Pounding rain thudding against the wafer thin roof opened his eyes earlier than he would have preferred after the early hours foray into the main office administration block. Downloading the reservation database from the central computer had been an absolute breeze. He recalled marvelling at the ease with which the electronic attachment he’d used had bypassed the security system within a split second, and then proceeded to copy all of the relevant records quicker still. The speed of the electronic theft had given him real cause to think. In this age of increasingly elaborate security software the exercise had shown him how vulnerable the everyday secrets of ordinary people actually were.
The rain continued to hammer away, now pelting into the side of the structure. He detested caravans, both the static and the mobile variety. They were anything but the quietest places on the planet. If he turned to the right he could hear the young couple next along, banging away as though they had been sponsored to go at it all night, while to the left the family dog barked constantly. Maybe the acute hearing of the hound was being constantly disturbed by the frenetic, energetic, sound of nearby passion.
Worse still he was in southern Scotland, not the North East of England as they had stated he would be, so was completely unfamiliar with the terrain. He rubbed his eyes and focussed on the gangly spider building a spacious web in the window frame. The damn things were so persistent, and omnipresent. Last night he had destroyed the existing web and put the resident arachnid out onto the grass. Surely this wasn’t the same creature he had disturbed before. More likely it was a relative who had picked the same spot to weave its home, in a deliberate effort to irritate him.
A short shower in the risibly small cubicle preceded the home made scrambled egg and dry toast. He wondered if Scottish hens were fed differently to those at home as the eggs tasted differently here, rougher. With no filter coffee machine in situ he courageously decided to brave the instant stuff. Yet one more regret.
The site plan unfolded on the table as the laptop charged into life. This place was obscure. Invisible to the naked eye from the main coastal road it was accessible to land vehicles only by turning sharply, almost at right angles, onto a narrow lane descending the steep incline to a wide cove below. Once at the bottom the cove opened up to reveal a wide expanse of beach surrounded on three sides by tall, grassy hills. Mobile homes of all definitions littered the field of green between the sea and hills whilst newly built, superior furnished, wooden lodges occupied the man-made plateau above. They’d offered to rent one but he chose to live inconspicuously amongst the masses. Catherine insisted there had been a sighting of Rosa here, the edge of the world.
It was the sort of place a fugitive would probably seek out, unfortunately.
His irritable mood hadn’t been helped by the non-arrival of the antidote he’d been promised and the weather only added to his misery. Matt searched for his position, the middle of a group of three units at the furthest right hand edge of the cove. Using the stolen information now showing on the screen he worked through the reservations. Names of the surrounding residents provided no obvious clues, so he widened the search. Nothing stood out to make him believe this was anything other than a dead end. Chances were that Rosa had long gone from the area. Good old-fashioned observation was the only thing left to prove he was right.
Matt sat on this rugged outcrop for most of the day observing anything and everything that moved through the binoculars. The phrase, ordinary life, was just about the best description he could muster for what he had seen during the preceding hours. As off the beaten track as this place was he concluded it wasn’t Rosa’s type of location to hole up due to the limited routes of escape. The single lane road could be too easily blocked and there were no moored boats with which to flee by sea in an emergency evacuation. If she had ever been here at any time, which he was beginning to seriously doubt, she was unlikely to be here now.
He peeled the lining to the tasty looking sandwich encased in the plastic holder, immediately screwing up his face at the disappointing outcome as he chomped into it. Cheese and tomato read the description, except he couldn’t find any of the latter. Nevertheless, he soon demolished it with the fervour of a man who hadn’t eaten for several hours. His ambling gaze took him away from the leisure park, further down the coast to the right and out to sea.
For several minutes he watched the old fashioned fishing boat, replete with wooden masts at either end, make its way through the placid coastal sea as it neared his vantage point. Curiosity caused him to raise the binoculars for a closer look. Melody Rose, read the name along the side. There were three figures, two male and a female, sharing some banter on deck. Inexplicably the boat’s motor suddenly throttled back and the vessel began to drift inwards to a small and deserted cove, flanked by two stone built walls reaching out into the sea on either side. Not so deserted, he then decided, on shifting the line of sight of the binoculars.
