The policeman in the doorway was dead. Frederich knew that without needing to look. His vision grew foggy, made worse by his shallow breathing. He searched frantically, but saw no trace of Vidrik. If he moved from his position, he would be exposed. The void was now pressing up against him, ready to welcome him if he wanted. Every inch of his body was screaming at him to go out there, to meet Vidrik head-on and — if need be — to die in a glorious, bloody mess. Holding him back was a sick sense of pride, a refusal to let Vidrik have the last laugh. Ida’s battered face came to the forefront of his mind, as did her words: ‘So come back.’ It instilled in him an immense desire to come out on top. How would he achieve that victory? Think, Frederich! Then it occurred to him. His body was resting on it.
He lowered his gun and ducked, then crawled to the passenger side of the Peugeot. He slid inside, shuffling over to the driver’s seat. The keys were not in the hole. He thought hard, refusing to abandon the idea. It was all he had. Then he looked to his side and saw the keys on the grass. They must have fallen out of the policeman’s hands as he scrambled after Vidrik. The driver’s door was wide open, and would provide Frederich with some shelter. It was worth the risk, but he would have to be quick. He took a deep breath and reached his arm out, quickly ducking his head out and snatching the keys from the grass. Once he was seated with his head lowered and the key was in the hole, he switched on the ignition. Vidrik immediately fired at him, opening a large crack in the windshield. The second shot hit the side of the car with a clang before Frederich put the car into gear. He kept his head low and pressed on the accelerator, randomly veering left and right to make Vidrik’s aim lousier. He made a loop around a set of bushes and found nothing. As he made his way to the next bush, Vidrik finally emerged and began sprinting in the opposite direction. Frederich floored it, quickly gaining ground until he was forced to hit the brakes when Vidrik veered around a tree. The car came sliding to a halt before Frederich grasped his pistol. By then Vidrik had disappeared through an opening between two buildings. Frederich heard the sound of sirens coming from the street. He looked behind him, and the hairs on his head lifted. Four police cars came racing over the grass. Turning forward again, he realised the distance to the opening that Vidrik had taken was too far away.
The police cars screeched to a halt. Option one was to switch on the engine again, but there was no space to manoeuvre his way out. Option two was to make a run for it. Option three was to fight. As he made his decision, police officers began flooding out of their cars. He got out of the vehicle, taking a sidewards glance as he rushed off. Numerous guns were pointed in his direction, and a flurry of furious yells came his way. He sprinted around the tree, using its thick trunk as a shield. The first shots rang, causing explosions of dirt to fly up on either side of him. The tree would offer no protection during the final stretch. He jumped for it, somersaulting through the final metres as he crossed through the gap. He made it, but not without some damage as he hit the concrete. The adrenaline shot through him like a rapid river, and he rose to his feet to escape before collapsing back to the ground. Had he broken a bone when he fell? He looked down and saw drops of blood across the ground, with a splatter of it beneath him. A buzzing feeling emerged in his thigh while numbness washed over him. Oh, no. Just as he realised he had been shot, the police officers emerged from around the corner, rushing forward with guns pointed while screaming loudly at him in French. One of them kicked his pistol away then forced him to his stomach, pulling his arms back and handcuffing him. It was then that the bullet hole erupted, a piercing, scorching sensation spreading through his leg like wildfire.
21
Ida came back down to Earth with a thud, the jet blasting over the Tegel Airport runway before the backward thrust of the brakes slowed it to a crawl. Ida had been staring vacantly ahead and mindlessly flicking between songs on her phone. Even her favourite tracks lacked appeal, and she eventually shut it off and tucked her headphones into her handbag before sitting up and staring impatiently at the front of the plane, suddenly desperate to escape her seat.
Disembarking was agony. Ida clenched her
