by Mark Ayre
Eve threw open the doors. Caldwell said, “Bye.”
Eve threw open the van’s back doors.
Inside, a space barren of people and equipment. Except for one baseball-shaped item in the far right corner, covered in a black sheet.
Beneath the sheet, a light flashed red.
“Ah,” Eve said.
The van exploded.
Engulfed by flame, Eve flew back.
Adam watched her twist in the air, crash to the ground, and slide along the concrete toward the base of the building’s shell. Caldwell had replaced the device with the radio.
“Time to move.”
From around the building’s side came a third van. Dodging the flaming decoy, it pulled up before Eve.
Seconds later, it was off. Eve was gone.
Caldwell reclined in her chair, sighing with relief.
“Well, it took until about plan Y,” she said. “But I got my twins in the end.”
Two vans sped away. The final continued to burn.
Bethany’s ears rang. Pain coursed through her battered and bruised body. Her head spun. Every time she tried to stand, she collapsed.
She could feel the burning van’s heat on her back—hear the agents descending.
They had what they needed. Maybe they would forget her in their excitement to reach their victory party.
Unlikely.
Down they came.
Despite the pain and dizziness, she forced herself upright. Ahead, the world blurred. The suits were almost there.
With sudden surety, she knew they would kill her. It didn’t matter that they had what they wanted. As a loose end, she needed tying.
On her knees, still unable to stand, she watched as the first agents appeared at the foot of the steps. Without hesitation, they split. Most came nowhere near. A couple did, but they ignored her, veering on different paths.
One made a beeline.
As he came, he drew his gun.
Somehow, she managed to stand. Swaying, she knew if she tried to run, she would collapse.
All around the construction yard, cars were starting. Some were taking off. One sounded as though it was coming in her direction.
Her executioner stopped six feet away. With the sight of his gun, he found her forehead. Without saying a word, he would murder her. Before he reached his car, he’d have forgotten her face. To these people, her life meant nothing.
She began to cry.
Confused, the killer looked over her shoulder. She had heard an approaching car. Turning, she watched it spin as the driver braked. The passenger side door stopped inches from her legs. The window was open.
“Move.”
Bethany stepped left. The driver shot her would-be killer in the head. Dropping the gun, he leaned across and threw open the passenger door.
“Get in.”
Even as dazed and confused as she was, the commanding tone was enough to make her comply.
Jumping in, she slammed the door, and her second savior of the day drove away.
The van carrying Adam hit the motorway; Eve’s had vanished.
Elated, Caldwell phoned her employer to relay her victory and arrange a meeting.
Adam was silent, brooding. Caldwell had confirmed Eve still lived. When the van doors swung open, his sister had expected trouble. She had a shield up, but she’d prepared for darts, possibly bullets. She’d be hurting.
Before, Adam had prepared for the necessity of killing Caldwell. The situation had changed. It would still not be a pleasure, but from it, he might derive grim satisfaction.
“In twenty minutes,” Caldwell said. “You’ll meet the team, who will take you on to your final destination.”
“I’ll escape.”
“Doubt it,” Caldwell said. “If you do succeed, at least wait until after the handoff. Then it won’t be my fault.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Empty threats, empty promises,” Caldwell said. “Keep up with this dull talk, and I’ll put you under.”
“Where’s Eve?”
“Taking an alternate route. Don’t worry, you’ll see her soon enough.”
He considered. If he could escape, it would be pointless because he’d lose Eve. Once they arrived, Caldwell might sedate him. He wouldn’t wake until it was too late.
Best case, he killed Caldwell and coerced the driver into continuing to the meet. Invisible, he would need to free a sedated Eve and escape the meet’s location. Without being shot.
Calling his chances in such a scenario slim seemed generous.
He still had to try.
The clock was ticking. He had to act soon.
Between the back of the van and the cabin was a sheet of sliding plexiglass. It wasn’t soundproof. The driver would hear any move he made to capture Caldwell. If Adam succeeded, the driver would radio a warning. Or shoot him.
First, he had to escape his chains. Which he couldn’t.
Closing his eyes, he saw his mother. Over lean dinners, she had dispensed much wisdom.
Over basic tomato soup, one slice of bread each, no butter, she had said, “They believe I’m the reason you remain free. One day, they’ll get me. You need to be ready. You have to know how to survive on your own.”
When the twins were twelve, they had woken to find themselves surrounded. The agents of misery were coming.
Their mother was gone.
Terror had overtaken Adam. Without their mum, he had believed they were finished.
Born with a cool head that could be overrun only by her temper, Eve had calmed her brother. With her guidance and power, they had escaped with their lives.
Just.
Adam had carried his sister, absent her soul, to a safe, pre-arranged location. Waiting there for him, he had found their mother.
In an instant, he realized what had happened. His mum had seen the oncoming enemy and departed. She wanted to see if her children could survive without her. For a test, she had risked their capture.
Furious, Adam had placed his sister down and prepared to unleash his fury on his mother.
