It hurt just to move. Sam had been lying still for so long, it felt as if all his joints had locked into place. His leg throbbed and when he tried to bend his knee, it hurt so much he couldn't stop himself from moaning.

'Ssh!'

Al was right there with him.

'I don't think you'll wake them, but let's not take any chances, hey?' Al gestured to Bancroft, snoring on the other bed, Alesio, slumped in a chair by the dead fire and Trimble on the floor, by the foot of Sam's bed, with his jacket folded under his head.

'What happened?'

Al pointed to a small collection of empty bourbon bottles. 'They went nighty night a couple hours ago, right after you defended your honor. Well, Susan's. Well, no, yours.'

'I did? How?'

'You gave Suzie's school friend a little lesson in aerodynamics.'

Sam stared at him, bewildered.

'Whoosh!' Al demonstrated with his cigar. 'Right across the room. Before he could even get his pants off.'

'That's a relief.'

Al looked apologetic. 'You're still not out of the woods, kid.' He held up the handlink. According to Ziggy you've got less than twelve hours.'

Sam eased himself up, into a sitting position. He peered at his leg. It was hard to see much with only the lights from the handlink and the first grey show of dawn. He could smell it, though, and feel the tight heat of it. He slumped back against the wall behind him.

Al, in a gesture that seemed oddly modest, held his hand up across his eyes. 'Would you mind?'

Sam had forgotten. He reached for the blanket and held it against himself. Seemed odd, though, Al worrying about this when he could have been having a free show. 'That's not like you.'

'Suzie deserves some respect. She's been through a lot.'

'She deserves to be home. With her parents.'

'There's only one person can get her there.' Al gazed at Sam. 'Well, maybe two.'

'Who?'

Al nodded towards Trimble. 'Look at him. Like a faithful dog sleeping at the foot of the bed, protecting his mistress.'

'Nice way to think of a kidnapper.'

'You missed it. He was your protector. Kept the kid talking when he wanted action, kept Bancroft away, too. I'm really wondering about him.'

'You said he gets killed in a holdup or something. Robbing a convenience store, wasn't it?'

'Oh yeah, but that's not for years, yet. Life of crime, drugs, theft, he spends a lot of time in jail before he buys the big one. I'm just wondering though. He seems very attached to Suzie.'

'There's a term for that,' said Sam. 'When a kidnapper and the victim start to build a relationship. Geneva Syndrome? Moscow Syndrome? Some city, it was…'

'Swiss cheese syndrome. Stockholm. It's called Stockholm Syndrome.'

'Well he does keep on helping me and I'm wondering if he's part of what this leap's all about.'

'That nozzle?'

'So he fell in with a bad crowd. It happens, Al. I'm betting after Susan died his life just fell apart.'

'His life?'

'Okay, so he wasn't exactly an innocent party in all of this, and he could be helping now, but I think with just a push to get him started, he could move in the right direction.'

'Ever thought of changing your middle name to Pollyanna?'

'It could work, Al, and he's the only hope I've got.' Sam edged himself to the edge of the bed and eased his feet to the floor, but there was no way he could put any weight onto his left leg. He wrapped the blanket around himself in a kind of sari fashion. 'What's his name again?'

'What? Oh. Trimble.'

'First name?'

Al punched at Ziggy's handlink. 'Ray. Good luck, Sam.'

Sam had edged all the way along to the end of the bed. His left foot hung beside Trimble's face. He could easily have kicked him in the nose.

'Ray.' Sam pitched his voice low, hoping it was loud enough to wake Trimble but not the others. 'Ray, wake up.'

One bloodshot eye came open.

'Ooh, that's gotta hurt,' Al sympathized.

'Wha?'

Trimble's breath smelled like something had crawled inside and died there.

'I need you to help me.'

'Huh?'

'Help me,' said Sam. 'Please Ray. Get me out of here. Get me home or to a doctor or something.'

'You mean get myself locked up for ever, or buy a death sentence?' He dragged himself into a sitting position and pulled the jacket into his lap, plundered the pockets until he found a packet of cigarettes. 'I must look crazy to you.'

'Not crazy.' Sam ignored the offered cigarette. 'They're the ones who're crazy. If you help me, then - you'll have helped me. You'll be the one who doesn't get into trouble.'

'Ohhh, Sammmm,' Al was shaking his head in dismay.

'What's that, the niceness theory of law?'

'Look, what hope do I have if you don't help me? You don't honestly think they're going to let me go, even if they do get the money, do you?'

'That was the plan: moolah and then Me-uh, and then getting away.'

'I can identify,' Sam waved his hand at the boy, he'd forgotten his name.

'Danny,' Al said.

'Danny. I can identify Danny. We were in school, and I know that other guy's his cousin. You really think they're going to risk that? There could be a police bulletin out on them before they get within a hundred miles of the border. They're going to kill me, Ray, and the only person that can stop it happening is you.'

'Why do you want to rely on me for?'

'Because you're all I've got.'

'I let people down before. My mom. My sister.'

'Self pity.' Al raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation. 'That's just what we need, a kidnapper who feels sorry for himself because he was a bad boy.'

'Well don't let me down.' Sam's voice was quiet and firm. 'Help me out, Ray. Please.'

Trimble took one last draw on his cigarette and butted it out on the floorboard. He pulled his leather jacket on and stood, looking down at Sam on the bed, all wrapped in a blanket. 'Can you walk at all?'

'I'll need help.'

Trimble nodded, stooped and wrapped Sam's left arm around his shoulder, helped him stand. It hurt so much. Sam stifled a moan. Just the act of standing made him feel sick and dizzy but he fought the nausea and took his first uncertain step, leaning hard on Trimble.

Neither Bancroft nor Alesio moved as they walked past. The air outside the cabin was fresh and cool, filled with birdsong and morning light and hope. Sam settled onto the bike behind Trimble and held on while he kicked it into life. He hoped the others wouldn't hear, wouldn't care. He just had to get away.

'Nearest hospital's that-a-way,' Al said, and pointed. The bike took off as if Trimble was following directions.

Sam burrowed his face into the cigarette smoke and BO smell of Trimble's back and held on. Every bump and pothole shot razor blades through his leg, every twist and rise of the road put his head into a spin, but he was getting away. That's all that mattered. He figured they weren't too far from the main road when he heard the sound of the other bikes coming from behind. Trimble risked a look, an urgent twist over his shoulder, cranked the bike up and skidded for a moment in the dirt before it skipped on. They had to get away, they had to.

There was no thinning of forest, just all of a sudden there was the road in front of them, a T intersection. Trimble slowed just enough to make a wide, dangerous sweep across the sealed surface and then settle back to the right hand side of the road. It was still too early for there to be much traffic. Sam heard the buzz and blast of the other bikes and knew that they'd come around the corner too. He said a silent prayer to God/Fate/Time/Whatever. If it had the power to send him there then surely it had the power to help, just a little bit. Maybe it could put a time warp in front of those other bikes and slow them up, or burst a tire or throw a chain or something. He peered over Trimble's right shoulder, risking dust and bugs in his eyes, and there, coming in the other direction, was something. The something of his salvation: a police car.

Sam stuck both hands in the air and waved. Trimble slowed the bike. The police car slowed down and they all stopped.