The Milieu Principle

by Malcolm Franks

Annika lifted the last plate from the table and placed it on top of the others, to carry them to the kitchen. Matt watched her expertly weave between the tables of the circular shaped end of the restaurant with the heavy load. Her short brown hair made her appear boyish from behind as she entered the other half of the room. The second part of the restaurant was oblong shaped, housing a few more small tables and the self service buffet area. Though more brightly lit than where they sat the space had a less cosy feel, less intimate.

  The meal with the hotel owners, and their two remarkably well behaved children, had been pleasant and relaxing. Rosa and Johannes arrived to join them at the long table by the window, overlooking the small square beneath Matt’s room. They had dressed in matching clothing, black polo necked sweaters and slacks, which Matt found mildly amusing.

  Large numbers of people milled around outside in the artificially illuminated darkness, exchanging pleasantries. In St Wolfgang everyone knew everyone else. Matt decided it was time for some additional research.

  “Tell me some more about Catherine Vogel,” he asked.

  Julia, the slim blonde wife of the owner decided to speak first.

  “Catherine and I are related, as cousins,” she began. “She was the cleverest and most attractive girl of our year at school. All the boys admired her allure; even Wilhelm and Johannes were smitten, though she was careful not to break their hearts, until …”

  “Until?” enquired Matt.

  Wilhelm took up the story.

  “Until her parents were killed in a motorway accident, along with her brother. She alone survived, unharmed, neither a scratch nor even a hair out of place.” He shrugged, unable to explain the miraculous escape.

  “That was the change,” chipped in Julia. “She became so focused, so driven to try and do good things for the world. In the process, she became distant from others and has rarely been seen in the village since leaving for Brussels. Her work has separated her from St Wolfgang and you feel she is no longer a part of the village community.”

  There was a sense of sadness in Julia’s eyes towards her cousin. Matt got the distinct impression there was more than mere disappointment at the loss of a close friendship.

  “She started work at the EU as a lowly clerk, gradually working her way up the career ladder,” said Wilhelm taking up the story, “interrupted only by the birth of a child, Eva-Maria, borne from an indiscretion.”

  Johannes then spoke.

  “Catherine asked my mother, who had always wanted a daughter of her own, to adopt the child so she could return to her work. Catherine has become one of the most powerful and influential people within the EU as Head of the Office for Constitutional Affairs.”

  “She wouldn’t be the first person to give up a child in order to further a career,” remarked Matt.

  A cold pause followed, leading Matt to believe he had said the wrong thing. He felt uncomfortable. Julia was the first to respond.

  “It is not our way. Although Catherine provides money and opportunity for Eva-Maria, she has never acknowledged to the child she is hers. It is not the village way to surrender a child like this.”

  Though the words were spoken without emotion she clearly disapproved of the circumstance.

  “Will she help us?” asked Matt.

  “I believe she will,” answered Johannes. “What Catherine has sacrificed in one part of her life she makes up to the world in other ways.”

  He looked across at Julia and smiled, only for her to glance away from him to signal her disapproval. The uneasy silence was broken by the ringing tone from Johannes’ mobile phone. The call did not take long and the resulting expression on the Austrian’s face told Matt all he needed to know.

  “The flight to Salzburg has been delayed by the poor weather,” reported Johannes. “The delay is expected to take many hours. Catherine has decided it would be better to try again tomorrow.”

  “Another day won’t hurt,” replied Matt, trying to display calm. Rosa could see through the veil and recognised the depth of his disappointment.

  The time had turned eleven when the party decided to call it a night. Julia had retired earlier, taking the children. Matt took one last look out of the window at the night sky as he finished his coffee.

  “How odd is that?” said Matt. “All the street lights have gone out.”

  Turning back he noticed the serious expression on Rosa’s face. Leaping from her chair she moved quickly to stand at the side of the window and peer out into the darkened streets. She nodded to Johannes and he whispered into his cousin’s ear, who was horrified by the short exchange of words. Matt was puzzled. He looked to Rosa as Wilhelm rushed to depart, switching the lights off as he left.

  “They’re here,” she whispered.

