Man out of time
Chapter Seven
As he sat in the half light of the windowless room he passed the oil skin bag from one hand to another rather in the way one would pass a jacket potato that was to hot to eat. He would have liked to take his time over the bag and it's contents but he knew that he didn't have time for self indulgence of that nature. He needed to get away from the house well before daylight, way before his "visitors" returned. Instinctively he knew he was in danger he just didn't know why and maybe he told himself there would be clues in the bag.
He placed it carefully on the ground between his feet and then bent to undue the drawstring cords that held it's contents safe. He had difficulty with the knot; his hands were shaking so much and part of him wanted to go and fetch a knife or a pair of kitchen scissors but he didn't and eventually the knot gave and he was able to pull open the top of the bag.
Peering inside he first saw a leather pouch which he carefully lifted onto his lap. Undoing it he found inside four E.U. Passports one in his name Dieter Grosse another for a German citizen named
Frank Weber salesman a resident of Hanover. The third was for a Dutchman; Max Maijer football scout a resident of Eindhoven. The last was for a British subject; George Baker civil servant a resident of London. All the passports seemed to be genuine; well to his untrained eye they did but of course they couldn't be genuine; they all had his dark brooding likeness on their back pages. Examining them more closely he noticed that they all appeared to be well used, they didn't have that fresh out of the box smell and feel to them. No he thought these are real, these have been used in the past; so what are they doing here and why do they all have my likeness in them?
He placed the passports to one side and took out a large manilla envelope which he opened slowly and carefully wondering just what he might find inside. It was full of Euros, used Euros (so they couldn't be traced he wondered) Most of them were higher denomination notes but he counted out just over a thousand for smaller amounts. Get away money was his first thought. At the bottom of the bag was another envelope that jingled as he took it out of it's hiding place. There were two sets of keys and a letter and then nestling at the very bottom of the bag was something folded securely in a dark cloth. As he lifted it he knew what it was before he unwrapped it.. And in a moment he was running his fingers over a Glock 17 pistol. He could tell by the weight that it was loaded and there was a spare magazine wrapped in a separate cloth. As he stared at the weapon he wondered again how he knew there'd been a pistol wrapped in the cloth and how he knew that he'd handled one; maybe even this one before. And it that moment he was afraid; afraid not of the strangers who had come looking for him but of himself and an unknown past that seemed to be getting darker by the moment.
It seemed to him that the contents of the bloody bag were raising more questions, were making the whole thing even more complicated, he didn't know what he's expected, hoped for but he knew for sure that he hadn't been given what he needed. Maybe if he read the letter he would have more of an idea what was going on?
Good boy the letter began If you have come this far I think that I am no longer there to protect you and you need to make good your escape because bad people have come looking for you. Follow your instincts. I am sorry that I cannot tell you who you truly are if I could I would do that for you as you have been a good "son" to me but all things must come to a natural end. I can tell you that I found you one day in the forest; that you had been badly beaten and had been shot in the head. I fear you might have been left for dead. For a long time it was touch and go if you would recover. I nursed you and your physical health improved day by day until you had made an almost full recovery. But all memory of who you were and why you were in the forest had been wiped away. Maybe by the bullet, maybe be by the beating. I don't know but I was lonely and alone and decided to use your memory loss to my advantage and so you became Dieter Grosse. I would like to say that I am sorry for what I did but that would not be entirely true. I was old and alone and needed someone and I cannot find it within myself to be ashamed.
What I can tell you is that I believe you are British and that you come from London. You talked a lot about London when you first came to me; when you were unconscious and didn't know where you were. You spoke in English at that time but you were also fluent in German and spoke it like a native, you also spoke Russian from time to time usually when you were in the middle of a bad dream. Those dreams upset you so much, made you so edgy that I gave you something to calm you and make you more content. I thought it was best for both of us.
One set of keys is to the shed that is set back in the woods; in there you will find a motorbike; use it to make your escape. Use your brain when you decide which way you are going to go. Sometimes the obvious route is not the best route. There is one more thing I must ask of you. In the draws under my bed there are incendiary devices (they are all ready primed and the timers are set) all you have to do is flick the switches when you leave. Please do this for me Dieter. As well as wiping away all traces of me it will also make it more difficult for your enemies to find you if all trace of us both is destroyed.
