Bright red lines had appeared on the screen, apparently locked on to the routes of first two green arrows, shadowing their run to the brick wall. They were catching up fast.
“How long have they been running?” Rosa asked.
“God knows but they’re getting closer and closer to the others by the second.”
Hardly any of the bricks remained, indicating the assault had almost completed its task, but the accelerating pace of the red lines rapidly closed on their prey.
“I have to warn them,” he said.
“You might blow your location.”
“No other option,” he said.
His fingers sped around the board, punching maniacally at the keys. He hesitated, and then repeated the exercise.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s blocking the abort code signal I’m trying to send. It won’t release from the terminal. How the hell are they doing that?”
He snatched at the mobile and speed dialled.
“Johnno, you’re blown. You have to get out,” he yelled into the handheld machine.
“I can’t see anything obviously wrong here,” said the voice from the speaker. “We’re good by the looks of it.”
“You’re not good. They’re locked on and closing fast. Get out, now. Move for Christ’s sake.”
“Matt?” interrupted Toby. “The programme’s clean from what I can see. Are you sure the problem isn’t your end?”
“They’ve disabled the abort code, so they must have found a way in to your terminal. You’ve got to get out.”
“But we’re nearly there.”
“And so are they. You’ve got to move, now!”
“If you say so,” said the disappointed voice.
“Now,” Matt repeated.
He waited for their confirmation, only to be startled by the familiar sound of small arms fire over the line, growing louder and increasingly frequent.
“Toby,” he heard a voice shout. “Ten o’clock.”
More gunshots rattled over the mobile, loud and rapid, followed by a sharp curse.
“I’m hit.”
Who? Matt wondered.
“Clear exit one,” he shouted at the phone.
“Blocked,” he heard Toby say.
“Two, number two. Try number two.”
“They’re there as well, they’re fucking everywhere. We’re totally screwed. Johnno, to your left,” shouted Toby.
Matt baulked at the loud bangs careering out of the mobile, as though someone had fired right up alongside it.
“Toby, fire in the hold,” he heard Johnno shout.
Another loud bang, more a blast; like an explosion, close and deadly. Then, silence.
“No, no,” said Matt.
Instinct took over and he speed dialled the second number. No answer, and he realised he’d dialled the first by mistake in panic. He tried again, answered immediately.
“Matt?”
“Lily, get out. They’re on to you.”
“It’s all good here,” she said.
“It’s not. Toby and Johnno are down. You have to abort and get out. They’re almost there.”
A gunshot caught his ear.
“Lily, are you there?”
The sound of a handgun firing close to the mobile crackled over the waves.
“Lily, Will. Is anyone there? Lily, Will, say something.”
He listened intently, praying for dear life they’d spotted the assailants in time. The sound of a fresh clip snapping urgently into a handgun filled his ears.
“Will, Lily. Are you there?”
All he could hear was an unnerving silence. Not even the sound of feet running from the scene. Then, two shots in rapid succession, followed by a third and a fourth. The response was immediate, the automatic release of a machine gun.
“Lily!”
Another silence, another burst of gunfire. What was going on? Had they got out? Were they on their way? He couldn’t judge from the long silences. He heard a voice call out, female and familiar, but whose?
“Go,” it said.
The temptation was to say something, so the familiar tone would speak again and provide recognition. He switched off.
“What have I done?” he said, crestfallen.
“Time to move,” said Rosa.
“They were waiting for us, knew what we were trying to do. How could they have known? How did they know?”
“Matt, move your ass.”
He stood, stunned and motionless, mind unable to respond to Rosa’s urgency. How could they know? She understood his fixation.
“Has anyone touched your clothes?”
He shook his head.
“What else have you had with you, the whole time since you got off the boat?”
He nodded at the laptop. She flipped it over and there was the device.
“That’s impossible,” he said. “It was clean when I got off the boat. I checked.”
“And since?” she asked.
Mind scrambling back in time he slowly began to recount his every move, and he remembered.
“Vera,” he said. “What a bitch.”
“Small girl, looks about fifteen?”
He nodded.
“Try Connie Baresi, CIA,” said Rosa. “And you’re right, she is a bitch. Now can we go?”
“Connie?” he said. “That’s worse than Vera.”
“Matt, zip it and move.”
Leaning to close the laptop he noticed the stream of bars gliding across the screen. There was a decision to be made he realised.
“It’s nearly done,” he shouted.
“There isn’t time, leave it.”
“No, I’m not going without it.”
“Matt!”
“I’m going to wait.”
Download 98% complete flashed on screen and he rammed a USB into a socket in readiness. The blue bar of the line crept agonisingly across the screen, inched where they should have galloped, as the memory stick filled up.
“Matt, come on.”
“Nearly there,” he said.
“There’s no more time.”
“Okay,” he yelled, irritably wrenching the USB from the socket.
“Look out!”
