An hour passed slowly. He sat in the unlit room and waited, hoping for Vogel to return as she had promised. Every now and again he would shine the torch on his watch, only to discover less than five minutes had passed since he’d last checked.
He kept a vigil over the street below, seeing nothing to concern him. No masses of armed police had cordoned off the area. No black clad assassins had entered the street to silently invade the hotel. And there were no snipers positioned on the roofs of the buildings opposite.
Time, he mused, constant yet seemingly so variable; such a precious commodity.
He’d known Jack for just a few short months but it was long enough to know they would have been lifelong friends, had things turned out differently. Holly would have kept Matt amused for the rest of his life.
Johannes was one of the most decent men Matt had ever met in his life. He had it all, including beautiful Rosa, yet never sought to flaunt this good fortune; a truly remarkable man.
Too little time had been spent with Jenna, a true angel of mercy. She had shown Matt there was something noble about caring for others. And all she sought in return for her giving was the normality of family life.
And then there was Grace. He preferred not to think of her as Sandra Hayes, for that woman could surely have never been so freely accepted by the residents of Victoria. She could never have generated the level of passion within Matt that Grace was able to draw from him.
He sighed at the injustices of time and life. Here he was in Brussels, holed up in a small hotel room in the political capital of Europe, with no idea if he was being helped or betrayed. And there was no Rosa around to guide him. He missed her.
A rap at the door shook him from his melancholy, forcing his mind to refocus. The adrenalin surged through his body, his pulse raced and his heart beat faster. Now he would find out the truth about Vogel. Was she friend or foe? Was he right to have trusted her.
Matt held his breath, unsure what to expect. The loaded gun pointed towards the door as if it had a mind of its own. He wanted to believe in Vogel, wanted her to be true. Without her help there was no way this nightmare could ever end, and he knew this was his last chance of salvation.
He braced himself for a sudden rush of enemies into his darkened cell, an onslaught of bodies to enter and overpower him through sheer weight of numbers, bringing his life to a vicious and violent end.
The door pushed slightly ajar. No-one entered. Then a shadow crossed the frame, followed by another and another! They must be readying for the assault.
She had betrayed him!
Heart pounding inside his chest, Matt felt his grip on the gun quiver with the unwanted fear of certain death.
Rosa’s training took control. He’d drop the first assailant at the entrance, causing an obstacle for the others and buy him precious seconds. Widening the window opening would help to free the gas from the canister to follow. There wasn’t time to open the window in the mezzanine.
Matt pushed the damp cloth he’d prepared up to his mouth and nose to avoid inhaling the debilitating fumes, knowing his eyes would sting for a short time before he would be able to refocus on his enemies. The magazine cartridge was full, the silencer fitted. He was ready to take down as many as possible before the inevitable end would arrive.
The wooden floor of the corridor creaked with the pressure of a footstep and he raised the gun and took aim.
“Come on, come on you bastards, what are you waiting for?” he whispered, grip tightening again on the weapon.
A silhouette appeared at the doorway and the outline of a tall, shapely woman emerged into the room.
“I have returned, as promised,” said Vogel, “I made sure not to have been followed.”
“Leave the light off,” replied Matt, exhaling in absolute relief.
Closing the window he made for the table lamp and switched it on as Vogel closed the door behind her. Johannes may have been right. Perhaps he could trust her after all.
“Let me take your coat,” he offered and she slipped her arms out of the sleeves of the black, knee length slim fitting garment.
She stood and watched as he placed it on a hangar and hung it in the wardrobe, his hand brushing the real fur collar of the coat.
“I wasn’t sure you would return,” he said as the wardrobe door clicked into place.
“Did I not say I would?” she replied pointedly.
The sharpness of the response made her sound cross and impatient. It was not the start to the evening he had hoped for.
“Yes, you did,” he said. “I apologise for doubting you.”
She had changed into more casual attire. The fawn coloured designer looking slacks sat trimly around her waist, the wide rims perfectly circling the brown leather half boots encased around her feet. Her white wide collared blouse hugged the upper portion of her body, tightened around her waist by the broad black belt with the large rectangular buckle. Her light coloured hair surrounded the collar of the blouse. Freed from the Cossack hat, her locks looked more golden than he had originally thought.
