Getaway

The Audi sat silent, sat still. Her bum shuffled in the seat, the drivers’ seat, as she hitched her skirt back to give her legs more manoeuvre and power on the pedals. It wasn’t a long skirt, she regretted wearing it; but it was the flash of stocking clad thighs that had distracted him, so the regret was muted. Plus she was nervous, and the skirt adjusting shuffle was probably more a nervous fidget than anything else.

A nervousness quickly racked up a few notches as the phone vibrated and the simple, pre-agreed, message came through, “4”. A press of the button and boot was released, seconds later he walked clear of the adjacent building carrying a heavy case. Flicking the boot up and as quickly as possible he deposited the first case. No words, no hesitation, but he smiled when he saw her: no matter how obscured that view was by the car. He turned and went back in. She started counting. 30 seconds, and he was back: case 2 done.

Counting again and this time 32 seconds, perhaps he was getting tired? Case 3 loaded, one remained and he went back in. At 5 seconds she pushed the auto close button and the boot was shut, a minor and soft thud could be heard - but no reactions. At 15 seconds she flicked the ignition and by another 3 seconds the car was inching forward, 2 seconds later and she was accelerating away. 10 seconds after that he’d come bursting out of the door in shock and surprise. 5 minutes and countless phone calls followed, but then the bullet to his head concluded his life.

Arriving in Italy in the dark in winter was not the preferred arrival, at least in her imagination, however in the conditions the lake was throwing a veil of mist. Was this a vain attempt to shroud the location from the oncoming, or an embracing cloak to hide her? The drive had been long, with as minimal stops as possible - fuel, food and wee were the primary motivators - only sleeping when absolutely necessary. The guest house stood alone and looked like it had largely been left alone for some time. However, the key was where the booking had said and inside the kitchen had been stocked with essentials. Yet, once she had closed the front door behind all she cared for was bed. Abandoning her well worn clothes to the floor she climbed straight into bed and slept for 3 days.

Dream? Dream she did.

A shower washed away the dirt and grime that had accumulated in the past anxious days, the bedding straight in the washing machine. Then, after drinking her body weight in water and one strong coffee she bathed for two hours. The heat, the wetness of the air conspired to drown her - a head swimming cocktail that mixed memories, feelings, regrets and ambition. Near suffocation and wrinkling skin reminded her of hunger and food.

Bread, cheese and salami filled her and made her bloat, but she loved the sensations the rich food sparked from her tongue. She slept it off.

The village slept. What else to do when tired, when visitors only came when the weather enticed, when the winter was a collective and succinct, fuck off.

As nearly a week of self imposed rest and isolation approached she decided it was time to venture into the village, she might be here for sometime so it would have to happen eventually. And she was running low on food. In daylight, the prettiness of the village could not be hidden; in fact the wintery covering helped to give promise to what the village would be like. Those summer days would bring people, crowds - but that was weeks and weeks away. Worry for another time.

The village square was imposed by boarded up buildings, save a cafe and general store. The cobbles and wood all around were dulled by moisture that had descended from the gloom laden clouds, yet the sun still shined through glinting and bouncing off minerals in the stone. A chill lurked around the streets but today at least no wind was there to drive it through to the bones. Surveying the locale a strong black coffee and pastry piqued her interest, although the reality of the cafe soon put an end to that.

“You want what?” The old lady seemed to scream in heavily accented English.

“Sorry, was my accent bad? I was asking for a black coffee and pastry, if you have them.” She wasn’t sure if what surprised her most was the old lady's response in English, or that such an old woman was alive! The only description that seemed to fit this woman was that she was worn, her skin, hair, eyes, teeth all showed extreme signs of being worn.

“Hah! You didn’t think I'd speak English, did you. Thought I was far too old? Well let me tell you young lady, once I was the pretty girl of the village, ran off with a GI after the war all the way back to America. To Boston. He died, left me with twins and just enough money to get back home. Quite the scandal at the time.” For a brief moment it was as if the thoughts and focus had lost her, but then, “Of course the family took me back, but they made me work for it. And never let me forget the shame.” A darkness descended across her face, perhaps the shadows from the past eclipsing the moments need to say more.