  He knew instantly. A series of hand movements and they moved away from the restaurant window to head up the stairs towards Matt’s room passing Wilhelm and Julia, each with a child in their arms, making for the cellar.

  One by one the three companions crawled into his room on their bellies, squeezing their bodies between the narrow space of the half-opened door and the frame. Matt slid along the floor to the other end of the room and pulled the curtain across the patio door.

  Rosa reached for the holdall she had brought earlier in the evening and left in Matt’s room. Hurriedly she pulled out the weaponry, checking each item was loaded before distributing it amongst them.

  “Put something dark on,” she hissed to Matt and he instantly obeyed, carefully strapping the new knife to the bottom of his leg.

  Rosa reached back into the holdall and produced the final items of the mini arsenal, silencers. This is why they had dressed in dark clothes, he realised. They had come prepared, as a precaution, and it was as well they had. Rosa constantly told him to plan for every eventuality.

  Matt eased the patio door open and edged cautiously onto the balcony. There was no sign of movement and he turned to the others to indicate they were clear. Johannes went first, sliding over the railing and lowering his slim frame gently onto the slated restaurant roof underneath. Matt went next, followed by Rosa. It was the same order for the drop to the ground.

  The Austrian moved stealthily across the little square, checking the path in front before signalling Matt to follow. No words were spoken, only nods of the head or hand and finger gestures. Silently, they moved on, hoping they would meet no obstacles to the boathouse.

  Matt could see Johannes ahead, but had lost sight of Rosa behind. It was the cardinal sin, to retrace your steps during an escape. He had to make sure she was alright. He leaned against the side of the wall and bent his head round the corner to look into the street; nothing.

  He looked again. This time he could see a figure, no, there were two black clad figures struggling in the doorway of the shop from where he’d purchased the knife. The tussling had ended. He couldn’t make out who had got the upper hand. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

  His trained mind sprang into action and closed his eyes to picture the alley from memory. The shop front was probably no more than ten yards from where he stood. To the left was a large fake barrel, about six feet away; the shopkeeper used it during the day to display his wares. On the other side a giftware shop was edged by the raised footpath. Two of the street cobbles had loosened against the kerb and they rattled together when stepped on, which would give his approach away. Confident he was picture perfect, Matt stole silently forward.

  “Now, now,” whispered the man into her ear, “No sudden movement now. We wouldn’t want to damage that face of yours would we pretty, pretty?”

  He pressed the blade of his knife hard up against Rosa’s throat, forcing her into submission. She could smell his breath blowing hard against her cheek and it sickened her to be under this man’s control.

  “No sharp, acid remarks milady,” he continued. “Perhaps you’ll learn to be more pleasant now.”

  Rosa made another attempt to free herself from being pinned to the door by the aggressor. He
wasn‘t prepared to loosen the advantage he had struggled to achieve.

  Slowly, the man moved his free hand up from his side and placed it on Rosa’s hip, loosening the dark jersey from her slacks. She made to move and he pressed a touch harder with the blade to insist upon her still co-operation. He whispered further into her captive ear, causing Rosa to screw up her face in revulsion.

  His hand lifted up inside her garment, creeping slowly like an encroaching spider, until he reached her wired bra. He pushed the garment upwards to release her breast and began to knead the bosom and stroke her nipple.

  “There, that’s not so bad. Is it milady?” he taunted. Rosa was screaming inside for help, the humiliation of his forced attention bringing moisture to the rims of her eyes.

  The man wanted more and his hand slipped down her body, over her bare stomach. His breathing became more erratic as his hand moved towards its target, prising the top of the slacks away from her flesh. The tips of his fingers pushed down in search of her femininity. Her body went rigid as his breathing grew heavier and he pushed his face against Rosa‘s head. Feeling him up against her, she was determined to shut out his vile touch from her mind.

  “Hello, Bob, fancy bumping into you again so soon,” came the soft voice from behind.

  The man could feel the barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head, bringing his hand movements to a sudden halt.

  “Be a good lad and let the lady free,” the voice insisted, pushing the weapon harder against the man’s skull.

  “Matt?” replied Evans, nervously.

