The warning flares strung out across the tarmac like a necklace, sharp red points of light from one ditch to the other, and immediately beyond them at least three large police cars blocked the roadway. There might be even more that William couldn’t make out, hidden by the blinding blue lights flashing in the darkness.
His first thought was to slam the car into reverse, turn straight around and drive off. His second thought was that he was a complete idiot. Partly because he was sitting in a car that could fall apart at any moment, particularly if he attempted to force it into manoeuvres for which it had never been intended, and partly because he could see the size of the police presence over at the roadblock. Even if the car had been up to a getaway attempt he would have absolutely no chance.
Here they sat, in a stationary Polski Fiat, in the middle of the road where the bend had deposited them just a hundred metres or so short of the roadblock. No one seemed to have noticed them yet. That was hardly going to last.
There were at least five policemen up there, all busy inspecting a silver grey SUV, their backs arched while they talked through the windows or shone their torches into the back seats and the floor and boot. Behind that, a short queue had built up. Lorries and early morning commuters queuing patiently, engines idling, half a dozen vehicles at most. Further back, those hundred metres or so of empty tarmac, and William and Rebecca’s Fiat, sitting doing nothing.
‘What do we do?’ said Rebecca.
William looked over his shoulder. The empty bend behind them. Damn it.
‘You can’t turn around,’ she said. ‘They’re going to wonder why.’
‘I know. But we have no choice.’ He clenched his jaw, put the car in reverse, and then, in that instant, realised he’d hesitated too long.
The light shining in his eyes was coming from the rear-view mirror. He heard the squeal as the HGV suddenly spotted the tiny light blue car that had stopped in the middle of the road; it slammed on its brakes and sounded the horn at the same time, a klaxon that could have woken the dead and scared them to death at the same time, locked wheels sliding towards them before finally coming to a halt.
Hissing brakes. Shock absorbers and mechanical connectors complaining and then settling down. And then, for safety’s sake, even more beeps on the bloody foghorn, as though the first one hadn’t been more than enough to attract the police’s attention.
‘Drive up to the roadblock,’ Rebecca said through gritted teeth. ‘We’re not getting away, you’ve got no choice!’
William hesitated, weighing up his options one last time. Behind them the HGV had jackknifed, and its trailer was now at an angle across the whole of the narrow country lane. Escaping that way was impossible. Ahead of them, they could see the police standing staring at them, frozen in mid-movement like a flock of predators that had sensed potential prey.
‘Drive on! Now! Before they wonder what the hell we’re playing at!’
William hesitated for another two seconds. A rock or a hard place. Then he nodded reluctantly, put it into gear–and realised that the engine was no longer running.
Shit. He’d just managed to put it in reverse when the lorry came towards them, and he’d probably let go of the clutch and instinctively slammed on the brakes. Regardless, the engine was dead, and he knew only too well what that meant. Hanging from the steering column were the two wires he’d attempted to start the car with back in the garage. They’d been no use then and they weren’t about to work now.
‘William! Out!’
Rebecca’s voice tore him away from his thoughts. She had turned around in her seat and was facing towards the cab of the lorry behind them. All they could see through its windscreen was a large, broad back, and arms that seemed to be looking for something in the space behind the driver’s seat.
‘I can see two scenarios,’ she said, each word trembling with stress. ‘One. You stay in the car. What happens then?’
William looked over at the police. Saw them chatting to each other, pointing in their direction, as though they’d just noticed there was something going on over there.
‘I’m a tourist,’ said William, far from convinced. ‘I’m here to see you, this is your car, and I wanted to drive for a bit. That’s all.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Rebecca, not meaning it. ‘And the small matter of it being hotwired? And that you presumably don’t have a licence to show them?’ William didn’t answer. ‘You’re a wanted man, you know that as well as I do. You’re probably the reason we’re standing here in the first place. There isn’t a chance on earth that you’re going to get through this.’
William closed his eyes. She was right, of course she was.
‘And the other scenario?’
‘They approach the car and see a woman behind the wheel. She shows her driving licence and when they point out that she doesn’t look like the photo she’ll explain that she’s in the middle of a course of chemotherapy. They apologise for asking, and ask me to drive on.’
‘What happens if they check your licence against the register? How do we know that—’ He cut himself short mid-sentence, unable to utter out loud what he was thinking.
‘How do we know that I’m not wanted too?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’ve been seen together. We’ve been seen together by… it.’
‘William? I’m going to use your theory now.’ Her eyes switched back and forth as she talked, between the truck driver behind and the police further on. There was no doubt that the Fiat now had their attention. Papers were folded and handed back into the SUV, new police officers came from the surrounding cars, all talking and pointing in their direction. ‘There is a Consciousness. What the Consciousness knows is that you and Michal had some contact. That’s why it’s after you. Correct?’
William nodded once.
‘I, on the other hand, cannot be linked to Michal Piotrowski. Michal spent twelve years struggling to avoid us being seen together, not in town, not in archives, not anywhere. And I was so, so hurt, sometimes I wondered whether he even…’ She tailed off. Another glance straight ahead. ‘Fuck what I wondered. Right now it might be our only hope.’
‘You were seen with me in the glass tower. The cameras captured you with me.’
‘But they didn’t capture my name. My licence belongs to a blonde woman named Rebecca Kowalczyk. However intelligent your Consciousness might be, how on earth would it be able to make the connection with a nameless, bald-headed woman caught on camera on the other side of Warsaw?’
William hesitated yet again. Behind them, the truck driver had fished out a down jacket, and now he was pulling it on, showing a great big black back while he wriggled in the tiny cab–and ahead of them the white dots started bobbing rhythmically along the line of cars. Torches on the move, heading their way.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘Now, before it’s too late.’
‘So what happens if those pictures have been sent out? The ones from the cameras in the glass tower? What happens if they know what you look like?’
She undid her seatbelt, before leaning over towards his.
‘I didn’t say it was foolproof,’ she said. ‘But it’s our only chance.’