Any sort of sign would have done, you know."

He couldn't quite describe the sound. A heavy squelch was the best that sprang to mind. He certainly felt the impact on his shoulder. Reaching for the foreign substance his fingers touched something warm and gooey attached to his shirt. He lifted part of the mass away for closer inspection, recognising the alien grunge to be bird shit.

"Very funny, Jack."

In an odd way the incident returned his good humour and he chuckled as he made his way through the cemetery. He'd only stepped a few yards when a sideways glance caught sight of the unkempt headstone to his left.

The grave and surrounding area had been overrun by ugly weeds and tallish grass, in contrast to everything else. The inscription on the stone was all too familiar. It saddened him to realise the occupant had had no visitors since being laid to rest, evidenced by the lack of maintenance.

He had little ground for complaint, having studiously avoided the same piece of ground each time he came here. Now it was almost camouflaged from open sight. He looked around and caught sight of the groundkeeper, busying nearby with the tidying of a pathway, and walked across to the man's hunched figure.

"Can I borrow these?" he asked.

The man shrugged his shoulders with an indifference that was unusual for this part of the world.

It only took a few minutes to trim the grass and weeds and then rake the clippings into a mound. Wiping the sweat from his brow he felt a living presence join him.

"Did you know her?" the groundkeeper asked.

"Only briefly," he said.

The man leant forward and peered at the inscription on the stone.

"Sandra Hayes. There's not many round here with that family name."

"I knew her as Grace," he mumbled. The man didn't seem to hear his reply.

"What a shame, only thirty one years. No age at all," said his municipal companion. "You have to be really unlucky to die so young these days. I wonder what took her away."

"Poor choice of friends, I suspect," he whispered.

"What?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. "Look, I'll give you a hundred dollars a month to personally maintain this grave properly."

The man screwed his face up in surprise, and then nodded.

"You must have been close to her."

Matt had already walked away.

Chapter Two

New Feeling for an Old Friend

He took the usual route for the flight to Vancouver. Heading south, he flew over the narrow opening of the inner harbour to the main port facilities. Then he steered over the small gulf islands and the open strait to the mainland. Once the ferry terminal at Tsawwassen came into view he altered his line to fly over the Lions Gate Bridge, before turning in a semi-circle to descend into Vancouver harbour. He took this path because he liked to try and guess the names of the cruise liners floating majestically below, either entering or leaving the port. As he dropped from the light blue sky the shell shaped roof of the cruise terminal loomed into view. His destination, to the right of the waterfront dominating hotel, was a small wooden pier nearby the newly built conference centre jutting out from the shore. A short line of passengers filed back from the pier. Amongst the patiently waiting party one particular svelte frame, standing at the rear, caught his attention.

He recognized Jenna instantly. She looked stunning in the tight-fitting white dress patterned with thin purple streaks, fully accentuating her slim figure. Her gold tinted long dark hair fell around her part Oriental/part Caucasian face, and he could make out the outline of her almond shaped eyes. As he ferried the single propeller floatplane closer to the wooden jetty He found it a struggle to avert his gaze from the quietly standing figure.

He had always regarded Jenna as a good friend, first and foremost. Today he could see only the attractive woman that she had been all along; and immediately admonished himself for the impure thoughts passing through his mind. The fact he even considered Jenna in this light told him it had been way too long.

After mooring the machine he greeted each of the line of female passengers as they entered the fuselage of the flying taxi. Jenna was last in line.

"Hello, Jenna," he said with a broad grin. "You're looking particularly lovely. I didn't realize you were the lady getting married in Victoria today."

She returned his smile out of politeness.

"Not today, Matt."

He had hoped to prolong the conversation. Instead Jenna held out her left hand whilst the other balanced against the open door, waiting for him to help her into the yellow flying machine.

As the plane rose into the sky and then levelled for the short flight to Victoria, Matt's thoughts drifted back to the early days of his return from Austria. He had made it one of his first priorities to visit Jenna.

Not that he could offer much in way of explanation for his abrupt departure. Only it was unavoidable and he had no way of getting in touch. She had listened patiently without saying anything in return. He wanted to let her know what had happened. Somehow the words refused to flow.

She had agreed to call him, once she'd had the time to come to terms with his sudden re-appearance. It never happened, and months had now passed. He had considered making one final attempt to try and regain her trust but never quite got round to it. The ongoing demands of the business didn't leave him with any real free time anyway. At least that was the excuse he used to soften the disappointment as time slipped by.

Matt had returned to Victoria in desperate in need of close companionship, and she had been his one friend still standing after the merry-go-round had stopped. Now, she even kept her distance too.

"Best not to push it," he told himself.

Nevertheless, he couldn't resist looking into the fuselage through the mirror to catch a glimpse at the svelte shape, quietly sitting there taking in the view outside through the window.

He smiled at each of the disembarking passengers. Jenna was last again.

"Enjoy the wedding," he said.

She half smiled without answering.

He watched her go, pacing elegantly up the gently sloped concrete ramp to join the rest of her group. They had started to chatter excitedly as they made their way towards the church ceremony.

Matt really did like Jenna, ever since they had first met in Vancouver all those months ago. His instinct had told him he would take to her right from their first introduction, and he hadn't been proved wrong. All Canadians seemed nice to him, Jenna peculiarly so. It was the way she cared for all others, no matter their definition, that struck a certain chord with him. A paediatric nurse by profession, she carried her angelic disposition wherever she went in life. This was what defined her as a human being, and the reason why she was popular with her colleagues. Jenna was also far smarter then she led people to openly believe. He never could understand why she was still unattached. There had to be some right minded men out there prepared to beat a path to her door, and then sit outside for as long as it took to get her to accept a marriage proposal.

As Matt watched her depart he hoped she would turn her head and give him one of those warm sunny smiles of hers, to show she hadn't forgotten their past friendship completely. By the time the group had reached the top of the ramp, he knew it wasn't going to happen.

Ten o'clock arrived when coffee was served. He had picked at the evening meal rather than tackle it with any enthusiasm. The brief encounter with Jenna had bothered him for most of the day. Perhaps it was because he didn't want her to think badly of him, though he couldn't provide any reasonable explanation for his sudden and prolonged absence. Maybe it was because he missed her company. Perhaps he was tired of being alone.

With a gentle sigh he looked down to the newspaper. His attention was drawn to a small ad, in the bottom right hand corner. Feeling lonely, it read. Call on this number to chat, or speak to a representative about our companion partnership programme. Man or woman, we can provide the ideal evening partner for you. Matt had no doubt they could provide a live body for the night but his answer didn't lie here, not in this cheap and nasty soliciting tactic. Then again, it wasn't as if he had too many options looming over the horizon. There were no lines of women queued up waiting to beat a path to his door. Surely he could never get so desperate, could he?

He gazed around the room. Little had changed. The new owner had retained the original colour scheme of the interior. Candlelight bounced off the reddish coloured walls onto the stock of square wooden tables providing an intimate ambience for the many diners. The heavily polished wooden bar stretched almost the full length of the end wall, other than the two access corridors running to either side. Heavy laughter cascaded down from the similarly decorated upper eating area.

Despite the level of noise the mood of the building was good-humoured and friendly, as it always was, apart from a small group of young men who had occupied the corner table near the door. They weren't regulars, each of the young faces being unfamiliar, and they appeared to be nearing the limits of their alcohol consumption given their rising boisterousness. He looked around to see the franchise owner, Tim, keeping a watchful eye on the group.

The Keg's landlord usually made polite conversation with him, unlike many residents who remained suspicious of the past. Matt had been anxious about the kind of reception he would receive on his return to Victoria. Tim, at least, seemed prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt and for that the Englishman would always be grateful to the blonde haired Canadian.

"Matt Durham?" asked the voice.

He looked up at the smiling, dark face of a tall young man. Dressed in jeans and jacket, commonly described as smart casual these days, the black man thrust out an energetic hand as a means of introduction.

"I'm Horton Priest," he offered. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Matt regarded any uninvited intrusion as both rude and disrespectful. The fact this man was quite happy to ignore the lack of response and occupy the chair opposite really pissed him off. He studiously chose to avoid extending his hand in welcome.

"I've been following your case with great interest," said the man called Priest.

He pushed a business card across the table. Matt glanced at the small, rectangular white card adorned with the lavish blue lettering. Investigative Journalist, it read. What is the big deal with people and titles?

"Case?" said Matt.

"Yeah, it takes real guts to do what you've done."

"Done what exactly?"

"You know. Come back to an area where the residents are mostly harboured in suspicion, after all that happened."

Matt's eyes narrowed, both in distaste and anger. Not that his loathsome expression came anywhere near to putting this guy off.

"From what I understand you arrive in Victoria from out of nowhere, take three months or so to get your feet under the table, and then all hell breaks loose. First the landlady of The Keg, with who you went on a luxury cruise, succumbs to a mysterious accident. Then her two best friends, Jack Carter and Holly Irvine, are violently murdered shortly after. Matt Durham meanwhile disappears for several months only to return having miraculously inherited the entire estate of the said Jack Carter. And there are no questions asked by the authorities. A series of events stranger than fiction, wouldn't you say?"

The gauntlet had been severely slapped around Matt's face and then tossed contemptuously onto the table. At least Priest was prepared to confront directly what had been on everybody else's mind. In an odd way this presented him with a golden opportunity, a chance to put the record straight once and for all. End the underlying doubts so evident on the faces of the locals, every time he deigned to appear in public. God knows he had grown tired of the constant sniping and whispering every time his back was turned; except Matt had done nothing to apologise for.

"You've had your say, Mr Priest. Now if you don't mind I'd really prefer to finish up this meal without any further interruptions."

The reporter failed to hide his surprise at the coolness of the response.

"Christ you're cold, Durham. Three of the most popular people on this part of the island died soon after you entered their lives and you couldn't give a shit."

Matt averted his gaze in an effort to control his rising anger. He told himself this guy didn't know the facts, had no idea of the background to the turbulent events of the past. So it wasn't Priest's fault he was an asshole. Matt felt the need to fix his attention elsewhere, anything to avoid his temper erupting into an uncontrollable Hulk-like rage.

He decided it better to leave. Rising slowly from the chair he noticed the sodden group of young men were no longer at their table. Three of the group were walking towards the bar, two unsteadily, to join their remaining colleague who had already parked himself there. The unfolding scene caused him to hesitate. Tim was trying to reason with the drunk.

Matt sauntered across and leaned onto the wooden surface, the debate getting ever more heated. The amiable chatter from the surrounding tables had begun to quell in response to the first man's raised voice. The gaiety upstairs had also started to hush into silence with each rising decibel of the increasingly angry voice.

The largest of the men pushed himself to the bar, insisting upon being served, his gestures becoming more and more aggressive. A stubby right index finger jabbed urgently into Tim's chest.

"Why don't you call it a night, lads?" said Matt.

"Who the fucking hell are you?" said the big man.

Clean shaven with short cropped hair and a deeply troubled expression, the man looked as though he could take care of himself. Matt could see in the man's eyes he hadn't killed before, so knew he held an advantage should things get ugly.

"Just a guy looking to have a peaceful night," said Matt.

"You're a Brit," said the first of the men behind. "What you taking his side for?"

"I live here. This is my local."

"Stay out of it," hissed the big man. "This is between us and him."

Matt shook his head.

"No, it's between you and the rest of the island," said Matt, calmly. "Things work differently here than they do in the UK."

The diners on the ground floor had fallen noticeably silent. The big man looked him up and down, trying to decide what his chances were. His smaller friend, standing directly behind, was nudging at the back of the colossus to urge him forward. Matt knew then what would follow and tensed his muscles in readiness for the expected assault.

A backward sway was all it took to evade the massive fist of his opponent. Matt responded with a punch to the throat, then spun the man round to face the bar and crashed his head against the surface. Before the brute could retaliate Matt brought the point of his elbow down between the shoulder-blades of his assailant. The short groan of pain came before the aggressor crumpled to the floor.

Hearing the sound of breaking glass, Matt turned to see the fast approaching fist of the smaller man. He parried the thrust with his left arm, but not before the jagged edge of the bottle brushed against the flesh of his upper arm. Swivelling full circle, Matt's body pushed up against the man and his elbow jabbed sharply into the stomach of his opponent. With his adversary doubled up by the blow Matt grabbed a clump of hair at the back of the man's head and prepared to launch it into the wooden serving counter. He heard a man speak.

"You don't have to do that. He's not likely to give you any more trouble."

The adrenalin fired through Matt's veins. The rising anger he had felt during the short encounter with Priest had found an outlet. The urge to further batter his foe was irresistible. The voice of reason made him hesitate. Releasing his grip on the stricken figure, he watched it fall to the floor in an untidy heap.

Matt turned to face the remaining members of the group. Both of the white men were of similar build, slightly taller than him. The one on the right with the cropped black hair had the look of an ex-forces veteran, judging by the steely expression in his eyes. He reminded Matt of that part robot guy from a sci-fi film he'd hired on DVD last week, the one who surrendered up his heart to the hero at the end of the film; only this man was younger. The other's face was filled with an inflamed fury.

"No, Mark. The man has skills," said the one with combat experience, extending his left arm across the chest of his companion. Matt realised it was the same voice that had urged him to stop.

"What's your name?"

"William. My friends call me Will."

"Well, William, it's time you got your friends home," said Matt.

The man's eyes sparkled into an active grin. He looked at the gentle stream of blood running down Matt's arm.

"You're hurt," he said.

"Unlikely to slow me down," Matt replied after a quick glance.

"I know," said the man called William. "You should get it seen to all the same, just to be on the safe side." He paused for a few moments. "So we'll call it a day then."

Matt blinked his eyes in agreement.

"I apologise for the behaviour of my friends," the man said to The Keg's owner, and then pulled out a thick gathering of notes from his wallet which he handed across to Tim. "Will that be enough?"

Tim nodded.

"You should be able to afford better friends," said Matt.

"John's my cousin," he replied, pointing to the man who had attacked Matt with the broken bottle. "There are some things you can't change in life."

His two downed comrades began to stir back into life.

"Get up and get out," he said to them both.

The hushed silence in the room began to break. Matt's gaze swept around the diners. All he could see were the images of people's faces, filled with an expression of either shock or fearful admiration.

"Again, I'm sorry," said the man, bundling his colleagues towards the exit. "We're usually far better behaved than this."

Tim nodded again in response to the apology.

"It was good to meet you," the man called back to Matt on leaving, and he returned a half smile.

"Hell, Matt," said Tim, "where on earth did you learn to do that?"

"Picked the odd tip up here and there," he replied casually.

That's when he felt the gentle touch to his injured arm and heard the soft voice.

"That will need dressing," said the woman, inspecting the wound.

Matt turned to face the concerned voice, recognising her instantly.

"It's only a flesh wound, Jenna. A cold wash and a plaster will fix it."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Where did you come from, anyway? I didn't see you at any of the tables."

"We were upstairs."

"I'm fine, Jenna, really. Go and finish the evening with the rest of your party."

"I think you've pretty much ended everybody's night," she replied, motioning with her head towards the vast number of customers trying to settle their accounts.

Tim responded by doing the table rounds, trying to reassure the bewildered array of anxious customers the incident was an isolated event.

"Have you got a first aid kit at your place?" Jenna asked.

"Yeah, it won't take me long to sort it out."

"You're going to dress it on your own? How exactly do you plan to tightly wrap and then secure a dressing with only one good arm?"

"I'll manage," he said.

She moved directly in front of him and looked sternly into his eyes.

"You really do come out with some crap from time to time, Matt."

He wasn't sure how to respond to the disapproving tone in her voice, which was usually much softer and gentler. Then he noticed the beginnings of her normally warm smile appear at the edges of her mouth.

"Okay, you win."

"I'll let my friends know what's happening," she said with a smile before disappearing.

Matt saw Priest making a number of copious notes into a small writing pad before leaving. For no obvious reason he wandered over to the table vacated by the reporter and picked up the business card.

Once Jenna reappeared he caught Tim's eye to indicate they were leaving, and the Canadian smiled appreciatively to thank him for his help.

"I'm pleased it wasn't me who upset your friend tonight," said the woman being subjected to Tim's charm.

"He's usually a quiet sort of guy. I must admit though, he even managed to scare the crap out of me tonight," said Tim, with a boyish grin.

Chapter Three

Different

Placing the two mugs onto the wooden coffee table, Matt sank back into the soft worn leather and stretched out his arms. She leant forward to pick up the mug and blew over the surface of the hot drink, as she always did. Sliding her body further on to the dark coloured material, she swivelled her legs across the rest of the sofa and backed her svelte frame against Matt's side.

They were several feet away from the hearth; close enough to enjoy the warmth from the log fire but far enough distant so the heat wasn't uncomfortable. Jenna had positioned herself to be able to gaze out the window, out at the emerging stars in the ever darkening sky.

"Cosy little place you've got here," she said.

She was being polite. Minimalist was the best description he could have afforded their surroundings. Apart from a fresh lick of paint and new wooden floors he had changed little to Jack's home, more out of respect for his friend than anything else. The chunky, old fashioned television in the corner of the room was hardly ever used, evidenced by the layer of dust covering the screen. Matt was rarely in the house enough to bother switching it on, preferring instead to spend most of his waking hours up in the sky ferrying the tourists around.

"Don't you close the curtains at night?" she asked.

"No, I like to be able to see outside."

"What, even in the black of night?" she said with an amused laugh.

"Particularly at night," he replied.

She looked over to the expansive window and spotted the expensive looking telescope, next to the single hardback chair with the cloth covering.

"So that's what you do at night, watch the stars to while the hours away."

"Yeah, and sometimes I peek at the neighbours too," he said dryly.

"What a creep you are, Matt Durham."

He smiled and enjoyed the ensuing silence between the crackles of the logs.

"I can't remember the last time we did this," she said.

"It's been a long time," he agreed.

He reached to touch the top of her head with his lips and smiled again. They remained quiet for a while, happy to focus their attentions on the movement of the pear-shaped flames from the wood on the fire, crackling quietly as they bent first one way then the other.

"Never done it with the lights off in front of a warm log fire before though," she said.

He started to laugh and rubbed the top of her hair with his hand.

"Behave yourself young lady."

Matt knew she was smiling even though he couldn't see her face. There was something comforting about Jenna's presence in the bungalow tonight. Matt realised how much he'd missed her tactile friendship, the simple joy of her undemanding human contact and warm affection.

She seemed content with the situation too. It brought back happy memories of times spent together the previous year. Jenna took a sip of coffee and then swiftly another, as though she were readying to break the tranquillity with disharmony.

"Matt?"

"Yes"

"When your friend Jack came to see me last year he gave me an envelope with fourteen hundred dollars inside. He said it was from you."

"It was."

"But why fourteen hundred dollars?" she asked.

Matt thought better of revealing his secret examination of one of her bank statements while she slept after a night shift, discovering her overdraft to be that amount.

"I wanted to give you more, as a way of thanking you for helping me. It was all I could afford at the time," said Matt.

He could tell she was less than convinced. Fortunately, she chose not to prolong her line of enquiry. Somehow, he had the feeling something else was on her mind. He waited for the question to be asked.

"Who are you really, Matt?"

He started to laugh.

"You know who I am."

"I don't think I do. The way you took down those two guys tonight ..."

"I didn't really have much time to think about it," he said defensively.

"That's exactly my point. You didn't have to think about it, just did it like it came naturally. For a moment I thought I was watching Jason Bourne at the movies, except he's prettier than you."

He shrugged his shoulders enabling a slight smirk to cross his lips.

"And the pleasure you seemed to get out of it," she added.

"Don't be silly, I didn't get any pleasure from it."

"Yes you did, I could see it in your face. If that other guy hadn't spoken you would have really hurt the man with the broken bottle."

"Well what was I supposed to do? Ask him if he wanted to dance?"

She paused for a few moments.

"How did you get the scar tissue on your shoulder?"

"Which shoulder?"

"The left one, I noticed it when I was dressing your arm."

"I don't remember. It must have happened a while back."

"Not that long ago. The injury is still fresh," she said.

Matt sensed her unease and chose to say nothing hoping the moment would pass, almost counting each passing second in his head.

"You're different now," she said.

"Different?"

Jenna reached sideways to place the mug on the table and turned to face him, wrapping one slim leg under the other to keep her balance. She looked into his eyes with an expression mixed between concern and confusion.

"There's another part to you now, a darker side."

He gazed back and felt his eyelids betray him by fluttering into brief motion.

"What happened when you were away, Matt? What horrible things were you involved in that's made you like this?"

Matt knew he couldn't say.

"Maybe this is the way I've always been and you hadn't noticed before," he said lightly.

"No, you were never like this. There's something changed up there," she said, pointing to his head. "It's almost like you are two different people."

He paused in an attempt to collect the array of conflicting thoughts swirling around in his mind. She had thought about him a lot more than he realised.

"So who are you really, Matt?"

A few more silent moments passed.

"I'm not sure I know anymore," he heard himself confess.

Jenna's gaze never left his face. Her brow furrowed, trying to make sense of the uncertain reply, trying to understand. Matt gazed back into her eyes while he considered what to say next.

She looked so pretty tonight. Her almond shaped eyes had a depth and volume about them that oozed warmth and affection. Without doubt they were the most attractive feature of her face.

"You used to be much kinder and gentler before," she whispered. "I used to like you then."

Now it was his turn to look confused.

"And now?" he asked.

She shook her head gently.

"I don't know. There's something dangerous about you now, and it's gives you a scary edge. I'm not as certain about you as I was before."

"Jenna ..."

She reached up and pressed a finger against his lips.

"I've said enough. It's time I went," she said.

Matt looked at his watch.

"Stay," he said quietly. "It's late now. I can fly you back in the morning."

Her eyes revealed she was at least prepared to consider the suggestion.

"I'll take the single bed in the spare room. You can use one of the shirts in the wardrobe for a night dress," he added.

She was trying to decide.

"You won't suddenly jump me unexpectedly, while I'm brushing my teeth perhaps, and then throw me over your shoulder and pin me to the floor?"

He smiled and gently shook his head.

"I'd like you to stay," he said. "Having someone else in the house tonight would be good."

She placed a small hand on his cheek, leant forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"For one night only," she said.

"Thanks," he whispered.

Jenna was halfway to the bathroom when she turned to look back at him.

"Will you tell me what happened one of these days, when you're ready?"

He nodded and she returned a smile before continuing her way.

"There's a spare toothbrush in the cabinet," he called after her and she acknowledged him with a wave of her hand.

Matt waited until Jenna had entered the bedroom before rising to his feet. As he walked past the partially open door he glanced inside. She was facing the window, about to push her slender left arm into the remaining empty sleeve of the shirt. He couldn't help but stand and watch as she drew the shirt over her bare back and then flicked her long hair away from the collar. Her arm movements told him she was fastening the plastic buttons into place.

Matt was sure he hadn't made a sound. Jenna sensed his presence at the doorway and turned to look back at him. He watched her fingers manipulate the last button, underneath the collar of the shirt, and fastened it into place. She gave him a faint smile.

"What time do you need to be back on the mainland?" he asked.

"Free day tomorrow, there's no rush," she replied.

For a fleeting moment he hesitated, and wondered. This pretty nubile young woman was his friend for Christ's sake. If he was uncertain before, there were no more doubts in his mind. It really had been far too long.

"Good night, Jenna," he said, reaching forward to tug at the handle and close the white wooden door.

Matt had only just started to gently massage the shampoo into his wet hair when he heard the doorbell ring.

"Fiddle my sticks," he moaned and reached to switch the shower off.

"It's okay, I'll get it," Jenna's voice called out.

He cursed again for being absent minded enough to forget to shut the bathroom door.

"Thanks," he yelled at the pair of bare skinny legs sticking out from under his shirt, scurrying past the door. Resuming his ritualistic morning shower he wondered who could be calling on him at this hour of the day. It was much too early for the postman and he wasn't expecting anyone. Heat threw itself against him once more as he immersed his body under the water from the power shower, and he began to rinse the oily cleanser from his hair. With any luck, Jenna would make breakfast.

Fresh coffee was as much as she'd prepared by the time he'd finished dressing. Filling the mug he glanced at Jenna seated at the light wooded table, lightly blowing over the surface of the hot drink. The short sleeved white linen shirt hung around her svelte frame like an oversized lifejacket.

"Will scrambled egg and some toast suit you?"

"Only if I make it," she teased.

"I have got better," he protested.

She gave him a sunny smile. The sort of happy, friendly smile she used to give him and it warmed him.

"Okay, I'll jump in the shower and freshen up while you're designing breakfast," she said cheerfully and darted quickly away.

"Jenna," he called, "who was that at the door earlier?"

"Someone delivered an envelope for you, a young woman with blonde hair. Said she didn't have time to wait so I took it off her and put it on the coffee table."

"Okay, thanks," he called back as he cracked the last of the eggs into the pan and set about assembling the ingredients into some sort of attractive shape.

"Funny thing though," said Jenna, suddenly reappearing at the door. "I thought I recognised her from somewhere. Don't know where exactly, but I've definitely seen her before."

"Huh, blondes," he said. "They're forever knocking on my door."

Jenna laughed out loud on her return to the bathroom. The probability wasn't too much of a stretch, surely?

Matt returned his attention to stirring the mixture without giving the matter any further thought. After lightly buttering the toast, he tipped the contents of the pan onto the plate and placed it on the table next to Jenna's coffee.

"It's ready," he shouted.

"Okay, nearly done," she replied.

He decided to wander into the lounge and search for the envelope. Look at this, had been scribbled hurriedly in pencil across the front. Prising open the flap he freed the newspaper cutting and read the headline.

Consumption Proposals Shelved, it read.

The article was dated some several days ago, after a recent environmental conference held in China had ended. He read further. The conference chair, an EU politician by the name of Catherine Vogel, had attempted to propose measures limiting the consumption of individual countries in order to try and conserve natural resources. As ever global leaders declined to discuss the issue, choosing instead to focus their attentions on the growth of the world economy. Once again, money had won the day from reason. There was only one person likely to have brought him this news. He hurried towards the door of the main bedroom, where Jenna was dressing inside.

"What made you think you knew the woman?"

She thought for a moment.

"Her eyes," said Jenna. "Blue and piercing they were. I don't know why, but they seemed familiar for some reason."

Instantly, Matt had the confirmation he sought. The caller had to be Rosa Cain. Like buses, two of the women in his past life had decided to turn up almost at the same time.

Shit, he thought. Rosa would have been greeted at the door by Jenna, draped in nothing other than one of his linen shirts first thing in the morning. The scene was a certain recipe for jumping to the wrong conclusion.

"I've got to go, Jenna," he shouted. "Use the spare key in the jar above the sink to lock up, and leave it with Donna at the jetty."

"Matt?" she called out.

The front door thumped shut as she entered the kitchen.

"Matt, where are you?"

Peering out of the lounge window she saw the red pick-up disappearing from the drive at speed.

"Where the hell has he gone now?"

Chapter Four

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Matt brought the pick-up to an unsteady halt and scrambled from the cab. His eyes searched the jetty for the presence of a petite figure. He could see no-one who bore any resemblance to the person he was looking for. Casting his gaze along the waterfront he noticed a familiar frame at the end of a queue, waiting to board one of his competitor's planes, and moved briskly forward.

"Matt," called out Donna from the office. "I need to talk to you."

"Not now," he snapped, striding away.

He could feel his heart begin to pound with expectation as he neared the patiently standing figure, looking in the opposite direction. She surely couldn't have flown half way round the world simply to give him a press cutting.

"Rosa?"

She turned in recognition of her name.

"Hi, Matt," she said with a wide smile, "I left a message for you."

Seeing her beautiful face reminded him of the evening in Toronto, when they had dined and danced under the stars by the great Lake Ontario. The event would forever stick in his memory.

"Yes, I've seen it."

They stood in silence for a few moments, each waiting for the other to speak. Neither attempted physical contact. The stand off was heralded by the clanging of a bell from one of the passing motorised harbour launches, as if warning them to keep their distance.

"My flight is about to leave," she said.

She looked stunning. Having returned her hair to its natural blonde colour, the long tresses elegantly surrounded her small round face and fell over her slender shoulders. Rosa had an exquisite, hour glass cut to her figure which shone through no matter what she wore. Today, a slim-fitting orange blouse met up with a pair of fawn coloured linen trousers that dropped to her brown open-toed sandals.

Matt felt oddly different to how he expected. Whatever he believed might have developed between them at one time now seemed far away. Her manner appeared distant and detached about his arrival. Perhaps time had played its fateful hand and come between them. If he could somehow keep her talking, who knows what might happen.

"Are you good?" she eventually asked.

"I'm good. And you?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

He wanted his mouth to utter one of his quick witted quips, so he could enjoy hearing her deep throaty laugh. His mind refused to co-operate.

"I see you've managed to smooth things over with Jenna," she said.

"I'm gradually winning her round."

He cursed inside at the thoughtless remark. It just sort of spilled out. Rosa returned a patient half-smile.

"I'm pleased you're getting your life back together. She's a nice girl."

The break in the conversation was filled with uncertainty and nerve shredding awkwardness. Rosa started to turn away.

"Things aren't always how they appear," he said.

"Sometimes what you see isn't real, but mostly it is," she answered with a slight smile.

"Maybe we could grab a coffee, catch up?" he offered.

She thought about the offer.

"No. There isn't much to talk about really."

He tried to force his mind out of neutral.

"There's the article you dropped off earlier," he said.

She hunched her shoulders.

"I was passing by, that's all. You're life seems full enough without having to discuss world events."

Matt chose to ignore her disinterested tone. He decided to have another stab at rekindling a rapport that had somehow been affected by the passage of distance and time. He wanted to prolong the conversation.

"Catherine's not having much joy trying to get the world to see sense," he said.

Rosa half smiled.

"It was always going to be a long shot. She never held too much expectation of success. She tried, and that's as much as you could ask. Catherine won't give up easily. A few months and she'll try again."

Any kind of intelligent insight, he considered, would break the stilted nature of their conversation. Meaningful thought continued to desert him, however. He felt clumsy, awkward, like a teenager on a first date.

"Anyway, you're up to date," she replied to his ongoing silence. "I'd better be on my way."

"You came all this way to deliver a newspaper clipping?" he managed to utter.

"Filling the day in and doing some Vancouver shopping to boot. Maybe I've got too much free time on my hands these days," she said lightly.

To a passing observer the situation was all too evident. There was only one party interested in maintaining a dialogue. Matt couldn't see it. All that existed in his mind were reflections of the past.

"How's Martha ... Gerhardt?" he asked, desperately trying to prevent her from leaving.

"They're both good. Martha keeps asking about you."

Something drew her steady gaze away from his face.

"I think someone wants your attention," she said, referring to an arriving shape.

"Matt, I really need to talk to you," said Donna anxiously.

"In a minute, Donna," he said irritably.

"But it's important!"

"I said I'd be with you in a minute."

He turned back to face Rosa only to find she was already at the door to the white flying machine, preparing to board. She smiled faintly then stepped inside. His subconscious resisted the temptation to shout out something stupid in a hideously pathetic attempt to salvage something that was beyond salvation. His mind was only just coming to terms with the news.

All he could do was stand, rooted to the spot, as if wearing a pair of cement shoes. Matt felt numbed by the experience. It dawned on him his original expectations had been unrealistic. Loneliness could do that to a person, he reasoned. Make you believe in something that wasn't real, out of reach. Rosa had drawn a line under the past. Perhaps he should do the same.

Moments later, she was gone.

"Matt!" said a frustrated Donna, "will you please talk to me now."

He gave a heavy sigh and turned to face her.

"Yes, Donna. What is it?"

Her skinny face was covered in anxiety. The confident, extrovert disposition she had steadily nurtured over the last few months had entirely disappeared from her expression.

"Not here," she said, tugging him away from earshot of their competitors. He had to wait until they had stepped well away before she spoke again.

"The bank called to say we were overdrawn," she said in exasperation. "So I printed off the latest statement."

Donna pushed a document into his hands, to show him the account balance, and pointed out a number of withdrawals The business was a handful of dollars above the five thousand overdraft limit. Matt had deliberately kept the figure low as he never intended using the facility. Yet the figures showed nearly a hundred thousand dollars had disappeared from the account in less than a week.

"How did this happen?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," said Donna. "Look at these four huge transactions, one day after the other. Only you can authorise payments of this size."

He stared incredulously at the evidence.

"Have you developed a gambling problem?"

"No."

Matt was stunned, knowing he'd made no arrangements of the like. He looked at the timings of the transactions and his mind went into overdrive.

"Get my flight logs for each of these days and I'll go to the bank. Ring Andy and ask him to take the ten o'clock booking. Tell him I'm sorry to call on his day off but he's needed."

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Don't mention this to anyone."

She looked at him with a worried frown.

"It's okay, there's nothing to be concerned about; a banking error by the looks of it."

Reassured, Donna returned to the office to retrieve the files he'd requested. As he began to order his thoughts, Matt heard a nearby voice speak to him.

"Have you got a minute?"

Matt turned and saw it was the young man who called himself William.

"Not really," he replied.

The man looked disappointed.

"Perhaps I could call round a little later in the day then."

Matt checked the time on his watch.

"Be quick," he said.

"The phrase you used yesterday, it would be us against the rest of the island. Did you mean it?"

"It's the way it works here, why?"

"Sounds like my kind of place. I wondered if you'd mind having a chat later about what it's like to live here, if you have the time."

The approach surprised him.

"Where are your friends?" he asked.

"Approaching the Inside Passage by now, I suspect. I left them with a reasonable kitty, enough to get through the rest of the week."

"There are more exciting places than Victoria, particularly if you have money."

The man grinned.

"I don't have much, certainly not enough to keep me in idle luxury for the rest of my life. Besides, I want to belong to a place, not just live in it."

He seemed serious enough. Donna returned with the flight logs.

"I'll be as quick as I can," he told her and then switched back to William. "Chances are I'll be gone at least a couple of hours, maybe longer" Matt said to him.

"Great, I'll hang around for a while."

As Matt strode up the ramp he wasn't sure what to make of this waif at his door. Not that it was of any importance, he had more pressing issues to think about. Instead of focussing his thoughts on the forthcoming debate with the bank, however, all that occupied his mind was Rosa.

They'd been arguing for thirty minutes now, the temperature of the heated exchange inside the wood-panelled office rising with each passing word. Matt's mood wasn't helped by the luxurious décor of the bank manager's office. How is it, his mind wondered, these obnoxious people could afford such an expensive environment. It wasn't as if they actually worked for their money like everyone else, merely took slices out of everyone else's earnings. Banking tax, ugh!

Despite the flight logs showing Matt had been in the air when the transactions were made, the squat bank official with the reddish cheeks resisted the urge to accept the explanation.

The ring of Matt's mobile brought the angry confrontation to a temporary halt. The name Donna appeared on the screen. She knew better than to ring him right now. He jabbed the off button and turned his livid glare back on to the man seated opposite.

"There was a summer storm on the Tuesday," he said to the smug bastard, "How do you suppose I was able to make this transaction while flying through driving rain surrounded by lightening?"

The man's left eyebrow rose in realisation Matt could be telling the truth.

"Okay, we'll look into it, Mr Durham," he said resignedly. "In the meantime I can provide a five grand extension to the existing overdraft, at a rate of ..."

"Forget it," interrupted Matt. "Transfer fifty k from my personal account into the business. We'll sort out the loss in interest once you people have got to the bottom of this mess."

The man's next argumentative phrase was interrupted by a knock at the door, sharply followed by the appearance of his secretary.

"Mr Durham, there's an urgent call for you."

Matt looked across at the man and he indicated with a nod for the call to be put through to the desk phone.

"Yes, what the hell is it?" demanded Matt.

"You have to come back," said Donna's distraught voice. "Andy's gone down."

"Gone down, where?"

"You're needed," replied her trembling voice and the line went dead.

"Transfer the money now," he demanded of the smug bank official. "I have to go."

Matt didn't wait for an answer, just flew from his seat out of the room.

Donna was in tears when he arrived.

"What's happening?" he asked.

She shook her head uncontrollably.

"Donna, what's happening?"

"I don't know. We've lost contact."

"Where was he last?"

"Andy reported the problem after passing over Nanaimo. All he had time to say was he was going to have to ditch," she sobbed.

"Have you called the coastguard?"

She said nothing.

"Donna, have you called the coastguard?"

All sense seemed to have deserted her thinking as she sat rigid in the chair. Then she nodded in agreement.

Matt grabbed at the keys to his plane, knelt down and placed his hands gently onto her shoulders.

"Donna, I need you to be focussed. I can't do this without you in the right frame of mind. Lives could be at stake. Do you understand?"

She looked into his eyes and her tears ended as abruptly as they had started. Sniffling sharply, Donna stood from the seat and breathed in deeply.

"I'm sorry, Matt. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Somebody has to co-ordinate everything from here. Are you up to it?"

She nodded and he smiled.

"That's my girl."

Matt strode from the cabin into the sun and hurried towards the waiting yellow machine. He heard a man call out.

"I couldn't help but overhear," said William. "I used to do search and rescue in the navy."

There wasn't time to weigh up the pros and cons.

"Get in," he replied.

"Matt," shouted Donna. "A woman passenger gave me this before getting on board. She said it belonged to you."

Donna opened her hand to reveal a house key.

Shit! Jenna was on the plane.

Chapter Five

Rescue

This was an emergency, so there was no time for the niceties of flying by the book. Matt pushed hard at the controls and the yellow machine dipped sharply towards the ocean. Ahead lay the scene of the incident.

The coastguard vessel moored some distance away because of the shallow waters, and a couple of passing sea vessels had also stopped to offer assistance. Matt saw a competitor's plane sitting on the surface, ready to lend a helping hand. When an accident happened everyone pitched in; one of the unwritten laws of the island, people always came first.

"Donna, what's the latest?" he said as the yellow machine bumped against the gently rippling water.

"Details are sketchy," said her voice through the headset. "Andy's okay, but the plane is submerged. Left wing struts gave way under the impact of the landing and she keeled over before sinking."

Matt could hardly believe his ears. Floatplanes don't sink; that's why they have floats.

"Passengers?" he asked.

"Everyone's accounted for. All got out though there is one casualty, head trauma caused by the impact. No details on the extent of the injury," she said.

He should have been grateful for this small mercy. For some reason he felt apprehensive.

"Thanks. I'll get back to you."

"At least they're all safe," said his passenger.

"That's nothing to celebrate, William."

"Will," he replied. "I prefer Will."

Matt looked right to acknowledge the female pilot of his competitor's plane as they neared the scene. Nervous activity was being played out in the rescue dinghy. Matt spotted Andy among the three figures tending to the injured passenger. A sense of foreboding started to gnaw away at his increasingly ragged nerves. Instinct was insisting all was not right. They inched forward towards the gently motioning yellow dinghy and he felt his heart rate gather pace. There was no real logic to the mounting apprehension, only a growing certainty something was wrong.

Edging closer, he could see the back of the patient's head, cradled against the rim of the inflatable raft, and his grip on the controls tightened. Then he spotted the tight fitting white dress patterned with thin purple streaks.

"God!" he heard himself say.

"What's wrong?" asked Will.

Matt couldn't reply. He eased them closer and leapt from his seat to clamber down onto one of the floats.

"How is she?" he yelled out to Andy.

"Don't know, but it doesn't look great," was the bellowed reply. "Where is the freaking medical unit?"

The sharp splash into the water took everyone by surprise. Matt twisted round to see what had happened and caught his forehead against one of the wing struts. Resisting the desire to curse out an obscenity he recognised Will, swimming at pace towards the dinghy.

"I'm a trained medic," he yelled to the team inside.

Hands reached over the side and frantically grabbed at his wet clothes. Like a pack of sharks in an eating frenzy they reached for him from all angles, unceremoniously dragging his drenched body from the water to allow him to examine the prone figure.

"How is she?" called out Matt, the anxiety in his voice now more obvious.

The lack of an immediate answer only served to magnify his concern. Time slipped agonisingly by as he watched on in seeming helplessness, knowing he would now have to stay where he was.

"She needs a hospital," Will said, and Matt's reaction was instant.

"We'll take her," he yelled and clambered back into his seat to nudge the plane a little closer.

Arms paddled furiously to bring the plastic boat alongside. Will leapt onto the float, jumped up to the open door and turned to accept the human parcel from the dinghy.

"No," said Matt. "You're wet. There's a pair of overalls at the back. Get changed first."

The young man disappeared into the fuselage and Matt took over his position. Hurriedly, the helpers worked themselves into some sort of human chain and gradually managed to gently lift the injured passenger into his arms.

"Thank you. We'll take it from here," he said.

At first, Matt hoped it was another woman wearing a similar dress. As soon as she was in his arms he knew, without even having to look at her face. He'd had tactile contact with this body on so many occasions and her scent was all too familiar. His worst fears were confirmed.

It was Jenna.

The muscles of the small frame felt stiff and heavy as he studied the hardening stream of blood running from the top of her scalp. The wound looked deep, which he thought unusual. He couldn't recall any internal fitting on the plane being sharp enough to cause this sort of injury. Her eyes flickered open to reveal a blank and empty stare, as if her mind were lost to a dark and frightening place.

"Hold on, Jenna."

The blank stare remained in place. Her unblinking, almond shaped eyes were empty, drained of meaningful life. If Jenna had recognised him, she offered no acknowledgement to his presence.

"I'm ready" said Will, reappearing with the green overalls in place.

"There's something not quite right. Her body feels hard and strange."

"She's suffering from Post Trauma Shock by the look of it," replied Will. "I'll do what I can."

There wasn't time to discuss the matter in any detail. Matt eased Jenna into his companion's arms and darted towards the cockpit.

What have I done? Matt thought as the engine kicked into life. Why didn't I just stay and wait for her?

Matt's oft and furtive glances into the fuselage, as he pleaded with the yellow flying machine to go faster, betrayed his anxiety. Jenna's injured body lay astride Will's lap. Matt watched as the young man cleansed the drying blood from around the open wound to her scalp, talking in encouraging tones to the still figure. It was an impressive performance. The man's presence had proved to be a real godsend, and one for which Matt was grateful. He glanced again and noticed the young man's gentle smile had stopped. Will leant forward and whispered something into the patient's ear. Immediately, her body responded to his words by trembling and shaking uncontrollably.

"What the hell's going on back there?"

The absence of any answer caused Matt to panic. All he could think to do was to land on the surface of the still sea and retreat into the back to help Jenna. The plane dipped steeply down from the sky in response to his urgent manipulation of the controls.

"No," shouted Will. "Keep her steady."

It was more of a command than a request. Matt made the instant decision of putting his trust in the stranger, levelling their flight path as ordered. He glanced worriedly to see Will tighten his firm hold on Jenna, forcing her arms to cross over her chest so he could pin them down. The shaking increased in intensity as Jenna fought the vice like grip, her efforts to break free countered by an additional surge of pressure from Will's strong and powerful arms. Transfixed, Matt could do nothing other than watch in horrified silence as the fierce struggle reached its peak. Not being able to help ate away inside him, further torturing his already guilty conscience. He told himself he should be the one at Jenna's side, helping her through this crisis, not this other man.

Then her resistance stopped. The young man pressed her against him, whispering into her ear while stroking at her hair. Matt couldn't hear what he said but her body resembled that of a discarded rag doll, limp and lifeless.

"What's going on?" he yelled.

"Just get us to shore as quick as you can," was the urgent response.

Matt was impotent, unable to make any kind of meaningful contribution to Jenna's safety. Those last images in his mind filled him with worry.

What the hell happened back there?

Beginning the descent, Matt's mind found it impossible to dismiss the guilt that had taken a firm grip on his emotions. Were Jenna not to make a full recovery, he would never be able to forgive himself. This incident was his responsibility, and his alone. He should never have driven off and left Jenna to make her own way back to Vancouver. It was a selfish act for him to drive off the way he had to try and catch up with Rosa, without any consideration for Jenna.

Worse still, he had no idea what had gone wrong with the machinery. Proper maintenance of the hardware was like a religion to Matt. Not only did his livelihood depend on it, he took the health and safety of all his passengers to heart. They paid Matt for a service, trusted him and his pilots with their lives and welfare every time they boarded one of the company planes. The minimum they should expect in return was their individual safety. Matt tried to console himself they were headed back into Victoria. Access to hospital here would be much easier for him to manage. He had to be close to Jenna, to be near if she needed him.

"How is she doing?" he yelled into the fuselage.

"I really don't know," replied Will.

"Don't you dare take her away," Matt whispered, glancing up towards the sky.

"Help somebody. Please. It's an emergency!" yelled the man at the on-duty staff loitering behind the hospital reception counter.

Heads turned to locate the crazed voice bursting like a raging hurricane into their clean, safe environment. Their eyes fixed on the slumped mass cradled in his arms. They could see the petite figure's life source dripping from the open gash on to the ground, colouring the disinfected floor around his feet with dark red droplets.

"Oh my God," cried a voice from his side.

Several figures crowded forward from all corners of the area to surround him.

"What happened?" said one voice.

"Has she fallen?" asked another.

"No, she hit her head during an emergency landing. Please help her," he pleaded urgently.

There was no time for further questions or interrogation, only action. A trolley pushed its way through the huddled throng to his side and he carefully laid Jenna's stricken body onto the wheeled carrier. The medical mass jostled feverishly for position, forcing Matt away, and a strong hand gripped his wrist and tugged urgently at his arm.

"Come away" said the firm voice. "Leave it to us."

At first he resisted, violently shaking the hand away from his arm. The hand grasped him again. Only this time it was even firmer, strengthening its grip around his wrist.

"You're in the way. If you want us to help then you must step away and let us do our job."

He intended to bark fiercely at the insistent voice, to scare its owner away from his presence. His scowl was set, his eyes armed ready to pierce the thoughtful gaze cast upon him. He turned his head to deliver the sharp and vicious response the thoughtful intruder did not deserve.

Perhaps sanity returned to his damaged senses, perhaps the mist of rage lifted from his panicked mind, or perhaps the voice of reason had finally managed to penetrate his confused emotions. Whatever the case, he held his response and stared blankly at the concerned expression of the round, middle-aged face.

He followed the uniformed angel, and she guided him to a set of empty seats opposite the reception counter. Matt turned to see the medical scrum rushing the trolley away from view. His desire to pursue the urgent mass was short lived once the nurse's hand slipped into his and tugged gently for his co-operation.

"There is nothing more you can do. It's down to us now," she soothed, easing him into the middle of the three vacant chairs.

Falling into the seat he allowed his head to drop backwards and he stared at the impossibly clean ceiling, eyes squinting furiously. The fingers of both hands brushed through his head of fine, light-brown hair in an attempt to distract the facial muscles from breaking free from his mental control. Inside, Matt wanted to scream in rage at the heavens above, as though this were somehow their fault the day's events had unfolded as they had.

"She has to recover," he heard himself mutter to no-one in particular, straightening his gaze to focus in the direction the medical team had just left.

"I'm Esther," said the nurse patiently.

Matt's head half turned to look into the slightly cherubic face belonging to the voice. Her narrow brown eyes filled with sympathy.

"How long?" he asked, "before we know anything."

"Quite some time I would have thought. Better to ready yourself for a longish wait."

He exhaled deeply.

"Okay," he replied with a sigh.

"I'll be back later. We'll let you know as soon as there is any news."

He nodded in mute acceptance of the situation, turning his view back to the now empty corridor. The nurse rose slowly to her feet and prepared to leave.

"She doesn't have any family living in the area," he said. "So if you need any special consents or anything you'll have to talk to me."

The colour in his eyes darkened with menace as he spoke, intent on impressing upon her there was to be no question of negotiation. Esther offered a trained smile, the one all nurses seem to possess, and left without speaking. As her solid frame paced towards the treatment rooms Matt's mind began to fill with pessimism, recalling the disheartening pallor of Jenna's complexion as he placed her onto the trolley. He'd seen that colour in other faces before, the look of impending death.

"She has a chance," said the man's voice, now sitting to his left.

Matt vigorously rubbed his forehead unable to agree with the statement.

"What did you say to her in the plane before, that made her shake so violently?" he scowled.

Will hesitated.

"I was trying to get some of the trauma out of her system. A little something I picked up in Afghanistan."

"You get around."

"That's the whole point of enlisting, to see the world."

"I thought you said you were in the Navy?" questioned Matt.

"I started there."

Matt wasn't sure what to think.

"Tell me about trauma," he asked.

"It can sound pretty complicated."

"Try me," Matt insisted.

A couple of moments passed, whilst Will gathered his thoughts.

"You'll be familiar with the phrase about people getting caught like a rabbit in the headlights."

"Yeah, I've heard of it."

"When an animal is faced with life-threatening danger, like a fast approaching car it can't avoid for example, its natural biological response is to trigger a surge of energy to help it cope with the fear. This surge is so sudden and powerful it usually results in the animal freezing or becoming immobile. Once the danger has passed the animal's biological system quickly returns to normal. It does this by surrendering to an involuntary mechanism that allows the nervous system to discharge this excess survival energy, usually by maniacally running around like a headless chicken. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes."

"The initial human response to unexpected danger is much the same, a sudden and powerful surge of energy, paralysing the body. But as our brains have the capacity to rationalise events, the mind tends to automatically suppress the instinct to release pent up energy thereby blocking its escape from the body. The muscles remain rigid with fear. Until it is released a human's nervous system never fully recovers, as the natural biological cycle has been interrupted."

"So you were unblocking her system?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. If the energy stays trapped inside, it disturbs the body's natural equilibrium. That's what causes post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. It can result in all sorts of psychological problems. Sometimes it manifests as anxiety or insomnia, maybe mood swings or other phobias."

"And this works?"

"Sometimes it does."

"Sometimes, what kind of answer is that?"

"Not everybody is the same, post traumatic shock impacts on people in different ways."

"What happens when it doesn't work?"

Will hunched his shoulders to suggest he didn't know.

"The mental recovery time is longer," he said.

"You gambled?"

"A little bit, I suppose."

"You reckless bloody fool, you could have made things worse!" hissed Matt angrily.

"She was in shock, and it was affecting her body's natural defences to cope with the wound. I had to do something. It was a calculated risk."

"Calculated, you could have done her untold harm!"

Matt jumped from his seat, feeling as though he wanted to punch a hole through the nearest wall. Will saw the anger and waited for a few seconds.

"The fact she began to shake violently is a good sign. It suggests her body had started the process of releasing trapped energy," he said.

Matt spun round and stared blackly at the seated man.

"You had better be right, for your own sake as much as Jenna's."

Will's eyes widened. The sudden knowledge Matt knew this woman caused him to think back to something Donna had said.

"Was she the passenger who left the key?"

The question went unanswered.

"Was ... is she your girlfriend?"

He noticed the muscles in Matt's faces tense.

"You ask too many questions," Matt spat back.

Will straightened his posture in the chair, uncertain as to what to say next.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. Guess I'm trying too hard to create the right sort of impression and find my way around this place, that's all."

"Find a different way," Matt hissed.

The angry silence between the two men lasted for some time. Never one to sit or stand with an unoccupied mind Matt made over to the coffee dispenser, returning with two hot drinks.

"She's my friend," he said to Will, offering up a plastic cup as he sat down.

"I didn't know," said Will.

"There's no way you could have known."

"I was only trying to help her," Will said defensively.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, peering down the corridor. "Look, thanks for all your help but there's no need to stay."

"I'd rather hang around, if it's okay with you. Find out how she gets on. It's not like I'm pushed for time. Besides, don't you have a business to run or something?"

"The business can wait."

"That's hardly very corporate of you," grinned Will.

His words caused Matt to force some kind of a smile, though it probably resembled more of a grimace given his current anxious mood.

"People come first," said Matt.

His companion sank back into his seat.

"This stuff is better with sugar, isn't it?" he said, sipping at the brown liquid.

The quip made Matt laugh out loud. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge, basing his assessment as he had entirely on the previous night's encounter. The man had a range of skills few others possessed, and an apparent even temperament to match. People with those sorts of qualities were hard to find, were like gold dust. And he asked about settling on the island. Matt considered it would be foolish to reject such expertise out of hand.

"What makes you think Victoria is the right place for you?" he asked.

"I don't know really. It's hard to explain. The place just sort of feels right, like it's where I should be."

"You'll need to have more of an explanation than that for the authorities to let you stay here. They don't accept any old waif and stray."

"I don't know; they took you in and there isn't much of an age difference between us. How hard could it be?"

Matt felt as though he should laugh. The worry over Jenna prevented it.

"I'm not sure using me as an example would give you an advantage. You'll need to do better than that."

Will thought for a moment.

"I had a bit of luck a while back, on the lottery. Not a huge amount but enough to buy me out of the service. I'd grown tired of living on the edge and watching mates lose limbs, or worse. When I did get out it didn't take long to realise life back in the UK wasn't all it was cracked up to be. The place is claustrophobic, overrun by the greedy and the self absorbed. There's no camaraderie to the place, only a raging desire to consume anything and everything in sight. I want to live in a different world. One where there's room to breathe and no pressure to consume for the sake of it."

Matt was warming to his new companion, amused by his inability to conceal apparent frustration with the frailties of modern humanity in general.

"I didn't mean to get all preachy," said Will.

"Don't worry about it. There's no harm in letting off a bit of steam every now and again."

The conversation paused, enabling Matt to reflect on the day. After a short while, the silence seemed to unsettle Will.

"You're in deep thought, what's on your mind?" he asked.

"The unexpected," was the reply. "It's been a very eventful few hours."

It certainly had. First it was the unexplained disappearance of money from the business account; then the inexplicable crash of one of his aircraft and the injury to Jenna. Days don't get much stranger than this. Matt could be forgiven for thinking he was coming under attack from every possible angle. He didn't believe in random anymore. Everything happened for a reason, caused by either the actions or reactions of people to circumstance.

What were the odds for all this activity to be unconnected?

Chapter Six

Night Callers

Matt had lost count of the number of coffees he'd drank over the last few hours, as he impatiently paced the waiting area. Will had stayed with him, insisting he wouldn't be able to settle until he knew Jenna was going to be okay.

A sideways glance revealed two approaching white clothed figures, steadily narrowing their distance to him. The smaller of the two was pointing towards him and he recognised the nurse called Esther. The taller, authoritative looking woman he hadn't seen before. The ebony skin made her face and hands stand out against the white background, her black hair pinned tautly to the scalp. Matt held his breath as the stern-faced women neared and he began to fear the worst. They were almost upon him when the tall woman stretched out a long thin hand, bedecked with even longer and thinner fingers.

"My name is Sabrina Campbell," she introduced, "from the Acquired Brain Injury Clinic."

"Brain injury?"

Her facial muscles relaxed into a warm smile.

"Don't worry. Miss Douglas is going to be fine. We've had to do a bit of work but she should make a full recovery."

She did explain the nature of the injury and the measures taken to repair the wound; most of her words went straight over Matt's head. All he could think about was Jenna and that he needed to see her.

"She is a remarkable young woman," said Campbell. "The absence of any obvious post trauma symptoms made our work much easier. She must have a very strong mind."

Matt glanced sideways to Will, who had remained seated. He was listening intently to what the tall woman was saying, blinking at Matt in acknowledgement without adding anything to the conversation.

"Can we see her?" Matt asked.

"For a short time only, she needs to rest. Esther will take you to the room but you must not stay for long. She needs plenty of rest."

"Thank you," he said nudging Esther into motion.

They had gone a few paces when some sort of sixth sense made Matt look behind. He noticed his companion remained in his seat.

"Will, come on," he said, "I want you to meet Jenna."

They crept quietly into the white room. Jenna's eyes flickered half open and glanced towards the open door. Matt hurried over to the bed and gently grasped her hand.

"Hi," he said.

The first thing to catch his attention was the bald patch around the wound. Several stitches were obvious to the naked eye, too many to count, deepening the feelings of guilt he was unable to shake off. She opened her mouth to speak when he pressed his finger softly against her lip.

"No, don't talk, rest. There'll be plenty of opportunity for you to scold me once we get you out of here."

His smile was weak.

"I'm so sorry, Jenna," he said quietly.

Matt had rehearsed a deep and meaningful apology. These were the only words he could muster. Her attempted smile of reassurance lacked any real energy.

"I shouldn't have driven off. It was unforgivable. You only stayed last night because I asked, so the least I could have done in return was fly you home to Vancouver personally."

The words did little to assuage his guilt.

"I don't understand what caused your injury. I will get to the bottom of it though, I promise. And I'll make sure it never happens to anyone else."

Opening her lips to try and speak again, she stopped on noticing the figure standing behind him. Matt turned to see what she was looking at.

"Jenna, I'd like you to meet the man who may well be responsible for saving your life today," said Matt. "This is Will, Will ..."

"Salmon," said the man, "Will Salmon."

"I remember your face," she managed to utter.

Her eyes blinked back towards Matt.

"Don't say anymore," interrupted Matt. "You have to rest. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Jenna's gaze became anxious. He leant forward to stroke her brow when the door opened and Esther appeared through the opening.

"Mr Durham, there are some people here who want to talk to you."

"People, what people? Tell them they'll have to wait."

She approached him quickly and leaned over to whisper into his ear.

"Police," she said.

Although surprised he shook his head vigorously.

"I don't care who they are, they can wait."

"They say it's urgent," said Esther, calmly.

One curse followed another in his mind. Their presence couldn't be ignored. Irritation would have been a poor choice of word to describe how he felt about leaving the room. He was much, much angrier than that. He forced a reassuring smile at the patient.

"I won't be long."

Jenna's hand touched onto his forearm. The anxiety in her expression had deepened. He responded by leaning across to peck her cheek with his lips, in the hope this would provide some comfort. Again he felt her hand against his skin only this time her fingers dug into the flesh, as if she were trying to give him a message. He lowered his ear to her mouth.

"Not the plane, a woman... hit me. She had dark hair and a star tattoo on her forearm."

Matt was stung into a temporary, stunned silence. At first he thought he had misheard the statement. Seconds drifted by as his mind sought to accept the unbelievable news. It seemed inconceivable to him that anyone in the world would want to harm Jenna. There wasn't a purer soul on the planet. Now, his feelings of guilt had been replaced by both shock and horror.

He gazed back at the worried frown resting on the pillow.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and she blinked her eyes in confirmation.

He had to think quickly. Jenna clearly needed some kind of protection, only there was the problem of law enforcement at his door. One deep exhalation of breath and he had decided.

"I have to see some important people outside for a few minutes," he told her. "Will is going to watch over you while I'm gone. You can trust him. Okay?"

The pretty smile signalled her acceptance. Matt looked towards Will.

"Stay with her, please."

The new man appeared happy to comply, intrigued by the exchange between the two.

"What do you want?" asked Matt in the sharp tone he always reserved for officialdom.

"I'm Detective Early, this is Detective Danbridge," said the man holding up his identification badge.

Matt scrutinised the name. Daniel Early, it read.

"And yours?" Matt said to the woman.

She pushed out a small hand to reveal her ID card; Marcia Danbridge, RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police).

"Is there somewhere private we can talk?" the policeman asked Esther.

She pointed to a room directly opposite and they ushered Matt into the designated space. The poorly lit room was small and bereft of meaningful furniture bar a small circular plastic table, forcing them to stand. After placing the laptop onto the table they stood and looked him over, giving Matt the chance to reciprocate.

Neither looked rugged or world worn, and younger than he expected. Then again more and more people appeared younger to Matt these days. Likely they were overly qualified ex-graduates who couldn't get a proper job in the prevailing economic climate, judging by their fresh complexions and energetic looking eyes. Matt concluded they were both paid up members of the healthy body, health mind brigade.

The man was clean shaven with short cropped blonde hair and light blue eyes. His movements were sure and purposeful, authoritative but veiled behind a welcoming smile. She was shorter, closer to Matt's height. The brown hair tied behind her small head suggested a disposition more overtly aggressive and forceful. This impression was reinforced by the direct, penetrating gaze from her large dark brown eyes. Mutt and Jeff was his immediate assessment.

"Can't this wait?" he complained. "I need to make sure the injured passenger across the hall is properly treated."

"No," insisted the male detective. "We're investigating an incident we believe to be a case of attempted murder."

Matt hid his surprise behind a blank stare. There was no way these people could have already discovered the assault on Jenna. What shade of darkness was at play here, he wondered. He decided to play dumb, until he could get a better fix on what was going on.

"This was an accident, nothing more. You can't honestly think I'm in the market for killing off my own passengers?"

"We're not talking about your passengers, Mr Durham," said the female officer. "We believe someone is trying to kill you."

Matt returned the woman's steady gaze without giving anything away. He glanced across to the male detective and was met by the same impassionate stare.

"That's crazy. No-one has any reason to want to harm me. I don't have any beneficiaries nor am I indebted to anyone, not even the bank, so no-one could possibly gain from my demise. Besides, I wasn't even on the plane."

"But it is your plane?" quizzed Danbridge.

"It's one of them."

Neither responded, though Matt was sure he caught sight of a few furtive glances being exchanged between the two law officials.

"Friends?" asked Danbridge.

"Don't have any close friends," he said with a shrug.

"Have you upset anyone in particular recently?" asked Early.

"No more than usual."

"Had any problems with business acquaintances?" asked the female officer.

"That's as much as they are, acquaintances. I prefer to keep my distance."

The constant, emotionless staring never faltered. Added to the tactic of firing questions in turns, the whole exercise was beginning to annoy him. No doubt, this was a well-practised routine.

"Look, what makes you even think someone has tried to kill me?"

Danbridge flipped open the laptop. Almost immediately, pictures began to frame up on the screen.

"This is your plane?" she asked curtly.

Matt could see the registration painted on the side of the yellow machine.

"Yes, it's under a few feet of ocean at the moment."

"No, it's been recovered. The following are photographs of both the left wing strut and supporting float, taken after it was pulled from the ocean," she added.

Her hands manipulated the cursor to reveal a steady stream of close up stills. There were nine in total, showcasing the relevant sections.

"You're moving too quickly," he told her.

Danbridge repeated the exercise, waiting for a few seconds before moving through each of the images. The damage was all too worryingly evident, jagged metal edges occupying spaces where seams and fittings were supposed to have been in place.

"Inconclusive, could have been caused by the impact," said Matt.

"And the faulty wiring to the engine?" she quizzed.

"What makes you think that?"

"Your mechanic," said Early. "He's thinks this is sabotage."

"Trying to cover us before the safety investigation begins."

Another furtive glance passed between them.

"You're not taking this very seriously, Mr Durham, given the evidence," Danbridge snapped.

"Look," he retorted sharply. "As impressed as I am by the speed with which the public sector moves on this island, it would be better to wait for the findings of the official safety investigation before jumping to any conclusions."

Her eyes lit with an inflamed rage at the dismissive quip. The phrase looks could kill sprang to mind if there ever was any truth to the saying then Matt would be already toast.

