Chapter 4

The wind whistled through the trees, the branches whipping at face and hands and threatening to trip the man up in his headlong flight through the woodland. The moon was full, but the night sky was full of cloud, making the light from the moon and stars useful for only short periods of time.

The lie of the land took a sudden downward turn and the blond man with the deep golden tan tripped and fell feet first down the hillside, clutching madly at the bracken and tree roots in an attempt to slow his descent. Finally, with a teeth chattering crash, Ken Hutchinson stopped, his fall broken by the bole of a large oak tree. For a full minute he lay stunned, his lower leg at an unusual angle, his face staring up at the milky, cloudy sky. Sense came back to him slowly and with it the pain of a hundred cuts and scratches and the sprained ankle he knew he'd just added to his collection of hurts.

With a barely suppressed yelp of pain, Hutch pulled himself up until his back was against the tree trunk and he could gather his breath. A gentle rain started to fall and he looked up at the sky. Godforsaken pits of a country, he mumbled to himself. Who in their right mind would want to actually live in a place that was colder then hell and perpetually wet?

'Hey, they got tiny little towns an' cute houses.' The soft New York accent came back to haunt Hutch, reminding him of the day that he and Starsky landed at Manchester airport and made their way north through green valleys and wild open moorland towards their destination. Starsky had spent his time revelling in the new sights that England had to offer whilst Hutch tried to get to grips with driving on the wrong side of the road with a stick shift car where all the controls were reversed. It had been a good first day and the omen had been favourable that they'd complete their task and be back in California within the week.

How long ago had it been since that fateful day? Eight, nine, maybe ten weeks ago, maybe longer and for the first couple of days their job had gone well. Until that fateful afternoon with the sun dipping down below the hills on the chilly late September evening. It had been unseasonably warm and sunny and Starsky and Hutch were driving back from Lancaster where they'd spent the day with the local police going over the same ground hour after hour. The small city, with its ancient castle overlooking the river had seemed tiny compared to LA, but the sweat was still the same. By 6.00pm Hutch's shirt had been sticking to his back and his head ached. Starsky's mind was wandering too and he was starting to flirt with the woman assigned to help them find their way through the oceans of paperwork.

Hutch had slammed down his pen and declared that he needed a beer and food and at the suggestion Starsky, the ever hungry cop, stopped his flirting and followed his partner down to the parking lot. The two guys had wound their way through the narrow streets of Lancaster and were soon on the motorway south, pulling off the fast road onto the smaller country roads closer to their hotel. As the car started to wind its way towards Barrow, the road following the route of the River Ribble as it meandered through the fields, Starsky's cop senses had started to tingle and he'd turned to look out through the back window.

'Red Ford about 50 yards back' he'd said casually.

Hutch had looked into the rear view mirror. 'Got 'em. How long've they been there?'

'Since we left Lancaster.'

'Tail?'

The curly haired man had nodded. 'Think so. Can you handle some speed?'

'In the dark, on the wrong side of the freakin' road and with the road barely wide enough for one? Sure. Piece of cake.'

Hutch had floored the gas pedal, trying to pull away from the Ford in their hired Jag, nursing the rental car through the corners of the unfamiliar road but try as he might, the Ford kept up with them. He flew through small villages, screeching around corners. At Mitton he saw the glint of the river in the moonlight and then the outline of the tiny one lane bridge. At the last second he stood on the brakes to make the turn but it wasn't enough and Hutch swerved, wrestling with the car as the tyres fought to grip the road. There was a moment of sickening clarity as Hutch saw the river bank coming towards them and then a cacophony as the car flipped over and the engine roared into the night.

The impact of the car on the water shook the vehicle and Hutch remembered hitting his head on the steering wheel, knocking himself out. The next thing he remembered was being waist deep in freezing cold water with a torch shining in his eyes as unseen hands hauled him from the car. He remembered looking around desperately for Starsky and seeing the brunet unconscious and with blood streaming from a cut above his left eye. Hutch had called out to his partner but there had been no response and he'd tried to get his rescuers to tell him where he was and how Starsky was. He feared his friend was dead and needed reassurance that they would be ok, but when he started to talk and struggle to get back to the brunet, the hands on his shoulders became more forceful and finally a fist connected with his jaw and sent him back into a world of darkness.

Hutch had woken up in a tiny room with no window and a locked door and there he had remained except for when they came for him for the next round of interrogation.

During the first week he had constantly asked his captors about Starsky. They had been uninterested and unsurprisingly they had refused to answer his questions, wanting only to know the formula of the drug that Hutch and Starsky had taken and hidden.

And then, just a few short hours ago, Hutch had seen his chance and had taken it. The two heavies who had been around him constantly had come to take him once again from his cell to the interrogation room. Whether they were getting lazy, or whether they were under the impression that their captive would be getting weaker and more dispirited, Hutch didn't know but on this occasion they hadn't bound his hands behind his back and they had been careless.

Hutch had managed to kick out at one of the men who cannoned into the other, giving the blond cop just enough time to high tail it out of the building into the night and freedom. Within seconds the tiny cottage had disappeared and the blond was surrounded by trees. Instinctively Hutch had run towards the open countryside and the shadows and he hadn't stopped running for as long as his legs would carry him.

