Grace felt the gentle nudge and tried to force her eyes open to welcome the morning light.
“I’ve brought coffee,” said Matt, “breakfast too.”
Her face turned towards him and smiled. Stretching her arms to the bed head, a yawn took control of her face and she realised she remained fully clothed.
“I thought we were leaving it to the last minute?”
“Jack thinks it’s a bad idea,” said Matt. “He thinks we should leave early, and I’ve agreed. You‘ve got half an hour to eat, shower and change.”
“That means I’ve got ten spare minutes,” she smirked.
“Grace, I’ve lived in the same building as you for over eight weeks, you need to start, now!” he said playfully.
His body swayed to avoid the onrushing pillow and it fell harmlessly onto the rich, wool rug.
Grace devoured the eggs, which were surprisingly tasty, and ate energetically at the freshly buttered toast as she watched him carefully place his clothes inside the already half full suitcase. One by one he positioned the neatly folded shirts on top of each other.
She looked admiringly at the muscles on his bare torso, rippling in rhythm with his movements, courtesy of the energetic workload he enjoyed at the floatplane jetty. From the beginning she had been attracted to this unassuming, softly spoken stranger with the ready wit. He was unlike other men she had known; not that she could put her finger on it exactly, he was simply different.
A quick sip of coffee and she had risen from the bed in search of a warm, secure hug. He heard her movement and approaching footsteps.
“Grace. Shower,” he emphasised, pointing his arm to the room across the hall.
She stamped her feet in mock disapproval as he continued to point to the hallway. In a pretend huff she snatched up the clothes laid on the bedside chair and stormed out across the hall.
The sound of hot gushing water brought Matt’s feverish activity to a halt. Kneeling by the open suitcase, under the large double window, any detached observer might have thought he was deep in prayer. Matt had never believed in any higher Authority. Like all people under extreme duress, however, he wished someone was looking kindly down upon him.
“Please keep these people safe,” he said quietly. “Take anything else, but keep them safe.”
He shook his head and sighed sadly. Of course there was no divine being, no higher court, only several billion flawed people inhabited this planet. A vibration in his pocket alerted him to an incoming message on the mobile, a text from Jenna responding to his earlier question.
Course I’m ok, c u Sun, it said.
Rain check, talk later, he replied and quickly switched off. His relief at the news was replaced by feelings of guilt and remorse. An image of Jenna’s smiling face appeared in his mind and he cursed himself for lacking the courage to at least tell her something, give her some sort of explanation for his sudden departure.
It was cowardly to walk away without saying anything, whatever the circumstance. Grace’s safety however, was all Matt was concerned with right now. Odd thing though, he considered. Of all the jobs he could have chosen to do first this morning, it was the message to Jenna that took priority.
“Are yur in secure Grace?” asked Jack, looking behind him at the small figure in the first passenger seat of the plane.
She nodded back, pointing to the closed seatbelt. The plane ferried away from the jetty into the open. A floatplane slowed to their right to allow him to position for the take off.
“Never seen that little birdie before,” was Jack’s mumbled comment as they passed the unmarked machine.
Within minutes they were airborne and headed towards Vancouver. While Matt and his friend chatted up front Grace gazed out at the islands, marooned amongst the vast waters below, from the window.
A whistling noise whisked by the side of the cockpit. This was quickly followed by another, then another. The pilot tightened his grip on the controls
“What was that?” asked Matt.
“Bullets, lad,” was Jack’s urgent response. “Some bastard is shooting at us.”
“What!”
The plane banked sharply to the left and climbed higher, towards the sun.
“Matt, what’s happening?” shouted Grace from behind.
She’d left her seat to peer into the cockpit, grabbing tightly at the frame for balance. Matt unhooked his seatbelt and turned to help her.
“Grace, go back to your seat and strap yourself in.”
Another whistling noise was followed by the sound of breaking glass.
“Aarrgh!”
“Jack, Jack!”