The old woman’s eyes fixated on her; held her gaze. She couldn’t look away, there was something that held her attention. Not the outburst itself, not the deep lines of the worn old face but there seemed to be a truth lurking with the woman. Whatever it was, it unsettled her.

“I’m sure it must have been. But all forgotten now? That must have been a long time ago?” Finally she got some words out, but the old woman had returned to her own world and was no longer interested.

From out of the corner of her eye something moved quickly towards her.

Reactions were slow, the distraction, the inaction unsettled and alarmed her; but it was too late. Thankfully for her it was just the coffee and pastry being delivered to her table. She kicked herself for being so distracted, so exposed and was in a foul mood for the rest of the day.

Departing the cafe the old woman’s voice emanated from the darkened recesses, “It will happen to you, the looks go and the body fails. It doesn’t last forever.” So, back to the house to think.

The house had a photo album of the surrounding countryside, with lots of photos of the nearby lake. The text explained how hundreds of thousands of years ago tectonic forces ripped and smashed the land into the mountains and plunged fissures to make the lakes. This lake in question was one of the deepest in Europe, and not favoured by divers. All this she knew.

Nowhere in the house though had any warnings about weird old ladies in cafes. Yet she thought about those words. True, her looks had got her this far: seducing the engineer and the accountant had its share of pleasure but ultimately they’d signed their own death warrants for what a blow job and cumming on her tits. A price she was happy to pay.

It was all about paying a price, she would tell herself sometimes, and they didn’t even know they had incurred a debt. She was a victim, her family were victims; to them, though, they were nothing - collateral damage at best. As pictures of her son, her husband began to form in her head she pushed hard to suppress them. It was a weight she couldn’t cope with right now. Her attention was given a new focus by the phone.

Each phone had its own ringtone, it made it easier to keep track of who was calling. She didn’t have many of them, but each served a purpose. Zurich was calling.

“Hello, Ms. This is The Zurich Bank. Excuse me the details left with us to refer to you only as Ms. Is that correct?” The English was perfect, with a French accent, each word was deliberate almost to an obsequious level.

“Yes, that is correct. Do you have an update?”

“Good. You have been sent an SMS for verification purposes and I require the counter to ‘Gremlin’.”

“The film I wouldn’t let them watch”

“Good, good and SMS verification confirmed. I can confirm that the first transfer has occurred, transaction value is $12.8 million. Which brings your balance to $15.4 million. Is this correct to your understanding and do you have any questions or require further services?”

“No, that is all good, thank you.”

Six months to complete the algorithm, six unique challenges and counters. Five months left. Five months left until the organisation is ruined. They’ll all kill each other in the power struggles, blames and scrap for resources, territory and morning. Five more months to hide, and not get caught. Five months to forget all about the lake.

She thought of moving to another village but in the end decided to keep her head low and stay put. This included keeping out of the way of village square.

The solitary, sedentary life that was imposed by the technical demands of theft from a very powerful criminal syndicate took its toll on her mental health. The last few years had been trauma and adrenaline, that’s pretty much all that kept her going - there was always movement, a next step more riskier than the next. Time was always moving, but now time was taking a look back at her. The void was reaching out.

“FUCK!” She would scream at herself in the mirror, in the reflection of the present that is, was the past that was; the future obscured. The pain was too much, it was taken never to come back. She cried and cried, and in a howling rage smashed all the mirrors. The night ended in sobs, hair matted thick and clinging to her face, a failed shroud, crumpled and raw she knocked back the scotch till sleep took her away.

Time trickled past, her bank account grew and no one came for her. She got fit in the mountains and lake, pushed herself into nature's embrace and her body got strong. The pain and the strain pushed another pain aside for long enough for her to allow them to remember their names and faces. Allowing herself to grieve she came to know herself again, the death she had caused allowed a shadow of sadness back across her heart but it passed. All the while at the bottom of a lake a sealed server churning through crypto currency combination, making undetectable duplications of verified transactions and pushing the transaction value to an online auction house on the dark web. So the money flowed in. The stream of data narrowcasting to a satellite transceiver kept hidden in the guest house, bouncing around the ether through proxies and far flung servers. The degree her location was hidden by all this concealment was, ironically, not at all clear.