A red painted house came into his view, windows blocked with similarly coloured shutters. There were two entrances at the front, from what he could see. A double, stable-like, door was also shuttered red. The one to the left, painted a brilliant white, stood in obvious contrast to everything else. Fixed to the upper floor was a rectangular shaped window jutting out from the wall, almost like a viewing platform. He increased lens magnification and thought he saw a figure moving away from what resembled a telescope. The adjacent white building perched slightly further from the shore had the air of a country cottage and was shuttered too.
The approaching boat dropped anchor and he watched as the three crewmen dropped a dinghy over the side. One by one they leapt into the rubber craft and made for the narrow beach where the red and white dwellings were located. Their athleticism intrigued him. Being gym fit was one thing. To exhibit the physical and mental confidence of these people suggested they were much more. There could be no doubt in his mind.
They were trained professionals.
As the group neared the white door it opened inwards and he tried to look inside, to no avail. At the last minute one of the men turned and looked over to the hillside Matt occupied, and he instinctively withdrew the binoculars from his eyes. The door took a moment or two to shut to, so he guessed they were looking at him from the inside, behaviour worthy of further investigation.
Matt turned his back on the cove as he rose, in case they were taking a closer look through the telescope. He packed everything away in the rucksack and started along the hilltop, glancing around for signs of a public footpath which might lead down to the cove. There was none.
Once out of sight he crouched and rummaged through his belongings to find the local map. There appeared to be a footpath a little further along which looked as though it would take him close, but to get there he would have to negotiate a tunnel through the rocks to make it to the other side. He could see no other possible routes.
He’d lost track of the time when he eventually arrived at the tunnel entrance. Peering inside he could see light at the other end, though not the artificial kind. Part of the journey would have to be made in darkness and this filled him with caution. His steps were light and wary, more so once the light behind had almost vanished. He stood still and listened to the sound of water dripping. Then he heard what sounded like a click, almost directly to his left. He stepped forward and heard the clicking sound for a second time. There was nothing else for it. He surrounded his eyes with the night vision goggles and searched the walls of the enclosure and located a camera, fixed to the roof of the tunnel. Somebody had been watching him all along.
Matt turned and exited. Plan B was needed. All he had to do was think of what it might be.
The watch read one in the morning. Matt checked the fixture of the rope was secure enough to hold his weight and started his descent down the impossibly steep embankment. Going down didn’t bother him. The thought of trying to make a rapid escape back up in the pitch black of night, however, filled him with concern. Thank God for the goggles.
He a
rrived breathing slightly erratically with the rising fear of the unknown. There were no lights to be seen inside either of the buildings. Even with the shutters closed he would have expected to see some glimmer of artificial illumination. He looked to the beach. The dinghy remained in place, moored to the shore. Perhaps the residents had retired for the night. Then again … they could be waiting for him.
His approach was deft, silent. The shutters were locked tight, impossible to snap open without causing a disturbance for those inside. He remembered the odd window and made his way round. Damn, he thought, there had to be a minimum of seven feet between him and the wooden frame holding the window in place. He had to chance it.
The mechanism whirred as the pointed end slammed into the base. He waited for several seconds, listening for any sounds of movement. There was none. He pressed the button and the wire retracted, lifting him up to the frame. His hands searched the layered frame for something to grip and he levered himself up. Fumbling through the sack produced the necessary tool to cut a piece away, slip his hand through and open the window.
Seconds later and he was inside.
Room by room he searched the interior using the goggles, only to find the residence devoid of human life. One of the three bedrooms had been slept in, evidenced by the depression in the mattress and pillow. By the look of it, only one person had been using the sleeping quarters. He expected to find food and clothing. There was none, not even the merest scrap of paper to offer any kind of clue as to who these people were. He could be forgiven for thinking the place had been wiped clean, though this didn’t explain why they’d left evidence of the bed being used. Was this the place Rosa had being holed up in, or just one of those freak coincidences of life? A search of the nearby white painted house also proved fruitless. They must have spotted him earlier, up on the hilltop, and fled. And he had no idea where they had gone.
The watch showed four as his tired body rounded the last of the mobile residences before his. The door lay partially open and he reasoned somebody had been, or still was, inside his temporary home. A beam of light shone and he could see a dark clad figure moving around, head covered in a balaclava, searching through his belongings. He neared the opening and paused. One person he concluded, easing the door further ajar. He waited until the slender figure emerged back into the main living space, and sprang inside.
