The Hollow Man Excerpt 6

The Hollow Man   |     The Hollow Man Series, International Espionage​

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Banging on the door interrupted my thoughts. I checked the clock. It was 11:40 p.m. That wouldn’t be room service.

“Policia Municipal. Abra la puerta! Open the door, Señor!”

It sounded like half a police division stood between me and the stairwell down the hall. If I went that way, I’d be in handcuffs within ten seconds. I glanced at the fire escape. Expecting to find me sleeping, the police may not be guarding the emergency exit. And this did qualify as an emergency.

“Policia Municipal! Tenemos una orden para su arresto!” What the hell had I done this time?

I threw open the window and cold air flooded in. If I thought the jail cell waiting for me would have been any warmer, I might have invited the police in for donuts and remained for the consequences. Instead, I grabbed my coat and disappeared through the window.

There was commotion behind me. Someone was on the fire escape at the landing above. I took the stairs two at a time and when I jumped the last few meters to the ground, a policeman’s hard head caught me under the chin and we both went down.

I pushed off the policeman. As he fell away, he managed to snare the bottom of my coat and I was dragged down again. Struggling up, I grabbed his wrist and kicked his underarm. He loosened his grip immediately and the numb limb dropped to the ground. I just added resisting arrest to whatever charge was in the warrant.

“Alto! Alto ahi!” I heard the metal fire escape rattling under the weight of heavy boots. As I rounded the corner onto Calle de Goya, I glimpsed two new policemen on the ground in the alley behind me. One was examining his injured colleague and the other was in pursuit. The long burst of a whistle screeched above the shouts. Its shrill sound cut the darkness like a mortar shell seconds before hitting the ground.

When I first arrived last week, I had plotted an exit route hoping I might never need it and here I was wishing the plan had been better. There was no choice now. Already breathing hard, I had to get out of sight before the man chasing me caught up or a radio car cut me off. I had to make it to the wall.

I turned off Calle de Goya at the next alley, ran to the far end and turned right into a neighborhood that changed from business to upscale residential the farther I moved from the main street. My only chance was in the walled estates of Madrid’s most wealthy. With my adrenalin running thin, I spotted the three-meter wall I thought I could climb if I hit it at a dead run.

My shoe buried itself in the brown winter vines about half way up and the foothold was enough to catapult me to the top. Broken shards of glass cemented in place along the crest bit into my leather gloves and coat sleeves as I went over the top. Landing in the soft mud between the wall and a row of hedges, I stood motionless expecting an interior light to flood the yard and a pack of crazy-mad mongrels to catch my scent.