Hawk's Cross

by David Collenette

  Judging by Matthew’s breathing he was now slipping into Delta sleep. Jeremiah stood up and headed for his door.

  ***

  I awoke with a start; I automatically reached down to my thigh and found a sore spot. Something had bitten my leg, probably a mosquito, and woken me up. I rubbed the spot, which was sore. Not a mosquito, it was too late in the year. Maybe a bed bug?

  My leg was outside the covers but felt warm. I must have just uncovered my leg before it was stung and so I covered it back up and pulled the covers up to my chin. Hopefully it had had its fill and wouldn’t be back for more.

  I lay still and waited to drift back to sleep but it didn’t come. I felt uneasy. I couldn’t put my finger on it but something felt wrong. I lay very still and listened carefully. I couldn’t hear anything out of place but my intuition was running wild. I put it down to paranoia; all that had changed was a bug bite.

  After a few minutes I started to feel heavy and hoped that sleep would catch me up again. But I didn’t feel sleepy; just heavy.

  The sting on my leg was itching and so I tried to scratch it. As I tried to move my hand I found it wouldn’t move. At first I felt confused; was I asleep? Maybe my body was asleep. I tried to lift my leg but nothing happened. I began to panic as I realised that I couldn’t move at all.

  In addition I was beginning to feel my breathing slowing down. What was happening? Was I asleep? Was I dying?

  Then, in a deep, gravelly soft French accent I heard, “What you are experiencing, Mr Hawk, is paralysis caused by a special blend of quaternary ammonium salts. The effect is temporary and, although they might make your breathing uncomfortable, they will not do you any lasting harm. You should be able to speak.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I have been sent to end your life, Matthew, although I was told that I could use discretion, and so I would like to have a conversation with you without being distracted by any attempts made by you to get away.”

  I felt the tickle of a single tear run down the side of my face and run into my ear.

  “Why?” was all I could think of to say.

  The Frenchman stayed silent for a moment.

  “How do you know Claudia Okeke?”

  “Claudia?”

  “If you’re going to repeat my every question, Mr Hawk, then this conversation is going to continue for some time. I will ask you again, how do you know Claudia Okeke?”

  “She’s just my friend.”

  “And you have returned to London, why?”

  “I read in the paper that she has gone missing. I wanted to try to find her.”

  A moment’s silence.

  “How do you know Ethan Connelly?”

  Another tear ran down my cheek. I was scared to say anything. It was clear that Ethan was a powerful man and I had no idea who this guy was. Did he work for Ethan? Did he work against Ethan? How could I answer without knowing where I stood?

  As if he anticipated my thoughts, the man said, “Maybe I can help you, Mr Hawk. At the moment your future is extremely short. You have no idea who I am or who to trust, and so I’ll put it to you that your only real option is to tell me something. You have no history that I can find, no paperwork. You are an anomaly, Mr Hawk, and I don’t like anomalies. Given that you probably aren’t that intelligent, the best possibility for you to tell me a story that is consistent and has no logical errors is to make it the truth.”

  Tears were flowing quite freely now. I was terrified. My breathing was becoming more difficult and I couldn’t think straight. “He’s an evil man! I don’t like to think badly of people but he is bad. Really bad. He made bad things happen. He betrayed his friends and betrayed me. He’s killed people and I don’t know what to do. He gave me money and left me alone but it’s still happening. Claudia is missing and her friends are dead. I don’t know what to do!”

  I was blubbering and crying like a child. My nose was running but I couldn’t turn my head or cough. I could feel fluid running down my throat and I had to swallow to clear it but swallowing was hard.

  The man stayed quiet for some time, allowing me to compose myself and calm down.

  Finally, “How did he find you?”

  I told him about my life. I started to tell him about living on the streets and it all came out. I told him about my drawing, about how I can see what people hold most precious and desire the most and about Monique and about my first visit. The image of that dead man flashed in my head, his twisted eye, and tears began to flow again.

  Again a pause.

  I heard a shuffle and started to panic as I guessed he was moving. His face came into view.

  A man, maybe fifties, the man from the ice machine, with sharp eyes that seemed to bore right into me, set into a face with strong features; a face you don’t argue with.

  “What do you see in me, Mr Hawk?”

  “What?”

  “Relax and think clearly. Your life depends on what you say next. What would you draw for me?”

  I fought back the tears and took as deep a breath as my weighted lungs could manage. I closed my eyes and tried to relax; to put myself into a place where I could feel through my eyes.

  I opened my eyes and looked at the man. At first I saw nothing; I was panicking and my mind was all over the place, but slowly I began to focus and I began to feel through the fear and into the man.

  “I would draw a butterfly.”

  “Go on.”

  “I would draw a butterfly. It would be black but black like velvet. Shiny black with smooth wings and…”

  “Yes?”

  “Stars. I would draw stars on its wings. Pinpoints of light like spots of markings but I would try hard to make them shine. It would have its wings unfolded and spread but it would be rested in someone’s hands; your hands, cupped around it.”