  He took his hand from Rosa and loosened the blade from her throat. She spun away and reached for her own knife. Matt shook his head and beckoned her away from the assailant.

  “Matt, I’m here to help you,” said Evans edgily, his eyes fixed on the doorway in front of him.

  “Of course you are, Bob, now stay perfectly still for a moment,” and he took a pace back.

  “Matt?” questioned Evans, trying to summon the courage to face his captor. “Let me talk to Tillman. He’s close by. I’ll try and cut a deal for you.”

  “Tillman’s here?”

  “With the rest of the team, I’m on point and he’ll be here soon. Listen to me Matt, I’m probably your best shot,” begged Evans.

  A vision of Amy’s face appeared in Matt’s mind, and he allowed his finger to squeeze the trigger. The blowpipe sound he remembered from Skagway fractured the stillness of the night, releasing the bullet into his opponent. Flesh and blood spattered out from the other side of Evans’ head against the glass door of the shop and his body slumped to the ground.

  This was Matt’s second kill, and he felt no more than mere satisfaction.

  He hurried to catch up to with the others, gliding among the shadows with the deftness of a cat. He could see Johannes and Rosa’s outlines ahead. Another black-clad body lay at the Austrian man’s feet, the neck twisted out of shape.

  Rosa signalled the way and they stole down the dark lane towards the boathouse. A shape emerged from the shadows and Rosa fired twice to bring the figure to the floor. Striding carefully up to the downed opponent she pointed her weapon and fired twice more.

  A few yards later and they had reached their destination, a large wooden shed-like structure built on stilts jutted out into the water. Spotting the heavy padlock they realised they hadn’t brought the key. Silence was essential. Smashing the lock would create too much noise and attract unwanted attention.

  Johannes motioned towards the ice cold water and led the way. They waded to the front of the boathouse, shivering in the almost freezing temperature of the lake. Johannes handed his weapon to Rosa and submerged under the surface. They waited until he’d found the open slat and pulled himself inside. Moments later and the first of the boathouse doors swung open, allowing his comrades to enter the wooden-framed structure.

  The speedboat moored inside sat motionless on the surface, the water barely lapping against its sides. Johannes searched for the keys hanging from a coat rack nearby. Rosa climbed into the boat as Matt pushed at the other door and gently eased it open. Matt knew his work wasn’t done and continued round to the rear of the machine. He grimaced as the water seeped ever colder into his wet clothes, making his lower limbs ache.

  Free from its moorings, he was able to push the boat out from its shelter and close the doors behind. The mass started to float gently away and he swam quickly to the side to be hauled on board by Johannes’ strong arms.

  Rosa had found a blanket and rubbed furiously into Matt’s legs and torso to try and revive the circulation. Meanwhile the Austrian attempted to manoeuvre the drifting structure away from the shore into the heart of the lake. They prayed the darkness would cover their getaway. The floating vessel took an age to move away from the boathouse, all of them conscious the merest sound would echo across the lake.

  “Where are we going?” mouthed Matt, feeling returning to his legs.

  “St Gilgen,” Rosa mouthed back.

  They listened intently to the sound of the black, cold night.

  “Shiessen,” muttered Johannes.

  His two fellow escapees joined him at the wheel. The moon reflected across the lake in front of them. They were drifting right into the path of the beam of light. Within seconds they would be caught in its glare. Anyone looking from the shore would spot them immediately.

  Gradually they drifted. Slowly and inexorably the boat moved forward until the front of the vessel was unmasked by the moonlight. Each of them hardly dared breathe for fear of discovery. Inch by painstaking slow inch the full shape of the boat emerged from the darkness, its occupants powerless to prevent their unveiling. To start the engine would give their location away. All they could do was sit, wait and scan the shoreline.

  The first shot flew over Rosa’s head, whistling through the air as it passed her by. A rapid stream of missiles followed, prompting Johannes to start the engine and force the gear lever forward. Two shapes loomed out of the darkness of the village and sped towards them, flashes of light spitting from the sides of the approaching speedsters to announce their murderous intent. As their escape vehicle increased in pace Rosa and Matt returned fire, Johannes steering a weaving pattern through the dark waters.