Blood began to roll from the top of the pilot’s scalp. The plane veered left again and swooped downwards. Matt quickly realised his friend was in no condition to fly. Reaching for the seatbelt, Matt frantically fumbled for the release catch and tore it away from Jack‘s waist. The plane was beginning to dive, the engine threatening to stall.
“Matt!” cried Grace, “Matt!”
“Quick, Grace, pull his arm,” he shouted.
As she tugged feverishly at Jack’s shirt, Matt grabbed the belt around Jack’s trousers and gave a mighty heave. The big man slid from his seat and then fell backwards, on top of Grace. Matt leapt into the pilot’s chair and pulled furiously at the controls. Two more whistling sounds shot by as they began to spiral towards to the sea below, the ever darkening mass of water growing closer by the second.
“Grace, grab hold of something,” he called, and pulled with all his might at the wheel, half expecting the instrument to snap from its fittings.
He pulled hard at the wheel again, every sinew of his arm locked in combat with controls that wouldn’t obey his commands. Matt leaned back in the pilot’s seat and tugged frantically, in the mistaken belief this would give him extra leverage. Still the plane refused to yield to his efforts to right their path, insisting upon carrying them ever more quickly downwards to their watery destination.
“Now, it’s got to be now. If you’re really there then show yourself goddamn it, show yourself,” he yelled, plane hurtling ever nearer to its grave.
Then, as if a giant invisible hand had reached down from the sky, the front of the plane lifted and arched away from the deep water. The floats skimmed the surface of the sea as it steadied and began to climb in the opposite direction.
There was no time for celebration. More whistling sounded from Matt’s side of the plane and he banked sharply away from the land mass now rushing towards them. The sudden change of direction allowed him to catch a glimpse of their assailant. It was the unmarked plane from the inner harbour!
Matt turned again. This time towards the islands from which they had first set off and weaved amongst the channels of ocean separating the land masses, flying metres from the surface of the water. First left and then right, then left again.
He couldn’t shake them.
The whistles grew louder, closer and more frequent. Their pursuers in the chasing plane began to anticipate the desperate shifting patterns of its prey.
“Do something Matt!” called a terrified Grace.
“I’m trying!” he yelled back.
A white ferry loomed into view, heading serenely towards them as they galloped into its path. Matt made his choice quickly and pointed the yellow machine towards the bow of the vessel. Their attackers followed.
The pilot of the ferry could see them nearing. As Matt closed the gap, the ferry captain’s face changed from one of concern to utter horror at his imagined images of their impending collision. The distance between them narrowed from a mile or so to a few hundred yards.
A feint of the right wing served to encourage their pursuers to copy his move, and then he tipped the plane violently to the left just as they came upon the sea vessel and its terrified captain. Only metres separated the plane from the ship as the yellow machine slid to the left. Taken by surprise, the pursuing plane had no option other than to pass to the right side of the white boat.
It bought them onl
y a few seconds, but each one was to their desperate advantage. One of the smaller islands now appeared before them and Matt recognised it immediately. Banking the plane to the left he circled the forested mass. Their pursuers, expecting the plane to continue to head back to Victoria, were wrong footed enabling him to further extend the distance between the two flying machines.
Grace had managed to struggle free and help Jack into one of the passenger seats, buckling him tightly into it. She shouted loudly towards the cockpit.
“Matt, head back to the inner harbour, they can’t touch us there,” she screamed.
For a fleeting second he agreed. Then it came to him.
“I’ve got an idea,” he shouted. “Buckle in and hold tight.”
Pointing the craft towards Vancouver he zigzagged along the surface in wide turns, as their pursuers tried to narrow the gap. The wind whistling through the hole in the side window of the cockpit added to his discomfort.
“Right, catch me if you can,” he muttered, continuing to manoeuvre the plane from side to side.
They had breathing space. He knew it wouldn’t last for long.