"Jumping to conclusions? Someone has tried to kill you man," she yelled.

Detective Early attempted to placate his angered partner by raising an arm. Matt could see she was struggling to contain her mounting fury by the way she bit her lip. It amused him.

"Do you have security cameras on site, Mr Durham?" the male detective asked.

Matt shrugged.

"This is Victoria," he replied casually.

The two officers looked at each other, and then Danbridge contemptuously snapped the laptop shut. Matt concluded he'd pushed his luck far enough, the last thing he needed was to have the local bobby brigade sniffing around.

"I'm sorry," he said. "My sole priority at the moment is for the health and welfare of the injured passenger. I'm sure your motives are well intended but no-one accrues any advantage in harming me in any way. If you don't mind I'd rather get back across the hall to make sure the patient has everything she needs."

The two officers paused. Matt saw the fire in Danbridge's eyes had dimmed and was hopeful he'd done enough to douse her interest.

"Perhaps we could talk to you later, at a better time," said the man called Early

Matt nodded appreciatively and half smiled at the two officials.

"Thank you for your concern," he replied. "I guess I'm still a little shaken."

The detectives left promptly. Rather than dash straight into Jenna's room, Matt took a few moments to rationalise what had happened. The damage looked like sabotage; and if the engine wiring had been tampered with then this was a real worry. Why would anyone want to hurt him? Other than the brief fracas with the unruly youths in The Keg the previous night Matt had no other enemies, at least none he knew of.

And why would anyone want to assault Jenna? There was something in play here, something not obvious to the naked eye. Knowing he couldn't use his mobile inside the hospital Matt searched for the nearest exit and rang the office.

"Donna, I need you to bring a couple of things to the hospital for me," he said.

Matt had fixed his attention on the computer screen for almost four hours, flicking through the CCTV security footage for the previous night. The remaining embers of daylight, outside the hospital canteen window, were fading into darkness. His eyes felt strained and tired, but there was no other option other than to keep going to make absolutely sure. The tape was showing three in the morning, well beyond the cruise ship's departure point, so none of Will's friends had retaliated to the incident in The Keg and paid his premises an untimely visit.

He was starting to believe this had been a waste of time, and he had entirely overreacted to the insinuations of the local constabulary and their far-fetched and slightly unnerving story. This is Victoria, after all. Then he saw them. First one, then two, and then a third figure emerged from the shadows and moved cautiously towards the jetty. Matt sat transfixed as the trio used a series of hand signals to communicate. They deftly stole across the open space towards the plane. All were dressed in dark overalls and balaclavas.

The smallest of the three stood on watch whilst the other two set about their dark business. A small torch light flickered on and one of the figures placed a gloved hand to a waist belt, retrieving some sort of hand tool to open the engine flap and start work. Matt glanced to the side of the screen and could see the other head by one of the floats. The shape examined the fittings and then began the sabotage.

The fact none of the company employees, including Matt himself, had noticed anything untoward the next morning was a testament to these people's skills. They were professionals.

There could be no doubt. Matt was under attack. First, they had siphoned money from his business account. Then they set about causing a plane accident. Someone was out to get him. Two questions occupied his mind. Who were these people and why were they doing this?

"What are you up to?" said the voice to his left. "You've been gone for hours and Jenna's more than a little peeved you've deserted her."

Matt closed the lid of the laptop and glanced back at Will.

"Tell her I'm nearly done, accident reporting records and all that stuff. I'll only be a few more minutes."

Will nodded and headed back in the direction of Jenna's room. As soon as he was out of sight, Matt re-opened the laptop and resumed reviewing the tapes.

The dark-clad figures were in place for over half an hour, working silently away. It was the smallest figure, on guard, that bothered Matt most. Something about the movements of this individual didn't sit right, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Re-winding the tape he focussed once more on the slightly built figure. There, that was it!

A hand of the dark shape reached up to its collar bone and briefly massaged at the shoulder. It happened on a number of other occasions. He wondered if it was a wound though there was no sign of physical discomfort to the action, more part of a usual routine. For minutes on end he searched his mind for inspiration but could find no answer.

In frustration, he turned away from the machine and began to look around the room. His gaze settled upon two female nurses sitting a few feet away, talking animatedly over a coffee and what looked like a salad bowl. Jenna should be doing this, chatting to a nursing friend during a meal break instead of recuperating from injury in a hospital room.

The nurse facing him touched at her shoulder with a hand before moving it in some sort of half-circular motion, as if she were putting something back into place. And he realised. The third intruder, the one on guard, was a woman. She had been adjusting her bra. There were coincidences, and then there was the blindingly obvious. The sentry at the jetty last night had to be the same woman who had attacked Jenna on the plane. Matt's attention darted back to the screen.

Who exactly are you, bitch?

Chapter Seven

Chase

Opening the door to Jenna's room Matt glanced at the woman with the long dark hair passing by, clutching a clip board to her chest. It was an unconscious thing, lowering his line of sight to glimpse her bare forearm. The star tattoo didn't register in his mind at first. It was as she neared the end of the corridor something clicked.

"Take this," he said, hurling the laptop at Will's stunned expression. "There's someone I have to talk to."

As he darted from the door he heard Jenna's feint voice calling from behind.

"Matt," she uttered in frustration. "Where are you going now?"

There wasn't time to answer. His target sensed something was wrong and turned her head to see him fast approaching. Realising she'd been identified, the woman turned and ran.

Matt reached the end of the corridor and searched for his quarry with hate-filled eyes. The place was awash with a maze of people. One by one he cast his gaze over each and every person in view.

He spotted her, several yards ahead. She had ditched the clip board and was carrying a holdall. Glancing nervously from side to side, she had lessened her pace to a quick stroll so as not to appear conspicuous. There could be only reason for this woman to be patrolling these corridors. She had come to finish what she had started.

With the stealth of a big jungle cat he narrowed the gap to his unsuspecting prey, adroitly and silently evading the human obstacles in his path.

A small plastic toy slipped from the child's tiny hand in front of him, and fell directly into Matt's urgent path. The little girl wrestled to free her hand from the adult's grasp and called out after the fallen object. It was too late to avoid the navy coloured button-like object and he inadvertently crushed it beneath his foot, causing the child to burst into floods of tears. The commotion was enough to make the target turn and she spotted him.

Now it was a foot race. He breezed past the distraught child and her angry mother. The target ran for the safety of a side exit. Rushing to catch up he pushed forcefully at the door and listened for sounds of movement on the stairwell. He peered over the railing to try and see his fleeing prey. That's when he felt the heavy blow to his shoulders and crumpled to the floor.

Momentarily stunned, Matt heard her re-enter the corridor as he shook the life back into his dazed mind. Her ambush had bought the woman precious additional seconds of freedom.

He charged back into the corridor, looking left and then right. The child continued to bawl at the flattened object in her little hand. Matt's re-appearance only made her cry harder.

His eyes searched past the grief stricken toddler but could see nothing. Turning sharply, he saw a female shape hurrying round the corner. Matt dashed towards the departing figure in the hope he'd guessed correctly.

Rounding the corner brought him into a large, open space. The area was still, save for a small number of medical staff congregating in the middle, exchanging medical terms that meant nothing to him. The woman was nowhere to be seen. He'd lost her. Damn! Where the hell had she gone?

His disappointment was short lived. A similar sized figure to his prey could be seen from the window, emerging out of a door and rushing towards the car park. Matt's mind went into auto mode. Closing his eyes for a fleeting moment, he forced his memory to recall the nearest exit. Spatial mapping was a skill he had learnt from Rosa Cain. He used it now at every new location, as if it were second nature. Within a flash he had determined the route and moved swiftly to intercept his quarry.

He saw the rushing woman jump into a car. Moments later, the tyres of a small, dark blue vehicle screeched aloud and the car vaulted out of its space. Matt quickened his pace to try and catch the fleeing machine, jumping across the bonnets of the stationary mass of automobiles in an attempt to prevent its escape.

A sudden burst of flashing lights heralded the arrival of the fast approaching ambulance. Neither of the drivers spotted the other. With a sickening thud, the medical carriage thumped into the side of the small car and sent it spinning away in the opposite direction.

Matt was closing on the heavily damaged car when he spotted people running towards the crash site.

"I'll see to this one," he yelled. "Check the ambulance."

Without thinking, they obeyed his shouted instruction and made their way towards the stricken ambulance, some distance away.

Matt cautiously approached and eyed the stationary vehicle. Petrol had begun to seep from the tank and was leaking onto the concrete ground underneath. The driver and rear passenger doors had been crumpled by the impact, making entry from this side impossible. Slipping onto the back seat through the opposite door, he examined the confined interior. The woman was slumped back in her seat, dazed by the impact. His eyes searched for injury. The shattered end of the tibia had pierced the skin and jutted out from her left leg, halfway down the shin. He reached forward and adjusted the driver's mirror to look into the woman's face. A line of blood trickled from the scalp where her head had made violent contact with the door frame. Her long nose looked broken.

Edging further inside his foot rubbed against the black holdall. Pressing his fingers to the material he felt the outline of several pieces of clothing and what felt like a hand gun.

The woman's eyes flickered into dull life and she began to moan at the pain infiltrating her consciousness. Seeing Matt's face looming into view, through the twisted driver's mirror, her face filled with terror.

"Help me," she groaned. "Please help me."

"The medics will be here soon," he said calmly. "They're going to find you dead at the wheel with a broken neck unless you give me the information I need," he added menacingly.

"I don't know anything."

"Not even your own name," he hissed.

"Which one do you want? I have half a dozen or more. None of them are real."

"Who do you work for?"

"I'm freelance."

She heard him unzip the holdall and rummage through the contents. Once finished, he reached round the seat and went through her jacket pockets. There was nothing to be found.

"Who is your contact?"

"We don't get names. Instructions come through the mail."

"You must have a contact number."

"No, it's too much of a risk. Once a job is complete we place a coded ad in the local press."

He didn't believe her.

"Why does someone want to hurt Jenna?" he demanded.

"She's not the target, you are."

His eyes inflamed in surprise.

"So why hurt Jenna?" he hissed.

"The contractor wanted you to suffer."

"How was that supposed to work, exactly?"

The woman's face contorted in agony as the pain of her injuries began to register through her nervous system.

"It was a four phase op. First we had to wreck the business. The next stage was to kill your girlfriend and then take away your personal wealth so you'd be left with nothing. Only then were you to be taken out."

Matt could scarcely believe his ears.

"That explains the disappearing funds. What made you think Jenna is my girlfriend?"

"We staked out the house. She came back with you last night."

He noticed her arm move slightly, pushing at something as if she were trying to conceal it from view. Matt leant forward and she stopped.

"Here," he said, "let me take a closer peek at that nasty looking injury."

His arm reached over the seat and pushed at the protruding bone. She screamed in agony, providing him with enough of a distraction to discreetly free the object from underneath her thigh.

"Sorry," he said. "I won't do it again."

She started to sob. He believed it to be a ruse. Normally, he would have held sympathy for an injured woman. For her, he had none. Matt glanced at the object while her attention was focussed on dealing with the surge of agony he'd caused. The mobile phone confirmed she was holding information from him.

"Durham. I can smell burning. Get some help. Please, I'm begging you to let someone come and free me. I've told you everything I know."

Slipping the phone into the side pocket of his jacket, and the gun from the holdall, Matt shimmied along the rear seat. He lowered the window and peered out. Little was obvious to the naked eye, other than the smell of fuel. Then he saw the yellow flames lengthen up the side of the door.

"What are you doing?" she groaned.

"Seeing if there is some way I can get you out of here," he replied.

She groaned again and started to sob louder.

"Don't worry," he said. "Relief is coming."

"Thanks, thanks for not hurting me."

He slid out of the door. Rising from the vehicle he noticed a second pool of leaking diesel fuel had coagulated underneath the petrol tank. A glance revealed the rapidly approaching medical team. They wouldn't get here in time. He frantically tugged at the handle of the driver's door. It flew open and he reached to release the safety belt. The fixture was jammed. He spotted metal in her hand, a knife. Matt changed his mind and stepped away from the open door of the damaged car.

"Get back! Get away from here!" he yelled urgently at the fast nearing ensemble. "It's ready to blow!"

As he accelerated away from the damaged machine, the approaching mass of people instinctively ground to a halt and crouched in response to his alarm call. Behind, the woman's shrill screams of panic now filled the evening air.

"Durham! Durham!...don't leave me...help me!"

The explosion was loud and colourful, the force of the blast tossing his escaping body high up into the air then depositing him back on the ground. Matt hit the concrete surface and rolled further away from the carnage.

Stunned momentarily, he shook his head to try and clear the deafening noise from his mind, then looked behind to see the tall yellow flames reach up and envelop what remained of the burning metal coffin.

"Are you alright?" asked a man's voice, standing above.

"Yeah, I think I'm okay," he replied, slowly rising to his feet and brushing the dust from his trousers. "Thanks for asking. I think I'm fine."

Two burly, brown-uniformed security guards armed with fire extinguishers joined the watching crowd. They proceeded to try and shove their way through the melee, in an attempt to reach the blazing vehicle. Their vain effort to rescue the body of the burning woman was soon cut short by the intense heat emitted from the towering flames.

Matt was at the head of the watching throng. Everyone, bar he, looked at the scene with faces aghast at the horror before them. He wondered if he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion once he'd spotted the knife.

"Why couldn't you get her out?" asked a female nurse.

Matt shook his head in resigned failure.

"The legs were trapped," he said.

"What an awful way to die. Did you know her?"

"No, I've no idea who she was."

Matt extricated himself from the crowded mass and headed over to the main entrance. He pulled out the stolen mobile and began to search through the list of text messages. One very short, sharp message caught his attention.

Call it in, it read. He pressed the dial button and waited for an answer.

"This is the inbox of Ted Kendricks. Please leave your contact details after the tone," said the pre-recorded message.

He was about to hang up when the call was answered.

"Hey, Mandy," spoke the rich American southern twang "What took yer so long?"

"Mandy's not a well girl I'm afraid," said Matt.

An uneasy silence followed the statement, the American caught off guard by the unexpected sound of a man's voice.

"Yer sure don't lay down easy Durham," was the uneasy reply. "How's yer girlfriend?"

Matt almost rose to the bait.

"She's fine, getting better all the time," he replied. "With any luck she'll be released soon."

"Yer one of life's natural optimists, aren't yer Durham. But yer should know I've got plenty more Mandy's waiting in line," the American threatened.

"Better get right on it then, Ted. You don't have much time left yourself, once I catch up with you," Matt responded with equal menace.

Anyone could have heard a pin drop. As Matt waited for the American to resume the conversation, he heard the clanging sound of a bell in the background. It was the bell from one of the tourist launches operating from Victoria harbour. Then the line went dead.

He knew Kendricks would now run. He also knew where the guy would run to. Pulling out his own mobile, Matt dialled the number on the card, another answer phone message. What was the point of mobile phones?

"Detective Early, it's Matt Durham. I've got a lead to your enquiry. Get to Vancouver Airport urgently."

Chapter Eight

The Diary

Jenna had drifted back into sleep by the time Matt got back to her room. Will had remained at her bedside, cradling her hand between his. There was little to say other than to tell his new friend not to let Jenna out of sight until he returned. Matt evaded answering Will's questions about the loud commotion outside and hurried to the quayside to fire up the plane.

As the yellow machine floated over the blue sea, separating the Southern Islands from Vancouver, Matt's mind was beset by intrigue. He found it difficult to rationalise how anyone could want to go to such extraordinary lengths to ruin his life in Victoria, and then dispose of him. Matt had no enemies he knew of, having studiously avoided any kind of confrontation since he returned to the island. Most worrying of all was the hit squad had been ordered to take out his girl, mistakenly thinking this meant Jenna. Clearly the contractor had another target in mind. Grace was dead. That left Rosa Cain, though to describe Rosa as his girlfriend would have been a breach of the Trade Descriptions Act.

Matt could only hope his dash to the airport would give him some of the answers he needed. He'd rather sort this problem out without having to talk to Rosa again, given the numbing awkwardness of their all too brief encounter yesterday.

Matt tore into the airport and headed for the departures board. He dismissed the internal flights and those headed out of North America and focussed only on those destined for the United States. The destinations listed included Seattle, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Denver and Chicago. The remaining US flight leaving in the next three hours was to New Jersey. Matt could only hope he had got to the airport first. How he would know this he wasn't sure as Matt had no idea what Kendricks looked like.

Although all departures went out through level three, he decided to stick close to the main entrance. The whole area was busy, people bustling in and out of the terminal at varying speeds. A small number left or were delivered by taxi, others by friends or relatives. Some used the bus service or were deposited in groups by hired coaches.

Whilst all this activity had the benefit of obscuring him from view, it also made it harder for him to identify the target. The plan was simple enough. After intercepting Kendricks, he would get all the information he could from the man and then turn him over to the Authorities.

Twenty five minutes later however, he still hadn't found his target. Neither had the Canadian detectives shown up. The plan may well have been simple but its execution was proving to be nothing like straightforward. He was beginning to think he'd got it all wrong.

Matt slurped into his second coffee, which was positively disgusting. Every mouthful contorted his face into expressions resembling physical torture. He screwed up his face once more when he spotted a large bulk squeezing out of a small taxi. Matt dialled the number on the mobile he'd taken off the woman, and waited.

The massive frame reached to an inside pocket to retrieve a mobile. It was the voice he instantly recognised, the southern drawl speaking loudly into the phone now clutched to his ear. Matt pressed the button to end the call. He was not surprised this sheer bulk of a man was the target because of the way he carried himself, filled with an aggressive confidence which bore the hallmarks of someone used to having power at their fingertips.

Weighing at least twenty stone, probably a lot more, he waddled rather than walked like most people do. His short, thick legs moved the enormous torso with such effort he might have been pulling an open topped bus behind him. The veins in his face were reddened through the excessive use of alcohol, and an ugly roll of fat hung over the collar of his open necked shirt. His eyes, probably once proud and defiant, looked as though they had been swallowed up by the excess flesh on his face. Maybe the man had spent too much time at the dinner table and had his mouth in the trough of plenty too much for his own good.

The man unwittingly played straight into Matt's hands. After slipping the phone into his shirt pocket he waddled towards the washroom. Matt waited a minute or two and then followed the bulk inside. Kendricks spotted him through the mirror reflection as soon as he entered, greeting his pursuer with barely concealed surprise in his eyes. Though the place was empty, the man made no attempt at escape.

"Durham, that's a real bad habit yer got there, showing up unexpectedly like that. Yer just don't know when to lie down and die, do yer?"

"Yeah, I'm awkward like that, Ted."

The big man returned to washing his face and then reached for a paper towel.

"Yer can't kill me here, Durham. It's too public."

Matt shook his head, walked up behind his foe and slid the serrated edge of the knife between the man's legs.

"I haven't come for that, Ted. I'm tempted into relieving your body of one or two things though."

Kendricks stopped wiping his brow and glared into the long mirror.

"I'm telling yer nothing, Durham, put yer pen knife away."

Matt pressed the blade against the American's testicles. He could see beads of sweat appearing under the man's hairline and smirked at Kendrick's rising discomfort. Several seconds went by as Matt stood and watched the increasing fear grip the big man's face. Kendricks was about to speak when another figure entered the stilled atmosphere of the washroom. Matt eased the blade away from open view.

"Time to go for a walk, Ted," said Matt. "You can fill me in with the details when we get outside."

"Yer seem to forget I've got a plane to catch."

"There'll be plenty of time to get your plane, after we've talked."

Matt nudged him forward with the point of the knife and they stepped out into the passageway and headed back to the main entrance. They broke into daylight at the same time two figures loomed into view to their right. Officers Early and Danbridge were late, but they were here. The two pairs almost joined up when Kendricks violently lurched backwards, like he'd been felled by an imaginary punch. Collapsing to the ground he tried to recover, succeeding only in rolling on to his side before whistling the air from his lungs. Matt dropped to his knees to check for life. A projectile whizzed over his head.

It was the sight of oozing blood that panicked the crowd. Women screamed while men abandoned their luggage and ran for the safety of the terminal. The two detectives drew their weapons and started to usher stragglers into the building, calling on Matt to follow.

"Get the people inside," he yelled to them.

Matt took refuge by lying on the ground behind Kendricks' massive frame. He looked into the dead American's face and saw the bullet hole embedded in the forehead.

A silence filled the air. Time appeared to stand still. Even the gentle breeze had disappeared. The atmosphere mirrored that of his visits to the cemetery, an eerie calm prevailing over all other natural sounds and noises.

Instinctively, Matt rummaged through the dead man's pockets. He retrieved a mobile, something resembling a pocket diary embossed with a large letter S and a credit card wallet. The diary slipped into his inside pocket. He inspected the wallet. There was one credit card. Matt brought the phone into life. It had only been used for one contact number, the mobile of the woman at the hospital.

He glanced back at the terminal entrance. The two Canadian detectives were searching the area with their eyes, looking for signs of danger. Matt wanted to do the same. He spotted a woman's handbag resting on the ground a few inches away. Taking a deep breath he lunged with his arm and gripped the handle.

The bullet narrowly missed his forearm, hitting the cement floor and ricocheting towards the open taxi stand. He reeled the object in and looked inside.

"Durham, are you okay?" shouted Early, crouching inside the sliding door to the terminal.

Matt nodded in acknowledgement as he opened the bag. Seconds was all it took to locate the hand mirror. He eased it over the top of Kendricks' body and used the reflection to scan the surrounding area. Progress was slow. Patience was the key however. Any false move on his part would almost certainly lead to a visit to the local mortuary.

Nothing caught his attention. Matt repeated the exercise to make sure. This time he spotted an opening window to a black sedan, parked at an unusual angle some distance ahead of the furthest taxi rank. There was no doubt in his mind the shooter was inside.

He closed his eyes to build up a mental picture of the area and started to plan. His thought processes had barely got into gear when he heard the voice call out.

"Durham, I'm going to come over to you," shouted the male detective.

"No," he yelled.

The tall detective closed to within a few feet when his body shuddered at the violent impact and he fell to the floor, spilling his weapon close to where Matt lay.

"Dan!" shouted his anxious partner.

"Stay back," Matt called in reply.

The body lay still, immobile and Matt feared the worst. Then he heard the painful groan of the young man.

"Danbridge," shouted Matt, "cover the black sedan."

She knew instantly, pointing the gun and firing a rush of bullets at the stationary vehicle. Matt sprang from his position, picked up the loose gun and gripped the detective's collar to haul him to the shelter of Kendricks' body.

He assessed the wound. The bullet had passed through the soft tissue of the officer's shoulder and gone out the other side. At worst, the young man had suffered a broken collar bone. He reached for the sanitary towels in the handbag and released them from their packaging. Easing the wounded detective's arm from his jacket, Matt tore away at the shirt underneath to bring the injury into the open. He pressed a towel against either side of the wound and then slid the elastic hair band up the wounded man's arm, over his shoulder, and bound the makeshift dressings into place.

"He's okay," Matt shouted back to the female detective, now joined by a number of armed security personnel.

The sound of a car engine firing told Matt the shooter had decided it was time to leave. He raised the mirror again. A screech of rubber against the concrete surface preceded the vehicle's lurch forwards. It burst across the central barricade and hurtled up the wrong carriageway. Matt grabbed at the spare ammunition clip on the male detective's belt and rolled away from his cover onto one knee. With both hands wrapped firmly around the weapon, he pointed it at the accelerating car. Matt fired several rounds at the black mass. He was sure his aim was true, but his efforts failed to prevent the vehicle from weaving between the onrushing traffic. In seconds it was gone.

He felt a hand tap against his shoulder.

"Give me the weapon," said Danbridge.

"Don't you have a colleague to look after?"

"It's okay, I'm here," said Early approaching from behind, tottering unsteadily on his feet. "You better do as she says."

Matt handed over the gun.

"Oh well," he said. "Seemed like some sort of plan at the time. Now we don't have any leads."

He turned to walk away.

"Not so fast, Durham" said the female detective, sharply. "Hand over the mobile and the wallet I saw you take from the dead man."

She hadn't noticed the diary. Matt surrendered the items slowly, suggesting an apparent reluctance. Danbridge clearly enjoyed the opportunity to force him into compliance, her subsequent smirk bearing all the hallmarks of a person who took pleasure from the privilege of authority. Matt turned his attention to her partner.

"How's the shoulder?"

"The dressing should hold until the medics get here," said Detective Early. "That was quick thinking, Durham. I'm impressed."

Matt glanced at his colleague.

"It's alright, you don't have to thank me for helping your partner," he quipped.

Life around the airport had yet to return to normal. Reporters and technicians were everywhere. Fortunately, the local police and airport security had kept them distant. The area around the ambulance where Early was being treated had been cordoned off.

"Nice job," said the medic in amusement, peeling away the temporary dressing from the detective's shoulder.

"Do you believe us now?" grimaced Early, wincing at the paramedic's touch.

"Yeah," he replied. "Someone means business. The trouble is I don't know who or why."

"Well whoever they were, they were professionals."

"Seems like it," he said.

"Don't you have any ideas at all?" asked the blonde haired detective.

Matt shook his head. He briefly considered giving up the diary. Then he spotted Danbridge hastily approaching and thought better of it.

"Your girl's on the way back over, detective. Maybe she can give us some answers."

Danbridge strode purposefully to the rear of the ambulance and leaned against the opened door.

"No ID on the dead man," she reported. "The credit card is a fake. We'll try and get a fingerprint match. What's he got to do with this, Durham?"

"I don't know," admitted Matt.

"No, then how did you find him?" she barked scathingly.

He tossed over the mobile he'd taken from the woman in the hospital car park.

"I came across this. According to the voicemail message his name is Ted Kendricks. That's probably false too. I have no idea why or how he's connected to all this."

"Where did you get this from?" she barked.

"Found it," he replied icily.

She glared into his eyes with the angry look of an agitated headmistress who'd lost patience with an errant pupil.

"I don't believe you," she spat.

Matt shrugged his shoulders in indifference causing her to glower ever harder at him. She was about to speak again when Early gently touched her arm.

"Better to do this downtown rather than in public."

His words might have halted her verbal assault, but failed to diminish the look of anger in her dark-coloured eyes. She reached behind her back.

"Hold out your hands," she hissed.

"Marcie, we don't need to use them. Do we, Durham?"

She didn't give Matt the chance to respond, reaching over to venomously slap the cold metal cuffs over his wrists.

"You can't trust him, Dan. He's holding something back, lying through his shiny white teeth. Aren't you, Durham?"

Matt gazed into the woman's stern face. The side of his lip curled ever so slightly, into a mock sneer.

"You don't like people much, do you?" he said.

She jerked on the restraints to make sure they were secure, harder than she would normally do. Matt's clear discomfort made her smile. He was about to make a smart ass comment when a melody sounded, causing the male detective to reach into his pocket. Matt stood quietly while the blonde haired policeman answered the phone.

"Yes, Chief," said Early, listening intently to the incoming voice. Seconds later and a disappointed expression appeared on his face. Early confirmed he had understood the contents of the call and then returned the mobile to his pocket. His eyes darted towards his partner before returning their attention to Matt.

"You're free to go, Durham," he said, with a degree of resignation.

"Dan! You're not serious!"

Offering the female detective a false smile, Matt held out his arms. Danbridge roughly freed the cold metal object from her suspect's wrists, unable to conceal her frustration.

"You will keep me informed, won't you?" Matt quipped, before turning away.

"Durham," said Early, causing Matt to return his attention. "Thanks," the detective added, nodding towards his shoulder.

Matt smiled, turned and searched for an available taxi. The two detectives believed he was out of earshot.

"What was that all about?" snapped Danbridge.

"We have to let him go."

"He walks free, without questioning, just like that?"

"According to the Chief he does."

"Why, what is so special about this guy?"

"The mystery deepens. You remember the call I put in on our way over here, to try and get some more info on him?"

"Yes,"

"It appears our Mr Durham is a Brit who settled here about nine months ago; except he's a man without any history. Now there's a conundrum."

Danbridge's eyes hardened with surprise at this new information.

"Witness Protection?" she asked.

"It's a possibility," he replied. "That doesn't explain why no-one on this side of the Atlantic seems to know a goddamn thing about the man, or how he knows about firearms. One thing is certain, he's used to gunfire. This thing just gets odder and odder."

The conversation descended into a temporary lull, as both became wrapped up in their individual thoughts.

"Christ, it's time I had a vacation," said Danbridge.

"Yeah, me too," he replied with a sigh. "Durham was right about one thing though."

"Oh yeah, and what was that?"

"You really don't like people very much, Marcie."

The last comment brought a smile to Matt's face.

Matt sank back into the comfort of the taxi and examined the diary. He ran his fingers over the embossed letter S, very distinct. The opening pages, where the owner was supposed to record personal details, were blank. So was the main body of the tightly bound booklet. Even in death it looked as though Kendricks was refusing to give anything away. The addresses pages were last in line. He could see handwritten notes. Listed were a series of coded entries, mini paragraphs comprising a jumble of text and numbers. All of the text was set out in three letter words. Ham was followed in the next paragraph by Bus. Then Cog, Pam and Pus occupied the next three. There was no obvious connection between them. The numbers made little sense either, appearing entirely random.

On closer inspection Matt noticed a row of letters at the bottom of the last page, VVRSSX. He had always prided himself on an ability to solve logic problems quicker than most. But these entries made for a very curious puzzle, of a like he hadn't come across before. And why were they written in the addresses section of the diary?

His mind drifted onto events at the airport. Matt wondered if he'd done the right thing by withholding this information. Then again, even if he had surrendered it up, he would still be a target for whoever these people were. For all Matt knew he could be under observation this very minute. Kendricks surely had to report to someone. When he failed these people would respond. The American had told him there were plenty of others to be called on, so staying in Victoria would only provide them with a standing target. What could he do?

Matt returned his attention to the diary. In the margin, to the right hand side of the first of the mini puzzles was the word Germ. Something made him bend the spine of the diary to flatten both sides of the booklet. On the opposite page, to the left hand side, was the word any.

What could it mean? For some unknown reason he decided to speak the words out loud.

"Germ and any," he said.

"You're from Germany?" asked the driver.

Of course, the full word was Germany. Matt concluded his only choice was to get some professional help, from someone with expertise in intelligence. There was only one person with those sorts of skills, and she lived in Austria. That person was Rosa Cain.

The door was slightly ajar when he arrived at the hospital room. Matt was about to push it fully open when something made him stop and listen to the conversation inside. Will was talking in soft and tender tones, recounting tales of humour to the patient. Jenna was responding with ever so gentle and warm giggles.

Peering round the door Matt noticed how comfortable she appeared in his company. Her eyes were fixed upon his and her smile towards him was bright, sunny and welcoming. Will had her left hand clasped between his own and, every now and again, he would reach out and gently rub at the skin of her forearm. Each touch widened her smile, cementing the newly emerging rapport between the two. The pair were lost in their own company; oblivious to all else around, in their own world.

Matt's first instinct was to breathe a huge sigh of relief at the signs of improvement in both her physical and mental condition. Surprisingly though, the initial reaction was rapidly tempered with a mild and growing resentment towards the young man. Will had done nothing wrong, only what had been asked of him. But he was doing it too well, attending to her need for human comfort far better than Matt had managed to provide over the last few hours.

He knew he had no right to feel this way. Matt had only ever wished for Jenna to find a good person to share her life, someone who would look after and care for her. Matt had no doubt Will bore all the makings of being a very good man, from what he had learned about the stranger thus far, so he should be happy for her.

Even so, he could feel the uncomfortable pangs of envy creeping out from the shadows of his mind. They wrapped their tentacles around his emotions and began to tighten their suffocating grip. Momentarily, he lowered his head so his eyes would not witness the scene.

"Matt," said Jenna's voice, "Where have you been?"

He looked up at her sweet face as he entered. Will turned and Matt acknowledged his presence. He could see in Will's eyes the younger man was unprepared to surrender the seat at her bedside.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "You're looking much, much better."

Jenna raised an arm and beckoned him forward. He took her free hand between his and leant forward to lightly kiss it.

"Have you managed to sort everything?" she asked. "Can you spend some time with me now?"

The furrow appearing on his brow brought an immediate expression of irritation to her face.

"Oh Matt, there can't be anything else you have to do."

"I have to go abroad for a few days," he said defensively.

Jenna withdrew her hand and turned her head away. Whilst he understood her reaction it did little for his mood.

"This is important, Jenna," he said.

"And I'm not important?" she complained, turning back to face him.

"Of course you are," he said quietly.

He couldn't tell Jenna why he had to leave, but his attempt to placate her with soothing platitudes did nothing to alter her dark mood. The display of anger surprised him. He'd never seen Jenna like this before. He supposed there was a first time for everything.

"Where are you going exactly?"

"Germany to start with," he said.

"A world tour is it? You'll be gone for weeks, probably months, just like the last time."

Her anger had converted to upset, moistness beginning to gradually fill her almond shaped eyes. Matt hated himself for having to leave.

"And when you've returned, will that be the end of it all?"

He took a deep breath.

"There might be others I'll need to see. Depending on how I get on in Germany."

Jenna looked to the sky.

"Whatever," she said dismissively, turning her face away to look back at Will.

Matt really wasn't enjoying this. He sighed in resignation at the circumstance, though it might have appeared more as if he disapproved of Jenna's curt dismissal. He glanced to Will. At least Matt could put him to good use.

"Will is going to look after you while I'm gone."

"You make it sound like an order," quipped Will.

"It is," said Matt. "You wanted a job in Victoria. Well now you've got one. It's your job to look after Jenna while I'm gone. I'll sort the details out with Donna in the morning."

Matt wasn't in the mood for any more talking, which was as well given Jenna chose to ignore his continued presence. He turned and headed for the door. Once outside, he heard the conversation re-start.

"All seems very mysterious," said Will.

"It's typical of him, a man of complete and utter mystery."

"Don't worry Jenna. I'm sure he'll get back here as soon as he can."

"As far as I'm concerned, he can stay away as long as he likes."

Chapter Nine

Yes, Mother

Matt had slept little during the seemingly endless journey to St Wolfgang. He felt more than a little weary. His muscles ached through lack of use over the last day or so, making him feel uncomfortably hot and bothered. This led him to believe his priority should be an ice cold lager from one of the local taverns before he did anything else.

He was looking forward to meeting up with Rosa. With any luck, and the right opportunity, he would be able to properly explain to her the circumstances behind Jenna's presence at his house in Victoria.

Strolling into the centre of the village, he couldn't decide whether to stay in one of the local gasthofs or make for the hotel at the top of the Schafberg. The decision was taken out of his hands. It was the excitable voice that assaulted him first, quickly followed by the tightest of bear hugs from the diminutive owner of the voice, almost squeezing the air from his lungs.

"Matthew, Matthew, you have returned."

"Hello, Martha. I see you're fit and well," he managed to gasp.

"Have you come to stay? Tell me you intend to stay," she bubbled enthusiastically, refusing to release her grip around his waist.

"I can't say anything until you let me breathe again," he replied with a warm smile.

She relaxed her hold, raised her body up on her tiptoes and kissed frantically to both of his cheeks.

"Why did you not say you were coming? I could have prepared."

"I didn't want to put anyone to any trouble. A room in the centre of town is fine."

"Nonsense, boy, you stay with us. Gerhardt and Martin will be delighted to see you once more."

Martha had one of those personalities that drew a person in towards her. Motherly by nature, she was practically born for the role. One of those women who could make all your problems seem that little less daunting once she'd wrapped you in her warm embrace. There was something about one of Martha's hugs which cocooned a person from the anxieties of everyday life. Matt was convinced if she were able to wrap her arms around the whole world, then all of the people on the globe would feel better for it.

The close bond between him and the diminutive Austrian woman had formed quickly once they had first met. He'd always regarded her with affection. Perhaps it was because his own mother had passed away while he was young that had him believing Martha was special. She had this capacity to partially fill a void in his life. Certainly, she possessed all the attributes a mother should have.

"This is a small suitcase you have beside you," she said.

He paused before responding.

"That's because I'll only be here for a few days. I have a bit of business to sort out in Europe, and then I'll go home."

"Ooh, young men," she muttered under her breath, "so stubborn, so very stubborn."

"Martha, what are you chattering on about?"

"This is your home. Can you not see? Has it not entered your mind yet this is where you belong, in St Wolfgang?"

He reacted with a nervous laugh, trying hard not to offend the well meaning woman. He had considered it though, should he ever leave Victoria.

"You know I am right. I am always right. The women are always right."

And then she gave him a broad smile and pecked his cheeks again.

As they walked down the inclined street towards the cog railway line, which would carry them the six thousand feet up the mountain to the hotel, Martha continued to chatter away. Throughout the gentle stroll to the station she refused to allow her arm to slip away from his waist. Already lugging a light suitcase in one hand, Matt's other arm was propped over her shoulder where she held his fingers tightly with her free hand.

Normally Matt found constant, pointless conversation a nerve shredding experience. With Martha however, her excitable words sang harmonious melodies to his soul. In no time at all, he was feeling totally relaxed and comfortable at being here.

Martin's face lit up the moment he saw Matt approaching the train station with Martha. The passive grin he usually wore disappeared in an instant, and he welcomed Matt with the most vigorous of handshakes. There was to be no question over where these particular passengers would be seated on the train, it would be the first carriage, close to the engine driver.

Matt remembered this journey well, recalling memories of a period in his life which now seemed an age ago. Once they'd passed through the edge of the village the train would move sharply upwards. The route was channelled through the mountain, so the most you could see on either side during the first two thirds of the six thousand feet journey were large rocks and boulders. The lack of scenery at least allowed the conversation to flow and they talked most of the way up to the Schafbergalpe stop, the last resting place before the peak. As the train pulled away for the last leg of the climb, Matt raised the subject on his mind.

"I have to call on Rosa at some point. I need her help with something," said Matt.

"Rosa?"

He was surprised by the tone.

"Yes, doesn't she live here anymore?"

"Her home is here, however she spends much of her time in Brussels. She holidays for the next two weeks."

"I thought she was on permanent holiday these days," he quipped.

Martha gave him a slender smile.

"She is away with Stefan."

"Stefan?"

Martha saw the arrival of surprise in his eyes. He blinked, hoping she hadn't read too much into his reaction and that he'd managed to recover the situation.

"They were introduced by Catherine Vogel several months ago, at a dinner held for one of her good causes, or some other thing."

"Is that so?"

"Catherine has become quite attached to Rosa since Eva-Maria left."

"What is Catherine's daughter up to these days?"

"Of course," said Martha sadly. "You do not know about Eva-Maria."

Her eyes drooped into melancholy and he responded by giving her a quizzical look, curious over what she was about to say.

"Eva-Maria was on holiday with friends, in the South of France," she began. "One night, she became separated from her people after leaving a nightclub in the early hours of the morning. The police found her body the next day."

He was visibly shocked.

"That's terrible, Martha. I had no idea."

"Catherine refuses to say anything on the matter and I have never seen her grieve. This is not a good thing, not healthy for the mind. At first, she filled her days with work and only work. So Rosa took it upon herself to visit Catherine. They have been close ever since. Perhaps it was a time when they both needed someone to confide in. It was Catherine who introduced Rosa to the social circuit she now appears to find so compelling."

"Maybe I should call on Catherine too, offer her my condolences."

Martha looked into his eyes and smiled.

"I think she would welcome this. Catherine mentioned your name many times in conversation after you returned to Victoria. Presently she is on a six week fact finding mission to China. When you visit she might introduce you to Rosa's new man."

"You mean this Stefan bloke?"

"He is a nice boy, perhaps a little too confident of himself. He works as an adviser to the European Parliament and has acquired much wealth. Stefan is quite smitten with Rosa, and has asked her many times to accompany him to his villa in Italy. Until recently, she has always declined. Perhaps the trip to North America has cleared her mind."

Matt turned his head away from Martha in a bid to hide his disappointment. She sat quietly and waited for him to return her gaze. He smiled weakly, causing Martha's brow to furrow.

"Did she not tell you this when you met in Canada, last week?"

"She did pop across to Victoria for a short time, caught me at a bad time though."

"A bad time, what is a bad time?"

He shook his head.

"It's not important," he said.

He could see a sense of confusion in her expression, which was rapidly dismissed as soon as her mouth stepped back into its stride.

"You must not tell Gerhardt, as I am sworn to secrecy, but Stefan has confided his hope to ask Rosa for her hand in marriage during their break. And I believe she is now ready to accept. I am so excited. Nothing can compare to an Austrian wedding."

Her words were like an arrow to his heart, drawing the air from his lungs as if he'd received a blow from an angry fist to his solar plexus. Without thinking he raised a hand to his scalp and rubbed at it feverishly.

"Matthew, are you alright?"

"Yes," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry, Martha. Guess I'm feeling slightly jet lagged. It's been a long flight."

Her frown had returned, only it was deeper and more anxious this time. Matt knew he had to sound more positive.

"That's really good news for Rosa," he said, "though I confess to being a little surprised. I remember her telling me once she expected to end her days being known as the merry widow of St Wolfgang. So I just assumed ..."

"You speak in English riddles, Matthew. Why would you think like this? Rosa cannot live in the past. She must build a new life for herself, as you have done."

"Yes, you're right, of course," he replied with a gentle smile.

Martha's eyes darted to all parts of his face in an attempt to understand his words and read his mind. It took her a while to move the conversation along.

"Tell me about your woman," she demanded, in the way only she could demand.

"What woman?" he replied with a slight laugh.

"Your woman, the one Rosa spoke of. She is a children's nurse, correct?"

"Oh, you mean Jenna," he replied with a broad smile.

"You have another?"

He started to openly laugh.

"Chance would be a fine thing."

Through the corner of his eye he saw Martha's perplexed expression, and decided to cut his humour short.

"No, I don't have a woman," he told her.

"But this nurse lives with you, does she not?"

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

"Jenna lives across the water. She came to the island to attend a wedding one day and stayed later than intended. So I put her up for the night. I'd forgotten how uncomfortable the bed in the spare room was. In hindsight, I should have made her sleep there."

The conversation lulled as Martha sought to rationalise the information.

"Did you not say this to Rosa?"

He kissed at her hand again and grinned.

"Sometimes what you see isn't real, but mostly it is," he said.

Martha descended into silence once more.

"Yes," she replied slowly. "Those were Rosa's words."

The train had by now wound its way to the open meadow and through the short tunnel leading to the final stop on the plateau. Matt looked up to their destination, about a hundred yard walk away up a steep embankment. It was exactly as he remembered it. The hotel still looked as though it had been hammered into the side of the mountain top by a giant with a huge sledgehammer. The owner's residence stood square and proud some way to the left, just before the rocky spur which leapt out sideways from the mountain into open sky.

"You must tell Rosa I will be disappointed not to receive an invitation. If she accepts that is," he said, climbing down from the train.

Martha was about to speak further on the matter when he quickly changed the subject.

"I hope you've decorated inside since I was last here," he said.

She smacked his arm playfully and offered up a friendly scowl.

"But of course. Guests have to pay more because of this, so do not expect to sleep here as cheaply as before."

"Yes, mother," he quipped.

Chapter Ten

Gratia Fuchs

Matt could hear the voice telling him to get up but his eyes were refusing to open. It was only when he felt the stream of water running down his face his consciousness began to fully return. He sat up and watched as Martha drew back the curtains, still feeling he had so much more sleeping to do.

Once the daylight had broken into the room, his mind started to co-ordinate the movements of his limbs and he rubbed at the sore eyes.

"I was going to leave you, but only three hours was your instruction," she said.

"This must be the first time in living memory you have ever done exactly what I asked," he replied sleepily.

She responded by throwing the wet sponge into his lap.

"If you do not wish to shower then wash yourself in bed. Be sure to smell nice for our guest tonight."

"Guest, what guest?" he moaned.

Martha had already exited the door. All he could hear was her calling out for Gerhardt to replace the bulb in the hall he promised to do last week.

Collapsing back onto the bed Matt rested his head onto the palms of his hands, looked up to the ceiling and smiled. This felt like home was supposed to feel like. The comforting noise of familiar people crashing around the place was music to his ears, an orchestral masterpiece. And he'd forgotten how wonderful the views were from up here.

Hopefully, the surrounding sky would be clear once he got outside and he could use one of the telescopes, bolted to the ground next to the surrounding stone walls, to look out over the Austrian mountains.

His thoughts turned to Rosa. Martha's disappointing news about this new bloke in her life, and his intended proposal, was totally unexpected. He understood her apparent distance now, at the harbour side. Rosa had really visited to tell him she intended to marry. All Matt could hope was this wouldn't prove to be a barrier to her helping him. He urgently needed her input on his problem today, not in two weeks time.

He showered at a leisurely pace, taking care not to sing too loudly. There were worse singing voices in this world, but you had to listen hard to find them. The wet shave was delicately delivered, mainly because the blade was old and a little worn. He hated having to plaster over razor cuts. Once that was safely negotiated, he donned the fresh linen shirt and clean pair of dark coloured jeans before slipping on and lacing the soft leather shoes.

The cold bottle of lager was already waiting to greet Matt on the table, as he emerged onto the patio. The sun shone bright. Even in late afternoon the gentle wind found it impossible to completely subdue the pounding heat.

Gerhardt sat quietly, shaded by the large umbrella, content to sit and observe the throng of tourists milling around the cafeteria and the surrounding landscape. Every now and again his head would turn to accommodate the frequent flight paths of passing insects. Other than that he usually said little. No doubt his desire to converse had been beaten into submission by Martha's constant chattering.

"Good sleep?" asked the older man.

Matt nodded and smiled. He wasn't sure whether the Austrian's words were a prelude to a longer conversation.

"We have a guest tonight," said Gerhardt.

"Martha told me. I assume this is a personal guest rather than a customer."

"Yes."

Matt sipped at the cold bottle. In a strange sort of way, Gerhardt was good company. Long conversations, though somewhat rare, usually developed into entertaining incidents and demanded a fair degree of concentration. The man was much sharper then he preferred people to believe.

There were more lines on his face than Matt remembered, and his thin brown hair had receded a little further. It was the simple quietness of the man Matt especially enjoyed, the perfect antidote to Martha. He was a guy comfortable with his own persona, who rarely offered advice or made open judgements about other people.

"Rosa is to be married soon," said Gerhardt.

"I understand she may have a proposal to consider."

"Will she accept?"

Matt hesitated.

"Who knows? It will be a decision only Rosa can make for herself," he replied.

Gerhardt waited, before nodding once.

"This is true. Even so, people sometimes make decisions without knowing the full circumstance of their situation."

Matt smiled.

"Has Martha been bending your ear again?"

"Do I have a choice?" he replied with a slight grin, which made the younger man laugh out loudly.

Once he'd settled, Matt looked across to the wise Austrian and grinned. The man returned his gaze and smiled with mutual affection.

"I'm sure Rosa knows what is best," Matt said. "Should she accept, then we must wish her all the happiness for the future."

Gerhardt raised the green bottle and tipped it against the Englishman's.

"I can drink to this," he said.

The older man held his penetrating gaze, almost daring Matt to respond. He considered briefly before deciding against making a reply. Instead he raised his own bottle to Gerhardt's and then took a long drink. Deep down, Matt believed Rosa would never agree.

"There goes Martha, back to the residence," said Gerhardt out of the blue. "She will be there a while."

Matt turned to see her scuttling away from the hotel.

"I don't suppose you have any cigarettes?" asked Gerhardt with a twinkle in his eye. Matt rarely smoked. Fortunately, the older man was in luck.

"She will only smell it on your clothes later."

"By then it will be much too late," bellowed the Austrian in laughter.

The young man reached into his side pocket, retrieved the half full packet and tossed them across the table.

"Remember," he said. "It was not me, agreed?"

Gerhardt drew on the toxic instrument and smiled broadly as he exhaled.

"Das ist gut," he muttered.

They were on their third bottle when Martha reappeared and stood menacingly over them. Matt was feeling decidedly light headed while Gerhardt had grown ever more boisterous.

"You have been smoking," she said in a disapproving tone to her husband, glancing accusingly across to the Englishman. The older man shrugged his shoulders with indifference and then chuckled boyishly at the severity of her observation. A taller figure loomed into view from behind Martha, the head of the new arrival partially blotting out the weakening light. Matt raised a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the rays of sun illuminating her silhouette.

"Matthew, please say hello to Gratia. She is our guest for the evening."

He rose and held out a welcoming hand. With tied back raven hair and Guinness eyes, her Asian skin seemed to shimmer in the dying embers of the sun. Slightly taller than her host, the smile was cushioned by the cherry red choice of lipstick on her mouth. Slim more accurately described her build than skinny. Matt discovered she owed her height to the four inch heels. Although dressed casually, dark slacks and a bright yellow blouse with short sleeves cut open on the shoulder, the outfit oozed designer wear. The bright tone of the blouse eclipsed all, dominated the human landscape. She looked every inch the archetypal power dresser.

Matt was instantly attracted to the youthful, fresh-faced newcomer. Then again, given his current state of involuntary celibacy, Matt was physically attracted to almost any woman under fifty these days.

"I am pleased to meet you, Matthew," she said with a hint of a Germanic tone. "My name is Gratia, Gratia Fuchs."

While they continued to shake hands Martha set about berating Gerhardt for his smoking, the ideal opportunity for Matt to lean forward to their guest.

"Matt," he said quietly, "I prefer to be called Matt, when we are out of earshot."

She gave him a wide smile, lighting up her round face and fully stretching the cherry red lips. He found it oddly difficult to avert his attention from her large, dark eyes. The whirlpool effect of her steady, penetrating gaze was extraordinarily unsettling.

"Come, sit down Gratia," offered Martha. "Perhaps a glass of wine, would you prefer red or white?"

"No, a cold bottle will be fine. I have some catching up to do," she said, drawing Martha's attention to the empty bottles strewn across the table.

Matt cocked his head at the new arrival and smiled. Her choice of drink surprised him, brought a new dimension to the judgement he had already unfairly formed of her.

"Book covers are so misleading, don't you think?" he said with a gentle smile. "Often, they reveal so little of what really lies beneath."

His gentle humour made her laugh. Not a loud and hearty bellow, more a gentle and subtle tune delivered with well-practised feminine grace.

"Please, you must tell me. What story do you believe lurks underneath my book cover? Is it adventure, a thriller, perhaps even a murder mystery," she replied mischievously.

"Certainly a mystery I would say. One can only hope there is no murder concealed within the main body of the text."

Her smile broadened, just as Martha returned with more cold bottles of lager.

"So what brings you to the top of a mountain of this sunny eve?" he asked.

"Martha called to say her son had arrived home from abroad and wished for me to meet him over dinner."

"No mother could wish for a finer son than Matthew," interrupted Martha.

"I think you are forgetting something; we are not actually related, Martha."

"Oh this is easily solved," she said leaning over to peck his forehead. "There, it is done. I have adopted you."

"Your escape is now truly impossible, Matt," chipped in Gerhardt.

Gratia found the exchange enchanting. Matt wasn't quite sure how worried he should really be.

"I understand you have travelled from the west coast of Canada," said Gratia. "You have come a long way."

"Yes, and I'm beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea after all."

More laughter followed; open, unforced and welcoming. If he hadn't known better it was almost as though he were within the confines of a family gathering, over a meal.

"Martha, I could have come on another day. Your adopted son must be tired after such a long journey."

"No, please stay," he said. "You're my only hope of escape from the mountain."

Martha gave him one of her cross looks. The young woman responded to the banter with a warm smile. Matt leaned over to her shoulder.

"If you can't help me get away then you must please alert the authorities on your return home. Legend has it many young men have gone missing on this mountain."

Her eyes fixed their friendly gaze on him. Matt was fascinated by their individuality. People's faces were not always easy to read and he placed great store therefore on what he could see in their eyes. With Gratia he found this near impossible. Hers had a depth which easily concealed the real thinking of her mind from open view. Gratia sensed what was going through his mind.

"You will need to look a little harder than that," she teased. "Every good novel holds at least one unexpected surprise for the reader."

He laughed.

"And I suspect yours is on the very last page," he said.

"You shall have to see," she replied with an amused grin. "There is a full evening ahead. Is that not enough time?"

"With you?" he replied with a smile. "I really don't think so."

The group chatted aimlessly for a while before Martha elected to serve the food she had been preparing. Gerhardt switched on the large patio heater, to take the edge off the cooling outside temperature.

Under questioning, Matt revealed to Gratia what life was like in Victoria. He spoke of the temperate climate, the green environment, and of the humpbacks and orcas patrolling the waters of the surrounding ocean. It was not uncommon, he had said, to experience chance encounters with wild bears on the mainland. He recalled the friendliness of the residents and told of the island's history and the fact that many old British customs were still prized there.

She kept her gaze fixed on him the whole while he talked, as if she were imagining every minute detail from the images he described. Matt could tell when people were listening out of a sense of politeness. The easy to spot signs of an unforced blink, or a sideways glance from the corner of an eye, could never be concealed for long. Gratia did none of these things throughout the entire evening. Her attention was real, her interest genuine.

"And what is it that you get up to on this lovely island?" she asked. "Or do you wile away your days simply observing the natural environment?"

"I run a floatplane taxi service, mainly for tourists. Mostly I fly people to and from Vancouver, sometimes on sightseeing trips around the islands themselves. On occasion, I will take people to Seattle."

"So this is your own business?"

He smiled and nodded.

"You fly these machines yourself?"

"Not all of them, I do employ other pilots," he said.

"And you enjoy flying."

"Love it. The sky is one of the few places left where a man can completely escape from our constantly regulated society. You are surrounded by sky and nothing else, the ultimate freedom."

"Were I to visit Victoria, would you give me a tour also?"

"I will fly you personally," he replied. "And at our lowest possible rate," he added with a cheeky grin.

She found the quip amusing, and gently patted his arm in a playful admonition at his reference to payment.

"There is one thing I do not understand, though."

"Shoot."

"This must be the height of the season. Yet you are here in Europe, thousands of miles away from your home."

God she was sharp. He hid his surprise behind a half smile.

"Yes, I have come to Europe to find someone and return something."

Gratia's eyebrows pulled together in curiosity.

"Who do you search for?"

"Well, that's the problem. I don't know who it is or where they are. Someone left some valuables behind and I am trying to return them. I only know my search begins in Germany."

"I am German. Perhaps I can help?"

Matt reached into the long front pocket of his jeans and handed her the diary.

"There are no details of the owner, but if you turn to the addresses page there are a number of entries which are not clear. The one thing I'm sure of is the word Germany."

"Would you refill my glass please, Matt?" she asked.

Tipping some red from the bottle he noticed her fingers smooth over the embossed letter.

"This is a very nice diary. Where did you get it from?"

"A guy called Ted Kendricks left it in my possession."

She turned the respective page and began to study the first paragraph, containing the word Ham.

"This is Hameln, the town where I lived in my youth."

"Hameln?"

"You would know it better as Hamelin."

"Oh yes, the legend of the Pied Piper," he said. "How do you know?"

"I recognise the post code. These three letters represent either a town or city in a particular country. The mixture of letters and numbers after are the area post codes."

Gratia turned to the next page. Matt instantly reached over and pressed the diary to the table.

"No!"

His sudden sharpness caused her large eyes to widen.

"Sorry," he quickly added. "I meant to say no, but thank you. All I needed was an idea of the whereabouts of the first address so I could make a start."

Her steady gaze restored, the dark eyes mercilessly pierced the temporary defence erected by his blank stare. He knew it was coming, the one-liner that would have him skewered to the back of the chair.

She didn't let him down.

"Perhaps it is your novel that hides the real mystery under its cover?"

He straightened his posture and weakly returned her smile, trying to buy precious seconds for his defensive mind to find a way of restoring her good humour.

"I assumed you were Austrian, given you must live close to St Wolfgang," he said.

"No," she replied, her earlier warmth returned. "I am German and live in Munich. It is by studying International Business Law which brought me to the attention of Schafen Industries."

"Oh, so you knew Johannes Schafen?"

"Johannes would have all of the prized universities of the world scoured each year to unearth the talent he sought. He visited me in America, before I had graduated, insisting he would not return to Austria until I had agreed to work for him."

"Johannes," said Matt with a tinge of sadness. "He was a great guy."

"A good and gifted man; he is a big loss to the world."

Matt paused to consider.

"International Business Law, I can see why Johannes would want you working within his global transportation business. Your learning and expertise would be invaluable, a real asset to the business."

She smiled with humility. Matt found her intriguing. There was not the slightest suggestion of any corporate superiority often evident in most multinational employees.

"His death must have shook things up terribly," he added, "Not least because he is such a hard act to follow. I pity the poor sod who stepped into his shoes."

"That is Gratia," chipped in Martha, from seemingly out of nowhere. Until this point, she and Gerhardt had been virtually silent.

Matt's vain attempt to hide his intense surprise at this news could only be described as feeble, at best. He was dumbstruck. The woman he had been talking to all evening headed up one of the largest European transportation empires in history. Matt felt suddenly foolish and miniature, as if in the presence of a giant.

Earlier, he had spoken with enormous pride in the way he had expanded the air taxi service, from a position of barely breaking even to healthy profitability. The achievement, he now realised, paled into insignificance against the scale and responsibilities of her position.

"Why do you look surprised?" she quizzed. "Is it because I am a woman?"

Matt shook his head vigorously.

"No, certainly not," he muttered, struggling to conceal his uncertainty. "I guess, like most others, I carry images in my mind of international corporate leaders being elderly, grey haired gentlemen in pin-striped suits sitting behind enormous leather desks."

She started to laugh at his observation, unnerving him slightly.

"This was not a chosen career path, only one thrust upon me unexpectedly. Johannes trusted me above all others and, for legal purposes, used my name as his deputy in the unlikely event he was indisposed. I do not believe he ever intended for succession to happen so soon."

He was surprised by her openness and honesty.

"You look so young," he said unintentionally.

"Oh, what a sweet man you are," she replied with a warm smile.

He took an unsteady cough to try and clear his throat and regain some equilibrium. His awkwardness amused her and caused Gratia to laugh again.

"Now I have made you uncomfortable."

"Confused, more like," he replied. "You seem so normal for someone with such great responsibility on your shoulders, Gratia."

She shrugged her shoulders to suggest an apparent indifference.

"It is not a position I am entirely comfortable with, but one I shall eventually have to grow into."

Matt could feel his admiration growing for this young, and very astute, woman. He was about to compliment her when Martha intervened.

"Gerhardt, you must help me in the kitchen with dessert," she said boldly.

"It is ice cream only," he protested.

"I must present it well for our guests, now come," she demanded.

Slowly, Gerhardt rose and reluctantly followed his wife to the kitchen muttering his discontent. Matt was surprised by Martha's clumsy attempt to leave him alone with their guest.

"She seeks to match us for the evening," said Gratia with an amused grin.

"Looks like it," said a bemused Matt. "I can't think what's got into her. Please accept my apology for her behaviour. If I didn't know better you'd think she was running a European dating agency up here in the mountains."

Gratia laughed openly, and this pleased him. Corporate Chief Executives were surely not meant to be so free with laughter in public.

"Perhaps it would be better to humour our host, at least until she is ready to retire for the night," said Gratia.

"Even so, please accept my apology. I can't think what's got into her," he replied.

"Martha misunderstands my position."

"What position?"

She sipped at the glass of red while considering her next words.

"Being head of Schafen Industries at such a young age is not without personal challenges."

Matt was puzzled.

"Really?" he said. "I would have thought you had it made. You complement wealth and position with polite humility, topped with grace and finesse. And you are most certainly intellectually gifted, given your educational achievements."

She gave him a quizzical smile, eyes searching his face for a twitch or other sign of insincerity. Fortunately there wasn't one, as he hadn't lied.

Her smile widened.

"It is complicated," she said.

"Life is simple, only people complicate the world."

The smile shortened as her mind contemplated his words.

"Schafen Industries is much like all other multinational companies, filled with very competitive and ambitious people. Such people abhor being overlooked for advancement when opportunities arise. You can therefore imagine their distress when Johannes' lawyers were required to overlook them all and appoint me instead to the position of Chief Operating Officer."

She hunched her shoulders to accentuate the point.

"So you have corporate opponents who scrutinise your every move, searching for any example of misjudgement and indiscretion with which to strengthen their position while weakening your own. Any one of these factors might open the door to people Johannes did not trust to properly manage his business affairs. This forces you into forever keeping your guard, to be constantly alert," Matt replied in realisation.

"You are quick to understand these corporate matters. I am impressed."

He glanced away, unused to being complimented.

"Martha has no such insight. She believes I do not possess the ability to be aware of such perils, that I am vulnerable to the ambitions of others."

Matt was surprised at Gratia's dismissive attitude towards Martha.

"Do you have many adversaries?" he asked.

Her resulting half smile revealed signs of loneliness at its edges. It was the first time he had noticed a vulnerability to her confident facade. Perhaps Martha had a point.

"There are a few, the number is not specific. Some are visible to the naked eye, but with others it is not so certain."

"This must make life a little tiresome, lonely even."

"Business large or small, it is the same for any leader. I'm sure there must be occasion when you feel a little alone, no-one to share your thinking with. I am blessed with having one trusted lieutenant, a man called Jan Mohlenbeek. He has been very supportive and provides wise and good counsel. Managing the business would have proved more challenging had it not been for Jan's support and guidance."

Matt thought back to his own existence back in Victoria. He found it lonely to be the only decision maker. Gratia at least had someone to share the burden.

"Johannes was one of the smartest men I ever met," he said, looking directly into her eyes. "He would have chosen you on ability alone. Johannes would have considered every possible factor before making his decision, and concluded you would always have the measure of your enemies."

The full smile returned to her expression. He noticed her facial muscles relax from the previously concealed tension he now realised she had disguised, up to this point. She was an interesting mix of a person.

"Thank you." was all she said.

"I am confused by one thing," he said.

"Which is?"

"Why would Martha believe it would be a good idea to pair you with a complete stranger for the night?"

Her eyes darkened.

"She believes the role makes me unhappy and in need of an outside interest."

"And are you, unhappy?"

"I have wealth, position and power. Do I look unhappy to you?"

She did, though Matt felt it better not to add any further weight to his adopted mother's observation.

"Martha lives in a past world. She has chosen to confine herself and her husband to this one small part of the planet. No doubt this will give her access to some elements of life, but it is limited."

She had revealed another side to her nature, contradicting everything she had shown him thus far. Matt couldn't decide who the real Gratia was. The warm, engaging dinner partner whose company he had enjoyed up until now. Or the cold and arrogant, intellectually incisive business executive she had revealed over the last few minutes.

The moment was broken by a sudden screech emanating from the restaurant kitchen and both turned to address the noise. Martha burst through the swing door in uncontained excitement and rushed towards their table.

"It has happened. It has happened," she gushed. "There is to be an Austrian wedding. Beautiful Rosa has agreed and they are to be married soon."