  A splash appeared at the side of one of the pursuing vessels, signalling a fallen opponent, then a second. Still they surged forward to try and narrow the gap to their prey. Another burst of gunfire came close, causing them to duck for cover. Rosa slotted a fresh magazine into the machine pistol, counted to three and jumped up to fire a retaliatory burst.

  It was the sickening thud of metal into flesh that alarmed Matt, throwing Rosa behind him by the sheer force of the impact. She crumpled to a heap on the deck. Johannes sensed the danger.

  “Rosa!” he cried, but could not stop.

  Matt could see the small frame bent double, the extent of her injury he could only guess. Unaware if she was alive or dead he knew he had to return fire, and used the machine pistol that had fallen from her grasp.

  The speedboat screeched to a halt at the small wooden jetty at St Gilgen, the heavy impact of bouncing into the structure throwing Matt from his crouched position. Johannes leapt from the driver’s seat and carried Rosa’s wounded body onto shore. He ran to place her behind the cover of a wooden chest-like structure, where the jetty joined the mainland. Matt followed from behind, back pedalling as he watched for the arrival of the chasing boats.

  The streetlamp above illuminated Rosa’s wound. Blood seeped from underneath her jumper, to the left of her stomach, and dripped onto the wooden floor. Matt saw the anguish in Johannes’ eyes.

  “Go,” he said, “I will hold them.”

  Matt shook his head.

  “Go! Now,” yelled the Austrian. “Get to Brussels, seek out Catherine and tell her everything before it is too late. Go, Matt!”

  He threw the mobile phone to the Englishman and then snatched the machine pistol from Matt’s grasp. He turned away and, without looking, fir
ed a retaliatory burst into the pitch darkness above the lake. Matt ran into the cover of the village ahead, carrying a semi automatic, without any kind of understanding of where he was going.

  With each galloping stride Matt could hear the blowpipe sounds, resonating in the dark, get further and further away. Something, instinct or an inner feeling, made him stop. He could see Johannes from his vantage point at the top of the sloping footpath leading to the waterside. The Austrian, crouched under the street lamp, was once again checking the ammunition.

  Matt glimpsed a shadowy movement, a dark clad figure, crawling round the side of a building to the left of Johannes’ position. The assassin edged closer to the Austrian, unaware of the approaching danger. To your left, Johannes, look to your left shrilled Matt’s mind.

  He had to help. Matt looked for the least visible approach to the waterside. His own weapon was fully loaded with one spare clip. He moved swiftly down the path, scanning for any other sudden movements in the shadows. He’d lost sight of the circling killer.

  Nearing his objective, Matt glanced up to see the Austrian rise from behind the protective wooden cover and fire into the night. The hidden assassin responded by rising from his cover and firing a fusillade of shots. Johannes squirmed after hitting the ground, pain etched on his face. There was no attempt to cry out into the night.

  Matt watched in silent despair as Johannes turned his head to seek out Rosa’s gaze, propped up against the wooden chest close to where he now lay. The Austrian tried to shuffle his body nearer to her. Unable to get his body to co-operate with his brain, Johannes reached out with his arm.

  Desperately, he extended his arm to stretch out the fingers of his hand and try and touch his wounded lover. Rosa could barely see him through her glazed eyes but instinctively tried to comply. Straining every muscle and sinew they groped in the darkness for any kind of contact, missing the comfort of each other’s touch by millimetres. They were heartbreakingly close.

  Matt quickened his pace to try and reach the stricken couple before the night took them. There were only yards left. A quick sprint over the short distance, that’s all it would take to join them. His eyes locked on to his friends, still searching hopelessly for each other’s touch.

  Suddenly a black clad shape appeared. Seeing Johannes movement, the assassin fired several times into the Austrian’s dying frame. Rosa, hearing and recognising the chilling murder, whimpered in lonely despair. Exhaling deeply, her head tilted gently to the side. Matt was sure her blue eyes had managed to seek him out, see him crouching in the shadows. Then her eyelids closed. And she was gone.

  Matt fell to his knees, raising his head to the blackened sky in search of an explanation. Why these people, he demanded to know. Why? Haven’t you taken enough already? There was no reply.

