of foam being thrown into the air.
It wasn't. It was Sarah, clinging to the post and reaching up, trying to make the two meters to safety. Time and again her hand moved up the support, only to be ripped away again as the current got hold of her. For a split second I hoped she'd be washed away; then I could concentrate on saving my own ass and getting away, taking any flak when I got back to the U.K. Then reality kicked in. There was still a chance I could pull her out and do my job properly.
I moved back into the canopy and made my approach toward the bridge,
lying down about twenty meters short for one last look. She wasn't making a sound. Either she was switched on enough to know not to scream, or she was just too scared. I didn't care which, as long as she stayed quiet.
There didn't seem to be any other activity, but then again, if the police were switched on I'd be very lucky to ping them. It was decision time: I could either get her out and complete the task, or let her get carried away and drown. Then it hit me that there was a third option. She could be swept away and survive.
I looked around for a branch that was long enough to do the job. It | didn't have to be strong, just long. Jumping up, I grasped one with both hands and pulled down with all my weight. Water sluiced onto me from the leaves. The branch snapped. I twisted and pulled, and it finally parted from the tree. I didn't bother stripping it of its smaller branches, just headed down toward the bank.
I stopped to pull off first my boots, then my jeans. For a moment I fantasized that maybe I could be doing the world a great service here. Maybe London knew that she was going to be the next Hitler. Then my jacket came off and the wind bit into me. What the fuck was I doing, freezing cold in the back of beyond, with the police after me, taking my kit off to save a woman's life just so I could kill her somewhere else? I gave myself another reality check.
'Shut the fuck up. Stone. It's pointless honking, you know it has to be done.'
I secured my weapon and the contents of my jeans in the bag and put it back over my shoulder. With my boots back on, but my jeans and jacket in my hands, I left the canopy and ran out toward the bridge. I must have looked like someone doing a runner after being caught in bed with another man's wife.
As I hit the railway sleepers that made up the walkway, I could see her still playing the limpet, the current pushing her head against the support as she fought to keep it out of the river.
She saw me.
'Nick, Nick. I'm here ... here!'
As if I didn't know. I leaned over the handrail.
'Shut up!' I had to holler above the noise of the water as I started to pass down the end of one jeans leg, knotted to help her grip. The other was tied to one of the sleeves of my jacket. I could never remember the name of the knot. If I'd wanted to know it I would have joined the Navy. The other sleeve also had a knot at the end, to help me.
'Take the jeans end only,' I shouted.
'Now listen to me, OK?'
She looked up, shaking the water from her face. Her eyes kept flicking toward the knotted jeans leg that was her lifeline. They were wide with fear.
I kept hold of the knotted sleeve as I dangled the material so that it would be easy for her to get hold of, yet still keep in contact with the support.
Her teeth made contact with the material first and she bit down, turning her head to bring it closer to her hands. Once there I could see by the determination in her expression that she wasn't going to let go.
'Sarah, look at me.' I wanted her to understand exactly what was expected other. When people flap they nod and agree to everything without really understanding what's being said.
'I'm going to drop the rest of this lot into the water, and retrieve it on the other side of the bridge. When I shout, I want you to let go of the support and just hold on to the jeans.
Got it?'
'Yes, yes. Hurry.'
'Here goes.' I checked again to see if anyone was watching, then I threw the rest of the makeshift rope under the bridge.
I switched to the other side, lying on my stomach on the sleepers and leaning down. My jacket was snaking from side to side in the current.
Looking back upstream under the bridge, I could see her coughing and spitting out water, only to take another mouthful.
Moving the branch down into the water, I made contact on the third attempt and pulled up the free end of the rope. Wrapping the knotted end around my wrist, I braced myself against the wood supporting the handrail, ready to take the strain. I could no longer see her.
'Now, Sarah. Now!'
She must have let go and the current swept her under the span. There was an almighty jolt, then what felt like the world's biggest dog pulling on its lead. I held on to the jacket sleeve like a man possessed.
'Kick, Sarah. Kick.'
She didn't need telling twice. The combination of her efforts and the pendulum effect of the current swept her in toward the bank like a hooked fish.
I got to my feet and managed to reel in two more twists of the jacket, taking a few steps toward the end of the bridge. By the time I reached the bank I had hands full of jeans. I dropped to the ground above her and we linked arms. She didn't need to be told what to do next. I heaved and rolled and she used my body as a climbing frame. A moment later and she was lying beside me on solid ground.
I thanked whichever guardian angel was looking over me that day.
She was coughing and fighting for breath. She wasn't going to be in any condition to help herself for a little while, and we had to get away from here. I hauled myself to my feet, bent down and scooped her up in a fireman's lift over my shoulder. I picked up the knotted jeans and jacket as I moved off, staggering more than running into the trees. I needed us to be out of sight of the helicopter, and to find some shelter.
Ahead of me was a steep rise. I put her down while I got some breath back. I was shivering violently, and Sarah moaned as she, too, fought the cold and shock. I wanted to get beyond the rise into another lot of dead ground, so we couldn't be seen from the other side of the river.
Her head lolled over my shoulder, her face close to mine. I was looking straight ahead and focusing on the trees, but I still heard the words.
'Thank you. Nick.' I tilted my head toward her and did my best to shrug.
It felt strange to be thanked like this, and for the second time.
Safely inside the tree line, I stopped and helped her to the ground. I turned away and leaned against a tree, my lungs greedily sucking in air.
'Can you manage on your own?' I asked.
To my surprise, the reply came from very close. I felt her hand on my shoulder as she said, 'I can do it. Let's go.'
I moved off with her following, over the rise and onto dead ground. We couldn't be seen from the opposite bank anymore, but we still needed cover from the air and the biting wind. It wasn't as strong as last night, but wind chill could really slow us down after what we'd just been through.
Normally, when looking for shelter from the elements, the last place you want to be is in a valley bottom or a deep hollow, because hot air rises, but we needed the cover. We also needed to try and find a place where we could preserve what little body warmth we had left, and away from the noise of the river so I could listen out for pursuers.
As I bustled her through the canopy, needles pushed themselves sharply into my face, and bucketfuls of water spilled off the disturbed branches.
The best hide I could find was a massive fir about 100 meters from the river, whose branches hung down to the ground. Sarah was clearly in pain as she crawled toward the base of the trunk. The branches started about a meter up the trunk and met the ground about a meter away from us. There was no noise here, except for the wind against the outer branches. It was just as wet inside as out, but it felt wonderful just to be under cover. It's a psychological thing; get up against, or under, something and you begin to imagine you're a bit warmer.
We huddled against the trunk, both of us shivering and shuddering.