The ferry terminal at Tsawwassen appeared to their right. He steered as if to make for the imposing structure before he veered away, again confusing his enemy. Matt urged the plane to hurry and go faster, like a jockey talks into the ears of his mount during a race. The machine could move with no more haste. They sped along the still surface of the water, mile after mile. He knew they were travelling quickly, though it seemed like a snail’s pace.
Their destination appeared and Matt throttled back, reducing speed to allow his assailants to gain ground. He lifted the plane to around a hundred feet from the surface.
“Matt, what are you doing?” shouted Grace. “They’ll catch us at this speed. Do something!”
“Cover your eyes and keep your head down,” he called.
The whistling sounds re-started. They were getting nearer and nearer. He took a deep breath and looked for the marker, hoping it was the right time of day. Stanley Park appeared and he saw the Lion’s Gate Bridge come into view.
“Steady, steady,” he told himself.
Matt spotted the marker. At least, he hoped this was the marker. The chasers were getting close, too close for comfort, and were almost upon their quarry.
“This is it!” he yelled, and prayed he was right. There were no sunglasses. He shut his eyes tight and prayed.
“One, two, three,” he shouted.
Matt pulled back on the controls to force the plane to sharply rise up into the sky. There was no way of knowing exactly how close they were to the bridge. All Matt could do was picture the flight path within his own imagination. If the images in his mind were wrong, even slightly out of sync with reality, they were as good as dead.
He waited for the impact ... nothing.
Guessing they were clear he opened his eyes as he banked the plane left, away from the imposing structure once in front of them. His lungs sucked in the air with relief as he saw the clear sky ahead, and he turned almost full circle to look behind and take in the landscape below.
Smoke billowed from a patch of darkness on the ground, on the edge of Stanley Park. Flames were starting to lick round the edges of what remained of a battered fuselage.
It had worked!
“Are you all right back there?” he shouted.
“I can’t see, I can’t see,” cried Grace’s animated voice. “I think I’m blind!”
“Don’t worry, it’ll pass,” he replied. “How is Jack?”
“I heard a loud bang. Are they gone?” she shouted back.
Matt looked to the sea as a man’s head broke the surface of the water below, gasping for breath and rubbing his eyes. Someone had managed to get out of the chasing plane.
“We’re clear,” he assured her, knowing the reprieve could be only temporary at best.
Ferrying towards the mooring buoy Matt could hear Grace soothing Jack back into life, using the first aid kit to cleanse the wound. The older man’s groans grew louder as he regained full consciousness, then he began to curse as only Jack could curse. Securing the rope tightly, Matt climbed back into the plane to check on his passengers.
Grace grabbed him around the neck and clung to his body for comfort. Jack’s head turned towards him and grinned.
“That’s my boy. Knew yur had it in yur lad, yur a natural.” he said proudly.
Matt made to check his friend’s wound. Jack told him to leave be, he was fine, good enough to fly back to the island. Holly would give him all the nursing he would need, and winked at the young man.
“Get yurself along to the cruise terminal lad, and take yur lovely young creature with yur,” he added.
He rose to his feet and began to stagger, trying to regain his balance. Grace helped him to steady himself. The man has the strength of an ox thought Matt, in admiration of the burly Canadian.
“I’d better check the damage up front before you go,” he said, and rapidly disappeared into the cockpit.
Clambering into the pilot’s chair Matt retrieved the item from his inside jacket pocket and unpicked the sticky tape wrapped around it. Reaching underneath, he placed it firmly against the underside of the seat and pressed, fixing it against the surface. Confident it was secure; he stepped back into the main body of the plane and unloaded the luggage onto the jetty. First he helped Grace out of the machine and then Jack stumbled from the plane onto the wooden surface.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked a deeply concerned Matt. “We can take you to the hospital, there’s plenty of time.”
Jack flatly refused to even consider the possibility. He wanted to get back to the island as soon as possible and get the window of the plane repaired. Besides Holly being there, Rosa also needed to be looked after he reminded his young friend.