Matt was convinced his heart had missed a beat. Seconds passed before he could muster the energy to somehow force his lips into a welcoming smile as the elder woman reached them. She pecked at his cheeks in rampant excitement, then feverishly at Gratia's, before rushing back to the kitchen to seek out a bottle of champagne. Truly, the woman was a tour de force all on her own. At least her departure presented him with some time to adjust to the unexpected news, allowed him the chance to fix the false smile to his face.

"She has accepted," said Gratia.

"Yes," he replied in a slightly resigned tone. "You know of Rosa then?"

"How could I work closely with Johannes for all of those years and not know of Rosa Cain?" she smiled.

"Of course," he said quietly.

"Rosa is a beautiful woman. She is also intelligent, sharp and quick witted. It is easy to like her.

"Yes, it is," he agreed.

Gratia could sense his balance had been disturbed.

"This happy news disappoints you," she observed.

He turned and gave her his best, false smile.

"No, a little surprised, that is all. I didn't think Rosa would ever marry, not after Johannes."

The pause was uneasy. He could feel Gratia's thoughtful gaze fix upon him, steady and unrelenting. Matt felt a man's hand sympathetically pat against his shoulder.

"Martha is too excitable, has been all this week while she awaited the news," said Gerhardt. "In this state she will never find the bottle she seeks. I had better help her."

Matt lifted his hand and touched at the older man's arm to acknowledge the brief contact. Once Gerhardt had left, Matt's hand dropped back to the table.

"How well do you know Rosa Cain?" asked Gratia.

He held his response for a few moments.

"We spent some time together, shortly after Johannes died, bringing us close for a while. Rosa deserves to be happy and I am pleased for her."

"I'm not sure that answers my question."

"I think it does," he said after a pause.

Matt could sense he had failed to quell her interest.

"I had not heard her speak of you before," she said.

His consequential blink was unintended.

"Like I said, we were only friends."

She was unconvinced.

"Even so, you must try and put on a much happier face, for Martha's sake."

Chapter Eleven

Sam and Genevieve

Gratia bent her elbow to prop her head against the upright palm of her hand and smiled.

"I am deeply impressed you have not fallen into a sleep induced state of unconsciousness on me yet, given the time and distances you have travelled."

"There's nothing better than lying outside on a moonlit night to watch the stars."

"The night sky is all that has kept you awake!"

"Okay, okay," he grinned. "I suppose the company has helped a little."

Her subsequent laugh preceded the affectionate tap against his arm. In truth, the company had been everything about this night. Matt couldn't recall the last occasion he'd enjoyed a conversation so much. Then again, he'd rarely exchanged more than a few sentences with anyone for such a long time. Matt had planned to retire to his bed hours ago, to catch up on lost sleep. Yet here he lay, under a powerful patio heater on one of the two sun lounges he'd rescued from the end of the promenade, merrily chatting the night hours away to a complete stranger with dawn about to arise.

Gratia had removed the hairpins, allowing her raven hair to tousle free and fall around her slender shoulders. He glimpsed her reaching up to push the long dark hair back behind her ear with her free hand. She was quiet for a moment.

"Do you sleep under the stars every night back home?"

"I always leave the curtains open so I can see them."

"Are you afraid of the dark, night spirits perhaps?"

"Most people are afraid of the dark," he laughed. "I just like to be able to see the stars."

"You are an astronomer as well as a pilot?"

"No," he smiled. "Confinement makes me restless."

Matt glanced towards her. He hadn't meant to reveal this much of himself. The woman had this uncanny knack of drawing things out of him. Time to deflect her attention, he reasoned.

"You see that star, the one just to the left of the mountain ahead," he said.

"Yes."

"That's Sam."

"Sam? There is no star called Sam!"

"Of course there is. And the one right next to it is called Genevieve."

Gratia erupted into a brief fit of giggles.

"You are toying with me. All of the stars have Greek and Latin names."

"To the academic world that might be the case; we mere mortals however, must content ourselves with more mundane variants."

"Such as Genevieve?" she laughed.

"Sometimes I call her Gen, for short."

Gratia burst out into another fit of giggles, her second of the night. Matt liked to hear this woman laugh. She had a nice laugh, and the friendliest of smiles. Every time he looked into the dark whirlpools of her eyes he could feel his steady gaze being imprisoned, so he never held his attention for long.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"You may ask."

"Is your family naturalised German?"

She was curious at the question.

"I was born in Germany. Does this intrigue you?"

"No. Well, yes actually. It's just that you have a very German sounding name for a..."

He glanced across and saw her eyes sparkle.

"A German perhaps?" she said. "I understood Canada has a mixed race society too."

"We do, only... God, the hole gets bigger every time I open my bloody mouth. I'm sorry, it was a stupid question to ask," he replied defensively.

Fortunately Gratia appeared more amused than offended.

"Father used to be a structural engineer, mother a doctor. They met after he had an accident at work while on a contract in the sub-continent. My mother attended to him. The way my father tells the story, she set his pulse racing at the same time as setting his arm back into place."

"All sounds pretty romantic," quipped Matt.

Her eyes rolled in apparent disapproval at his comment. He wondered if he'd inadvertently said the wrong thing.

"Men are seduced easily," she said with a degree of casual detachment. "They live only for the next romantic encounter. This is what leads them astray from commitment."

Her coolness towards the subject surprised him.

"Not one for all this true love stuff then?" he said.

"Compatibility is the key behind any successful and lasting relationship. This is what must be established first, before any promises of long term commitment are made."

Gratia's words let Matt to believe her parent's marriage was an unhappy one, if it still existed. He elected not to press the matter.

"And what about your parents?" she asked, deflecting the conversation.

"My father was a career policeman who cared for nothing but his work. Mother, on the other hand, was different. She was a community worker who seemed to care for everybody else in the world, except me that is. I was never convinced my arrival on the planet had been as carefully planned as alleged. Not that I'm likely to discover the truth. They both died when I was younger."

A brief lull ensued.

"This is what draws you to Martha and Gerhardt."

Matt looked away from the darkened sky and returned her studious gaze. He had never considered it like that before. Her mind was razor sharp. He was going to have to be careful over what he said to her.

"I guess," he said.

For the first time this night he felt the evening cold, despite the presence of the heater, and shivered briefly. Perhaps her insight had struck a chord.

"Maybe it's getting time to retire," he said. "I'm starting to feel the chill."

She feigned offence.

"You have talked all night about the wonder of watching the sun rise above the mountains on a morning. And now you wish to retire?" she mocked. "The least I expect is we would wait to see in the dawn."

Matt had waxed lyrical about the sight of dawn breaking through the mountains. He was going to have to see this through. And it was not as if he hadn't enjoyed the night's conversation. He looked across. Her small face started to exhibit the first signs of a curious frown.

"I am intrigued by the diary you showed me earlier. The embossed letter S on the front is an unusual font. The notes inside are written almost like a puzzle, a very interesting mixture of code and reference. Perhaps I could help you to locate the owner."

"Thanks, but no. I should be able to take it on from here. Anyway, don't you have the small matter of a very large business empire to manage? That has to be far more important than a little geographical research."

"The advantage of my position is I can determine my own agenda."

"Really, it's fine."

"And if I insist?"

"Then I would point out you are not seated behind your big corporate desk at this time, therefore unable to make demands of others."

Her eyes smiled at his directness.

"You are a man who does not take kindly to instruction," she observed.

"Something tells me you don't much like being told what to do either."

A second chill appeared and invaded the protection of the woollen blanket, causing Matt to shiver briefly again.

"Should you instruct me to move across to keep each other warm, then I will comply," she said with a sly grin.

"Now you're toying with me," he replied.

He turned on to his side to face her. Gratia responded by lowering her head back on to the cushioned covering to look straight into his eyes. This time he held his gaze.

"You are right," she said. "It is beginning to get cold."

With an elegant sweep of her hand Gratia drew the blanket from her body. He watched as she sat upright and then draped the covering over her arm. She did not speak or smile as she stood, nor as she took the short step to where he lay. Gratia gently positioned the blanket over his body.

Instinctively, Matt raised his arm to allow her room to slip in beside him. She lowered down onto her back with her head rested on his shoulder. She felt soft and warm. They fitted seamlessly together, as though they had done this many times before. Her perfume smelt rich and exotic. He breathed in and caught the scent of her hair, a mixture of sweet and dangerous intoxication. Matt couldn't remember the last time a woman had lain up next to him. The sensation of her touching body felt good. She felt good.

"I don't believe I've ever lain in the same bed as a Chief Executive Officer before," he said dryly.

"At least we are both a little warmer and able to properly enjoy the rising sun. Now, tell me again, which one is Sam?" she said, looking up to the stars.

"That one, over to the left," he replied.

Matt unconsciously began to stroke at the thick texture of her hair. Gratia didn't seem to mind at all. If anything, she appeared to enjoy his light touch. It caused him to think and he recalled her earlier comments, about men being so easily seduced. Surely this was not what she intended? Why would a multinational Chief Executive seek to bed a floatplane taxi owner? It made no sense. Yet the whole thing felt uncannily comfortable. A question sprang into his mind.

"What does Gratia Fuchs mean, in English?"

"Grace," she replied after giving the matter some thought. "Grace Fox."

The name resonated to every corner of his mind, as though an alarm bell had been sounded. His mind went temporarily blank as he sought to digest this sudden news. His eyes stared cold and blankly up into the night sky. Matt felt as though his entire nervous system was spinning out of control. Gratia bore precisely the same name as the woman he had last made love to, albeit in a different language. It was surreal, like someone had deliberately engineered this situation to play mind games with his head.

"You do not like my name?"

"Yes," he stuttered uncertainly. "It is a beautiful name. I used to know someone called Grace."

She turned her head and looked into his eyes.

"I will not object if you wish to use the English translation, Grace. Would you prefer this?"

"No," he said immediately. "Your name is Gratia, Gratia Fuchs."

He could see her mind trying to understand his thinking.

"I can see I have much to read," she said.

Matt offered some sort of smile in return, more a nervous twitch.

"Take it from me," he said, "I'm a very thin volume."

Gratia was oblivious to the context of her disclosure. And though he felt he had successfully managed to disguise the full impact of her words, he was nevertheless unnerved. The revelation brought the past and the present rushing into high definition focus. He should have pushed this woman away much earlier. There was every chance she could become embroiled in his problem, become a target too. Matt looked at his watch for the first time this night and sat bolt upright.

"We should return to our rooms and try and get some rest," he said.

He felt her hand rest against the small of his his back and rub gently.

"Dawn is almost here. You have talked all night about the magical sight of the sun shining through the mountains as it rises. I want to see what is so special."

Matt turned his head and gazed down into her large dark eyes. She had asked him to stay, not pleaded. Gratia would never do that. She was too strong.

"Once the morning light appears people will rise," he said. "There will be other dawns, and it is probably better we are not seen together."

"I am not at all compromised by this," she replied with an amused smile.

"I wasn't thinking about that," he said without thinking.

Her stroking stopped, leaving her fingers to rest against his back.

"Why should we not be seen together? What is it you have not told me about yourself I should know?"

Matt inwardly cursed at his carelessness. Gratia spotted his indecision.

"Is it something illegal you are involved in?"

"No," he replied instantly, "of course not."

"Then what is it?"

Matt elected not to respond immediately, recognising the can of worms he'd inadvertently opened with his careless remark. Desperately, he searched for an evasive manoeuvre, some sort of believable answer.

"Martha might get the wrong idea if she discovers us like this. In some things her values remain old fashioned, and I do not want her to misinterpret the situation and be disappointed in either of us."

He turned and offered a confident smile. Gratia's returning gaze was blank, which he understood to mean she remained unconvinced by his timid excuse and was deep in thought, trying to rationalise his statement. Matt sought to rectify his mistake, his mind searching for words to deflect her attention.

"You are very beautiful," he said, for no other reason than he believed her to be.

His hand moved to gently sweep away the dark hair from her brow. Her smile thanked him for the compliment.

"I am also very cold now without the blanket," she said.

Obediently, he dropped back onto the cushioned surface. Only this time his head rested on her shoulder and he felt her fingers gently massage at his temple.

"Martha is not as old-fashioned as you say you believe. But I think you know this already. So there can be no reason for you to go."

"Trust me," he said. "It is better I leave."

"Are we to disagree?"

He laughed.

"I doubt anyone would be brave enough to openly disagree with the Chief Operating Officer of Schafen Industries."

"There is a first time for everything."

The gentle stroking of his temple resumed. He found the motion of her fingers relaxing his mind, playing soothing musical melodies in his head. The need to catch up on lost sleep began to exercise its influence, and he could feel his resistance weakening. Any thought on her part of seduction was irrelevant now. He needed to rest. Matt could feel his body succumbing to fatigue.

"Surely, a few more minutes can do no harm," she said softly.

Matt knew he was losing the struggle to stay awake. He sensed she was aware of it too.

"Five minutes," he said. "Then I should go."

"Yes," she replied, continuing the soft, even strokes of her fingers. "Rest your eyes for a moment and I will wake you when it is time."

He didn't respond. Gratia adjusted the position of her head to peer down at his face. Matt had fallen asleep.

Chapter Twelve

A Fool Rushes In

All Matt could remember of the dream was a soft pair of lips kissing his forehead. In his current semi-conscious state the dream had been replaced with the sound of an irritable voice, increasing in volume with every passing word.

"Matthew, Matthew," it kept repeating.

He stirred the aching eyes, realising they'd had insufficient rest. As he opened them to the glaring sun, the gravel he was sure had been tipped under his eyelids began to grate and he cursed at the discomfort.

"Matthew," said the urgent voice again.

"Tell me I'm dreaming or I've died and gone to heaven," he replied to the voice.

"You are very much alive and in the way. What in heaven possessed you to sleep outside for the night? Is your room not comfortable enough?"

Matt sat up and swivelled his body to place his feet on the concrete ground. Instinct caused him rub at his eyes, an action he instantly regretted.

"I thought I'd try and catch the dawn rise," he said. "Looks like I fell asleep instead."

"Catch the dawn rise indeed."

With consciousness fully returning he looked around.

"Where's Gratia?"

"She obviously had the good sense to retire to her room, where you should have been."

"What, in Gratia's bed?"

Martha's next words were in German, accompanied by her hand smacking against the back of his head. Though he didn't recognise every one of them, those he could understand were less than complimentary.

"What time is it?"

"Time you were out of my way. Now go. I will wake you in a few hours."

Matt was too tired to argue. Leadenly, yawning constantly, he eventually found the route to his room. He heard the door slam shut behind him and collapsed onto the bed. In seconds, he had succumbed once more to the need for sleep.

The white ceiling was the first thing Matt saw on opening his eyes. He waited for them to gather their focus, knowing his mind was coming quickly from behind. The watch read three in the afternoon.

Matt undressed and headed straight for the shower, in the forlorn hope the vigorous battering his body would receive from the hot water would breathe some life into him. The energetic rubbing of soap into his skin failed to stir him into active life. Washing his hair at the same speed only resulted in one of his eyes getting sore, caused by shampoo penetrating the side of an eyelid. It was a relief to escape the hot shower and return to the bed. The persistent, aggressive rubbing of his hair with the spare towel finally brought some semblance of considered thought back into his mind.

Hauling the jeans up to his waist, he manoeuvred the belt buckle firmly into place. These were a new pair so he began to empty the jeans he'd discarded, starting with the small change in the back pocket. Matt had nearly finished the task when he discovered something was missing.

The diary had gone.

He might have dropped it. There was another, more likely, explanation. Flinging his shoe at the wall in anger at his own stupidity, he thumped his back against the mattress. There was no time to lose. He had to find Gratia as quickly as possible. All he could hope was that she hadn't been foolish enough to poke her nose too deeply into his affairs. That final thought spurred him on to finishing dressing.

Unable to see who he was looking for inside the building Matt hurried out to the concrete patio, anxiously scanning each and every one of the people-filled tables in view. He prayed either Martha or Gerhardt would be able to tell him when, and where, she had gone.

"Good afternoon, Matthew."

"I'm sorry, Martha. Looks like I've overslept."

"Everyone needs to sleep, even you," she said, reaching up to peck his cheek and straighten his collar. "Gerhardt has at last decided to replace the light bulb in the hall, when he can find a spare. He will be back soon."

Matt nodded and grimaced. It was meant to be a smile but he was far too anxious for that. He continued to be distracted by the ongoing search for the woman who had occupied his time last night. His mind was brought back to focus by the diminutive Austrian woman, pressing her fingers against his cheek so he would have to look her in the face. Reluctantly, he complied.

"What possessed you to sit up all night?" she said, staring directly into his eyes.

He grimaced again. Matt looked to the sky in a desperate attempt to avoid her gaze. Somehow, he plucked up enough courage to look at her, and noticed the side of her lip begin to break out into a motherly smile.

"Gratia likes you. She asks many questions," said Martha, straightening his collar again. "There, you are ready. Now go. Gratia has decided to work from the residence today and you have kept her waiting long enough."

The ugly smile returned before the nod.

"Go," she demanded.

Matt hurried through the door and Gratia immediately raised a hand to prevent him from speaking, so as not to disturb her conversation on the mobile phone. He understood some of the German language but she spoke at such speed he found it impossible to follow. Matt hoped she was discussing company business.

The room was a reasonable size, roughly fifteen feet by fifteen he estimated, housing a small wooden table and four chairs placed in the middle of the space. To the right was a small kitchen unit, hosting a coffee machine and a spare cup. A separate two seat leather sofa was pushed up against the left hand side, close to the far wall where the patio doors had been opened to let in the afternoon breeze. He could see a white, rectangular plastic table on the wooden balcony accompanied by some chairs.

Matt's eyes searched the room. The diary was nowhere to be seen. His gaze drifted back towards Gratia, roaming the wooden flooring as she spoke.

She had a different outfit on today. Her white knee length skirt was perfectly cut into her midriff, emphasising her slim waist and attractively shaped legs. The tan, short sleeved cashmere top clung tightly to her chest before disappearing behind the light brown belt of the skirt. Her hair seemed an even blacker colour in daylight. Once again she wore minimal layers of make-up, which made her youthful complexion all the more remarkable.

Matt considered he'd been right to describe her as beautiful, only more so now than he'd originally believed. His attention was drawn to her left hand, scratching lightly at the top of her head as she spoke. There was the diary.

Her talking stopped and she began to listen to what Matt assumed was incoming information. She moved to the table and began to scribble on a large notepad. The numbers and letters were being writ large, full of boldness and confidence. Matt could do nothing other than wait for the call to end. He walked over to the open patio windows and stood, trying to be patient. Sensing a presence approaching, he turned.

"Good morning," she said, "even though it is nearly four. You were right, the rising sun was magical."

Matt had entered the room in a foul temper; more than a little upset she had relieved him of the diary without consent. He knew he wanted to be angry. He had every right to be angry, and he opened his mouth to tell her he was angry.

"Good morning," was as much as he could manage to get out of his mouth.

Her eyes sparkled to accompany the broad smile on her face, and she held her gaze for several seconds. The only way he was going to break this spell would be to look out of the window or walk away and pour out a coffee, anything to break the eye contact so he could put on his Mr Angry face and address her sharply. As it happened, he did none of these things. She was so close he could almost taste the scented perfume on her skin.

"Sleep well?" she asked with a bright smile.

"It was a very long five minutes."

"My fault, I fell asleep also once dawn had broken. When I woke it was close to eight and you remained in what can only be described as a coma. So I decided it was better to leave you to rest."

"Gratia ..." he began, intending to assert his authority in no small measure over the whereabouts of the missing diary.

She cut him short by pulling him to the table and picking up the diary she had left beside the cup of coffee.

"This loosened from your pocket. I thought I would use the time to ..."

Without warning, his arm reached for her hand and gripped it firmly, bringing the oration to a halt.

"Gratia, you must stop. Now," he said.

Her bright smile faded into a worried canvas. Matt's tone was harsher than he'd intended.

"This information is for your benefit. What would take you days, possibly weeks, to discover I can recover in a matter of hours," she said.

"You must stop," he insisted, staring into her eyes. "I don't want you involved in this, period."

She returned his hardened stare without flinching, with an implacably cool expression told him she wasn't going to back down.

"Promise me you will stop," he said.

Matt thought he had met tough negotiators before. This woman was nothing short of lethal. But to back down now would leave him defenceless to her will.

"I don't want you involved," he repeated.

She blinked.

"I'm already involved," she countered.

Her admission startled him. They'd only known each other a matter of hours. He reminded himself of the purpose of his visit, to secure Rosa Cain's help. Failing that, he would travel to Brussels and ask Catherine Vogel for assistance. The first was a trained assassin, the other a powerful and consummate politician. Gratia was neither. It was unfortunate Rosa would not return for another two weeks, even more so that Catherine was also away. Gratia may be able to help him, but he didn't want her drawn into his problems. Somehow, he had to find a way to discourage her.

"How can you be involved? We barely know each other."

"I know enough," she said, after a pause.

Matt knew he had to dig deep.

"You think you do. I suspect loneliness has got the better of you."

The cutting remark failed to make an impression.

"We were both lonely, until last night," she said.

He didn't want to say it. He really didn't want to say it.

"You might have been lonely. I was only interested in a quick screw and you looked as though you might have been up for it. The fact you are a multinational Chief Executive would have been a bonus, that's all."

Matt hated himself for the harsh words he'd spoken. But if Gratia was hurt, she hid any angry emotions with admirable professionalism.

"Judging by the speed with which you fell asleep in my arms, then it would likely have been a very quick encounter indeed."

The barb hit its mark, causing him to blink involuntarily. Matt had said an awful thing to Gratia, worthy of the utmost contempt. Yet her resistance to his verbal assault was nothing short of stoic, returning his serve with interest and then some. The atmosphere had now filled with awkward tension and distrust.

"What is it you are not telling me?"

Matt shook his head.

"I do not want your help," was all he could manage to say in response.

They continued to stare fiercely at each other. He found it impossible to read into her mind or interpret the stillness of her body. Finally, her eyes narrowed.

"As you wish," she said, moving away from him. "Behave in the manner of an obstinate pig, if you insist."

He watched her stride aggressively towards the door and fiercely grip at the handle. She turned and glowered straight into his eyes.

"But you should know my involvement with you rests only in the diary. The letter S, on the front, represents the logo of Schafen Industries. It is one of a small number printed for the use of a selective number of senior executives. The fact you had this diary leads me to suspect something is out of place. I had hoped we could have co-operated on this, but ... you do not wish for my assistance."

The door slammed shut, leaving Matt speechless. Feeling ridiculous didn't come close. Gratia had played him from the minute he had revealed his ownership of the diary. This was her only point of interest in him, nothing else. Like a bull in a china shop, he had charged into the angry exchange without thinking. What a fool. Gratia was right about one thing. He had behaved like an obstinate farm animal.

The late evening meal was challenging. Gratia had returned home, citing tiredness and a busy schedule as the reason for her departure. Matt barely spoke. He was polite enough, but far from his usual self. Martha and Gerhardt did their best to draw him into conversation. Getting blood from a stone would have been more fulfilling. The time had reached nine thirty when Martha could contain her curiosity no longer.

"What have you said?" she demanded.

Matt hunched his shoulders and looked apologetically to Gerhardt. The older man smiled and asked his wife to bring another two cold bottles. Her departure was fraught with over emphasis but at least prevented her from asking any further questions.

"Gratia rarely reveals any disappointment," said Gerhardt, more in statement than enquiry as he sipped the remnants from his bottle.

Matt glanced across at the Austrian. Gerhardt's returning smile was filled with warmth towards the younger man.

"Unfinished arguments are the worst of their kind, do you not agree?" he added. "It is always so much harder to re-start a conversation."

"I wouldn't worry about it old friend," replied Matt after a pause. "It's highly unlikely I'll be crossing paths with Gratia again."

Gerhardt raised an eyebrow. He peered over Matt's head to look inside the residence.

"Quick, Matt" he said. "Pass me a cigarette, before Martha returns."

And then he laughed aloud. Matt retired soon after with a smile on his face. He really did love the old man.

Chapter Thirteen

Hameln (Ham)

Driving through the countryside had proved a pleasurable experience, laden as it was with large green fields and thick forests. The roadways were surprisingly quiet. Matt flicked the indicator stalk to alert the following car he was set to turn into the off road car park, on the edge of the old centre of Hameln. Situated thirty miles to the south west of Hanover, the town occupied both banks of the river Weser and sat at the foothills of the Weserbergland mountains. Hameln boasted a population under sixty thousand and was well off the beaten track, almost obscure he reasoned. Then again, obscurity might be the location of choice for whoever was behind this.

Emerging into the open Matt was immediately struck by the ornate architecture of the old town, a truly picturesque setting. Slanted roofs, topped with red tiles favoured by Europeans, gave the place a medieval feel. Every building stretched to four, sometimes five, floors with off white or cream fronted facades. All were blessed with numerous heavily patterned windows. Matt was impressed by the town's cleanliness, there being hardly any litter in sight from what he had observed so far.

He headed straight for the Tourist centre and picked up a street map, then sought out a café to sip on a hot drink while he examined the document. Within minutes he had located the street he was looking for, encouragingly close to the old town centre. Re-assured, Matt relaxed in the early morning sun safe in the knowledge he had more than enough time. After coffee, he would familiarise himself with the immediate locality.

A quarter of an hour later, Matt began the spatial mapping process. He started by walking into the old town, towards the river, passing the revitalised pferdemarkt (horse market) in the process. According to the tourist guide, animals were still sold there on occasion. Matt covered the short distance from there to the wide river. There were three crossings in all. Two of the traffic bridges were placed at each end of the long thin island planted in the middle of the river Weser, the natural barrier separating the two sides of town. The part of the island nearest to his side of the river was greened with lush, freshly mown lawn. Tall, leafy trees stood like sentinels on the edges of the narrow strip of land. He could see a single footpath, offering pedestrians a walkway around the island.

Matt spent a few minutes gazing over the quietly moving water. There was something uniquely tranquil about watching a river flowing serenely through a natural landscape, oblivious to the noise and industry of mankind. No matter the number of bridges, dwellings and factories humans built alongside their banks, rivers remained indifferent. These waters had travelled this route for thousands of years, nourishing the earth and sustaining life in a way mankind never could.

He checked his watch, time to move. Retrieving the car he drove to the end of the relevant strasse, the German name for street, and parked in the first available gap amongst the host of parked vehicles. He walked one side of the pavement to the wide street then down the other, deliberately slowing his pace as he passed the target house. It was the third amongst a row of semi-detached buildings. He managed to glance inside as he walked by, revealing nothing of substance. If anything the house looked empty, no sign of movement. He wondered if the person he had come to locate had already fled. Perhaps news of Kendricks' demise had been received and prompted the occupier into moving location.

Matt clambered back behind the wheel and magnified the view of the binoculars pointing at the green front door. He moved to each of the downstairs windows then the three on the upper floor. All the curtains had been drawn open, unless they had been left that way overnight. For minutes on end he peered through the circular lens looking for any sign of life, to no avail.

He was considering checking the rear of the building when the front door opened unexpectedly. A tall, solidly built man stepped out, armed with a luxurious bed of blonde hair parted neatly down the left side of his scalp. Eye colour was unclear but the nose distinguishable, long and thin. Matt estimated the guy was in his late forties, though his energetic walking style suggested he'd kept himself in good trim. Everything about him was unfamiliar, which was disappointing. There had to be someone involved in this he recognised, otherwise why would they do it?

The time neared noon. He took the instinctive decision to follow on foot and packed the rucksack before exiting the car. At the end of the street, the man turned left and headed for the old town. Matt followed at a discreet distance. On a couple of occasions the man stopped to talk to a passer by and Matt had to hurriedly look away. Fortunately, he wasn't spotted.

As they neared the Rathausplatz, the town hall square, Matt could hear noises associated with a rapidly amassing crowd, predominantly children. He remembered reading in the tourist brochure that the Pied Piper open air play started at midday on every Sunday, early May to mid September.

The man entered a tall building housing a coffee shop on the ground floor. While Matt waited for him to reappear, his attention was drawn to the play being enacted on the nearby temporary stage. Children, costumed as rats, were shuffling along on all fours behind the Pied Piper of the story. Matt adjusted his position slightly to avoid the lamppost obscuring the view of the unfolding scene.

The piper was colourfully dressed in bright yellow, purple and orange medieval attire. He had long pointed shoes, which curled away from the ground at the toes. On top of his head sat a red woodcutter's hat with a black rim. The play moved to the scene where the town elders decided to confront the piper, to renege on their original agreement to meet the agreed fee for ridding the town of rats. Matt found himself really getting into it.

Suddenly the man reappeared, wearing a waiter's apron. Matt had nowhere to hide and the two came face to face. The target recognised him instantly and dropped the tray he was carrying. A clatter of metal tray and breaking chinaware hung in the air. The man bolted for safety amongst the standing throng of onlookers, throwing off his apron as he shoved through the crowd.

Matt cursed as he chased. He used the sounds and sights of people being physically bundled aside as his trail. The melee stopped. Matt came to a halt and searched through the agitated mob with his eyes. The man had to be here somewhere.

A child's cry rang out and he glanced at the stage. A little girl had been indiscriminately knocked over. Pushing forward, Matt hurdled onto the stage to maintain his pursuit. The target turned right and headed away from the centre of the old town. Both runners hurtled past the pferdemarkt, heading towards the river which cut the town in two. The fugitive crossed the footbridge. Matt was gaining. They ran onto the widest part of the island, greened with the lush lawn and tall trees. The target burst across the footpath and made a sharp right turn, into the trees. Then he abruptly turned left to try and shake Matt off his trail. Matt's instinct had guessed his quarry's intent and already changed direction. He leapt at the fleeing figure and dragged him earthbound. The man fell awkwardly, banging his head against the turf as Matt pinned him to the ground by straddling his chest.

"Who are you?" Matt yelled.

The breathless man panted for air. His eyes bulged with the physical strain of his attempted escape, his facial expression rigid with terror. Matt was in no mood to be patient.

"What do you want from me?" Matt yelled again. "I'm not going to ask a third time."

The man's chest heaved and his face contorted from fear into agony. Matt knew something was wrong and slipped off the struggling figure. He rummaged for his mobile to call for help while he watched the man wheeze for air. No sooner had he dialled then it was over. The man's face twisted angrily once more before subsiding into a still, deathly silence.

Seconds passed by. Matt's mind was refusing to absorb the incident. Then it registered. The thoughtless sod had gone and had a heart attack. He looked around to see if anyone else was about. They were alone. Matt rummaged through the corpse's pockets. He found a set of house keys, some loose change and a credit card wallet. The names on the cards were all the same, Friedrich Kessler. This name meant nothing to him.

Sinking back onto the grass, Matt wondered what his next move should be. He thought about asking some questions of the staff in the coffee shop, where the dead man worked. No, he decided. This might lead to him being questioned. There was always the diary. His hand brushed the set of keys and he lifted them from the ground. It would be a risk, particularly in daylight, but one worth a punt he considered.

Matt waited until the street had emptied before making his way to the door. The first key wasn't the right size, the second didn't fit either. He pushed the third in and turned the latch.

A stair rail was the first thing he saw, set at a right angle to the front door and leading up to the first floor. To the right, another door opened into the kitchen while walking forwards took him into the living space. There was little sign anyone had lived here at all. Apart from a single sofa chair, and a small wooden table with two stools occupying the dining area, the long room was empty. Not even a television in sight. The fawn coloured walls needed a lick of paint. French windows led to a stone patio in the enclosed rear garden, surrounded by tall hedges.

He stepped up the white painted staircase, spotting the loft access as he climbed. Immediately left was the main bedroom. Although a decent size, it was sparsely furnished. Apart from the double bed the only fittings were two open hanging rails, cluttered with men's clothes hanging from old and wooden frames. The search through the clothing proved fruitless.

Next door, the bathroom was tidy but could do with a good clean. There were the basic masculine toiletries. A razor and some cheap looking aftershave were placed next to half empty cans of body spray and shaving cream, but little else. A quick scan of the remaining two bedrooms revealed nothing more than a single camp bed in each. Whoever this guy was, to say he had lived his life simply was an understatement. He was victim either to falling on bad times or perhaps someone who had suffered a major setback in life and never recovered.

Matt returned downstairs to inspect the kitchen. A rapidly deteriorating crusty loaf occupied the middle bar of the three-shelved larder. Above were a number of small jars of preserve whilst below, lay a selection of ugly green dotted cheeses. The refrigerator was laden with twenty five centilitre bottles of French beer and the odd German lager. That apart, there was a small plate of corned beef, looking like it had taken refuge for the winter, and a handful of overripe tomatoes.

He wandered over to the thirty litre waste bin and pressed the metal lid. An empty burger box carton spilled into view, sprung from the safety of the bin by the release of pressure to the mass of condensed waste. So this is how the guy lived, fast food and alcohol by the bucketful. Matt didn't replace the carton. There was no telling what kind of bacterial infection might attach to his hands.

Having decided there was nothing to be gained from any further inspection, he returned to the hall. That's when he saw the flashing light loom into view, accompanied by bold green lettering spelling Polizei. Someone had called the police. He had no chance of making a dash for freedom out of the front, and the back garden was enclosed. He had to find a place to hide. Where?

Matt leapt up the stairs, two at a time, to the landing. There were no ladders or implements to remove the hatch so he used the banister as a prop, removing his shoes to avoid leaving an imprint on the wooden surface. He tossed his shoes into the gap before pulling his body through the small, dark opening.

Slipping the cover into place Matt used the disappearing light to guide his limbs onto the adjoining rafters for balance. He crouched, motionless. One short breath followed another, filling his lungs with thick stale air. The feint voices of the intruding policemen grew louder. He heard the stairs creak as they extended their search to the upper floor. Seconds later, they were directly below.

He felt something crawl onto the knuckle of his left hand. The temptation to shake it free intensified as the insect began to roam up his arm. He resisted the impulse for as long as he could. It was the nibbling of his skin that prompted him into action, at exactly the same time as the access hatch to the loft opened.

Matt shook his arm violently. An angry and alarmed shout emanated from below. Matt recognised the words as German curses and assumed they were aimed at him. He thought about surrendering to the agitated uniforms. Then he understood the panic underneath to have been caused by the insect dropping directly onto the face of the searching policeman. More curses accompanied the sound of frantically stamping feet against the carpet, followed by uproarious laughter from the distressed policeman's colleagues.

Matt waited for the humour to subside, conscious his position was now exposed to any further inspection of the loft space. The laughter gave way to argument, as the uniforms below debated on who should now look into the attic. None of the uniformed clan volunteered to accept the responsibility.

Had the situation not been serious, Matt would have found it funny. The argument ended when a policeman threw up his hands and stomped back down the stairs. A temporary silence followed. Then the argument resumed. It took the bark of an instruction from downstairs to end the heated debate. They funnelled back to the ground floor. Shortly after, Matt heard the front door slam shut.

He waited for ten minutes before slipping back into the daylight. The crushed arachnid lay on its back, still and silent, the life force crushed out of its broken body. Matt sat on the stairs. He considered waiting for darkness to fall, which would help to cover his escape. Someone had seen him entering the building, and it was likely the exact same neighbour would spot him exiting and call the police again. For all he knew, the police remained close by. In the event, he stayed for one more hour before chancing his arm.

Matt gently eased his foot against the brake and the Mercedes gradually came to a rest. The service station was some miles away from Hameln, far enough to safely stop and rest up for a coffee. Slipping the gearbox into park, he tugged at the mobile in his pocket. He tapped impatiently as the phone continued to ring, finding his thoughts drifting back to the days events. One address covered and he had learnt nothing.

He'd hoped a single trip would surrender the information he needed. He couldn't have been more wrong. This was going to take longer than planned. He began to rue the disagreement with Gratia. She could have helped him. There was no chance she would offer again. Matt considered his options. There was some merit to the idea of heading straight to Russia. Even so, Pustoshka was still some twelve hundred miles away.

The other alternatives were in the Far East. He preferred to avoid China, because of the regime in place. Should anything go wrong then he might as well kiss goodbye to life. In China, they executed first and asked questions later. Better to try and work things out in Europe before it came to that.

"Hello," said the man's voice.

"It's Matt. Just to let you know I'll be back tonight."

"Good," said the voice. "I'll let Martha know."

"Thanks, Gerhardt."

"Come to the residence. The hotel is busy tonight."

"Really?" said Matt. "You got a coach trip in for the night?"

Chapter Fourteen

Rapprochement

Matt arrived at the residence feeling tired, hungry and more than a little dispirited. He needed a long hot shower to help raise his spirits and hide the disappointment of the trip from his hosts. At least it was still daylight and the air remained warm. He made a point of being pleasant to Martha, asking if it were possible to eat alfresco tonight.

Forty minutes later and his general mood showed signs of improvement. Well enough to eagerly anticipate a taste of Martha's appetising cooking and a bottle of red. He'd been determined to help Martha in the kitchen but she'd shooed him outside onto the balcony, insisting he was no more than nuisance value. Not that he'd put up much of a fight after being handed the cold bottle of lager.

He settled into the plastic chair and looked at the snowy peaks of the mountains on the far horizon. He could feel the bright sun gently cook at the flesh of his bare forearm, even at this hour, and adjusted the position of the chair so it sat completely under the sun umbrella. His thoughts dwelled awhile on the remarkable contrast between the sapping heat he could feel and the icy pictures of the distant landscape. The sound of someone stepping through the patio doors caused him to remark on the picturesque scene.

"Hello, Matt," said the woman's voice.

He twisted round in the chair.

"Gratia, what are you doing here?"

She smiled warmly.

"I needed a break."

"Already?" he said.

He watched as she stepped onto the balcony. The turquoise scoop necked top hung gracefully from her shoulders, sharply contrasting against the colour of her long hair and designer slacks. Once again she wore the open toed sandals format she most preferred, the picture of manicured perfection he'd come to expect. The half glass of red sank to the table as she took the seat next to him.

Matt felt uncomfortable with the barrage of insults he had thrown at her on the last occasion. This awkwardness caused him to shift his gaze back over to the mountains. Instinct told him she recognised his discomfort, and therefore understood his reason for looking away.

"Yes, it is very picturesque," she said, agreeing with his earlier statement.

She appeared surprisingly relaxed, almost as if their last angry and heated conversation had never happened.

"Did you find what you were looking for in Hameln?"

"No, unfortunately not," he replied.

Neither looked at the other, just kept their eyes fixed on the mountainous view.

"I'm guessing you'll try the Italian address next," she said. "Then France and Spain, keep Russia last."

He nodded and they were silent for a while. Gratia reached into her shoulder bag and placed a small notepad in front of him. At first he tried to ignore it. Curiosity got the better of him.

"What's this?"

"The first few pages are the details of all the addresses you seek. They are followed by route maps to get you to each of the places," she said. "It will be difficult at this time of year to find hotels, so I have included a list of recommendations that may accommodate you."

He examined the lines of her writing. As expected, they were meticulously bold and clear. Why would she go to so much trouble? Particularly given the unpleasantness of their last encounter?

"Thank you," he said, somewhat sheepishly.

"I could arrange for a car to be made available. However, you are likely to interpret that as too much help."

He declined to respond, merely kept his eyes fixed on the surrounding view. First they spend an entire night in glorious conversation under the stars. Then he makes a complete fool of himself, enabling her to belittle him with unerring ease. The next day she responds to his appalling insults by going to extraordinary lengths to try and help him. Will the real Gratia Fuchs please stand up, he asked himself.

Matt sighed. Deep down he knew it was his behaviour that could be interpreted as erratic, disjointed. He'd encouraged her to sit up all night and engage in conversation, because he needed the company. The next day he had behaved entirely the opposite, pushing her unpleasantly away. It was clear she was trying to mend a fence only he had broken, re-establish their initial relationship. He wanted to explain why he had behaved in the way he had. He also knew he couldn't as this could place her in danger.

"I can't let you help me," he heard himself say.

He felt her steady gaze upon the profile of his face, like she was trying to understand his inconsistency. Matt wanted her help. He needed it. Something inside wouldn't allow him to involve her. Perhaps it was because he didn't want anything to happen to Gratia. She continued the search of his mind for several more moments.

"Why can't I help you?"

He shook his head gently to let her know he wasn't going to explain. It was enough to encourage her to rise from the chair.

"I'll see if Martha needs help with the meal," she said.

As she turned her back on him to step away from the balcony, Matt relented.

"I should never have said the things that should never have been said," he called.

Gratia halted momentarily. He watched her shoulders rise and then fall. One second became two, then three and four as she stood motionless at the opening. After what seemed like an age she returned to the seat and looked at him.

"I was wrong to speak to you so unkindly," he said.

He looked her directly in the eye in an attempt to show he meant every word. Gratia gave him nothing other than a short smile.

"We need to work on this together. But if I am to help then you must commit to one thing," she said.

"What?"

"When I am ready, you must answer all of my questions with complete honesty."

"Done," he quickly agreed.

"I had not finished."

"Then you ask two things."

"Detail, mere detail," she said.

"What else?"

He noticed the texture of her eyes had softened, as though she had been weakened by physical pain.

"You must never say such hurtful things to me again," she whispered.

"Agreed," he replied softly.

Darkness fell by the end of the meal. Martha, surprisingly, had allowed Gerhardt to smoke one cigarette without complaint. After he had finished the dastardly act Martha picked up the unattended packet and emptied the contents into the waste bin. The look of abject horror on Gerhardt's face, at this minor act of vandalism, had his remaining companions in stitches of laughter.

Shortly after, the elder citizens elected to retire, leaving Matt and Gratia to finish the second bottle of red. The parting farewells were intriguing. The traditional peck of the cheeks between the two women exuded little affection on Gratia's part, while her subsequent embrace with Gerhardt showed real warmth. He hadn't noticed this previously and thought back to Gratia's earlier dismissive comments about Martha. For some reason there was bad blood between the two of them.

Having made his peace with Gratia earlier however, the last thing Matt needed was to sow the seeds of another potential conflict by referring to it. They sat quietly to enjoy the simple pleasure of taking in the evening air.

"I see Sam is in the sky again tonight," she said.

Matt chuckled.

"You see, isn't that much easier to remember?"

Despite her humour he could sense there were many things on her mind. He thought about asking. Something inside told him it would be better to wait.

"There are missing chapters to your book."

He smiled.

"No, Matt Durham is a very thin volume of work."

"Each page I turn deepens the mystery."

"It is the thought of mystery you find compelling. Trust me. The end chapter is a major disappointment."

"The reader is the ultimate arbiter of a book's quality rather than the author."

Matt heard her words, smiling inside at the gentle probing. He knew there was more to come. Matt was confident in his ability to reveal only as much about himself as he needed to keep her onboard. He heard her ask him a question. For some reason however, his mind had drifted into another direction.

"Suffer," he said, out of the blue.

"What did you say?"

"Suffer," he repeated. "One of Kendricks' people said they wanted me to suffer. Why? Where is the logic to that?"

Gratia saw his statement as an opening.

"Did you not ask?"

"No, I didn't get the chance."

"There is no senior person with the name of Kendricks employed by Schafen Industries," replied a studious Gratia. "The diary was one of a numbered batch issued to Herbert Kestlemann, Head of our North American logistics division, based in Seattle."

"Kendricks was American. I suppose there could be a connection."

"Herr Kestlemann has not reported the diary missing. He has a fine, though somewhat undistinguished, record with us. Some years ago he was transferred to Seattle, shortly after the settlement of a bitter divorce. There have been a small number of subsequent relationships, none of any permanence."

She paused to catch her breath.

"His wife remarried, to a banker by the name of Jeremy Cole, and moved to England with their child. There has been no contact between Kestlemann and his estranged wife since the divorce, and he has few close or personal friendships. The son is now grown. He joined the British military soon after leaving school but has now left."

Matt was seriously impressed.

"His personal finances are strong," continued Gratia. "They show a healthy savings balance and little expenditure, so he has no money problems. Golf is his main preferred recreation, though he also dabbles on occasion with online chess and war gaming. By all accounts he is well respected within the local business community, attending many functions and dinners for good causes."

"God, you're scary," said Matt.

"Scary?"

"The way you get this information. Whatever happened to data protection?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I suppose it's a useful start," he said. "Why is it, in a world cluttered with all manner of new technology and smart mobile phones, modern companies keep producing something as old fashioned as a company diary? You would think they would be obsolete by now."

"It is tradition, good corporate practise and a sensible back up," said Gratia, sounding slightly offended.

"Waste, that's what it is," replied Matt. "Is it any wonder the rainforests are getting smaller."

"Pay attention," she said. "The diary shows a number of addresses in different countries."

"I knew that much already."

"Pay attention."

"Okay."

Gratia leaned over to the table and picked up the diary. She thumbed through to the relevant page.

"The first three letters represent a town or locality in these countries. The following mixture of letters and numbers are the area post codes, and the figures or words listed below them are the house or apartment names and numbers."

He wondered why he hadn't sussed that out himself from the start.

"Within the next few hours, perhaps a day or so, my people should be able to provide details of all residents. I expect this to include photographs, personal history data, and financial and employment records. This will help you in your search, maybe shorten it."

As Matt's mind sought to digest the information, Gratia began to rise. Instinctively his fingers folded around her wrist to prevent her from leaving.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To retire to my room," she replied. "I have an early start and a full day tomorrow."

"I thought you had a number of questions?"

"All in good time," she said.

Her expression never altered. Matt should have been relieved to escape her cross examination. Instead he felt disappointment. He relaxed his grip.

"Good night," she said as she left.

Chapter Fifteen

Cogolin (Cog)

The colours of the parched fields either side of the open road were more orange than sand, due to the intense baking sun dominating the landscape over the past weeks. While short periods of drought were not uncommon at this time of year the current hot and dry spell had lasted longer than usual. Summer it may have been, yet the electrical storms bringing sudden thrashes of urgent rain happened more frequently than the tourism industry would have you believe. For some reason there had been none for several weeks.

Cogolin lay a few miles north of St Tropez, the heartbeat of the French Riviera. The town had been built at the bottom of a small mountain range. Some of the properties edged up into the steep hills but the majority of the town lay in the foothills.

Matt could see his destination nearing with each complete cycle of the huge rubber tyres propping up the luxurious four by four. He would have preferred a nimble diesel saloon car rather than this fuel thirsty, top of the range, monster though he had to admit it was damn comfortable. If nothing else, Gratia understood luxury.

The vehicle was so modern Matt had no idea what half the buttons and dials on the console were for. Unable to get the air conditioning operating to his satisfaction, he had eventually resorted to the basic tactic of leaving a window open.

A ringing noise interrupted his train of thought. He glanced at the telephone shaped icon flashing intermittently green on the information screen. Obviously, he had to press a button or turn a dial somewhere. Easing his foot against the brake pedal brought the mammoth machine to a halt. He noticed another flashing button labelled 'inc' and pressed with his thumb. The information panel went temporarily blank and then Gratia's face appeared.

"Nothing came of Bussana Nuova?" the image asked.

"Another dead end," he replied. "According to neighbours, the tenant left in a hurry without giving a forwarding address."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm about to enter Cogolin. If nothing comes of this then I'll go on to Spain."

A half smile appeared on her face, as though something was bothering her.

"What's up?" he said.

Gratia hesitated for a few moments.

"Would you like some company in Spain?"

He thought they'd agreed not to meet until he returned.

"What's on your mind, Gratia?"

"I have made reservations in Pamplona. We can talk there when you arrive. I'll send a text with the address."

"I'm off the road. We can talk now if you like."

"No, it can wait."

"I might get everything I need here at Cogolin."

She hesitated.

"We can still use the time to talk."

Her reluctance to discuss the matter sounded ominous. Matt thought better of pressing the issue.

"Okay, I'll make my way to Pamplona next. When will you arrive?"

"I'll be there before you," she said.

"Touch wood I'll see you in a day or so then."

Her head turned from the screen, as if troubled. Something or other was on her mind, was worrying her.

"Try and get there as quick as you can."

"Okay," he replied. "Are you sure there is nothing you want to say now?"

"No. We will talk at Pamplona."

He didn't get the chance to respond. The screen went blank. Gratia had ended the call. Matt wasn't sure how to react to the odd conversation. Gratia was clearly disturbed by something. All sorts of thoughts started to run through his mind as to what the issue might be.

Maybe his enemies had found out she was helping him and threatened her safety. Perhaps it was a work problem, though this was unlikely to have her wanting to meet up with Matt so urgently. No, her concern had to be connected to his research. He shook his mind back into focus and re-engaged the auto gearbox.

The time approached noon when the vehicle entered the small town. A few more minutes spent negotiating his way around the parked cars at the sides of the narrow road and he had arrived in the town centre. The tourist information office sat on the edge of the pavement, at the point where all roads of the town seemed to come together. Matt turned into the first side opening that wasn't blocked by local traffic and parked.

The walk back was hot and sticky, complicated by the need to constantly evade huge numbers of tourists slowly ambling through the town. They were an irksome bunch. Often or not in large groups, they patrolled the streets two or three abreast and moved aside for no-one. At one stage Matt almost crashed into the heated rotisserie outside a butcher's shop to avoid one such group.

The relief on his face on entering the tourist office must have been evident, judging by the sympathetic grin offered up by the petite French woman at the counter. Light brown hair hung behind her head in a ponytail, effortlessly highlighting the delicate bone structure of her little face. Like so many young French women she exuded a natural feminine grace.

"Parlez vous Anglais?" he asked.

"Mais oui monsieur, how can I help you?"

Matt asked where he might find a room for the night. Without a second thought she picked up the phone from the desk and dialled a number. He listened as she spoke in her native tongue, at a pace impossible to follow.

"One night, monsieur," she asked him, and he nodded.

A further rapid exchange of words suggested she had found him a room for the night.

"Your name, sir" she asked.

"Durham, Matt Durham," he replied.

Her eyes seemed to glaze over, almost as if she recognised the name. This made him change his mind about allowing her make the reservation.

"It's okay," he said. "Give me the details and I'll go and see them."

Another exchange with the phone followed and then she advised Matt of the name and gave him directions.

"It is a good hotel. You will be comfortable there."

"Thank you very much," he said appreciatively.

Matt quickly turned his mind to the reason for the visit and produced the diary from the inside pocket of his linen jacket. He pointed to the address he sought.

"Could you also tell me where I can find this address?"

He noticed the friendly smile temporarily disappear from her face, returning seconds later at full beam.

"I know it. It is close to where I live," she said. "We are due to close soon for the afternoon break. I could escort you there if you care to wait. Perhaps take a coffee for a short time?"

"I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"No trouble. It is on my way."

Matt was sure her offer was over and above the call of duty. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Okay, I accept. Thank you..."

"Mathilde, my name is Mathilde."

"Thank you, Mathilde. What time do you break?"

"In about ten minutes," she said with a pleasant smile.

Matt looked across to see Mathilde replace the phone. She beckoned him over from the pavement café and he hurried across the road, arriving as she turned the key in the lock.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" he asked.

"Mais non," she replied. "Pardon, of course not is what I meant to say."

He walked on the part of the path nearest to the road, the way he had been brought up to escort a woman on a busy street. Her stroll was gentle and serene, seemingly immune to the intense midday heat. The white blouse and blue skirt of her uniform barely rippled in the light breeze blowing straight into them.

"Do you provide this level of service for every customer?"

"No," she laughed. "Only those with kind faces."

"You think this is a kind face?"

She laughed again, glancing discreetly at him as she glided along the path, catching him gazing intently at her movement.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I did not mean to stare. French women carry themselves with such grace and elegance."

A bright smile lit up her face and she looked up into his eyes.

"How many French women do you know?"

"None really," he admitted. "However they are enchanting creatures to observe from a pavement café."

"That is because you only look at the young women in France."

"Ouch! I guess I asked for that."

Her head dropped back as she laughed to the sky making him feel silly with his careless, foolish remark. Small talk was never much of a strong point with Matt.

"Perhaps you'd allow me to start the conversation again," he said sheepishly.

"Your observation is mostly accurate."

She turned her head and offered a bright smile to reduce his discomfort. Despite her apparent friendliness, Matt thought he saw a degree of nervousness in her eyes and berated himself for his clumsy conversation.

"Do you like your job?"

"Yes, mostly," she replied. "I meet many types of people from many different countries, so every day is different."

"And I suppose the English give you the hardest time."

She smiled.

"Not always," she replied, "but mostly."

"Makes it even more surprising you are helping me."

"I am forbidden to hold prejudice," she responded with a mischievous grin.

Matt wondered why a clever young girl, such as Mathilde, had not moved on to a bigger town or city more suited to her sharp intellect.

"Have you always lived in Cogolin?"

"No. I moved here from Paris a few months ago."

"Really?" he remarked.

"This surprises you?"

"A little bit. Cities like Paris would surely offer greater opportunities for a young woman than a small place like Cogolin."

She didn't respond.

"I'm not taking you very far out of your way am I?"

"If it was a problem for me then I would not have offered."

"Perhaps you will allow me to buy you a drink or evening meal after you have finished work, to show my appreciation."

"There is no need."

He pulled up, causing her to halt also.

"Mathilde, it is something I would like to do. St Tropez is only a few miles away or, if it is too far, we could eat at the harbour in Port Cogolin. Not quite Paris, but something you might enjoy."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"To thank you, for the help you have given me today. I could have spent hours trying to find this place. Who knows, it might even restore the English reputation in your eyes."

His attempt at humour fell on deaf ears. The young French woman studied his face, uncertain as to his intent. Matt had no idea why he made the offer, it just felt like the decent thing to do. On reflection, it might have been better to say nothing.

"You don't seem like a bad man," she said.

He was taken slightly aback.

"Bad? I hope I'm not."

"Why do you search for this address?"

"Information, I hope the people who live there can help me with something, or point me towards someone more suitable."

Her eyes examined his face, though he wasn't sure what she expected to find. Before he could speak again Mathilde had resumed walking, quickly turning off the main road down a narrow side street. He quickened his pace to catch up with her.

"There is the house you seek," she said, pointing to a blue door.

He stopped and inspected the metal latch which pinned it to the outside wall.

"This looks like an entrance to some sort of alleyway."

"Yes. You must go through this gate. The main door is a few paces to the left.

He turned to look at her and gave a broad smile.

"Thanks once again, Mathilde. You have been extremely kind. Should you wish to join me later then contact the hotel reception desk and they'll get a message to me. You know where I'll be staying."

Her eyes looked uncertain, worried even, though she never responded. He wondered if he'd overstepped the mark. Matt turned the latch and pulled the blue door open.

"No, wait," said Mathilde. "I will go first and show you the way."

She brushed past him and pushed through the opening to get ahead.

"Papa, c'est Mathilde," she called down the alleyway. "Ne sont pas tirez, ne sont pas tirez," she shouted, or something like it.

Suddenly the young woman's body was catapulted back against Matt, followed by a loud cracking sound. He caught her as she fell and eased her slowly to the cool stone ground.

"Mathilde," he called.

He urgently searched the petite frame for an explanation. The eyes of her agonised face were half closed. A small red blob appeared in the middle of her blouse, the thin material acting like a sponge soaking up a spilt glass of red wine. The blob multiplied rapidly in size and he realised the liquid was blood.

"Mathilde," he called again, trying to find the source of the wound.

She coughed weakly and gazed up into his face.

"They told my father you were coming for him."

"I haven't come for anyone," he insisted.

She coughed weakly again.

"Help, help me somebody," he yelled.

Matt ripped the sleeve from his linen jacket and pressed it against the open wound with one hand while he fumbled for his mobile.

"A meal at the harbour sounded nice," she whispered.

"Hold on, Mathilde. I'll get help. Just hold on."

Matt shifted his worried expression back from the wound to her face, to encourage her not to surrender to the pain. She groaned. Her head fell to the side. And she was silent.

He slumped back against the wall, legs bent so he could rest his bloodied arms over his knees, unable to believe what had happened. A part of his mind urged him to run, a feeling rapidly overtaken by a desire to wreak vicious revenge on whoever had committed this atrocity. That's when he felt the presence of a man's figure standing close by. He looked up into the two barrels of the shotgun pointing to his head.

"What have you done!" he shouted at the standing figure. "What the hell have you bloody well done?"

"Mathilde, Mathilde," was the most the pathetic figure could utter.

The old man's horrified expression seemed to reach in and tear at his soul. Tears rolled down the grief stricken cheeks of the large round unshaven face, filling the craggy lines worn into his facial muscles by the hard passage of time. He took a few backward steps, shaking his head to deny the result of his own actions.

Matt could see devastation in the man's eyes and realised he wasn't a threat. The guy's life source was busted and spent, his spirit broken. Taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts, Matt lifted the mobile to his ear as he waited for a response from the emergency services. He glanced up at the pathetic, emotional wreck of what must once have been a proud and vibrant man. Matt felt no sympathy for the broken figure, only pity. The barrel of the shotgun moved away. Matt reacted to the slow motion movement with little interest at first. It was only when the two metal tubes found their way underneath the old man's jaw he recognised the purpose.

"No," he called, trying to scamper across.

This time the sound complemented the timing of his eyes. Flesh battered against the alley wall as the now shattered mess collapsed to the ground. He was too late. The limbs of the man shivered briefly, and then stilled to a halt.

For what seemed like minutes on end Matt sat and looked on blankly, his mind unable to properly absorb and process the sequence of events. It seemed to take an age to recover his mental balance, prompted into action by the sound emanating from the mobile.

"Hello, hello," it kept saying.

A voice inside his head told him he had to move, and move quickly. Matt ended the call and searched around the narrow alley. He noticed a metal tap fixed to the side of the wall some feet away. Picking a way round the bloodied mess he opened the valve and vigorously rubbed the blood from his hands, using the remains of the jacket. He plucked the black plastic bag littering the ground and stuffed the soiled clothing inside before carefully adding the sleeve from the dead woman's chest.

He looked at Mathilde's face and saw her eyes were still open. If he didn't know better he would have believed they had been watching him clear up the evidence of his presence here. Matt crouched and eased her eyelids shut, saddened by her unnecessary end. She didn't deserve to die. As he stood back up his leg brushed the side of a metal dustbin he hadn't noticed before. He lifted the lid and placed the black bag and its contents inside. Retreating into the house he discovered the bottle of cooking oil and emptied it inside the dustbin. Within seconds, the soiled jacket was aflame.

Matt made one more foray into the house, searching for any documents naming the residency's occupants. He found one personal letter to Mathilde, maybe from a friend judging by the Parisian postmark, and an energy bill. The name listed was Armande, which was vaguely familiar. He pressed the paper into his trouser pocket and headed for the exit, checking the fire had done its job properly.

"Goodbye, Mathilde," he said as he opened the door.

Seeing the street outside was clear, he headed back into town and located a public telephone to call the emergency services. Matt made the decision not to stay in town. Police would soon cordon off the area and start questioning people. The diesel engine stirred into life and he eased the vehicle onto the main road.

He felt curiously sad. One way or another he was ultimately responsible for Mathilde's premature end. Had he never come to Cogolin she would still be alive, and so would the old man, which he now realised to be her father.

Three addresses had produced one missing resident and three dead bodies. The name Armande played on his mind, though he didn't know why.

What is this all about?

Chapter Sixteen

Pamplona (Pam)

Apart from filling up and snatching coffee and sandwiches at service stations, Matt didn't stop along the nearly six hundred mile journey. He'd treated motorways as Grand Prix circuits wherever he could, travelling unreasonably fast and slowing only when he became aware of highway police vehicles.

As with all long road journeys the final few miles always seemed to take forever, not helped by the excessive traffic he hadn't expected. Still, the instructions had been clear enough so he hadn't wasted too much time having to stop and ask the way. Which was just as well, Spanish was a language he'd given up trying to understand way back in sixth form.

Miraculously, he was able to park precisely where Gratia identified. How she managed to achieve such perfection in organisation was beyond him. Though he was pleased to have some company tonight, Matt remained cautious as to why she wanted to meet with such urgency.

He arrived at the designated address and looked up at the building. When Gratia talked of a reservation she obviously meant a suite at the most luxurious hotel in town. While he waited for reception to clear, Matt picked up a brochure and turned to the rates page. Rooms were priced between five to eighteen hundred euros, per night. It didn't need a genius to work out where they would be sleeping tonight.

Matt never objected to tipping staff. He did however, resent it when they stood there waiting for more. Perhaps Gratia would let him claim it back on expenses.

The room, rooms more like, were vast. Replete with dining table, writing desk and hideously large flat screen television, the main living area was almost as big as the ground floor of his house back in Victoria. To the left a separate space housed two king sized double beds, his and hers no doubt. Facilities included an en-suite, tiled from floor to ceiling, boasting both a double shower and the biggest bathtub he'd ever seen. The whole arrangement was obscenely luxurious.

He wondered how long it would take him to find Gratia, and whether he might need a map. The lights on the balcony provided a likely clue. Matt eased aside the long curtain and found the space devoid of human presence. Then he realised there was no other luggage in the suite. Perhaps he'd made it to Pamplona before her.

Unperturbed he set about making use of the double shower, allowing his vocal tones licence to fully exercise their lack of melodic consistency. Having repeated the same chorus several times he stepped out to shave, dried himself and dressed into fresh clothes. His late evening raid on the mini bar, more the size of a household refrigerator, secured an attractive looking bottle of white which he opened and deposited on the balcony table. He was about to take up position in the warm night air when he heard the distant knock at the door.

"You have arrived," welcomed Gratia.

The white blouse, another scoop neck, hung loosely from the shoulder. A pair of slim-fitting trousers complemented the well-practised Mediterranean look. With her hair tied up, full make-up and the shimmering colour of her Asian skin she mirrored the photographic perfection of Bollywood stardom. Matt hesitated to touch her for fear of disturbing the vision encamped at the doorway.

"Perhaps I could enter," she said.

"Yes, of course," he stumbled. "Where is your luggage?"

She offered him a mischievous smile.

"In my own suite, where you would expect it to be," she replied.

"You mean they have another place like this?"

"No, mine is better."

He felt ridiculously out of his depth as he pecked to each of her cheeks. Gratia breezed past him and took one of the plush seats by the coffee table.

"I've opened a bottle of white, out on the balcony. Would you like a glass?"

"Later, after dinner perhaps," she said.

"After dinner, where are we going?"

No sooner had he spoke then the door rapped again and an entourage started to make its way through the opening. Once the dining table had been set, the guests were politely ushered to their chairs and the staff began service. Matt's numerous glances across to Gratia during preparation had revealed her level of amusement at his bewildered expression.

"Aren't they leaving?"

"Not until we are finished," she replied.

Matt found conversation initially difficult, surrounded as they were by a small platoon of restaurant staff. Gratia, more familiar with such arrangements, opened the conversation.

"Tomorrow is the encierro. This is one reason I wanted to meet you here," she began.

"The what?" he said.