“Thank you for coming back, Ms Vogel.”
“Catherine,” she replied. “My name is Catherine.”
“Matt,” he proffered in response.
There was no handshake, only nods of acknowledgement. Both looked upon the other, unsure and uncertain as to who should make the first move, speak the first words.
“You are different to how I imagined,” she remarked.
“Should I have been taller, wider perhaps?” he answered quizzically, bulking his body up in a mock gesture.
The quip made her smile, a broad pleasant feature of her face.
“Gentler,” she said.
“Gentler?”
“With Eva-Maria, you were very caring. I had expected coldness, for the ice to be in your eyes. But they are kinder.”
He shrugged away her words, slightly embarrassed by what he assumed to be a compliment.
“How is your daughter?” he asked, suddenly realising his mistake. Rooted to the spot, his mind feverishly sought out a solution to this problem of his own making.
The muscles in her face tightened and the texture of her eyes darkened, fixed still and impassive. Matt thought to find a suitable, believable explanation.
“Only a mother could hold her own child in that way,” he explained.
Her mind rationalised his statement. The texture of her eyes softened.
“She is fine, in good hands for the evening,” she replied and an ever so slight, almost half, smile crossed her lips.
“Good,” he said “She is a nice girl with much to offer the world.”
Only a matter of feet separated them. She narrowed the gap by stepping towards him and placed a hand on each of his shoulders, so she could move her lips closer to his face and peck his cheek. The scent of her perfume circled his head and hung in the air around him as she stepped back.
“Thank you,” she said, “for risking your life to protect my child. Now I reward you with my full attention for the rest of the evening.”
Matt was struck by the openness and warmth she exhibited towards him. This was not at all what he had expected from a seasoned politician. He may have saved her daughter’s life but a simple acknowledgement was about the most he expected in return. Catherine could see his confusion and the slight smile returned to her face, amused by his bewilderment.
“You know your presence here tonight puts your life in danger too,” he warned.
“I will only be in danger if you reveal our little secret, this clandestine rendezvous,” she quipped, the slight smile turning to a full grin on her thin, bright red lips. “Is it your intention to do such a thing?” she teased.
“No, no, of course not,” he muttered defensively, feeling boyishly foolish in her presence.
He sought to dismiss this awkwardness by focussing his attention on preparing the laptop, placed on the set of drawers next to the small flat screen LCD television, directly opposite the sofa bed.
“H
ow long do you have?” he asked. “This will take a couple of hours at least.”
She motioned to suggest there was no problem with time and reached for the hotel phone to dial reception.
“You must be hungry. I will order some refreshments.”
The intention stopped him momentarily, his cautiousness obvious. She returned his look of concern with a broad, and reassuring, smile.
“Eva-Maria reserved the room, is that not correct?” she said, answering her own question. “A woman’s voice would therefore be much better, would it not?” she added.
He listened intently as she spoke to the receptionist. The words were in German but he was savvy enough about the language to understand she had asked only for food and drink. Matt turned his attention back to the computer. While his fingers danced around the keyboard she sat on the sofa bed and waited.
“What is this you intend to show me?” she asked.
“It’s a modern day horror story, Catherine.”
Matt watched Catherine avidly throughout the presentation, glued to the images on the computer screen, though she barely seemed to notice his interest. The expression on her face hardly altered from one of intense concentration for the entire period of time.
She had kicked off her half boots and sat quietly, huddling against one of the arms of the sofa bed with her legs folded as the story was unveiled. It was as though she was curled up on a home sofa, tuned in to a good thriller on the television.
Whilst he had ate heartily she had contented herself with a few cups of coffee, sipping at the rim after cooling the surface of the liquid with short breaths through her pursed lips. Every so often she would throw back her head to shake the golden hair free from the collar of the blouse, and then push the disturbed locks further away using her hands. The long, thin fingers of each hand would draw slowly forward around her neck, and then slide down to the locket held just above her bosom by the thin gold chain. A well practised routine, he considered, but no less erotic.