The handshake was firm and true, the subsequent man-hug heartfelt. One fortuitous encounter had brought two strangers together, turning chance contact into the strongest possible bond of friendship. Matt handed his friend an envelope and a piece of paper. Grace watched from her position some feet away, standing next to the suitcases.
“Get this to Jenna,” Matt said of the envelope.
The burly Canadian checked the contents.
“There’s over fourteen hundred dollars here!”
Matt smiled.
“If we make it through the next week I can always ask her for it back. The number is the new mobile. Give it to no-one, not even Holly.”
A final shake of hands and the two men separated. They waved Jack off from the jetty as he ferried the plane out into the harbour and readied to take off. Covering his eyes from the sun’s glare with his left hand, Matt comforted Grace with his right and they watched the plane climb into the sky.
“What did you give Jack?” she asked.
“Instructions,” he said and they started the uphill journey to the cruise terminal, less than half a mile away. “C’mon, I’m in desperate need of coffee,” he added, prompting Grace to drop her line of enquiry.
Striding purposefully away from the jetty, up the inclined pavement towards Canada Place, his mind filled with worry. He hoped Jack was going to be okay. He prayed Rosa would recover to give him information, and increasingly fretted about the way he’d treated Jenna. He wondered how he was going to successfully negotiate US Border Controls.
Even if he got through that obstacle the thought of being trapped on a floating island for a week with nearly two thousand other people, any one of them a potential informant, filled him with apprehension.
Finally he worried about how he was going to keep Grace safe from danger. She had appeared to cope remarkably well with the adventurous flight from the island, but had now gone quiet as if in deep reflection.
Matt believed her silence to be a sign of shock and he was concerned about her ultimate reaction, once the day’s events had finally sunk in and her body fully recovered from the dramatic trauma of their journey.
Holding hands across the plastic round table outside the coffee shop at Canada Place, while they waited for the time to pass towards embarkation, few words were exchanged. Every now and again Grace would glance across. He was sure she was almost at the point of asking him directly about what the hell was going on exactly. As it turned out she didn’t.
Matt guessed this was due to the public arena they were sat in. He knew the questions would arrive and he would have much explaining to do. A truly inauspicious start to what, for most people, should be the trip of a lifetime. First, however, there was US Border Controls to negotiate.
Of all the people from their schooldays, why the hell did Dave Laverick have to send the bloody memory stick to him?
Noon arrived and they descended the lift of the Pan Pacific, down to the embarkation floor. Queues of holiday makers awaited in the massive stone-walled area, funnelling through the specific cordoned pathways for whichever cruise liner they were destined to board.
It seemed to take forever to get to the front only for them to be shepherded into yet another large room, crowded with red plastic backed chairs mostly already occupied by expectant holidaymakers. Their luggage had been taken earlier by the cruise line porters, to be delivered to the cabin whilst they were subjected to Border Control checks.
The scene resembled a mass immigration point. Dialects from all over the globe could be heard talking. There were Americans, Canadians, Japanese, Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Europeans and an awful lot of Australians.
Grace had rarely spoken in the hours that had passed since Jack returned to Victoria. Matt was becoming increasingly concerned about her state of mind, as they sat on the back row of plastic seats and waited for their turn.
Four people at a time would be ushered to the waiting Border officials, the resulting queues being asked to move forward onto the seats vacated. It took another hour before they reached the end of their row of seats.
Matt watched closely as the four people in front were led to the long wooden counter. The female Border officials on the other side eyed the approaching tourists with official disdain, probably boredom more like. Each holidaymaker was asked a series of questions whilst their documents were examined, then they had to look through a machine with one of their eyes to record the patterns of their iris.
Matt realised what a stupid idea this was. He felt Grace’s hand wrap around his own as he watched the proceedings unfold.
“Matt,” she said softly. “Are you alright?”
So engrossed had he become with the process in front of him, his anxiety rising with each movement towards the front of the queue, he had neglected to give Grace any attention.