  The man’s face changed slightly and he backed away from me.

  “I must admit, Matthew, there are rarely times when I find myself lost for words. I would ask you to wait here but I see little need. I will return shortly. Try to relax as it will feel easier if you do.”

  I heard him walk across the room and pull open the door. I expected it to close but instead he must have been standing in the doorway holding it open. Light from the corridor was splashed across the ceiling.

  “In case you were wondering, Mr Hawk, your life is safe for now.”

  The door closed.

  13

  I’m not sure how long I waited; it seemed like ages and I began to feel pins and needles in my hands and feet. Eventually though, the door opened again and the man walked in.

  Who is this guy? Why does he care about Claudia? I feel bad asking myself that. Claudia is my friend and I care about her but this guy is no friend.

  “I’m going to give you another injection, Mr Hawk. You will start to feel movement again shortly.”

  The man lifted the covers revealing the leg not previously injected and I felt a sharp scratch as he obviously injected something into my leg.

  I lay still and waited. The man had gone quiet but I could sense he was still in the room. It suddenly struck me that the sting I’d felt in the night had obviously been him injecting me with the drug, and the thought scared me to think that he’d been in my room while I slept.

  How? How did he get into my room? Had he been in here all the time and managed to find somewhere to hide I didn’t check? Not possible. If anyone knew the hiding places available in a hotel room it was me. Things had taken an odd turn. Again.

  After a few minutes I started to feel my breathing relax and I tested my fingers. They responded to commands, although a bit sluggishly, and I could feel the bedclothes running across my fingers.

  I lifted my leg and with some effort I managed to bend my knee. It was then that I noticed to my shame
that I’d soiled the bed.

  Again, sensing my thoughts, or maybe catching a whiff of my shame, the man said, “A few more minutes and you may get up and take a shower. I’ll help you.”

  Ten minutes later and, unsteady on my feet, I was being helped to the bathroom.

  “I can manage,” I said.

  “You’re still unsteady on your feet so I will help you.”

  It was a statement, not an offer, so I remained quiet and allowed this man to assist me into the shower so that I could wash myself.

  Once he saw that I was steady he left me to finish washing and went back to the main room.

  The hot water felt good. I could feel the sensation coming back to all my muscles and everything seemed to start working as it should, although I felt nauseous and my mouth was incredibly dry.

  By the time I got out of the shower the man had stripped the bed and collected my things together. He threw some clothes at me. “Please get dressed. You might also like this,” and he handed me a bottle of water.

  Water had never tasted so good and I started to swig from the bottle.

  “Slowly, or you’ll vomit.”

  I slowed down.

  Once dressed, the man gathered up my small pack and urged me towards the door. He led me to the end of the corridor away from the lifts and we took the stairs down to the ground level.

  Instead of walking towards reception and the main exit, we found an emergency exit and he pushed the bar to open the door. He stepped out and scanned the surrounding area.

  “We need to take extra care, Mr Hawk. Please do what I say.”

  I just nodded.

  He indicated to my right with his hand. “This way.”

  We walked across the car park towards a black Audi. He opened the passenger door and, just like I’ve seen the police do it in films, he put his hand on my head and urged me into the back seat.

  He slammed the door and went around to the driver’s door.

  A few minutes later and we were making good progress across the city. Dawn was breaking and I could just see the hint of sun light up the wispy clouds close to the horizon. I think we were heading north. I felt tired. It must have been an effect of the drugs because I’m guessing I had slept well prior to being drugged and interrogated, and within a few minutes I felt myself dozing off.

  I was jolted awake by the car door being opened and the cold air from outside hitting me.

  “This way please, Matthew.”

  The man stepped back and allowed me to get out of the car.

  My breath plumed steam in the early morning chilled air and the trees around us were lit up golden by the low, early morning sun. We were standing on a large area of tarmac. Over the top of the car we’d arrived in I saw another black Audi with two other guys standing next to it.

  Both were dressed in casual clothes – jeans and jumpers – and one was smoking a cigarette although I think I would have expected them to wear dark glasses and black suits, with wires hanging from their ears. Maybe I needed to start watching less TV.

  The man was standing behind me and finally he said, “OK, let’s go.”

  I turned and was surprised to see an aircraft on the tarmac behind me. It looked like one of those small jets that rich people have. I could feel the panic rise.

  I’d never been in a plane before and certainly not one owned by someone who had shortly before threatened to kill me. Also, I had no idea where we were or where we were going.

  The man was ahead of me, walking towards the fold-down steps at the front door. I heard a car door slam and turned around. One of the men had got into the other Audi and the second one was walking towards the car we arrived in. He got into the driver’s seat and within a few seconds both cars were driving away.

  The man was close to the aircraft now, still walking with his back to me. It was now or never.

  I turned and ran.

  I ran as fast as I could to put as much distance between us before he realised I’d gone.