Admittedly he wasn't in the best of health. The repeated periods of interrogation had taken their toll. His captors may have been from another country but they used the same force as the flakes back home. First had been the beatings. They had been bad enough and Hutch knew that at least one broken rib had resulted from an overzealous blow. His face and body were bruised and on the second occasion a cut had opened up on his cheek below his right eye. The cut had become a kind of target for the interrogators and had refused to heal.

When the beatings didn't have the desired effect, his captors became more sophisticated, using electricity to try to get the information they needed. Hutch had lost count of the times the jolts of power had sent him convulsing to the ground where he'd blacked out only to wake back in his cell. And still he hadn't given them the information they wanted.

Only when he was hit by the fevers and was sleep deprived did they add a little psychological torture to the mix. One day, they came for him and bound him to a chair in front of a blank wall. A moment later a video flickered into life, the shaky camera image projected onto the whitewash, steadying until Hutch could see his partner, lying seemingly lifeless on some sort of hospital cot.

At that Hutch had become almost insane, fighting against his bonds as the video showed Starsky being slapped across the face until his drugged eyes opened. And then a big man stood in front of the camera with his back to it. He'd taken a hold of a handful of chocolate coloured curls and had hauled Starsky to his knees, where he seemed to be forcing himself onto the drugged brunet. Hutch had watched with a mixture of emotions. Up until the video, he'd not known whether Starsky was alive or dead. To see his partner still in the land of the living was an enormous rush of relief. To see him obviously drugged and powerless to resist the treatment the men were handing out left Hutch's blood running cold.

It was only then that Hutch started to have doubts about keeping silent, and several more videos followed at regular intervals, wearing away at the blond's resolve.

Hutch opened his eyes and stared once more at the cloudy sky. He hurt. He hurt so damned much and yet he needed to put distance between him and the men who were undoubtedly following him. With a stifled groan he levered himself to his feet and tested his weight on his ankle. It held, but sent shooting pains up his leg and into his belly. Painfully he forced himself on through the rain, slipping on the undergrowth as he continued down the hill towards the glint of the river through the trees.

As he reached flatter ground however, the blond heard a twig snap behind him. Daring to look over his shoulder he saw the lancing beam of a flashlight through the tree trunks and a shot rang out into the night, ricocheting off a trunk close by his and kicking up splinters.

Hutch dived for the ground and crawled on his belly towards the riverbank, his heart hammering in his chest. Behind him he heard a car engine revving and up ahead another flash light appeared. The blond man got to his feet and threw himself headlong along the riverside path, hugging the shadows to him wherever possible. The footfalls behind him seemed to be getting closer and despite the burning pain in his ankle Hutch redoubled his efforts, the rain dripping from his flaxen bangs and blinding his eyes.

Again he fell, this time hitting his head against the stump of a tree and as he tried to rise, another shot rang out. For an instant it seemed the bullet had missed him and then the fiery burn of the hot lead spread across his upper arm. Hutch clutched at his shoulder, his hand coming away slick with blood that showed up black in the moonlight. Seeing it brought more pain and a tightness in his chest that threatened to take away his breath. Ahead a man appeared, blocking his path and desperately Hutch turned back the way he'd come. Another flashlight blinded him from up ahead and the realisation hit that he was trapped. Another shot rang out, spitting up mud next to his right foot and Hutch sank to the ground, bleeding, breathless and defeated. He held his left hand over his right shoulder, his chin on his chest as he tried to keep his pain under control, sucking in his breaths through clenched teeth.

A pair of booted feet appeared in front of him and slowly Hutch looked up into the face he'd come to hate more than any other.

'You were never the brightest button in the box, were you Hanson. Or is it Hutchinson? Did you really think you were going to be able to escape so easily?' Matwick looked down at the injured man at his feet and sneered.

'Where's my partner?' Hutch ground out, his voice rusty with pain.

'You mean Starsky? The man who isn't even sure who he is any more? He's forgotten all about you, Hutchinson.'

'Never' Hutch snapped.

'With the treatment he's getting from my nurses? You've seen just how much they love him. Soon he won't know his ass from his elbow. And it's all your fault, of course.'

Hutch shook his head slowly from side to side like a wounded animal. 'No' he muttered. 'No, he...'

Matwick nodded to the figure at Hutch's back. Unseen, rough hands took a hold of the blond man and hauled his to his feet, pulling his arms sharply behind him to surround each wrist with metal handcuffs. The pull on the bullet wound, added to all the other hurts and sent Hutch's over sensitised nerves into overload. Pain radiated out from his shoulder across his chest and Hutch stumbled forwards, putting more weight than he could bear on his injured ankle.

The world exploded in a red blaze of pain, the bile rising in his throat as Hutch's last thoughts were of Starsky and how the hell he was going to get his partner and himself out of this mess now. In slow motion the blond cop sagged against his captors hold and as they dragged him away, the toes of his boots ploughed two narrow furrows in his wake.