He glimpsed a smirk on one of the faces of the waiting staff.

"The encierro, the running of the bulls, part of the San Fermin festival. Surely you have heard of this?"

He remembered, Pamplona. The place where idiots chose to run through the streets in front of enraged horned beasts.

"You're not hoping to run, are you?"

"Me? No," she laughed. "It requires far more courage than I possess."

"Have you been before?"

"I come every year. The run is an exciting spectacle, very colourful and energetic. Maybe you might consider doing it one year."

Matt tried to picture the scene. He imagined running away from manically charged four-footed beasts within the tight confines of a narrow street, the urgent and excited cries of locals and tourists ringing in his ears as the razor sharp horns approached from behind.

"No, I don't think so," he said.

She laughed openly, and he enjoyed her amusement. He found it hard to believe that behind the smile lay the hard crust of a gifted, corporate intellect such was her apparent warmth towards him.

"You will join me tomorrow, yes?"

"Only if you promise we'll be well away from the action."

"The man who tells me he is content to stand close to wild bears fears the horns of a bull?"

"I've never been stupid enough to get too close to any wild animal. And I've no intention of making that mistake with an angry, snorting beast."

Her brief smile faded, to be replaced by a more considered look. She looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow, as if she were curious about something. He waited for the question to arrive.

"Why did you decide to emigrate?"

"A fresh start mostly," he said. "I'd reached a point in my life where I needed a change, different scenery and a fresh challenge, that sort of thing."

"So why choose Canada? Did you have family there?"

"No. I'd holidayed in Canada before and grown to like the place, something about the space and the natural environment. Society there is more relaxed than in the UK and the people are friendlier. They speak English too."

Gratia seemed happy with his explanation. She was about to question him again when he decided to try and change the subject, in an attempt to avoid further examination.

"Considering you're a Chief Operating Officer of a multi-national company you don't spend much time at the office. Makes a man wonder how any decisions get made."

He could see in her eyes she understood this to be a clumsy attempt to shift the direction of the conversation.

"The mobile and the laptop are my office. In practice, I am required to make few decisions on a daily basis. When it is necessary, I am contacted."

"All sounds very hi-tech and very comfortable," he dryly observed. "Aren't there times when you tire of this gluttonous excess?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little," she replied with an amused smile.

Matt breathed an inner sigh of relief at the success of his blocking tactic. He moved quickly on to draw her into more detailed conversation about Schafen Industries. Gratia described how, since the unexpected demise of Johannes, the company had become increasingly successful at securing profitable Government contracts.

"Since when have Governments been in the business of shipping goods around the world?"

"Even Governments have transportation needs."

"So you're really a Civil Servant then?" he teased. "No wonder you can afford all this. No doubt it's on public sector expenses."

Gratia found the quip amusing, remarking that the entire world had become no more than a single market place. She expressed slight mocking surprise at his lack of perception of the global economy.

"What can I say? One of the handicaps of trading as a small businessman," he said dryly.

She gave him an amused grin. Gratia sat back in her chair and gazed steadily into his eyes, as if she were trying to read into his mind. Matt happily accepted the challenge, ensuring his own expression revealed as little as possible. The moment was fleeting and she soon contented herself with moving on to lighter matters. She exhibited no anxiety, betrayed not a scrap of worry. He wondered if her previous concerns had been resolved. Certainly her good humour bore the signs all was fine and good in the world making for an extraordinarily pleasant and intimate evening, despite the attentions of the waiting staff.

As the dessert dishes were cleared and the coffee served, the conversation fell into a temporary lull. His attention was drawn by Gratia's right hand moving to the wine glass. She grasped the stem lightly between her fingers and thumb, and proceeded to slide her hand up and down the thin glass stalk in slow strokes. On occasion her fingers slipped upwards to surround the bulbous base of the glass, where they would hesitate briefly, before retreating back down the stem. Each and every stroke was conducted with masterful precision and deliberation.

He struggled to free his mind from the apparent context of the mesmerising spectacle. If it were deliberate, an attempt to disrupt his train of thought, then it was working spectacularly well. Matt reasoned the movements could be no more than a subconscious act. He looked uneasily back to her face.

The triumph in her ensuing smile was unmistakeable. He cursed inwardly at the lack of self discipline, knowing she had all too easily succeeded in unsettling his equilibrium. Gratia motioned to inform the waiting staff their presence was no longer required. Matt could only wonder what was to follow.

As the door closed behind the departing hotel employees, his eyes immediately sought out his dinner partner.

"Time for a glass of white on the balcony?" he asked.

She nodded with a deliciously warm smile.

"Pour the wine and I shall be with you in a moment."

He dutifully obeyed, lighting up each of the three candles parked in the ceramic tray, before taking one of the two chairs by the table. He smelt the scent of her arrival long before she took the adjoining seat.

"Are you ready to answer my questions now?" she asked on joining him, taking a light sip of the white.

"There's always tomorrow, the journey was pretty tiring."

"Humour me. It is a weakness of mine. Once I have started to read a good mystery I am unable to put it down until I have reached the end."

He smiled hesitantly.

"Okay, maybe a chapter or two."

She leaned forward, pressing her elbows on to the table to prop her head in her hands.

"I am curious as to how Matt Durham suddenly arrived on the planet from seemingly out of nowhere."

Matt glanced into her penetrating gaze. Gratia knew exactly when to use the dark texture of her eyes as a weapon. She reached into her shoulder bag and produced a small clutch of papers, placing them onto the table directly in front of him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It is your file."

"What file?"

"Have you forgotten? I have the resources of an empire at my disposal."

Temporarily shaken, he glanced at the papers. Though they were few in number, Matt felt it better to resist the temptation to examine them in detail.

"You are a man without history," she said authoritatively. "Other than your arrival in Victoria, to assume the legacy of a resident's estate at the age of thirty, there exist no official details on Matt Durham. Surprising you should inherit a Canadian estate since you have admitted to not having any relatives in the country. Why is that?"

"Public sector records are not what they used to be."

The piercing stare of her dark eyes unsettled him, glaring at Matt as if he were under interrogation from the secret police of a third world state. Despite the flirtation with insecurity she had exhibited on their first meeting, Matt now considered her corporate enemies stood absolutely no chance of survival at all. He chose not to add to the earlier comment.

"Who are you?"

"The research tells you who I am."

"No it doesn't. Who are you really?"

"Matt Durham," he said.

"You promised to answer my questions with honesty."

"And I have. My name is Matt Durham."

A further set of papers fell in front of him, press cuttings by the look. He glanced only briefly before diverting his gaze to the night sky.

"Are you not going to read?" she said.

"I don't understand spoken continental languages, never mind the written word."

She picked the second set of papers from the table and proceeded to slam them down before him, one at a time.

"Man in Hameln, found dead under a tree. Italian resident drowns off the sea at Bussana Nuova. Father and daughter found shot dead at home in Cogolin. Curiously, all of these people resided at the exact addresses identified in the diary."

Her voice was even, if slightly raised. Matt realised how bad it looked. He turned and looked into her eyes, a mixture of fear and anger.

"What is this all about?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Matt, don't lie to me. I'll know if you're lying to me."

"Gratia, I don't know. If I did then I wouldn't be travelling the length and breadth of Europe visiting these places trying to find out."

She was quiet for a moment, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth.

"Did you kill these people?"

"No."

"Did you?"

"No!"

Matt deliberately held his gaze so Gratia would know he meant every word. He hadn't anticipated the next question.

"Have you?" she asked quietly. "Have you killed people?"

The subsequent blink was involuntary, and revealing.

"I need to know."

Matt could feel his mind in turmoil, confusion even. This was the one question he didn't want her to ask, the one he didn't want to answer. The ongoing silence told her what to expect, but she wanted to hear him admit to it.

"I remind you of your commitment to answer my questions with complete honesty."

There was no escape. To lie would mean an irretrievable breakdown of trust between them. To tell the truth however, could prove to be almost as damning.

"I've learned," he uttered.

Her eyes narrowed.

"You have taken human life?"

"Yes," he said after a pause.

Gratia jumped from her seat and strode to the end of the balcony, ostensibly to look out over the rooftops of Pamplona. He reasoned the damage was done but felt he had to try and offer an explanation. He approached cautiously and placed a hand to each of her arms.

"Gratia..."

She shook his hands off her body and he allowed them to drop to his side. This night, a night of such enjoyable warmth and intimacy, was turning into an unmitigated disaster. He despaired at the turn of events.

"I can no longer help you, no longer wish to help you," she whispered.

"Whatever the circumstance?" he asked.

"Whatever the circumstance," she replied coldly.

He thought for a few moments.

"Is it because of your position in life?"

"My position is irrelevant. I choose not to be involved with someone capable of taking the life of another human being."

"You asked for complete honesty, and I was honest."

His hand touched at her shoulder.

"Take your hand from me," she ordered.

Gratia refused to turn and look at him. For what seemed like minutes on end he waited in patient silence, hoping for some sort of conciliatory movement or gesture. There was none. She remained still, her mind so distant they may as well have been standing on opposite sides of the world. There was to be no acceptance.

Matt walked away and stepped into the brightly lit suite. He placed the keys to the four by four on the desk, retrieved his case from one of the beds and headed for the exit.

"The suite is already paid for. You may as well make use of it for the night."

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling.

"No," he said.

"The obstinate pig re-appears."

The jibe irked him. This was no time to fight over verbal insults however.

"No," he repeated, shaking his head. "You have done enough for me."

The handle responded to his touch and the door started to open.

"How could you?" she called.

Matt exhaled deeply and shook his head again.

"I don't know why. I only know I can."

"Did you know these people? The ones mentioned in the papers."

"No. The man in Hameln was called Kessler, according to his credit card. The name means nothing to me. He died of a heart attack while I was chasing him. I was told the guy at Bussana Nuova had already left town, so I've no idea how he ended up dead in the sea."

Matt dropped the case to the floor and turned to face Gratia.

"The young girl was called Mathilde. I met her by chance, when asking for directions. She offered to help me locate the address and made a call. I was about to enter an alleyway when she pushed by, calling out in French. The man lying in wait fired the shotgun, thinking it was me. Once he'd realised he'd killed his own daughter he turned the gun on himself."

A horrified expression crossed Gratia's face.

"Mathilde intended to lead me into a trap. For reasons known only to her, she changed her mind at the last minute. If she hadn't, hadn't tried to help me, then I wouldn't be talking to you now."

Gratia's gaze darted around his face, trying to understand.

"Mathilde was a pretty girl. At best she was in her early twenties, possibly late teens. Her last words were to tell me her father had been told I was coming for him."

"Who told him that?"

"I don't know."

They stood in silence. Matt couldn't tell what thoughts were going round inside her head. After a few uncomfortable moments he reached down and picked up the case.

"You may as well stay for the night," she said, looking at her watch. "You will not find another room at this hour."

Gratia moved to the door. She glanced at him with a look which demanded he step aside. Matt considered holding his ground. She glanced once more with cold disappointment in her eyes.

"Use the room," she said. "Then go," and briskly left.

Chapter Seventeen

Bull Run

Matt rose at five. He slept little, despite the aching tiredness of his body from the previous day's long journey. The sun had leapt into the sky, showering daylight over the rooftops of the tightly crammed buildings.

After a long bout of indecisive deliberation he still hadn't decided whether to leave discreetly, or opt to face Gratia to say goodbye. Eventually, he snatched at the hotel writing pad and scrawled out a note. Reception would ensure she received it.

He ordered breakfast before showering. The trolley arrived as he finished dressing. After eating he took a coffee out to the balcony, hoping to catch some sun while he took a final view of the city centre. Matt fell back into the cushioned seat as his gaze drifted in an arc, from right to left. The panoramic search had neared its end when he caught sight of a figure emerging onto the adjacent balcony.

Her hair, dampened from the shower, was about to keep an appointment with a turquoise coloured hairbrush. Underneath the figure hugging camisole, brown belted denim jeans hid her legs from view. The texture of the thin strapping to her lime green top looked like the finest cashmere, providing a subtle contrast to the colour of her skin. The casual attire accentuated her figure, the hips particularly prominent. Gratia placed the brush on the table and raised her slender arms to push both sets of fingers through her raven hair, tying it behind her head with an elastic bangle. She seemed unaware of his presence.

He watched as she stepped gracefully towards the far end and look down into the streets below. A sharp noise caught her attention, prompting her to lean further over the wooden rail to get a closer look. She held her position for some time.

Then she stood and turned unexpectedly, instantly spotting Matt sipping at the cup and quietly watching her. There was no welcoming smile as she stepped back to the centre of the balcony. Matt forced a half smile to try and break the ice.

"Morning, Gratia. You're up early."

His welcoming words made her stop, but failed to elicit a response. The subsequent smile was uninviting. Though she held her gaze for several moments, her eyes were distant and devoid of emotion. All it took was a short step to the side, and she had silently slipped off the balcony into the suite without answering.

Matt sighed and looked back out over the rooftops. Though he had decided not to call on Gratia before he checked out, her negative response disappointed him. He took a sip of coffee and refocused his mind on the journey ahead. Hotel reception should be bringing up travel details soon. Matt had asked for flight, rail and coach timetables as well as details of local car hire companies.

His watch told him it was after six, time to make a move. He stepped back into the suite just as the rap sounded to alert him to the arrival of the information, which he gratefully accepted.

Matt hesitated to close the door. He should speak to Gratia one last time. Irrespective of her present antipathy towards him, the least she deserved was the courtesy of a face to face farewell. He walked the short distance to her suite and spotted the door ajar. Rather than knock and wait, something made him enter.

"Gratia, it's Matt," he called.

A few steps and he entered the main living space, looking much like his own suite. She was nowhere to be seen.

"Gratia," he called again, pushing gently at the en-suite door.

Matt found himself being hurled backwards by the sheer force of the door being kicked against him from the other side, catapulting him into the living area. Momentarily stunned he saw two figures emerge. Both were brandishing long blades with serrated edges. He jumped to his feet as they stepped forward. No-one moved as the two sides eyed each other up and down. A third figure stumbled through the opening.

Gratia appeared with frightened eyes, her hands held behind her back. A third assailant, smaller than the others, appeared behind her. The man held the back of her hair, pulling it down so hard her head tipped back to reveal the vulnerability of her open neck.

"Easy," said Matt. "You can't kill her now I'm here. Not without taking me out as well."

The two men approached and Matt backed away, his eyes darting from side to side in search of any kind of implement to help his defence. The only thing within reach was a silver tray, holding the untouched contents of a continental breakfast.

His assailants took another step forward. The largest man, to the left, was built like a mountain. He was accompanied by an older looking, slightly smaller man. Matt assumed him to be the leader as he was in front. Menacingly, the man sneered as he tossed the blade between his hands while he advanced. Matt's trained mind kicked into auto mode in preparation for the fight to follow. The third intruder was unlikely to release his grip on Gratia, so posed no immediate threat. Bringing down the biggest man would take some effort so the group's leader was the obvious first target. If Matt could dispose of him then he might have a chance.

He grabbed for the silver tray, scattering and shattering the chinaware against the nearby writing desk, and readied for the first lunge.

It came quickly. Matt used the tray to slide the blade away and turned a hundred and eighty degrees to push his back into the man's front. The sharp point of his elbow crashed into the man's midriff and winded him. As the assailant dropped to his knees Matt used the point of his elbow again, this time against the man's jaw, and he tottered and then fell onto his back.

The second man, distracted by his accomplice's cry, shifted his gaze. Matt used the distraction to bring his foot between the man's legs. The man crumpled in pain and Matt followed up his assault with a snap of his foot to the side of the head. The assailant with Gratia released the knife from her throat and edged forward. She used the opportunity to step to the side, lift her knee, and then send her foot forcefully backwards into the man's groin.

"Gratia, get out!" Matt called.

The big man had recovered and lunged with the knife. Matt evaded the thrust, grabbed at the hair covering his neck and rammed the head against the dining table. He turned and saw the small man had regained his balance. He headed straight for Gratia.

Matt made to rush over when he felt a hand grip his ankle. He crashed to the floor as the leader of the pack started to rise to his feet. Matt spun on the floor and sent a foot crashing into the man's jaw. He toppled slightly then continued to rise.

Panic set in. The two downed men were recovering quickly. Using the tray as a lightweight discus, Matt sent the object spinning into the side of the leading thug's head and jumped to his feet. He turned towards Gratia. The smallest man was already directly in front of her, knife held aloft and ready to strike. Matt knew he was too late.

"Gratia!" he shouted.

The knife swung down from over the attacker's shoulder. Gratia swayed to her left. As the man continued the downward arc of his thrust, Gratia's bare foot raised and crashed into the side of the man's face. Thrown sideways, he turned. Another small foot shot towards him, this time targeting the groin. As he dropped to his knees, Gratia snapped her leg to each side of the man's head. The thug collapsed onto the floor.

"Matt, behind you," she called.

He instantly ducked as the blade passed over his head. Matt propped his arms against the floor and swung a leg in a circle, toppling the leader and forcing him to spill the blade from his grasp. Matt darted for the knife but was tripped up. Crawling towards the weapon, the leader's hands scratched at Matt's clothes in a desperate attempt to stop his progress. Matt kicked with his foot, and heard the crunching sound of the man's nose breaking under the impact. They continued the frantic struggle. Both men rose to their knees and tried to land a telling punch. Finally the man overstretched. Matt caught the thug with a fierce blow to the Adam's apple. Unable to breathe, the man was defenceless. He fell to his side, gasping for air. Matt elected to finish the job by wrapping his legs around the opponent's neck. The man knew what was coming. Matt twisted sharply. The brutal sound of snapping bone had yet to leave the atmosphere when a heavy mass fell onto Matt, pinning him to the floor. The biggest of the assailants raised his arm to bury the knife. Matt reached up and gripped at the man's wrist. The downward movement was checked. But the big man was strong, stronger than Matt. He looked into the angry face and saw the maddened eyes bulging with effort, saw the fierce desire to kill.

Slowly, the serrated blade inched ever closer to the jugular vein of Matt's neck. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Matt, feeling the point of the blade touch against the skin of his neck, made one last desperate plea.

"Gratia, run for it," he called.

He heard what sounded like a little thump. The strain in the man's eyes tightened and his face contorted in pain. Thick red liquid dribbled from the twisted mouth as the man convulsed. The pressure on Matt's neck slackened, allowing him to slip from underneath the heavy frame. The man slid sideways, motionless.

Recovering to a kneeling position he could see the blade deeply embedded in the back of the man's neck. Gratia was stood, hands clasped over her mouth and eyes tightly shut.

She had killed.

Matt picked up a blade and rose to his feet. His arms circled the horrified frame to provide comfort. She began to tremble, slightly at first, then with ever increasing vigour. He tightened his grip and whispered soft and even tones into her ear. Easing her head gently against his shoulder Matt spotted the last, the smallest, of the triumvirate rise to his feet. The man reached for the fallen knife and shook his head to clear his mind. He saw the lifeless bodies of his two colleagues and looked at the embracing couple. Matt could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"No," Matt said to the man. "Go. This is enough."

The would-be assassin thought for a moment. Then his eyes darkened with rage and he tightened his grip around the handle of the knife. He lurched maniacally forward. Matt pushed Gratia onto the bed and readied for the assault. The man swung wildly, in a wide arc. Matt took evasive action. Another lunge followed. Again, Matt moved to avoid the pointed end.

"Enough," snapped Matt. "Go."

There was no reasoning with the enraged mind. The man threw a remnant from a broken cup to distract Matt's attention and lunged again. Like a matador Matt evaded the gesture, allowing the man to pass his body. He wrapped an arm around the assailant's throat and violently twisted the head back and to the side.

What was once a living being shook violently and then crumpled away from Matt's body.

He returned to the bed where Gratia had watched the final drama unfold. He knelt before her and placed a hand on each of her arms.

"Are you alright?"

Her Guinness eyes were dull, lifeless, deadened in shock over what she had done. He stroked gently at her cheek with the back of his hand, and then pushed away the raven hair surrounding her face.

"The image will stay with you forever. Most of the feeling too," he said. "The best way to cope is not do what I did and hold everything inside. Otherwise it eats away at you, makes it harder to let people in."

He looked into her eyes. They shifted slightly from their blank, forward stare and gradually met his gaze. Matt found it hard to read her mind. He smiled and returned his hand to her cheek.

"Thank you, for saving my life," he said. "Matt Durham would have been a corpse by now if you hadn't done what you had."

Her eyelids fluttered briefly.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" he asked. "The word impressive doesn't come close to a suitable description."

The fluttering turned into a furious blink. Matt realised her pent up emotion was about to escape to the surface. He pulled her from the bed, onto her knees, and embraced her tightly, smoothing her hair with soft even strokes. Her body trembled unevenly at first and then burst into uncontrollable life.

Her tears seemed to flow forever though it could only have been a short while. To Matt, it felt like there was more behind her distress than what had just passed. An outpouring of all those suppressed emotions any one person bottles up inside these days. To cry is viewed as a weakness, particularly those in the cold corporate existence of the modern multi-national world. And he found his own emotions reacting to her grief in a surprising way. As they knelt, huddled together, something stirred inside him. The longer he held her, the more he wanted to keep hold of Gratia. The touching of their bodies offered up as much comfort to him as it did to her, a mutual safety net.

Once she had settled, Gratia pushed gently away from his hold and looked up through moistened eyes. She used both hands to wipe away at the excess tears, those that had filled her eyes but had yet to fall.

"Kickboxing," she said. "I do kickboxing."

He smiled.

"You do it well. Remind me never to make you angry."

She spluttered a laugh.

"I can't remember the last time I cried," she said.

He raised his hand slowly to her face. She glanced at the open palm and returned an approving look. Confident she had consented, he brushed the raven hair behind her ear and she tried to smile. He cupped his hands round hers.

"I wish I could," he replied softly.

"You have never cried?"

He shook his head.

"One of those things, I guess."

"Not even once?"

"Came close a couple of times," he said with a shrug.

A conversation as surreal as it was comforting. Three men lay dead on the floor and they were talking about whether they had cried before. The words seemed therapeutic, meaningless chatter in the context of what had happened. Impulse caused him to raise a finger and touch against the outline of her jaw. Gratia's gaze fixed on his eyes and she forced a smile.

"There is little consolation in knowing there was no other choice, but it helps to soften the demands of the conscience," he said.

He applied his thumb in even strokes to the outline of her jaw. Her skin felt soft to his touch, the motion visibly relaxing her tensed facial muscles whilst at the same time cementing their locked gazes. Matt lowered his head. Gratia copied the movement. Their faces edged closer, to the point where they were almost touching. She placed a hand onto the side of his neck as he rested a fist against the floor for balance.

"Ouch! Bloody hell," he cursed.

"What, what's wrong?"

Matt inspected the reason for the pain to his hand. A piece of broken cutlery had dug into his skin and blood trickled out of the small wound. Gratia started to laugh.

"We have successfully fought off the hostile attentions of three dangerous men without a scratch, and now you injure yourself on a piece of broken crockery."

He laughed at the irony. Gratia started to rise.

"There is a first aid box in the bathroom."

"Bring plenty of plasters," he said.

"It is not a big cut."

He grinned.

"I have something else in mind."

She didn't question his comment, returning shortly after with an assortment of medical looking bits and pieces. Gratia used an antiseptic wipe to clean the wound and then fixed the elastic dressing in place. Matt searched the small box for the rest of the plasters.

"I shall call for the police," she said.

"No, not yet," he said. "Give me a hand with this."

He held up his right hand and pointed to the plasters.

"One on each finger, to cover the tips," he said.

"Why?"

"No fingerprints."

She did as he asked. Once complete, he searched through the clothes of the bodies looking for clues. He checked every pocket of the dead men. The process took several minutes.

"Nothing," he said. "Not a mobile phone, letter or even a credit card. The clothing and footwear is commonplace and local so doesn't give us any leads either. I wonder who they were. More importantly, I wonder who sent them."

He glanced at Gratia, her eyes filled with concentration.

"How do you know to do such things? Searching bodies for clues with taped fingers, so as not to leave any fingerprints."

"That's not important," he said. "Whoever sent these guys will pretty soon know their men had failed to complete their task, which means they may well try again. We have to get away from here, the sooner the better."

"We?" she said. "It was my room they entered."

"And it was both of us they were looking for."

"How do you know?"

"Because they weren't surprised to see me," he replied. "They knew exactly who I was, otherwise they would have hesitated."

"We can not just leave."

"You've been here often?"

"Yes."

"So you'll know the manager?"

"Yes."

"Get him up here, fast. We don't have a lot of time."

While they waited, Matt covered the windows. He noticed Gratia packing her case.

"No, leave the case," he said. "We need to run light."

"But I may need to change."

"When we are safe," he said. "Is your bracelet pure gold?"

"Yes."

He slid it from her wrist and tucked it into a pocket of one of the dead men.

"An attempted robbery," he explained.

Soon after, the manager arrived. The ensuing conversation took longer than Matt would have preferred. Eventually, the manager agreed to wait until they had checked out before calling in the local police. Their luggage would be forwarded on. The old adage, about money talking, had never been so amply demonstrated. Gratia's name meant something here; held sway, carried substance. The manager practically bowed in submissive apology.

"How are you feeling?" Matt asked, once they were alone.

"I'll survive," was all she said.

Matt wasn't sure what to make of her reaction. He decided not to push it. She had to focus her energy on what was to come.

"Once we've got you back home you should beef up your personal security. I'll go on to Seattle," he lied.

Her Guinness eyes offered no clues as to what she was thinking.

"No you won't. You'll go to Russia next."

"What makes you so sure?"

"From there it is easier to travel on to China, then Japan if necessary."

"Not every person on the planet thinks the same way as an international lawyer."

"You don't need to be a lawyer to work it out," she said.

She really was something else. Matt inwardly smiled in appreciation of an agile mind.

"How will you fix things back here later?" he asked.

"My lawyers will resolve matters."

He wanted to say something deep and profound. The right words deserted him.

"Okay," he said. "We have to move."

The street outside was already overcrowded. As Matt looked on at the melee he realised the encierro was not far away from starting. Whilst the mass of people would provide a degree of cover, mobility would be restricted. He could only hope they had got out in time.

"Are we going for the car?" she asked.

"No. Chances are it's already under surveillance."

"So where are we going?"

"Follow me," was all he said.

Matt stopped at the lavish main entrance and closed his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting my bearings," he replied.

He mentally pictured the surrounding area, from images of walking through the streets to the hotel and his recollections of the town centre map. The running of the bulls covered a number of streets in the old village; Santo Domingo, Town Hall Square, Mercaderes, Estafeta and a final section called Telefonica before entering the bull ring. About half a mile in total, he estimated. The run passed in front of the hotel, one of the fastest parts of the course. Although only supposed to last around four minutes the streets took an age to clear when it was over.

Once he had directions clear in his mind, Matt took several moments to study the immediate area looking at windows and arched doorways. He could see nothing of obvious concern, though amongst this throng he'd have to be very lucky to pick out anything untoward.

"Ready?" he said.

She took a deep breath.

"We'll be fine," he smiled.

They sprang from the door into the excitable crowd as the second rocket sounded; signalling to the runners the six bulls and six steers had been released. Matt kept a tight hold of her arm. Pushing his way past a heavy shaped woman he saw the glint of steel blades. He looked the other way, same again. Instinctively, he pulled Gratia down to her knees.

"What's wrong?"

"We've got company. Bad company," he said.

Her face screwed up in horror. Matt had to think quickly. There was no way through the heavy crowd without coming face to face with the blades of death.

"I know you can fight," he said. "But how fast can you run?"

He didn't need to explain. She was more than up for the adventurous suggestion.

"God you're scary," he said, and her eyes sparkled.

They didn't have to wait long. Seconds later and they heard the first of the runners approaching. Matt barged through the mass of people, head crouched, and she followed obediently. They reached the wooden barricade together. Figures dressed in white shirts and trousers with red waistbands hurtled passed them.

"Now," he shouted.

The gap in the wooden barricade was more than big enough for them to climb through. Angry spectators shouted Spanish obscenities as they started to run. It was all too easy to impede or trip other runners, causing them to fall and thereby leaving them to the mercy of the bulls. But this was the last of their concerns.

Both picked up speed, caught up amidst the rash of frenzied runners. Bustled and jostled by arms and bodies, from the side and behind, they kept to a constant pace for a hundred yards or more. Despite their distinctive clothing, they were moving too fast within the body of runners to be caught from the side. There were only the bulls to worry about now.

Matt remembered that between two and three hundred people were injured each year during the encierro, mostly caused by runners falling or being pushed to the ground. They had to stay on their feet.

The sounds of the heavy thudding of powerful legs grew. The bulls were closing. Runners started to panic. One man lost his balance and fell in front of Matt. He hurdled over the rolling figure and tugged sharply at Gratia's arm. She copied his movement. But they had lost pace. People behind were pushing at their backs with hands and elbows to hurry them along. One fierce nudge followed another. Matt sensed Gratia was tiring and looked to the sides for an exit, one they could dive through. He tugged her sideways. She adjusted direction. A runner brushed against her trailing leg and Gratia began to stumble. Matt reached as she fell and was thrown off balance. He tumbled to the floor. Gratia was on the ground behind him. It felt like hundreds of individual feet were trampling around and on top of their bodies. Then he saw the bulls, galloping and snarling crazily behind them.

The largest mass of muscle lowered its head, horns poised to rip at any defenceless flesh in its way. The beast saw them sprawled along the ground. It veered from its path and headed towards the nearest living defenceless being, towards Gratia.

Chapter Eighteen

Reliving the Past

Matt found the space to leap to his feet. He unceremoniously snatched at Gratia's wrist and dragged her along the ground towards the barrier, ignoring her cries. They reached the edge of the double wooden structure. The bull was almost upon her. There was no more time.

He jumped over her screams. Pressing his body against the solid barrier, he used his hands to lever his body up and throw himself backwards. Matt's feet punched at the bull's head, just below its eyes. The beast snorted angrily as its head shifted direction from its bulk. Horns hit the ground and scraped the surface as its hooves staggered for balance, the jagged points missing Gratia by a whisker.

Matt grabbed her by the belt on her jeans and tossed Gratia like a rag doll up against the waiting hands, reaching through the gap in the barrier. They dragged her wailing frame through as the remaining animals galloped by. Matt leapt against the wooden structure and scrambled to the other side. He had no idea what state Gratia was in. Matt frantically pulled at the bodies in a desperate attempt to reach his companion.

"Gratia," he called.

She emerged from the ground and flung her arms around him. Matt pulled her into his hold, squeezing her body tightly. She reciprocated, clinging against him while she recovered her breath.

"I'm only going to watch in future," she panted.

He eased his head away and examined her for injuries. No limbs were broken though her arms were a little bruised and bleeding from where he had scraped her mercilessly along the ground. No matter, she was safe.

"We have to keep moving," he said.

He helped Gratia through the throng, tugging anxiously as he tried to find his way. She stopped abruptly and pulled him towards a waiting taxi. No words were exchanged as they clambered in.

"Airport," she instructed, and the driver brought the engine into life.

"They have an airport in Pamplona?" said Matt.

"How do you think I got here?"

Gratia pulled the mobile from her jeans pocket and pressed the speed dial. She issued verbal instructions into the machine and switched off.

"They'll be ready for us," she said.

Matt unfolded a paper tissue and used it to dab lightly at her injuries. Not the best piece of first aid equipment, but suitable enough to soak up the patches of red liquid at her elbows. He could feel her eyes scrutinising his face as he lightly tended the wounds.

"Once we get to the airport we'll separate, go our own ways," he said.

"Oh no," she said. "That's not going to fly. Whatever mess you have been drawn into, Schafen is involved too. I realised this as soon as I saw the diary. You knew this also, but chose to try and hide it from me. No, we're in this together."

"Gratia..."

"No," she said sharply. "Just for once, do what someone asks of you."

He was about to object when she raised a finger.

"There is no more to be said," she said.

He moved her finger.

"You forget I've just saved your life."

"No, you endangered it by not telling me the truth from the outset. Had you done so, we would have been better prepared for such an eventuality."

"Can't you say anything other than no," he complained.

"Yes, except where you are concerned."

Matt never enjoyed being told what to do. On this occasion however he decided to keep his own counsel. For some reason, his enemies had targeted Gratia. Why? How could damaging her aid their cause?

Matt felt the hand touch against his shoulder.

"Thirty minutes or so to Salzburg," Gratia informed him.

He smiled and slid over to the window to allow her to join him. Instead Gratia elected to sit opposite, resting her arms on the table. Despite the ordeal in Pamplona she seemed at ease. This pleased him.

"How are your arms?" he asked.

"Minor contusions only, they will heal soon enough."

"What about your head?"

She knew what he meant.

"Whatever the circumstance," said Gratia. "I should have been prepared to listen. I'm sorry."

"You weren't to know."

She smiled to say thank you. The cold demeanour she had shown him the previous night had disappeared from her gaze. After all of the mind games, the intellectual shadow boxing, a rapport of mutual respect had been established. He felt the need to apologise.

"Gratia, I never intended to place you in danger," he said quietly. "That's why I held some things back."

"I know. We are beyond that now."

He liked this version of Gratia. The non-corporate woman he had met on that first night in St Wolfgang. He wished she could always be this way.

"Where have you been anyway?" he asked.

"Thought I would fly a little," she replied.

"You've been flying this jet?"

"Only a little, I have yet to secure my full licence."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

She hunched her shoulders.

"It didn't come up in the conversation."

The woman was full of surprises. Intellectually gifted, with a razor sharp mind, she was practically talented too boot. Yet behind the confident façade lay introspection and self doubt; a contradiction in terms? No. She was human after all.

"Are you okay?" she asked, inadvertently disturbing his mental deliberations.

"Yes, fine," he answered with no real conviction.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said.

Matt stood on the balcony of the residence and gazed out at the falling sun. The air was still and calm, the evening warm. He loved this place. Johannes had told him once that being at the top of the mountain made a man feel as though he could touch the sky, yet still see what went on below. Never a truer word had been spoken. A figure stepped up beside him.

"It is a beautiful night," said Gratia.

"Sumac Pacha," he replied.

"What?"

"Sumac Pacha," he repeated, "an old saying of the native American peoples. Roughly translated it means Beautiful Mother Earth."

"They are so right."

The sound of someone stepping on to the balcony caused them to turn.

"Gerhardt and I are retiring for the night," said Martha.

She approached and pecked their cheeks, smiling at Matt in the way proud mothers do to an only child. Martha felt like a mother to him. Gerhardt made an appearance to say his goodnights too, motioning with his head towards the blankets on the two sun lounges placed at the side of the balcony.

"In case you wish to take in the sunrise," he said, with his normal strait-laced expression. Matt noticed a greater degree of warmth between the two women. Soon, they were alone.

"Are you ready to begin?" she asked.

He nodded and they returned to their seats. Matt poured the red into the glasses and looked across. Her welcoming smile did its best to put him at ease. Try as he may, however, he couldn't help but feel uneasy.

"My current existence is all courtesy of Catherine Vogel," he started.

"Catherine Vogel?"

"You know her then?"

"Everyone knows of Catherine Vogel. She is a class act, one of the greatest European political figures of our or any other generation."

"Well, it's all down to her."

Gratia was fascinated.

"I think you should start from the very beginning."

He looked away to try and gather his thoughts.

"I began life as Michael Daniels, born in the North East of England," he said. "I told you of my parents the other night."

"Yes, go on."

"After a few years working in the public sector I decided this existence didn't offer enough of the good things in life, and so started my own business. The work is irrelevant. All you need to know is the company was successful and made a tidy sum of money. Wealth affected Michael Daniels however. He became arrogant and distant, prone to flaunting his good fortune on material things and women, women in particular."

He glanced across. Her gaze hadn't moved away from his face.

"One day an old girlfriend approached and asked for help with a local money lender, a vicious guy called Bridges. The man was too strong for Michael Daniels and so he agreed to leave the area for a short time with this woman, using false identities. As it happened she worked at The Passport Agency."

"This is how you became Matt Durham?"

He nodded.

"Before leaving, an old friend asked to meet at an obscure location. He had sent me a computer memory stick in the post. Soon after I arrived at the venue other people turned up. They tortured the poor sod to death in an attempt to find out what he had done with the memory stick. Just before he died, he gave them my name. Now they were searching for Michael Daniels, and would likely kill him too."

His sideways glance revealed her interest in his story.

"So Mike sorted out the problem with the money lender, by selling his top of the range Mercedes, and left the area alone. He had no idea what was on the memory stick but flew in fear to Canada, as Matt Durham, and travelled across the country in a bid to find a place to hide. It was during this time I met Rosa Cain for the first time, briefly, in Toronto."

He paused to collect his thoughts.

"I was hopelessly lost by the time I got to Victoria. Money was short and I didn't know anyone. The one positive was that I believed I had evaded my pursuers. By chance I met a man called Jack, Jack Carter, a local entrepreneur. We hit it off immediately and he offered me a seasonal job. He also helped me find accommodation and evening work, at a local pub restaurant."

He hesitated.

"That's when I met her, a woman by the name of Grace Amanda Fox."

He saw one of Gratia's eyebrows rise.

"I spent three deliriously happy months there, closing my eyes to the reality of life and preferring to ignore the fact I still had the memory stick. Jack taught me how to fly, and showed me the true value of friendship. We were like brothers. It was as if I had been given a second chance, like I was growing up all over again."

Now came the difficult part.

"Somehow, the people looking for the memory stick found my general location. Rosa appeared from nowhere to warn me and I ran again. Only this time I ran with Grace, believing she was also now in danger because we had lived under the same roof."

She watched as the muscles in his face tightened.

"Continue," she said.

"Grace turned out not to be the person I understood her to be. Her real name apparently was Sandra Hayes. She used to work for the people searching for the memory stick, and they persuaded her to rejoin their cause. I tried to talk her out of it, nearly succeeded. In the end she betrayed me. Rosa intervened to save me from the intended outcome."

"Save you?"

Matt took a couple of deep breaths.

"Grace had been instructed to kill me. She had the chance to complete, never quite managed it. I still don't know if..."

His words tailed away. Another deep breath and he was ready to continue.

"Not long afterwards, her colleagues came again. They murdered Jack horribly, and his girlfriend, Holly."

As the memories returned, Matt felt emotion building. He decided to stand at the edge of the balcony. Confident he had regained control, he related the remainder of the story.

"That's when I decided I had to fight back. Rosa and I came up with a plan to get the memory stick into the hands of the Authorities. We chose the EU as it was more accessible to outside contact. We needed help and she enlisted Johannes. He didn't have to get involved, he wanted to, because of Rosa."

Matt rested against the rail of the balcony and looked down into Gratia's face, lit up by the moonlight.

"Rosa, Johannes and I were together here in St Wolfgang when they came once more. Johannes was killed, Rosa badly wounded. I managed to find a safe place to hide us both away and took the bullet from her body."

He paused for a few seconds.

"Once Rosa was out of danger I left her here in the village to recuperate, and travelled to Brussels to seek out Catherine Vogel's help. While I was away they returned again, this time for Rosa. Fortunately, I got back in enough time to stop them. Soon after, Catherine helped us to get the information to the right people and put an end to all the carnage."

She sat back in her chair and sipped at the glass of red.

"When it was over, Catherine used her political influence to ease the path for me to live in Victoria. She gave me the opportunity to resume my life as Michael Daniels, but I declined."

"Why did you decline?"

"The experience changed me. I had grown to dislike Mike Daniels. Jack Carter had left his estate to Matt Durham. That's who I was now, as far as I was concerned."

Gratia's gaze remained constant, unerringly steady.

"I've lived quietly in Victoria ever since, until all this erupted."

"Explain what has erupted precisely," she said.

"I'm not sure I know what it is. It all came completely out of the blue. First, I discovered money was being siphoned out of my business account. Then, one of our floatplanes had to ditch in the sea after being sabotaged. This coincided with a friend of mine being attacked and badly injured. I uncovered a clue, which brought me into contact with the diary. The rest you know."

"Is it possible the present is connected to your past?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I don't believe so."

"Why?"

"It couldn't be. When I left for Victoria, Catherine told me most of the villains chasing after me had been taken into custody. That was a long time ago."

"Most, but not all," she responded immediately.

Matt paused to consider.

"No. But if there were any still free and intent on revenge, Catherine would have sent a message. This is different. It has to be."

"You do not know this for sure?"

He took a while to mull over what Gratia had said.

"No."

"You said this man, Ted Kendricks, left you the diary. Did you not seek to question him?"

"He wasn't in a position to answer any questions."

The surprise on her face was evident.

"You killed this man?"

"Not me, someone else."

"But it is through this past adventure you learned to kill?"

"Yes," he replied immediately. "Otherwise I wouldn't have survived."

"And Rosa also?" she asked, after a short pause.

"Rosa too," he confirmed. "She taught me. Rosa used to work for one department or other within the British Secret Service."

Gratia never blinked.

"And you say Michael Daniels was not a nice person."

It was a more than reasonable observation. Matt glanced at Gratia as she deliberated. He could almost hear the mechanics of her thought processes. After he had re-told his story, got it off his chest as it were, the tale began to resonate differently in his mind. He had believed this to be a fresh episode of his life, a new chapter. Now he wasn't sure. All he could be sure of was that knowing Matt Durham had the effect of changing people's lives, and not for the better.

"Matt Durham is ultimately responsible for the chaos that entered your life. Because of him Johannes died and Rosa was left alone. If I were you, I would seriously reconsider getting involved with someone like him."

She ignored his statement.

"You have told me what happened but not why. Who were these people and what was on the memory stick?"

Her focus was relentless.

"It doesn't matter now," he said.

"Yes it does," she insisted. "I want to know everything."

Reluctantly, he continued.

"They were a group of powerful, highly connected public officials representing each of the G8 countries plus China and maybe India. The stick held details of a plan, codenamed The Milieu Principle, developed to try and resolve the world's population crisis."

"It is a topical issue, one which almost every Government on the planet seeks to address. Why was this one, particular, plan so different?"

"It was a little extreme."

"How extreme?" she asked.

"They believed there was no political will to address the problem and that, even if there had been, the process would take too long. So they sought to chivvy things along a bit by releasing a deadly global virus and, in the process, murder two thirds of the world's population."

Now her expression changed. He explained further.

"They had been clandestinely analysing the public records of registered citizens around the world for many years. These people reviewed everything available on people, from medical to criminal records, including the smallest of misdemeanours; from financial details and employment records to electronic communications and travel patterns. They applied a series of what they considered to be objective assessments, in order to identify those individuals deemed suitable to be retained within a smaller civilisation whilst the remainder would perish. Apparently their new world was to be inhabited by the intellectually and morally gifted, specimens free from hereditary disease."

"But how could they ensure this?"

"An antidote had been developed, made available only to those designated for survival. The remainder of the population would be injected with ineffective placebos. Those with the temerity to be naturally immune to the virus were to be hunted down and terminated."

He could see alarm in her face.

"Why has no-one heard of this conspiracy?"

"According to Catherine, Governments were concerned that making this public would likely cause international panic. It was considered better for the culprits to be brought to justice discreetly, out of the public eye so to speak. I guess there is a certain amount of logic to the notion. It's the way politicians do things after all."

Her head shook slowly from side to side, in disbelief as much as anything.

"How could they possibly hope to succeed? There would have been international chaos. Nothing in everyday society would have got done. No food produced, no energy generated, no goods manufactured. How did they plan to manage that?"

"Storage," he countered. "In addition to developing a virus and earmarking two thirds of the population for certain death, they also had plans to transport vital goods and commodities to secret locations around the world. Once the virus took hold these reserves would be discreetly brought into play."

"To secretly transport goods around the world, on the scale you suggest, would be a giant undertaking. Such an operation would require the co-operation of a vast logistics enterprise, a company as big as... Schafen Industries."

"No," he said instantly. "Don't even go there. Johannes wasn't part of their plans. And anyway, it ended months ago. Catherine saw to it."

"How can you be sure? Do you know what happened to these people? Has Catherine, or anyone else, told you what has happened since?"

"No. Catherine did offer to keep me posted but I declined. Maybe I'll touch base with her when she returns from China."

"Why did you not keep in touch?"

"At the time I just wanted to put it behind me, forget."

"But you find it hard to forget," she said more in statement than enquiry.

He paused.

"Yes," he admitted. "Too many good friends were lost to me. I can't forget."

She was silent for a moment.

"I did not realise what you had been through," she said.

"Hell, lady, it was a dirty job but someone had to do it," using his best American drawl.

The humour was wasted on her.

"So if it has ended, who is intent on hurting us?"

He didn't know.

"Mathilde said her father had been told by someone I was coming for him. Likely the guys in Germany, Italy and Spain had got the same message. Chances are those three thugs entered your suite looking for me, thinking we were sharing the same room."

"Who has told them this? And why would they believe you would be coming for those people?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I really don't know. Maybe I'll find the answer in Russia, seeing as we were hustled out of Pamplona."

The conversation lapsed into silence. Both sipped at their glasses of red before settling back into their seats, wrapped up in their individual thoughts.

"What was she like?" asked Gratia

"What was who like?"

"This woman, called Grace."

"Do you mean the person I thought she was, or the person she turned out to be?"

"I have a choice?" she said. "No, the woman you believed her to be."

He would have preferred not to think about this.

"She was small and delicate, with dark hair and pale skin. I found her to be warm and caring. Everyone in Victoria had nothing but good words to say about Grace."

He paused.

"And she was always smiling, constantly smiling. If she did hold any unpleasant thoughts about others she kept them well hidden, out of view. It was impossible to dislike Grace.

"Did you love her?"

"How can you love someone who tried to kill you," he joked.

"Did you?"

Matt took his time to reply.

"I guess I was drawn. When you live and work together under the same roof for so many weeks it becomes easier to form an attachment."

"And Rosa Cain?" she asked.

"We're war buddies," he said eventually. "Rosa and I went through a lot together. There will always be an unspoken bond between us because of what happened, an unavoidable legacy of our past. It could never be anything more."

She was silent for a while.

"When you talked before about growing close to Rosa, you slept with her?"

"No... yes... sort of," he said.

"That is pretty unambiguous then."

He glanced at her concentrated face. For some reason this was important to Gratia.

"On my return from Brussels I discovered three assassins had chased Rosa up here, to the Schafberg. How she found the strength to hike up the mountain, I've no idea. She hid in the pig sty so as not to bring attention to Martha and Gerhardt. By the time the assassins were beaten off Rosa couldn't lift a finger in anger. She was wet through, physically exhausted and worryingly cold. I took her into one of the hotel rooms, washed her in the shower and then got into bed alongside to warm her through, body heat and stuff."

"So you slept together, naked. And never made love?"

"Yeah, peculiar sort of tale isn't it? Rosa was half dead and I was so battered and bruised just breathing made my muscles ache. Even if we wanted to it was physically impossible."

"And did you, want to?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Legal training I guess."

She smiled briefly.

"I told you, we're war buddies," was all he said.

Gratia returned to momentary silence. He had been more honest than intended, and could see her trying to rationalise all he had recounted. Every few seconds her eyebrows would lift in reaction to the many images forming in her head.

"Rosa has come to terms with what happened. Yet you are unable to escape the ghosts from the past." she said.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess not."

He saw her nod in agreement, through the corner of his eye. They sat quietly for a few more minutes.

"It is late and I have an early start tomorrow," she said. "I will retire for the night."

By now, Matt was completely embroiled in his own reflective thought.

"Good night, Gratia."

Chapter Nineteen

The China Key

The breakfast, as always, was nothing short of a magical feast. Whatever Martha put into her cooking it worked a treat. He supposed it could have been the environment, or the altitude, that ever gave him an appetite. Then again, the food was just absolutely delicious.

Gerhardt strolled onto the balcony, a mug of coffee in one hand and yesterday's paper in the other. He took the seat next to Matt, who acknowledged the Austrian with his familiar grin as he chomped through Martha's breakfast delight. It didn't take long to finish.

"Gratia is late to rise," said Matt.

The older man looked him over, his eyes mean and angry. Matt had never seen Gerhardt in such a dark mood before.

"Gratia tells me you had her running with the bulls."

"For a short while," Matt smiled.

Gerhardt was unimpressed.

"That was dangerous," he said sharply.

Matt was taken aback by the abruptness of the pointed response.

"It was something we both felt we had to do."

"A reckless act on your part," snapped Gerhardt. "Do not put Gratia at risk again."

Matt nodded, confused by the Austrian's poor mood.

"Where is she anyway?"

"She has returned to work."

The older man proceeded to bury his head into yesterday's newspaper to avoid any further conversation. It was so unlike him. Matt felt a set of lips peck at the top of his head and Martha appeared.

"A clean plate, you were hungry."

"I'm always hungry when you cook, Martha."

She refilled his mug with coffee.

"What are your plans today?"

"I thought I might hike a little, clear the muddled thinking from my head."

"What, no European day trip in your diary?"

He laughed.

"No, nothing planned. I had hoped to persuade Gratia to come with me. She might have appreciated the exercise."

He glanced towards Gerhardt. The Austrian shook his paper with both hands, as if straightening a crease, but said nothing. Matt turned to Martha with an enquiring expression, hoping for an explanation to the older man's poor disposition. She shook her head to tell him to ignore the issue.

Gerhardt didn't stay long. And when he left, he departed with a grunt rather than any informal acknowledgement. Matt was about to ask directly when Martha intervened.

"What was it like, the running of the bulls?"

"Scary," he replied. "I doubt either of us would do it again. The bloody things are absolutely huge."

"You, scared? I do not believe it."

"Trust me, I was bloody terrified. Promise you won't tell Gerhardt."

Matt emerged from the darkness of the forest. He was a few hundred metres short of the village of Strobl, situated at the far end of the Wolfgangsee. The time read nearly four and he considered catching the ferry, saving more than half an hour on the walk back to St Wolfgang.

The mobile started to ping constantly. Matt cursed himself for not switching it off before he started the hike, thereby saving the battery. It was not as if he hadn't been told mobile signals couldn't penetrate the tall trees of the wooded mass.

A steady stream of missed calls listed on the screen, coupled with several text messages. He chose to answer the calls and moved to the first in line. The screen went blank, low battery read the message. It would have to be the ferry.

"Hello, Martin."

"Matt, where have you been?" said the flustered train driver. "Gerhardt has been trying to reach you all day."

"Gerhardt has, why?"

"He would not tell me, but he sounded anxious."

Matt shrugged his shoulders and took his favoured seat in the carriage nearest to the steam engine. After this morning's encounter he was in no real rush.

The thirty minute journey was as serene and peaceful as ever, despite the light rain falling. He wondered why Gerhardt wanted to speak to him. If it was cigarettes he was after then he could go and fly a kite. Matt lightly reprimanded himself for being churlish. The older man had been right to chastise him for putting Gratia at risk. Maybe he should revert to his original plan and go it alone as first intended.

He was still undecided on what to do as the train chugged to a halt at the final stop. He jumped down and strode up the steadily inclining footpath towards the hotel. A voice called down to him.

"Matthew, go to the residence, quickly."

He waved to acknowledge Martha and altered direction. As Matt neared, he could see Gratia on the balcony. A pleasant surprise he considered. Quickening his pace, he waved at her too as he hurried along.

"Hello. I wasn't expecting to see you today, business a little flat at the moment?"

She didn't speak, just grabbed his arm and tugged him urgently into the sunlight. He followed obediently, curiosity aroused as she closed the patio doors behind them.

"Look at these," she said, motioning him to sit down.

Placed in a neat pile were a set of papers, photocopies by the look, the contents not immediately obvious to him. Matt picked one up and tried to make sense of the lines of writing and columns of quantities. He'd seen similar documents, from the time Rosa and he fled North America, aboard a container ship. After docking at Valencia they had helped the crew with the inventories whilst unloading, to appear to any onlookers as part of the ship's complement.

"Inventories aren't they?" he said.

"Yes. Now take a closer look and see exactly what is being shipped."

He concentrated a little harder.

"Those are commodities reported as being in short supply, including huge amounts of diesel and refined oil," she said. "These are technology, while these are foodstuffs and liquids which include vast quantities of grain and water."

"Everyday cargos of a multinational shipping company I would have thought."

"Do you remember the last row of letters written in the diary?"

"Yes, VVRSSX as I recall."

"Now look at the destinations of these shipments."

Matt inspected each. The first two were for South Africa, at Saldanha and Richards Bays. North America ports noted were Vancouver and Seattle, Valencia was in Europe and Xiamen in China. He mentally shuffled the initial letters into order, VVRSSX.

"Okay," he said. "So where does this take us?"

"At each of these ports our container ships unload cargos and are subsequently transported to unknown destinations on each continent. They are collected from the docks by a variety of different organisations filled with names of people who do not exist. With each enquiry a further door opens to yet more organisational structures owned or managed by all of the same people. They operate under an umbrella trading title of The Umwelt Foundation."

"I've never heard of them. Maybe they're one of these do good charitable trusts or something similar."

"Umwelt is a German word. Roughly translated, it means environment, surrounding world or..."

"Or what?" he asked.

"Milieu," she said.

He realised what she was trying to infer. His mind refused to accept the obvious implication. It was impossible. Matt shook his head in disagreement. Gratia pointed to a name, the same name on every document. Herbert Kestlemann.

"This is your guy isn't it, diary man?" he asked.

"Kestlemann is not the only Schafen employee denoted in these records."

Gratia uncovered the last document. The paper detailed the countersigning signatory to be Jan Mohlenbeek. He looked up and saw her eyes misted with betrayal and anger. Matt searched his mind, clutching for a straw of reason.

"We don't know everything," he soothed. "There may be something else to all this. And if it was a reincarnation of the old conspiracy then Catherine Vogel would be on to it by now."

"There is more," she said.

"More?"

She recovered enough poise to take Matt by the hand and lead him from the balcony, inside to the television. The screen burst into coloured life and text appeared. She manipulated the controls to bring the main news into view. And there was the headline.

Prominent EU politician missing in China province, feared dead.

Matt's eyes were practically glued to the screen as he read. A light plane carrying Catherine Vogel had not returned. She was on a fact-finding mission to the province of Fujian when contact was lost. No wreckage had been reported or located, despite intensive aerial searches of the area.

Alarm bells clanged loudly in his head. He vaguely recalled this province being the domain of a man called Chen, one of the original Milieu conspirators. Matt found it hard to believe, didn't want to believe. But the pieces were all fitting together. The thugs of Pamplona hadn't come for Matt as he assumed, they had come for Gratia too, so they could wrest control of Schafen. He, no doubt, was to be the one to take the fall for her murder.

"And you knew nothing about this?" he snapped.

She shook her head, the only way she was able to reply.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice."

"I have been betrayed," she said. "Jan was supposed to be loyal, my one true ally. I gave him position and responsibility, trusted him implicitly."

Matt moved to comfort her as she fought back her distress.

"All this time I have foolishly believed I was the one in charge, the one in control, when really it was them. They have played me for a stupid, naïve and incompetent fool!"

Matt cradled Gratia's head to his shoulder, understanding her inner pain. He knew about betrayal. This single emotion could rip at the soul, shred the heart. Tear your very essence apart. There was nothing like betrayal to destroy the will of even the strongest human being. He wished he could conjure up some words to ease her torment. He knew there was none. All Matt could do was to hold her tight and pray this would in some way help.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

Matt wasn't sure what to say at first.

"Does anyone at work know you've been examining these shipments?"

"No," she replied.

"Good, keep it like this. In the meantime you need to ask Martha to call Rosa Cain."

"Rosa Cain, why?" she asked.

"For protection," he said. "She knows how to keep people safe. Take Rosa wherever you go, even the toilet if she thinks it necessary."

"Why can't you protect me?"

He eased her away and looked into her eyes.

"There's somewhere else I have to go first. You must trust me on this."

"What if she refuses to help?"

"She won't. Tell Rosa I need her to look after you while I'm away."

"Where are you going?"

"China," he said. "The key to all this lies there. I have to find Catherine Vogel."

Chapter Twenty

Stopover

There was no time to rest. Matt had snatched a couple of hours sleep on the plane, and that would have to be enough. He could feel the mobile vibrating in his pocket. The message was from Gratia.

Rosa had returned early from her break and was encamped at Gratia's house, much to Stefan's annoyance. Matt scrolled further down. An image of a Chinaman appeared. According to Gratia the man was called Hang Chi and could be trusted. His speciality was logistics. Everything Matt needed for his foray into China could be provided by Hang Chi, no matter what he requested. Matt responded, providing an extensive list of requirements.

He didn't as much as walk, more trot, along the waterside to the jetty office. Donna was the first to greet him.

"You should have been here last night," she scolded.

"Hello, Donna. Good to see you too."

She fiddled uncomfortably with some papers, trying to avoid his steady gaze. While their relationship could hardly be described as friendly she was more off hand than usual.

"What happened?" asked Matt.

The rustling of papers continued. Matt reached across and pressed her hand to the desk to demand her attention.

"Donna, what happened?"

She turned her head sideways and peered up at him.

"There was an attempted break in last night."

He could tell there was more to come.

"The alarm you had fitted recently alerted the police and must have disturbed Will, up at your place. He arrived shortly before the police and was immediately confronted by three armed intruders."

She paused.

"So what happened?"

Her head moved to look behind him.

"Hi, Will," she gushed.

Donna brushed Matt aside and darted to the figure standing at the doorway, proceeding to embrace him with more energy than she displayed on any normal day.

"You can ask him now he's here," she said. "The man's a hero. Ask anyone around here."

"Hello, Matt," said Will. "Good to have you back."

Donna pinned herself against the new arrival in the same way a limpet glues itself to a rock. The young Englishman looked decidedly uncomfortable at Donna's fervent attentions, almost apologetic. It was one of the man's key attributes, his displays of humility, which had persuaded Matt he could trust Will.

"Are you alright?" asked Matt.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Donna's making it sound far more dramatic than it actually was."

"No I'm not," she protested. "The police had nothing but praise, saying they'd never seen anything like it before."

Will adroitly prised himself away from Donna and offered a welcoming hand. The man had a vice-like grip. It took Matt several seconds to extricate himself from what felt like an iron glove.

"Did they take anything?" asked Matt.

"No. Will was here too quick for them. God knows what we'd have lost if he hadn't turned up so soon."

Matt thought for a few moments. His immediate reaction was to reason there was far more to Will Salmon than he had previously considered. He checked his watch. Time was short.

"Right," he said. "Panic over. I have to move along."

"What? Is that it? Everything's fine so I'm off again?"

"Unavoidable I'm afraid," he said to her. "Not that it looks as though you need me around, Donna. You and Will seem to have everything under control."

His light hearted response visibly irritated her. Matt didn't have the time to let this bother him unduly. He told her he had spoken to the bank and the earlier problems had been rectified to his satisfaction. Matt had ensured resources were in place during his continued absence.

"I need to freshen up," said Matt.

"The pick-up is outside," said Will. "I'll take you back to the house."

Matt nodded his agreement and turned to the exasperated Donna.

"You're in good hands with Will. I shouldn't be more than a couple of weeks or so. The mobile will be on, just in case."

He would have preferred to stay longer. As a minimum give her some kind of explanation. Time wouldn't allow it. The two men walked at pace towards the waiting vehicle. At the last minute Matt remembered why he'd called around in the first place, instead of ringing.

"Hold on for a minute, Will. There's something I have to get."

Matt re-entered the office. Donna didn't bother to look up. He rescued the key from the rack and made straight for his plane.

This was the machine Jack used. Matt adopted it once he'd returned to Victoria. No-one bar Matt flew this plane now. He jumped into the cockpit and placed his hand under the pilot's seat. The fingers of his hand stretched all round the surface in search of the item. He worried the passage of time had eroded away at the object, rendering it useless for his needs. The tips of his fingers came into contact with the sticky tape. He edged them along further and touched at plastic casing. It felt like it was in good shape. Matt picked away at the tape, making slow progress to begin with. He was about to stamp his foot in frustration when a complete strand peeled away from the object. Within moments, he'd retrieved the USB.

"What were you doing?" asked Will as he released the handbrake.

"Got some catching up to do," was all Matt said in reply.

The vehicle burst forward up the concrete ramp. Once onto the harbour road he steered for home, waving frequently at the many passers by trying to catch his attention. Will looked every bit a part of the everyday human scenery here, Matt noticed, as if the man had lived his entire life in Victoria.

"Jenna's out of hospital," said Will. "I've put her up at your place for the time being while she recuperates. I hope that's okay, you don't mind."

Matt shook his head. It was just as well he wasn't staying the night.

"How is she doing?"

"Great," said Will. "You'll notice a real difference when you get home."

Matt was relieved.

"Can I ask you something, Matt?"

"Sure."

Will appeared a little cautious, and the question took a while to surface.

"What have you got yourself into? Those guys rummaging through the office last night weren't opportunists, they were after something in particular."

"What makes you think that?"

"Opportunist thieves wreck a place, looking for anything and everything of value. These guys were very systematic, almost forensic in their approach. They were professionals, working to a specific objective."

"Sounds like you did well to see them off then," said Matt.

"I wouldn't listen too much to Donna. The police were right behind me. There were a couple of blows I had to parry, that's all."

Matt was quiet.

"And another thing," said Will. "Two detectives dropped by the house looking for you this morning. I said I'd let them know when you got back."

"Danbridge and Early," said Matt.

"Yes."

"Have you told them?"

"Nope," said Will with a grin.

Matt smiled.

"Good. They can wait awhile."

They arrived at the house before the need arose to fend off Will's original question, though this wasn't lost on the young man. They were almost up to the front door when Will spoke again.

"If there's anything you want me to do, Matt. I'm more than happy to oblige."

Matt glanced at his companion.

"Thanks."

"Will, I'm in the kitchen," Jenna's voice called.

"I've brought someone to see you," he replied.

Jenna's face popped round the door. Her immediate smile faltered on seeing Matt standing next to Will.

"Hello, Matt. You've made it back then?"

She was hesitant, cautious. Matt wondered what exactly he'd walked into. He forced a grimaced smile. Unintended, but he was surprised by the scene of domestic nirvana. One welcoming peck to the cheek later and he'd recovered.

"You're looking good."

"I'm feeling much better, thanks. Mostly Will's doing. He's been terrific."

"Sounds like I picked the right guy then?"

Her subsequent sheepish smile looked more guilt ridden than grateful.

"Well now you're back, it's probably time I moved back to my place."

"There's no hurry. I'm not staying anyway. There's still some work to do. You can take as long as you need. There's no rush for you to leave, no rush at all," he replied.

Her smile broadened. He'd said what she wanted to hear.

"A quick shower and some fresh clothes and I'll be on my way again."

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not," he said in reassurance. "I don't want you leaving until you've fully recovered. No matter how long it takes."

"As long as you're sure, Matt," she said.

He pecked at her cheek again.