  The rage took over his mind and the urge to kill became all-consuming. God he was going to make them pay. His hand wrapped tightly around the handle of the gun.

  Three more figures appeared on the jetty at the same time the noise of a car engine could be heard accelerating away from the village centre. The second man’s head turned at the sound, the bright streetlamp lighting up his features.

  “How many?” he asked fiercely, in a deep masculine voice.

  Instantly, Matt knew it was Tillman.

  “Two, Sir. The target’s missing. He must have made it to the getaway car.”

  Tillman cursed and looked down at Rosa.

  “You fucking bitch,” he spat at the dead beauty and started to kick repeatedly at her lifeless form.

  Tillman turned his raging anger upon the three assassins, and then yelled into the radio the news the target had eluded them once more.

  Matt crept ever nearer, the sound of Tillman’s angry voice berating his colleagues’ sloppiness getting ever louder. Matt checked his weapon one more time, and then felt for the spare cartridge in his pocket. He leaned against the wall of the lakeside shop, ready to pounce.

  In a single sweeping movement he swung into the open and fired at each of the standing figures, from left to right, one shot apiece. Their bodies crumpled to the ground, one after the other. He paused and listened. Matt waited to hear if there were any sounds of life, and then cautiously approached the fallen.

  Turning the first body over with his foot he looked at the face beneath him. A youngish man, his blonde hair speckled with blood, groaned slightly as he stared up at Matt with eyes pleading for mercy. Matt had already decided there would be none.

  Pointing the pistol at the young man’s frightened face he squeezed the trigger to silence the groans. The second and third assassins were already dead. He fired into them anyway to make certain, emptying the ammunition clip in the process.

  Snapping the new cartridge into place he suddenly felt a blow to his calf and his legs gave way, toppling him to the ground and spilling the gun. Before he could react he felt a strong, powerful arm reach around his neck.

  Choking pressure exerted around his throat. Matt gasped for air as he struggled to slide a hand between the vice like grip and his own windpipe. He thought he’d created an opening. A false impression, air refused to enter his lungs.

  He could feel his consciousness weaken as he flailed around in a desperate attempt to break free. The pressure upon his throat starved his brain of oxygen, the fuel needed to think effectively, and he could feel his mind begin to surrender the unequal fight. He remembered the knife. Using the fading remnants of his awareness, he reached down to his leg in search of the weapon. Fingers scrambled for the handle and he managed to grab the butt and unleash it from the sheath.

  The assassin was focussed on ending Matt’s life and failed to spot the arm rise. Then he felt his quarry drive the knife forcefully into his thigh. The resulting cry of pain failed to relieve the iron grip around Matt’s throat. Desperately, he pulled at the serrated implement to free it from its fleshy store. The assassin shouted out again, momentarily easing the tight hold around Matt’s neck. It was enough.

  Matt gulped madly at the air, sucking it into his lungs to try and invigorate his body. Sliding to the side of the assassin, he used the new surge of energy to power the blade viciously into the man’s groin.

  A pitiful scream split the stillness of the night, filling the air with the sound of untold agony, and the attacker released his grip. Matt rolled away from the wounded figure and gulped in mouthfuls of air.

  Seconds, that seemed more like minutes, passed by as Matt sought to recover. His fingers searched the ground and located the semi. Rising unsteadily to his feet he stepped up to the writhing figure of his assailant.

  Tillman’s agony was writ across his face, hardly daring to breathe as each draw of the atmosphere brought the sharp, piercing pains from his groin back into his mind. Matt looked upon the helpless figure, smiling at the agonised expression on Tillman’s face.

  “Mr Tillman, it really doesn’t look as though you’re going to make it on to the ark after all,” he said.

  “Fuck you, Daniels,” cursed Tillman.

  “Durham, Matt Durham is my name,” he replied quietly.

  “Well fuck you, Durham. You insignificant little shit.”

  “That’s not very Queen’s English of you.”

  Tillman’s breathing was heavy and erratic, broken only by the sound of pain induced cries. Matt stared at his adversary, pointing the gun to the wounded man’s head, wondering how long he should let the man suffer.

