Escape

 

I woke up in a bright room. A table stood across from me, most of the peeling paint already flaking off. I wanted to rub my eyes and ward off the headache, but the ropes holding my arms wouldn't let me. Only then did I realize I was tied to the chair. I tugged again, and again, but the only effect was pain. I looked around the room. The yellow-green paint was badly faded, speckled in places with flaking plaster, remnants of which lay patiently all over the floor. In one corner, a fungus, well-fed by moisture, had taken up residence, along with a large spider. To my surprise, my legs were free. I stood up and immediately fell onto my side—so dizzy was I. Shaking myself, I looked up at the wide basement window near the ceiling. Sunlight filtered through the bars, scattering on the dust I'd kicked up.

Slowly, memories began to emerge. The data I was supposed to transfer on a memory card, sealed in a plastic envelope and sewn into the lining of my jacket. Dr. Martens giving me final directions and showing me the map again. A sunny evening, a mountain road, a purring engine. A Grand Cherookie crashing into the side and pushing me into a ditch. A cracked windshield, a deployed airbag, and a hand holding a hissing canister. A blurry, dark face and choking fumes. That's all. I can remember nothing more.

I rolled to my knees and, after a few attempts, managed to stand up. This time, I had no trouble staying on my feet. The chair creaked – a good sign. If it's in the same condition as the table, I should be able to free myself. It's going to hurt. I ran backward and slammed into the wall. Plaster crumbled, and the chair dug into my back so hard that I was left on my knees. Coughing, I stood up and tried again. Plaster, dust, but also the crack of wood. The bindings loosened a bit. Once again. I bounced and, swinging the chair around, finally lay sprawled on the ground. I started spitting dust, but with only my hands bound, I quickly got them under my feet. I had to bite through the rope. Luckily, it was ordinary hemp rope – the kind used to tie hay or parcels. Freed, I massaged myself and stretched a bit. A noise from the wall forced me to think quickly. I had no doubt I'd attracted someone with my dance with the furniture. I grabbed a chair leg from the floor and positioned myself by the door. Someone turned a key in the lock, pushed the handle, and the head that emerged, I punched him in the face. The man staggered and fell to his knees. I corrected the back of my head. Unfortunately, I wasn't paying attention, and a heavy boot slid across my chin. I fell backward and slid across the table. The other man didn't wait for me to recover—he charged at me fiercely. He probably expected me to defend myself with my legs or try to hit him over the head with a piece of the chair, so when I blocked him with the table, he was surprised. He turned sideways, balancing beside the table. This lasted long enough for me to trip his knee and bring him down. A swing to the head ended it. Without waiting for either of them to wake up, I left the room. The bunch of keys was stuck in the lock. I locked the door with the key and put the bunch in my pocket. I was in a narrow hallway. On one side it ended with a door, on the other, concrete stairs leading up to a door from under which sunlight filtered through. The corridor had a dark alcove with beams sticking out. Halfway up the stairs, I heard footsteps behind the door. I quickly pushed my way into the alcove's clutter. Luckily, it was really dark there, especially for someone entering from a sunny spot. Three guys walked past me, talking.

"They're dealing with him quietly," the first voice said.

"They probably got nervous over the ice cream," the second replied, and then a laugh.

Someone opened a door. It must have been the one at the other end of the corridor. I scrambled out of the alcove and ran up the stairs. I was about to leave when I heard heavy footsteps running close by. I pressed myself against the wall behind the door, praying they wouldn't hit me in the nose. The door flew open, and another guy, taking a long leap, ran down the corridor. Luckily for me, he didn't close the door or turn around, so I took advantage of that moment to slip outside.

The intense sun blinded me. I looked down at my feet. Three steps separated me from the hard, dry earth. I hoped no one was watching, because otherwise, my adventure would have ended right there. I slowly walked away from the door. My vision began to adjust, and I could look around. The large yard was bordered on both sides by large wooden barns, behind which stood a dark wall of trees. The left barn had its doors wide open. The opposite side of the yard was enclosed by a high board fence and an open gate. A Jeep, just like the one that had rammed me, was parked by the other barn. I turned to see where I had come from. It was a single-story concrete building, essentially a small warehouse with a loading dock. The door I had exited through was on the right side of the lower part of the structure. Luckily, on this side, only the portholes above the warehouse door and the window of the basement I had escaped from were visible. Otherwise, the yard was empty. A car became my target, but just to be on the safe side, I chose the road next to the open barn. I quickly ran to the corner of the barn and cautiously approached the gate. The gaps in the boards were too small to accurately see if anyone was inside. No sound came from inside either. I risked it again and simply peeked in. Collapsed stacks of hay littered the dirt floor, a long ladder lay across it, and silence. Without waiting for more surprises, I glanced toward the warehouse and sprinted to the Jeep. To my surprise, the key was in the ignition. The engine started immediately. I put the car in gear and lurched forward. Beyond the gate, I turned right. The forest road had long ago been paved with hexagonal concrete cubes, which now looked like unfinished puzzle pieces. A few hard bumps and jolts from the heavy vehicle forced me to slow down. Better to go slowly than to destroy the suspension.