"Right, first things first," he said. "I need to get the laptop out of the spare room."

She reached out and grasped his arm, tugging him urgently away from the door to the second bedroom.

"It's okay, I'll do it. You must have had a long flight. Go and get your shower and I'll find the laptop for you."

Matt spotted the furtive glance she made towards Will as he politely declined her offer and entered the room. The machine was kept on the lower shelf of the computer desk. He walked straight to it and lifted it up. Matt did his best to conceal the brief examination his eyes made of the room. Not a thing had been moved or adjusted. He noticed the spare bed hadn't been used, and hadn't been used for some time.

Matt wandered back into the living area, closing the door behind him. Jenna had a decidedly guilty look on her face. Will was slightly edgy.

"Tell you what," said Matt. "I'm guessing the wardrobe in my bedroom is stacked full of your clothes by now. Could you sort some fresh gear out for me while I nip into the shower and freshen up?"

She nodded furiously with worried eyes. His normal smile returned.

"Thanks," he said.

He showered longer than usual. Matt had always considered Jenna to be one of those girls who would keep a coin between her knees until she found Mr Right. How wrong could he be? The news came as a complete shock to him, and he'd no idea what to make of it all.

Matt had only ever wanted Jenna to be happy, conscious she was saving herself for the husband and subsequent house full of kids she always said she wanted. Yet after knowing this man for only a few short weeks she'd... well, done entirely the opposite.

Will was a likeable enough guy. He had a good sense of humour, appeared thoughtful and caring, and could clearly look after himself. But she hardly knew him. Matt barely knew this guy for Christ's sake.

He told himself he was being irrational, maybe even over protective. Jenna was, when all was said and done, a grown woman able to make her own life decisions. Was it envy on Matt's part because Jenna had given herself to this man? Or was he feeling this way because she had discovered the happiness that continued to evade him?

There was a plateful of sandwiches waiting on the coffee table when he re-emerged, a hot drink too. Matt heard them both whispering to each other in the kitchen. He was sure he could hear kissing too. The homepage appeared on the screen and Matt accessed his e-mail account. Countless numbers of pointless messages sprang into view. Why on earth were all these people trying to sell him discounted Viagra? Talk about a waste of money. He searched until he found the sender he was looking for. Matt didn't have to open it. Okay, said Hang Chi. It was the confirmation he'd been waiting for. Matt pushed the USB he'd rescued from Jack's plane into the port. He was sure of the file he needed to access. A few more clicks and the address to Chen's private residence appeared directly in front of him. Next, he entered the co-ordinates into the virtual atlas and pinpointed the location. Matt checked his watch. Time was short. He pressed print and dived back into the second bedroom to retrieve the copies.

He spotted the disturbed sheets of the spare bed. The words stable door and horses bolting came to mind.

"I've filled the case with fresh clothes," said Jenna.

"Thanks, Jenna. Will, I'm running late. Can you take me to the airport?"

"Sure."

Matt switched off and closed the lid. He folded the print and stuffed it hurriedly into his inside pocket, along with the USB. There was only time to snatch up the small case and make for the front door. Jenna followed them. He turned to face her.

"Jenna, I'm sorry but I have to go. When I get back..."

"It's alright. Even though you're away you're still looking after me," she said, nodding towards Will.

Matt smiled and kissed her cheek.

"See you later," he said.

"Matt?"

He retreated back up the steps and looked into her almond shaped eyes.

"Jenna, it's okay. Stay for as long as you need and do whatever you have to do to get yourself back to full health. That's all I care about."

Jenna had never held him so tightly before. Matt struggled to breathe.

"Have a safe journey, Matt."

They were about to drive off when a large black sedan pulled up. Matt was expecting it to be detectives Danbridge and Early. Instead it was Horton Priest.

"Hey, Durham," he called out of the open window. "Now it's a break in. Trouble just seems to follow you around like a dark cloud, doesn't it? Sure you don't want to talk?"

Will stumbled on a tuft of grass and spilt the remaining half of his lukewarm coffee onto the reporter. It was a pretty good stumble too.

"Hey, man. What the hell did you have to do that for?"

They drove off at speed, leaving Priest to dab at his white shirt with a paper tissue.

The airport run was conducted in an awkward silence. Matt sensed Will was keen to speak to him about something but couldn't find the right form of words. The pick-up pulled into the drop off parking bay.

"Matt..."

"Do I have to tell you not to break her heart?" said Matt.

"No."

"Right, there's one other thing I'd like you to do for me.

"Name it," said Will.

Matt fumbled into his side pocket, pulled out the USB, and dropped it into the driver's waiting hand.

"Look after this," said Matt. "It's my last one so don't you dare lose it."

"Sure."

"There's also an alarm feed on," said Matt. "So I'll know if you try and get into it."

"Understood," said Will.

"Thanks," called Matt, as he headed for departures.

Chapter Twenty One

Into the Belly of the Dragon

What surprised Matt most about this land of the Chinese dragon was the energy sapping heat, closely followed by the oppressive humidity. He'd like to have thought the water pouring out of his body from every pore could be described as perspiration, but he knew that wasn't true. The only saving grace was the fact he was alone, unable to share the unique scent emanating from his body with anyone else in the small jeep.

The rattle of the diesel engine continued to play a worrying tune as he drove further into the interior. Clouds of dust threw up behind him as he hurtled along the dirt road, the tall grass at the sides disturbed by his speed and violent manoeuvring to keep the vehicle on track. Matt wasn't completely sure of his precise position on the trail, all the villages and shanty houses looked much the same as each other. All he did know was that he was getting ever closer to his destination.

To describe the people living in the area as poor would have been an overstatement. And they were mostly old. The youth of the vicinity had long left for the great cities in search of a better life. Matt couldn't believe any Government would be content to allow the remainder of the population to live in such paltry conditions.

He glanced at the fuel gauge and decided it was time to stop and refuel. The needle remained some distance from zero, but as it hadn't moved for some considerable time it was better to be sure. His mode of transport was anything but a new model, and the last thing he needed was to break down in the middle of nowhere. Whilst China had come a long way in the last few years, vehicle recovery organisations out in the belly of this beastly country were non-existent. As he'd entered illegally, ringing for roadside assistance was hardly the smartest idea anyway.

Matt hadn't expected to enter the country this easily. Once again Gratia had come up trumps, putting Matt in touch with Hang Chi. The man had arranged everything; from discreetly organising the transport to the weapons and provisions he needed for the job.

Lifting the ill-fitting cap from its tenuous hold, Matt raised the jerry can and emptied its contents into the tank. That left three remaining cans. Two would probably be enough to get him back, though he always preferred to compensate for the unforeseen.

Matt was about to spark the engine back into life when he heard the noise of an approaching vehicle. None of the locals had any form of mechanised transport, so the sound signalled danger. He was closer than he thought.

He searched for cover. There was nothing in front and little else behind. Feelings of panic tore into his nerves. He had to clear his mind and think, fast. Forward wasn't an option. The engine fired and he rammed the gear into reverse. Turning his head to look at the road behind, the jeep shot from its position and hurtled backwards.

For several yards he adroitly negotiated the bend at high speed. Once or twice he thought he'd lost control and was set to career off the trail. Somehow, he kept on track. The second bend slipped by and he saw an opening.

"Keep it steady," he told himself. "Now, do it!"

The jeep turned ninety degrees and catapulted backwards, bouncing through tall grass into the undergrowth. By jamming the brakes hard and turning the steering wheel to the right the jeep settled, pointing in the direction he had come, a few feet from the road.

Matt leapt from the cab and ran towards his entry point. Hacking at the tree with a machete, a small branch loosened and he snapped it free. Hurriedly, he used it to sweep away the imprints his tyres had made in the dust at the side of the track, and ran back to the jeep.

He watched as the British-built four by four drifted by. There were four figures inside, all of them male and carrying weapons. More than likely they were employed as part of Chen's bodyguard entourage. Matt watched them disappear around the corner, unaware of his presence, and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

He waited for some time before snatching the rucksack from the rear seat. Covering his head with the camouflaged hat he started the long walk back to his original position. The last thing he needed, in this stifling heat, was to have to climb manually up the steep bank to get to the top. But there was no other choice, it had to be done.

Five hours had passed before Matt returned to the jeep, to make final preparations for the one man assault on Chen's hideaway. The place had been far closer than he had realised, just over the other side of the steep rise into the valley below. It was more like a five star hotel rather than the ramshackle retreat he was expecting, completely out of place against the backdrop of abject poverty everywhere else in the vicinity. Matt had changed position several times to fully explore the area, using the powerful binoculars to examine in detail both the building layout and the surrounding grounds.

A wooden hut signalled the entrance to a long drive, where two uniformed guards were housed by the barrier. The land around was flat and open, caged by a wire perimeter fence, six feet high and approximately two hundred yards from the main residence. Surprisingly there weren't any CCTV cameras at or around the outer fence, a real bonus.

He counted five security personnel located at designated positions of the building's exterior, an unusually light amount though there was likely an equal number housed inside. One other guard, probably a supervisor, toured the grounds at two hourly intervals. There would be a duplicate of him inside and servants too.

The long white walled front of the building was accessed by two sets of steps, separated by a flat patio area. The steps were decorated by small ornate pillars at the sides. The second set led to a veranda entirely circling the residence and covered by a number of individual awnings. Pockets of empty tables and chairs bedecked the veranda at regular intervals, as if they were outside cafe areas. No doubt used by guests dependent upon where the sun was positioned in the sky.

Four storeys in total, ugly stone gargoyle heads protruded from the walls at uneven intervals, in marked contrast to the sculptured windows equally placed along the walls. There was a balcony attached to each of the rooms above the first floor. The rooms were more executive suites, comprising large bed chambers with en-suite facilities and even larger sitting rooms. And the decor could only be described as extravagant, a picture of western capitalism in all its opulent glory.

Irony didn't come close. The original architects behind the Milieu conspiracy made their plans because they believed the world's resources were under threat from over-population, too many people and insufficient natural materials with which to sustain meaningful life in the medium to long terms. Yet here, in the heart of nowhere, every luxury was amply evident.

Despite the many hours of observation there was no sign of Catherine Vogel, causing Matt to wonder if she were here at all. He had spotted what looked like a small meeting, in one of the large ground floor rooms, but some of the complement had been obscured from view. Most of the talking came from an elderly Chinese man. Small and round, little remained of his hair covering. He could only be Chen. Had Matt not briefly returned to Victoria to review the USB then he would never have known the location of Chen's private country residence.

The sun had set, time for Matt to make his move. A full moon lit up the landscape. Whilst this would make passage easier it would also provide limited cover for his approach over the grounds to the building. Before setting off, Matt placed one of the full jerry cans by the tree opposite the road. Then he began to make the steady uphill trek through the undergrowth to the target.

Clouds had partially obscured the moon by the time he'd arrived. Settling into position he raised the binoculars to his eyes and began to revisit every room. If he couldn't locate Vogel then Matt determined to abandon the mission. All of the second floor sitting rooms were lit, throwing rays of light from the windows out into the darkness. He started at the far side and worked his way along. There were no human forms in clear sight from his position.

A movement at the end window to the front of the residence caught his eye. A figure had risen from the luxurious couch and placed a newspaper on the office desk. The female form was tall and slim, dressed in fawn casual slacks covered by a loose-fitting white blouse on which her yellowish blonde hair rested over the shoulders. Her head turned and he magnified the viewfinder. Catherine Vogel.

Now he knew she was being held here, and the precise location of her internment. Her frame looked thinner than how he remembered from their last encounter. The shape of her face also appeared gaunt and haunted. Captivity did not sit well with Catherine. She turned sharply as the door to her room opened. Chen stood at the threshold and Matt watched as they exchanged words, a short and terse conversation. There was no warmth to the brief discussion and Chen soon left.

Stealthily he made his way, heart pounding as he brushed through the long grass. He could feel the adrenalin coursing through his veins and his nerve ends tingled with anticipation over the uncertainty set to follow. Fear added to his sense of excitement, making him believe he possessed the limitless power of a superhero.

He arrived at the perimeter fence and checked his watch. The supervisor would be finishing his round. A quick search with the binoculars confirmed it. Cutting away an opening in the wire he clambered through. Matt crouched as he scurried in short bursts the two hundred yard distance to the side wall of the impressive building, pausing frequently to check for any unexpected movement. Breathing deeply, he rested his back against the white stone. There were no noises, no sounds of movement.

Turning to his left he made for the corner of the residence, where one of the guards should be on patrol. He looked up and saw a smoking cigarette directly above, on the veranda. Ash fell on to his shoulder, soon followed by the lighted stub flicked onto the ground in front of him. Matt stood, rooted to the spot, hardly daring to breathe. A noise told him the guard had moved away from the veranda. He could hear footsteps coming down the concrete steps. Which way would he turn?

He decided to make sure. Picking a fist-sized piece of stone from the ground, Matt waited until the man neared ground level and then tossed it to the side. The sound of the stone hitting the ground caused the guard to turn and investigate.

The point of the machine gun came into view first. Then the figure loomed into view. Matt grabbed at the barrel and jerked it towards him. Before the guard could respond, Matt rammed the serrated blade into the man's neck, under the jaw, and just as quickly withdrew it.

Blood gurgled urgently from the wound. The guard's hands shook violently. Then he dropped the weapon and slumped to the floor.

It took more effort than Matt wanted to expend, pulling the corpse into the shadows to hide it from view. He retrieved the shoulder holstered weapon but left the machine gun with the body.

Taking each step of the stairs slowly in turn, Matt neared the back door and made for the edge of the building. Silently, he climbed to the first floor ledge, using the small adorning sculptures cemented to the wall, for leverage. Picking his way round to the balcony outside Vogel's suite, he hoisted himself over the railing. Ahead, two beams of light shone upwards at the front end of the residence, courtesy of the two powerful searchlights planted into the gravel drive. They were too far away to reveal his presence.

Matt retrieved the glass cutter from the haversack and cut away an opening above the handle on the other side. Within moments he was inside the darkened bed chamber, poised at the door to the sitting room. The handle turned and the door opened. In one seamless movement Matt forced her fingers away from the switch with one hand while the other covered her mouth. Her natural reaction was to scream so he tightened his grip.

"Catherine, be silent. It's Matt," he whispered.

Her body immediately relaxed and he released his hold over her mouth.

"Matt, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"Getting you out; you've got two minutes to get dressed," he said, pulling two items of dark clothing from the sack.

She needed no urging, instantly releasing the buttons of her blouse.

"Where is Chen?" he asked.

"Next room along," she replied. "Tanaka is in the next one along."

"Tanaka's here, in China?"

"Yes."

"Take five minutes," he said, "Switch the en-suite light on then the sitting room off."

She hurried to complete his instruction while he rescued a pillow from the bed. Catherine nodded as the bathroom light went on and he began to slip out of the bedroom door.

"Matt, be careful," she said.

He smiled and disappeared through the door. The hallway was empty, unbelievably so. There were no cameras in sight. He darted two doors down and turned the handle. Sliding into the room Matt noticed a set of feet hanging over one end of the sofa. He smothered the gun in the pillow and neared the target. A surprised Japanese face lifted up and stared. This had to be Tanaka. He raised the smothered weapon and fired. The body fell backwards, rolled off the furniture and hit the floor. Matt rounded the sofa and fired again into the prone figure to make sure. Task duly completed, Matt returned to the door and checked out the hallway. The area remained clear.

He moved on to the next suite in line. Silently, he stole inside. There was no-one to be seen. The sound of a running tap persuaded him to move closer to the en-suite. He forced the gun into the pillow, counted to two and then swung round into view. Chen heard the noise and swivelled around with a toothbrush glued inside his open mouth. The bullet arrowed into his forehead and he tumbled back against the tiled wall before sliding to the ground. Matt confirmed the kill before tossing the pillow aside.

He was about to leave when he spotted the computer screen and walked over. Matt recognised the Milieu files. He opened the drawer underneath and searched through the contents. His hand touched a USB. A brief examination revealed a huge memory capacity. He pushed it into the port and started to inspect the file registry of the computer. Highlighting as many files as he could, Matt promptly copied them onto the portable device. The whole process took several minutes, longer than he intended.

Catherine was ready by the time he returned.

"It is done?"

"Yes"

"Both of them?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes, time to go," he urged.

Catherine didn't ask how they were to make their escape, just followed obediently. He opened the door to the balcony, reached for her hand and led her over to the edge. He pointed to the gargoyle heads jutting out from the wall

"You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then believe me when I say you can do this, okay?"

Matt doubted she could, it was the only option. Stepping over the balcony railing he gripped her hand tightly to provide further assurance. Catherine showed far more athleticism than he'd given her credit for, easily negotiating this first hurdle to their escape. She watched intently as he started to descend the stepping points. He stopped after the first few and looked up towards her. She nodded and then, with feline grace, aped his every move. So sure-footed was Catherine they reached the veranda in no time at all.

"You are full of surprises," he said in admiration.

She smiled wryly, to imply she had capabilities far greater than he expected. He found it inwardly amusing, realising he was prone to underestimating the female of the species.

The two fugitives scampered across the open ground, Vogel following from behind. They had covered most of the distance when he heard her stumble.

"Catherine, are you okay?"

"Keep going," she said.

Matt pulled back the loosened fence and allowed her to slip through the gap before following from behind.

"There's a long way to go yet," he said.

She nodded in between gasps.

"I'm not stopping now," she panted.

Leading the way, he tugged firmly at her hand to induce her to keep up to his speed. They were almost at the top of the rise when he heard her fall again.

"My ankle," she said. "I can't put any weight on it."

He slipped off the haversack and handed it to her.

"Put this on," he ordered.

Matt knelt in front of her and held out his arms to allow her to straddle his back. The final feet to the top of the rise were energy sapping. He had to keep going. They were on the point of making the downward trek when they heard the first sirens sounding into the night. He turned to see a series of powerful beams lighting up the darkness. In the distance, the noise of urgent voices echoed through the night. Now they were up against it.

"Forget the pain and run."

Catherine got her second wind during the descent. Perhaps it was the fear of being recaptured. Either way, she kept pace with Matt all the way to the bottom. He carried her on the final stage as they raced along the flat and winding trail.

Bundling Catherine unceremoniously into the back of the jeep, he leapt behind the wheel and turned the key. Jamming into first gear, Matt pushed hard against the pedal. The vehicle responded by spinning its left wheel. He tried again and was met with the same sound of a tyre unable to grip the sodden ground.

"Shit!"

They were stuck. In one of the warmest, stiflingly humid parts of the world he had ever come across they were trapped in mud, of all things.

Chapter Twenty Two

Which Plan is this?

Catherine could almost taste his indecision. Fear gripped at her heart.

"What are we going to do?" she shouted.

"Shut up," he yelled back.

Matt threw the gear into reverse and pressed hard at the pedal. Again the wheel spun round and left them stationary. Turning the steering wheel right, he went back into first and tried again. The jeep shuddered but kept its position. Reverse gear once more, this time with the tyres pointing left, and he applied another burst of brute mechanical power.

The front wheels spun and then gripped, throwing the jeep backwards with a maniacal lurch. Back into first, the wheels turned again, and the machine catapulted onto the dusty trail. No sooner had they hit the track then Matt slammed on the brakes to bring the jeep to a sudden halt.

"Matt. What are you doing?" she cried.

"Shut up, I said."

He could see headlights descending the rise, wending their way through the bends. Matt snatched the pistol and pointed it towards a tree. In seconds the pursuing vehicle appeared. He waited for them to close before firing. The bullet pierced the jerry can and threw an orange flame across the road, causing the driver of the onrushing vehicle to slam on his brakes and steer right. The powerful 4x4 swerved off the road, smashing straight into the thick tree. Matt didn't bother to stop to survey the carnage, just rammed the gear into first and put his foot down.

They had been travelling for around an hour, Matt driving with only sidelights and the full moon to light the way. On a couple of occasions he had almost failed to keep on the dirt track. Somehow they were still intact.

Catherine had been silent throughout, which was probably as well given the level of concentration he had to give to the road ahead. Matt could feel his eyes tiring and dropped their speed a little. He felt her hand touch his shoulder.

"Do you need to rest?" she asked.

"We can't afford to stop."

"Should we crash then we would be caught."

He gritted his teeth.

"No, I'm alright for a while longer. How's your ankle?"

"It hurts a little," she replied.

Matt felt a lot wearier than he cared to admit. It always happened after an adrenalin rush had run its course and burnt itself out. Without warning he slowed, switched off the side lights and pulled up at the side of the road.

"Let me see," he said.

Catherine clambered into the front passenger seat, wincing with the effort. Once settled she rested her foot into his lap. Matt gripped the torch between his teeth and turned her slim ankle gently, first one way then the other. Pulling the bandage from the sack he began to wrap it tightly around the bruised area.

"It's a sprain. Not a problem while we're on the road," he said looking up. It was too dark to see her green eyes. Neither could he fully appreciate her long face and prominent nose.

"That's not likely to be for much longer. Most of China will be looking for us by now."

She was right. They would have to get off the road soon.

"What will you do with me then?" she asked.

Matt tipped his head towards the river, some yards to their right, running down a similar path to the road. Moonlight caught her face and he saw the cautious look.

"I should warn you, I am a particularly good swimmer."

"You'll need to be," he said. "It's very fast flowing."

"And what route will you take?"

He looked up, puzzled. Then it dawned and he began to laugh. Now it was her turn to look puzzled.

"Did you think I would leave you here?"

"Some people may have done," she replied. "Execution awaits you if we are caught."

"Then we'll just have to make sure we aren't. There, that'll do for now," he said, tying the bandage.

She hesitated to withdraw her foot from his lap, which he thought was curious. Matt started up the engine, clicked into gear and pressed hard down on the accelerator.

Another hour passed before Matt slowed their pace, causing Catherine to turn her head towards him.

"Are we stopping?"

He said nothing at first. A few hundred yards later he brought the jeep to a complete halt.

"Jump out for a couple of minutes," he said.

Catherine complied obediently and he threw the rucksack to her.

"Hold on to this for a sec."

Matt jumped out. She watched in fascination as he strode to where the road ahead forked and took the left of the turns, the one furthest away from the river bank. He walked a few more yards and started to clear away the some of the undergrowth from the side of the road, to reveal a cavernous space amidst the thicket.

Within minutes he had returned and driven the jeep into the hiding place. Hurriedly, he replaced the greenery and used a branch to dust the tyre treads back to where they had stopped.

"This way," he said as he headed into the night. Catherine started to limp after him. He looked round to see her hobbling and ran back. Lifting her in his arms, she gratefully snaked her hands around his neck and smiled. He began to trot down the side of the trail forking to the right.

"Not far to go," he said.

Catherine took a short while to speak.

"You had already planned to do this?" she asked.

"Plan B," he said. "Always helps to have an alternative."

"And if this doesn't work, do you have a plan C too?"

He grinned but said nothing. Tightening her grip around his neck, she looked forward to see where they were headed and then returned her gaze to his eyes.

"I cannot remember the last time I was this close to a man," she said.

With those words he stopped and relaxed his grip, allowing Catherine's legs to slide off his body so her feet could touch the ground.

"I told you it wasn't far," he said.

Gripping her firmly by the hand, he led the elegant Austrian woman carefully down the bank to the river edge. They were close to the water's edge when he stopped. Brushing aside the reeds the image of a small craft appeared, narrow shaped like a canoe, only a little wider. A short length of rope, fastened to a heavy stone, moored the vessel to the land.

Matt kept a firm hold while she boarded before following her into the structure and seated himself just behind her. He stretched forward, lifted the paddle by her side and began to stroke the water to move them out into the centre of the river. Little effort was needed, the strong current easily pulling them downstream at an ever quickening pace.

"I've had more comfortable cruises," she said lightly.

"You'll get used to it ... after a day or two," he replied.

"You mean it could be longer?"

"Not much, hopefully," he said with a shrug.

She guessed he had the same smug expression on his face he often wore after a smart quip. Catherine's first instinct was to protest. Her second was to make herself as comfortable as possible, and try and enjoy the ride as best she could.

Matt could see the sun rising on the far horizon. He looked for cover. Picking a suitable spot, he pointed the craft at a host of overhanging leaves amidst the river bank's lush foliage. With great dexterity he manoeuvred the boat to shore and dropped the stone anchor into the water below.

He told Catherine to wait while he scouted the area. Several minutes passed before she heard him return and lay an extra covering of reeds over their position. Seconds later and he had rejoined her.

"Why have we stopped?" she asked.

"Daylight," he said. "And we need to rest."

"Rest, how?"

Matt lifted off his top and slid his body down one side of the craft, resting his head on the removed garment.

"Like this," he said.

There were no words of bitter complaint, only a resigned acceptance of the situation as she mimicked his action and lay down beside him. The sun had risen and the air temperature was beginning to soar, causing discomfort. She struggled for minutes on end to try and settle into some sort of acceptable shape and position. Several attempts later, she finally came to rest. Matt lifted the flap of the sack, retrieved the water bottle and handed it to her.

"Take light sips only," he said. "It has to last."

A quick mouthful later and she returned it to his custody.

"Are you not having any?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"Later. I can do without for now."

They lay quiet for a few moments. Catherine broke the silence.

"I thought you would have brought help. Is Rosa not with you?"

He didn't answer at first.

"How's your ankle?" he said.

"Sore, however I'm sure I'll live."

The air around them descended back into silence.

"You know you are quite mad to have attempted this rescue all on your own," she said.

"We need to rest, Catherine."

"Why would you attempt a daring venture like this without help?" she asked, after a while.

"Look, I didn't come half way round the world to save you from Chen and his mob only to be criticised. Okay?"

"Alright," she said. "I am not ungrateful. If anything I am touched you have gone to such extraordinary lengths to help me. I know of no-one else who would have dared to do this."

He felt the need to explain.

"We all have a duty to care for others, particularly those we value most. Otherwise I don't see the point to life. Anyway, I didn't do this on my own. Someone helped me."

"Rosa Cain?"

"No. Not bloody Rosa Cain. She has other things to attend to. A woman called Gratia Fuchs stepped up to the plate."

"I have heard this name."

"She is the Chief Operating Officer of Schafen Industries."

A brief pause ensued.

"How do you know this woman?"

"We met by chance, which is lucky for you. Without her, I doubt I would have made it beyond first base."

Catherine was quiet for a moment.

"She must like you, to help you in this way."

He chuckled at the suggestion.

"No way," he laughed. "People like Gratia Fuchs are way out of my league. Her type is way too much high maintenance for us ordinary guys. I doubt... quiet," he whispered.

The sound of a vehicle engine could be heard, somewhere in the distance. As it neared, human voices sounded, talking animatedly in Chinese and getting closer by the second.

By the chinking sound of weapons, armed individuals were patrolling the dirt trail on foot backed up by a heavy vehicle.

Matt turned towards Catherine and held a finger to his lips. He slipped over the side of the craft and she heard him wading away. She wanted to call after him, afraid to be left alone. It was his instruction to be silent that halted the urge to speak. As much as she wanted to trust him she couldn't help but have doubts, and closed her eyes to try and ignore the rising panic.

Seconds turned to minutes. The voices were getting closer. Catherine forced her eyes to open, fearful they would reveal the snarling face of an angry Chinese soldier. Instead her gaze was met by a pair of yellow and black eyes encased in a small oblong shaped head, coloured into a mottled black and light grey skin. The snake moved effortlessly nearer, along the side of the craft, and then a forked tongue slipped from the narrow opening at the front of the creature. Frozen in terror, Catherine could contain her fear no longer. She opened her mouth and readied the piercing scream.

Chapter Twenty Three

Heat

A hand appeared and covered Catherine's mouth, pressing firmly against her lips to suppress the scream. With nostrils flaring and eyes bulging in terror she watched, helpless, as another hand snaked out of the water and gripped the neck of the reptile. Tightening its hold, the masculine hand lifted the slithery mass from the boat and placed it on shore. The snake lay stilled, seemingly rooted to the spot. Then it moved, and glided away deep into the grass surrounding the river bank.

Matt held a finger to his lips to urge Catherine's continued silence, smiling to further encourage her co-operation. Despite the frantic beating of her heart she managed to suppress the intended scream. For minute after minute they listened to the soldiers searching the ground above them, without getting particularly close.

After a while, the soldiers moved on, enabling Matt to pull his body out of the river and back into the craft. Instinct, and a latent reaction to fear, made her cling to his drenched frame. Her body trembled and he held her firmly.

"It's okay," he soothed, "everyone's gone."

"What was that thing?"

"At a rough guess, Mamushi, I would think."

"Mam what?" she asked.

"Mamushi; it's a type of pit viper."

"Is it poisonous?"

"Only if it bites you," he replied casually.

His words were enough for Catherine to tighten her grip.

"What happens if it comes back?"

"The snake won't come back."

"But what if it does?"

"Don't worry, it wasn't after you. It was looking for rats."

"Rats?"

"They're in plentiful supply. China has a massive rodent problem, because of the shortage of wildlife snakes. Snake meat is a delicacy in this part of the world. The people here catch them, either for food or to export to nearby countries like Japan. Some say they use the venom as an aphrodisiac."

"How do you know this?"

"From the internet, you can't turn up in a country and expect to find your way around without some research."

A rustling of grass brought the conversation to a temporary halt. Matt craned his neck so he could look to the river bank.

"There you go," he said, "I told you what he was after."

Catherine raised her head and looked to where the rustling noise continued. She saw the tail of the rat following the rest of its body into the mouth of the snake. With a sigh of relief she eased back down into the craft.

"Were you not frightened?"

"Absolutely bloody terrified, I thought it was going to bite me," he admitted. "Still, all's well that ends well. Now, it's time to get some much needed rest."

There was a brief pause as Matt did his best to settle into some sort of comfortable position.

"Are you sure it will not return?" she asked.

"Catherine ..."

"Alright, we shall rest. Even so, you must not let go of me."

Matt awoke from his brief slumber. The heat had him feeling like he was melting under the burning rage of the sun. Streams of salty liquid ran off his body in all directions and droplets of sweat had encamped on his face. He considered rescuing the water bottle from the sack until he realised Catherine was still asleep. She too was encased in perspiration. He watched as a line of water trickled from underneath the hairline above her ear. It streamed downwards and pooled into her clavicle, before overflowing the temporary obstacle and continuing its surge towards the cleavage revealed by her low cut bra.

The image stirred at his senses. There was something about sweaty bodies and constant heat that made a man's blood boil, prompting involuntary physical urges impossible to subdue. He couldn't remain lying there, not with feelings like this and having Catherine so close. Easing her head onto the pillow of her perspiration swamped shirt, he slid over the edge of the boat into the river.

"Where are you going?" asked her urgent voice.

"Getting a wash," he replied.

Massaging the water in and around his scalp, he glanced across and saw her head rise above the rim of the craft. The golden yellowish hair looked lank and sticky, flattened to her head by the intense heat. He watched as the brassiere attired torso leant over the side and then the rest of her body followed as she slipped into the water.

"It's not much cooler in here," she said in disappointment, rubbing water over her long arms, her shoulders and face.

Matt had been impressed by the way Catherine coped with their situation. Nothing had fazed her thus far, not even the episode with the snake unnerved her for very long. She clearly had a strong mind, a powerful will.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

"We'll wait for the sun to set, just to be on the safe side."

"Have we much further to go?"

"A couple of days should do it with any luck."

"I don't suppose you have any soap," she said impishly.

A quick shake of his head later and Matt had submerged under the surface, intent on fully enjoying the brief lull from pressure. He was conscious too, of the need to somehow cool the raging sensations pulsing through his body.

On resurfacing, he could see Catherine struggling to climb back into the boat and swam across to help her. Once on board they settled back into their original prone positions to feast on an energy bar from the sack, washed down with a mouthful or two of warm water from the bottle.

"That thing you said yesterday." she said. "The bit about the local people and others farming the environment of snakes, doesn't that make you think?"

"Think, about what?"

She hunched her shoulders.

"These Milieu people, they may have a valid point. Once all the reptile wildlife is gone, what will they turn to next? And when and where will they stop?"

The thought had crossed his mind. It was a scenario being repeated the world over. And the ever increasing numbers of humans on the planet only accelerated the destruction of the world's natural reserves, living creatures or not.

"Yes," he agreed. "They do have a point. But their method of dealing with the problem is entirely wrong."

"Unless we reduce human levels on the planet, or at least restrict them, then how else can these matters possibly be managed?"

"Being Devil's Advocate again, Catherine."

She smiled.

"You know what I mean to say. Each day the human race multiplies uncontrollably, adding to numbers that cannot be sustained. What you have seen in China is enough evidence of this. Poverty is an outcome of over-population, there are insufficient resources to meet every need."

"You agree with them?" he said in surprise.

"I agree measures must be taken. The leaders of the world, particularly those in the West, choose not to view this matter with the same urgency as I do."

"You can't murder billions of people from a pre-determined list made up by overpaid public officials. What gives them the right to decide who lives and who dies? What about their own genetic fingerprints. And have they never committed a human error, or held an opposite political view."

"So what would you do?" she retorted tetchily. "You are the moral crusader living amongst us, Matt. Tell me what your solution would be?"

Her temper caused him to pause, reflect on her words. He knew Catherine did not have the same colour heart as these villains, but she had a point. Over-population was already at breaking point, and he had no answers of his own.

"Would ridding the world of all these Milieu conspirators make enough of a difference, buy the world a bit more time?" he asked dryly.

She drew in her breath.

"Can you not be serious?"

Now he started to laugh, encouraging her to respond in like fashion. Once the humour had run its course, they lapsed back into silence.

"It is a big problem, Matt," she eventually said.

"Yes, it is," he agreed. "And I'm damned if I know the answer to it all."

"Well, now you have found sympathy with their cause perhaps we should just give up and agree to live here on this river. There are plenty of rats to keep us well fed."

Her witty remark made him laugh loudly.

"Whilst the proposition has its merits," he said. "There are other people to consider."

"People such as who?" she asked.

"The folks back home in Victoria. People like Martha and Gerhardt. They will soon reach the age these Milieu villains determine as unworthy. And Rosa Cain too, for daring to fight back against them before. As Johannes would say, they are the best of people."

Catherine decided to lay quietly with her own thoughts.

"Are there many left?" he asked. "Who are still beyond the realms of the Authorities?"

"The Milieu people, you mean?"

"Yes,"

"A small number," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"There's only one way to end this thing, once and for all."

"How would you end it?" she asked.

"Find out where they are and kill them all. Will you help me, Catherine, to trace them?"

"Yes," she replied after a pause. "I will. I will provide you with their locations."

Shadows were beginning to emerge and lengthen across the river. The sun had at last begun to slowly set.

"Thank you, Catherine," he said. "Come on," he then added putting his shirt back on. "Let's see if we can get you closer to home."

The night had passed quicker than he expected. It helped another full moon was in place and the river had widened on this stage of their journey, pushing them ever more quickly through the water. Little had been said, Matt insisting any noise travelled far through darkness. Instead, Catherine had contented herself with sitting quietly and dangling her arms over the side. The air remained humid, such that she would retrieve handfuls of water from time to time and use it to wipe away the stickiness from her skin.

Once the sun began to rise, Matt looked purposefully for another suitable place to stop and rest. The shape of a small island emerged from the brightening sky, right in the middle of the river, which parted to left and right of the small piece of land mass.

He paddled straight to it. After helping Catherine to land, he covered the boat with foliage cut from a nearby gathering of bushes. Though the low hanging branches of the single tree offered some shade from the rising sun, they could not shield them from the sweltering humidity. After washing at the shore they resumed the daily ritual of laying close together, resting weary heads on the soggy pillows of sweat-soaked shirts. At least they were released from the confines of lying within the cramped and suffocating boat. Space, a precious commodity, was all around them.

Then it started to rain, lightly at first, before gathering in intensity. Rivers of rainwater streamed either side of their prone bodies, forcing them ever closer to avoid the increasing deluge.

"Oh come on!" he muttered loudly. "Give us a break, for God's sake."

His lament made her giggle and laugh. He turned to look into her bright, green eyes, alive at the humour she found in his irritation.

"You do not possess an umbrella in the rucksack then," she quipped and he found himself smiling at the cleverness of her wit.

Despite the rain the heat continued to scratch away at their skin, boiling the blood and saturating their bodies in heavy perspiration. Matt struggled for a comfortable position, first moving to one side then the other, his frequent effort mirrored by Catherine's constant movement. He thought he'd found the ideal position, once. It didn't last for very long. Matt returned on to his side, bringing him face to face with his companion.

Her eyes squinted and she half smiled. Perspiration rolled down the flesh of her arms and dripped to the soil. He blinked and looked up to the sky, then returned his gaze to the figure lying close beside.

"I should check your ankle."

"Okay," she said with a smile.

Matt sat up and she lifted her foot onto his lap. Gently, he undid the bandage and inspected the injury.

"We're missing something you know," he said as he set about unwinding the bandage.

"Missing what?"

"There's something that doesn't sit right with me, about these Milieu people still being free."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"We know they held powerful positions, and must therefore have had friends in high places. But that alone shouldn't be enough to keep them from the law. They have to be getting help from elsewhere, from person or persons who have yet to be tied to this thing."

"Ouch, that hurts," she complained as he pressed at the edges of the bruising.

"Sorry," he acknowledged, and then proceeded to quietly set about re-applying the bandage around her ankle.

Matt's mind turned to another matter. He wondered for a while before taking the plunge.

"I was sorry to hear about Eva-Maria."

Catherine didn't respond.

"I liked her. A lovely girl, with a great future..."

She turned her head away sharply, visibly upset. He could see welling moisture and anger in her eyes. There was to be no discussion.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Catherine remained silent. Matt returned to dressing her ankle, wishing he'd never raised the subject. Now there was an unpleasant tension between them.

"It was the early hours of the morning," she suddenly said. "Eva-Maria's broken body was discovered by tramps in an alleyway. The smell alerted them. She had been hidden from view because of the waste from a dustbin that had been tipped over her."

Matt held his breath.

"The murderers had raped and sodomised her," Catherine said slowly. "After they had satisfied themselves they burnt and bit Eva-Maria, all over her body. Then they urinated and defecated on her skin. Finally, they beat her... using baseball bats."

The graphic description caused Matt to flinch. Catherine was struggling to contain her emotions. He didn't know what to say. Tears began to fall from her eyes. She scooped some away, before giving up the unequal struggle. Matt was sure it was his job to comfort her in some way. Instead he was rooted to the spot.

"I could not recognise my own daughter's body...the only way her identity could be properly determined was through DNA sampling."

Matt felt sick to the stomach.

"These vicious and evil people, Matt," she cried. "These people who will never be caught... they would not allow me to look upon her face one last time... I could not recognise her face."

Catherine broke down. Matt could only wonder how she had managed to cope thus far. His heart went out to her.

"I want to kill them, Matt. Kill every last one of them, kill them all."

He could sit and observe no longer, her heartbreak arrowed into his soul. Matt lifted her foot away and sank to the ground. She turned to meet him and buried her head into his waiting arms. Matt had no idea how long she broke her heart. As her tears flowed, he grew angry.

He had saved Eva-Maria's life once, and for what. To be brutally sexually assaulted and then even more brutally slain. Such forms of life should be forcibly removed from the face of the earth, he reasoned. Irrespective of what it took. Matt knew he would gladly kill them all. Though this would not return Eva-Maria to the bosom of her mother, the world would surely be a better place. There was no room in society for vile beasts masquerading as human beings.

Catherine's tears gradually subsided. She had needed to cry this despair from her heart for far too long, he realised. Matt had provided inadequate comfort, but at least he was there at the right time. It pleased him he was able to support her, when she most needed someone.

"I am sorry," she said.

"There is nothing for you to be sorry about," he whispered. "God knows, Catherine. If it were in my power I would gladly rid the world of the low life who committed this atrocity, right here and now if they were before me."

He meant every word. She knew he did. Catherine glanced at his face and offered a subdued smile. A bead of perspiration ran from her temple and meandered slowly down the side of her face. Catherine held her steady gaze.

"Make love to me," she whispered.

Matt blinked furiously, trying to decide whether she had really said what his mind thought she had said.

"That's grief and the heat talking, Catherine," he replied slowly.

"Maybe," she said, without a hint of emotion.

"You're upset, Catherine. The heat isn't helping you to think straight. It has a way of getting under the skin, distorting the senses. What you're feeling right now are false emotions, they aren't real."

"They feel real enough to me."

He shifted uncomfortably.

"No," he said, after a pause. "I won't let you do anything that can only lead to regret."

Catherine blinked at his words, looked briefly away, and then returned her gaze. Only seconds passed. It felt much longer.

"Besides," he added, "I understood you to be a lesbian."

She pushed her lips up to his. So close he could feel her breath upon his face.

"Not all of the time," she said.

"It's a very bad idea, Catherine," he said firmly, even though his body had erupted and ached with desire.

This was the wrong time for him to be suffering for his involuntary celibacy. Catherine was in a vulnerable state as was he, for different reasons. Her green eyes darted away from his face, a form of acceptance to his gentle rebuff he believed. Matt was wrong.

"Make love to me," she said again.

It was the gentle resting of her hand on his naked stomach that overpowered his ability to think straight. He should have knocked it away. The fact he didn't said everything about the impulses now taking hold of him. His mind and body raged in conflict. One tried to suppress rampant emotion, the other demanded sexual release.

Catherine's hand slipped under the elastic rim of his sodden trousers, the fingers not having to stretch far to complete their search. She folded them tight. Her touch evaporated whatever remained of his self control. He found it impossible to prolong the one-sided battle against the energetic surge inexorably building inside his body.

He nudged gently at her shoulders and she sank down on to her back. Reaching to each side of her waist he gripped tightly at the top of her trousers and pulled them down her long slim legs, dragging the French styled underwear along with them. By the time he had freed her feet from the garments she had already disposed of the white, frilly brassiere. He planted his hands to the soil on either side of the body beneath him, and lifted his knees from the ground so she could tug away his trousers.

Neither had the impulse to indulge in foreplay, harbouring only the raging desire to satisfy a basic instinct. Feeling the urgency of his movement, Catherine pressed the palms of her hands against his back and whispered into his ear.

"No, wait."

Gritting his teeth, Matt fought against the overwhelming sensation, though he did not have to wait long. Soon they had arrived at the same point and, with a final athletic surge, sent their minds spinning wildly off into oblivion.

Matt could do no more than allow his body to collapse onto his partner, feeling breathless and drained. Every muscle of the body had seemed to tighten to the point where it was ready to snap. Every nerve end felt as though it had shattered into innumerable pieces. And every last ounce of energy had been spent.

For several minutes they lay quietly, motionless, neither having the strength or the inclination to move. Matt's mind was a blank, empty of all thought save the realisation they had not made love to each other. They had merely satisfied a primal need, indulged in a vigorous and unstoppable act of lust. He felt her fingers touch the back of his head and gently stroke the nape of his neck.

"Feeling better?" she gasped with closed eyes.

"I don't know, I can't feel any part of my body," he gasped back. "And you?"

"Oh yes," she replied, "much, much better."

As his senses returned, the repercussions of their physical act began to play worryingly on his mind.

"Catherine ..." he began, raising his head.

Immediately, she held a finger to his lips. Her green eyes opened and smiled with a knowing wisdom.

"No," she said. "I do not regret this. Nor will I allow you to regret it either."

She could see the concern in his anxious eyes.

"This will be our secret, the unseen bond we shall never mention to others."

"You make it sound like a blood tie," he replied.

"It was but a moment in time, one which must be forever hidden from the view of the rest of the world. Should our relationship ever be tested in the future, then that is the time to remember this moment. It is the seal on our friendship, the unbreakable pact. Promise me you will always think of it in this way."

Her gaze never shifted from his face. She clearly meant every word. Catherine had not sought to elicit any form of lover's commitment from him. This was much deeper, more an oath of loyalty.

"I will," he heard himself say. "You know I will."

"Good," she replied, pecking the tip of his nose with her lips. "Now I feel as though I could sleep forever."

And so they slept.

Chapter Twenty Four

Silent Exit

Dawn was fast approaching. This had been their third night on the river. He edged the boat to the shore and then slipped over the side. Using his feet to test for depth, Matt moved along the bank until he found what he was looking for.

"This is the spot," he called back, before retreating to the craft to help Catherine ashore.

She stood and watched as he pushed the boat forwards and began hacking at the flimsy underside with the knife. A few minutes later and it had submerged beneath the surface.

"What now?" she asked.

"Now we walk," he replied, "or at least, I do."

He picked her up in his arms so she wouldn't have to put weight on the injured ankle, and set off in the direction he had intended. Twenty minutes later and they had reached the grassy outskirts of the tiny fishing village. They crouched a few yards from the first wooden-planked building, concealed from view by tall brush. For several minutes, Matt examined the village through the binoculars.

A shanty town was the kindest description he could afford the place. Most of the residences were built on stilts, looking anything but secure. Over to the left at the edge of the bay sat a much larger building, factory like in appearance. The long wooden pier jutted out from the shore and stretched out into the open sea. A host of small wooden boats were moored alongside it.

This once sedate local fishing industry was in the process of being modernised, mechanised into overproduction. Not even here could the fingerprint of man's insatiable greed to harvest the world's natural resources be escaped. At the shore of the village lay a much smaller jetty, barely entering the waters of the bay. Unless you knew it was there, easy to miss with the naked eye. Some several hundred yards out into the ocean a larger, more modern junk-like boat was anchored. This is why they had come here.

The direction of the binoculars returned to the small jetty. He'd missed the presence of the small motorised launch the first time. The parting of women with their children, playing in the shallows, brought it clearly in view. A small, elderly man stood on the beach looking at his watch. Matt checked his own. They were slightly later than planned. He lowered the binoculars and turned to look into her green eyes.

"Last leg," he said. "Touch wood we'll have you snuggled into a warm, comfortable bed by nightfall."

Perplexed by his obvious triumphant expression, Catherine nonetheless obediently allowed her hand to be taken in his and limped by his side into the village. The small Chinaman saw them approaching. Immediately he began to shake his head.

"No," said the elderly man. "Wanted, wanted."

Matt was puzzled.

"What is he saying?" asked Catherine.

"I think he wants more money," he replied, reaching into the haversack "Wait here."

Matt approached cautiously and held out the US dollars for the Chinaman to see. The man cast his gaze to the additional funds. It wasn't a great deal of cash in the western world, but a small fortune here. The old face hesitated.

"No, wanted," he repeated.

The Englishman produced additional cash. The man was unmoved. They were at an unexpected impasse, and it irritated Matt. He was about to raise his voice when the man handed him a folded A4 sized piece of paper. The note revealed an artist's sketch of a man's face, a face bearing a remarkable resemblance to Matt.

"Wanted," repeated the man. "No."

This is why he was being uncooperative. The Authorities were circulating copies of Matt's description and looking for him. The Englishman's mind raced into overdrive, shaken by the turn of events. Unless he could find a way to persuade this man to co-operate, Catherine would never get to safety. There had to be a way. He gave the little figure a cold, steely stare to unnerve the Chinaman.

"Me, no," Matt agreed, and then pointed his finger towards Catherine. "Woman not wanted," he added. "Okay?"

The elderly man focused his attention to Matt's partner, his thought processes almost audible in the stiffening breeze from the ocean. Inwardly angry and impatient, Matt stood quietly and waited. A greedy smile appeared on the little figure's face as he grasped for the notes in Matt's hand.

Matt thought about not releasing them, almost snatching them away from the yellowish hand of greed. The reality of the situation forced him into compliance, and he allowed the currency to be freed from his hold. Still, the deal was done.

Matt returned to the waiting Austrian woman.

"What is happening?" asked Catherine.

"He has agreed to take you to Taiwan."

"You mean us," she said.

"No, he only has room for one."

There was a stunned silence as she took in his words.

"I cannot leave without you," she said.

"You must."

"No, I will not go alone."

Matt gripped her forearms and looked into her eyes.

"He can only take one of us," Matt said decisively. "And it must be you. Yours is the political voice that must continue to speak, that must eventually be heard."

For the first time he saw uncertainty in her face. He held her gaze, insistent and demanding of her agreement.

"It is the way it must be," he said gently.

"But what will you do?"

"Head south and wait for the next bus," he said with a smile. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Where will you go?"

"I'll head for Xiamen. They call it Amoy in the west."

"Will this take long?"

"About a week," he replied.

He could see her mind in turmoil, trying to decide. Her head began to shake in disagreement and he responded by tightening his grip on her arms.

"There is no time to argue," he said. "You have to go, now."

She made the right decision, echoed by the resigned nod of her head. Catherine limped past him to the waiting Chinaman.

Matt watched as the launch sped towards the larger boat. She did not look back. Not even as she boarded the heavily sailed craft. Nor after it hoisted anchor and gracefully slid away, out of the bay.

The knowledge Catherine would soon be safe lifted one burden from his mind. The thought of being marooned on the mainland however, with no obvious means of escape, filled him with the utmost trepidation.

Chapter Twenty Five

Path of Reflection

A week had all but passed. Matt's spirits began to rise as the outline of the city appeared in silhouette against the rising sun. Seven days of walking by night and sleeping by day, had taken their toll of his physical condition.

He stunk to the high heavens. Once he'd left the trail by the river there was no chance to wash or clean except for the one night it had rained, more like a monsoon than a passing rain storm. He'd drunk from the sky in huge gulps and rubbed his weary limbs feverishly, trying to peel off the dirt. Matt found he didn't mind walking through the deep puddles. If anything, the water had the effect of cooling his blistered feet and soothing the aching muscles of his legs, bringing some much needed relief.

At one point he had even strolled completely naked in the dark determined, as he was, to clean every conceivable part of his anatomy. He could only wonder what a passing Chinaman, or woman come to think of it, would have made of the sight of a nude Western traveller hiking through their country in the middle of the night. He didn't see anyone as it happened, and this was probably a good thing.

And he was hungry. Matt couldn't remember the last time he felt this level of hunger. Had the mamushi not crossed his path one dawn, he doubted he would have had the energy to keep going on. The encounter felt surreal. Sat in front of him and staring blankly into his eyes the reptile as much as gave him permission; like it was okay, he understood the human need. The mamushi didn't try to slither into the undergrowth, or make any kind of attempt to get away. Neither did it recoil in fear as the blade struck. Almost as if God had decided to make this meal available to Matt.

He spent a good five minutes looking at the corpse. As he peeled the skin away to gorge on the raw flesh, guilt seeped into his consciousness. This wasn't the way to appreciate the reptile's voluntary sacrifice. Something made him pause and look up into the sky.

"Thank you," he had said to no-one in particular.

And then he finished the remaining meat. Afterwards, as he lay hidden from view, Matt reflected on the two faces of his species. Some people killed the mamushi, and other wildlife, because they had to survive. An increasing number however, feasted upon the fruits of the planet for no reason other than gluttony or personal vanity. Such people were to be reviled, he considered.

Yet, for all that, he knew he was no better being guilty of much the same things in his normal existence. And now he was close to the city all he could think about was of a hotly prepared meal of his choosing, laid on a plate in an attractive a way as possible.

He entered the outskirts. Xiamen is one of the ten largest ports in China. He had visited the city before, soon after he had set up his first business in the UK. The goods he imported were manufactured in the sweatshops of the mainland before shipping from this very peninsula. That's why he came to this place. In Matt's situation, any kind of familiarity would be useful.

He had taken a circuitous route, in a bid to shake off any potential pursuers. Heading first inland, he then backtracked towards the coast. His plan either involved passage on one of the many cruise liners docked at the International Passenger Terminal, or hitch a ride on a container ship. Should those plans fail, there was always the riskier option of catching a ferry to the Taiwanese held island of Jinmen. Though only eighteen nautical miles away, it was a two hour voyage. It would also require him to get through a frontier checkpoint.

On reaching the city outskirts, Matt's mind drifted once more towards his likely betrayer. The issue had bothered him throughout the week. Someone had provided the authorities with his general description.

The only person that knew of his intent to come here was Gratia. And the only people he'd had contact with since his arrival was Hang Chi and the ship's captain. Matt had been betrayed once before by a woman called Grace. Surely the same thing couldn't have happened again. But there were no other obvious candidates. Everything pointed to Gratia. She made the travel arrangements and put him in touch with Hang Chi. She took an uncanny interest in the diary from the outset, relieving him of it's custody on one occasion without consent. And she had constantly monitored his movements throughout Europe. He wondered if her attempts to help him had a more sinister edge.

For a woman with all the responsibilities of a multinational corporation to contend with she also had bundle loads of free time, turning up often when he least expected it. Matt had never been totally sold on the tenuous explanation the mobile and laptop were her office, enough to keep her in constant touch with the business. How could they be?

Matt reflected on her relationship with both Martha and Gerhardt. There was something strange about the interaction between the three of them. The two women were anything but close. Yet Gerhardt adored Gratia, evidenced by the way the old man had taken Matt to task about the Bull Run episode. Rarely did Gerhardt exhibit such warmth to anyone outside of his inner circle. Gratia had to have some redeeming features, for the elder statesman had shown himself to Matt before as being a good judge of character. She couldn't be all bad.

His concentration was broken by the arrival of building structures to his left. He had made it to the edge of the city, home to around two and half million Chinese. Matt could see the shapes of distant skyscrapers at the coastline. Whilst this mixture of the old and the new were not unique to Xiamen, it nevertheless represented an incontrovertible statement as to how rapidly China had embraced modern capitalism.

He sought out a clothing outlet, surprised by their ready availability in the city. Then again, most of the clothing was produced in China these days. From there, he located a shop selling deodorants and scented goods. Amongst the growing mass of local faces he started to relax a little. It was always harder to pick out a face, any face, amongst a throbbing crowd.

Matt waited until afternoon before catching a bus, making sure he kept his head down. No-one seemed to pay him much attention. This large city had morphed into all others on the planet, people travelling around lost in their own little worlds. They looked, but never saw or noticed what was right in front of their eyes.

The massive Haicang suspension bridge, which linked the mainland to the city island, loomed into view. The silver-blue structure, almost six thousand metres in length, resembled a shiny jade belt crossing an ocean of blue. Finally arriving at the shell-roofed International Passenger Terminal he got off close to the point where the cruise liners docked, and made for the schedule office to check on departure times. Tourists from all over the world visited Xiamen so there would be peoples from Europe, Australasia and the Americas, making him even less conspicuous. He could only hope to remain undetected long enough.

He sipped at his third coffee, sat at a table on the end of the balcony. He'd spent the passing hours observing the docked cruise liners, looking for an opening. Security was tight. From the loading of passenger baggage to the boarding of fresh provisions, an armed guard was present at almost every turn. He inwardly bemoaned modern day living. Just about every movement in life was regulated by authority these days. And no-one minded anymore. The mass populace meekly accepted this to be the norm.

Matt concluded this avenue of escape much too risky. The chances of getting caught were too great. He would attempt plan B. The ferry to Jinmen and its frontier checkpoint would be the final option; though trying to subversively buy passage on a container ship at the docks was not going to be without difficulty.

The remnants of the drink disappeared; time to move. He spotted the first of the police cars come to a halt at one side of the terminal. Looking sideways, he witnessed a replica scene. Doors opened and uniformed men spilled out. Each end was communicating by hand held radios. They had arrived for one reason only, to prevent people from leaving the terminal.

A number of plain clothes men appeared. Each one armed, some with machine guns, others with semi-automatic pistols. Matt could see wires connected to the equipment in their ears, confirming they were secret service. There were sure to be many more surrounding, and moving in to, the building from the main street entrances.

Matt chose to make for the restaurant kitchen. He hurried down the steps to the ground floor. Weaving his way through the vast array of tables overcrowded with diners, he sought out the entrance. His line of sight fixed onto a small waiter moving along the far wall, carrying a full tray of used dishes. The man disappeared through a swing door not immediately evident to the naked eye.

He hurried towards the opening. Accidentally he nudged a diner, spilling her cold drink. The old Chinese woman rose immediately to apologise.

"Okay, okay," he said tersely.

She was insistent. He pushed her firmly back into the seat by pressing his hands onto her shoulders. The woman said something in her native tongue which sounded offensive. He didn't have time to argue.

Matt surged energetically through the swing door. Cutlery and plates clattered on to the white tiled floor and liquid food spilled out messily. Angry Chinese voices chimed as Matt stepped over the spillage and darted through the long channels between the ovens. He grabbed at long metal kitchen utensils along the way. This commotion was the last thing he needed.

Spotting the exit, he burst past an irate chef who tried to bar his path. Matt clattered into the door the same time as a small armed figure pushed from the other side. Instinctively Matt crashed the metal ladle against the skull of his opponent. The man banged his head against the wall as he fell. A weapon fell from his grasp. A second shape appeared. Matt swung his arm up in an arc, bringing the ladle into contact with the man's jaw with a sickening thud. Thrown backwards, the man's fingers involuntarily squeezed the trigger. A burst of gunfire echoed through the air. Matt stilled the figure's resistance with a heel to the jaw.

Screams and panic shrilled from the restaurant area as he snatched the second weapon and rummaged for ammunition clips. Rushing into the darkening sky, his eyes darted from side to side. He had two options. Both left him vulnerable to early detection. A figure on an insipid looking motor cycle loomed into view across the street. He stepped forward. He saw the cycle turn and close. The rider pulled out a gun.

Matt was cornered, helpless. He saw the weapon spit out its missile of death.

He held his breath and braced for the impact.

Chapter Twenty Six

Old Times

A bullet whizzed by his head, prompting a loud squeal from behind. Matt turned to see the first of the men he had downed slump to the floor. Spinning his head back round, he was met by a pair of blue eyes squinting at him through the open visor.

"Get on," said the woman's throaty voice.

"Rosa?"

"Shut up and get on," she repeated.

Matt leapt on to the back of the machine and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"What are you doing here?"

"Later," she said. "Let's get the hell out of here first."

The cycle shot forward at a surprising pace. They raced into the nearest street. Matt wasn't sure if the artistry she exhibited with the machine was down to skill or huge dollops of good fortune. Either way they weaved along at a frightening speed, dodging human and inanimate obstacles alike. The noise of angry sirens illuminated the air. It soon became clear to Matt they were being hemmed in.

Three quarters of the way down the alley they saw a police car screech to a halt at the end. Rosa turned left down another alley to avoid the blue and white vehicle only for yet another similarly coloured obstacle to appear. Matt's heart was in his mouth. This time there were no other turnings to make.

"Hold tight," she yelled.

Suddenly she lurched the cycle to the right, mounted the raised grid and catapulted the machine above the waiting police officers. He saw them reach for their weapons. Matt fired the weapon in his hand at the tyres of the car in a quick burst. It was enough to make the policemen scatter for cover, either side of the rapidly deflating rubber that once held up the marked car.

The impact of banging back against the hard surface jarred the bones in his body. Rosa somehow kept it upright. They continued to hurtle from one alley to the next, darting between frightened pedestrians. Every time they managed to clear one set of pursuers, another vehicle loomed into view.

"They're boxing us in," he shouted in her ear.

"I know. We might have to make a stand," she yelled back.

Matt had come to the same conclusion. He wanted to avoid a shoot out, though this was preferable to surrender. The first meant a fight to the death, the other meant certain execution.

Rosa brought the machine to a sudden halt and they jumped off. Pushing the cycle into a doorway, she lifted the cover of the pillion seat and grabbed for the holdall. They both took a side of the alley, looking for any empty buildings. Three doors down, he thought he'd found one. Matt whistled to the other side and she darted across to join him. Rosa picked the lock and they were inside.

The ground floor was empty. They stole silently across the vast, open space through to the other side. Rosa unlocked the door and looked outside, confirming it was clear. A quick sprint and they were over to the other side. She picked at the lock while he kept watch. The door opened to her hurried touch.

A young Chinese woman made an unexpected appearance. She opened her mouth to scream. Rosa silenced the intended high pitched shriek with a snap of a wrist. Instantly, the pretty girl dropped unconscious to the floor.

They flitted from street to street, edging them away from the waterside. A sign caught Matt's attention, The Umwelt Foundation.

"In here," he ordered.

"No, it's the wrong way."

"It's important."

"I came to get you out, not get caught with you."

"Just do it!" he hissed.

He could see Rosa was angry. She picked the lock anyway. They dived inside the small pokey office. One desk adorned by an ancient looking computer sat in the middle of the space. Two plastic chairs and a four drawer filing cabinet completed the sequence, the perfect image of a back street charity shop back in England. He switched on the computer.

"What are you doing?" she seethed.

"Keep watch, I'll only be a few minutes."

"Longer than five?" she said.

"Why?"

"Because that's about as long as we've got before they find out where we are."

The computer might have looked decrepit but it had been substantially upgraded. In a flash the screen demanded the input of a password. Matt never gave it a moment's thought. One attempt was all he had, two at the outside. He banged at the keyboard. Milieu he typed. Nothing happened. This was his last shot. He typed in, VVRSSX. The reply was instant.

"Matt, for God's sake," Rosa called.

A red light started to glow at the bottom left hand corner of the screen.

"You've triggered a frigging alarm," said Rosa, standing over him.

The screen blanked and the computer sank into automatic shutdown.

"They've pulled the plug. Now can we go?" said Rosa.

He cursed and nodded. She motioned a hand to indicate the police were fast approaching the door they'd used.

"Try the other side," he said.

They darted through to the rear of the building.

"We'll have to backtrack again," she said irritably.

"At least it's getting darker, and they won't be expecting us to retrace our steps."

Rosa was singularly unimpressed with the observation.

"From here I give the orders, right?"

He nodded for a second time. She slipped quietly out and he followed. Hour after painstaking hour they scuttled from doorway to doorway, building to building. He had been right about one thing. The police search was moving in the opposite direction, buying them additional time. Matt was first to spot the warehouse shape by the dockside. He pointed the building out to Rosa and she nodded. A few rapid hand movements later and they had closed to within twenty yards.

They took turns to scout the vicinity with their eyes. The darkness had intensified, dockside lights barely illuminating the gloom. While this helped them in one way, neither could get a clear view of any surrounding danger which could be lurking close by.

Rosa looked at him through her delicious blue eyes and hunched her shoulders to see what he thought. He shrugged. The place had gone so damn quiet. All sounds of pursuit had evaporated into the atmosphere. They took one more look.

"Three," she said.

Rosa raised her fist and pointed a finger upwards. A second digit emerged, then the third. Like greyhounds released from a trap, they sprang out into the open and ran like crazy towards the warehouse. Loud crackles of gunfire filled the silence of the darkening night. They returned fire randomly. He saw her stumble. Heat burnt at the edge of a shoulder muscle as Matt called out.

"Rosa!"

She jumped back to her feet and ran again. He followed, and they zigzagged as best they could to reach the side of the imposing structure. Breathless, they fell back against the wall gasping for air. He noticed the stream of blood from her lower leg and bent down to check the injury. She tapped urgently on his shoulder to make him aware of the padlocked door.