Before he could speak, she slapped him, hard, across the face.
“Idiot,” she had said.
Stunned, he lost the reins of his anger.
“What?”
“When you saw I’d gone, you must have assumed they’d taken me. They might have had me a couple of hours. What do you think they’d do in that time?”
“You weren’t gone.”
“Grow up,” she said, then slapped him again. “They would torture me for information. So, upon your escape, what was one thing you should not have done under any circumstance?”
The anger was a distant memory. Adam was a naughty schoolboy receiving a dressing down. Of course, he had been twelve. A child. Sometimes, it was easy to forget.
“I wouldn’t go to a location you had chosen as a safe spot,” he said.
Spinning, arms wide, his mother said, “And yet…”
“Sorry.”
A third time, she slapped him.
“You screwed up,” she said. “If they had me, you’d now be unconscious. When you’d woken, you’d be chained to a chair and guess what?”
Adam, head bowed, said nothing. It was a test, but he refused to answer.
“Tell me,” she said.
“I’d never get free,” he mumbled.
“You’d never get free,” his mother confirmed.
One last time, she’d slapped him.
“If your sister gets sedated and you’re chained up, it’s game over.”
Dragging himself from the past, Adam looked at Caldwell.
Referencing his exact situation, his mother had made her thoughts on their chances of escape clear.
Game over.
He couldn’t let that be the case.
Not today.
Meeting Caldwell’s eye, he removed his shoes.
A little way back, they followed the vans.
In the passenger seat, recovering from
the pain and dizziness, Bethany tried to build her confidence. To deal with yet another murderer she didn’t know—a man who wanted something from her, presumably.
“You saved me,” she said at last.
“Noticed that, did you?”
“Yes. Sorry. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome.”
“Who are you?”
He gave her a look, then flicked his eyes back to the road. Ahead, the vans split. Her savior seemed caught in a moment of indecision before choosing a van to tail.
“Donnelly,” he said as they turned. “And you?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Should I?”
She felt the heat as her face flushed.
“Bethany,” she said. She couldn’t hold the question. “Why did you save me?”
“Why did the Good Samaritan, if we are to believe Jesus, stop to help the injured Jewish man who was beaten, robbed, and left to die on a roadside? Because it was the right thing to do.”
Bethany considered. It didn’t ring true. Donnelly’s smile suggested he knew it didn’t, knew she realized it didn’t, and didn’t mind it didn’t.
“Are you going to take me home?” she asked. Though it was clear he was not.
“Okay, you got me,” Donnelly said. “I’m not exactly the Good Samaritan. Jesus will never tell my story because it’s about being practical. Truth is, I might have saved you either way, but I do believe, in saving you, I can ask a favor in return.”
Bethany’s heart picked up the pace. Was it foolish to believe being saved from mortal danger should be the end of a story? Twice, today, Bethany had been saved from cruel men with cruel intentions. Yet, both times, it seemed to lead her into potentially worse situations.
That old saying came to mind—out of the frying pan, into the fire.
“What favor?” she asked.
Donnelly was withdrawing his phone while keeping the van in his sights. He did not look at Bethany.
“You’ll see.”
Pressing a number, he held his phone to his ear. A few seconds later, someone answered.
“Hello, buddy. I need a favor.”
He paused, smiling at Bethany, listening.
To his conversant, he said, “It has to do with your precious cargo.”
“How interesting,” Caldwell said. “What are you trying to achieve?”
The shoes clanged to the hard metal floor.
“Hot feet,” Adam said. “Will you take off my socks?”
He lifted his legs, leaving his chained hands in his lap. Caldwell stared, open-mouthed, then laughed.
“Don’t be vile.”
He shrugged
Because of his chains, Adam could not lift his feet high enough, nor move his hands far enough, to slip off his socks. He had to use his right foot to attempt to remove the left sock. It wasn’t easy.
Bemused, Caldwell stared. She could not imagine this was part of some elaborate escape scheme.
The scheme wasn’t elaborate. It was stupid. If he could remove his sock, there was every chance his plan would get him killed. Caldwell would also die, but that would provide little comfort.
If they didn’t die, his chances of success were still infinitesimal. He might get sedated or escape, but lose the opportunity to save Eve. Neither were acceptable outcomes.
Unfortunately, it was his only option. He had to try.
The sock wouldn’t budge. Caldwell’s amusement was fading. As she tired of the sock routine, her mind began to whirr. Once she stopped chuckling, she started wondering if he might not be up to something sinister.
“I think you should stop,” she said.
The sock slipped a little.
“Now,” she said.
He ignored her. She went for a syringe and bottle. Standing over him, she poked the needle into the cork top.
“I’m sorry, Adam, but it’s time to sleep.”
The sock slipped over his heel, revealing flesh.
“Done,” he said.
“Too late.”
She withdrew the full needle, then replaced the bottle.
“It’s a shame I have to do this.”
She prepared to strike.
He pressed the bare skin of his heel to the metal floor.
The van vanished.