It was technology the syndicate had paid for, it was money the syndicate had mortgaged the farm on. The syndicate had a long reach. She needed to stop and let the server work, and Europe had plenty of satellites overhead in easy reach; get further afield and then it does become easier to spot. Yet the cost was as the summer months approached so more people would travel and the chance of being seen got higher. And the syndicate really wanted their money.

Slowly the villages started to come to life, as winter gave way to spring and people returned to this countryside. It was an unavoidable moment in time where her exposure was at its peak, yet he mind was calming. Time was healing her. She would still walk into the village via the more obscure paths, away from the main roads as much as possible so as to keep her profile minimal. However, she would always feel anxious in the village square when she was forced to go shopping.

The cafe had now taken the transformation to being open and ready for trade, ready for holiday makers. The difference a good clean, attention to decor made was impressive from the wintery stupor she had first found it. The old woman, though, she had not seen again; perhaps she had died, but she didn’t like to ask. Although she seldom stopped there anymore.

Sitting at a corner table in non descript jeans and jacket she guessed who he was in a second. Pushing out with his foot he presented a seat for her, saying nothing but a modest hand gesture to beckon her to sit with him.

She thought of running away. Of trying at him, to kill him, disable him. Those thoughts flashed by in less than a second. She sat down.

“Who are you?” She asked in a state of growing panic and desperation.

“Would a name help you?” His response was quick and emotionless, face neutral and perhaps a hint of earnest helpfulness.

He appeared to good to be true. And so he was. She knew the facade, never seen but just knew.

Neither reacted to each other. Both seemingly froze at that moment. Both with an expectation of death. He broke the silence first.

“This is a delightful little village. The coffee is excellent, I guess you know that already. You know, I thought you’d have picked somewhere nearer to a ski resort. Honestly, I didn't think you could resist. But, hey, well done you. It must be nearly six months on the run?” He smiled. His voice was now calm, friendly and charming; of course it was, they wanted the money and not to just kill her. Slowly sipping his coffee, and gazing straight past her he gave the impression of having all the time in the world. If this was a relaxed and casual encounter for him, it wasn’t for her.

“You sound like you think you know me.” It was hard to sound calm, despite trying to stay neutral and not give anything away she could hear her own fear and agitation in her voice. She guessed so could her, something which only fed her anxiety.

“How well can anyone know anyone else? I mean skiing was easy, all those ski photos in your Facebook albums, geo-tagged as well. I must admit we did try a couple of those resorts first. Mind you to start with we really were clutching at straws.” Laughing as he spoke his words were like an anchor, grounding her senses back to this, or his/their, reality.

“But in the end the break was thanks to the engineer you screwed. Shame we couldn’t get to him before he died but he backed up nearly everything online. Took a while but we cracked that encryption before we cracked yours, as it were. Once we knew what you’d got then only a few locations would be useful.” He was definitely pleased with himself, and on the table she just realised was a map with a series of locations circled on it all crossed out, save for one - this place.

“Did you want congratulations? A pat on the back for being a good boy? You’ve found me, so what? If you know everything then you know your time is up.” Her voice started to raise in volume as her anger slipped through.

“We have time enough: 3 days, 4 hours and a handful of minutes from now. Plenty of time for your cooperation. Don’t worry about that.” His smile turned far from relaxed and charming, the hint of a sinister darkness crept into his tone, his face. Even the way he ever so slightly shifted his body language screamed predatory behaviour. In shallow comparison it was the warning signs that every woman was used to reading in men, but this hinted at much, much worse.

Silence remained. He finished his coffee, every action was deliberate and controlled.

“It’s best you come with me without causing a scene. Not all outcomes are death, at this point, for you.” The smile hardly remained, the tone of voice was forceful and demanding. He had stood up, not only was he tall but he was built and looked very capable of physically controlling her. Picking up his map revealed the shoulder holstered pistol under his jacket. Whilst he didn’t mention it she was sure that was done for her benefit.

Sitting there under the shadow of this man he became instantly self conscious and her perceptions drew in upon herself, a timid look across the cafe confirmed she was the only customer. The cafe owner was moving front and back, cleaning and carrying things and seemingly not noticing a thing. She guessed from the outside there was nothing to see. Should she scream, shout or do something? Or bide her time and go with him, if it got violent why have the people in the village involved?