Rosa blasted the lock and Matt kicked it open. He helped her hobble towards the stairwell and they hurried up the steps as best they could. They passed the first and second levels, stopping on the third and final floor. The interior was a huge space filled with rows of large, thin container crates sitting atop each other, three high. Anything could be inside. They might have been empty. Matt noticed the passageways to either side and in the middle of the containers, leading to the back of the room. He nudged her forward and they rushed to the end of the floor, making their way down the centre. She dived urgently behind the left row of crates, he to the right. Neither spoke for a while. Matt felt his shoulder. He'd been lucky, a graze only.

"Rosa?"

He was met by the sound of a ripping packet and assumed it was the magic dust.

"Are you hurt badly?"

"I'll survive," she said. "What about you?"

"One of the bastards nicked my shoulder."

He heard her stifled cry of pain and remembered how much the powder hurt when it came into contact with human flesh. The powder cauterised damaged flesh, in much the same way as applying a red hot poker.

"Do you need some," she called.

"No. I'd rather hurt."

"Don't be such a big girl's blouse."

"I don't want it. Save it in case we need it later."

For some time they sat quietly, trying to recover strength ready for the expected assault. He could hear Rosa checking her ammunition. Matt decided to do the same. Four bullets was his inventory.

"I've got four rounds left," he said.

"Three," she replied.

"Not good."

"No, it isn't."

There was a pause.

"We could always carry the fight to them, when they decide to make their move," he suggested.

"You are not Butch Cassidy, and I'm certainly nothing like The Sundance Kid."

"They say attack is the best form of defence. It has to be better than torture in a Chinese prison and then execution, unless you've got a better idea?"

There was no immediate answer.

"No, not right now," she said.

They both listened for movement. Everything was quiet, eerily quiet. He wondered if the police had decided to wait them out. Now he had time to think, Matt chastised himself for having got Rosa into this mess.

"You shouldn't have come," he said.

"Someone had to save your ass."

"This is rescue?"

"Sort of," she replied.

They were both silent for a moment, each sat up against a container several feet apart, surrounded by blackness.

"How did you even know which part of China I was in?"

"Catherine. She told me you might need some help."

"So who is looking after Gratia?"

"Don't worry, I've got it covered."

Matt exhaled deeply.

"Catherine had no right to ask you."

"Well if you told me from the start what you were up to, then we probably wouldn't both be into this mess."

"You're saying this is my fault?"

"Who else do you think they were looking for?"

Another silence descended.

"How's your leg?" he asked.

"It bloody hurts."

He smiled. It was like old times, when they were both on the run.

"I can't believe how many police are on this case," he said.

"You killed one of their own, up at Chen's residence. You know how police forces the world over feel about that sort of thing."

"I thought they were all Chen's men?"

"Nope, I'm afraid not. Catherine told me."

His head fell back against the side of the container and he sighed deeply. Perhaps Catherine Vogel had been right. He should never have attempted the rescue on his own.

"The worst thing about this is that no-one will ever get to know of the final resting places of Rosamund Elizabeth Cain and Matthew Arnold Durham," he said in a resigned tone.

"Arnold?"

She began to laugh.

"Yeah," he said, "Amy's idea. You remember Amy."

"Was she the one that worked at The Passport Agency?"

"Yeah, Amy had quite a vivid imagination. You should've seen the name she gave herself."

"What was it?"

"Doris Anne Francoise Thomas,"

Rosa was quiet for a moment.

"You've lost me," she said.

"Spell out the initials," he suggested.

He could hear Rosa trying to work it out.

"M.A.D and D.A.F.T. Oh now I see what you mean," and started to giggle.

Matt always enjoyed hearing Rosa's infectious giggles. The throatiness of her voice made it unique from others. It was no surprise someone like this guy Stefan could have fallen for Rosa. How could any man not?

He cursed his ineptitude. Rosa was due to be married soon. Instead of preparing to enter into a new life she volunteered to come and help him. Now she was here with Matt, trapped in a warehouse facing certain death. He wished there was a way he could get her out of this. The only saving grace was there were no signs of an imminent assault. Whilst grateful for the temporary reprieve, not knowing the opposition's true intent bothered him.

"What do you think they're up to?" he asked.

"Beats me," she replied. "I thought they would have been here by now."

"Maybe they've decided to let us go."

"Yeah, police are good like that aren't they?"

Her words made him smile.

"So we just wait then?"

"Yeah, we wait," she said.

Time ticked slowly by, without incident. They sat silently in the darkness. He wanted to talk to her, for some reason he found conversation difficult.

"Are you asleep, Rosa?" he asked at one point.

"No," she said, without adding to her reply.

It was a strange peace. On the one hand it felt comfortable. Yet at the same time it felt like there was still much left unsaid between them. He decided to break the silence.

"Are you thinking about Stefan?"

"Sort of," she said.

"I hope these people give us one last request."

"Why?"

"Mine will be to have your grave inscribed. Here lies Rosa Cain, sort of."

She laughed again. It took her a few moments to settle back into serious mode.

"Actually, I was trying to figure out how we might get a message to the reserves," she said.

"What reserves?"

"They're waiting for a signal, holed up in a boat moored at the marina. You didn't think I would come on my own, totally unprepared?"

"Like me, you mean."

"Like you," she said.

He thought for a moment.

"So who is looking after Gratia?"

"Hang Chi," she said.

"Hang bloody Chi!" he said. "What kind of protection can he give Gratia from over here in China?"

"That's interesting," she replied after a pause.

"What is so bloody interesting?"

"You quite like her."

"Strangely enough, I don't dislike every person I meet in the world."

Now it was his turn to pause.

"I'm pretty sure it was Gratia who tipped off the Chinese," he said quietly.

"Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because I didn't tell anyone else I was coming here to get Catherine."

"That doesn't mean anything, Matt. You should know by now. Someone else has had you under surveillance for some time. It certainly wasn't Gratia that gave you up."

"Oh really, and do you know what she's up to right now?"

"Yeah, waiting on a boat in the marina with Hang Chi," she replied.

"What in the world possessed you to bring her here?"

"You asked me to keep her close, remember?"

Matt cursed and Rosa responded.

"What did you say?"

"I said it's done now," she said sharply. "Jesus, don't tell me I'm going to have you as well as her Dad on my back."

"You know her father?"

"Of course I do. So do you."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do. It's Gerhardt you big lump. Gerhardt is her father."

Matt was shocked.

"But Gerhardt's Austrian, Gratia is German."

"Gerhardt is German. He met Martha while on holiday in St Wolfgang, and left his first wife to marry her when Gratia was still young. That's why the two of them don't get along. Gratia has always blamed Martha for the break up."

Matt banged his head against the container in frustration. It was all so obvious to him now. He was quiet for a while.

"None of them said anything to me. Not even Martha."

"They must have thought you knew."

"God, I must be thick," he wailed.

Rosa gave out a throaty laugh.

"You've only just worked it out."

He retreated into silence. More time dragged agonisingly by. Dawn had begun to show, rays of sunshine piercing the slits in the wooden frame of the warehouse. Their end must surely be approaching. Matt's mind slipped into melancholy and despair. He never believed for a single moment he would be the one ultimately responsible for ending Rosa's life.

"You shouldn't have come here, Rosa. Not for me," he whispered.

She didn't respond immediately and he wondered if she was going to answer.

"I wanted to come," she replied softly.

Matt shook his head in silent anguish. He didn't want her to die here. Matt would gladly sacrifice his life if it meant Rosa could return to safety. Her escape would mean Gratia would continue to be protected too. Even this was now out of his hands.

Suddenly, there was a sound of movement from the front of the floor. Both startled into life as the sunlight finally broke into their night cell. The two drawn faces could now see each other clearly. He realised there was no further time for words. Matt tried to give her a reassuring smile. Rosa's expression failed miserably to conceal her inner sadness. He watched as she slowly raised her clenched fist into the air, and nodded to indicate he was ready. The first finger lifted up and pointed to the sky. Then the second finger sprang into view.

Matt readied himself for the suicidal assault.

Chapter Twenty Seven

The Steel Trap

Matt didn't really understand what made him to do it, look at the English writing on the side of the wooden containers, he just did.

"Rosa, no," he barked.

Her face jumped back in surprise, a mixture of confusion and irritation on her face at his sudden interference.

"What?" she mouthed in obvious annoyance.

"Look at the crates, the writing," he whispered.

She craned her neck to see the words 'Fireworks – Handle with Care,' painted boldly along the wooden surfaces.

"That's why they were in no hurry," he said. "Whoosh," he added, indicating a huge explosion with his hands.

This fresh information galvanised their thinking. Both sets of eyes focussed simultaneously on two large wooden doors they could now see in front of them. The doors were pinned together by a thick wooden beam, held in place by supporting metal latches. This was the end of the building where goods were loaded and stored.

Matt crawled forward and sat underneath one end of the beam. Placing his hands underneath he mimicked raising the bar to show her what he had in mind. Rosa edged over and copied his movement. He mouthed to the count to three and they pushed upwards together. Slow inch by slow inch, the beam started to rise above the latches. Rosa struggled to cope with the weight. Matt managed to get his fingers behind the heavy pin and, with an extreme burst of energy, lifted it away from the door.

"Get on with it," he whispered in irritation and she pushed hard.

Matt's end fell clear but Rosa's dropped back down and got stuck. He leapt over to her side of the floor, pushed upwards with his arms and freed the wooden pin from its resting place.

"Now what?" she said.

He leant forward, eased one of the wooden doors away from its position and pointed to the winch fixed to the outside wall, silhouetted by the emerging sun. Then he looked down at the sea lapping against the dockside wall below.

"A markswoman, you say?"

She nodded in approval. Matt handed her the rounds from his ammunition clip.

"Once I get the doors open I'll jump onto that wire. You follow me. There are two shots to make while I've got hold of you. The first is at the furthest container in there, that is the second," he said pointing to the safety catch holding the winch mechanism to the wall.

"Piece of cake," she grinned.

Matt pushed the remaining wooden door aside, leaving a cavernous opening yawning in front of them. He looked back into the ever-lightening grey murkiness behind them. Neither could hear a single noise. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped turning on its axis.

"Wait," said Rosa, rummaging through her holdall.

He stared in disbelief at the unexpected appearance of a flare pistol.

"And the kitchen sink?" he said.

Rosa grinned, tucking the gun into the top of her trousers.

"Like nobody is going to spot a firework display," he said.

She raised her little clenched fist and a finger rose into the air, then the second.

"Three," she mouthed.

Matt leapt outwards, the remnants of his torn shirt wrapped around his knuckles to help him grip the wire cable. Rosa followed and just reached him, her fingers scratching at the flesh on his arms until she managed to grip on to his trouser belt. Matt released a hand and snatched at her collar, dragging her up until she could get an arm round his waist.

Rosa fired two rounds into the warehouse, at the furthest container. Nothing happened so she fired again. Another shot rang out and Matt felt a missile whistle unnervingly close to the side of his head.

"I thought you said you could shoot," he shouted.

"Shut up and hold me steady," she yelled back.

This time she fired three rounds in succession prompting bright colours to spring into view. The yellowy orange ball of flame sped towards them at a frightening speed. Rosa turned and fired the last round at the safety catch.

She missed.

"Oh shit," Matt yelled as he watched the angry ball of fire surge towards them.

Instinctively, he released his grip on the cable. Rosa screamed as the brightness shot out of the warehouse and passed over their heads just as they began to drop. Hurtling down uncontrollably, she somehow managed to free the flare gun and fire it into the sky. They hit the sea at uncomfortable angles and sank into the cold depths. Matt was the first to re-appear.

He heard the surface of the water break behind him and turned to grab hold of Rosa. The two bobbing heads looked around to try and get their bearings.

"This way," she shouted, pointing out into the bay.

He was long past the point of arguing. They swam away from the dockside into the open water. The after effects of the explosion were still being heard. Further erratic mini blasts sounded from the dock as they increased the distance between them and the shore, the shouts of angry men being lost amidst the loud cracking sounds.

Matt had no idea how far they had gone when the hull of a long speedboat loomed into view, engine roaring with brute mechanical power. He feared the craft was set to run them down until the sound of the diesel suddenly quelled and Rosa stopped stroking the water.

Seconds later and the boat eased up to where their heads bobbed above the surface. A rope ladder dropped down the side and the broad face of a young Chinese man bowed over it. Rosa stepped up two of the rungs and was roughly hauled on board by Hang Chi strong arms. Matt received the same treatment.

"Go, Gratia," yelled Rosa and the boat shunted forward in a burst of acceleration.

Such was the rapid surge it threw Matt backwards, onto the seat of his pants. He looked to the cockpit and saw her smile, the long raven hair being blown by the wind to either side of her face. This was no time to ask how she was doing. A hand stretched forward in welcome and pulled Matt to his feet.

"Am I glad to see you," said Matt to Hang Chi, and then turned to Rosa in astonishment.

"I told you I was prepared," she said with an impish smirk.

"Okay, so I'm impressed."

The speedboat bounced along the rippling waves and sped under the Xiamen Bridge, leading them into the Taiwanese Straits.

"We've got company," shouted Gratia from the wheel.

They rushed to join her. Two grey hulled motor launches had appeared in the distance, slicing through the waves. One approached from the island to their right, the other hugged the main peninsula to their left. Like a pair of spiky steel talons, they were moving rapidly to snap the trap shut.

"They're trying to cut off our escape," Gratia tried to yell through the wind. "We should head for Quemoy as it is closer, only two miles or so."

"This will give us another problem," chipped in Hang.

"What problem?" Rosa asked.

"Mines and anti-landing barricades still litter the beaches there, a legacy of past conflicts," said Hang. "We cannot slow our approach, so will hit the beach at speed and ..."

They guessed the rest.

"Do it," ordered Matt.

The sound of the first cannon shell looped over their heads, crashing ahead into the sea.

"That was a warning shot," said Hang. "There will be no more."

"Do we risk it?" asked Rosa.

"Take evasive measures, Gratia," ordered Matt. "And go faster."

They lurched violently from side to side as Gratia swung the boat in wide arcs, one way then the other. Two more shells sounded, one from each of the pursuing vessels. The first fell to their left, several feet away. The second shell exploded to their rear, into the area of ocean they had just left. Matt looked to see they had narrowed the gap to the approaching shore, to around a mile.

Another volley of artillery shells sounded. The approaching whistling noises told them they would be closer still, too close for comfort.

"What should I do," shouted Gratia.

"Put her back onto a straight course and make the bloody thing go faster," yelled Matt in return.

Despite her surprised expression she did what he asked and pointed the speeding machine directly to the shore. The sound of ammunition thumping into the ocean made them jump. The first shell threw up a huge cloud of water, to the right side of the boat. The impact of the next round was louder, showering them with cold water as they cut through the waves. Both had missed, the second by no more than a few feet. The distance to safe ground narrowed further. Matt waited a few seconds longer.

"Time to jump," he yelled.

Tumbling into the water with the grace of four sacks of potatoes, they popped back up to the surface and watched as their transport speared towards its destination on Quemoy. With an angry squeal the craft ploughed forward, cutting a wide trench through the sand as it vaulted onto shore. Then they heard the blast as it disintegrated into pieces after hitting a land mine.

"At least there's a path now," said Matt, casually.

Two more shells sounded.

"Swim," he shouted, "Swim for your lives."

The two shells punched holes in the ocean, several yards behind the fleeing pack, creating a shock wave which lifted and carried them forward. Powerful tidal currents helped to sweep them along, further closing the gap to shore.

Short bursts of machine gun fire replaced the sounds of artillery. Instinctively, all ducked under the waves and swam below the surface for as long as they could. Bullets whooshed past them, into the depths below. Re-surfacing for air quickly brought the hissing noises of further fire to their ears and they submerged once more. A few more yards and they rose again above the waves. Matt could see the heads of Gratia and Hang ahead, but nothing of Rosa. He stopped to have a quick look around, bullets fizzing past his head. Taking another gulp of air he went back under, almost at the same point a full head of drenched blonde hair burst into the surface and disappeared again.

Three more times the fugitives had to resurface for oxygen before reaching the shallows. Gratia was first to crawl up onto the beach, closely followed by Hang Chi. Both collapsed onto their backs in near exhaustion, gasping for air. Matt held back in the waist high water to search for Rosa, looking to both left and right for some sort of evidence she had made it too.

There was no sign.

Diving headlong into the onrushing wave he swam back out into the depths, submerging to avoid another rat a tat burst of gunfire spitting out from a motor launch.

She had to be here somewhere.

He pushed the water behind him to sink deeper towards the sea bed, his mind screaming out her name. Nothing in front or to the side, so he swivelled full circle to see if she'd somehow managed to pass him. Her little feet, a few yards ahead, barely moved. Lungs bursting, he powered towards the almost stilled figure. There was no way of knowing how long she'd been under. Sweeping past, he grabbed fiercely at the trailing arm and yanked her up to the surface.

They pierced the water as a large wave appeared, picking them up like flotsam and violently tossing their bodies at the beach. With a tight grip around Rosa, he made sure they rode the powerful force of nature as it hurtled forward. As soon as they reached the shallows, he grabbed her hands and hauled the limp figure on its back, up the incline onto the dry warm sand.

"Rosa, Rosa," he called.

There was no response.

His fingers touched at her neck to feel for a pulse. It was weak, barely a beat. Matt gulped in a lungful of air and knelt over the petite frame. Forcing her mouth open with his fingers he bowed and blew hard, into her lungs. In the absence of a response he repeated the exercise. Then he punched her chest before pressing up and down against her heart.

Her stillness remained. The eyelids were closed and the sound of her breathing dormant, intensifying the fear biting into his soul. Gratia and Hang joined him as he struggled to massage life back into her body.

"Rosa, please," he pleaded. "Breathe, for Christ's sake, breathe."

Matt took yet another deep breath and blew the air into her lungs, his lips falling desperately against her open mouth for a third time. Still she would not co-operate.

"I said you shouldn't have come," he said angrily. "Didn't I tell you that? Please, Rosa, breathe."

Her ongoing silence chilled his heart. For what seemed like minutes on end he continued to punish her body, kept trying to spark her into life. Matt refused, wouldn't contemplate, letting her go.

"Fight, goddamn it," he yelled. "Fight if you want to live."

Whatever he tried was met with a sickening silence. Devoid of ideas, he could do nothing more other than to cradle Rosa's head against his chest.

"No," he said quietly. "Not like this. Don't go like this, not without a struggle. You're getting married for Christ's sake. Please, Rosa, fight just a little harder."

"You've done everything you can," Gratia whispered gently into his ear.

His fingers slipped to touch Rosa's neck, to feel for her pulse. He wanted confirmation it had stopped, that she had decided to leave him. That she had gone.

Chapter Twenty Eight

An Air of Understanding

It was an odd noise. Like water trying to disappear down a blocked plug hole. Unable to force a passage, the water would gurgle then seep back up the pipe and flood into the basin.

Rank smelling liquid spewed from Rosa's mouth against his unprotected chest. She spluttered, coughed, and spluttered some more. He rolled Rosa on to her side, so her body could vomit out the remains onto the sand and rubbed feverishly underneath her shoulder blades to help the process along.

It took longer then he imagined, for the violent retching to stop. Once she had rested, he turned her into his arms and gazed into the delicious blue eyes that had now opened to welcome the burning sun.

Matt brushed the sodden blonde hair away from the sides of her face and stroked the back of his fingers against her cheeks. His smile failed to conceal the inner relief she was alive.

Rosa gazed blankly into his eyes, her mind struggling to elicit any movement in the muscles of her face. Then her arm reached up and she rested her fingers gently against his jaw and over his lips.

She managed a weak smile

"Hey, Arnie," she whispered. "We made it."

Matt sank back into the soft tan leather seat of the aft galley, drink in hand. Over on the other side of the fuselage of the Schafen company jet sat Rosa, resting her elbow on the table as she looked out of the window waiting impatiently for the phone call to be put through.

The two similar seats facing opposite were empty, as were the set of two and then four other executive seats in front of them. Further along, on Rosa's side, rested a long cloth sofa parked immediately in front of the white basin and wooden cabinet armed with dual coffee makers. Across the fuselage, on Matt's side, was the main storage area for baggage and crockery. The checked carpet running through the galley felt soft, thick and luxurious. Ahead lay the front galley, fitted out to the same pattern. Matt always sat at the rear of an aircraft when a passenger. Who ever heard of a plane reversing into a mountain?

"Hiya," Rosa spoke with gusto. "Where are you?"

The pace of her conversation accelerated, hardly stopping to breathe as she rattled off a series of excitable phrases. Matt sipped at the whisky and turned to look at the sky. He spent several minutes gazing down at the cotton wool-like shapes below before deciding to shift position to get a better view of the ocean, now plainly visible through the obediently parting clouds. Matt winced at the discomfort to his shoulder when a presence took the seat directly in front of him.

"How is it?" asked Gratia.

"Sore," he said.

"The wound will leave a scar."

"It'll match the one on the other side."

"You have another injury to your other shoulder?"

"Yeah, full set now. Not that I can say it's something I've always wanted."

She gave him a half smile.

"Rosa's happy," she said, motioning with her head to the energetically chattering blonde.

"Yes."

"You look sad."

"No," he said quietly. "I'm a little distracted, perhaps."

"What's on your mind?"

He gazed into her Guinness eyes.

"Anything and everything really," he said.

"Like what to do when we get back?"

"Yes, amongst a few others."

He could see his lack of clarity confused her.

"Should I take your mind off things for a while?"

He frowned.

"That's a little direct for you, Gratia."

Her face broke out into a healthy smile.

"I thought you might like to fly a little."

"What, this thing you mean?"

"It is the only plane we're on."

"Seriously?" he said.

"Seriously, but only if you think you're up to it."

Matt was out of his seat in double quick time, instantly forgetting about the ache in his shoulder, his face wrapped in childlike excitement. Gratia wore an amused grin as she led him forward by the hand. She stopped as they arrived at the door to the cockpit.

"Now remember, I do not have a full licence yet."

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Are we going in or not?"

They had been cruising for several minutes. In truth, there was nothing for Matt to do with the automatic pilot engaged. Even so he examined the gauges and dials in fond detail, constantly asking for explanations as to what they did. Once he'd finally run out of questions about the plane he turned his attention to Gratia.

"What made you want to learn to fly?" he asked.

"Much the same reason as you, I suppose. To be up in the sky is different from anywhere else on the planet. And to be free of the ground, well... it's special."

Matt related to those sort of feelings. They were the same emotions he got from flying. He was beginning to see this svelte shape sitting next to him in a different light. Perhaps they had more in common than first imagined.

"I never took you as someone in search of freedom," he said.

"You're not the only person in the world who sometimes likes to escape the crowds."

Her openness came as a surprise.

"Bit of an admission, for you," he said.

"Yes. Yes it is," she said. "I must be spending too much time in the company of the wrong sort of people."

Gratia looked across to him with a stern face. And then she smiled. Matt returned her address with a smile of his own.

"The two of you are a good match," she said.

"A match?" he replied quizzically.

"Rosa and you," she said. "You are a good pairing."

"That's because we are friends."

"An objective observer could easily conclude there is more to your relationship than friendship."

"What makes you say that?"

She hunched her shoulders.

"The way you fought to bring her back to life," she said. "There was also the tenderness in your touch, and in your eyes, as she recovered."

Matt wasn't quite sure how to react.

"There is a special bond between me and Rosa, because of what happened previously. There will always be a part of us in each other because of what we went through. I might have said this to you earlier."

"Yes, you did."

He decided not to add to his comment.

"It is not too late. The wedding is some weeks away, so there is still time to let Rosa know how you feel about her," she said.

Matt recalled the excitement in Rosa's face when she took Stefan's call, and the effect it had on him. He glanced over at Gratia's face. Why did she say this?

"There's nothing much to tell. Rosa and I are war buddies, nothing more."

Gratia looked unconvinced. He glimpsed her head turn and gaze at him, steady and unwavering. He wondered what she was thinking. Matt decided to wait for her to speak. Gratia's mouth opened just as the cockpit door opened.

"So this is where you are," said Rosa. "What is it with big boys and mechanical toys?"

Matt had taken advantage of one of the jet's five sleeping berths for a couple of hours. His shoulder ached as he rose. Stumbling forward, he could see Rosa and Gratia were still very much asleep.

He poured out a coffee and slid into the seat, yawning for all he was worth. There was little to see from the window other than sky, a handicap of flying so high. Matt remembered the pilot saying fifty thousand feet was the optimum height on a long journey. One sip later and Matt concluded the mildly tepid liquid was undrinkable, and spewed it back into the cup. He flirted briefly with the idea of waiting for the ladies to rise. Instead he decided to see if either of the pilots would let him sit up front.

"How we doing, guys," said Matt.

No-one answered. The pair sat there, motionless, without even acknowledging his friendly introduction. He stood for a few moments, and waited. Both pilots continued to ignore his presence. Matt was usually easy going, and would normally have just shrugged his shoulders and returned to his seat. On this occasion, probably due to his ongoing weariness, their behaviour distinctly irritated him.

"A wave of the hand too much effort for you both then?" said Matt

There was no reply. Now he was angry. In a fit of pique, Matt pushed out his hand to nudge at the lead pilot's shoulder. The man didn't react. He nudged the other pilot. No reaction from him either. Matt crouched forward and felt at the lead pilot's neck for a pulse. There was none, nor for the other man.

He scrambled back through the fuselage and shook Gratia violently, throwing the covers from her slender frame as he called at her.

"Gratia, get up!"

She stirred and looked up to see who it was. Recognising Matt, she buried her head back into the pillow.

"Go away," she moaned.

"Gratia, get up. Now!" he yelled.

The level of his voice disturbed Rosa. She, too, began to stir.

"What's going on?" she muttered.

Matt roughly grabbed Gratia's arm to lift her up from the warm bed.

"Get off," she moaned.

He leaned forward.

"The pilots are both dead. You're going to have to drive," he shouted.

"What!" they said in stereo.

"The pilots are both dead. No-one is flying the plane."

Both jumped from their berths, scrambling for clothes.

"Leave them," Matt yelled to Gratia. "Rosa will bring them for you."

Matt scurried through the galleys, forcefully tugging the hand of the lingerie clad figure behind him. He arrived at the cockpit, loosened the belts harnessing the lead pilot to his seat and pulled the corpse clear. Matt dragged the dead body into the forward galley and dropped it unceremoniously into the gangway.

"Careful," said a rapidly closing Rosa.

"I really don't think he felt anything," said Matt.

Gratia's svelte figure squeezed past Matt to fill the pilot's seat while he frantically cleared the second corpse.

"Where are we?" asked Gratia.

"You're asking me?"

She shook her head to try and focus her thinking while Matt dived into the other pilot seat and strapped in.

"Shouldn't we descend or something?" he asked.

"There are any number of commercial flights between us and the ground. Do you want to risk us hitting one? Now be quiet and let me concentrate."

Rosa found the exchange amusing.

"You just can't help yourself, Matt," she laughed. "Always have to try and tell us womenfolk what to do."

Feeling suitably chastised, Matt followed the temporary pilot's lead in scanning the instruments for information.

"Gratia, the fuel gauge," he pointed out.

She looked and nodded.

"We're going to have to land."

"Can you do it?"

"Maybe," she said.

"Maybe, what kind of answer is that supposed to be?"

He felt Rosa's hand clip the back of his head.

"What have I just told you?" she said playfully. "Let the woman do her job instead of interfering all the time."

She was right. He had to let Gratia get on with it, trust in her ability. Matt tried to relax back into the seat. Much as he hated being a bystander this was the only thing he could do right now.

"I'm going to nip back into the galley for a few minutes," said Rosa. "You had better stay up front and help Gratia."

Rosa departed, leaving them to it. Matt was curious as to where she had gone. He looked across to Gratia.

"You can do this," he said.

She turned and smiled.

"I know. You worry too much."

He watched intently as Gratia set about the task. She was cool, calm and purposeful. Rosa had asked him to stay and help. In truth there was little for him to do bar the odd job, such was Gratia's grasp of what was required. Nevertheless, Matt thoroughly enjoyed the experience of working so closely with her. He found his admiration for her growing with each task successfully completed, each exchange of words during the conversation.

"Thank you," she said, when they were finished.

"Hey, it's us who should thank you. We would have been dead meat if you hadn't been on this plane."

She trained her bright eyes on his face.

"Thank you anyway."

She had never been this generous of tone towards him. Matt held her steady gaze. She really was an extraordinary woman. Gratia had shown endless resilience, demonstrating skill and courage way beyond what would be considered as the norm. She was one gutsy lady. He hadn't realised his gaze had got lost in her Guinness eyes.

"What?" she said with a curious smile.

Matt shook his head and glanced away.

"I was wondering what was keeping Rosa," he said.

No sooner had he spoke then Rosa made an appearance through the cockpit door.

"Are we sorted?"

"Think so," he said. "Gratia's arranged for us to land and refuel at Klagenfurt. It's a short hop from there to Salzburg. Where have you been anyway?"

"Trawling for clues to explain the demise of our two travel companions," said Rosa.

"Find anything?"

"No. Whoever orchestrated or was behind this knew what they were doing," she replied. "There are no visible signs or puncture wounds to the bodies. They must have unwittingly ingested something."

"Some kind of poison?" asked Matt.

"That's my guess, in the absence of any other clues."

"Must have been something they had before boarding then, otherwise we'd all be dead too. I strongly recommend we all suppress the urge to eat or drink for the rest of the flight, just to be on the safe side."

"Klagenfurt could work to our advantage," said Rosa.

"How do you make that out?"

"Gives us an excuse to land somewhere and temporarily throw our pursuers off the scent," said Rosa.

"They couldn't do anything in public anyway."

"No, but there are things we can do without being observed. Where are we, Gratia?"

"We're nearing Klagenfurt."

"Matt, can you give me a hand for a few minutes, to dress the pilots."

He turned to Gratia.

"Will you be alright?"

"Go," she said. "You have a few minutes before we begin to descend."

"What shall we say?" asked Matt as he fastened the last button of the pilot's shirt.

"The truth I guess. Both pilots were found dead at the wheel and we have no idea how or when it happened."

"Then what, report back to Catherine?"

She paused.

"No. It might be better to hold back until we've got a fuller understanding of exactly what we're dealing with. Something doesn't feel right about this, and we need to try and figure out why it's different this time."

"I thought that," said Matt. "Did Gratia tell you what the young girl, Mathilde, said to me in Cogolin?"

"Yes. It's like you're being set up, to be in the vicinity of where these people lived at the time they died."

"The fall guy," he said. "I'm sure that's what was intended when those thugs turned up at Gratia's suite in Pamplona."

"She never mentioned it to me," said Rosa in surprise.

"Gratia had to kill one of them to stop him from knifing me. She tries not to think about it."

"What is it with you and women constantly having to save your ass?"

He smiled.

"Just lucky, I guess."

Rosa shook her head in mock disapproval.

"I thought I'd trained you to look after yourself. Obviously I was wrong."

He leaned over and pecked her cheek.

"Thanks, Rosa" he said. "I know Gratia appreciates your help too."

She sat back on her haunches, deep in thought. He waited for a few moments to see if Rosa would restart the conversation. When it didn't happen, he asked his question.

"Do you know of anyone who can watch over Gratia on a more permanent basis? I'm conscious you have a wedding coming up soon."

"I wouldn't worry too much about Gratia. They could have taken her anytime. I think it's you they're really after."

"Why me though? And not you?" he asked.

"That is the million dollar question. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Do you still have any copies of the original Milieu files, stashed away in some obscure hideaway?"

"I had one copy left. Someone's looking after it for me. But it would surely be much easier just to kill me."

"You underestimate the power of discrediting a person. Who would believe anything you said if a convicted murderer. It's a well tried and trusted method of eliminating human obstacles."

"No-one is an obstacle if they're dead."

"For all they know you have any number of copies spread around the globe, insurance against a suspicious end."

"So why arrange all this? Or did these two pilots happen to die on exactly the same flight by pure chance."

She thought for a minute.

"A plane crash seems pretty tidy to me. Aviation accidents happen. There wouldn't be much left of us to investigate and it kills two birds with one stone. At a stroke Gratia is removed from office, allowing them to take full control of Schafen, and you'd no longer be a thorn in their side."

"It's still risky though. They couldn't guarantee an accident would prevent the release of any files I might still have."

Rosa considered again.

"They must know you didn't get in to the computer files in Xiamen," she reasoned. "I reckon you should disappear when we get to Klagenfurt, find a place to hole up. Give me some time to do a bit of research."

"Why must I go to ground? Whatever happened to us?"

"Gratia can't go to hiding. Otherwise they'll know she's on to them. I have to be free to do some digging."

"You can't be sure they won't make another move against Gratia over the next few days."

"Didn't I tell you? I'm her new assistant. Wherever Gratia goes, I go. Don't worry, she'll be fine. I'll make certain of it. Gratia is one smart lady. Judging from what I've seen so far she's managed to cover her tracks pretty well. And as long as you keep your distance, life will get easier for her."

Matt looked to the skies in open frustration. He knew she was right. It had to be this way.

"So it's just me keeping low."

"For a while," she said.

He thought for a moment.

"What will you tell people?" he said disconsolately.

"That you pig-headedly decided to wander off to try and do it alone, believing you could solve the problem without help from anyone else."

"No-one is going to believe that."

She looked him in the eye.

"It is you we're talking about," she said.

Matt didn't take offence exactly, but it irked him to know people saw him in this way.

"I'll go and explain to Gratia before we land."

"No," she said, to prevent him. "Gratia has to believe this story too. Better for everyone she is kept as much in the dark as everyone else."

Again, Rosa was right.

"How will I contact you?"

"I'll leave a text on this," she said handing him a mobile.

"Where did you get this from?"

"Him," she said, motioning with her head to one of the dead pilots. "I'll get a new pre-pay mobile. When you get my text, reply to the number."

"I'll need money."

Rosa searched through the wallets of the dead men and extricated large quantities of notes. She handed them to him.

"Use this for now."

They were quiet for a while.

"How have you managed to explain all this to Stefan?"

"The same way I explain everything else I need to explain to him," was all she said.

He decided to say what was on his mind.

"For a guy you're about to marry, you don't talk about him much."

Rosa gave him an unusually dark look.

"And I'm not about to start now," she said.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Shockwave

Matt holed up in Hallstatt, a short drive from Klagenfurt and within an hour of St Wolfgang. Numbering under a thousand inhabitants the town had been built alongside and up against a cliff face, separated from the impressive lake by a single lane road. It was not uncommon to see the images of the array of buildings reflected into the glassy waters of the lake during summer. The picturesque scene was constantly used by travel companies the world over to attract tourists.

He'd remembered this place as the town without time, a reference to a bygone age when sun dials were the norm. The surrounding mountains are so tall the winter sun failed to rise above them, and was therefore unable to cast light down upon the dials. Bereft of light, the ancient timing mechanisms were rendered useless during the cold darkness of the year's final season.

Matt had come to regard the place as an open prison. Other than access to the nearby railway station from across the lake the only other communication artery into the main town was the narrow road, barely able to hold two mid-sized vehicles abreast.

Living space was at a premium here. Matt considered himself fortunate to have come across a room in what was described as a period villa. Built around the sixteenth century an estate agent would have described its main selling point as being quaint, filled as it was with low timbered ceilings. He'd rented a small one room apartment on the top floor. Whilst it was an okay space for a short stop it was entirely impractical for a long stay. There was barely enough room to swing the proverbial cat.

The sloping roof was so steep Matt had to crouch before getting into the double bed, whilst over on the other side he had to continually bend his head when sat at the desk. At one point Matt had resorted to sitting on the floor, cross-legged under the small window, to work on the laptop. It didn't last long. Cramp soon set in to his legs, the physical discomfort adding to his sombre mood.

His mind drifted back to the fraught departure scene at Klagenfurt airport. Gratia was incensed at his obstinacy, her voice getting angrier by the second. Matt played his role well, becoming ever more unreasonable with each heated exchange. He could see Rosa, stood behind Gratia, smiling approvingly at his thespian prowess. Her ongoing approval provided little in the way of consolation.

Worryingly, apart from an initial text and a brief phone call, Matt hadn't heard from Rosa since. She had promised to keep in regular touch but so far, zilch. To add to his anxiety, he discovered the files downloaded from Chen's computer to be encrypted. Matt had made numerous attempts to try and link them to a variety of programmes he'd found on the internet, without any success.

His rising frustration almost led him to breaking a golden rule of being in hiding, trying to contact Victoria himself. Fortunately, good sense prevailed and he put the phone down before it was answered. The right decision, he reasoned.

Money, or rather lack of it, compounded his problems. Matt realised he would have to move on soon or risk being stuck in Hallstatt with no visible means of support. He decided to give Rosa one more day. Matt put on his shoes and headed out into the narrow street to take a break. He turned left and walked towards one of the ferry stages, hands in pockets, via the main square. The day was pleasant enough, sunny without being too hot, and he considered a relaxing trip on the still waters of the lake might reduce the irritation he was feeling.

Elderly tourists crowded through the narrow streets. Several bus loads had arrived earlier in the day and nearly every one was armed with a small, digital camera. He knew he'd have to be careful not to be inadvertently snapped in a background shot.

The touch of human flesh slid around his arm and a hand rested on his wrist, making him jump in surprise.

"How are you doing?" asked the woman's voice.

"Jesus, Rosa. Don't sneak up on me like that."

She gave out a hearty, throaty laugh.

"You're supposed to be on your guard at all times. Be thankful it's only me who stole up on you."

He exhaled deeply to allow his heart to return to its normal beat. Rosa wore a half-sleeved white cotton top buttoned right up to the collar, which surprised him given the heat. A peach coloured mini skirt and brown sandals completed the holidaymaker disguise.

"Where were you going?" she asked.

"Thought I'd get the ferry across to the other side and hike a bit. I'm starting to feel like an inmate."

"In Hallstatt?" she said. "I've always thought it was quite picturesque and relaxing. I thought you'd made a good choice, coming here."

"There's only so much to see. Once you've been up and down the street a couple of times here that's about it. And the place is so eerie."

He paused.

"Did you know the Catholic community here bury their dead vertically, because of the shortage of land space. Then, after ten years, they exhume the bodies and cut off the skulls."

"Cut off the skulls?"

"Yeah, they decorate the skulls and then put them on show in a church cellar."

"What do they do with the rest of the bones?"

"God knows. I stopped taking an interest once I read what they did with the skulls. And you wonder why I'm going stir crazy."

She tugged gently at his arm.

"I suspect a real prison is much worse than this," she said with a broad smile. "Come on, you can buy me a coffee and some strudel and I'll see if I can cheer you up a bit."

"Not sure I've got enough money left for strudel."

Rosa came to an abrupt halt, looked into his eyes and frowned.

"This place really has been getting you down," she said. "Never mind, I suppose this isn't the first time you've made me pay my own way," she added with a wide smile.

Her infectious grin usually cheered him, not today. He felt Rosa's grip to his wrist tighten, prompting him to return an awkward smile. They took shade under a sun umbrella outside a café in the town square, sitting directly opposite each other. Matt ordered, in commendable German, and the refreshments soon arrived. He was going to strike up the conversation when Rosa raised the index finger of her right hand and waved it slowly from side to side.

"Strudel first," she grinned.

Matt never could understand how someone as petite as Rosa could eat volumes of all the wrong stuff and never put on an ounce of weight. He watched at the loving way she manipulated a segment of the strudel into the spoon, and then covered it delicately with the side cream. The expression on her face oozed enjoyment as the sweet confection slipped into her small mouth.

"That is so good," she said. "Want to try some?"

He shook his head politely. To deprive Rosa of any of her beloved strudel must surely constitute a criminal offence in Austria. She gave him a thoughtful smile before returning to the plate. Her reluctance to offer him any immediate news of the outside world began to play on his mind, add to his sense of growing frustration.

"Right Mr Grump, that's me sorted. What have you been up to these last few days?" she eventually asked on completion of the task.

"Zilch, zero and zipping nothing," he replied.

She chose to dismiss his remark.

"Not to worry," she beamed.

"Not to worry? You try being imprisoned in a single room apartment with the head banging trap of sloping roof day in, day bloody out."

She grinned mischievously.

"What are you looking so pleased about?" he said.

"You don't like being confined, do you? I reckon it's a man thing, eats away at the macho psyche."

"Look, if your only reason for being here is to poke fun at the frailties of men then you may as well bugger back off to St Wolfgang," he snapped.

A deep frown crossed her face.

"Matt? It's me, Rosa. Remember?"

He shook his head dismissively and looked away to avoid eye contact. He heard her rise and sit in the chair next to him. Her hand stroked at his lower arm. After a short hesitation he half-returned her gaze, feeling her blue eyes searching deep into his mind.

"Shall we walk for a bit?" she asked.

They strolled up the narrow road to the other end of town arm in arm, in silence. She could sense his brooding unease. Rosa slipped away, into the local bakers, re-appearing shortly after with a loaf of sliced bread.

"Let's give the local ducks a treat."

They sat at the lakeside, on a wooden pier-like structure, their bare feet soaking in the cool water. As they serviced the hunger of the growing mass of birds, Matt felt the tension ease and started to relax.

"I didn't mean to snap," he said.

"It's okay. I'd forgotten what it was like to go to ground. It always drove me slightly nuts being confined to a small area, excommunicated from the rest of the world."

"I'll be fine from here on," he sighed. "Now I've had the chance to yell at someone. It's a shame it had to be you."

She gave out a throaty laugh and nudged him.

"That's what we Rosa's are best at; happy to accept verbal bashings without taking offence."

They retreated to their own thoughts. Rosa had something on her mind, judging by the way she picked at the bread.

"Martha tells me you're not with Jenna," she said. "When I turned up at your door ..."

He laughed.

"Sometimes what the eyes see isn't real, but mostly it is."

She tore a morsel of bread from the slice and tossed it playfully at his face.

"So I jumped to a conclusion. It happens on occasion," she said with a broad smile. "What conclusions would you have reached if Stefan answered the door in one of my blouses?"

"That the guy had some serious issues," replied Matt wryly.

Another morsel of bread speared towards him. He ducked to evade it. Rosa cocked her head and looked at him.

"Gratia keeps asking if I've heard from you."

"Does she? What did you tell her?"

"I haven't heard from you."

"Well, that's what we agreed. What have you said to the others?"

"Same thing," she said. "Only Catherine knows we're still in contact."

"Yeah, sounds about right."

They returned to feeding the wildlife.

"So Gratia's missing me then," he said.

"Apparently," she replied.

"What can I say? I'm a babe magnet."

"You wish. She's only attracted to you because she gets off on danger."

He smiled.

"Like you."

"No, not anymore," she said, after a pause. "I only came out of retirement to save your sweet ass because Catherine asked me."

"Otherwise you wouldn't have come?"

"Maybe, maybe not," she said with a warm smile.

"I would have come for you."

"I would have made you."

Neither spoke as they focussed on the loudly yapping beaks circling the water in front of them. He tossed the last crumb into the lake.

"You'll like Stefan, when you eventually meet him," she said.

"I've no doubt I will."

"No, you will. Really," she said.

"I meant it, Rosa. I'm sure I will like Stefan. After all, the guy's must have something about him to take you on."

Rosa nudged her body hard against Matt, almost toppling him over. Fortunately, they were well away from the side of the pier and he managed to stick out a hand and regain his balance. They laughed like playful children as she tried again. Unable to shift him, Rosa reached into the lake and scooped water up into his face. Cursing her sleight of hand he tried to grab her but she jumped up to move out of his reach, laughing at his spluttering attempts to clear his eyes.

Matt cupped his hands into the lake and started to rise to his feet. He felt her hands urgently tickle his rib. Matt tried to pivot and dowse the water over her blonde hair, only to lose his footing. The result was a slow motion backward-like somersault into the still cool waters of the lake, scattering the surrounding wildlife still waiting for crumbs.

Matt surfaced and saw Rosa doubled up with laughter, circled by amused tourists attracted to the noisy commotion. A nearby duck stretched out its neck and pecked at his finger, believing it had spotted bread in his hand, causing Rosa to laugh louder.

He dragged his body onto dry land and rested on a single knee, dripping wet. Rosa's shadow appeared, coupled with the slowly quelling sound of her ongoing laughter.

"That about makes up your day," she giggled.

"Ha bloody ha," he said, wiping the liquid from his face.

"This is what happens when you take me on. I thought by now you'd have known better than to try and..."

He sprang forward. With his right arm he tapped at the back of her knees, causing her legs to buckle. His left arm wrapped itself around her waist and he lifted Rosa from the ground, up into his arms.

"Matt. Don't you dare, I'm warning you..."

He leapt into the air and Rosa screamed an obscenity. It was only as he fell back onto terra firma she realised he'd been teasing her.

"You rotten sod," she said.

He grinned in triumph as he dropped her feet to the ground and her throaty laugh returned to spring out into the warm air.

"Enough?" he said.

"Yeah, okay. At least it's improved your mood."

The episode reminded him of an event some time ago, in Victoria, when Jack was alive. He and Matt had tussled by the dockside. On that occasion too, Matt was the one participant to get drenched.

"Oh well, I was beginning to feel a little hot and bothered," he said dryly. "You don't mind if we nip back so I can shower and change?"

"As long as there's room for two," she quipped.

"If there's one thing in this world that really gets my goat it's a..."

"...a tease, I know. You've told me often enough."

And her throaty laugh rang through the air once more.

They headed to the apartment, arms linked, Matt dripping a steady line of water as they strolled.

"What are your plans?" she suddenly asked, out of the blue.

"I wish I knew. One thing is for certain, we can not rely on the political classes."

"What do you mean?"

"All this time I had it in my head this Milieu thing was dead in the water. The truth of the matter is the politicians have done nothing, as usual. Meanwhile, final preparations are being put into place to unleash the virus on an unsuspecting world. The whole bloody thing is just about to dawn. Have we been naïve, or what?"

"So what are you saying, the media?"

"It has to be a real option this time. Get the thing into the open. Then let the damned politicians sort everything out."

"There is another angle."

"What?"

"They might be on the right track, with modifications."

He stopped and stared at her, incredulous.

"You can't be serious."

Her eyes seemed to retreat at the terseness of his response.

"You heard what happened to Eva-Maria? Why shouldn't those sort of people be put down, removed from society completely?" she asked.

"It is one thing to punish evil, but these people have cast their net much wider. If you're old or infirm, perhaps with a minor misdemeanour against your name, then you're at risk. What if Stefan committed a minor breach to ordered life and was removed from society? How would you feel if Martha or Gerhardt were decreed to be too old, diseased and beyond the financial means of repair? What then?"

"The Spartans used to throw their new born disabled over a cliff."

"And you know what happened to them. Eventually they couldn't muster enough suitable specimens to maintain their society, resulting in the end of Sparta."

"Okay, probably not the best example," said Rosa. "But you catch my drift."

"God, Rosa. If I didn't know better I'd start to think you had decided to switch to the opposition."

"Come on, the thought must have crossed your mind. I know how you feel about the evil within society. Catherine told me what you said you'd do with Eva-Maria's killers. So a part of you believes the idea is not entirely without some merit. And if humans managed their affairs the way Mother Nature manages the rest of the environment, then we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"There is a right way and a wrong way. Theirs is the wrong way."

"You are so wonderfully righteous, Matt Durham. Shame Michael Daniels arrived on the planet before you."

He exhaled deeply uncertain how to react to her words. Had she really changed sides? Surely Rosa, of all people, couldn't turn. Not after what had gone before. Yet he wasn't angry at her remarks. Perhaps, subconsciously, he hadn't completely dismissed the concept in his own mind.

"Go on, admit it," she said. "The idea is not totally without substance."

"Maybe," he said reluctantly. "But I'm still not enlisting, even if you are."

She laughed, and appeared to take no offence. He noticed the laughter lines around her eyes had deepened since he first met her, though this took nothing away from her perfectly formed face. They resumed the stroll back to his apartment, both in reflective mood.

"You're much in demand," she said to break the silence.

"Really?" he said. "I hope she's pretty."

"The Japanese authorities want you extradited for killing Tanaka. The Chinese want to execute you for the murder of Chen. In Europe meanwhile, the Germans want to question you about a mysterious death in Hameln. French authorities want to interview a man fitting your description, seen leaving a house where a father and daughter were shot dead. In Italy you are the chief suspect in the case of a man found drowned in the sea off Bussana Nuova. The police in Pamplona search for a triple murderer. There are no reported sightings of you around Pustoshka in Russia, but I suspect this will change in time."

He ground to a halt and stared into Rosa's blue eyes.

"Do you know what connects the dead men, Matt?"

"Something tells me you're about to let me know."

"They were the surviving members of the original Milieu conspirators. Some had been given fresh identities. All had been exiled to obscure locations. Yet within a matter of weeks they are dead, all in suspicious circumstances. You are in the frame for each and every one. The only good news is the enforcement authorities know neither your name nor your current whereabouts, or what connects these deaths."

The look in her eyes was harsh, making it impossible for him to misunderstand the situation.

"There's a new group in town. And these people, the ones you're taking on, have the highest possible connections."

Matt was struck by her careful choice of words. She had said he was taking them on, not her or anyone else. Not even Catherine Vogel. Rosa had painted the bleakest of scenarios. He had to question her loyalty.

"It's time for that shower," he said.

With hot water battering his body Matt's thoughts were in turmoil, utter panic. He was no longer certain he could rely on Rosa, unsure if she was now friend or foe. Had she been foe however, then Rosa could have given up his location. Then again, there was no mistaking the chilling undercurrent of her message. What the hell was he going to do?

He stepped out and dried hurriedly. Rosa stood with her arms crossed at the window, discreetly looking out onto the lake. She never moved from her fixed position all the while he dressed. He kept wondering how he was going to approach the forthcoming conversation, and how careful he should be with his words.

"Do you fully understand the deep shit you're in?" she said, turning to face him.

"I've got the gist of it."

"We're not talking about one powerful, clandestine group hunting you down. Before much longer, virtually the entire planet's judicial authorities will be in on the chase."

"Seems like it," he said.

The following silence was deafening. Matt guessed she was leading up to something, something he probably wouldn't like to hear.

"Catherine wants me to bring you in," she said.

"Does she now?"

"Yes. She thinks the only chance you have is to come in, with the files."

The news shocked him to the core. Why? What was it about that simple statement that should have set alarm bells ringing? True, he hadn't expected her to say this. But something else in the statement bothered him.

"There's no dealing with maniacal people intent on mass genocide."

Rosa stepped up to him. She placed a hand to each side of his face, then leant forward and kissed his lips.

"What was that for?"

"The odds are not good," she said softly. "They have spent months setting this trap and you walked into it, blindfold. The only reason the trap hasn't shut is because of the files."

Matt gazed into her blue eyes, unusually subdued.

"I've been a wanted man before."

"Not on this scale."

He considered her words.

"What else has Catherine said?"

"She thinks it's a long shot. But there might be some room to negotiate, as long as you bring in the files."

He searched into her eyes.

"You know I can't agree," he replied. "Billions of lives are at stake. How could I trade my life for theirs?"

She sighed deeply, disappointed as much as anything else.

"Why did I know you were going to say that?"

"Because you know me, Rosa," he replied. "How could I say anything else? What was the point of everything we went through together before, only to give up at the first hurdle this time round? I can't believe you, of all people, would throw in the towel so easily."

Rosa responded by edging forward and wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug.

"What is it, Rosa?" he whispered. "What is it you're not telling me?"

She eased away to study his face. Her upper lip trembled with uncertainty.

"I'm pregnant, Matt."

Rosa said it plainly, without joy or celebration, merely as a fact. As shockwaves go this one was way beyond the Richter scale, temporarily numbing his senses. Anger flickered briefly inside him before reason returned. This was the real purpose of her visit today. Rosa had come to say goodbye.

"Congratulations," he said softly.

She didn't reply

"You must really love this consultant guy."

"His name is Stefan. And yes, he's good for me."

"I guess you'll not want me to come to the wedding, in case I accidentally let something slip about your past life."

Her smile was barely non-existent. Matt waited for Rosa to speak. She hugged him again, tighter than before.

"I do want you there. Why do you think I brought the message from Catherine, you won't make it without her help."

He said nothing.

"You're going to be pig-headed and stay out aren't you?"

"I don't have a choice, Rosa. You know I don't."

She rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. Matt always believed he could rely on Rosa, if no-one else. But her priorities had changed. Though disappointed, he understood why. He kissed gently to the top of her head.

"Have you heard the phrase scorched earth policy?" she asked, looking up into his face.

"Yes."

"In intelligence circles this means leaving your quarry with nowhere to run, without means to survive. Once your name is released to the authorities any assets will be frozen, business and personal including property. Then they'll deprive you of access to those who might help you. If they get desperate this means taking people out of play, starting with St Wolfgang. After that they'll move systematically from one venue and person to the next, and so on."

He guessed the direction she was taking him in.

"Promise me you'll think about Catherine's suggestion, before you finally make the decision to go on."

Her concern was genuine, touching even. If it was a direct choice between Rosa and the files then he would face a real dilemma.

"I need some time, time to think the whole thing through," he said.

"You've got tonight. Catherine wants me to bring you in tomorrow."

"No pressure then."

"No," she whispered. "No pressure."

Matt's mind raced with indecision. Could he really place at risk those lives he valued most in the world? Yet to return the files was utterly the wrong thing to do. It would represent an act of complicity in mass genocide of epic proportions, an unforgivable sin against humanity. He was torn, uncertain.

"When is your wedding?" he asked.

"Three weeks on Saturday. Why?"

"Will Catherine be there?"

"Yes."

"I can't make a decision as big as this overnight. Tell her I need more time to think it over. Ask Catherine if she'll meet me secretly on the morning of your wedding day. Can you do this for me?"

"What is there to think about? Pretty soon it will be you against the rest of the world. Surely you must see that?"

"I always liked a challenge."

"For Christ's sake, Matt," she said. "We're trying to keep you alive!"

He eased his head back and looked into her eyes.

"I know. I need time to come to terms with it."

"Promise me you'll show up."

"I promise."

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart."

She sank her head back against his shoulder.

"Now everyone knows you can take me down," he said. "How are you going to explain letting me get away?"

It didn't take long for Rosa to come up with the answer.

"You obviously did a runner, when I wasn't looking. It's not like you haven't done it on me before."

He laughed out loud.

"Yes, Toronto," he said. "How could I forget?"

They stood for a while.

"I don't suppose you'll be honeymooning in Victoria," he said.

"We are actually. But it will be Victoria in the Seychelles, not Canada. I want to give the bikinis one last run out before completely wrecking my figure."

It made him smile.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," he said. "You'll always be beautiful, Rosa Cain, always."

The small craft had been in service for dozens of years and could be described as compact, at best. This was particularly true of the rear end which sat perilously close to the surface of the water. It felt cramped due to the numbers of tourists on board. They always seemed to turn up in large groups, making personal space a premium. The only saving grace lay in the agreeable quietness of fellow passengers. Fortunately Matt and Rosa were first to the only two seat wooden table at the back end of the boat, allowing them a degree of privacy. An eight thirty start, the lake tour normally lasted around an hour and a half. Matt estimated they were about half way through the cruise.

He looked at Rosa, who did her best to smile.

"The lake is so peaceful, even stiller than this afternoon's trip. I could sit here for the rest of the night," she said. "You can see every ripple of the water under the moonlight."

Matt nodded in agreement. It struck him Rosa would make a good mother. She somehow looked ready for the trials and tribulations of motherhood.

"What?" she said.

He shook his head.

"Nothing," he replied.

Curiosity found its way onto her face. Realising he wasn't going to add anything further to his comment, Rosa reached into her shoulder bag and produced a plastic A4 sized wallet, folded in half.

"You will need this, to keep you going" she said.

Matt opened the wallet. Inside were mounds of currency, a mixture of one hundred and of fifty Euro notes.

"Where did this all come from?"

"I was thinking ahead."

Rosa had anticipated his reaction. She knew him better than he thought. She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"We're nearly there," she said.

He could see the shoreline, twenty yards or so distant. This was the place they had identified on the earlier run.

"Be careful," she said.

"I will."

Rosa stretched out a hand and gripped his arm. I'm sorry, said her eyes. He smiled, picked up her hand and kissed it.

"You'll make a beautiful bride."

She released his arm, stood up and made her way down the aisle to the inner cabin. Rosa stumbled awkwardly, spilling drink filled glasses to the floor. Immediately the other guests sprang up to try and help Rosa to her feet, constantly asking if she was okay.

As planned, Matt used the distraction to lower himself over the side. He hung there for a second or two, motionless. Then he released his grip. Sliding off the boat felt almost symbolic to Matt. For in this one moment he recognised he had likely slipped out of Rosa Cain's life, for the very last time.

Once onshore he rummaged for the bag they had left earlier and hurriedly changed. After checking everything was there, he headed up to the train station and began the long trek. No trains ran along the line at this time of night.

Matt's mind filled with all manner of thoughts. He felt confident Rosa could successfully pull off an explanation for his disappearing act. Then his thoughts turned to Gratia, and the others. He started to worry for their safety. Salvation lay in bypassing the encryption. Failure meant surrender to the worst of all possible foes. Matt had to succeed.

Chapter Thirty

Lake Dancing

One al fresco lunch at the lakeside restaurant later and he was ready to start again. As he waited for the computer to load, he could still taste the flavour of the Schnitzel in his mouth. The meal had been a delight, bathed as it was in a sauce only the Austrians and Germans seemed to get perfectly right.

He swigged at the bottle of mineral water, conscious two lunchtime lagers in this country all too easily impaired concentration. The holiday let apartment represented nothing less than luxury in comparison to his previous lodgings. The ceiling was flat and broad, enabling him to pace across the room without having to crouch. There was even a separate bathroom.

After leaving Rosa he travelled to Strobl, little more than a stone's throw to St Wolfgang. He reasoned this to be one of the last places on earth his enemies would search. Too close to home. True, he had to be careful over when, and how long, he ventured out into the open. The trade off of being in familiar surroundings was worth the risk.

The memory stick slipped into place and Matt started up the programme he'd found on the internet, confident this would enable him to bypass the encryption. With any luck, he would soon be into the files. He clicked on the first heading and waited. Swathes of data appeared, filling the screen in chunky paragraphs. It was unreadable.

Then the shapes in front of him started to break up. In silent dismay he watched them violently disintegrate, as if torn apart by a hidden electronic explosion. In milliseconds, everything had vanished from the screen.

Matt tossed back the chair and kicked furiously at the table. He'd spent hours researching the subject of encryption and thought he'd cracked it. He hadn't. Matt was back to square one. Now what was he going to do?

Going back to Victoria to pick up the old USB wasn't an option. They'd be waiting for him to show up. And the place would be under surveillance. Phone calls and all mail contact would be monitored too. Safer for Will, Jenna and the others he didn't try.

He had to go into the meeting with Catherine with physical evidence. His enemies knew the files were encrypted. Unless he could clearly demonstrate he'd cracked the code all was lost. Somehow, he had to find a way in. He rose from his seat and walked to the window to look out at the lake.

"Any ideas?" he asked, lifting his gaze to the sky.

No answer. Maybe the task was beyond Him too. Perhaps it was time to concede defeat. He swung round and stared at the blank screen, bereft of any meaningful thought other than he lacked the technical expertise necessary.

Matt returned to his research on encryption. The leading industry recognised system was developed by two Belgians. One of them worked for a company with offices in Munich, some two hundred and sixty miles away. Not too distant. But it presented two distinct problems for Matt. First he had to get there undetected. Then he would have to ask people to decrypt files which were not his. In this information sensitive modern climate such a request were likely to draw the wrong kind of attention. He needed a conduit, someone to act as go-between. There was only one person he knew who lived and worked in Munich. It was a long shot, but one he had to take.

Matt watched the svelte figure board. The white suited figure stepped onto the deck and looked front and aft, deciding her next direction. He scanned the remaining passengers for signs she had been followed. Nothing seemed unusual. Matt's eyes caught sight of her long raven hair entering the inner seating area.

He followed.

The air temperature was so high nearly every tourist had crammed onto deck outside, to take advantage of the gentle breeze and cool down. This meant they were virtually alone. She headed to a window table in the centre of the room. Matt waited for several moments before making his move. While her head turned to look out of the window he slipped silently into the chair opposite, instantly catching the sweet aroma of her powerful perfume.

"I wasn't sure you would come," he said.

If he had surprised her, she wasn't showing it. A small hand rose into the air to catch the waiter's attention. She asked him for two bottles of water. The young man departed to fulfil the order and Gratia turned her attention to Matt.

"As you can see, I am here nonetheless," she said.

The waiter reappeared and Matt settled the account. He felt oddly ill-at-ease now they were together, and couldn't explain why. His emotions were jumbled between relief and uncertain anticipation. Though happy to find her safe and well, this was tempered with inner doubt as to how she would now react to him. They had exchanged a range of cross, unpleasant words at Klagenfurt. He took the time to study her face for clues. As usual, her expression gave nothing away. Despite the minimal make-up she exhibited all her name suggested, pure feminine grace.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"I am fine."

"You look good."

"Thank you."

This wasn't the sort of tentative opening he had in mind. It felt like an awkward, stumbling blind date. They both waited for the other to speak, unease evidenced by the rapid exchange of furtive glances. Eventually he held his gaze and her cheek muscle twitched, indicating a desire to smile. He sensed his face reacting, trying to follow suit.

"I was lying," he said. "You don't look good. You look fantastic."

The smile appeared on her face.

"The things you will say to get people to meet you."

He grinned, touching lightly at the rim of the plastic bottle with a finger.

"Doesn't always work," he said.

"It worked this time."

Matt steered his gaze to the water of the lake then fleetingly returned it to her face. She didn't appear to be angry, quite the opposite. If anything she appeared relieved he was unharmed, but also a little edgy about the clandestine encounter.

"You look tired," she said.

"I'm sure I've looked worse."

"Is it possible you could look worse?"

His smile reappeared as she sipped lightly at the cold water.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you after Klagenfurt, and even more surprised you should send the message through Martha."

He eased back in the chair, trying to appear relaxed.

"Your stepmother would prefer the two of you had a closer relationship. Perhaps I'd hoped the note might prove to be a conversation piece," he said.

Her Guinness eyes darkened and he instantly regretted the statement. Gratia's attitude towards her stepmother was really none of his business.

"You're right," he said. "The relationship between you and Martha has absolutely nothing to do with me."

Her eyes blinked twice.

"Have you seen Rosa?" he asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

"She is fine. Planning for the wedding is showing itself to be challenging. Why do you ask?"

He shook his head to signify he would make no further enquiry. Matt noticed Gratia's eyes had softened.

"Whilst I do not see everything my father sees in Martha, it is clear they hold much affection for each other."