The flash hit his eyes before the thump of the deafening noise invaded the ears, pole-axing him into submission. He slumped to the floor and looked around anxiously to see Rosa crashing to the ground alongside him. The second of the stun grenades flattened what little senses remained and his body trembled with the impact, sight disappearing into a void as the sensation of blood trickling from an ear took over. The image of a hand, bloodied and seared, met his temporarily returning gaze. It sank to the floor, and he realised the hand was his. He was beyond movement as the back of his head hit the floor, finally sending him into oblivion.
Thick and billowing smoke clouded the dreamlike sequence, impairing his ability to focus. Hands were on his body, sliding to each side and searching the pockets. An outline of a wobbly human shape fixed into his mind. Man or woman he couldn’t be sure save for the long mane of hair. He felt the sharp prick of a needle into the skin of his arm. The shape rose to its feet and he lost consciousness.
Pieces of gold lay in front of gradually opening eyes, shattered remnants of an expensive watch strewn across the floor. Head hurt, hearing muffled, everything was out of focus. Then the body pain came; aching, tired muscles accompanied by the raging fire coursing through his veins. This must be hell, the world of the devil. Arms stretched and hands gripped, at the solid leg of the wooden table. Inch by inch he could feel his body shuffling along the cold, white tiles. The still body of a woman lay close by.
“Rosa,” he called, praying she’d suffered from no more than being unconscious.
Panic gave him the energy to lift to his knees. Something was wrong. Every part of his body felt out of sync, nothing moved in co-ordination the way a body was supposed to move. He crawled and eased the silent frame onto her back. Blood had run from her nostrils,
eyes were closed, breathing virtually non-existent. What time was it? How long had they been like this?
He slid towards the watch and touched the wreckage. The hands had halted at just past ten. Light from the windows indicated the late afternoon sun was beginning to sink, several hours had passed. He edged back to Rosa. No visible injuries, no broken bones or bullet wounds he could see other than the bloodied nose. What should he do now? It was so hard to concentrate, focus, the mind … didn’t want to work, didn’t want to …
And then he saw the puncture wound, in the crease of her elbow, a needle mark. Blink, blink to focus and look along her forearm. There they were, in line astern, three red blotches. She’d been injected with the virus. They both had. They were going to die.
Fading heartbeat, he could feel it, inside. Need an instant kick, an adrenalin rush, a flush of life. Think, think. What could he do? Matt saw it, the cabinet, the one and obvious choice. He crawled, slid and shuffled, then pulled his body up to release the leaded décor door. Brown, he was looking for the colour brown. Found one. Drink, gulp then swallow; once, twice, and a third before collapsing back onto the ground. Still not right, not perfect. But better.
The rucksack neared and the cover flipped open. He rummaged, searched, and found it. Concentrate, just a little longer. One squirt and it was ready to inject. She lay still and silent by his side, unaware of his choice. One dose was all he had, nothing to spare. No gut wrenching turmoil had clouded his thoughts, affected the decision. There could only be one survivor. The choice was obvious, a no-brainer. He rubbed and tapped furiously at the arm to bring the vein to the surface. Pressure applied, the serum steadily advanced down the plastic tube and disappeared where it was meant to go.
No police, he prayed. Failure of the breathalyser test was a certainty, as sure as night follows day. Clumsy feet sort of moved, jerking the vehicle forward. Down the dusty road it catapulted, vision impeded only by the frequent swigs of the high percentage alcohol to keep his brain functioning. A junction approached. Were the lights red or green? Immaterial he decided and ploughed through the opening, oblivious, his mind lost to another world. Familiarity neared. How many cars had he hit along the way? He neither knew nor cared. Sanctuary arrived. Another quick swig to help him measure the turning circle and he was there, blaring horn and yelling through the open window. The door opened.
“What are you doing?”
She approached, anger written across her face.
“Back seat, Rosa, needs help.”
“You’re drunk!”
“God I hope so.”
“Matt?”
“Virus, given her antidote; needs help now,” he slurred.
“Let me help you.”
“NO! Don’t touch. No antidote left. Get her inside and call a doctor, no hospital. Tell no-one you have her.”
Worried eyes failed to move, failed to respond.
“Do it, now,” he slurred again.
“What about you?”
“Karma,” he tried to say. “Please, help her.”
The back door opened and he listened to the struggle, Rosa proving a good deal weightier than she looked. The call for assistance brought the two boys to the door to help with the unloading. Once they’d got Rosa inside he attempted to re-engage the clutch, succeeding only in charging into a road sign. Several curses later and he’d manoeuvred the vehicle onto the road. First gear slipped into place, forward motion followed, and his weary eyes sought out the whisky container to wrap a hand around it. Empty.
“Crap!”
Hand slipped away from the gear lever, foot off the pedal, and the engine stalled.
“Crap,” he said, slumping against the steering wheel.
Chapter Twenty Seven
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