  “I should have stopped you, straight away, in Kielder,” groaned the mutilated Tillman.

  “But you didn’t, and here we are. Doubt you’ll be able to stop me now.”

  “It’s only a matter of time,” hissed Tillman.

  “Not unless I get you all first.”

  “Grow up man. There’s too many of us. You might as well put the gun to your head and pull the trigger now.”

  “The world will know about your dirty little secret soon enough, and once they do there won’t be any point in killing me.” Matt paused for a second.
“Well at least it won‘t be you that pulls the trigger.”

  “Think you can stop it? You can never stop it,” hissed Tillman, “It’s going to happen whatever you do.”

  “I can stop it,” insisted Matt, his voice calm and steady.

  “Don’t be a fool. It has to happen. The world can’t go on like this, or civilisation will die. The human race will become extinct. Is that what you want?”

  Matt shook his head, slowly. It was the way these people rationalised their actions he found so depressing.

  “What I don’t understand is why we even bother to elect Governments. We vote them in and what happens? As soon as the going gets tough they go right ahead and plan for a future, without us.”

  “Politicians!” gasped Tillman. “They want us to strip the land bare. Mass consumption keeps people happy, encourages them to re-elect the same crowds into power. Those bastards only have the attention span of one election at a time. And they’re mostly useless anyway.”

  The confession caused Matt to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

  “So who does manage these things?” he asked, not sure whether to believe his wounded, terrified foe or not.

  “The same people, the only people with the capacity to plan for the future. It’s the paid officials, stupid, and they’ll always be in place. That’s why you‘ve got no chance.”

  Tillman took a deep, painful breath trying to force his mind into ignoring the pain.

  “Don’t believe you, Tillman. It’s not possible to do any of this without some sort of acknowledgement from the political classes.”

  “God you’re naïve. Elected Governments don’t run the country, we do. Only those in office at the time, the able ones, will get a ticket on the day. We can only provide protection for the few if the species is to survive.”

  “You mean your species, Tillman,” Matt spat back. “You and your kind don’t give a damn about ordinary people, only yourselves. A world managed by a handful of Civil Servants. Yeah, that’ll work… not!”

  “You know nothing. Only the best will survive. Those with the best minds and the best character, those people free from physical and mental impairment.”

  “Looking at the files I don’t see too many people coming anywhere near the criteria you’ve described. Your name is mentioned for a start.”

  “Get a grip, man,” hissed Tillman. “There are too many people on the planet. Every one of them expects to be fed, watered and housed. They all believe they have a God-given right to waste precious resources. Before long, there won’t be enough land and water to grow all the crops needed to feed the growing army of ungrateful bastards.”

  The irony was that Tillman actually had a point. But he was responsible for the murders of Matt’s friends, so he had to die.

  Amongst the dead, a brief eerie silence ensued. Both men now seemingly out of any further contribution to the debate.

  “Durham,” gasped Tillman, in a last effort to save himself. “You could be selected and given a new start. The opportunity to live in a world freed from terrorism and crime, where the unhealthy ceased to drain the state; because their presence will have been obliterated from the planet. You could spend the rest of your days in safety and peace, ever considered that?”

  He’d heard enough. Matt had nothing and no-one left to live for. All that remained was a raging desire to kill.

  “Consider this, Tillman,” he snapped, and wrenched the blade from the man’s body, the serrated edge tearing away the flesh from the wounded man’s groin.

  Tillman’s shrill scream pierced the night air. Matt didn’t wait for the howls of agony to subside. He pointed the semi at Tillman’s head, and fired three times.

  “Prick,” he said, contemptuously.

  Matt left his fallen enemies and returned to the speedboat to pick up a rucksack and find something to cover the bodies of his dead friends. He remembered Rosa’s words. Sometimes you have to leave the dead behind, exactly as they lie.

  Matt returned to look at the face of the dead woman, her big round blue eyes now closed to the cold darkness of the night. Even in death, she retained her beauty. The sound of a distant speedboat told him the clean up team was on its way.

  He picked up the rucksack stuffed with supplies and turned to leave them, exactly as they lay.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  First Aid