  Panic is a terrible thing and in my mind I pictured him fast on my heels, reaching out to grab me, and it spurred me on faster. However, after a hundred metres or so I felt my legs give out and I stumbled to a halt. Bile rose up in my throat and I started to sweat. I collapsed onto my knees just in time to see my chicken sandwich, two packets of crisps and a bottle and a half of Ribena decorate the tarmac.

  I stayed on my knees and spat out the last of the vomit before finally standing up and sucking in great lungfuls of crisp, cold air.

  I turned to look towards the aircraft and saw that I’d not been chased. The man was simply standing by the steps, looking in my direction.

  I felt like an idiot. Where was I going? I walked slowly back to the aircraft and the man handed me a bottle of water and some tissue. Then he indicated the steps and raised his eyebrows. I climbed aboard.

  I’d never been inside an aircraft before and I couldn’t believe how cramped it was. I walked down the small aisle and found a seat; a soft brown leather chair with a seatbelt.

  The man took the seat opposite me across a small table.

  From the rear of the plane came a man in a dark suit. He went to the front door and pulled up the front steps, sealing us in. Then he went through a small door at the front. Looking through the door I could see lots of controls, switches and buttons. He pulled the door shut and within a couple of minutes I heard a low rumble as the engines started up. The rumble turned into a whine as the engines speeded up and with a small jolt the aircraft started to move forward.

  We trundled to the end of the tarmac and turned right. Looking out of the window I could see another strip of tarmac, which I guessed must be the runway.

  I should probably apologise for writing so much about the aircraft but this was the first time I’d ever been on one and, despite the fact that I’d been drugged, threatened and kidnapped, it was quite exciting.

  The plane turned onto the runway and the man told me to click my seatbelt. I did. Quickly.

  I heard another whining noise and noticed that the back of the wings were moving down. They stopped and we sat on the runway for a few seconds. I watched the wings as small flaps went up and down. Lights were flashing on the ends.

  Then I heard the engines getting louder and the aircraft started to edge forwards. Suddenly the engines erupted into a roar and I felt myself being pushed back in my seat. We accelerated down the runway and I could feel the plane rolling over small bumps in the tarmac. A few seconds later and the plane tipped backwards and we lifted into the air.

  Another mechanical whine from beneath the aircraft and a bump – I had no idea what this was – and the plane banked over to one side. Looking out of the window I could see the ground beneath me.

  We seemed to be travelling slowly from up here but I guessed this was an illusion caused by our distance from the ground. For a few minutes I watched the hills and fields below, the tiny cars heading along skinny roads. The sun was streaming through the windows on the left side of the plane so I guessed we were heading south. I tried to recognise things on the ground below but it all looked so much different from up here.

  What seemed like a few minutes later and the ground gave way to water. We were over the sea and it occurred to me that I’d never been out of the country before. In fact I didn’t even have a passport.

  My geography was terrible and I had no idea where we could be going.

  I sat back in my seat and for the first time noticed that the man was staring at me.

  “My name is Jeremiah, although most people call me Roche. You may call me Roche. I believe your story, Matthew, but you are in more danger than you realise. So, I have decided we need to be away from the UK for a short while so that I may plan our next move.”

  “In danger from who?” I asked.

  “In good t
ime. Have a drink.”

  I became aware of someone standing next to me. It was the man from the front of the plane. I hadn’t been aware of him walking down the aisle. I looked forward and the front door was open. The two front seats were clearly vacant.

  “Who is flying the plane?” I asked.

  The man smiled and said, in a thick French accent, “Me. Would you like a drink?”

  I quickly asked for a Coke, hoping that would prompt him to get back to the controls as soon as possible but after bringing me a Coke he went to the rear of the plane and started messing about with some stuff in cupboards. I wished he’d go back to the driving seat. I remember riding a bike when I was a kid, and with some skill I could sit back and ride with no hands but this was ridiculous. What if another plane came the other way? What if there was a mountain?

  Roche seemed totally unconcerned, reading a book in French. Sensing my disquiet and without looking up from his reading, he said, “Try to relax, Matthew. The plane can fly itself. Would you like to see how?”

  “OK,” I replied.

  Roche called out to the guy at the rear of the plane and said something to him in French. The guy replied and within a few seconds joined us.

  In a strong French accent he said, “Please, would you come with me?”

  I undid my seatbelt, got up and followed him to the front. I stepped into the cockpit and he indicated that I should sit in the right-hand seat. Terrified of touching something I shouldn’t, I carefully slid into the seat and he helped me to buckle into the harness.

  How anyone can ever learn to fly is beyond me. The controls were everywhere: buttons, dials, knobs, screens with numbers and information, switches even on the roof!

  The pilot started to explain, “This on the front is the auto-pilot. It can follow a route like a sat nav. This is telling the aircraft which direction, speed and altitude. You can change this by using these controls. You want to try?” He smiled at me.

  I said nothing but just stared back.

  Sensing my hesitation, he said, “Here. We are heading south at 195 degrees. We need to make a turn to the right. Turn this so that the numbers read 235.