Michael

twenty-five

Not long after joining the Special Constabulary, Liz came to realise she had a fatalistic disposition. Waiting to walk straight into a danger-zone was nerve-wracking to the point of panic, but once she was there, her nerves would settle. It was as if her subconscious would throw up its hands, saying, 'well, it's too late to worry about it now'. The same phenomenon happened once she was inside the Didascalium. All jitteriness disappeared. She was here with an objective to achieve, and the sooner she got it done, the sooner she could leave.

The flesh-coloured communicator in her right ear was too small to be picked up by the CCTV cameras, and allowed her to keep in touch with her escort. When she needed to speak to them in turn, Liz's voice was transmitted via a microphone tucked into the high collar of her mission suit.

"We've lost Thane. I repeat, we've lost Thane."

Liz came to an abrupt halt, "What! What do you mean lost him?"

"He's ditched his comm unit and tracker. We don't know where he is now. He could be anywhere."

Brilliant. Michael 'could be anywhere'. No kidding, Sherlock; including headed this way!

The jitteriness returned with a vengeance. They'd been on campus for less than twenty minutes, and steered well clear of any areas Michael and the other constables might foreseeably use for their 'battles'. When they'd first arrived, they'd been able to hear sporadic gunfire in the direction of the Religious Arts department and faculty apartments. There were now three constabulary units pretending to try and liberate the hostages and corner Michael. Liz was both impressed and terrified by the illusion of realism they'd managed to create. The Didascalium really did seem like a miniature war-zone.

None of which explained why Michael had ditched his communicator. Dread pooled in her belly. This was not good. "Could he know we're here-I'm here?"

"We don't know. You've already been sighted by Channel 44 and a few other media stations illegally monitoring the data stream from the onsite security cameras. You're publicly known to be present onsite. Job done. We should get out of here." The trooper sounded nervous, and so he should.

"Agreed." Liz did an about turn and started to jog back the way she'd come. The entrance hall to this library wing acted as an open-plan cafeteria too. The building was vast, echoing and dark except for the orange glow of emergency lighting. "I'll race you back to the scriptorium," she said. "Whoever reaches the shuttle first warms up the engine, okay? Do me a favour, no dawdling."

"But, we can't just leave you...our orders-"

"Don't argue, just go! More bodies mean more scent. You'll draw him right to me."

Liz picked up her pace. Her temper had cooled, abandoning her just when she needed it, damn it! She was no longer so sanguine about facing a furious Michael. It suddenly occurred to her he hadn't been in a great mood to begin with, and he'd be pumped with adrenaline waiting for Gabriel. Her actions might be a small betrayal in the scheme of things, but he was not an easy man to reason with at the best of times. What excuse could she use for keeping him in the dark? 'Cabrera asked me to make sure Gabriel hot-footed it straight here, and you got me angry so I agreed?'

She could just imagine his reaction. Actually, no, she couldn't and didn't want to try. Lord, please let this be a false alarm!

Liz reached the double doors leading to the ground floor auditorium. She yanked one of them open and lunged through the gap. Her heart was racing. If her memory was correct, this diversion should provide a shortcut to avoid some of those long, dark corridors. Plus, if Michael had somehow picked up on her scent, strictly doubling-back on herself was a bad idea: she needed to diversify the trail.