by Chris Ewan
But there was a problem.
A uniformed police officer was standing on a raised platform up ahead, scanning the flood of people moving towards him, his eyes sweeping from left to right. Before Kate could think to duck or to swerve, his gaze found her, then fixed on Emily. He grabbed for the radio clipped to his flak jacket and jumped down from his vantage point into the street.
Kate slowed, conflicted. She couldn’t go forwards. She couldn’t go back. She raised herself up on her toes, searching for alternatives, clutching the knife. There was a packed restaurant bar on her left and a tiny supermarket alongside it. Further ahead on her right was the turning for a small street, about halfway between her current position and the police officer.
She put her lips to Emily’s ear. ‘Sweetheart, I need you to walk. You have to be brave.’
She lowered Emily to the ground, steering her to the right, between a market stall selling handbags and one stocked with cheeses. She flattened Emily against the glass of a florist’s shop, pausing a moment, then leading her on past a boulangerie. She pushed people aside, slinking through, pulling Emily after her, turning the corner.
The street was rammed with people, none of them moving. Everyone was standing with their backs towards Kate, craning their necks, shouting and hollering.
‘Follow me. Stick close.’
But Emily had already ducked and wriggled free, dropping to her hands and knees, crawling between the legs of a man standing in front of them. The man raised his foot, annoyed, and Kate swooped in front of him.
She could see Emily scurrying across the ground, darting into gaps, charting her own zigzagging path forwards, and she had to push and shove to keep up until, almost before she knew it, she reached the very front of the crowd just as Emily sprung up beside her, grasping her hand.
A set of waist-high metal barriers blocked their way, penning them, sealing off a curved cross street. More barriers hemmed in a knot of bystanders on the opposite side. People were waving flags and drinking beer, standing with smartphones and cameras held high, screens glowing in the dark.
A carnival procession, Kate thought. She could hear drums from further along the street. There were whoops and catcalls, the bleat of a whistle, the urgent cicada click of football rattles.
She glanced back and could just see the flushed face of the uniformed officer, reaching forwards into the crowds, pulling people back by their shoulders. She couldn’t spot Renner. Perhaps he’d been spooked by the policeman. Or perhaps he was keeping low and out of sight, creeping closer. The knife wouldn’t be much use if he got to her undetected.
They had to keep moving.
Kate grabbed Emily under her arms, hoisting her high, her feet tangling with the top of the barrier until she kicked and her legs came free and Kate set her down on the other side.
People yelled at Kate, tugged at her, as if she was breaking some kind of rule. Kate didn’t care. She used her elbows to clear space and threw a leg over the barrier, gripping the top rail with both hands and swinging her trailing leg after her.
Her trailing leg didn’t move. Someone was holding on to her ankle, yanking her back. Her first thought was that it must be the policeman, but as she fought to wrench herself free, she saw that it was two middle-aged men working together. They raged at her in urgent French, spittle flying from their lips, but their words were swallowed by the roar of the crowd, by the sudden pressing need she had to get away. She sliced the knife through the air, driving them back, their palms held high, their faces flushed, then paling as the barrier tipped and gave way, toppling forwards, crashing down.
Kate slammed on to her hip, trapping her leg, the crowd stumbling and surging towards her, then seeming to be sucked back by some unknown force. She wriggled free and staggered to her feet, turning just as Emily screamed in her ear.
A bull was thundering towards them.
It was big and it was brown, its legs seeming to blur as its hooves scrabbled for grip on the weathered cobblestones, its tail flicking the air. A stringy guy in a bright red T-shirt leapt out of the bull’s way, scaling a hay bale, clinging on hard.
Not a carnival procession.
A bull run.
Emily was frozen. The bull seemed to have fixed its sights on her.
Kate dropped the knife and scooped Emily up, carrying her crossways in front of her chest, running hard for the barriers on the opposite side of the street, her legs leaden, as though she was wading through sand, the bull lowering its head, its horns, wheeling round in a clumsy arc.
It seemed to double in size as it pounded close.
Kate arched her back, clattering into the barriers, throwing Emily forwards into the waiting arms of the terrified spectators.
The beast skimmed by in a blur of heat and movement, of terrible friction and a hot animal stink. Kate’s knees gave out but unknown hands grabbed for her, yanking her forwards, heaving her up and over the barriers and dropping her to the ground.
She crashed to her knees, her hair getting in her eyes, then more hands lifted her up, brushing her down, pushing her, prodding her. She could hear the cursing of the people all around.
Across the street, the police officer was caught up in the confusion as people rushed to lift the fallen barrier and secure it before the bull returned. He saw her and shouted, gesturing wildly, but the crowd was distracted and Kate snatched for Emily’s hand and walked her away.
There was space in the street beyond. There was air. Kate’s heart was beating erratically. Her lungs were tight and cramped. She felt weightless, aimless, as though she might faint.
Emily was sobbing, her mouth opening and closing, a cascade of mumbled words tumbling out.
‘The bad man. The bad man. I want my daddy.’