Matt had built up a picture of her persona from articles he’d translated from the newspaper, from internet sites, and from what others had said about her in St Wolfgang. He expected fierce drive and ambition to be evident, along with extreme confidence and a highly disciplined approach to her actions and words. These attributes she clearly did possess, yet the episode with Eva-Maria and her thank you kiss on his cheek, had demonstrated an unexpectedly tender and vulnerable side to her nature. It had softened his attitude towards the elegant, authoritative woman.
The final segment of the presentation flashed up on the screen, taking him by surprise as the time had passed quickly. A few moments later it had ended and the room lapsed into a dark and eerie silence.
His eyes darted over to her figure, huddled securely to the sofa bed. No words were uttered, her gaze remained fixed on the blank screen. Matt considered starting up the conversation deciding instead to move to the window, opening it fully to let in the chill evening air. The street below was quieter, though noises from the Grand Place could still be heard echoing into the night sky.
Catherine remained silent.
He opened the pack of twenty and lit one up. This was a no smoking hotel so he made sure to lean well out of the window, immediately feeling the evening chill of the frosty air on his ears. His carbon monoxide breath hung in the night, frozen in space.
A smell of strong perfume suddenly invaded his nostrils and a long thin hand appeared over his shoulder to reach for the cigarette. The pink varnished nails of the fingers from the intruding hand freed the object from his grasp.
And then she appeared beside him. Wrapped back up in her overcoat with her elbows placed on the sill, she inhaled deeply at the cigarette. It was all done in extreme slow motion.
“You are full of surprises, Catherine. I had a clear vision of you as an ardent anti-smoking campaigner.”
“I still enjoy, from time to time,” she replied, blowing the smoke out into the night, “when there is no-one to watch.”
A wry smile emerged on his face as she handed it back to him.
“Yeah, most of the pleasure is in the sheer unadulterated naughtiness of it all,” he replied with a deadpan expression.
Now it was her turn to smile.
“What did you make of it?” he asked, turning the tone of the conversation.
“It is very disturbing, truly frightening,” she responded. “What is most surprising is they appear to have succeeded in keeping such a thing secret from the rest of the world.”
“But there should be no secrets, Catherine. These people are all paid officials from what I can see apart from the last name, Kimber, who doesn’t seem to have any official responsibilities whatsoever. So somebody must know who these people are.”
“I am vaguely familiar with one or two of the names. The man Kimber, I understand, is a self-made multi-billionaire in America,” she replied.
She took the cigarette from his hand and breathed in once more, returning the almost spent shape back into his possession. For a few moments neither spoke, preferring to gaze out over the rooftops of the buildings opposite.
“How did these files come to you?”
“A friend, not that it matters now,” he sighed. “It is what I do with them which is important. It would be wrong, and there is far too much at stake, for me to do nothing.”
Their shoulders touched as they leaned at the window, her perfume growing seemingly ever stronger the longer she stood beside him. Matt breathed in the Austrian woman’s feminine aroma, thinking how best to engage her.
“Many years ago,” he said, breaking the silence. “I would come here with friends for the biannual Flower Festival. In the evenings we would sit at one of the pavement cafés in the Grand Place. We would drink, smoke and chatter; generally fool around, all the way through to the early hours of the morning. They were memorable days and memorable nights, unbelievably memorable times.”
“You have shown this information to friends also?” she asked.
He paused for a moment and she noticed the muscles of his face tighten.
“No. I don’t have any friends left.”
There was no sadness in his voice only a flat, emotionless tone but her sideways glance caught sight of his aggrieved expression.
“Because of these files,” she said, more in confirmation than request.
“Yes, because of these damn files!” he answered, tossing the cigarette stub into the street.
She could sense the pent up frustration, the rage simmering beneath the surface of his apparent calm exterior, and waited for him to regain his composure.
“Do you hear that Catherine?” he suddenly asked.
“Hear what?” a perplexed look on her face.
“The voices of many people who have come to enjoy an evening in the Grand Place, the noisy conversations and the sound of laughter gathering pace. The delight of parents at their children’s excitement when they see the huge Christmas tree parked in the middle of the square, promoting pictures in their little heads of the day they will soon be opening presents under their own trees…..”
His words tailed off into the night. The images conjured up by his descriptions flashed through her mind. She couldn’t remember the last family Christmas.
“I hear the noises,” she responded, a smile of curiosity lighting up her face.
