The Torchbearer ✓

Chapter 4

Russo hastily pulled out of the farm, causing the partially deflated tyres of his poor old Corsa to squeal. Almost instantaneously, police sirens began blaring from behind.

Icy tendrils of fear began trickling down Russo's spine. He'd never come close to being caught before.

I didn't mean to kill him! I panicked. IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. He pounded the steering wheel, mired in hesitancy. This is the end then, he thought glumly...Or was it? Spoke Russo's devilish side. The side that had no doubt kept him alive in his line of work. You know where you can take refuge.

Suddenly, his mind accelerated along with the car he drove. Yes! The torchbearer will help me. Russo glanced at the road signs and made for central Leeds at breakneck pace.

The traffic was light at this time, which allowed for his risky overtaking manoeuvres around cars and brief ventures into oncoming traffic lanes. Yet, the following police car was doing its best at tailing him as the city of Leeds began to take shape around them.

***

Arriving in the quietest hour of the night, Russo had performed his dreadful task upon the railway line on the exact location using the coordinates he had been provided with. Why? No idea. Target? Unknown. Eventuality? Death. Using a powerful blowtorch, he had melted down a segment of the rail which led to the train's derailing and mortal descent down a ridge. Returning to his scratched and neglected car he had climbed in and instantly fallen asleep.

He had dreamed he was a lone wolf, surrounded by a swirling inferno. He had howled and howled but to no avail, and awoke as the first lick of flame flashed across his paw. Rubbing sleep from his eyes he checked the time and banished this disturbing dream from his head.

Job done. A small smile crossed his mouth. Stepping out of the car and into the frosty world he felt inspired to admire his handiwork. I never do this usually, but why be modest all the time? Nothing wrong with having a touch of pride in your work; a streak of vanity. Knowing he couldn't get a good view with the naked eye, Russo lugged his black-market L115A3 sniper rifle down to the edge of the tree line; solely for the telescopic zoom. 

The one eye he left open shined disturbingly as he pored over the twisted wrecked like a hyena over a fresh corpse. He spotted emergency service responders and 4 police officers drifting around on the scene.

As one split off, Russo followed him with the lens. A spark of doubt flashed across Russo's mind. Has anyone ever spotted what I do to the tracks before? There was no way of knowing because he was never usually here at this point. A drop of sweat trickled down his back as he lay looking at this lone wolf straying alarmingly close to the site of his sabotage. 

Full panic was approaching as he pulled back the bolt on the rifle, continuing to observe this wanderer.

A short one, aren't you? Too small for a policeman surely. Suddenly, the wanderer began to inspect the tracks closely, causing Russo to tense up. Shifting to align the unfortunate soul with the reticule of his sight, Russo saw the wanderer look directly at him from over six hundred metres away. The lone wolf gets burned my friend.

John Russo pulled the trigger.

***

He stormed into a multi-storey car park and ascended to the third level before scraping down the side of a parked car, triggering the alarm. Russo sprinted from the car to the stairwell which smelled strongly of urine. The sound of sirens had now entered the building and was rising up the levels of the car park rapidly. Feeling equal measures of panicked fear and exhilaration, Russo descended to the second floor but not before rummaging to the bottom of a bin, placed between the two floors on the staircase. At the bottom were a set of soiled and ripped jeans, a filthy grey jacket and a green beanie hat. Before continuing his escape, Russo grabbed an empty discarded beer bottle from the refuse. This will come in handy.

As he neared the exit, he heard echoing footsteps coming down the stairs behind him and stole a glance backwards. He spotted a blur of a man higher up, through the gap in the middle of the spiralling stairs. Fast driver and a fast runner; impressive. But is he a fast thinker?

Still clutching his unsavoury bundle of clothes, Russo emerged onto the early morning streets of Leeds. He weaved between a growing number of commuters who all looked the same to him, with their suits, coffee and mobile phone pressed to an ear. A man sprinting through Leeds can easily be passed off for someone who is late for a bus or their job, so he attracted surprisingly few strange looks.

He sensed his pursuer closing the gap behind him as Russo began to curse his alcohol and drug-fuelled lifestyle. His legs began to cramp painfully, until he was all but shambling past the cinema complex he had mentally earmarked previously.

***

Jackson continued his pursuit through the streams of people lining the pavements. Grappling his way through, he again glimpsed a figure wearing what seemed to be black combat gear. The mystery man rounded a corner ahead, just next to a cinema complex Jackson had visited before. I don't think he's late for a movie showing.

Following him around the corner, Jackson was dismayed at what he saw.

A street at least 150 metres long stretched out ahead with no obvious turn-offs that the man could've dashed down given how much ground Lee had gained on him between here and the car park.

Jackson jogged up the street, eyes darting in every direction for a sign of where the suspect had gone.

He halted a short distance up the road and began panting heavily, hands on knees. A strong sense of dread came to him as he got to grips with a man vanishing into thin air. I was gaining! He must've been picked up by someone. Glancing skyward, he saw no helicopter support that might've continued the chase. That's because you went solo, you idiot.

"Morning officer"

Jackson spun toward the voice, startled, and saw where it had originated. Slouched in the entrance to an adjacent alleyway, was a homeless man wearing the filthiest jeans he had ever seen and a green beanie hat. The man had a severe twitch in his left eye and a clear alcohol problem due to both the empty beer bottle he clutched and the tell-tale mottled skin of his face.

"Have you...seen...a man in all black," Jackson demanded impatiently between breaths.

"Many-a-man this fine morning I've seen, but only those with briefcases and whatnot," The man replied. He sounded Welsh.

Attempting a swig from the empty bottle to no avail, he tossed it at the opposite wall, shattering it. This caused him to reveal an incomplete set of teeth as he croaked out a few guttural chuckles that morphed into coughs. The teeth were mostly of a brown colour.

Jackson doubted whether this guy could see very much at all, never mind the man he was chasing. He turned away, placed his hands on his hips and cursed loudly. Slowly he began to walk back to the car he had commandeered, counting the people in his head that he would owe an apology. Sabrina will be pissed at me. Jackson let out a tired sigh at the thought of her smile changing into a frown.

***

Russo watched him go, before rising slowly and hobbling away from the alley. He saw me. That worried him slightly, but ultimately, he had eluded the tall, fair-haired policeman. Time to get off the radar, no more risks. Time to pay the torchbearer a visit.