After about a kilometer, the road forked. I took the left fork, and after a few hundred meters, the cobblestones ended. What remained was a forest road, with not-so-deep ruts. The dry spring had prevented the surface from turning into mud, so luckily, I wasn't in danger of getting stuck. I glanced at my watch. It was almost eleven, and I was driving almost into the sun, so roughly due south. This didn't help much, considering I didn't know where I was. I rolled down the window and immediately heard the distant roar of an engine. I'd been terribly distracted and driving too slowly. I hadn't even considered that the pursuit would take the wrong route at the fork. Besides, from this distance, I couldn't tell if I was being pursued by one or more cars. I accelerated until, jumping over the bumps in the road, the Jeep began to belly-flop. I rounded another bend, scraping my sides through the bushes. Suddenly, a broken tree appeared in front of me. Hanging about two meters above the road, it blocked my path. There was no way to avoid it or back away from its tail. Cursing, I jumped out of the car. The trunk rested on one side on the cracked remnant of the tree, and on the other on another tree that had been blown down by the force. No way down, no way up—I couldn't do it alone. It was moving a little sideways, though. I looked closely as the collapsing trunk lay on the trees on the other side—creating something like a ramp facing me. I had to risk it or continue on foot. I got in the car, engaged the transfer case, and drove up to the hanging tree. The center of the trunk was at roof height. I reached it and started charging, hoping to roll the tree across the car's roof. One of the wheels began to spin. Full differential lock and full throttle. I moved the tree a little higher, and the trunk jumped onto the car's roof. With a crack, the windshield collapsed into a web of cracks, almost completely obscuring my view. The car sank under the weight, but, already revving, it roared under the tree. The trunk fell behind me, along with the tempered rain of glass. A crack of breaking branches, and the trunk fell even lower, creating a perfect barrier for my pursuers. I was delighted. I quickly got out, jumped on the hood, and kicked the windshield open with my feet. However, I must have lingered too long, as I could already hear the pursuers clearly. I jumped behind the wheel and drove off. Only two turns later did I disengage the transfer case and the brakes, and proceeded more calmly.

About five kilometers down the road, I started to hear the sounds of the road. A moment later, I reached a forest intersection and headed straight into the noise of trucks. I quickly reached a paved road and headed down the road. Only the surprised expressions of the drivers and the tears in the wind reminded me of what a wrecked vehicle I was driving. It was a bummer – it was moving, that's all I needed. I opened the passenger compartment and, trying to stay in my lane on the winding road, searched through its contents. Besides some papers and a service book, there were dark glasses and some loose change. The glasses proved very useful with the lack of a windshield. Now all I had to do was find a way to report to the company. With the change, I also needed a phone. Speeding along the road, I reached a small inn in fifteen minutes – basically, a shack on wheels by the road, but there was a phone booth. I braked right next to it and, without turning off the car, ran to the phone. I dialed Martens's cell number.

"Martens, I'm listening." Thank God, he answered immediately.

"Leis here." I could have sworn I heard Martens breathe a sigh of relief. "Did my number show up?

" "Yes.

" "Call me back." I hung up.

It took too long for the phone to ring. I lifted my hand from the receiver.

"Leis?" Martens's voice echoed, probably on speakerphone.

"Yes, listen! They ran over me and kidnapped me, I managed to escape," I transmitted at a rifle pace. "I don't know how far behind me they are, probably close. I don't have the data.

" "Don't worry about that," Martens replied.

"Where are you?" asked another voice.

"Who is that?

" "Siess, GSR.

" "Aha. I'll find out where I am in a moment," I replied.

I started calling out to the shack, and a surprised face peered out the window.

"What?

" "Where am I?

" "On the road!" the salesman replied with a smile.

"A town!

" "Down the road, you'll come to Sil Creek, 20 miles."

I turned to the phone.

"I have twenty miles to Sil Creek. "

A moment of silence and the muffled clicking of a keyboard on the other end.

"Try reporting to the police at Sil Creek," Siess's voice said. "We're sending a chopper for you, but it won't be there for another hour, an hour and a half.

" "That long?

" "No." This time it was Martens. "The local police only notified us this morning that they found your car.

" "So what?

" "They found it and checked it last night, so it stinks, be careful.

" "Give me a second point."

Keyboard clicking.

"Seven miles southwest, Mile River, then west, 15 miles, exactly 15, and up the road to the right. There's an army tracking station there; we'll have them waiting for you too," Siess said again.

"Don't tell Sil Creek. For now." Without waiting for their response, I hung up the phone.