“Now shut your eyes Catherine, and listen to nothing else but my voice.”
“Are you going to tell me a fairy story?”
A wry smile swept over Matt’s face at her humorous aside. The question wasn’t posed in sarcastic tones and he accepted it at face value, as a friendly tease.
“Close your eyes and judge for yourself,” he replied.
The curious smile remained as she obeyed his bidding.
“Ten years have passed since this cold night, a night when you leaned out of a hotel window next to a complete stranger and broke the rules by sharing an illegal cigarette,” he began. “The night is as cold on this future e
vening as it is this very eve.”
Her smile widened further in amusement.
“There is no Christmas tree in the square of the Grand Place this particular year for a pandemic has swept across the globe, decimating two thirds of the world’s population. The people are wary of mass congregation and physical contact. They are hesitant and cautious. Many are still afraid and fear for their lives.”
“They have been informed by the leaders of the new world constitution this particular viral strain specifically targets the weak and the infirm, and those blighted by genetic disorder or are mentally diminished. It has also been said those closest to such unfortunates are also at peculiar risk, because of the way the virus mutates. Once it has infected specific bloodlines the mutation grows ever more powerful and deadly. The people are encouraged to report signs of both physical and mental deformity so the authorities can clamp down on any further outbreaks.”
Matt paused to allow the images to slowly frame in her mind, to seep deep into her consciousness.
“By now, a woman called Eva-Maria has produced twins whom she and her young partner love dearly. However, in one of those devastating quirks of fate that can never be explained, the children were born with mild deformities not obvious to the naked eye. The couple withdraw to Eva-Maria’s home village to decide their next course of action, for it is the new law children with such debilities must be given up to the State. But it has never been the way of the village to surrender up a child, and they determine to say nothing over the ensuing years.”
He noticed discomfort on Catherine’s face and felt sure his words were having an impact.
“On this cold night the children are huddled close to their mother, waiting for the father to return from work in a nearby village. He nears his family with a happy smile, unaware others lie in wait. A fellow villager has become suspicious of the small family, observed them closely and then decided to contact the authorities.”
“As the father nears the door to his home the armed police of the new world order spring from their lairs. Valiantly he tries to repel their forced entry but is overpowered by sheer weight of numbers and subsequently smitten down, for he has been treasonous to the State.”
A pained expression had full hold of Catherine’s face and he was surprised she had not asked him to stop. He reasoned this was due to the old adage of the horror flick, not wanting to see but needing to watch.
“Suddenly the door is thrown open, burst wide by a burly policeman leading others and each carrying a black weapon of death. Eva-Maria understands immediately why they have come and stands in front of the children to protect them from these harbingers of death. The young mother is tossed aside like a rag doll by the rough policeman, the force of his blow causing her body to become broken as she crashes against the stone fireplace. Just before she loses consciousness from the pain of her injuries, she hears the screams of the children ...”
“Enough!” snapped Vogel, blinking furiously at the evening sky. “You have made your point.”
“This is the scene several years hence, Catherine; after the Milieu conspiracy has taken effect,” he said. “Not just one more, cold dark December night but yet another vicious, murderous night of the future. A night led by a world state corrupted by absolute power.”
He could see her head shake slowly from side to side in an attempt to discard the vision he had so tellingly painted. Matt recognised the moment had come.
“The new world planned by these people will begin with order and optimism but, as it begins to grow again, the old failings will reappear and the weakness of the human psyche will re-emerge. This will ultimately lead to the rebirth of another Milieu conspiracy, Book Two if you like. It is as sure as night follows day.”
She breathed in and exhaled, shoulders rising and falling in a perfectly practised rhythm.
“It can’t happen, Catherine. I won’t allow it to. It shouldn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, healthy or disadvantaged. Every person should have the opportunity to live. No-one has the arbitrary right to take that away, not even Governments.”
“You should take up politics,” she responded, lightly.
“Urrgh! A dark and cold world I have absolutely no wish to inhabit,” he said. “It is filled with unsavoury people who do not mean what they say and who do not say what they mean, present company excluded of course.”
The delightful half smile returned to her face.