‘It’s OK.’ Kate fought a sudden tide of nausea and the pressing desire she had to sit down and place her head between her knees. ‘We’re just going to find my car. Hanson is there. He’ll look after you. We just need to find my car.’
She pointed to a road that wound down and away to the right, having no idea if it was the correct route to take.
‘It’s by the river. We’ll find it soon. OK?’
But as it happened, the car found them, pulling up sharply as Kate led Emily by the hand through an archway carved into the city wall, the Hyundai’s suspension bearing down at the front, tyres grinding to a halt.
Hanson threw open the driver’s door and leapt out on to the street and Kate met his eyes, lips trembling, shaking her head. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him what had happened, but he smiled and raised a hand and yanked open a door at the rear. Becca was there, extending an arm to Emily, gripping a soiled, limp teddy bear in her fist.
‘Hiya, sweetheart.’ Becca smiled. ‘There’s someone who wants to see you back here.’
Emily burst forwards, clutching the bear, clambering over Becca’s lap. There was blood on Becca’s blouse and her free hand was clamped to her ear. Kate ducked and looked past her and saw Emily embracing Pete, her body crushed into his. Pete had some kind of temporary dressing on his shoulder, the wadded bandage dark with blood. He was wincing, baring his teeth, crying, smiling, crying some more. A Peppa Pig knapsack was unzipped on the rear bench between them.
Kate stared at Becca. ‘I thought you were dead.’
‘Honey, it’s gonna take a lot more than that to bring me down.’ She was talking very loud, almost shouting. ‘But those shots messed with my hearing. You’re gonna have to tell me if I start yelling, OK?’
‘Get in,’ Hanson told her.
‘Where are we going?’
‘These two need medical care. You too, by the looks of it. Miller has a private doctor lined up not far from here.’
‘And the police?’
‘Leave me to worry about that.’
He guided Kate round the front of the car and into the passenger seat, closing her door. Her throat was dry and gritty, her ears ringing, her body vibrating with the flush of adrenaline and fear.
&
nbsp; ‘Take this.’ Hanson had climbed behind the wheel and was thrusting a mobile at her. ‘Someone wants to talk to you.’
*
Renner watched the white Hyundai streak away into the night, crossing the river, blitzing past the vapour-lit forecourt of a petrol station.
The young black kid was driving fast, getting far away while the going was good. Which was fine by Renner.
He lifted his Beretta in his right hand and ejected the magazine, catching it in his free palm. He had one round left. Blank, like all the others. Not capable of killing, but enough to scare Kate and to set her running. Which was all that Renner wanted right now.
He clutched his left thigh and heaved it up until his foot was propped on the low wall in front of him. His shin throbbed. It was deeply gashed and beginning to swell. The front passenger seat had deformed in the collision, crushing him badly.
Gently, he lifted his trouser leg and loosened his ankle holster from his drenched sock, sucking air through his teeth as his bloodied fingers slipped on the Velcro straps, more blood oozing out as he pulled the holster away, slipping the Beretta into it, tucking it under his jacket.
He grimaced as he set a little weight on his foot, then limped off in search of the vehicle he’d hired.
` Part VI
Prague, Czech Republic
Chapter Fifty-Two
You will never guess who I’ve just seen on this flight. Clue: he’s been in the news and he’s supposed to be dead! Z xxx
Darren often thought of that text. He hadn’t asked his sister to send it to him, and if she could take it back now and prevent everything that had followed, he had no doubt that she would.
Sometimes, the tragedies we face in life can take a brutal but familiar enough form. Take what had happened to Darren and Zoe’s parents, for example. The motorway coach crash that had claimed their lives had been savage and abrupt but it had been something Darren could almost accept over time because it was the type of unfortunate incident that appears in the news all too often. What had happened to his sister in a lonely airfield in Ukraine hadn’t been like that at all. And what had happened to him afterwards, the dangers and the transformation to his way of life that had come from receiving a simple text message, could never have been anticipated.
Not that everything since that day had been bad. Darren had always dreamed of travelling and he’d come to love living in Prague. He’d had no family other than his brother-in-law and his niece to leave behind, and had only worked a temporary job after leaving university, so in many ways it was easier for him to disappear and start again than it might have been. Plus he had Miller and his team looking out for him. He had their friendship and support.
And he had Agata.
Maybe.
Secrets. That was the problem. Agata believed that the strongest relationships were built on openness; on trust and intimacy. Her previous boyfriend had been a cheater. The guy she’d been seeing before that had turned out to be married. So she was nervous, flighty, in constant need of reassurance. And Darren had tried to give it to her, despite being compromised by those truths he couldn’t begin to share. His background story was a lie. Even his name was a distortion. And Agata had sensed it in him. She was highly attuned to bullshit. She’d begun to pull back.
Which was why she’d suggested that they should take some time apart, and why Darren had gone along with it, and why he’d just endured three of the dullest and most miserable days of his life in Kutná Hora, a two-hour train journey from Prague.
Their time apart hadn’t changed anything for Darren. The soul-searching hadn’t either. But there remained one question he couldn’t get past, and as a maths graduate, there was one sum he couldn’t square.
