Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

“Keep your arms out. Get on your knees.”

Will did what he was told.

“Now lie flat, facedown and hands together behind your back.”

Will moved his body into the position but kept his face forward. He could see the cop to his left take more sideways steps until he was out of sight, moving behind to handcuff Will. He looked at the other police officer. The man was motionless and kept his gun pointed at Will’s head.

“I said facedown.”

Will pushed his face into snow and waited. He felt a knee punch into the small of his back. He still waited. He felt strong fingers wrap around one of his hands, and he knew that the cuffs were about to be placed on him. He moved fast.

He grabbed the police officer’s wrist, spun rapidly on the ground, twisted the man’s arm with the movement, forced him to spin with him until he was momentarily by Will’s side, heard shouting from the other officer, knew that the other officer would not shoot for fear of hitting his colleague, grabbed the prone officer’s throat, wrenched his head up and in front of him, moved onto his knees, pulled the man with him, moved into a crouch position, lunged forward with the man toward the other officer, and pushed his captive directly into his colleague. The two officers flew through the air before crashing to the ground. Will sprinted at them, kicked the gun out of one of the men’s hands, stomped on his solar plexus to render him temporarily immobile, moved to the other man as he was trying to get to his feet, jabbed an elbow down into the man’s collarbone, and simultaneously swept a leg around his ankles to force him back down to the ground. He picked up their guns and threw them down the street. Both officers were moaning in pain, but Will knew they would recover in minutes. He looked at them both, sighed, and said, “I’m sorry.”

Then he turned and sprinted away. He ran knowing that he could not spend a moment longer in this place. He ran knowing that he now stood no chance of finding Megiddo or Lana in the village. He ran knowing that his only hope to finish everything would be for Megiddo to come to him in New York.

He ran knowing that in just under twenty-four hours’ time he had to be face-to-face with Megiddo and that his quarry would be there to kill him.

Will headed north through forest but not too far from Route 86, where he had earlier seen signs for the Adirondack Regional Airport. Wind was blowing hard and sent snow and ice fast into his face. He moved, sometimes blindly, through the pitch-dark forest, using only the occasional road light on his right to maintain his bearings. He felt very cold, but he also felt angry and determined to keep moving.

He walked for six kilometers, only occasionally stopping to crouch down when a vehicle passed on the road. He reached an area where he could see the road fork, adjusted his position, and continued his journey in a westerly direction, keeping the new road thirty meters to his right.

He thought about calling Patrick and telling the man everything that had happened on this day. He thought about telling Patrick where he was so that the man could send help to get him to New York immediately. He thought about Roger and Laith, and his next thought echoed the words they had earlier used:

Fuck that.

The night grew even blacker, and the temperature plummeted further. His clothes felt heavy now, and he knew that was because they were frozen.

He saw the lights of the airport ahead.

He jogged forward so that he was very close to the road. He looked up and down the route before walking quickly across it and into more forest. He kept moving forward until he was close to the airport perimeter. He breathed deeply, even though every lungful of icy air felt excruciating. He crouched down, lowered himself onto his knees, and fell forward onto his stomach and chest. He pulled himself a few feet along the ground until he was satisfied that he could see the complex properly.

The airport had only one building, and it was small and clearly both the arrivals and departures area. But it was in total darkness. Beside it he could see glimpses of snow-covered single-engine planes on tarmac and three runways beyond them. He’d come here hoping to find a busy airport, active twenty-four hours, and maybe even a direct flight to New York City. The place before him was anything but that, though, and it was clearly shut for the night. He would have to wait in the freezing night until the airport opened in the morning.

He heard cars, looked quickly to his right, and saw two of them move slowly along the narrow entrance road to the airport. He tried to focus his eyes through the snowfall and saw that one of the cars was a white SUV and the vehicle behind it was a police vehicle. He stayed still and watched them pull up close to the solitary building.

The cars stopped. A man exited the SUV, and two police officers got out of their vehicle. Will could not see the officers’ faces clearly, but he could tell from their builds that they were not the men who had pointed guns at him on Olive Street. He knew that more police officers would have been drafted into the area to look for the man who had disarmed the two policemen. But he wondered what was happening in front of him right now.

The civilian walked up to the reception building, paused by the door, seemed to be looking for something, and opened the door. He entered but stopped inside within a few feet of the doorway and looked at one of the adjacent walls. He raised his arm and spent a few seconds standing where he was before walking out of the building and nodding at the two police officers. They walked into the building with the civilian, and the three men momentarily disappeared from view.

Will knew that the civilian was the key holder to the airport and that the man had punched numbers into a wall-mounted alarm unit to disable the security system. But he did not know why he or the police were here. He waited and rubbed his hands to try to aid his circulation.

Lights came on in the building until the whole interior was illuminated. Will looked at the windows and saw glimpses of the men moving through the place before stopping in one room. The policemen seemed to be doing nothing other than standing by the civilian; the civilian was making telephone calls from different phones. He looked focused and picked up phones as quickly as he put them down. The men were in the room for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before lights were turned off and they appeared at the main doorway. The civilian tapped buttons on the alarm pad, locked the door, and headed quickly to his vehicle. The police officers joined him, shook his hand, and walked to theirs.

Will now knew exactly what had been happening. The police had called the head of the airport, brought him to the place, and protected him while he made calls to other airports telling them that the Adirondack Regional Airport would be closed until further notice while authorities conducted a manhunt for the individual who had assaulted two police officers and was most certainly associated with two men who were currently in supervised medical care suffering from gunshot and knife wounds.

He felt a surge of frustration. He rubbed ice from his face, watched the police officers enter their vehicle, saw one of them talk on their radio, watched them drive off with lights flashing. He imagined that with their task done, they would now be heading off to continue their role in trying to find him.

The civilian paused by his car door, tried to light a cigarette, failed, opened the door, and sat for a moment in the driver’s seat. Will saw a glow behind the man’s cupped hands, followed by smoke from his cigarette. Will stood, pulled out Laith’s handgun, and ran toward the seated man. He slowed and held his gun in two hands. Falling snow swirled around him.