The explosion ended all those thoughts. She was stung across her side by multiple bee stings, or so it felt, but much much worse. They made her slump in her seat, not enough to push her off her chair but more than enough to make her double over. Those multiple stings of pain for a short time distracted her from the blood and human detritus that had scattered across the cafe and descended upon her.

The world seemed silent and time absent as started to try and make sense of the sights around her, with ears ringing from the explosion she couldn’t yet hear anything. Yet slowly her senses focused closer to their normal ranges and she could hear people moving around, loud voices of shock and alarm. Then she could feel the blood dripping down her face, as she put her hands to her head she could feel the lumps of flesh entangled with her hair. The pain in her side shot out across her body and pierced the numbness on her mind.

Looking round across the cafe she could see the old woman, inert on the floor laying on her back with a shotgun laying by her side. Maybe now she was dead.

Images of people running around and the chaotic sounds of panic and alarm besieged her brain in a sudden barrage. That was the final assault on her, she succumbed and her world went blank.

Awaking into what was clearly a hospital was, whilst a little confusing, not wholly surprising. A quick check of her body found bandages, and some tubes into her arm; which she guessed was in part pain killer, as she felt somewhat drunk and dissociated from her body.

“Hello. Hello, I'm awake. Can you help me? Where am I, what’s happened?” The response from the nurse was something in Italian she didn’t understand, save for the name of the hospital - which was the main hospital in the area. That made sense, and as she moved her arms she wasn’t handcuffed to anything which gave her grounds for hope. The nurse looked at the machine that was clearly attached to her body, she didn’t seem worried and walked off.

The nurse returned with an elderly looking doctor, whose english whilst broken was fairly clear and she quickly learnt what had happened. Perhaps not yet the full story, but it was beginning to make sense. And she’d only been in the hospital a day.

“And the old lady, is she dead?” The doctor whispered to the nurse for a brief moment before responding.

“Ah, yes. I’m sorry to say that she died not long after the incident. But I think the Police will be able to tell you more: they are on their way. There followed a few perfunctory checks, adjustment of pillows and plenty of smiles before the nurse and doctor disappeared.

The police could turn up at any moment, so clearly she wasn’t considered important enough to have left anyone here to keep watch over her. If they had been able to identify the victim it would be highly likely he had a police record of some sort; she was pretty sure she had none. She tried not to get optimistic.

It was another older professional and younger assistant that approached her next. A detective looking in his late 50s and a 20 something uniformed officer stood over her and enquired after health. Pleasantries exchanged, she was expecting to be questioned.

“And so the gentlemen in question was wanted by the Dutch authorities, and it looks like the signora had an episode which resulted in an accidental discharge of her son’s shotgun. A tragic accident, with the saving grace the victim in question probably had a less than wholesome past and wanted in the connection with at least one murder and organised crime. You were very lucky to only get caught by a few pellets, no major organs hit. Unless you have anything to add?”

She thought the detective was just looking for the easiest route to close the case and get on with life, something she was not about to take him away from.

“No, nothing to add. The whole episode is a bit of a blank to me, I'm afraid. The old woman had an ‘episode’ ?”

“Ah yes, she was known for having her moments in the village, although never with firearms. She did leave a few last words, do they mean anything to you?” He opened his notebook and proceeded to read.

“They told me what to do, who I could or couldn’t fuck. Where I could go, and when. I’m not going to let men keep doing that.”

“I don’t suppose that means anything to you?” He’d folded away his notebook, and clearly looked like he was ready to go.

“I’m afraid not, no.” The detective thanked her and went away.

She discharged herself later that day.

In half an hour the rental house was emptied into cases, the car was loaded and she left.

“This is the Zurich bank, hello.” Handing over the last of the passwords she sat impassively being told the balance stood at $27.3 million.

In days to come she’d read the odd headline of a few syndicate bosses being killed, the articles putting it down to a turf war and double crosses. For her, it was revenge at a distance. The entire experience left her hollow, no rage or joy, no emotion to fill the void they’d left in her. The family they had taken from her avenged by the bloody break up of theirs? Not likely, there was just the ever shifting, ever moving, ever descending infliction of pain.