The evader

Silence. Utter silence. I was sitting in the living room on a large, brown couch with my laptop on my knees, a cup of hot coffee on the table in front of me and my gun carefully placed under some pillows next to me. White, fluffy snow has covered my sight from every window around.

It’s almost a week since I came here. I was relaxing in my apartment in Paris when I got a letter from my mentor. I had been teasing him for not using modern ways of communication like emails, but he said that there’s no greater pleasure than writing on paper. Once I opened it, I lost the ground under my feet.

If you read this then I’m gone. You’re in danger. We have a mole in our team and our research findings are now known by some government parties at high ranks. They want us to keep our mouth shut and you are aware of their methods to succeed it. Run and don’t look back. If you have any evidence at your house destroy everything.

I had to act fast. I closed the curtains on every window while I left the window doors open and run straight into the bathroom. I open the drawer under the sink and search for a pair of scissors. Once I find it, I start cutting my hair down until they reach at a level just above my shoulders.

I leave the bathroom and head towards the bedroom. I take a duffle bag out of the closet and place it on the bed. All I need is some warm clothing and my gun which I carefully put between the clothes. I put on a black raincoat and a shoulder bag which was always prepared in case of emergency with a few passports, some money, and a mobile phone with an untraceable sim card.

I deactivate the fire alarm system and taking a bottle filled with petrol from under the kitchen sink, I throw it around on the furniture. When I have everything ready, I take my things and place them next to the door along with my laptop bag. I take a last glance around the house, and I feel a tug in my heart about what I’m going to do next. With a piece of cloth soaked in petrol I light it on and toss it on the couch. Fire starts spreading and I feel moisture in eyes, but there’s no other option. I grab my things and close the door behind me, taking the stairs heading to the outside the building.

I try to stay calm and walk like nothing happened. Once I cross the road and head on the opposite side of the building, I turn my face up. I feel a tear running down my face as flames jump out of the apartment. I get my phone out of my coat pocket and call the fire department. Once the call ends, I turn and leave the site, throwing the phone in a bin a few metres away.

My plan is to make as many twists and turns as possible in case someone might be after me. I walk to the train station, and I buy a ticket for London. Then I walk back outside and call for a VIP transportation from my other phone. A few minutes later a black limousine appears. I get in and ask the driver to take me to the nearest airfield.

There, pretending I’m some famous ski athlete preparing for the Olympics and I had booked a helicopter ride that my assistant apparently has forgotten to book, I manage to get on a helicopter. Confusion was the key to success in such cases, so they don’t have the time to check on what you’re saying to them.

I could feel my heart pounding that my scam will be revealed any moment, but I had to act natural. Thankfully my sunglasses were hiding the panic that my eyes were definitely showing. Once we reached Courchevel altiport, I try to blend in with other tourists that arriving the same time. It was best to be around people to get more cover. Soon the groups are transferred to Courchevel 1850 and from there I followed the coordinates I had written on that phone for the safehouse.

Times like this make me feel a bit safer than other people that have no idea what to do in such cases. I was fortunate to have a father with skills like these. His occupation? Espionage. Unfortunately, I lost him a lot earlier than I had imagined, but I learned a few useful things from him.

No one knew the location of the safehouse, not even my mother. He came one day to my room, holding a tiny piece of paper and a medallion. He kneeled in front of me, and it was maybe the first time I see him so serious with me.

“Only when your life is in danger.” He said holding the piece of paper high to see it. He then placed in on the medallion and passed it around my neck. I wear it since. Three days after that, we got the news of his death.

After quite some time of walking through thick snow, I find it. It was actually a chalet hidden around tall firs that provided natural cover. It was far away from the tourist areas, so it was unlikely that a total stranger wandering around to find it. It was my only option and I thought that no one will look for me in this place. Most probably they will find my ticket to England and whoever is after us will send their men to wait for the train to arrive at Kings Cross so they can arrest me there.

With a soft click the ground door opens revealing the inside of the safehouse. I walk in to see a spacious living room with a brown corner couch on the right, big windows with view to the hill and a fireplace on the other end of the house. There was a small kitchen further down and a toilet. I left my things on the couch and head upstairs to check the rest of the rooms. It looks bigger that it looks on the outside.

The place was fully equipped. There was internet connection, supplies that could hold for months as well as three tanks fully loaded with petrol for the central heating. When I settle in, I sit on the couch with the laptop at the small coffee table in front of me. I watch the news if they said anything about the fire. To my surprise, nothing was mentioned, and I was sure that was a big fire. Usually, they make such a big fuss for minor things. Now it felt strange.

In the meantime, the weather was getting worse, that was something to my advantage as my tracks will be covered for sure. What I didn’t expect was to wake up and find that the whole place is covered with snow! I couldn’t open the door neither the windows on the ground floor. The only way in and out was from the balcony on the upper floor. I don’t mind it at all as I won’t go anywhere for a while.

 One week now and no one came to look for me neither to clean the snow. I thought I have a lot of things to do when all this pass. Every morning I wake up and do a bit exercise to keep my reflexes sharp. Then I spend some time cleaning my gun and watch the news. It was a bit boring actually but on the other hand I needed some time alone, without the part that someone’s probably looking for me of course. The only think that was start hitting on my nerves was the unbearable silence and a strange feeling that someone’s coming. I had it for a couple of days now and each night I was trying to calm down saying to myself that another day passed, and nothing happened, but my mind would not back down so easily.  

Almost two weeks have passed. I open my eyes to the sound of the phone ringing. I must have fall asleep on the couch. Once I close the alarm off, I get up and walk slowly to the window. I open the curtains and jump back in shock. I want to scream but I feel that voice has left my body and no sound came out. I stay frozen in place, watching in horror as a pair of red handprints is painted on the outer side of the window. Is that blood?

Cracks make their appearance and I turn my head instinctively to the stairs leading on the upper floor. Whoever it is, is already inside. I reach for the gun under the pillows and jump on the couch, removing the safety of the gun. The steps echo each time closer to the stairs. I instinctively hold my breath as the sound changes slightly. It’s now on the steps walking slowly, each step echoes like a drum to my doom.

I get a tighter grip around the gun and decide to go check on whatever is up there. At least if I have visual contact while it’s still on the stairs maybe I have change to make some damage. There was no room on the stairs to evade a hit. I am almost on the bottom step and brace myself for what I might face.

“Are you looking for me?” I hear a whisper from behind me, and a soft click as cold metal touches the back of my head.

I jolt out of the bed, sweat dripping down my face