“Fine,” he replied. “It’s a fascinating process.”
She could tell he was lying and squeezed his hand gently to try and provide him with a degree of comfort.
“We don’t have to go,” she said, “if Border Control is going to be a problem.”
Her directness took him by surprise, almost challenging him to reveal the reason for the uneasiness he had obviously failed to conceal. Far from being in shock she had, instead, used the preceding hours to try and mesh the pieces of the puzzle together.
Matt wasn’t sure how to respond, feeling trapped and uncertain. His mind sought to understand why, of all times, she should ask him this question now.
“Grace, this is hardly the place,” he said defensively.
“Then we’ll have the discussion as soon as we get on board,” she insisted, “or I’ll get back off again.”
He didn’t get the chance to answer. A cruise official stood over them, urging them up to the counter.
“Hurry please, we’re behind schedule,” said the official.
Matt glanced up at the Border Control counter where four women looked across, waiting for them to step forward.
Courage, his mind urged.
At first he hesitated. Grace’s reassuring smile provided him with the confidence to approach the counter while his heart pounded and his pulse raced. To turn away now would raise suspicion and cause alarm, he reasoned. For better or worse he was going to have to endure this torrid examination.
Matt held the gaze of the uniformed woman over the counter his smile fixed, false and unfaltering. Yes, he was an Englishman who had come to visit his Canadian girlfriend and they were taking a cruise together, something they had both wanted to do for some time. He hoped this holiday would lead to the ‘moment’ he told the short, squat official.
The woman looked up from inspecting his passport and stared back at him, unflinching. She really couldn’t care less.
“Place your eye up to the viewer please,” she motioned with her extended arm.
Within seconds it was over. Not even the merest hint of difficulty. Matt struggled to hold back his surprise at the ease with each they had cleared him to board.
A photographer lay in wait as they reached the gangway leading into the blue hull of their temporary home.
“Take your picture, sir?” he asked enthusiastically.
Matt chose to ignore the request and forcibly pushed his way through, leaving behind the disappointed young Filipino man. The throng of people queuing to use the elevators encouraged Matt and Grace to take the wide, thickly carpeted, staircase up to Deck six where their cabin awaited.
They walked silently up. Neither noticed the paintings or marvelled at the sumptuous décor, both failed to take in the smells and scents of opulence surrounding them from every direction. She wanted an explanation and was making every effort to reach their floating hotel room as soon as possible. Matt wanted her to know the truth, yet feared the knowledge would make Grace a target too. Not telling her though, would lead only to distrust and tension in their relationship.
Matt ushered Grace into their suite. At the far side, some twenty or so feet away, the doors to the veranda lay open letting in a gentle breeze. The large Queen sized bed, pushed up against the left wall, filled the middle of the cabin. Their suitcases had been placed tidily on top of the bed. Between that and the balcony a small table sat next to the sofa, opposite the television screen built into the cabinet unit placed against the other wall. The gold coloured wallpaper had seen better days though it remained an impressive looking space.
Their cabin was on the opposite side to the terminal, hidden from sight of the Pan Pacific hotel, providing a view across to the far side of Vancouver bay. Matt was about to comment on the room when he felt Grace’s arms surround his waist from behind. Her head rested between his shoulder blades and he could feel her beating heart. She spoke quietly.
“Well, what is going on in your life exactly?”
Matt toyed with the idea of fully explaining the situation so Grace would understand why she was probably safer here, for the time being anyway. He knew he had to be certain about Rosa, and her intentions, before they could return. Until Jack got in touch, he couldn’t be sure.
“We should get settled first,” he sighed, “then we’ll talk.”
“No, Matt,” she replied. “I need to know.”
It was a demand rather than a request. Extricating his body from her arms he lifted the two suitcases off the bed and stacked them against the door. He returned to hold her, gently stroking her hair with a series of slow even movements.