“I desperately need some help, but I’m almost afraid to ask,” he continued. “If you did agree to assist me it is vital you tell no-one of your involvement. And, after tonight, we should never meet again. I don’t want your name added to this ever-growing list of people murdered because of these files, because of me.”
“You certainly know how to win a girl over,” she said dryly.
Another wry smile appeared on his face. She had shown surprisingly good humour, despite the dark conversation.
“All I need,” he said, “is a list of contacts. The files tell us those involved in this thing. I need names of people in those EU Governments that aren’t involved. People you believe can be trusted to use this information wisely. That’s all.”
“Were I to identify and give you these names, what is it you think they could achieve?” she asked.
“Detente,” he replied.
She cocked her head at him, a curious smirk on her face. He decided to explain further.
“Think of the Cold War and the nuclear stand-off between the US and the Soviet Union,” he said. “Each side could have destroyed the world with their missiles. The reason it didn’t happen was because both knew the other had the capacity for destruction. In effect, they each deterred the other.”
Her eyes focussed a little harder as he continued.
“Those Government officials involved in this conspiracy can’t afford for their secret to be made public, to become known. It is the threat they may be revealed, by any one or all of the other member States of the Commission, which would stop this project.”
She paused, as if to consider his reasoning.
“But is that the real solution?” she asked. “Even if you stop these people with their plan, there is still the problem of too many people on the planet and too few resources with which to support them,” she countered. “This latest recession is merely a blip, a short recess amidst the mad scramble for the consumption of the world’s finite raw materials. Even now, some countries threaten to protect their own by refusing to export their home produce.”
“Trust a politician to play Devil’s Advocate,” he said, knowing only too well she had a point.
The sound of her mirth cut through the night air.
“I do not mean to tease you, Matt. You must forgive the natural instinct of a politician,” she replied with a grin.
His weary smile confirmed he had not taken offence at her temporary amusement.
“I seek only to counsel wisely,” she said quietly, returning to a more serious tone. “To reveal this conspiracy is surely right on many levels, but the revelation alone will not halt their progress as they can know of no other solution. And until an alternative measure is in place you, of all people, can never be safe from them.”
“Perhaps there is a way,” he countered.
She glanced back, a look of curiosity returning to her face.
“Should I succeed in getting this information to the right people it might, just might, open up a proper debate between nation states. They may even try working together to resolve their differences. It would certainly make a pleasant change from the constant bickering.”
“There is no guarantee it would work. Co-operation is easy to say. In reality, it is very hard to achieve. And before this could happen you must first get this information to them before it is intercepted.”
“Then I will need to get the files to them collectively.”
“So you do ask I risk everything. Sacrifice all, possibly my life, in pursuit of a bold and likely reckless plan.”
“I still believe there are some people who enter politics for the right reasons, people who want to use their position to improve society not destroy it.”
“You have romantic notions of the motives of politicians.”
“Not of any of them Catherine, only you,” he answered.
Matt sought out her eyes with his soft smile and searching gaze. If there was any doubt before, he had caught her full attention now.
There were many things Catherine had expected him to say to her. This wasn’t one of them. Her surprise evident, she returned his engaging smile with a puzzled look.
“I’ve read up on your speeches, your public statements, the ideals you argue the EU should stand for. If these are all true statements, then who better to lead a co-ordinated world effort than an organisation independent of individual Governments. Who better to assume the lead role than someone who is respected and admired by all of the individual components of that institution?”
She gasped at the extraordinary statements spilling from his mouth.
“You have researched me!” was her astonished response.
He nodded appreciatively.
“You have spent too much time in your own company, thinking like this,” she said.
“Apart from trying to stay alive, I haven’t really had time to consider much else.”
They returned their gazes out of the window, looking up to the stars in the night sky, shoulder to shoulder.
“It is a leap of faith too far,” she said, shaking her head with incredulity. “It could never be this way. The Americans, for sure, would never allow this to happen.”
“They’re not at their strongest, and your reputation in the States has never been higher. China, Japan, India; none of them are trusted. And no European country could be elevated above the rest. The Canadians are just interested observers.”
“That is a little simplistic,” she argued.
He put the flame of his lighter to a fresh cigarette, inhaled, and then handed it to her. Matt was determined not to falter.