Just one more thing that might help you find out who you are; you did keep mentioning a name; a woman's name Ruth. You cried out for her so many times in the night it almost made me change my course of action on more than one occasion. You must have loved this woman very much.
Be strong, be swift and I hope you find some peace.
At that moment he wanted the woman who had stolen his life to be standing before him so he could kill her. She had lied to him, used him she had stolen his life and he hated her for it. The strength of his anger and his murderous thoughts brought him up short. Just who was he that he could be capable of such hatred and anger? What kind of man had he been? Why had he been wandering in a forest with life threatening injuries? And why were those people looking for him?
There was no time to think Moving swiftly he went into his room and pulled an old rucksack from the back of his wardrobe; in it he placed a change of clothes, three of the passports; the one in the name of Frank Weber he placed in the inside pocket of his jacket. He tossed the pistol from one hand to another, ideally he would have liked a shoulder holster for it but not having one he put it in his jacket pocket along with the spare magazine. It felt heavy and clumsy but he had no choice. He knew that he would need to get at it quickly if he needed to. On top of the passports he placed the manilla envelope after first taking out the smaller denomination notes which he placed in his wallet. He then made himself a sandwich and that along with some fruit a slab of cake and a bottle of water. These he placed at the top of the bag before securing it carefully.
The last thing he did was enter his "mothers" room where he opened the draws. In one of them he found another envelope upon opening it he found a pass key for a Swiss bank and a piece of paper with numbers on it that looked to him very much like the numbers of bank account. Who had this woman been he wondered that she had been able to set all this up. But he's have time to think about things like that later for now he knew what he had to do; so he did as he had been asked, he set the incendiary devices to explode in exactly one hours time. Time for him to be far away but hopefully long before his pursuers returned. Killing strangers would only involve the authorities and that was the last thing he needed.
Then without a backward glance he made his way to the shed in the woods. As he threw back the doors he saw a motorbike standing in the gloom. Taking out his torch he quickly looked over it. It looked as though it had been well maintained. Maybe the bloody Grosse woman had been a motor mechanic as well as a liar and a cheat! He certainly hoped so because he was about to place his life in her hands. He kicked away the stand and wheeled the bike into the open carefully closing and locking the door behind himself. Then sitting astride the machine he turned the key in the ignition and said a little prayer; it started first time and he was pleased to see that the tank was full. Revving the engine he pointed the machine in the opposite direction to the way his unwelcome visitors had gone and set off into the night.
The going wasn't easy as he wove in near total darkness through the dark forest. He had the headlight on dim so that it cast only a small ray of light in front of him. He guessed he was riding almost parallel to the loggers track that cut through the mass of trees and fallen logs that made up this part of the forest but he didn't want to chance using the track and risk bumping into anyone before he was well away from the house. Finally he decided it would be safe to take the easier route and he swung the motor bike onto the well used logging track. Fifteen minutes later he emerged from the forest and was faced with a decision. Should he take the fork in the track that would lead him onto the road to Eberwalde or should he take the longer route to Frankfurt?
All the way he had been arguing with himself. He wanted to turn towards Switzerland and make his way to the bank and take out what ever was waiting for him there but to do that would be foolish in the extreme. He didn't know if anyone else knew about the account; didn't know if anyone would be waiting for him. Christ he didn't even know who he was. No he needed some time to examine all the things the old woman had left him. He needed to look for some clues and he needed to find some confidence from somewhere because at the moment he was scared stiff and running on adrenalin.
He knew that Frankfurt was the more sensible choice; it was a large city and it would be very easy to get lost there. To become invisible but he was exhausted both mentally and physically. He needed to eat, to shower and to sleep before he decided what his next move would be. He was almost sure that he'd not been followed and he was also sure he could keep himself safe. So he argued with himself Eberwalde would be the more sensible choice. And then the other voice in his head told him that it wasn't sensible it was just easier and that taking the easy way out was almost certain to prove fatal.
Exasperated he gave up on the thankless task of second guessing himself and pulled out into the traffic and the road that would take him to the anonymity of Frankfurt.