Having decided in his mind how much detail to reveal, he led her over to the sofa. Matt stretched one leg along the seat cushions whilst the other was balanced to the floor. Grace clambered in between and snuggled her frame against his, allowing them both to gaze at the view out of the patio doors.
He told her a limited amount without mentioning the Milieu files by name, or of its intentions, only it would be wrong to surrender up the information he had been given.
“Who are these people, Matt?” she had asked with a worried frown upon her small delicate white face.
He told her he didn’t know who precisely they were, which was mostly true, though he believed there was a Government perspective. They will kill anybody who has contact with t
his information, he told her, which is why he hadn’t shown it to anyone. It was safer, he explained, for Grace not to know any of the detail. She nodded in agreement.
“Your friend, Rosa, is she one of them?”
Matt confided he wasn’t exactly sure. More than likely she was connected. He hoped not in a bad way. It was better for Grace to be on board, and away from Rosa for the time being. He could almost hear her mind processing the information, trying to make sense of a surreal situation. She didn’t appear to be overwhelmed by the scale of it all.
“What are you going to do? What can you do?” she asked.
There were some ideas he intended to explore. He hoped the next week would help him to crystallise his thinking. At her insistence, he promised to include her in any decisions he would make.
“I hope you’ve put it somewhere safe,” she said, referring to the information. “And you’ve made enough copies as back up.”
Yes, he had said, they were hidden in various places. Only he had knowledge of the locations and Matt reinforced it was better for her not to know where.
Once he’d finished explaining and Grace had run out of questions, the conversation stopped. She gave a big sigh and pushed her head harder against his chest. Both sat quietly for a few minutes, deep in thought. Matt wondered what was going through her mind. Eventually, he could resist the silence no longer.
“I never intended to get you involved in all this.”
“Let’s not worry about that now,” she replied, looking up at him with her soft brown eyes. “There is a whole week ahead of us to decide the future.”
Placing her hand upon his cheek, she kissed him softly on the lips and smiled. “I’ll start unpacking while you go and get some air.”
Matt stepped out onto the veranda and breathed deeply at the fresh air instantly filling his lungs. Reaching for the railing in front he felt his left hand begin to quiver. He struggled to keep the arm still as the shaking intensified. Setting his grip upon the railing he squeezed with all his strength and the shaking gradually subsided, replaced instead by the pain of aching muscles in his hands once he’d relaxed his grip.
He wondered if he had the inner strength to go on. People had always seen him as someone who coped with any given situation, ever calm and in control, because he never revealed his true emotions.
In truth, he was the same as any other person on the planet, sometimes fearful and sometimes afraid. He just preferred not to show it. He was afraid now. And not for his own safety, but for the lives of everyone he had touched since fleeing from England. Now he knew the full story, the full potential impact of his enemies’ intentions, the whole complexion of his situation had changed. He cursed himself for not making the effort to read all of the files earlier, as he should have done. Tina had accused him once of being laid back and laissez faire, to which he had reacted sharply. He realised he had been guilty of exactly that, and more. There were no happy endings in sight. This thing had turned into a fight to the finish. It was either him or them.
Turning to look inside the cabin, he gazed upon the small figure filling the wardrobe with her items of clothing and footwear.
Dear, gentle Grace, he thought, goodness personified. She didn’t deserve to be involved in this mess.
Unconsciously he felt inside the side pocket of his jacket, and his hand touched the pack of twenty he had bought a long time ago in Toronto. It had been nearly eleven years since he had last smoked. He placed the fresh cigarette between his lips, lit the end and inhaled deeply. It should have made him cough and splutter for air. It didn’t. Such was the stress and tension sapping his energy it brought a sense of relief instead, like a shot of adrenalin to the brain.
The surge of nicotine added much needed clarity to his tired and weary mind. Matt had run and they had pursued him. He had hidden and they had uncovered him. What else could he do?
He already knew the answer. It was time to return the fight to his enemies. The only thing to be decided was how.
And, in an instant, a plan began to formulate in his mind.
Chapter Twenty
Alaska Run