"Maybe they're just compatible," he grinned.

She laughed gently.

"Perhaps there is a little more to it than that," she replied with an agreeable smile. "Martha is completely the opposite of my mother, yet it is clear my father is much happier with her. I see it now."

"Yeah, that's the trouble with human emotions," he said dryly. "They come along unexpectedly and force all logic out into the wilderness."

"So it seems."

They each took a sip from their drinks. Matt felt the need to explain.

"I left you at Klagenfurt because Rosa thought it would be safer if no-one knew of my whereabouts."

"And yet Rosa has not been invited today?" she said.

She was as sharp as ever.

"No. Rosa must take care now."

"Due to the pregnancy?" she said more in statement than in query.

He looked surprised.

"I didn't think it was well known."

"She has confided in Martha, and we have managed to find a way to talk more."

Matt sighed.

"Well at least one good thing has come out of all this, you and Martha I mean. I'm pleased you are both getting on better. It is better for your relationship with Gerhardt too."

"Are you disappointed in Rosa's news?"

He hesitated.

"Not at all," he said. "She appears ready for motherhood and I'm very happy for her and this Stefan bloke."

He noticed her wry grin.

"Not quite a ringing endorsement," she said. "But I am sure you had not meant for it to sound quite so."

Matt's grimace found its way into a brief smile.

"Her news did come as a surprise," he admitted. "Rosa had never indicated previously family was a priority for her. I am pleased for her though, very happy for Rosa."

"Are you, Matt? Are you pleased?"

He looked directly into Gratia's eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

The ensuing lull to the conversation was temporary.

"Why did you want to see me?" she asked.

"Bit of a long shot really."

"Sounds mysterious," she said.

"There are some files I need to access. I wondered if there was the remote chance you might know someone who has any kind of understanding of encryption?"

She took time to consider his request.

"Oddly enough I was introduced to someone recently who does this very thing."

"Is he any good?"

"Matthias, apparently, is a genius in such matters."

"Would you trust him?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"He is a strange one, though seems harmless enough."

Matt reached into his side pocket and produced a USB stick.

"I need to decrypt a file on this, and have the subsequent code copied on to it."

"Okay," she said lightly. "I shall see what can be done."

He paused.

"Look, this could be dangerous. You might want to think it over before jumping in to making any commitment," he said.

She slipped the object into the right side pocket of her jacket. Her willingness to help meant a lot. And she asked for nothing in return. He couldn't help but wonder why.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Gratia?"

She was clearly taken aback by his question, judging from her expression.

"Why would I not do it? This could help you, no?"

"Yes. All I can offer in return for your help though is the prospect of danger."

The edges of her lips suggested a half smile.

"Perhaps when I come to Victoria your personal tour will be free of charge rather than at a reduced rate?"

The comment made him think back to the first night they had met.

"How long would it take?" he asked.

"Days I would think, should Matthias manage to live up to his self portrait. With luck, I could return it to your possession very soon."

"That easy?" said Matt.

"According to the bible of Matthias he is the star man of the company."

"Will he require payment?"

"I'm sure I will be able to accommodate any charge for the service," she said looking him directly in the eye.

The way she spoke made him consider. Matt cocked his head to the side and thought for a moment or two.

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It means I will have the file decrypted and the necessary programme copied on to the USB for you."

Matt reached into his pocket and produced a handful of notes, Euro currency. He tucked them into her hand.

"This will pay for a new computer. Once he has finished dispose of it, preferably in a furnace. This is very important. Nothing must be left that can be traced."

She nodded.

Unexpected anxiety gripped Matt, as if a silent alarm had been triggered in his mind. He was suddenly uncomfortable. A series of coincidences had contrived to provide him with exactly the sort of help he needed, precisely when he needed it. What were the chances of everything falling into place with such timing? He worried this was too easy, too coincidental. An inner mental struggle raged as he toyed over other options. The final decision arrived quickly. Matt couldn't go through with this. He sensed danger.

"You know, there might be another way to do this."

"A way that will complete the task within the next few days?" she said, slightly amused.

"I wasn't thinking of that, only one which would be safer for you."

He failed to convince her. The narrowing and darkening of her eyes made it abundantly clear.

"I am to be no longer trusted?" she said.

He turned his view to the lake, unsure what to say.

"I might have dived into this a little too quickly, roped you in too early. I should have properly examined other options first, and maybe only come to you after they had been fully explored," he said.

"What other options do you have?"

"There are one or two others I haven't fully investigated."

"Had other options been available then you would not have asked to meet today. If there is one thing I have come to learn about Matt Durham, it is he is not stupid."

How could he argue with that?

"Why do you seek to change your mind?"

"Because it's risky," he said.

"I believe on this occasion I am better placed to assess the true level of risk."

"You're forgetting, it's my USB," he said sharply.

Gratia looked ahead to see how far they had travelled. They were only a few minutes from their destination.

"We are almost there. I will drive straight home to Munich and speak with Matthias along the way."

"No need to call. I'll have the memory stick back," he said.

"We have no time to argue. You have asked for my help and I will provide it. I shall return when the job is complete."

She rose from her chair, lifted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and walked to the door leading on to the open deck. Matt decided he had to stop her from leaving, without drawing too much attention. He needed to find a subtle approach, and fast.

"Gratia, wait."

She stopped at the entrance to the sliding door. Rising up quickly, he soon caught her. Matt reached out and held each of her arms just above the elbow. He nudged her against the side of the cabin and fixed his gaze onto her rich Guinness eyes.

Matt bowed his head to allow his lips to rest on hers. He waited for the response he was sure would follow. Seconds passed without reaction. He eased away. Not even the texture of her eyes revealed what thoughts lay beneath, though she made no attempt to escape his advance. Matt leant forward and touched at her lips again, only to receive the same inert reaction.

A short retreat followed. Her gaze remained fixed, steady. Gratia's eyes dared him to make another attempt. Matt lifted a hand to her cheek and edged his lips forward. He hesitated at Gratia's apparent ongoing aloofness as his mouth loitered next to hers, unable to decide on what to do. She made the decision for him.

Gratia raised her hands to his upper arms and touched her mouth against his. Due to her earlier resistance he expected no more than a simple peck. As her soft lips held their position he found himself warming to the task at hand.

Her scent smelt unique, overpowering. Gratia's lips tasted differently to other women he had kissed before. For a brief, fleeting moment Matt forgot his purpose. Kissing this woman electrified his senses, galvanised his heart rate. As kisses go, this felt sensational.

He forced himself to concentrate on the task, slipping his hand into the right side pocket of her jacket.

"I've moved it from there," she whispered, easing her head away.

He hated being second guessed.

"Is this normal practise, for you to sexually assault young women on a lakeside leisure craft in broad open daylight?" she asked.

Her eyes were the brightest he had seen, the smile open and relaxed. Was this in triumph at outsmarting him, or something completely different? Life would be much simpler if he could understand the minds of these strange creatures.

"It was either that or an arm wrestle," he said.

"You selected the more preferable choice."

He smiled.

"Can I have the USB back now?"

"Once Matthias has finished his work," she said.

"I never ask politely twice."

"Then do not ask again."

He wasn't sure what to say next.

"Until the file is decrypted you have nothing," she said. "It must be this way if you are to succeed in preventing their plan from becoming reality."

He knew she was right.

"Any sign of danger, the slightest hint of peril, then wipe your prints from the USB and dump it," he said.

"Then you will lose everything."

"I have a full copy. That USB has only one of the files copied on it."

He made to kiss her again. In a single movement, Gratia released her hold, ducked under his arms and slid away. Her amused smile at his look of disappointment failed to soften the blow of her escape.

"Be on this ferry at the same time each day for the next few days. I will be on one of them to return the information," she said.

"Be careful."

Gratia nodded. And then she disembarked.

This was the fifth day he had made the same trip. Gratia had yet to re-appear. Matt had called a halt to his own research. It was as if his mind ceased to function properly under the cloud of increasing worry. Surely she would be here today?

He scanned the boarding passengers. A youngish woman of similar height to Gratia stood at the back of the queue under a sun hat, looking away from the pier. Matt craned his neck to get a better view. It wasn't her.

Where the hell had she got to?

He noticed a small, beefy looking man stood behind the woman. The guy was totally out of place. Baggy trousers too long for his legs sat underneath a creased and scruffy shirt partially covered by a woollen waistcoat. The thinly framed spectacles were large and round, incapable of providing any protection from the burning sun. He was no tourist. The last person in the queue, a woman armed with hiking sticks and a backpack, boarded. Gratia had failed to turn up again.

Matt relocated at the small bar in the left hand corner of the inner space, and ordered a coffee. He decided to get off at the stop before Strobl and walk the remainder of the way for some exercise. A figure shuffled beside him and asked for a drink of lemonade.

The scruffy man he had seen boarding earlier placed the puzzle book on the bar to address the crossword on the page. With little else to occupy him, Matt glanced occasionally to see how the man was getting on. Progress was mortifyingly slow. Scribbled words appeared in the margins as the man sought to find words that would fit precisely into the white boxes. Head shaking became more and more prominent as the struggle continued. Matt glanced down once again and spotted a neat line of words. The object is in your pocket, read the statement.

Matt felt with his hands and touched the memory stick. Could this be the said Matthias?

"Would you like me to help you?" asked Matt in his best available German. "I'm okay at crossword puzzles."

The lens of the spectacles looked up and the man sort of grinned.

"This one here," he said, pointing to a printed clue. "I do not understand its meaning, the clue it provides."

Matt leaned across and indicated to suggest he would like to use the man's blue biro. He scribbled down what was on his mind. Are you Matthias?

"Yes, I believe so," replied the man. "However the phrase I have in mind does not appear to fit," he added, pointing to his attempted answer.

Matt scrutinised the crossword. The two word answer had been filled in but the words didn't fit the boxes. The message was clear to him. Encryption completed.

"Could it be this?" said Matt scribbling a note.

Where is Gratia?

"I am not sure," answered Matthias.

He turned the page and directed Matt's attention to the preceding puzzle.

"This one is difficult too," said Matthias.

She said it was urgent, read the note.

Matt paused. He found it difficult to accept Gratia would surrender their rendezvous arrangements to anyone. And she certainly wouldn't reveal the need for secrecy. Something wasn't right.

"Sorry, I'm out of answers," said Matt.

The man stood for a few seconds.

"It was worth a try," he said. "Ah, this is my stop."

Matt watched him shuffle away through the mirror placed behind the bar. He noticed a set of eyes follow Matthias as he headed towards the central door. As the craft closed to a few metres of the landing stage, the eyes rose and took position immediately behind. The woman tapped the walking stick against her firm leather boots as she waited for the boat to moor.

She looked an ordinary soul, dressed much as all hikers do in the summer. The yellow t-shirt tucked into her white shorts had been around for some time judging by the paling colour, a result of many and frequent washes. Her small round face had adopted the same leathered look most hikers appeared to possess, a legacy from constant exposure to the elements. The muscles in her long legs had been toned and firmed by years of walking.

This caused Matt to think. She was getting off the boat at the one stop on the lake devoid of instant access to an incline or summit; an odd place for a hiker to stop.

Instinct prompted him to down his coffee and wander up behind her. He stared at the t-shirt as they patiently waited for the steward to push the boarding panel into place by the door. Matt noticed a thin black strip hanging loose from underneath the white bra. She was wired.

Matt's eyes scanned the shoreline. Parked a few yards from the landing was a dark coloured four by four. Two men were positioned inside, watching the ferry drift against the wooden jetty. These men were not hikers, nor were they tourists. The exit door slid sideways to open and Matthias moved forward.

"Excuse me," said Matt, tapping him on the shoulder. "You have dropped this."

He turned and Matt beckoned him from the door. Matthias stepped to the side to allow the woman through. She hesitated to leave, caught in two minds. Her only option was to get off as planned. She stepped out of the door.

Matt tugged at his accomplice's shirt to prevent him from following, motioning with his lips to tell him to stay on board. The woman walked directly towards the four by four, passing a few feet from the front of the machine. Matt was convinced she was talking. The vehicle dropped back in reverse and then turned and headed sedately down the road. Matt watched the steward pull away the boarding panel from shore and start to undo the mooring rope.

"Wait, please," he called.

Through the corner of his eye, Matt saw the dark car come to a halt. The female hiker slid onto the back seat and it sped off. Matt reasoned they would race on to Strobl for the ferry's next scheduled stop.

"I'm sorry," said Matt to the steward. "We do need to get off here after all."

The Austrian man cursed and began to tie the mooring back into place.

"Jump," said Matt, before the tie was in place.

Together, they leapt the yard or so to shore. The steward cursed again as he undid the rope for a second time, berating Matt and his companion for disobeying safety procedures. He made a stumbling apology and they darted up the bush bridled footpath out of immediate sight. Matt checked his watch.

"Hurry," he ordered. "The bus is due."

Matt set off at his normal jogging speed towards the main road, forgetting his sturdy companion was neither fit enough nor well enough equipped to keep up with him.

"Matthias, if you miss this bus you'll be as good as dead within the next thirty minutes."

His words had the requisite effect, galvanising the stocky figure into a trot. Matthias looked set to collapse when they arrived, gulping in big chunks of air. There was no way he was going to be able to speak during the half minute or so it would take the approaching bus to reach them.

"Nod or shake your head," said Matt. "Do you where Gratia is?"

Matthias shook his head.

"Have you got a number for her?"

The breathless German pointed to Matt's pocket as the bus pulled up, indicating there was something on the USB. Matt helped push the German up the step and paid a single fare to Salzburg. Matthias turned round.

"Come," he gasped.

"No, they'll be back when they realise we're not on the ferry. Give me your shoes. I'll leave them with something to think about. Go home and act as if nothing has happened."

He nodded.

"You'll be under surveillance for a while. Do everything as normal, work and friends etc. They'll soon tire and leave you alone."

"And you?" he gasped again.

"Let me worry about that. Now go."

He nodded again.

"Matthias," called Matt as the bus door started to slide shut. "Thank you."

Matt ran to the jetty. He looked to his right and saw the ferry nearing Strobl. Five minutes thereabouts, he reckoned, before they realised their quarry was missing. Maybe another five to ten minutes for them to drive back to where he was and begin the search.

Matt had to move quickly. His eyes searched the surrounds for some inspiration, looking for anything to provide him with a temporary advantage. He walked to the nearest undergrowth and trampled at the edge to flatten the ground. Matt scrambled another twenty paces, further into the wooded area. Carefully he retraced his steps, swapped into Matthias' shoes, and aped his original movement. He made sure the second set of prints ran along his own. Again he backtracked to the jetty.

Matt tossed Matthias' ill-fitting shoes far into the lake, each loaded with a heavy stone. He watched them submerge before crawling along the bank in the opposite direction, looking for shallow water. After a few feet he found an entry point. Matt slipped down up to his knees and waded along as quickly as he could.

By the time he had scrambled back ashore Matt could hear the sound of a fast approaching vehicle. He expected to hear German voices; they were American. The woman's voice led the chorus of urgency emanating from his pursuers. They had decided to split up and search the area. He crawled behind a prickly bush and waited. The approaching footsteps sounded heavy set, too heavy for the woman.

He crouched, poised to strike.

Two black shoes appeared to Matt's right. The strides were lengthy but carefully taken. Whoever this was, they were long legged and cautious. The right foot stepped beyond the bush he hid behind. The left foot was sure to follow. A man's voice called out in the distance. He was telling the others he'd found something, the fake path Matt had created into the wood. The cocking of a weapon told him everything he wanted to know. These people had not returned to pass the time of day.

He saw the feet turn. Matt planted his arms to the ground and swung out his leg in a wide arc. The blow hit the target at the back of the knee. Legs crumpled and the man toppled to the ground. The blowpipe sound of a silencer equipped gun filled the air.

Matt fell upon his victim with an elbow to the throat. The brown eyes screamed in silent agony at the intrusive pain. A blow to the wrist freed the gun. Matt sprung over the startled body, grabbed at the weapon and fired. There was no writhing in agony, or trembling of nerve ends, just a long exhalation of air. And the figure stilled.

An approaching noise of feet hurrying against ground had Matt scrambling into cover. The second man ran towards his colleague, oblivious to fear or danger. The man called out his colleagues' name as he rushed forward. Matt waited for the right moment, rose to his knees and fired. Two rounds, both to the heart, made sickening contact with flesh. The man slowed, staggered, and then fell face forward to the ground. It was all mercifully quick.

The third partner would now run. Matt sprang onto his feet and sprinted in the direction of the vehicle. A flash of yellow caught his eye and he instantly ducked. The whoosh of a high velocity bullet passed overhead. She hadn't run. Matt steadied himself and peered ahead to see if he could spot her. Nothing moved. He shuffled forward on all fours, still no sign. She had to be around here somewhere.

"Drop your weapon," said the voice.

She had circled behind him.

"I said drop your weapon."

He obeyed.

"Get up on your feet and turn around, slowly."

Matt stood, turned and faced his executioner. The pair of vibrant eyes looked Matt up and down in searing contempt. If Matt didn't know better she looked somewhat disappointed in his appearance.

"Where is the other guy?"

Matt chose not to answer.

"Don't fuck with me. Where is your partner?"

"He's behind you," said Matt.

"Yeah, of course he is. Play the smart ass."

She levelled the gun and pointed at his heart. The crunch of a twig snapping under pressure was timed to perfection. The woman swivelled round and he kicked at her elbow, knocking the weapon from her hand. Matt followed this by wrapping an arm around her neck and then twisted her chin violently in the opposite direction. The woman collapsed, without as much as a whimper.

"I thought I put you on a bus?" said Matt.

Matthias shrugged.

"Didn't think it was right to leave you," he replied. "I saw the way you took those other two down. Wow! This is like being in a movie."

"People don't really die in Hollywood films," he replied wearily.

Matt knelt at the body to confirm the woman's death. He prised the wallet from the front pocket and checked for ID.

"CIA," he muttered.

"That's bad, right?" asked Matthias.

Matt said nothing.

"So what do we do now?"

Matt thought for a moment. Three dead CIA operatives on his hands was the last thing he needed. Except why CIA? He was wanted by Europeans, Chinese and the Japanese. Rosa had made no mention of the Americans being on his tail. Why were they involved? Scurrelli, the original US conspirator had been arrested, as had the financier Kimber. Matt had killed the Canadian, Bill Francis. North America shouldn't be involved. Yet they had to be. Otherwise the CIA wouldn't be trying to find him. This thing was getting more complicated with each passing day.

"What do we do?" repeated the man's voice.

He'd forgotten about Matthias.

"You're getting on the next bus home," said Matt. "No-one is going to believe you had anything to do with this. All you have to say is that you saw nothing."

"What about the USB? They'll ask me what I did with it."

"Had they known you had it to start with they would have raided your house long ago. Should you be questioned, tell them you've never met me. When you get home, make sure you've ditched every piece of evidence, anything remotely connected."

"What about Gratia?"

This bothered Matt from the start. She hadn't shown up in person, and Matthias didn't know where she was. There had to be something wrong.

"I'll sort it out," said Matt. "You focus on getting home and covering your tracks as best you can. Leave me to worry about the rest."

"There must be something I can do?"

"Here, you can give me a hand while you're waiting for the next bus."

Matt found the car keys and they returned the bodies to the vehicle, his German companion muttering constantly about having no shoes to wear. Once they'd finished Matt located the alarm beacon, fitted to all secret service vehicles, and set it away. The CIA would make straight for the beacon. With their attention distracted, he could make good his escape.

"Remember," said Matt to the German as he boarded the bus. "You've never seen me."

Chapter Thirty One

Betrayed

Matt had identified three alternative locations, should he be discovered in the vicinity of the Wolfgangsee. He chose Berchesgaden, in the South West of Germany, a town nestled amongst the Bavarian mountains boasting a population a little less than eight thousand. The place was better known for the presence of the nearby site of the Eagles Nest, Adolf Hitler's mountain retreat.

He adopted the fugitive procedure on entering the new town. He got off the bus on the outskirts and then walked into the centre. This was a modus operandi taught to him by Rosa. Spatial mapping was the key element.

The gentle downhill stroll offered up a thorough view of the layout of the town, allowing him to identify the main features of the area. He made a mental note of side streets, shops and their goods, doctors and the police office etc. Public transport services and timings were another important aspect. He then studied the road network, to understand where each route would lead to and the estimated distance.

Rosa had constantly drummed into his brain how important these matters were when on the run. Though he had moaned at the time, he had since always approached this activity as a task to be enjoyed rather than endured.

The one mile walk took longer than he imagined though it helped the weather was fine, warm and sunny with a minimal breeze. Matt zigzagged frequently to understand both sides of the busy road. He was particularly struck by a lengthy gap in the buildings to his right.

Further investigation revealed a tightly turning concrete drive leading down to a small plateau-like space, adorned with a series of wooden park benches. The space sat above a steep embankment which dropped down to a main road, in front of the wide river. The road led to a bridge, a few hundred metres to the right, to a mainly residential setting.

Matt decided to buy refreshments from a local confectioner and sit on a bench to take in the view while he ate and drank. From his seat Matt could see the outline of the Eagles Nest, high up in the mountain opposite. Some retreat it must have been for the German Fuehrer. In those dark days people knew their enemies, knew when and how they were coming. Not any more.

After lunch in the sunshine, Matt continued on. Nearing the centre he spotted the main bus terminal, across the road from what looked like a newly built hotel. Matt had learned a long time ago never to rest up in the obvious places, another lesson courtesy of Rosa, and he sought out a room in a guest house away from the main road.

Not the largest of spaces the room at least accorded him a small balcony from where he could oversee the bulk of the town centre. Another of Rosa's lessons, always find a place with a good view of the locality. Over the last couple of days Matt had barely been in one place long enough to get a good run at the files. Now there were no excuses, time to work. He checked his inbox. There was still no response from Gratia.

Where was she?

Matt had become so concerned he made a point of buying copies of the national and local press each day of the journey, looking for any scrap of information that could be the slightest bit relevant. There was nothing.

Burdened by mounting worry he had considered heading for Munich. That would have been foolish. His priority had to be accessing the USB. Matt decided he would start in earnest once breakfast was finished. The last of the marmalade laden toast was removed from the plate as he examined the last few pages of yesterday's Teutonic newspaper.

The sun had shifted slightly bathing him in warm sunshine. Whilst pleasantly warm, the piercing beams of light reflecting into his eyes from the silver cutlery proved an irritable distraction. He took a shaded seat to shelter to avoid the rising sun. Munching on the remainder of the charcoaled bread he turned the page. Though still not completely au fait with the written Germanic word he was savvy enough to reach an understanding.

The word Matthias caught his eye. An article reported on a murder victim discovered at his home in Munich. The young male resident's heart had been pierced by a kitchen knife. A suspect had been detained. Matt read on.

Matthias Schumann was the victim's name, a computer programmer employed by one of the leading software industry companies in the world. The firm had acquired its world class status through the development of uniquely secure encryption programmes, used by such luminaries as the US Government, amongst others.

His heart sank. The victim had to be the one and same man he had met on the Wolfgangsee, the code breaker. He had instructed Matthias to return home, telling him it was safe. Instead he had unwittingly sent the man to his death, into the waiting arms of his murderers. Another innocent life violently lost to Matt's struggle against the odds. How many more were likely to suffer the same fate, he wondered. There was no doubt in his mind now. Gratia was in trouble, had to be.

Matt jumped from the plastic chair and stormed into the white walled room, hurling the newspaper furiously to the wooden floor. He kicked at the two-seater sofa, choosing to ignore the subsequent pain to his big toe. The desperate mood lasted for several minutes, ending only when his mind finally began to register the throbbing ache from his foot. He tried to bring his mind back into focus.

The scorched earth policy Rosa had talked about was being implemented. Matt could only wonder what was happening elsewhere. To attempt contact with St Wolfgang was an open invitation to his enemies to raze the place to the ground. The same could be said of Victoria. One by one, step by step, they were shearing away the pillars of help and support. He was on the point of excommunication from the rest of the world. Matt had never felt so alone.

Perhaps Rosa had been right in Hallstatt. It was different this time round. And maybe his enemies had a point after all. The human race couldn't keep multiplying at its present rate, without some checks and balances. There could only be one, eventual outcome. Something had to give.

He shook the melancholy from his mind. Where there was life, there was hope. And there were the files to study. Matt loaded the USB, sat back, and prayed for a miracle.

He had been at the screen, off and on, for a large part of the morning. The files he had read thus far set out his enemies' case through a series of academic and governmental studies on the environment, population growth and natural resource management. Energy and food shortages were looming, their full impacts accelerated and compounded by overpopulation. Human longevity, coupled with rapid increases in global birth rates would soon raise levels of resource consumption beyond the planet's ability to supply. Demand for affordable housing, transport and employment for all were becoming unattainable political objectives. Unhappy masses meant only one thing, revolution. Matt shook his head at the depressing reality of what was to come. He elected to venture back into town. He could pick up some local newspapers, perhaps yesterday's British press, anything to rest his eyes from the computer screen.

The schnitzel looked appetising enough, though all Matt could manage was to indiscriminately pick at the meal. He felt the pressure mounting inside, magnified by Gratia's continuing unavailability. A pictured of her formed in his mind. In this image her long raven hair was down, surrounding her dark Guinness eyes. He recalled Gratia saving his life in Pamplona, and of the incredible sensation pulsing through his veins when he kissed her on the lake ferry. Should anything terrible have happened to her then...?

The worry drove his mind to detest his present situation. Matt realised he was fast running out of options. His mind returned to thoughts of surrender once more, along with the files. Surely all that really mattered were the lives of those few people he truly valued.

"Get it together, Durham," he muttered.

Of course he couldn't give in and let them win. Too many innocent people would die if he threw in the towel. Besides, Matt Durham had never lost a fight in his life, and he wasn't about to start losing now. He flipped the newspaper while he addressed the remainder of the plate. Food crisis critical, said the small boxed headline at the bottom. This was page eight, after the wide investigative spread on the latest ministerial sex scandal. Not even the media took the globe's most pressing issue seriously.

"Give me strength."

He returned and showered, washing out the fogginess in his mind caused by the second Bavarian ale. He loaded the USB and clicked on the next file in line. There were four separate headings, the first detailed as locations. Into this, and another two headings appeared on screen. Ordnance the first, Release Points the second. Matt had considered ordnance related to military matters, weapons and the like. Not in this case.

A global map highlighted a series of obscure locations. The drop down box listed vast ranges of commodities and resources, including viral antidotes, stored at each one. God only knew how they managed to conceal these Aladdin caves from the general public. The second heading represented the starting points for the release of the virus, codenamed as The Milieu Derivative. Unsurprisingly, rogue political states were to be the designated sources of the lethal outbreaks. If you're going to murder two thirds of the planet's population then you might as well blame it on your enemies, mark them as the villains of the piece.

A subsidiary heading was marked Data Run. This referred to the intelligence system developed and used to classify citizens. Though not labelled as such there were effectively four, distinct categories; Essential, Desirable, Unessential and Undesirable. They were self explanatory. Those not recorded onto the system were automatically deemed to be surplus to requirements. The means used to classify individual citizens were truly frightening; Age, Genealogy, IQ, Genetic Disorder, Legal and Civil Action offences, were most prominent among many point scoring attributes There was even a categorisation labelled as Social Contribution. Elitism didn't come close to describing Matt's perception on the contents of this particular heading.

He turned to the third heading, Logistics. This covered the blueprint of their intended pre and post operational activity and was divided in two. The first detailed the anticipated viral spread, by both geography and timeline, and then evaluated the expected Governmental responses to the epidemic, and their own responses to these assumptions. Post operational activity included an assessment of likely numbers that might develop natural immunity to the virus, and on how to deal with them.

These were the files of information he had to get into the open. All he was missing was a comprehensive list of the conspirators. They surely had to be one here somewhere. He moved the cursor over the next file heading. That's when he spotted the curious, throbbing light at the bottom right hand corner of the screen. He hadn't noticed this before. It wasn't the charging light. Neither was it a computer fault warning.

Then he realised. It was an alert feed. Someone had rigged the USB he'd been given.

Only three people on the planet had handled the accessory. Matt was the first. The second was Matthias, and he had been horribly murdered. Gratia was the only one left. He had his explanation for the unanswered messages.

She had betrayed him.

Gratia had been working against him all the time. She was part of the evil conspiracy, this proved it. He thought he could trust her. He was wrong. Matt felt like the whole world had turned their backs on him.

Chapter Thirty Two

A Britta good Fortune

Another thought crossed his mind. He'd been working from the USB for some hours. This gave them more than enough time to narrow their search, pinpoint his location. Matt shut the computer down. He walked to the balcony and looked up into the darkening sky. Then he peered out onto the artificially illuminated street. It was eerily quiet. Not a moving vehicle in sight.

His enemies were close. And they were closing. Should he go up or down? Front or back? He chose down and back. Matt bundled his possessions together and darted across the narrow hall to the fire exit at the end of the floor. He paused to watch and listen for movement. Nothing stirred. Matt stepped onto the stairs, stopping at a small window on a landing between floors. Shadows flickered in the stairwell light below. Figures were moving stealthily upwards. He looked to the roof of the adjacent building, somewhat lower to ground. Matt opened the window and crawled through. Somehow he managed to nudge the window almost to a close and then hung from the outer sill by his fingertips. He would have to leap a couple of yards to get across to the next building, too far without some kind of leverage. Suspended in mid air, Matt was defenceless.

Panic set in. He peered down and saw a wooden balcony jutting out from the wall of the floor below, fenced by a metal railing. Matt could hear the sounds of rushing feet coming up the stairs inside the building. He had no choice. On the count of three, he released his grip and plummeted down.

The thump of a human body against hard wood was never going to sound pleasant. In Matt's case it was painful too. He cursed madly inside as he checked for damaged limbs. There were aches and shooting pains up one leg but no obvious sign of injury.

Spotters will have heard the heavy thud and alerted assault teams. He had to move quickly. Matt hurdled the metal railing and hung from the rim. Ground was about ten feet below. He released his possessions and dropped onto the concrete. This time the pain in his leg was more severe, the subsequent limp involuntary. He must have done more damage to the limb than he'd realised.

He made for the rear of the building, hurrying uphill along the dimly lit footpath. He guessed they would expect him to head in the opposite direction. It was always easier to move downhill than up. The mapping exercise he had carried out earlier told him what physical geography to expect. It was the human geography he would likely encounter that worried him.

He glimpsed a couple, pushed up against the high stone wall to his left, making out. Matt could see the bare flesh of the woman's leg raised in the air, bent at the knee so the man could prop it up with his hand. He heard the woman groan as the man pushed energetically into her. Nothing was going to put them off. Not even the rapidly lowering temperature of the evening air. You had to admire their hardiness.

As he neared Matt glanced sideways and saw the woman's eyes monitor his approach. He knew instantly. Matt swivelled on the ball of his left foot and sent his other crashing between the man's legs. Before she could react he grabbed at the man's hair, jerked the head back and then sent it powerfully crashing into the woman's face. The pair slumped to the floor, blood oozing from the woman's shattered nose. Matt's rapid search produced two hand guns and several clips of ammunition. He attached the earpiece and heard a voice calling urgently into his ear.

"Sigma, have you got visual?"

The voice repeated the question, this time with a sense of alarm. The two stilled figures were the sigma team. The caller wouldn't ask again. They knew exactly where he was now.

He kicked at the wooden gate to the garden opposite and it sprang open. Matt limped up the garden path to the back door. Ignoring the light from the kitchen and entered. He crept silently along the hallway to the front door. He was about to leave when he saw the set of keys on the small table, by the hanging overcoats. Matt snapped them up into his hand and exited.

The door took him directly into the street. He clicked at the keys and a pair of sidelights flashed nearby. Matt threw open the door and jumped behind the wheel. As soon as the engine started he rammed the gear into drive.

Easing away from the footpath the car glided to the end of the street. As he feared, the main road was bereft of moving vehicles. He might as well have a giant plastic hand hanging over him with a finger pointing to his head. Fugitive here, the caption would read.

Matt looked across the street. He closed his eyes to form a mental image of the road out of town in his head. Around fifty or sixty metres up to the left was the tight, concrete paved turn leading to the green space built into the steep river bank. Matt remembered that at the bottom of the steep hill a road led to a bridge which crossed to the other side of town. He doubted he would get so far. Even if he were to successfully negotiate the impossibly steep incline, the car would be a complete wreck once he reached the bottom. Only a desperate man would attempt something as reckless. Matt was desperate.

The pedal thumped against the floor and the car skidded out into the open. A surge of acceleration powered the car up the road. Fast approaching headlights flashed at him. He rammed the nearing menace, sending the other car spinning over the pavement and into the wall of the building.

A second car swerved to avoid the carnage and mounted the raised kerb. He reversed, swung the wheel fiercely to the right and belted forward again. Seconds later and he was negotiating the tight bend. The pursuer failed to anticipate his sharp turn and shot passed the opening.

Matt slammed the brakes to slow his pace. He twisted the wheel violently to his left and the car manoeuvred at a right angle to the road. Another squeeze of his foot and the car neared the incline. The vehicle burst forward again, and dived over the gardened edge.

With no ground beneath its tyres, the front end dipped and began an uncontrollable descent. Matt could see through the mirror no-one had followed. He bounced up and down in the seat, courtesy of the uneven surface underneath the wheels. Looking forward, he could see headlights crossing left and right on the road below.

The car plummeted downhill, picking up speed despite the obstacles in its path. He was thrown from side to side as the vehicle somehow stayed upright. A loud bang followed the heavy impact of him hitting a boulder, briefly pushing the car sideways before resuming its descent. The irregular clunking sound told him something was broken.

There was no stopping. Matt bounced ever more violently up and down banging his head against the interior roof, a sure sign of suspension damage. Then he saw the metal barrier at the side of the carriageway looming into view. Instinct made him open the door and jump.

Matt touched the ground at an awkward angle, jarring his left shoulder into shocking pain. The sound of the car crashing into the barrier filled his ears. Grimacing in agony he looked up and saw the car had bounced back from the road and rolled onto its side. Flames began licking at the wreck.

Passing drivers slammed on their brakes to try and provide assistance to whoever they imagined was inside the stricken vehicle. This was his chance. Matt stumbled to the road, left arm bent to his shoulder to reduce the pain.

He looked round and saw a powerful beam from the top of the embankment trying to search him out. Straightening his posture he staggered towards the nearest car pointing at the bridge. A woman with mousey brown hair, around Matt's age, remained at the wheel of the SUV. The front passenger door had been flung open to allow her companion to investigate the wreckage of Matt's car. He jumped in beside her.

"Drive," he shouted.

Her face contorted into fear and she froze with terror. He screwed up his face with the painful effort of producing the handgun from his side pocket, and pointed it to her stomach.

"Drive," he repeated.

She stared, incredulous; unable to move. Matt cocked the trigger.

"Bitte," he said thoughtlessly, the German word for please.

The SUV launched forward. They had only travelled a few yards when an idea came into his head. As they closed on the expensive saloon car ahead, he reached over with his healthy arm and pulled at the steering wheel. The SUV responded by skewing sharply to the side, crashing into the long bonnet of the saloon. The impact spun the car ninety degrees, front and rear now covering the two lanes of the carriageway behind.

"Go," yelled Matt.

The woman turned the wheel and launched forward again, towards the bridge.

"Please don't kill me," she whispered.

Matt's head fell back against the rest. He groaned with the increasing pain.

"I don't want to kill anybody," he said. "I just need to get away from here."

There was something about the way he spoke those words that reassured the driver, drew the fear from her eyes.

"Where shall I take you?"

"Anywhere, anywhere but here," he said.

They crossed the bridge. She took the left turn and drove along the other side of the river, towards a tight right bend.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you. And for the damage to your car," he grimaced. "I promise I'll get out soon."

She negotiated the bend and glanced towards him.

"You are bleeding."

"Probably," he said.

"I mean it. You are bleeding!"

He looked down at his left arm, blood seeping freely from an open wound. The driver peeled off her scarf and handed it to him.

"Tie it firmly, just above the wound."

"It's alright."

"If it was alright I would not instruct you otherwise. Do as I tell you. I am a doctor."

He hesitated.

"Either you fix it in place or I will stop the car," she said.

Matt wrapped the flimsy piece of material around his arm and attempted to tie the ends. The car swung to the left and jerked to a halt. The driver leaned over and knotted the scarf into place. Without a further word she released the handbrake and the SUV sprang forward once more.

"Thank you," said Matt.

"I do not want your thanks. I wish only for you to be out of my car."

"Stop," he yelled.

The vehicle pulled to a halt once more. Matt tugged at the handle and the door slipped open.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting out, like you asked," he said.

"Do not be an obstinate pig. You are in no condition to be left alone by the side of a dark road at this time of the night."

What is it with German women labelling him as stubborn and likening him to a farmyard animal, he thought. He looked with some bemusement at her face. Then he shut the door.

"I live close by," she said.

Matt wasn't about to argue the point. All he could feel was nauseating pain.

"What about your partner, back there?" he asked.

"He is a colleague, old and persistent. I have been trying to lose him all night," she said.

Had it not been for the throbbing pain he would have burst into laughter. His arm felt numb. Something was wrong. Matt tried to move the limb, succeeding only in encouraging the beginnings of an untidy grimace. She caught sight of his pain through the corner of her eye.

"So you'd rather chauffeur a fugitive than a lecherous old man?" he groaned.

"Real fugitives don't say please when they want you to start up the car to make an escape. Neither do they offer to release their captive at the first time of asking. Or apologise for the damage they have caused."

"I'm still practising," he said.

The edgings of a smile formed on her lips. The SUV pulled off the road for the third time. On this occasion it headed up a dark, muddy path. Shortly after, the path opened onto a gravel drive and an impressive looking detached residence hove into view.

The woman darted from her seat, around to the passenger side of the vehicle. The best he could do was to slide his legs to the side. She allowed him to grip her arm with his one good hand and pull himself upwards. Once out of the seat she slid am arm around the small of his back while his arm rested on her shoulder.

"Come, we need to have a good look at your injuries."

Without her help Matt would never have made it to the door. The pain in his leg had worsened to the point where he couldn't put much pressure on it. She patiently supported him up the three long wooden stairs and through into the hall.

"This way," she said.

The woman led him through a long passageway into a vast, brightly lit kitchen space. The row of polished high quality kitchen units, replete with marble toppings, was broken only by the AGA cooker. She eased him into a hard backed chair by the rectangular dining table. He groaned as she untied the knotted scarf then she slid the jacket sleeve from his arm.

"I thought so," she said.

"Thought what?"

"The wound needs stitching. Can you move your arm?"

"No."

She re-tightened the temporary bandage.

"Let me see your leg."

He tried to move it but the limb was reluctant. She leaned forward and reached for the buckle on his belt.

"Hey!"

"I am a doctor. There is nothing new for me to see."

He surrendered limply as she eased the trousers from his body. Her first touch to the naked leg made him jump.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No. Your hands are cold."

She was distinctly unimpressed.

"How did you do this?"

"Fell onto a balcony, from a height," he said.

"Hmm, first things first," she said, mostly to herself.

The woman disappeared into a small connecting room, returning seconds later with some medical equipment.

Matt winced constantly as she cleansed the wound to his arm. Once the bleeding subsided she reached into a small bag and produced a long needle, thread, and a large syringe.

"I shall deaden the wound."

"No. That won't be necessary," he said.

She shrugged.

"As you wish," she replied.

He didn't look. The feel of the cat gut slipping through both ends of his skin before tightening was bad enough.

"What is your name?"

"Britta," she said.

"Thank you, Britta."

She glanced up at him.

"What is your name?"

"Matt. You take a great risk in helping me."

"Yours is not the face of a hardened criminal."

"That doesn't mean I'm not a bad man."

"A bad man would likely have thrown me from the car, or worse."

"Teutonic logic, eh?" he said.

"Female logic," she replied.

Matt accepted the verbal wrist slap in good humour. He looked upon his carer. Her mousey brown hair had been cut short to suit her little round face. The light brown eyes were in proportion to her small nose and thin lips.

"You are surprisingly brave for a man," she said.

"Brave?"

"To refuse the anaesthetic," she said.

"Bravery has nothing to do with it. I need to stay alert."

"What is it you have done, or alleged to have done?"

"Best not to ask," he said.

"I am curious."

"Don't be. As soon as you're finished I'll be gone."

She shook her head.

"You need to rest first."

"No, not an option," he said. "Believe me. You don't want to be caught harbouring me from the outside world."

Her brow furrowed. He saw her cut the excess thread. The bandaging was quick and precise.

"Do you have any spare clothes in your rucksack?"

"Some, why?" he asked.

"If you are not going to rest then at least shower and change before you leave. The clothes you are wearing are soiled and will raise suspicion."

Her offer surprised him.

"Why are you doing this, helping me?"

"I am a doctor. It is my duty to mend."

"But not to harbour a fugitive," he said.

She looked at him blankly.

"Come, I will show you to the guest room."

He took a long shower. The watery heat against his aching flesh helped ease some of the muscular pain though he still couldn't move his left arm. Mostly dried, he limped over and sat on the edge of the bed. The struggle to put on a fresh pair of shorts was tediously unequal.

"Feeling better?" asked Britta, entering the room.

"Yes, thanks. I'll be on my way soon."

She approached with something in her hand.

"Painkillers," she said. "They will help to ease the physical discomfort. There are more you can take with you."

Matt tossed the two tablets into his mouth and washed them down with the fizzy liquid from the glass she handed to him.

The initial sensation was odd, like a burst of adrenalin. He widened his eyes to accommodate the strange glow taking control of his senses. Matt could feel Britta's hand stroking his head.

"How does it feel?"

"A little odd to be honest," he said.

"It will pass soon."

"What... what will pass soon?"

He shook his head to try and clear the fuzziness from his mind. It didn't work. He tried again. The fuzziness got worse. Matt was having difficulty concentrating. The corners of the room blurred to his vision. He looked up, barely able to make out her face.

"Britta... what was in those tablets?"

"Hush now," she said. "You must lie back and rest for a while."

He could feel her pressing his body towards the bed. This wasn't what he wanted. Not what he wanted at all. Next, he felt his head being cushioned by the plush pillow. She lifted his legs onto the covers. Matt's mind screamed for him to stand. He couldn't.

"Britta... what have you done?"

He didn't hear the answer. His eyes had forced themselves shut. And then his mind collapsed into darkness.

Chapter Thirty Three

Broken

From the acrid taste in his mouth it would have been easy to conclude he'd drank direct from an untreated sewage plant. Had he the energy, Matt would have thrown up there and then. He spotted the half empty glass on the side table. There was no way he was drinking from it.

Where was he?

Matt ordered his mind to make contact with the rest of his body. One by one his limbs came into play, all except his left shoulder. God it was painful. Not even mobile. The feel of cotton against his skin alerted him to the fact he was resting under the quilt.

He tried to move. The left shoulder refused to budge. What was stopping it? Matt turned his head and saw a sling had been firmly attached. It felt like his arm had been permanently clamped against his body. The door opened. He remembered the face.

"Britta, what have you done to me?"

She approached slowly and sat on the bed.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Like I can't move any part of my body, what the hell have you done?"

"Returned your shoulder back into its rightful place; there was a dislocation. You would not have agreed if I told you what had to be done."

"But I can't move it," he said.

"The feeling will return soon. Rest for a day or so and the shoulder will improve. The lower bone in your leg is bruised and jarred. It will also need time to recover. Other than that, you are fine."

He felt the nerves in his shoulder begin to tingle, rapidly accompanied by deep seated muscular and skeletal pain.

"How can you be sure?" he winced.

"If I was not sure then I would have ordered an ambulance, and had you taken to hospital for treatment."

Matt stretched out a hand. Britta moved to the other side of the bed and slipped an arm underneath his body to lift him to a seated position. He cursed at the effort. Britta returned to the other side and offered him the glass.

"I don't think so," he said.

She laughed.

"This is water only and the painkillers are genuine."

Matt hesitated, uncertain of her intentions. The warm smile and the concerned look in her eyes convinced him she was genuine. They were quiet for a while as he waited for the medicinal prescription to take effect. Gradually he began to feel better.

"You have many scars," she said. "Are you a warrior?"

He grinned, of a sort.

"No, unlucky more like. I'll dress and be on my way."

"I have washed your clothes. They need to be ironed."

Matt lifted the quilt and peeked at his naked body.

"Including your shorts," she said with an amused smirk.

He was about to open his mouth and complain.

"It is okay. You do not have to thank me."

Matt was stunned into silence. He tried to speak again.

"There is a robe hanging on the door. When you are ready, come down and I will prepare breakfast. Full English, is what I believe you call it," she said.

He gave up trying to argue. What was there to complain about after all? Matt nodded appreciatively and smiled.

The silk robe was ridiculously small, barely covering any of the important pieces. Matt frequently had to pull it back into place. He could see Britta's smug amusement at his attempts to cover his modesty, though she never laughed openly.

"I'll dry," he said as she cleared the dishes from the breakfast table.

"Why do men believe they can do the impossible," she laughed.

"I do have one good arm."

"Yes, but only one."

He looked at the wall clock. Nearly ten a.m.

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Not every Sunday."

"Today is Sunday?"

"Yes. I did say your body needed to rest."

There was little he could do about recapturing the lost day. He elected not to allow the news to upset him. If anything, he was another day closer to the meeting with Catherine Vogel.

"Is there much damage to your car?"

"Some," she replied.

He sighed.

"I expected to wake up in jail, after you knocked me out with whatever that stuff was."

"The thought crossed my mind. I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"I jump into your car uninvited and point a loaded gun at your stomach, taking you hostage. Then I deliberately crash your car into another and tell you to drive off. And you are giving me the benefit of the doubt?"

"Hmm," she said. "Since you put it this way, perhaps there is a call I should make."

The look of concern on his face evaporated once she had smiled. Britta was being incredibly kind to him. He figured she must have some kind of hidden, ulterior motive. Nobody helps other people out of kindness alone. Recent history had taught him he could take no-one at face value.

Matt examined his surroundings. The place was devoid of evidence of a partner. He found this curious, having always assumed doctors came in pairs these days. He thought better of asking the obvious question. Britta completed drying the dishes. She walked back to the table and sat down to see him examining a bottle of pills.

"Yes, they are what I gave you," she said, answering the question in his mind. "Your clothes will be ready by the time you have showered. There is a fresh toothbrush in the cabinet."

She helped him up and he walked unsteadily forward. He turned at the open door and caught her staring at him.

"Thank You, Britta."

"Go," she said. "You are beginning to smell."

He could see humour in her eyes. Matt realised he would never have survived for long without Britta's medical care. Of all the vehicles he could have clambered into, he had randomly selected hers. How lucky could a man get?

Matt eased himself into the cushioned cane chair in the wide conservatory. The lawn stretched far away into the distance. Trees lined to either side, most of them carrying bundles of fruit hanging from the branches. There was barely a breeze judging by the stillness of the leaves. A hot drink appeared on the coffee table in front.

"Thank you," he said.

"Let me see your shoulder."

The shirt was slipped away from his body and he felt her hands kneading at the muscles of his shoulder. It felt so good.

"How is that?"

"Perfect," he said.

She massaged the area for some time, in complete silence. He sensed a question was coming. Matt chose to wait for its delivery, content as he was to sit back and fully enjoy her light touch.

"Who is Grace?" she asked.

This was the last thing he expected her to ask.

"Grace?"

"Yes. You called her name constantly, in your sleep."

Matt wasn't sure how to react. He thought all references to Grace had been completely erased from his memory. It felt as though his mind had frozen, such was his inability to respond.

"Somebody," was all he could muster.

He sensed her interest had been aroused.

"This woman must have, perhaps still does, hold some importance to your life?"

"Not any more."

An uneasy silence descended.

"You don't wish to talk about it?"

"Not really," he said.

Britta retreated into thought. She had something on her mind.

"I have not always been alone," she said unexpectedly.

Her words were spoken as though she were recalling a cold and distant memory.

"My husband was taken several years ago."

"I'm sorry. Were you close?"

"For a time we were inseparable. But Marcus had always been devoted to his research, a cure for a form of cancer. It was one of the reasons I fell in love with him. The work took up more and more of his time however. I asked him on several occasions not to allow it to consume his life, no matter how worthy the cause."

"He didn't listen?"

"Devotion had turned to obsession. After a while I began to question his true feelings for me, as he was rarely at home. In my mind I was convinced there was a reason other than work for his behaviour, another woman. To me, it was obvious."

Matt sensed an unhappy ending.

"I indulged in an affair and was discovered. Marcus took time away and we holidayed to Indonesia. He had organised the trip in an attempt at reconciliation. In truth, there had been nothing to reconcile. I had misjudged the situation, misjudged him. My mind had chosen to believe circumstance rather than fact. By then, it was too late."

"How do you mean?"

Matt couldn't see Britta's face. He could feel her growing tension however, in the way she manipulated her fingers to the muscles around his shoulder.

"We were returning from a walk along the beach, the day after Christmas, when the first of the waves arrived. Marcus and I succeeded in reaching the resort hotel and we started to scramble up to the top floor. The tsunami struck with such might. He managed to secure a hold on me. I was submerged for a while but he held on. Believing the worst was over he started to haul me up the stairwell. I was exhausted, spent."

Matt understood there was more to come.

"The second wave arrived. Marcus saw it first. I sobbed in the knowledge I did not have the strength to survive another ordeal. All he had to do was let me go. I remember calling to him, telling Marcus to release me and save himself. Instead he climbed down and used the remnants of his energy to lift me to safety, just as the second wave struck. Marcus was swept away. His body was never recovered."

Hers was a sad tale. Matt could only wonder about Britta's purpose in recounting the tale to him.

"Marcus was a good person," said Matt, turning to face her.

"Yes... yes he was."

"And so are you, Britta."

The muscles in her face failed to move, though her eyes flinched in acknowledgement of his supportive phrase.

"There is a moral to the story."

She turned her gaze away.

"Forgive me. I do not mean to lecture."

Matt rested the fingers of his right hand on to her face. Her eyes flickered towards him.

"It's okay. I'm listening," he said softly.

She hesitated before speaking again.

"With good fortune, you will love more than once in your lifetime. Of them all it is the one who is prepared to sacrifice everything, surrender all, to keep you free from harm you must never let slip away."

Matt wondered what exactly he'd said about Grace during his sleep to prompt these words from Britta. She had put two and two together and made five. That said, it was clear to him she hadn't succeeded in putting her life back together. Britta had been broken by the experience, still was. Matt felt sure this was the moment he was supposed to come up with deep and profound sentiment, a form of words to console her mind and ease the inner pain she continued to suffer from, like the way it happened in the movies. Nothing remotely clever like that came into his mind. Bereft of any kind of inspiration, all he could think to do was reach up and kiss tenderly at her cheek.

"Thank you," she said. "Sometimes it is easier to talk to a stranger than confide in a friend. A friend always has a view. A stranger however, rarely takes sides."

He looked puzzled.

"Have I confused you?"

"I'd hoped we'd got beyond the stage where you thought I was strange," he said dryly.

Britta threw back her head and laughed aloud. She stepped towards the door. Halfway there she came to another halt and looked back.

"Your coffee is getting cold," she said.

Then she laughed aloud again.

Chapter Thirty Four

A Spirit Flies

Matt wanted to leave later in the day. She worked overtime to persuade him to rest a while longer. He got the impression Britta enjoyed the company, albeit only for a short time. Matt appreciated how difficult living alone could be, so he agreed, though this wasn't his only motive.

He spent the afternoon recuperating, trying to build up his reserves of energy. By evening he felt much stronger. Britta's frequent massaging of his shoulder helped, easing a degree of mobility back into his aching limbs.

Matt also needed time to reflect, think through some of the issues. Rosa's words in Hallstatt nagged away at him, though he didn't know why. He delved deep into his memory banks, trying to recall every detail of their conversations. Nothing came to mind.

He realised the plans of his adversaries had been brilliant in their simplicity, out with the old and in with the new. All they needed was a fall guy and Matt fitted the bill. It irked him he'd acted in precisely the way they'd supposed, almost like they had a blueprint to the inner workings of his mind. Rosa was right to say he must have been under surveillance for a while. He must have been for them to know him so well. If there was one thing he could be certain of, it was that these people were clever.

Once the original group of bad guys were dead the Milieu conspiracy would die with them, in the public consciousness; consigned to the political dustbin. Then the new group would be free to start afresh, beyond suspicion.

Matt wished now he hadn't killed Chen and Tanaka. They would have provided living proof of the ongoing conspiracy. As it stood, he had nothing. The USB in his possession was worthless. Whoever he passed it to would be located in very short shrift.

He retraced his steps, from the beginning. Matt couldn't believe how readily he'd fallen for their entrapment. He hadn't recovered the addresses, they were left for him to find. And, in case he was too dumb to work it out for himself, they provided him with a guide. What were the chances he would meet a person with access to the resources he happened to need at exactly the right time? The kidnapping of Catherine Vogel was a stroke of genius. Matt stormed straight in, all guns blazing. The fact he had unwittingly killed a policeman must have had his enemies rolling around suffering from multiple orgasms.

Even when their plan went astray, such as his escape from China, they had counter measures in place. First there was the attempted plane crash then the alarm feed fitted to the USB. The loss of one of their own, Gratia, would have represented nothing more than collateral damage.

Matt concluded his only hope rested back in Victoria The only flaw to this risky plan was the old USB contained no references as to who these conspirators were. He wondered if they were part of the old guard or an entirely new breed. No, he decided, there had to be some kind of a link between the old and the new. Otherwise how would they have been able to pick up the pace again so quickly?

Something else kept gnawing away at him. There was no American address detailed in the diary; though Hank Scurrelli, the original mastermind, was already in custody. So why was the CIA involved? Maybe his meeting with Catherine would fill in some of the gaps, provide more of the missing pieces.

The next day Britta left early, to go to work. Matt had asked her for permission to use the desktop for additional research. After some deliberation he decided to investigate the original owner of the diary, Kestlemann, Schafen's senior employee in Seattle. The homepage blinked onto the screen and he typed in the name. A small number of listings appeared.

Matt clicked on each in turn. Little substance was revealed about the man. The words proverbial and dead end sprang to mind. The last entry was a reference to a social website. Matt opened it more in hope than expectation.

A photograph emerged. The image of a tall, white haired man dominated the picture. To either side, a string of smaller figures fanned out. According to the caption, these younger people had received awards for enterprising business ideas in and around the Seattle area. The certificates of achievement were presented to the winners by Herbert Kestlemann. So this is what the man looked like, grey haired and mature. For some reason the facial features on display appeared unusually familiar.

Matt glanced both ways at the lines of fresh young faces. One caught his eye, right at the end. He searched the row of names underneath the photograph, matching each one to an image. The recognisable face belonged to Kestlemann's son. His surname was Cole, courtesy of his mother's remarriage to a British banker. Matt knew who this man was. Only he didn't know him by the name of Cole.

"Jesus Christ!"

If the odds were heavily stacked against him before, they were positively overwhelming now. He quickly understood the need to access the rigged USB, alarm and all. But to do that meant he had to leave, putting as much distance between him and Britta as possible.

Matt raced up the stairs and gathered his belongings. He was about to exit the front door when his conscience pricked at his mind. There was no way he could leave without saying goodbye, not after everything Britta had done for him. Then again, each minute he stayed could only enhance the danger to her. What should he do? He was in two minds. Eventually Matt stepped away from the door, sat on the bottom stair, and waited.

It was dark before the door finally opened. Matt had grown increasingly anxious at each passing minute. She was happy to see him.

"You are looking good today," she said.

He stood and paced up to her.

"Britta, I have to leave."

"What, right at this moment?"

"Yes, right now," he said.

She failed to hide her disappointment. He felt as if he had let Britta down in some way. She recovered her poise quickly.

"Have you got all you need?"

"Yes," he said.

"How will you travel?"

"Bus or train likely," he said.

He could see her thinking, mulling over a decision.

"I have a better idea. Follow me."

She led him upstairs to her room. Wandering over to the bedside table Britta lifted a key from the drawer

"Marcus' car remains in the garage. I drive it occasionally and have it serviced each year. Silly, I know, but I could never part with it."

"Then you must keep it."

"No. The vehicle casts a shadow over my life. Until it is gone, I can never be free. The time has come for me to move forward. Take the key."

Matt reluctantly accepted.

"I can never repay you," he said softly.

He could see indecision in her mind.

"There is one thing, perhaps."

"Anything," he said. "Just name it."

She reached into the drawer and threw a rectangular sachet onto the bed. His eyes examined the shiny brown packet. Matt was familiar with its content.

"I have been on my own for many years."

He wasn't sure how to react.

"I can not compel you," she said.

Matt felt the change in temperature immediately. A door or window had been opened. He gripped Britta's arm and pushed her up against the wall, listening for movement. He could hear nothing.

But someone else was here.

"Do not move," he ordered.

Matt slipped out of the door and closed it behind him. The sound of feet along wooden flooring came from the bedroom he had occupied last night. Matt edged towards the door. He stepped to the other side of the threshold and waited. The door slipped open revealing the barrel of a fitted silencer. This was no burglar.

A large head came into view. It turned and looked down the passage from where he had just come. Matt's fist crashed into the temple, jamming the skull against the frame. He pressed the head down with both hands to meet his upcoming knee. A sickening thud preceded the body sinking to the floor where it lay, motionless.

There would be three, he estimated. Where were the other two? Floor boards creaked across the landing. Matt knelt and fired twice. The dark clad figure moaned then collapsed to the floor. Matt relieved both bodies of their weapons and crawled on all fours to the top of the stairs. Another black clad figure was halfway up. He fired twice more. The figure was thrown against the rail and then tumbled backwards. He knew he had to ensure the job was complete. Matt crawled head first down the wooden steps and reached the prone figure. A quick pulse check confirmed death. Three, he confirmed with satisfaction.

Suddenly, light filled the stairwell.

"Matt, what's going on?" said the woman's voice.

"Britta," he yelled. "Get back inside."

The blowpipe sound he knew too well came from his right. Britta screamed. Matt rose and fired, throwing a dark coloured shape against the wall. He sped to the figure, slumped untidily on the floor. A pair of defiant eyes looked up into his. He saw the shoulder wound. Matt hammered the butt of the gun to the covered head and the eyes closed.

He leapt up the stairwell, three at a time. Britta was backed unevenly up against the wall. Blood ran from the wound close to her heart. Her eyes were barely open, serene and placid. He inspected the injury. Britta's hand fell on to his arm.

"Let me go," she said softly.

"No, Britta. No."

"There is nothing to be done. I am a doctor, I know."

He shook his head in disagreement.

"While you're alive there is hope."

Her eyes glanced up to his.

"It is time for me to leave. I want to go."

"No, Britta. I won't allow it."

Her body shivered. Panic rose inside him. Britta's life was ebbing away. He roared in anger.

"Matt," she whispered. "Please do not be angry. Marcus waits for me. He wants me to join him."

A smile forced its way onto her lips. It weakened, and then stilled. Her eyes remained open. He recognised her spirit had flown. Matt lifted his hand and gently closed her eyelids.

"What the hell is wrong with you," he said to the sky.

Consumed by rage Matt hurtled back down the stairs and stood over the fourth assassin. He ripped away the balaclava covering revealing a mass of jet black hair. The body stirred in discomfort. A pair of eyes opened and widened at the sight of the barrel. She was of Asian descent, the skin of her face partially camouflaged against the similarly coloured flooring. Matt pointed the gun to the assassin's head. Her eyes closed in silent acceptance. Matt's finger began to exert pressure. The woman's eyes re-opened.

"What are you waiting for?" she groaned.

He didn't know. Inexplicably, uncertainty had decided to enter his mind and confuse him. This woman had murdered Britta. She would kill Matt, given the chance. So he had every right to pull the trigger. For some reason he couldn't muster the desire. Matt checked his watch.

"Are you the last of this team?" he asked the figure.

"Screw you."

"This is the only chance I'll give you. Are you the last?"

The figure hesitated.

"A ten second silence is all you get," said Matt.

Matt's finger slowly tightened on the trigger.

"Wait," said the woman.

He relaxed his grip.

"How do I know you won't shoot anyway?"

"Because I told you I wouldn't," he said, coldly.

Matt watched her eyes shift from side to side. They stopped the moment she'd made her decision.

"Yes," she replied. "But there are two more teams outside, fully equipped. They've got both vehicles blocking the end of the drive. You can't get out."

Now it was Matt's turn to make a decision. He searched for the two way radio. Matt held it to her face.

"This is what you're going to tell them," he said.

Chapter Thirty Five

Running

Matt reckoned they would hold off for a couple of hours at most. He'd already demonstrated, by refusing to answer the telephone, he wasn't prepared to negotiate. There was only ever likely to be one outcome anyway. While the assassin in his captivity had played her part, telling the others she was the lone survivor and under guard, Matt knew she was expendable as far as they were concerned. The assault, when it happened, would be targeted at Matt. A successful rescue of his captive would represent little more than a bonus.

"You know I'm just collateral," she said.

"Yes."

"Then what makes you think you've achieved anything? They'll be in before dawn."

Matt unwound the cap and spilled two of the tablets into his palm. He offered them and the glass of water to her.

"What are these?"

"Painkillers, they'll take the edge off your shoulder."

"I don't have too long to wait," she said.

"Maybe, maybe not," he said. "I know if I had the choice I'd rather sit in comfort than in pain."

She looked him up and down, uncertain of his real intent. Her eyes told him she'd decided to trust in his offer. Both tablets disappeared, each accompanied by a large gulp of water. Matt waited for them to take effect.

"Durham... what have you given me?"

He said nothing.

"Durham..."

Once her eyelids had closed he set to work. There were a collection of weapons to choose from. He selected two, the ones with the best balance, and filled his pockets with spare clips. Matt clambered out of a side window and crawled round to the SUV. He squeezed inside through a side door, leaving it slightly ajar. Britta had told him she rarely locked the SUV at night. Car crime never reared its head in the locality. He lay across the two front seats and located the necessary controls. The transmission was automatic. He released the handbrake and left the car in park. Matt checked his watch and waited.

It was the sound of a human body brushing against the side of the vehicle that startled him. Matt held his breath, praying they wouldn't notice the door was open. A dark clad shape slipped by on the other side, making no attempt to look inside. Matt raised his head and saw the shape indicate forward with the fingers of its hands, to either side of the gravel drive. He craned his neck. Two further shapes could be seen scurrying towards the house. The one by the car advanced too.

Matt was concerned. They had sent four in the first time. Where was the other? He heard feet against gravel. The last team member had to be near. Again, he heard the sound. It was on his side of the car. The open door would be noticed.