I drove the battered Jeep toward town at full throttle. "Sil Creek, 38-something residents." The local police building could be recognized from a distance thanks to the patrol car parked there. I parked by the entrance and went inside. The small interior hid several desks cluttered with papers behind the reception desk on the left. In the center was a glass-enclosed cubicle, the ajar door of which, around a large star, bore an even larger inscription: "Mark O'Reilly, Sheriff of Sil Creek." Behind the cubicle, I could already see the restroom door and the jail bars. An officer stood up from behind one of the desks and slowly approached me. Through the open door of the sheriff's office, I heard his voice: "Nothing's happening here yet, but..." "

Can I help you?" The officer looked at me, then out the window at the wrecked Jeep, and back at me, this time with a more puzzled look. "Is something wrong?"

"My name is Leis," I replied. "I'm with the FBI and I need...

" "Bred! As soon as your floppy disk bird shows up, I'll hold it for you! For now, piss off." The sheriff's booming voice drowned out my words.

Now everything started happening quickly for me again. The door opened behind me, I turned to see another officer, who gave me a quick glance and then turned to the one behind the counter.

"I forgot my ticket book, could you get me one?

" His car outside purred, running and empty. A moment to decide. The sheriff was talking about me. Martens' warning. "...I'll hold it for you..." The sheriff's face in the door. His eyes and mouth wide.

I jumped up and ran outside. I unlocked the police car and, seeing the officers' surprised expressions, jumped in. I reversed across the sidewalk and was thrown sideways onto the road. Full throttle, gunfire from behind. One of the bullets shattered the window, and I heard another ricochet against the metal. Gas, gas, gas. I fumbled for the siren switch. Its wail scared off a passerby, and someone else pulled over. The odometer was already hitting seventy miles. "Mile River, 10 miles, Route 47." A sharp right slammed me into the opposite lane. Sharp braking, a screech of tires, and I escaped from under the hood of the old station wagon. Hit the gas again. They must have lagged a bit behind. I glanced in the mirror just as the pursuing police car, sliding sideways, plowed into the station wagon. A pirouette and stopped at a sign. The horn blared ahead. I missed the mark and had to swerve hard before a head-on collision. The wheels kicked up the gravel of the shoulder. How many police cars were there? Two. This hole doesn't need more. So, at least for now, the chase was over. Ten miles. Make it before they caught up with Mile River.

I got there very quickly. The police siren worked wonders on the narrow, winding road, allowing me to pass even eighteen-wheelers on the narrow, winding road. The road passed the town from the west, so I simply had to turn west at the intersection. I noted the odometer reading as I approached the intersection. Mile Creek quickly fell behind me, even covering the remaining fifteen miles without any problems. The bearing station was visible from afar: the rotating radar on the mountaintop was a perfect landmark. I swerved right, and after a hundred meters, I stopped at an iron gate. I honked, but only an echo answered. I turned the engine, and with it, the siren faded, but only mine. The pursuit must have been close; I could even hear them braking sharply as they turned toward the base. I turned around. I was clearly visible from the road, so they knew where to go. I quickly returned to the car and started honking furiously. My pursuit car had already covered a hundred meters by this time and stopped a few meters behind me. I got out of the car, but quickly learned it was a mistake. Two officers from the car were already holding me at gunpoint, hiding behind the open door. Everything was in accordance with procedure. I raised my hands.

"Get down!" one of them shouted. "Now!"

I slowly dropped to one knee and was about to lie down when I heard the gate open.

"Gentlemen, this is military property," I heard behind me.

"Jeff! Step aside, this guy's been acting up, and he's ours!" another officer shouted.

"I have other orders, lower your weapons before you hurt yourselves."

I risked turning around. A tall, thin soldier was slowly approaching me. To the side of the gate and a little further away, kneeling, were two soldiers armed with M4s.

"Jeff!"

One of the officers must have raised his weapon again, because the soldiers at the gate immediately reacted, aiming their rifles. One of them even began slowly circling my patrol car. I watched my pursuit. The two officers looked at me with confused expressions. Finally, they lowered their Glocks.

"Reasonable," commented the soldier next to me, nicknamed "Jeff," and turned to me. "Mr. Leis?

" "Yes," I replied.

"Do you know the password?" he asked.

"What the hell password?" I hissed, stunned.

"Fine. You get up and calmly walk out the gate."

I did as he told me and headed toward the gate, careful not to step into the line of fire of any of the soldiers. The situation was still tense; behind me, I could hear the officers arguing with "Jeff." It ended when the latter decided to take the car and leave. Quickly. I was safely behind the gate...

A moment later, "Jeff" arrived.

"Major Jeffry Hornelly," he introduced himself and shook my hand. "Glad you made it, Mr. Leis.

" "I'm glad too," I replied. "What was that slogan all about?"

"Nothing. If you knew, I'd be pissed," he replied with a big smile. "We need to tell the helicopter to land here, not at Sil Creek. This way, please..."