Night Traveller (Gay Romantic Sci-Fi)

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two 

"Hullo Danilo. Can I come in for a minute?" asked Oliver, keeping his voice low and even, despite his rising tension. 

With evident reluctance, the old man shuffled back a few steps to allow Oliver to enter. As soon as he was through, he shut and locked the door behind him. "Well?" he asked sourly. 

"I was sorry to hear about Tod," Mike offered stiffly. 

He got a short grunt in reply. 

"Is himself here?" 

Oliver was surprised at the relief he felt when the old man shook his head. It was probably just as well, their meeting was bound to be excruciatingly awkward, something he really didn't have the time for right now. 

"Who's in charge then?" 

"That would be Tate. He's a new 'un." 

"Can I see him? It's urgent." Oliver felt as if he was pulling teeth. He remembered Danilo had never seemed to like him and it was evident that absence hadn't made the heart grow any fonder. "It's about Callan, the man they've kidnapped, the Governor of Asra. If he's killed, or even harmed, I swear to you the Patrol won't rest until this place is turned upside down and on its head!" 

Danilo chewed his lip, debating his answer. "I suppose you'd better then," he replied grudgingly. "Wait here." 

XXX 

Nothing. Callan smacked his hands together sharply in front of his face for a second time. He still couldn't hear anything. He leant back against the wall and watched the door, waiting for the first hint of movement, it was the only warning he was going to get until his hearing returned. 

He had paced his cell for the last hour, checking everything until he was as familiar with it as his own room, more so perhaps. Four white walls, a door, a bed. A thin plasfoam screen, gave the toilet and sink in the adjoining alcove an illusion of privacy. 

There was no outlet other than the door and an air vent the size of his fist, up high in the wall above the toilet, near the ceiling. The screen was melded to the floor, the bed in one piece, no convenient bits to be broken off and used as a weapon if he needed to. He smiled sourly to himself, he could always throw the pillow at the first intruder, perhaps it would provide a second's distraction until he could determine if they were friend or foe! Still that gave him an idea, he studied the bedding more closely. 

He had only just finished when the door opened cautiously. The intruder paused for a second to gaze at the bed, but the hand holding the stunner didn't waver. 

Without hesitating, Callan grabbed the man's arm from his position flat against the wall and pulled him into the room, chopping the back of his neck with his right hand. Without pausing to look down at the man on the floor, Callan sprung for the opening, only to come up short against a second man. Except this one was holding his arms up in a gesture of surrender. 

"Whoa! It's me, Callan."  

Even though he couldn't hear the words, Callan could see immediately that it was Mike Oliver, out of uniform for once. The black tee shirt he was wearing stretched over his chest, highlighting the light brown skin of his strong arms. 

He was too old to swoon over a hot man coming to his rescue, after all he felt he had done most of the rescue work himself, but ... he couldn't help it. In one quick move, he crushed Mike to him and kissed him full on the mouth, before letting go a second later to look down at the man he had hit. That had been tantalisingly brief, he would give Mike a proper thank you later when they had more time, he- the man on the floor was Tate. He turned back to Oliver, a touch of suspicion entering his eyes for the first time. 

Mike looked a trifle flushed but met his eyes steadily. "We need to get out of here now." He spoke as slowly and clearly as he could. Tate had told him Callan was deaf, temporarily he hoped. "I'll explain later, when we are safe. Can you help me with Tate?" 

Nodding in reply, Callan grabbed his boots from the end of the bed where he had placed them to give the rolled blankets some semblance of a person. The trick was an old one but it had worked well enough as a momentary distraction. Of course though, Tate hadn't entered the room intending to kill him. Another man with a different agenda might have come in firing. 

With Tate carried between them, an arm over each shoulder, Callan followed Oliver's lead out through the warren of passages up into the warehouse above.  

By the time they reached the street, Tate was starting to come round, groaning and rubbing the back of his neck, but Oliver wouldn't let them stop until they were several blocks away from the warehouse. He let Tate go, watching him lean heavily against a nearby wall, and made sure Callan was looking at him before speaking slowly. 

"You and I should go straight to the Police station, I want you safe. I'll tell them I had a tip, which is the truth, more or less." While he was speaking, he noticed Tate pull himself together and slip silently away. He didn't stop him, the less people he had to take to the station the better as far as he was concerned. 

"Alright," agreed Callan. "Thank you, for finding me," he added, looking into Oliver's eyes. He could hardly wait until they were alone together, he really wanted to thank him properly, whether Mike wanted him to or not.  

Well it wasn't going to happen out here in the street, the sooner they got to the station and he made his statement the better. And he really needed to call Dane, tell him he was okay, he must be beside himself with worry by now. He scarcely noticed that Tate was no longer with them.