“That leaves the EU, an institution searching for its true place in global society for longer than I can remember.”
All of a sudden he had her thinking, inspired even, by his bold utopian dream.
“It is fantasy,” she said.
“Picture the scene, Catherine,” he said, to pick up the line of argument. “Once I distribute the information these people will naturally seek to gravitate to someone with no obvious enemies. You fit the bill perfectly.”
“I think there was a little too much Cognac in the coffee, it can have a bad effect on the mind.”
“You would know Catherine, you’ve drank most of it,” he replied smartly, nodding back at the near empty glass coffee pot. The quip went over her head without even entering her mind, which was now in overdrive.
His glance caught her studious gaze. Her eyes glistened as the moonlight shone upon her face through the open window, highlighting her natural femininity. He could sense her inner turmoil, judging it to be a conflict between political ambition and the desire for self preservation.
“Your place in history awaits, Catherine. That is why you, of all people, originally went into politics isn’t it?”
Matt’s quiet tone failed to disguise the challenge he had astutely laid before her. After all the charm, the easy manner, he had made his point very directly. He knew her better than she thought, making her realise the extent to which she had underestimated him.
“And what of Matt Durham, what does he seek in return for saving the world?” she asked, emphasising her final words.
He paused, suggesting he had not given the subject any thought. Catherine had the feeling he had long since decided this.
“Nothing, other than my life returned to me.”
“What? No money, no position, no recognition. That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“To do what exactly?” she asked
“To just live it,” he said. “I want a life without interference from the state, without obligation to the state, without fear of the state.”
Catherine frowned in disbelief at what she understood to be his naivety.
“For someone who has risked his life to rescue the world you insist on having nothing in return?”
“Absolutely shit all.”
They stood quietly, each locked in their thoughts.
“Why did you not consider the other option?” she asked.
“What option would that be?”
“Negotiate with those responsible for the conspiracy. You have a much stronger hand to play than you might think.”
He sucked in a deep breath of air.
“Because it would be wrong, surely you can see that?” he questioned, shocked at the suggestion, the terse reply causing his facial muscles to tighten.
“I had to ask,” Catherine uncomfortably replied. “It must surely have crossed your mind.”
Thoughts of Tillman’s desperate efforts at negotiation, as he waited for Matt to end his life, came flooding back into his mind.
“No, these people can’t be trusted, even if you were part of their organisation,” he said. “They might appear to value what people can do for them but once someone’s purpose is served they’ll be thrown aside, wasted and spent. These people do not seek to preserve society or civilisation, only themselves.”
He hadn’t meant to lose his temper. Matt checked the time on his watch. It was almost half past eleven.
“It’s getting late Catherine. You should go home. I’ll send a text in the next couple of days. Should you decide not to help, then I will understand.”
“There is much to consider,” she replied tentatively, feeling discarded.
Matt felt he had spoken too harshly. She was right to ask the question and he had reacted badly. Probably, a year or more ago, he would have viewed the information in his possession as a negotiating tool. An opportunity for further material gain. Things had changed. He had been perfectly happy in Canada with nothing, and good people had died.
He lifted her hand and placed the cigarettes and lighter into her palm.
“Here, take these,” he whispered softly. “Enjoy the stolen moments they will bring. I have enough health problems.”
A bright smile appeared on her face, breaking the suddenly tense atmosphere between them. She leaned toward him and placed the long fingers of her right hand to his cheek as she kissed his lips.
“Thank you once more,” she whispered, “for returning my daughter to me unharmed. In leading her to safety you have saved my life also and, for this, I shall be forever in your debt.”
Her soft words surprised him. They were spoken with such depth of feeling he could sense something stirring within his own emotional psyche. Matt wondered how his parents hadn’t shown themselves to feel as strongly about him as this woman felt about her child.
“I’ll be in touch,” he managed to reply. “Be careful on your journey back home, Catherine.”
She smiled limply and turned away to pick up her shoulder bag from the sofa bed. A further weak smile crossed her face as she bid him goodnight.
Once the door closed he returned the room into darkness and within seconds the internal ache of loneliness descended back upon him, infecting his soul with gloom and despair.
Chapter Thirty One
The Hope of Uncertainty