Calin closed his eyes but didn't sleep. There were so many things to consider. What should he do about Jess? He experienced guilt at involving her. This was his fight, not hers. He couldn't burden her with his past. See her branded a terrorist. Calin knew what he had to do. Flee. It may well be considered cowardice, but there was no alternative. It was the one route to survival, and it was a single lane track. Jess would have to fend for herself. A thought from some deep crevice in his brain clouded the issue.

Abonalare. Abandon only as a last resort. Where had he heard that? It prompted reassessment, and another memory. Afghanistan. He couldn't recall details, but he knew he'd been there.

Logic offered three scenarios to a presence in the land of unending conflict. Was he a mercenary, a member of the military or a spy? Self-identification was no closer.

Calin dismissed all thoughts of the past; he had to deal with the present. Experience had taught there was no running away. Every adversary had to be overcome. Why had abonalare entered his thoughts as this moment? Was he finally developing a conscience? It forced a change of plan.

He sensed a decrease in speed. Were they slowing for traffic, gas, something to eat or someplace to stay? He hoped the latter. Time had lost all meaning. Calin knew they'd taken refuge in the trunk around nine last night, guessed most of this day had seen the agents canvassing for clues as to the escapees method of getaway prior to leaving as night fell.

Calin heard both doors open and close then the activating of the security mechanism. It suggested a stay longer than gas top-up. So was it a meal, a comfort stop or an overnight layover? The absence of external conversation suggested the agents had retreated indoors, but still Calin waited. Silence was no guarantee.

Fear of being seen prompted Calin's hesitancy. He freed the trunk's locking device and inched it open. His first prayer was answered, darkness had settled. He saw a number of other vehicles parked facing a motel like building. There was no one around. He reached across and woke Jess. "Time to go." Once free of the trunk Calin tried to secure it closed, unsuccessfully. His tampering had rendered the lock ineffective. One thing was certain, it would be discovered at first light, maybe eight hours away.

He assisted Jess from the trunk. After so long inactive, her legs buckled, she couldn't stand let alone walk. He half-carried and half-guided her away from the dimly lit car park. He maintained an unhurried pace. The ice cold temperature ensured they had the streets to themselves. It was going to be a long night.

When lost, retreat or circle back. Another line from his past, how did that relate to the present circumstance? And how far back should he go? Billings? Dalton? His memory went no further.

In the distance he saw smoke billowing out from a chimney stack. He sensed opportunity. With Jess now mobile they walked faster arriving just in time to observe the ebb and flow of workers signifying shift changeover. Calin paid particular attention to the late comers. He found what he wanted, a pen and a pad in one of the parked vehicles. He then wrote a note, doubled it over and placed it beneath the windshield wiper of the car parked next to the vehicle he'd selected.

"You can't be serious," said Jess as they stood beside a sleek black motorbike. "We'll freeze to death on that thing."

"My body will shield you."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine." He wasn't interested in conversation, his thoughts were elsewhere. Would the bike owner comply with the letter's request? It was a lie, but Calin hoped it might buy him time.

'I am not a thief, just a desperate daddy. My four-year old son lives with his mum a couple of hundred miles away and has just been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that could take him any day. I've got to get to him. I've got no money or transport so I had no way of getting there. I'm sorry. I give you a promise; I'll look after the bike and return it within three days. Please say a prayer for my boy.'

The bike was more than ten years old but it was in pristine condition, it would run like clockwork. The owner was a bike enthusiast. Regardless of circumstances, Calin feared the owner would feel no pity for anyone who stole his bike.


Dalton came into view.

As he approached the house, again from the rear, Calin stared in disbelief. There was no indication of a crime scene. It had all been a lie. Nothing had changed. The house was occupied. In fact every circumstance remained identical. The same two cars sat on the driveway. The same parents emerged from the house and the same two children headed off to school. What was going on? Who had authorised and orchestrated the lie? And why hadn't the report been corrected?

Then he saw the one change. Cameras. They had outguessed him and gambled on his return.

"What are we going to do," asked Jess. "Should I maybe check with neighbours?"

"Good thought but I think it might be easier to talk to the bedridden old lady. She's probably a whole lot closer to the truth than any of the neighbours," he replied.

"What if she's not there? Or she has protection?"

"Then I'm in trouble," Calin answered as he climbed the fence. "Wish me luck."

"Stop, Calin. I'm coming with you."


The security cameras hung from each corner of the house below the eaves. Could they be bypassed? Of course, they provided ground vision only, anything above roof level remained invisible. So he'd enter via the roof. How though did one gain access to the roof? The house was at least sixty yards from its closest boundary.

His eyes scanned the property searching for some point of access. He saw what he needed. The garage, it was close enough to the house. All he'd require was a ladder.

There was still the problem of the cameras. Any direct approach via the backyard would be detected. If he planned to keep the garage between him and the house he'd have to come in at an angle across the neighbour's property. Did they also have security surveillance? He searched and saw nothing.

Like fugitives fleeing prison they sprinted across the neighbour's yard. Fortune favoured their dash. No one was home.

The garage rear wall had one window; it was inaccessible and about fifteen feet above ground level. A basketball hoop was bolted to the wall directly beneath the window. At ten feet it too remained out of reach.

"Let me stand on your shoulders," said Jess with a not previously displayed confidence. "I'll be able to reach that."

"And then what."

"I was a college gymnast, watch and see."

Not knowing what to expect, Calin hoisted her onto his shoulders. He watched in amazement as she gripped the hoop ring and performed a perfect parallel bars handstand. With the grace developed from years of practice she lowered her legs onto the part of the ring diametrically opposite to where her hands still held firm. A moment later she was on her feet reaching upward to the window.

Calin watched as Jess lifted herself to perch on the window sill. She then eased herself through the opening and vanished like a wave on a beach. He waited for the cry of a bad landing.

A minute later she peered through the window, a beaming smile on her face. "You saw how easy that was, now do it." She dropped a coil of rope from the window. As Calin caught it, she added. "Or you can do it the hard way."

He scaled the wall with practiced ease. It was another talent from a past life.



"What's the plan now?" she asked as they stood together on the garage floor.

"We go talk to the lady."

"What if she doesn't cooperate?"


The gap between garage and house was no more than ten feet and well clear of the probing eyes of the cameras lenses. He saw an extendable ladder, the bridge between garage and house had been located. Entry to the house presented no problem. And it provided no reward. The third bedroom was empty.

Calin searched for a phone, it rested by the bed of the parent's room. He scanned through the call history and located the caller he sought, Mum. He depressed the connect button. Jess stood over his shoulder.

"Hullo." The voice was feminine, seemingly old but unfamiliar. Then Calin remembered she'd not spoken only screamed. How could one compare a scream to a softly spoken greeting?

"Where are you?" Calin asked. The line clicked dead.