How do you build a future for yourself when you can’t use all the foundations of your past? And how do you let someone into your life when keeping them safe means shutting them out?
Darren didn’t know. He didn’t believe he ever would. Perhaps, in the end, he would have to leave Prague altogether. Maybe it was best for him to start somewhere fresh.
But before all that, he wanted to return to Agata and hold her in his arms one last time. Because if there was only one truth he could tell her, it should be that she was the woman he loved.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Miller clenched his phone to his ear, struggling to think how to begin. ‘It’s me,’ he said finally, hopelessly. ‘How are you holding up?’
‘Not so good.’
‘I’m sorry for what I put you through. I’m sorry for what it took.’
Kate’s breathing was a faint rasp on the end of the line. Miller could picture her fighting back tears, and it made him think of the way she’d looked that first time he’d allowed her to see him, with her pale, bloodless complexion and her eyes big and tremulous.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. The alley he was standing in was dark and deserted, barely lit by the wash of pale light from the windows at the side of the hostel. He could hear faint guitar music from high above, the murmur of conversation and laughter.
‘I wish I could have been there for you. I wish I could be with you right now.’
No response.
What had he meant by that exactly? What would she take it to imply?
‘You’re safe,’ he told her. ‘Remember that. Once you get Pete and Becca patched up, Hanson will take you somewhere you can rest.’
Still nothing. Just the buzz and crackle on the line, the droning of a car engine, the murmur of Emily’s voice. It would be better to leave it at that, he supposed. Better for her, and for him. And normally he might have stopped there. But not tonight.
‘Listen, there’s something I have to know. Something I have to ask. Was there more than just one man?’
Silence.
He waited.
‘I only saw one,’ she said, haltingly. ‘It was Renner.’
‘Not Wade?’
‘I didn’t see anyone else. I think he was alone. We lost him, but he could be looking for us still. He could be heading your way.’
‘Then I’d better get on.’ He paused. There was more he wanted to tell her – more he felt she needed to hear – but he couldn’t bring himself to say any of it. He wasn’t sure he knew how. ‘We’ll talk soon,’ he told her. ‘I promise.’
He waited a beat before hanging up, then stuffed the phone into the back pocket of his jeans, thinking of all the words left unspoken, all the things left unsaid.
He cursed himself for his weakness, for the foolishness of believing he could care for someone again without hurting them deeply, and then he slunk off with his hands in his pockets, kicking the ground, steering his thoughts back to the unlit apartment above the pet shop in Malá Strana and the trouble that might be waiting for him there.
*
Many hours earlier, shortly before noon, Miller had crossed the tram tracks running along Karmelitská, the drizzle clinging to his face, his shirt limp with damp. He’d hustled inside the pet shop, a bell ringing above his head.
Darren wasn’t behind the counter. He didn’t appear to be anywhere.
Which was no great surprise, because Hanson had been calling the shop telephone, trying to contact him, since just after ten the previous night.
A girl Miller had never seen before turned away from a birdcage she was peering into. She was eighteen or nineteen, kind of dowdy-looking, with coarse brown hair and spectacles with round metal frames. She glanced at the floor, murmuring something in Czech, but Miller walked straight past her and blasted through a door at the back.
Darren had taken a job in the pet shop more than nine months ago. The pay was terrible but the job came with a free apartment one floor up. He hadn’t consulted Miller before moving in. He hadn’t listened to his protests or his safety concerns. He’d said he needed some freedom and that he wanted to pay his own way. He’d said he’d enjoy the company of the animals. But Miller soon found out that wasn’t the only attraction.
Agata was up on a stepladder when Miller burst into the stockroom. She was delving a hand into a box of medical supplies, bracing an elbow on a metal shelf.
‘You,’ she said, as if she might spit.
Agata was short and slight with a bob of fine blonde hair. She was dressed in a green fleece top over grey corduroy trousers.
‘Where is he?’
She turned her back on him, plucking a foil pack of pills from the box, then leaned sideways, reaching for something else.
‘Is he upstairs?’
‘He’s not here.’
‘Where can I find him?’
‘You can’t.’
Miller growled and started for the door leading up to Darren’s apartment.
‘I’ll call the police,’ Agata shouted after him.
But Miller ignored her, pounding up the near-vertical staircase, hammering on the bare wooden door at the top. He got no answer so he tried the handle and found that it was locked.
He slapped his palm on the wood, bowing his head, then turned back towards the stairs. Agata was right behind him. She bumped off his chest, losing her balance, falling.
Miller snatched for her arm and pulled her towards him, leaning right in her face.
‘Where is he?’
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘He could be in danger, Agata.’
‘From you?’
Miller held her gaze for a long moment, fingers digging into her flesh. Then he swore and let go.
‘You scare him,’ she said, rubbing her wrist.
‘I help him.’
‘You make him anxious. Afraid.’ She rolled back her sleeve, lifting her arm, showing him the red welts on her skin. ‘You scare me, too.’
She turned to leave, to head back downstairs, maybe to carry out her threat to call the police.