Motorway drivers in need of a break looked to the SunWay Services with hope, then disbelief.
For the first time in years, it was closed. The sign said for maintenance. Through the thick roadside trees, motorists could see nothing beyond the exit ramp into the services parking lot.
Had they taken a chance, they would have found the large service station building closed, its fast-food joints, coffee shops, and arcades dark. There was no staff, nor punters. Not even a maintenance crew.
The parking lot was another matter. Here waited four black SUVs and two reinforced vans. Though from the outside, it was impossible to tell. The vans were fitted with gurneys bearing heavy restraint straps. Beside them sat an IV from which could be injected a powerful sedative.
From the front passenger seat of one of the SUVs, a man made a call. His boss answered, and they made short work of greetings.
“We’re here,” he confirmed. “The twins will be with you in a couple of hours.”
The driver yelled. On all sides, the bizarre sight drew people’s attention.
In forming this basic plan, Adam could not help but consider the potential collateral damage. The shock of seeing a van one second, three people floating along the road, one chained to a chair, the next, might cause a multi-car pileup. Many could die.
Seeing no alternative, he tried to ignore the potential loss of innocent lives. Prayed everything would fall into place.
Maybe there was a God.
At the loss of his van, the driver panicked. In his shock, he lifted his feet.
For twenty years, he had driven on instinct. He never looked at the pedals before placing his feet. When they were no longer there to see, this ability vanished. Randomly, fearfully, he jabbed his foot into what appeared to be thin air.
He smashed the accelerator. The invisible van shot forward. From the car in front, two children of no more than ten stared, screaming, but seemingly unable to retreat from the window.
Shouting himself, the driver continued stamping like a madman desperate to kill a single ant.
He took his foot from the accelerator.
Adam’s nose was bleeding. He released his hold over the van.
The pedals reappeared. Panic-stricken, the driver hit the brake.
Horns blared. The car behind swerved into the next lane, almost hitting a motorbike. Adam was glad he could no longer see the road. It sounded as though a pileup had nearly happened.
Regaining a little control, the driver moved into the outside lane, lowering his speed as far as he could without enduring more honking.
“What the hell was that?” he said. When he glanced in the mirror, he saw his boss sitting on their prisoner’s lap.
For a mad moment, he thought she was giving him a lap dance. What would he say about that? Nothing. At least he’d have a story to tell the lads later.
Then he saw the man had his handcuff chain around Caldwell’s throat. The syringe was by the van’s doors.
“Don’t worry about us,” Adam said. “Keep driving.”
The driver looked unsure. His eyes flicked to Caldwell.
“Do as he says. No matter what, we must get him to the handoff. You know what happens if we don’t.”
“You heard the boss,” Adam said. “Now, Caldwell, please let me go.”
“Piss off.”
“I’d like to. Now, please release these chains or—” He pulled the handcuffs tighter.
Caldwell choked for five seconds, then he released. Once she had finished spluttering and rubbing her already-reddening throat, he asked her once again to release him. He remained polite because manners were important.
“You’ll never escape,” she hissed, her voice hoars
e. “Your only chance is to abandon your sister.”
Adam watched her take a key from her pocket. He lifted his legs, allowing her to lean forward. Just about, with the chain around her neck, she was able to remove his feet cuffs.
“I’d never leave her,” he said.
“And that’s why I’m safe to release you. You’ll still be in the lab by nightfall.”
She undid one hand, then the other. After she pulled the cuffs free, she tried to leap from his lap.
With a shove, he sent her face-first into the plexiglass. She tumbled to the floor. As she tried to rise, he grabbed her and threw her against the van wall.
Looking at Caldwell, he said, “Remember what she told you, driver.” He put his hands around her throat. “Whatever happens, no matter what, you get me to the handoff. You know what happens if you don’t.”
Realizing what was to happen, Caldwell started to say “No—”
Thinking of his sister flying back in that fireball, Adam began to squeeze.
By taking one exit later than the service station’s entrance, Donnelly was able to loop back and park in a nest of trees. From here, they could see the vans and SUVs. Eve’s transport was pulling into the parking lot.
Taking a syringe and bottle from beside him, Donnelly said, “Okay. Time to go.”
He opened his door, stepped onto the grass, and circled to the passenger side.
By the time they arrived, Eve’s van was there. Adam watched more black-suited agents, all armed, empty from their vehicles and approach. The doors of two reinforced transport vans, fifty-percent larger than the one in which he now sat, were thrown open. Inside, Adam saw where he would be chained down and drugged en-route to his final destination.
If he couldn’t save Eve and himself.
“You’ll never escape,” Caldwell hissed.
Her neck was an angry red. Her voice would have been appropriate for a library. When Adam had closed his fists around her throat, he had intended to kill her. It was no more than she deserved.
Maybe if he’d closed his eyes, he could have murdered her. Many times, he had killed in self-defense. Never like that, though. When he saw Caldwell’s eyes flutter and start to go blank, he had released her. She had fallen, and he had hated himself.