He looked to the house. The initial three were making their entry at different points. Matt spotted the top of a balaclava, rising up at the driver's window. His feet powered against the door, springing it open. A thud sounded as it crashed into the shape and knocked the intruder away. The game was up. Matt turned the ignition and jammed his foot to the accelerator to unleash a surge of brute mechanical power. The SUV leapt forward, shuddering as it went through the automatic gears. He knew the assault team would be calling it in.

Seconds, and the temporary barricade was in view under the moonlight. Two saloon cars straddled the exit, one slightly behind the other. Matt reduced pressure on the pedal, and then slammed his foot back down. The SUV lurched forward. He switched to full beam and lowered the front windows. He ducked as holes began to riddle the windscreen. Matt took a breath and braced himself.

The impact vibrated right through his body. He could hear shouts as the two barriers in front of him were shunted aside. Momentarily, he lost drive and panicked. Had he damaged the transmission? Matt rammed his foot to the pedal. The engine squealed like a stuck pig and he prayed the SUV would still drive. Figures emerged unsteadily from the two battered cars. He stretched an arm to either side and fired indiscriminately through each open window. Matt hammered down at the pedal once more. The SUV slipped to one side. Then it lurched forward again. He turned off the headlights and screamed out onto the main road. Matt turned left and sped along the unlit road, with only the side bulbs lighting his way. The road ahead twisted and turned and he fought the wheel to try and stay on the tarmac.

He waited for the road to straighten before looking in the reverse mirror. There were no headlights following. Their cars must have been too badly damaged. He slowed to allow his heart rate to return to normal, bringing an image of the local reference map into his mind. An hour, at the outside, he reasoned. Then they would have resumed the pursuit in fresh transport. He had to ditch the SUV. Likely he was to be the first person in years to commit a second crime in the locality on the same night, and steal another car.

He drove west for hour upon hour after exchanging the SUV for the hatchback. He found it hard to believe people felt comfortable enough to leave their keys in the ignition in this part of the world. He stopped only to fill up with petrol. The Swiss border had come and gone some time ago. Finally, he pulled up in a town whose name he hadn't bothered to notice. It was so unlike him. There was a small train station, so small CCTV was not in evidence. He bought a ticket and travelled north, to Zurich.

There were three days before the meeting with Catherine. Within that time he had to access the files on the USB whilst avoiding detection. He had the germ of a plan, though he had no idea whether it would work.

Zurich was a stopover. He made sure the CCTV at the train station picked him up then sought out a computer accessory shop. Next, Matt found an internet café. He opened the USB and copied the files onto a handful of new memory sticks. The process took around half an hour, but he elected to remain there longer. When the police cars began their approach he made his move. Matt shuffled to the rear of the building at speed and exited. They would wreck the place. No matter, he had his duplicates.

He took a taxi to the outskirts of town then bussed his way to southern Germany, ending his journey at Zell-Am-See. The small Austrian town was little more than an hour's drive to St Wolfgang.

Along the way he had visited other internet cafes, adding to his USB collection. At the last stop he printed off hard copy and researched all manner of news sites, from Al Jazeera to the Vancouver Sun. Matt reduced his sleep patterns to little more than an hour a time. As he entered the outskirts of Zell-am-See he felt as though he'd been running all his life, and was close to exhaustion.

Matt knew the town layout from a previous visit. He took residence in a centre hotel, asking for a room with a balcony. An adequate space, he considered. A dark and short entrance led into the living area with the washroom accessible through a wooden door immediately to the right. Two single beds had been pushed up to the wall on the left. Opposite was a coffee table and two-seater sofa, from where you could sit and watch the mid-sized LCD television sat on top of a desk housing a mini-bar.

There was one afternoon left to kill before the meeting, enough time to read through the hard copy. Stepping onto the balcony Matt realised the poor choice of room he had made. The hotel was located right next to the main through road of the town. It was busy, and noisy, providing an inadequate environment for quiet study. Disappointed at his carelessness, Matt returned to the room and switched on the television. He found the channel he searched for, soon realising he'd missed the Euro news headlines, sport being the current feature. Irritably, he decided to shower and changed before returning to watch the box at the stroke of the hour.

The headlines offered little of interest, though he watched for a while. Matt was about to switch off when a familiar face appeared on screen and a news bulletin reported on Britta's murder. He turned up the volume. The perpetrator had left no clues at the crime scene and police were asking for witnesses to come forward. The assailant was believed to be a passing vagrant or refugee. Strangely, the authorities made no attempt to link or finger him for the killing.

The photograph of Britta's face withdrew from the screen and sadness began to smother his beating heart, gripping and squeezing the will to live from his veins. Breathing became erratic, sporadic. Matt hammered his fist against the wall in a desperate attempt to release the emotion. He could feel nothing. The fist smacked against the surface once more. Now he could feel it, physical pain. The sensation wrested his mind out of its spiralling dive into oblivion.

He tired of the chase, wearied of the killing. When would it all end? Matt realised he had become a monster, a mirror reflection of his enemies, able to take life without thinking and without a second thought. He had become demonised, soulless. Maybe it was time to do as others urged.

No, said his conscience. He still had the files. Matt looked at his hand. He'd managed to dislocate one of his fingers. It was impossible to concentrate in this confined space. He knew of a place where he could work undisturbed. Matt snapped up the papers and left the room, hoping to find a doctor's surgery along the way.

This was something Matt had always wanted to do, though he would have preferred less stressful circumstances. The young attendant's foot pushed gently at the blue rubber surface and the circular dinghy slid from shore. The lake in Zell-Am-See is smaller than the Wolfgangsee, probably half the size, but still left an ocean of open space.

Matt started up the motor and aimed the craft at the centre of the watery mass. Once comfortable he had reached the mid point he switched off and allowed the dinghy to sit quietly on the placid lake. The centrally housed attachment carrying the barbecue was soon aflame. Matt laid down the two steaks on the grill and sat back. He wondered how these plastic craft never set alight during cooking. The young attendant assured him their safety record was one hundred percent, so how risky could it be? He opened one of the cold bottles and swigged at the lager as he waited for the food to charcoal. All manner of thoughts invaded his mind as the level of alcohol in the 330ml bottle rapidly descended.

There was enough evidence in these papers to confirm the existence of a conspiracy. What the information lacked were specific names. The original conspirators were now all dead, bar Hank Scurrelli. Catherine said the American was under house arrest, so there had to be something else in these files for his opponents to continue the chase. He drained the bottle of its remaining contents, still troubled by what Rosa had said which continued to bug him. It must be important for the issue to keep gnawing away at him the way it did. Matt started to read.

Thirty minutes passed without a hint of a breakthrough. He looked over at the falling sun and smelt burning. He sniffed at the air. Then he remembered. The papers spilled onto the floor of the dinghy as he reached for the grill.

"Oh f...f... flaming grill steaks," he yelled.

Charred was too kind of a description. No amount of living bacteria could have survived on the burnt surfaces of the meat, never mind the edibility of the food. He switched the barbecue off and poked at the remains with the hand grip, managing to prise the blackened shapes off the grill and disappointingly toss them into the lake.

Today had not been a good day. Now he was going to have to spend unnecessary time recovering the papers and put them back into order. Matt collected the scattered documents one at a time and resumed his position.

The cap of the third bottle fell to the bottom of the dinghy, at the same time as the gentle vibration of the mobile alerted him to an incoming text. As promised, Rosa had forwarded details of the rendezvous. Matt didn't see the point in taking a copy of the files through to Catherine; he'd already decided what to do, circulate the evidence to as many news outlets as possible. The political classes weren't up to the job of sorting this out.

That one thought triggered his mind. Now he remembered what Rosa had said which was so important. At first he didn't want to believe. How could he have been so stupid? It was so blindingly obvious. Why hadn't he twigged it from the start?

Deceptions didn't get any bigger than this.

Chapter Thirty Six

Appointment with Darkness

The minute hand had almost reached noon as he stepped onto the road off the pavement. He looked up at precisely the same time as the dark coloured Mercedes with the blacked out windows pulled up on the other side. A rear door opened to invite him inside. Matt took a deep breath and entered, sliding onto the soft leather seating. The driver's head turned and looked him over.

"Durham?"

Matt nodded at the square face of the driver. Probably into his forties the clean shaven, powerfully-jawed head was topped by thickly woven dark hair. In a previous life Matt was sure the guy must have worked as a bouncer, given the steroid induced bulkiness of the strong arms and broad shoulders. The chauffer directed Matt's attention to the open door with a single movement of his eyes, and Matt obediently reached to his side and pulled it shut.

For over twenty minutes the German machine effortlessly glided along the winding roads towards Matt's day of destiny. He had rehearsed every sentence over and over again, minute after minute, hour after hour. Matt had to get this right. Rosa was right. His enemies would adopt a scorched earth policy to those he cherished so their lives depended on him succeeding. Matt practised once more as dark green scenery flashed by the fast moving window. Sub-consciously, he realised they were distancing themselves from St Wolfgang. Consciously, he was a mental mess. Long shots didn't get any longer than this.

The car eased gracefully to a halt. Matt waited for the door to open. He stepped into the sunlight to be instantly greeted by Catherine.

"You are finally here," she said, leaning forward so they could exchange light kisses to each other's cheeks. He was too tired to move the muscles of his face.

"You look weary," she said.

"Knackered would be a better word."

Her lips broadened to a welcoming smile. She looked very different from their last encounter, in China. There, she was unkempt and grubby, hair flattened to her skull by the sapping intensity of the humid atmosphere. Now she was back to the archetypal professional he always known her to be, perfectly groomed and dressed powerfully in a spotlessly clean made to measure business suit.

"I thought we'd be closer to the wedding venue," he said.

"Better to meet away from possible prying eyes. Come, let us go inside. Have you eaten?"

He nodded wearily. Clasping his hand, she led him up the wooden steps into the Tyrolean house. They walked through the main door and entered the next one to the left, revealing a large and open space bathed in daylight. The room had all the trappings of a luxurious office. She motioned him to a green leather chair and sat at the one opposite, behind a solid wood desk pressed up to the tall window. The modern telephone was accompanied by a computer monitor and an expensive looking writing pad. The remaining implement resembled an intercom speaker. Catherine fixed a steady gaze on his eyes and smiled sympathetically.

"Life has been hard for you," she said.

"I've had easier times."

"At least you are in the company of friends now."

He sank back into the chair and exhaled deeply.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Amongst friends... that sounds good."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Perhaps you would prefer to rest first? We can attend to this later."

"No. I'm here now. Let's get it done."

His mood appeared distant, distracted.

"You seem a little preoccupied."

"Disappointed more like."

"Disappointed? About what?" she asked.

"At getting played so easily. And the fact I'm not as clever as I thought I was."

"What do you mean?"

He paused to collect his thoughts.

"This was never about the old guard wanting revenge but a new breed intent on resurrecting The Milieu Principle. Before they could start clandestine operations however, two obstacles had to be removed. The first was to eliminate all the original, surviving plotters. Once they were gone, the political classes would assume the conspiracy had died with them. The new group's other problem was me. They were concerned I had retained copies of the original files and, if I had, what I might ultimately do with them. They couldn't risk I might do nothing. A loose end, you could say."

"Go on," she said.

"Like a dumb sheep I followed their carefully laid path, via a diary. This led me to the immediate vicinities of each of the old guard's homes as and when they suffered their untimely demises. The problem for the conspirators was I hadn't, up to then, physically harmed anybody or revealed the location of any files in my possession."

Her brow furrowed with curiosity.

"So they released news of your detainment in China. Matt Durham responded much as they predicted he would. I left my sole surviving copy of the files with someone I believed was able and could trust, and then went charging in to China with all guns blazing. Once I had taken out Chen and Tanaka their plan was complete. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. They had the files, and now I was discredited as a killer. Who was going to believe the protestations of a convicted murderer?"

"So why did they not close their trap?"

"Fortunately, fate played a decisive hand. Chen decided to delve into his old Milieu files at the same time I happened to enter his room."

Her gaze was steady, unflinching.

"By copying the files onto a memory stick I had regained possession of the very thing the conspirators wanted to relieve me of, perhaps with additional information. The only saving grace for them was that Chen's files had been doctored with encryption."

"The conspirators would surely know this. How would this be of concern to them?"

"They couldn't chance I might crack the code. They knew if I did, I would go public this time. Their first attempt to stop me was to force a plane crash. This failed, so they had to try something else. They realised I wasn't going to show myself until I'd found a way in so they set another trap, found a way of putting me in touch with someone who could decrypt the files on the USB. By rigging it with an alarm feed they hoped to track down my lair before I could do anything with them. It would have worked too had I not spotted the CIA agents at the Wolfgangsee."

Matt paused for breath.

"The time I spent in Berchesgaden was the turning point."

"How do you mean?"

"It forced me to take a time out, look at the problem from a different angle. Up until then I'd been focussing my attention on the wrong issue, as I already essentially knew what was on the files. The encryption was a red herring. Sending copies to enough media outlets would have aroused sufficient curiosity for someone to find a way of breaking the code. No, the real key lay in who was behind it all.

Catherine leaned forward expectantly. He was ready.

"I really should have twigged it the day Rosa came calling in Hallstatt, when she told me you had asked her to bring me in, along with the files."

"That is correct. What of it?"

"I didn't tell anyone about the download in China. Not Rosa, not you. The only people who would therefore know I had regained possession of the files would be the conspirators themselves, once they'd checked the file history on Chen's computer after we'd fled from the residence."

Catherine's eyes briefly flickered from their fixed position.

"You were never at Chen's luxury residence under duress, Catherine," said Matt. "You were there to question him and Tanaka about the Milieu files."

Matt held his attention on her face. Oddly, her expression didn't alter. He found this worrying, the absence of concern on her part. Catherine was still for a few moments. Then she reached forward and touched at the button on the intercom.

"You had better come and join us." she said into the machine.

The door opened and Matt heard the sound of footsteps against the wooden floor. He didn't have to look round to identify the individual.

"I wondered when you would make your appearance, Mr Cole."

"It's good to see you again, Matt," said the voice.

The man he knew to be Will Salmon occupied the adjacent seat. Once he had settled into the chair Catherine returned her gaze to Matt. He looked into her eyes. They bore the look of someone supremely confident of their position.

"So what is the purpose of your attendance today?"

"To give you this," said Matt, reaching into his side pocket to produce a USB. He placed it on the table directly in front of her. "It is what you asked me to bring after all."

She glanced at Cole.

"It is now your intention to join with us?"

"Not exactly," he said. "I spent most of yesterday and last night preparing dozens and dozens of copies for distribution to investigative journalists, academic institutions and the like. Flood the market, so to speak. Once they've all been received people will be all over this thing like a rash, lifting the lid on your plans for good. Politicians will have to respond. Not just on the conspiracy, but on the wider population issue too. The electorates will demand it."

"You chose not to e-mail the information?"

He shook his head.

"You have the capacity to intercept e-mails. Something Rosa taught me. It felt prudent to take a cautious approach, a more circuitous route."

He expected his comments to worry her. She straightened her posture, intertwining her long fingers as if in prayer. Matt expected rage to spill from her mouth.

"Rosa has much to answer for," she said lightly.

Her manner remained calm, indifferent. It was surreal. Matt decided to press ahead.

"What I don't understand is why. Why you, of all people could let yourself be drawn into such a despicable thing."

"You are well versed in the arguments. The case is amply demonstrated in the files. It is in the interests of all."

This wasn't how he'd imagined events to unfold. Catherine remained unperturbed. Matt persuaded himself this to be bravado on her part. Deep down, she had to be experiencing fear, rising panic.

"You mean your interests."

"Civilisation cannot survive should things continue as they are. We are nearing the point where the demand for resources will outstrip the planet's ability to supply, unable to sustain the twenty four hour cycle of consumption currently enjoyed by many. The only sensible option is to initiate a human cull, much in the same way we humans control the growth of other species."

He was dumbstruck. She surely couldn't have fallen victim to the propaganda of the conspirators.

"Culling human beings is not the solution. How can you possibly argue a case for immediate global genocide without fully exploring every other option?"

"The global population presently stands around six billion. A third of these already live in poverty and squalor. They are beyond salvation, so why prolong a life of suffering? Rogue states offer the world nothing other than global insecurity. As for the criminal classes they exist only to extort the innocent, forcibly take life and possessions which are not theirs to take. Why should they continue to be permitted to live amongst those who believe in the sanctity of law?"

"And what of the elderly, what have they ever done?"

She paused for a moment.

"Advances in medical science allow us to prolong life far beyond the natural life cycle. For what purpose?" she asked. "They make no active contribution to the development of our society. Rather they consume limited resources in ever greater quantities. They continue to enjoy life at the expense of those who might live in the future."

She believed it. Catherine Vogel, the great humanitarian, had convinced herself this was necessary. Matt could hardly believe his ears.

"You'll be old one day, Catherine. Or perhaps you get an exemption?"

She leaned forward, concentrating her impassive gaze on his face.

"I asked you once what you would do," she said. "Could you provide an answer? No, there is no easy answer. At least, not one that allows everybody to live happily ever after. We already exist in a world of mass starvation. These levels can only increase. What happens when the developed nations are no longer able to provide meaningful employment, income and resource for their citizens so they might avoid the poverty trap bar a privileged few? What then? Do you allow society to drift into anarchy and despair? This is necessary."

He understood the argument, and the consequence of doing nothing didn't bear thinking about. But this had to be wrong. It surely couldn't be right to prematurely end billions of lives for no reason other than they were considered to be unworthy, beyond salvation. He was struck by the venom with which she referred to the criminal classes and wondered if recent history had played on her mind.

"This isn't the way to avenge your daughter's murder."

She baulked at his words.

"And what's your excuse?" asked Matt, turning towards the man whose name he now knew to be Will Cole. The man held Matt's gaze.

"I've lost too many mates to evil. Iraq, Afghanistan. They are tips of the iceberg. You have no idea. Even as we sit the real villains of the world are plotting more atrocities, putting explosive devices together to kill and maim thousands."

They each had their demons, Matt realised. To some extent he could empathise. Catherine raised her hand to prevent Cole from offering any further illumination. Matt returned his gaze to her. He noted someone was missing and felt he had to ask the obvious question.

"Where is the third of your triumvirate?"

"The third?" she asked.

Matt assumed she was toying with him.

"Gratia," he said.

"Gratia Fuchs?"

"Yes."

Catherine's expression was one of bemusement.

"She is to be tried and then sentenced, for the murder of one Matthias Schumann."

"But she's your agent? Gratia is the one who deciphered the diary and set down the path you wanted me to follow. She arranged for me to enter China and organised the decryption."

"It is true. Gratia provided assistance with both the diary and in organising your illegal entry into China, but these actions were not done at our bidding. However the knowledge she helped you before presented us with an opportunity, to manufacture an apparent chance introduction to Matthias, in the hope you would contact her again."

"You're lying," he said.

"Not at all, Matthias was our agent."

"What?"

Catherine's confident smile cut into his heart.

"Matthias was sent to make contact with you and gain your trust. This may have worked had the CIA not intervened."

His heart sank. He'd been certain of Gratia's involvement with these people. It was so obvious. Matt's mind struggled to accept this new information.

"I don't understand. Why... is Gratia being charged with this murder?"

"An open and shut case, she has confessed to the killing."

"Bullshit! What possible motive could she have to kill this man?"

Catherine's expression was one of surprise, as if he should have known. Matt couldn't understand why Catherine would respond this way. Her thin lips took the form of an inadvertent grimace.

"The confession reveals the victim had demanded payment for some work in a manner to which she was unprepared to comply. When he pressed his claim she stabbed him in the heart."

"So it was self defence?" he protested.

"There exists no evidence to substantiate her story. Gratia Fuchs will not reveal to the authorities the work she says she employed him to do. It is an enchanting quality you possess, this ability to engender loyalty from people you barely know. First it was Rosa, then Johannes and now Gratia Fuchs."

Matt could feel anger building. He was close to exploding amidst the tidal wave of emotion rising inside, threatening to swamp his rational deliberation.

Imprisonment would remove everything she had worked to achieve in life. Images of the arrest scene formed in his mind, of handcuffs being snapped around her slender wrists. Then she would have had to endure being driven to a police station and formally charged, photographed and fingerprinted as a common criminal. The experience would be nothing short of a nightmare.

He pictured the interrogation. Detectives yelling into her ears, demanding she reveal every final detail of events leading up to the killing, before her eventual incarceration. Any lesser being would have crumbled under the intense pressure, the humiliation, and told them everything. Instead, she elected to say nothing in the hope this would somehow protect Matt.

He felt stupid. Worse, that it he who'd betrayed her. Matt fought the surging rage. This was the wrong time to lose his discipline.

"You can't allow this injustice to happen. For God's sake, the woman was only trying to defend herself from assault. Surely you, of all people, should be able to relate to that kind of threat."

She was surprisingly hesitant to answer.

"It is an openly reported civil matter, one in which justice must be seen to have been done and beyond my scope for intervention."

Her icy stare was unrelentingly harsh and unsympathetic, entirely inconsiderate towards Gratia's misfortune. Matt used to admire the woman sitting before him. Now, all he felt was contempt.

"You really are a bitch," he spat. "Is this what your brave new world is about? How many other people like Gratia will end up on a list for extermination for the sole reason they tried to protect themselves?"

Catherine blinked twice.

"I am not a monster, Matt."

"Oh I don't know. Murdering sixty percent of the planet's population would seem to give you a head start on most other people."

He could see her mind working. A mind he understood to be cold and ruthless. She glanced at her watch, as if bored by the tedious nature of his remark. All the while the look in her eyes remained steady and emotionless.

"I ask you to look beyond the horizon. Humankind is on the precipice. The longer human consumption goes unchecked the less it leaves for future generations. Their suffering will be our legacy if we do not act. Despite the humanitarian qualities you possess I know you are not without sympathy for our position. You must see we work towards the greater good, no matter how painful the consequences might appear."

Her words surprised him. Under any other circumstances he might have interpreted them as a rallying call. For the dangers facing civilisation due to over consumption were not lost on him.

Catherine checked her watch again.

"Little time remains. I had hoped to avoid this," she said.

He wondered what she meant. Matt heard the crackle of a two-way radio. Cole lifted the device to his ear.

"They're here," he said.

Catherine sank back in the chair. Whatever the message, it didn't sound good. Cole left the room. Matt studied the Austrian woman, her air of confidence replaced by anxiety.

"I can help you no longer," she said softly.

"Help me! Christ, if you mean being chased all over China, threatened with a plane crash and then the subject of a SAS hit team in Berchesgaden is help then I can well do without."

She looked worried. The change in her demeanour abrupt, completely the opposite of the façade she had presented only moments before.

"I did not want this."

"Want what?"

She hesitated.

"You once said to me, in Brussels, the Americans were not at their strongest. You were wrong. They are as powerful as ever."

He didn't get the opportunity to comment further. The door flung open and a group of men powered into the room. Matt glimpsed Cole at the rear. Standing at the head of the group was the reason they had tried to prevent Matt from making the files public. The greased hair, high forehead and pale skinned complexion were instantly recognisable. The man's thin lips curled into a Dracula-like snarl.

Chapter Thirty Seven

Two Faces of Evil

Hank Scurrelli stormed across to Matt and sneered into the Englishman's face.

"Do you have it all?" he snapped to Catherine.

She shook her head.

"Copies are poised for distribution."

"Hello Hank," Matt smirked. "I thought you'd retired to the country."

His attempt at humour was short lived. The American drew back his hand and brought it crashing against Matt's jaw, the ring on Scurrelli's finger puncturing the skin around the lips. The force of the blow toppled Matt out of the chair, knocking him to the floor. Dazed by the assault, Matt tried to focus his eyes. He noticed Scurrelli nod to the man on his left.

Handcuffs snapped onto Matt's wrists. A thin wire or rope, he wasn't sure, was knotted around the cuffs. The remainder of the line looped over an exposed wooden beam, running the full length of the ceiling. This too was tied into place. Two of the new group hauled at the line. Matt felt the handcuffs dig into his wrists and then his body jerked awkwardly along the floor. Another violent tug of the wire and Matt's arms were pulled above his head. Slowly, inexorably, he was lifted up from the wooden floor.

Once his feet dangled in the air the tugging stopped. Hands ripped the shirt from his body. Plastic sheeting was pushed underneath. He could feel two circular pads being attached to the small of his back. They felt wet.

Matt looked down upon the group from his newly elevated position. Already the pressure to his wrists and shoulders was immense. His head sank forward. Were they expecting him to groan or make some sort of submissive noise; they could go to hell.

The first surge of electrical current was unexpected. Matt's mouth twisted awkwardly as he ground the two layers of his teeth together. His body convulsed in shock. A second wave speared into the muscles. This one was longer, more intense.

Scurrelli neared and held out an arm. Something was placed urgently into his right hand. He stepped back. Matt saw the arm swing round from behind. The impact of the barbed cane-like object took a while to register. It was only when it had come to rest back at Scurrelli's side he noticed the sharp edged shapes packed unequally along its length. Fresh blood dripped from each one. Pain announced its arrival. Numbing at first it quickly morphed into spears of excruciating agony. He hoped his face wouldn't reveal the depth of pain inflicted.

Scurrelli drew back his arm and released the instrument of torture once more. The searing pain was instant. Matt could feel blood weeping openly from jagged wounds to his torso. Scurrelli neared again. He peered at Matt with a searching look, apparently curious at the ongoing silence from his captive.

"That's what it is," he said. "Something about you Durham always bugged me. I've never been able to work it out, until now. You're one of life's fucking heroes, aren't you? One of those people who get it into their heads they're right and everyone else on the planet is wrong."

Matt didn't respond. He couldn't.

"You know the problem with heroes, Durham? They never do exactly what they're fucking told. Give a normal man an instruction and he'll follow it to the letter. Tell a self-righteous hero to do something and he fucking ignores you."

The pain was unbearable, too much for Matt to attempt a response. He looked around the room. Cole stood at the door, straight-faced. Catherine was tapping her fingers agitatedly against a keyboard.

"There's something else I've discovered about heroes over the years. They don't have any friends. Not a single, goddamn one. You don't have any friends do you, Durham? That nurse, the one in Victoria; Jenna Douglas or something, she doesn't like you much."

The vitriol continued to spit out from Scurrelli's lips, urged on by the blackest of hate-filled eyes. Matt realised there was more bile to come.

"Cole can tell you all about Jenna Douglas. Isn't that right, Will? She's turning out to be a real carnal athlete, adventurous too. The woman is goddamn insatiable. Always wanted to do her, didn't you Durham? Be the first to get inside. Well you're too late. She's been done. She's being done. Guys are queuing round the block waiting to do her. I'll bet if someone asked her about you today she wouldn't even be able to remember your fucking name. She's having too good a fucking time."

Matt fought to suppress the aches pulsating throughout his body. He tried to tell his mind to ignore the pain, to focus on summoning up one last surge of energy.

"And the Cain bitch?" hissed Scurrelli. "When we told her you were dead she never blinked, not once. Why would she? She's getting married after all, to a normal guy. Just goes to prove my point. Nobody likes you Durham. Nobody wants you in their world."

Matt could feel energy returning.

"So why were you resisting? Nobody wants to be saved by you, Durham. No-one's going to be eternally grateful to a piece of shit like you."

Scurrelli's glare burned into the eyes of his helpless victim, the enjoyment in his face clear for all to see. The American had lived for this moment.

"Go to the movies, Durham?" jeered the triumphant Scurrelli. "Hollywood would have you believe heroes resist torture for days, even weeks. The reality is different, because we know what to do. We know what gets results, and fast."

The American drew back his arm, ready to thrash at him once more. Matt gripped at the wire around the cuffs and drew his body up. Raising his legs, he circled them round the neck of the American. All he needed was to twist his body.

Then he felt the surge of an electric shock and angry pain seared into his frame. Matt tried to ignore the burning sensation, tried to get his limbs to move in unison with the thought processes in his mind. Another surge ran through him. Muscles tensed then involuntarily relaxed, and his mind went into freefall. As his legs fell away he felt the bones of his body jar to the impact of falling back into mid-air suspension.

The American vented his rage with two violent lashings of the barbed cane against Matt's bare torso. It was too much, a cry of pain escaped from Matt's mouth at each impact. Where there was once a dribble of blood from the opened gashes now felt like a flood.

"Skin the bastard!" yelled Scurrelli. "Skin him slow until he talks."

The heavy set man in front produced a large blade. He held the gleaming steel in the air so Matt's weakening eyes could see what was coming. A cold sharpness touched to the flesh of his bare torso.

Matt looked down upon Vogel and Scurrelli, the two faces of evil, and prayed he wouldn't scream too much.

Chapter Thirty Eight

Surrender

The point of the cold blade pierced Matt's skin at the juncture between his arm and chest.

"Enough, Hank," shouted a woman's voice.

"Stay out of this, Catherine. You had your shot."

The ensuing silence came from nowhere. Matt saw the cold steel rise and press against his flesh once more.

"This is not a request," insisted Catherine, glancing at the monitor on the desk. "There is an alternate way to extract the information from him."

"How?" asked an irritated Scurrelli.

"Cut him down and I will show you."

The American glared, furious at her unwanted interruption, then nodded to the brute with the blade. Matt collapsed into a heap on the plastic sheeting, sliding momentarily against the surface made greasy by his dripping blood.

"Untie him," ordered Catherine.

"No."

"Untie him," she insisted. "And place him in the chair."

Matt's hands were freed from the metal restraints. Two sets of powerful, gloved hands lifted him off the plastic sheet and deposited his limp body unceremoniously into the chair. Matt was sure his battered frame must be in agony. He could feel nothing. It took an age before he could lift his eyes to look into Catherine's face.

"There is a first aid kit in the next room," she said to Cole.

"I don't want any help from either of you people," hissed Matt.

Her eyes narrowed. She motioned with her head again and Cole left. Catherine waited until he'd returned. She pushed the cloth covered package towards Matt. He looked down at the cross of red within the white circle and then returned his gaze without moving. After a moment of studious deliberation she turned the monitor so Matt could view the screen. She nodded to Cole again and he spoke into the radio. Images began to form.

Pictures of a large dining area flickered onto the screen. He saw Martha, then Gerhardt, applauding. Others joined them in welcoming the newlyweds into the vast room. Matt had never seen the bridegroom before. He had been curious to see what the man looked like. Instead, he found he only had eyes for the bride.

Rosa had selected a traditional Austrian dirndl dress. The dark bodice was accompanied by the similarly coloured full skirt, white blouse and apron. Her long blonde hair fell around her face and was adorned by an expensive looking tiara, no doubt a gift from the groom. Rosa looked radiant, beautiful, as if this traditional attire had been imagined all those hundreds of years ago solely for her.

And she looked happy, the happiest he had seen for some time. She used to be a Government assassin. Now, all she wanted was to lead an ordinary and normal life.

"You see the happiness in Rosa's face," said Catherine. "She is now a bride and, like all brides, she looks forward to the next chapters in her life."

He noticed Cole receive further instruction from a simple blink of her eyes. The camera shifted from the happy throng and concentrated on the tall windows of the room. The images slipped, concentrating their attention on small canister like appliances attached below the sills.

"Do you notice the fittings, Matt?"

He didn't respond.

"Look at them carefully. Each one contains a dosage of the Milieu virus. Before its release upon the world at large it has been decided to test its effectiveness. Only through practical experimentation could one hope to be properly prepared for its true impact. Would you not agree?"

There was no chance of him reacting. The pain in his body wouldn't allow it anyway.

"We shall run one further trial, in a different part of the world, to be absolutely sure. Perhaps an island off the west coast of Canada, such as Victoria, might prove to be a suitable location."

The inner struggle to conceal rising alarm was in danger of surfacing.

"The celebration meal you see should last for around two hours and is to be broken only by the tradition of the bride's pretend kidnapping by local men, for which the groom must pay a ransom to have her returned. An event usually enjoyed by all. However, before this happens the first symptoms will have been discovered and the party detained in isolation. The village residents will be immunised and the town quarantined. Rosa will be the sole member of the party to understand the horror of what is happening, the fate that awaits them. It will be the same in Victoria."

He thought furiously.

"I don't bluff easily," he managed to say.

"You believe me to be a monster. I may as well live up to your expectations."

The muscles in his face tightened. He glanced at her face. Catherine's eyes were fixed, steady and unwavering.

"In that one room are all the people you regard most in the world, except for perhaps the bridegroom," she said. "Is your heart strong enough to permit you to watch them suffer an unpleasant end? And then allow the same in Victoria."

"I don't have any friends, remember?" he said. "So why should I care?"

She leaned forward, propped her elbows on the desk, and gave him a confident smile.

"Oh but you do care, Matt. Individual loyalty is the one attribute which defines you. It is who you are. And they are the best of people, remember?

The agonising throbbing of his wounds grew. He grimaced as spearing pains rampaged throughout his body. Matt forced out a hand and tugged at the green clothed medicinal kit. The fingers of his bloodied hands struggled to unzip the case.

Catherine reached to assist in releasing the opening. Matt somehow found the energy to pull the pack away from her grasp. He pawed at a piece of gauze and dabbed it gently to a wound. The sheer effort drained at his sapping strength. Matt felt as though life was ebbing away, almost to the point of falling into unconsciousness. With each passing second he could feel his resolve weakening. Somehow, he had to find a way of digging deep into his reserves and find the strength to concentrate.

"Not really much of a proposition," he said. "Surrender the lives of billions, including mine, in exchange for a handful of people in Austria and Victoria. Negotiation is not a strong point of yours, is it?"

"On the contrary, it is the strongest possible hand. I offer you freedom and a clean slate. And all the people you value in life will also be allowed to survive," she said.

Her steady gaze ignored his obvious physical distress.

"There will be a human cull. Perhaps you might delay it further than planned, and this would be regrettable. However, there is a process in place that cannot be halted."

Matt looked at her blankly, incredulous of her words.

"There is nothing right about the taking of lives that don't deserve to be lost."

"Innocent casualties are indeed unfortunate. I wish this would not happen but it is a consequence of what must be done. However, you have my assurance these numbers will be kept to a minimum. Our primary target will be the criminal classes, followed by those who already endure hopeless misery and suffering."

"Be careful, Catherine. You're in danger of exhibiting the first characteristics of being a humanitarian," he said.

Her icy stare hardened, unforgiving of the sarcastic tone in his voice. Remarkably, she retained her professional composure.

"The future path for our planet is now set. At best you can succeed merely in postponing the inevitable. What you can prevent however, is the early passing of those you value."

So this is what it had come down to, a game of chicken. In truth there were no more cards to play, from either side. Could he allow these people to die? Would Catherine really carry out her threat? The eyes had it. She would do whatever it took to force his compliance.

"I used to admire you once upon a time," he said.

He tried to sound as disgusted as his battered and bleeding body would allow.

"Think on your predicament in this way. Those who will perish are not known to you, as you are not known to them. The people in this room however, mean everything to you. There must be a cull, to preserve the species. Who would you prefer the victims were to be?"

The inner emotion briefly subsided within him. The cold logic of their case wasn't lost on him. But this didn't make it right. He had made his decision. There was no way he could agree to her terms.

"No," he said.

"As you wish," she said sharply.

Her head turned towards Cole and nodded for the order to be implemented. He raised the radio to his lips and pressed the speaker button. Matt closed his eyes, waiting for the words to spill from Cole's mouth.

Matt had long considered he might lose his own life in this struggle. He had mentally prepared himself for the possible outcome. Somehow, the reality of the threat to those he most cherished never quite seemed possible, never truly existed in his mind. Matt had brought this down on their heads. He felt despair. Memories flooded into his mind of a conversation he'd had with Britta.

"Not everyone is there," he heard himself whisper.

Catherine's right eyebrow rose sharply. She lifted her hand to stop Will Cole giving the order. He took his finger from the button and slowly allowed the radio to fall from his mouth.

"Who is missing?"

"Gratia," Matt replied.

The name slipped from his mouth as though it had a life of its own. He could see Catherine rationalising the effects of his request. He watched as she turned the monitor from his view then intertwined the long fingers of her hands.

"It is not possible," she said. "There is far too much public interest."

Her words temporarily drained the remaining power from his eyes. He had to refocus.

"Gratia, or there's no deal."

Catherine's surprise was evident. Two of her fingers rested on the keyboard. He noticed her furtively glance at Scurrelli before returning her studious gaze to Matt.

"Why Gratia Fuchs?" she asked.

"She helped me. The least I owe is to free her from a life behind bars or execution."

Matt resisted the temptation to shift his gaze from her icy stare, meeting her cold expression with one of his own. He had to hold his nerve. She finally broke the stand off, having made her decision.

"It is imp..."

"Please," he heard himself say.

Catherine glanced at the monitor. Matt noticed its image reflected in the window behind her. Words appeared on the screen. They were too far away for him to be able to read the incoming message. Matt allowed his head to drop back, as if racked by needling pain. He spotted the camera fitting above the window pane. Someone else was watching events unfold. And they were giving Catherine instruction as she spoke. The Austrian woman looked up at Scurrelli for a second time. A wisp of a triumphant smile crossed her lips. She returned her attention to Matt.

"The files must be back in our custody within the next two hours," she said. "Then the deal is sanctioned. You have my word."

He tried to focus his mind.

"Does that mean anything these days?"

Catherine glanced at Scurrelli.

"It has been agreed," was all she said.

Matt stretched an aching arm across the desk. He used the pencil to scribble a note.

"You'll find them at the hotel reception," he said. "Each one enveloped and addressed for despatch. The instruction is for them to be mailed if I am not back by this time tomorrow, or unless someone arrives with these written words."

She passed the note to Scurrelli.

"How can I be sure this is everything?" she asked.

"Because we have an agreement and I keep my word," he replied wearily. "There are no other copies, either electronic or hard, currently in my possession."

"We'll use the chopper," said Scurrelli.

The American contingent galloped from the room. Matt slumped hard against the back of the chair, close to physical surrender. He turned to face Catherine. She rose, indicating with a nod of her head for Cole to leave the room. Once he had closed the door behind him she started to examine the contents of the first aid bag.

"Don't even think about it," he hissed. "I don't want any help from you."

She pushed the kit towards him. Matt rested a bloodied hand on the rim. This one effort sapped his reserves of energy. He paused. Willing his fingers to move, Matt nudged around at the contents in search of relief. He found the bottle and soft pads. Removing both felt like an effort too far. Somehow he kept hold of the plastic container. His other hand circled the lid. He tried to twist, unsuccessfully. Matt tried again. The same outcome resulted. All the while, blood continued to trickle from the open wounds.

Catherine approached cautiously. He looked up through defeated eyes. She knelt beside him and hesitated. Her hands touched at his arms and lifted them gently away. He could see the concern over how he might react in her eyes. She needn't have worried. He was physically spent. Matt watched as she opened the bottle and soaked some of its contents onto a pad.

"This will hurt a little," she said.

The coldness against the wound made him flinch. After the initial shock, he thought he could feel the pain to the injury ease. She moved to the next in line.

"You are an obstinate pig," she said quietly. "To endure such pain when it was clear to the biggest fool on the planet you were beaten."

There it was again. The exact description used by others. Matt was beginning to believe there was something to this recurring assessment of his personality. He closed his eyes. His mind travelled back in time, to the last occasion her long fingers caressed his naked torso. This tenderness to her touch felt surreal. Moments ago she appeared content to sit back and sanction his brutal torture, and then murder.

"You know I'm going to kill you for this. The first chance I get," he whispered, on re-opening his eyes.

She looked up.

"I think not. Have you forgotten China?"

"China has nothing to do with this. I never agreed to be party to global genocide."

Catherine temporarily halted. She stared long and hard into his eyes. Something was on her mind.

"China has everything to do with this," she said.

A strange comment, he considered, though he hadn't the will to analyse the statement with any great depth. For the moment it was enough to allow his body to be tended by Catherine's patient and healing touch.

"Some of these need to be stitched," she said.

"That's no ordinary first aid kit. This must be a safe house, used by the secret services. You'll find everything you need in there."

Catherine retreated to the first aid bag and searched. After a period of rummaging she identified the items he expected her to find. She returned to kneel at his side with the necessary equipment.

"All I can offer is alcohol," she said.

Matt assumed this to mean an anaesthetic replacement. He shook his head and readied for the needlework to begin. The activity was conducted in silence. Every now and again she caused him to groan, particularly as the threads were tightened into a knot. She neared the last one. He summoned up the energy to look at her face, filled with concentration.

"For someone who was prepared to sit back and watch me suffer a short time ago you seem to be going to an awful lot of trouble."

The muscles in her face relaxed into a smile.

"Despite Hank's words not everyone dislikes you, though you do not make it easy for people. In a strange way some have come to admire you. There is a genuine disappointment you have been on the opposite side."

"Remind me not to cultivate this admiration thing too much."

She laughed gently. Matt could scarcely believe what was happening. He was sharing humour with an enemy, whilst she mended wounds they had inflicted upon him.

"Do you expect Scurrelli to stick to the deal?"

"Yes. Even Hank has to answer to someone. Why do you ask?"

"The guy is not my number one fan."

"You have often made him look foolish. He is a man who does not take kindly to being upstaged."

As attempts at reassurance go, this was as good as he could have expected. Despite her confidence, Matt was anything but convinced. He decided to change tack.

"Does Rosa really believe I'm dead?"

"Yes. I had to break the news. She has not spoken about it. Rosa masks her emotions with great skill."

"She's a bit like you then?"

Catherine smiled.

"I like Rosa. From the very first moment I met her."

"Well she's in for a big surprise when I turn up for what's left of the reception," he said.

"No," was the instant reply. "After business is concluded you must return home immediately and never return."

"You're not serious?"

"Very," said Catherine. "Once you leave here you cannot come back to Europe. Not only is this part of the deal, it is also better this way."

"Better for whom?"

"For everybody," she said. "Rosa has married and starts a new life. Martha and Gerhardt will return to their old one. Any sudden reappearance on your part can only disturb what has become settled. Your life is back in Victoria, Matt. Go home and enjoy it."

"Just like that," he said edgily.

Catherine looked up. Her measured gaze was intended to impress upon him the importance of her next few words.

"You have won them a reprieve. Do not underestimate the value of this achievement. Nor doubt the consequences of jeopardising this hard won concession. For once, do exactly as you are told."

It was an impressively earnest display. Catherine almost managed to sound as if she cared about other people.

"And if they decide to visit Victoria, what then?" he asked.

"They won't."

Catherine said it with such certainty Matt believed there were some measures in place to prevent the situation from ever happening.

"I suppose you're probably right. Rosa is pregnant after all," he said.

She nodded.

"I believe she is ready for motherhood."

The affection towards Rosa in Catherine's tone gave Matt cause to consider.

"So would you really have done it, released the virus at the wedding?"

No sooner had he spoke then she yanked the final two ends of thread together, causing him to yelp aloud with the sharp infusion of sudden pain. She muttered an apology of sorts but he understood the context.

"Why is Gratia Fuchs so important to you?"

He thought for a moment.

"I told you, she helped me. It would have been wrong not to help her in return."

"Is this the only reason?"

"It's the only one I can think of right now."

He recalled the images he had witnessed on the screen. The groom was giving his speech. Rosa's happy beam was fixed on to the audience. Martha was both over-excited and tearful while Gerhardt smiled patiently, constantly stretching his neck in a futile attempt to try and escape from the collar and tie.

"Gratia will want to see her father," he said.

"That will not happen," replied Catherine. "Her release can only be granted if it is done with discretion and secrecy, away from the public eye. The challenge you have left us with to free Gratia is immense, because of her previous position in society."

Matt realised instantly what she meant.

"Previous! So she won't be able to return to her job, or her profession. What the hell do you expect her to do?"

She glanced up at him.

"For someone who you believe is owed only a favour, you exhibit a great deal of concern for her welfare."

He decided against answering.

"Likely her freedom will involve a fresh identity and a new occupation. Gratia will have to find her own way in life once released," she added. "There, though it is less than perfect the stitches should hold. Give me your hands."

He offered up his open palms and she began to wipe the drying blood from the deep incisions, caused by gripping the wire too tightly.

"There's no guarantee your madcap plans will succeed, you know that don't you. Some of the people you don't want to survive are bound to slip through the net."

She chose to ignore his words. Catherine made to stand up and move away. Matt grabbed at Catherine's wrist to prevent her leaving.

"Why did you intervene, with Scurrelli?"

"Intervene?"

"I got the impression you wanted to stop him from killing me. Why?"

She thought for a moment.

"We are friends, Matt," she replied. "China, remember?"

He released her wrist and she rose. Matt watched her return to the first aid bag and search inside, returning to his side with bandages.

"Try and move forward," she said.

He forced himself to sit upright. Catherine circled her arms around his torso and proceeded to wrap the bandage around his body. As she tightened the dressing a groan was forced from his mouth. She rose, walked to the water machine and returned with a half full plastic beaker. He guzzled the water and winced.

"I will see if I can find a fresh shirt. Is there anything else you need?"

"The window," he said. "I'd like to sit by the window."

Catherine helped him round to her chair, after turning it to face the large glass pane. He heard her switch off the monitor on the desk.

"What happens next?"

"I search for a shirt and then we wait for Hank to return."

He nodded. She was about to disappear through the door when a final question arrived in his mind.

"Does Rosa know, about your involvement in this?"

She looked at him blankly.

"I will not be long," she replied, and then disappeared.

Matt glanced at the camera fitting. Someone was watching him. He raised his arms to try and stretch the aching muscles of his body. His wounds wouldn't allow them to rise very far. Seemingly disappointed, he lowered them and gazed out of the window. Matt sank back into the chair and his left hand rested on the keyboard. He glanced up to the camera at the same time as exerting downward pressure onto the screen print button. He prayed the machine would run silent. It did.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Forest Walk

Forty minutes went by before Catherine reappeared. The shirt happened to be a size too large, which proved to be a blessing. The garment rested so lightly over his frame he could barely feel the touch of denim against his skin. She offered to help him fix the buttons but he chose to struggle alone.

"Hank has arrived," she said, looking out of the window.

Matt wondered if Scurrelli would kill him now or leave it until they were out of Catherine's line of sight. The door burst open to the American's gleeful face.

"Got them," he bellowed.

Catherine turned to Matt.

"Will can take you to the airport now."

"We'll do it," demanded Scurrelli.

"Your job is done, Hank. This man is our responsibility."

"No chance," he hissed. "We're taking him. End of story."

Matt could see she the exchange had angered her. Scurrelli clearly outranked Catherine and this obviously rankled. The American's insistence also confirmed to Matt what he should expect from the forthcoming journey.

"It's alright, Catherine. A ride is a ride."

Her burning eyes snapped onto Matt's face. She hadn't wanted him to agree so readily.

"The deal with Gratia and the others still holds though, doesn't it?" he said to her.

She nodded. Matt tried to rise from the chair, succeeding only in sprawling over the desk as his feet gave way. She made to help him, but he refused.

"I have to try and do this alone," he said. "The movement will help get some strength back into my body."

Scurrelli sneered from the doorway as Matt tried again. He knew what was coming, so to get any sort of mobility into his limbs was going to be important.

"There is an agreement, Hank," said Catherine.

The Dracula-like lips widened into a smile but spoke no words. While the two stared blackly at each other, Matt used the uncomfortable silence to his advantage. Placing his body between the printer and the camera, he sneaked the two pieces of paper from the tray and folded them into his pants.

"Use the car," demanded Catherine of the triumphant American.

Through the corner of his eye, Matt saw her glance towards Cole. Matt steadied himself and walked uncertainly towards the door, baby steps was the best he could do. Once outside he was surrounded by Scurrelli's people. Catherine followed a short distance behind.

Matt not so much entered as was bundled into the back seat, bringing the deep seated pains his mind had tried to suppress back to the surface. He tried to acknowledge Catherine with some sort of wave of the hand. Matt doubted she saw. Two brutes boarded to either side, slamming the doors to a close. Within seconds they were on the open road.

Matt estimated the airport to be a thirty minute journey, once he'd found his bearings. Less than fifteen had passed before the large saloon pulled off the road, edging down a dirt lane into a wooded area until they were well out of view from the road.

The rear doors sprang open and one of the brutes started to exit. Matt turned his head to watch the bulk disappear. A blow landed at the back of Matt's neck. His mind seemed to want to think about it. Then, in the blink of an eye, he succumbed to an unwanted daze.

Matt started to come round when he felt the first of the impacts. His weakened body crashed against the massive casing of the tall tree. He dropped onto all fours, aware of a nearby standing figure. Matt didn't see Scurrelli's booted foot crashing into his ribs. He certainly felt it. No sooner had the effects of the first blow dulled when he felt another. It hammered into his body in much the same area as the first and thought he could hear snapping bone. Curled tightly in the foetal position, Scurrelli sought to open Matt up by landing a heavy blow to the small of the back.

It worked. Matt reacted to the impact by straightening his legs and rolling over. He gasped for air, desperately trying to convince his mind the pain wouldn't last long. Any thought of fighting back had been beaten out of his mind. A gloved hand gripped at his hair and jerked his head back.

"No smart ass remarks come to mind, Durham," yelled Scurrelli into his face.

Somehow, Matt managed to get to a tree stump. The sheer exertion drained at his will to continue living. He propped his back against the grainy surface and stared into the American's triumphant eyes.

"No point, Hank," he gasped. "You're not clever enough to understand."

Scurrelli's sneer turned into one of open rage. Fury gripped the muscles in his face. He rammed a hand inside his jacket and produced a handgun. The American's arm straightened as he pointed the weapon directly at Matt's head. Then his hand dropped away.

"You better do it," he snarled to one of his aides. "I'm under orders."

The brute of a man raised a chunky arm to his chest, freeing his weapon from its holster. Matt closed his eyes to shut out the pain. He would have been interested to read what was on the print out. Then again, it didn't seem important now.

Matt had taken enough, done all 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.

There was no sound from the big man as he collapsed to the ground. His legs just gave way underneath him. The one next to the would-be assassin followed suit, as silently as his comrade. Scurrelli hadn't grasped what was going on. His last aide had. He wasn't quick enough to avoid the incoming missile of death. The bullet punctured his heart.

The remaining American finally responded and unsheathed his weapon, dropping on to one knee and turning constantly in circles as he peered between the thick trees. The next shot was aimed to perfection, smashing right through Scurrelli's elbow.

The weapon tumbled free as he cried out. It didn't take long for the look of pain to vanish. The Dracula-like grin Matt had always associated with the American was quickly replaced by one of fear. He knew what was coming, the wooden stake through the heart.

A rustle of leaves announced Will Cole's emergence. He walked sedately over to Scurrelli's fearful stare. Cole kicked away the fallen weapon and towered over the now silenced torturer.

"Catherine wants me to give you something," he said to the American.

The sound of the blowpipe rang out and echoed through the stilled atmosphere of the woodland. Scurrelli fell backwards. Matt saw blood trickling gently from the hole in his forehead. He wondered what was in store for him. Cole approached and dropped to his haunches. He placed a hand below Matt's chest, causing him to wince sharply.

"Rib," he said. "You need to get that seen to. Doubt you'll be flying any planes for a while."

The new arrival grinned. Strangely, Matt felt no fear of his presence. He actually liked the man.

"Take a few minutes to get some strength back, then we'll go," added Will.

The man was so calm, ultra confident and in control. Matt had to let the question loose.

"Did Catherine really ask you to do that?"

"Yep," he replied.

"Catherine?"

A sharp glint entered Will's eyes.

"You have no idea. She's one tough lady, a born leader. Take my word for it. No-one wants to be on the wrong side of Catherine Vogel. Just ask Hank."

The humour was wasted on Matt, slumped there, visibly confused.

"Then why... me..."

"God knows. Seems Catherine's got a soft spot for you," he replied. "It's as much a surprise to me as it is to you. Not that it's you, but because she's never been inclined that way to anyone before."

Now Matt was intrigued by the print out. There had to be something on there which could make sense of this, provide an explanation for Catherine's erratic behaviour towards him. Will fell back onto the seat of his pants and looked Matt in the eye.

"Thanks," said Matt, motioning with his eyes towards the dead bodies.

The other man grinned.

"No hardship," he said. "I never liked the bastard anyway. Forever up his own arse was Mr Scurrelli. No-one's likely to miss him much."

The question returned to Matt's mind. Why was Catherine intent on keeping him alive?

"How will she explain this away?" he asked.

The response was quicker than expected.

"You've developed a bit of a reputation, for somehow getting yourself out of tight and impossible situations."

"No-one's going to believe I was capable of taking down all four. Not in my condition."

A weapon tossed onto the ground. Matt examined the instrument of death with his eyes and was puzzled.

"Lily's gun," said Will.

"Who is Lily?"

"She's the one member of the Berchesgaden assault team you kept alive. You left her weapon in the SUV. So I kept it. Spare ordnance often comes in handy. No-one frisked you on arrival. The assumption will be you had it concealed from view."

Matt felt a twinge of pain and groaned slightly. He coughed uncomfortably as he tried to adjust his position. Cole reached across to help him sit up better.

"There's no hurry. Take as long as you need," he said.

Matt closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain. Had he been alone, he was sure his mind would have conceded his body to the afterlife already. He reflected on his acquiescence to his foes. Cole seemed to sense what was on his mind.

"It was the right call," he said.

"You would say that. Your side won."

"Murdering over half the world population isn't much of a win. It's certainly nothing to write home about."

"Then why don't you fight it," said Matt

Will shook his head.

"Catherine's right, if it's going to happen then we need to be involved. The likes of Scurrelli saw this as an opportunity to settle all manners of old scores and obliterate people left, right and centre. If it was down to him and his kind there'd be virtually no-one left to populate the planet."

Matt looked puzzled.

"What are you saying?"

Will looked him straight in the eye.

"With Catherine, more people will get a chance to live."

"How?" he asked.

"Nearly every Government on the planet wants their slums cleared. All of them want evil off their streets and organised crime defeated once and for all. The West would also prefer to reduce the burden of the elderly and illegal immigration on the public purse. Catherine's input has initiated an age revision, and a geographical rethink."

Matt's head sank back against the bark of the tree. Perhaps she had a point all along. If it couldn't be stopped the next best thing was to try and moderate its impact. Catherine had tried to tell him this, he now realised. Instead of listening to her he'd closed his mind.

"Christ," he said.

"What's on your mind?"

"I don't know who the good or the bad guys are anymore," said Matt.

The comment caused Will to laugh out loud.

"Now you're starting to get the hang of things. I thought you'd get there eventually."

Matt tried to smile, succeeding only in allowing the pain to resurface.

"Come on," he said. "I can't sit here all day."

Will helped Matt to his feet and propped him up as they walked away from the four corpses.

"I'm still going to break your neck when I get better," said Matt. "Taking advantage of Jenna was bad enough, choosing to slag her off amongst your mates is unforgivable."

His companion appeared untroubled by the threat.

"Yeah, like I'm going to tell Scurrelli anything. Jenna and I are way too solid for me to do that."

The angel and the assassin, thought Matt. Somehow it had a ring to it.

"Tell me," said Will. "Did you ever get the better of Rosa, one on one, when she was putting you through your paces in hand-to-hand combat?"

"No, why?" replied Matt.

Will sort of shrugged.

"She's never beaten me," he said with a confident grin. "I thought I'd better mention it, just in case you get any daft ideas."

"Rosa said she was the best."

"Second best," said Will.

Matt had slept most for most of the flight. Physical exhaustion had finally got the better of him. There was little more than an hour to their destination. He concentrated his mind to focus on the print copy.

Hank will be with you shortly, said the first typed line.

I want the chance to bring him in, said the next.

You have until Hank arrives. Security is his field.

Matt guessed the second line was Catherine's. He read on

Stop this.

Why?

Physical pain is not the answer.

Hank is quarterbacking.

He will be dead before we get what we need.

The man has a choice.

I can give him a better one. And you said his death would be a waste.

Okay. One shot.

Matt imagined the exchange, as if they were spoken words. There were many ways to interpret any given conversation, and this one appeared straightforward enough. Nevertheless, Matt got the impression Catherine was doing everything she could to protect him. He returned to the text.

It is a small price.

On condition he gives up everything.

Thank You.

Chapter Forty

The Gift

The weather remained pleasantly warm, for late September, as Matt trudged towards his destination. He laid each of the two wreaths in their respective positions. Bending still caused him a problem.

"This is my way of saying sorry. I've been back for weeks and not been to see you. There was so much I had to do."

He waited for the imaginary response.

"A lot has happened. The good news is that I've decided to stay. That should improve your mood, Jack."

He looked for circling seagulls or other birds, checking no unwanted deposits would be falling in his direction.

"I guess when it comes down to it, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Anyway, how could I leave you both? I mean, who else do I have to talk too?"

A gust of wind brought an unexpected chill. Matt shivered for a moment in the flurry of cold that had descended upon him. The change in the surrounding air temperature was eerie, as if the spirits of his friends had suddenly taken flight from the earth. Matt waited a while for the atmosphere to return to normality. It didn't, causing him to retreat from his position with unusual speed. The groundkeeper tipped his hat as Matt passed by. A quick glance revealed the area around the grave he had asked the man to upkeep was in pristine condition. He shivered once more. If he didn't know better, it felt like the spirits were chasing him away.

Exiting the gate, Matt almost walked straight into one of the two black SUV vehicles parked outside. The windows had been blacked out. A door opened. A tall woman in a pristine business suit stood before him. She looked radiant, in full bloom.

"Catherine? What brings you halfway across the world?"

"Horton Priest," she said.

Matt thought for a moment.

"Oh yeah, isn't he the new reporter at the New York Times who broke the story on the worldwide conspiracy to decimate numbers of humans on the planet?"

"I am trying to determine how he came into possession of such information."

"You must have a leak," said Matt.

Her subsequent stare was uninviting.

"The files show he worked the Vancouver area for a short time."

"Yes. I met him once. He introduced himself at my dinner table at The Keg. Said he wanted to do a story on me. I found him to be odious and sent him packing."

"And you have never seen him since?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I gave you everything in my possession at the time, as per the deal."

"At the time?" she said quizzically.

He tried not to smile. A wisp of a grin crossed her lips.

"I spoke to the driver yesterday, the one who picked you up in St Wolfgang. He told me he saw you post a package before entering the car."

Matt shrugged.

"My insurance was due."

Her gaze hardened.

"Some people may conclude you had never intended to keep to any agreement. That you had planned to deliberately endure pain in order to mislead."

Matt was sure he gulped involuntarily.

"Bit of a stretch though."

She said nothing. Catherine turned and used one of her long fingers to beckon someone out of the other SUV. Matt wasn't sure what to expect. A familiar male shape stepped out into the open.

"Will requires some work with which to occupy his time," said Catherine. "I trust you will be able to accommodate him, given your physical condition."

Matt looked to Catherine, wary of her true intent.

"I don't need the help. Thank you all the same," he said.

"This was not a request."

Catherine turned and re-entered the SUV. She closed the door and lowered the blackened window.

"Horton Priest is to be charged with tax evasion," she said. "The penalty is severe."

Matt considered his response.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," he said. "Life could be a little complicated for you now though, with just about every investigative journalist on the planet on your case."

"The only names they have are of dead people," she said. "It will not take long for their avenues of investigation to run cold. If there are no living conspirators then there can be no conspiracy."

She was right. Now Scurrelli was dead, all the original group members had perished. Anyone planning to follow the trail would hit a dead end. He wondered if this is what she had intended all along. In one stroke the hawks from the midst of her secret grouping had been removed, consolidating her own power base in the process. If she were indeed that clever then Matt had proved to be an effective, if unwitting, accomplice to her strategy.

The true identities of those behind the Milieu conspiracy remained in obscurity. He no longer deemed it important, for he now regarded his adversaries in a different light. Matt had come to understand they were not the bespoke, evil villains he first believed. Rather, he saw them as fearful guardians of a vulnerable and defenceless planet; subjected to constant rape and pillage. Something had to give.

"Could be years though," said Matt.

He noticed the lines around her eyes threaten to unleash a broad smile.

"We shall not meet again," she replied.

The blackened window began to rise.

"Catherine?"

The window's progress halted. He stepped closer, to be out of earshot of Will.

"Do you intend to reveal the contents of the conversation with the driver?" he asked.

Her facial expression responded with what people might describe as a knowing smile; except he didn't know what it meant. Matt hated it when he couldn't read into the minds of others.

"Will has something to give you," she said.

The statement filled him with trepidation. Matt's thoughts turned to the woods in Austria, where Will made a dramatic appearance to deliver a gift from Catherine to Hank Scurrelli. Before he could respond, the window closed and the SUV was gone.

"It's great to be back in Victoria," said Will, sidling up to join him. "I'm really looking forward to getting back to work at the jetty."

"Catherine said you had something to give to me."

"In the car," said Will.

Matt could feel his stomach turn, convinced of what he was about to receive.

"If it is okay, I'm going to shoot off," said Will, about to re-enter the vehicle. "I'm taking Jenna to the movies."

Will dived back in to the SUV. Matt heard two doors close and the machine pulled away. It was only after the vehicle had started down the road his brain registered the fact a figure had been left behind.

He looked at the hesitant frame and smiled, raising his arms to allow her to fall into his warm hug. They embraced for what felt like an eternity.

"I was scared," she finally said.

He kissed at the raven hair of her head.

"You don't have to be scared anymore," he whispered. "Not for as long as you're here. That is, if you want to stay in Victoria."

"Yes. Yes, I do," she whispered back.

They returned to their quiet embrace. He breathed in the scent of her perfume and stroked gently at her hair.

"We have lost," she said.

He could see how she might think that.

"No. A score draw I reckon, though we've been substituted from the game. Some other team is going to have to take the field of play."

Matt knew he'd forced a delay. For how long, he couldn't be sure. She squeezed his body hard and he groaned.

"Please. Not so hard, Gratia," he said.

He felt the muscles of her face break into a smile against his shoulder.

"I am Gratia Fuchs no longer," she said, fumbling into her shoulder bag. "It is a condition of my release."

The open passport was held up to his eyes.

"It was the obvious choice," she said.

Her accompanying smile was different from normal. For the first time, he could read into her Guinness eyes. The door was fully ajar.

"Obvious," he agreed. "Welcome to your brand new life, Grace."

Published by Milieu Publishing,

45 Barrasford Road,

Newton Hall,

Durham,

DH1 5NB

Copyright © Malcolm Franks

Read the prequel;

The Milieu Principle

Reaching the brow of the second to last hill he peered into the night through the windscreen and 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 and moving too quickly along the winding country lane to belong to a local. They always drove carefully. He quickly concluded it must be the third unit racing towards him, intent on cutting off his escape.

There were no turnings off this hilly, winding road and the sudden realisation dawned on him that he'd been outsmarted. The cars behind had not been chasing him. They were herding him toward the onrushing vehicle.

If he slowed or stopped, his pursuers would soon catch up. If he kept going he would drive straight into the path of the fast approaching car.

He was trapped.

ISBN 978-0-9566944-0-9