The intruder reacted instantly, turning aside to fend off the assault. A foot threw itself at him and he parried the blow with an arm. Unbalanced, the figure toppled and he pounced with the agility of a big hunting cat. His legs circled the neck and he began to exert steady pressure.
“Matt,” said the throaty voice. “That hurts.”
“Rosa,” he said, relaxing his grip.
She freed an arm and punched at his groin. Before he knew it she was atop him, a finger pointed to each of his eyes.
“How many times have I told you,” she said. “Never give an enemy a chance because they won’t give you one.”
Her hand peeled away the balaclava, releasing her shoulder length blonde hair from captivity as clear thinking re-entered his head.
“Since when have we been enemies?”
She grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with life.
“I knew they hadn’t killed you,” she said. “The tunnel confirmed what I’d always believed, except I don’t understand why you’ve come looking for me.”
“I came because Stefan asked me to find you,” he said.
She blinked at the mention of the name.
“And now you’ve found me, which means I’m going to have to relocate again.”
Confusion returned. She could see it in his eyes and gave out one of her throaty laughs.
“For God’s sake woman,” he said. “What the hell for?”
The dialogue was promptly interrupted by the arrival of three other figures. He guessed they were from the boat.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“Your picture was put on television a few days ago and someone phoned in with a sighting. Are you going to let me get up?”
“No.”
His hand moved and he felt a gun barrel press up against his temple. He looked up and saw the face of a young woman of Indian descent holding the weapon.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Berchtesgaden,” she said.
He remembered. An SAS assault team raided the house he was in to try and take him out.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because of what you did to John Tillman,” she said.
“If memory serves me right Tillman was trying to kill me.”
“Lily, not the right time,” said Rosa, bringing the exchange to a halt.
He returned his gaze to the impossibly beautiful blonde.
“What the hell is going on, Rosa?”
“You’re in way over your head, Matt. Go home.”
“I can’t, not without you.”
“You’ll just have to tell him you’ve seen me and I’m fine.”
“That’s no bloody good to man or beast, is it?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
He decided to take a chance.
“Stefan is worried sick about you.”
Rosa looked into his eyes. A fleeting moment of thought crossed her mind and then she bent forward and kissed him passionately on the lips.
“What was that for?”
“Encouragement,” she said.
“To do what?” he asked.
“Stop looking for me.”
“And what do I get if I do?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Because then you won’t need any more encouragement.”
“I seem to recall you saying something like that to me before.”
Her throaty laugh re-appeared.
“And what happens if I keep looking?”
Her friendly smile abruptly vanished, to be replaced by a cold and emotionless expression.
“My God,” he said. “You mean it too.”
“You know the difference between you and me, Matt? You haven’t got it in you to kill a friend.”
He made sure to keep his eyes fixed on her blue, piercing eyes. She recognised his intent.
“Don’t force my hand.”
“I’m your friend, Rosa. I always will be.”
The texture of her bright eyes softened. It was the glimmer of a reaction he’d hoped for, a possible opening. Then she recovered.
“Here endeth the lesson,” she said softly.
A boot pressed his right arm to the floor and two rough hands pulled up the sleeve of his jumper. He noticed the initials JS tattooed on the fingers of one hand. A long syringe pointed menacingly to a vein. His instinct to resist ended the moment the barrel of the gun pressed harder to his head.
“Keep very still,” said Rosa.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying some time,” she said.
He watched the needle penetrate the skin.
“Is that the virus?”
Rosa cocked her head and grimaced.
“So Stefan didn’t send you,” she said. “Don’t worry. This is something akin to Gamma Hydroxy Butyrate,”
“GHB is a date rape drug!”
The smile returned to her face.
“I’m not about to shag the pants off you while you’re not in a position to appreciate it.”
“It’s not you who worries me,” he said, peering up into Lily’s face.
“You’re not really Lily’s type.”
Already he could feel the substance beginning to cloud his thinking. The beautiful face started to fade, as though she was being spirited away on a cloud as consciousness drained from his body. Her voice, sounding more like a mumble, spoke again.
“Don’t come after me again, Matt,” she said. “Do you hear me?”
He tried to open his mouth aware he had become incapable of further speech. Her increasingly dis
tant voice spoke for a final time.
“Did you get that?”
Somehow he managed to blink a response. And then his mind spiralled into darkness.
Chapter Ten
Holding Back