LITMIR.BIZ

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the slamming of a door and the revving of an engine. The vehicle began to move towards him once more.

      Knowing that there was little time to spare, Myers headed into the undergrowth. His marshy surroundings were hideously dark; a morass of stinking, dank pools on either side. He sank low into a patch of dense ferns, grasping his gun, aware of the heavy thumping of his heart.

      The headlights drew closer, accompanied by the spluttering wheeze and the rattling of the approaching vehicle. It sounded as though it were on its last legs. Then it came to stop. A car door was opened, followed shortly after by another one. Two clearly agitated Bulgarian voices could be heard.

      Myers knew nothing of the language, however it was fairly obvious that the others were keen to find him and that they would stop at nothing to retrieve the secret files that he had stolen. He didn’t move, well aware that any sound he made would draw their attention. Cold water began to seep into his shoes and he realised with some alarm that he was slowly sinking into the brackish depths. Looking down, he could see that the water was now over his ankles. For some reason this foul dampness seemed to be something other than just a physical thing. It was almost as though the chill was spreading into his very soul.

      Accompanied by a stream of harsh words, a beam of torchlight panned over to Myer’s left. Countless seconds passed as he crouched on the damp ground, the horrendous stench of the marsh gases almost causing him to be sick. It seemed as though the mire was oozing over him, attempting to pull him down, to engulf him completely. No doubt men had been lost in these trackless swamps and once beneath these black waters, their bodies would never be recovered.

      The voices ceased. With a sense of relief, Myers heard the car doors being slammed shut, the engine started up after several tries, and his pursuers drove off. From the sounds of it, they had decided to go back in the direction from whence they had come. It could be that they had considered it unlikely, given the state of the wrecked vehicle he had escaped from, that he could have got far.

      Dragging himself out of the swamp, which was now up to his knees, Myers crawled his way back onto the road. He was soaked and he was stinking, but all that mattered was that he still had the files. He felt a sudden sharp pain in his leg. It was too dark to see things properly, however, reaching down with his hand he felt the slimy wetness of something slug-like adhered to his soaked trouser leg. Whether it was a leech or something else he didn’t know but it had bitten through the thin fabric. Wincing, he squeezed its bloated body between his fingers, pulping it before painfully plucking it free. Running his hands over his lower legs, he brushed off several more which hadn’t as yet latched their puckered mouths onto his flesh.

      How much longer would he have to go on before he reached anything that even remotely resembled civilisation? It could be all night. Maybe he would be better off finding shelter somewhere among the trees and resting until dawn. That said, it was highly probable that his pursuers would widen their search for they had no doubt been given explicit orders to find him at all costs. It was just as vital for them to retrieve the classified documents as it was for him to hand them over to his superiors. And he knew from personal experience what failure could mean in this great game of global espionage.

      Accompanied by the sound of his squelching shoes, Myers jogged along the road. He was drenched, cold and covered in filth. His sodden clothes clung to him like a sagging, second skin. At least it seemed as though the rain was beginning to slacken.

      He stopped. Were those lights up ahead? Rubbing the dampness from his eyes, he peered in that direction. There was no doubt in his mind now. There were lights glowing less than a kilometre away over to his right. They appeared to be static—perhaps house lights. They seemed to be oil lamps as opposed to electric.

      It was about time his fortune changed. Surely there would be someone there who could help him—whether willingly or unwillingly. That, of course, was for them to decide, however, removing the automatic from his pocket, he knew just how persuasive he could be if the situation warranted it. If he was lucky there would be a car or truck that he could make use of—some means of escaping from this godforsaken land.

      Myers walked purposefully towards the lights. He had only gone several yards when he heard the faint music. He stopped and listened. The almost unearthly quality in the high-pitched whistling and in the wailing screech of violins sawed at his soul. The sound was unlike anything he had ever heard before although he had heard tales of the violently passionate wild gypsy music that the forgotten hillfolk still made. For some reason he could not help but feel that there was an evilness to the frantic playing; something which he couldn’t define but was undeniably there.

      Abruptly, the tempo changed and the music became eerily sombre. There was now a haunting, almost unholy edge to it. It was as though a nightmare had been made audible.

      Myers was not one to scare easily and yet a ripple of fear threatened to momentarily overcome him. It was widely rumoured that the gypsies of this land; the Roma, the Kardarashi and the Vlach, were a fiercely xenophobic lot and that they held allegiance to none but themselves. They were also rumoured to be highly volatile, as capricious and tempestuous as the wilds from which they originated. If he had plenty of money on him he may have been able to bargain with them, but he knew the price of their assistance would be steep indeed.

      Apprehensively, he began to walk forward once more, his nerves tingling. From the sounds of it there was quite a gathering and as he neared he was somewhat dismayed to notice a complete lack of parked vehicles. The building itself was slightly off the road and shrouded in gloom and as it began to emerge, spectrally, from the darkness, he could discern that it was at least three storeys tall with two smaller annexes. There was a general feeling of oddness about its design as though it was the product of some insane architect. He had been threading his way through the backwaters of Bulgaria for nigh on two days now and this was unlike any of the buildings he had seen previously.

      Suddenly the hellish music stopped.

      After a hasty look over his shoulder, Myers returned the gun to his pocket, ensuring it was within easy reach should things turn nasty. He waited the best part of a minute, still undecided as to whether engaging with these people would be a wise move. Perhaps he was being too paranoid, too cautious, after all it could be that these simple folk would prove to be helpful, providing they could understand anything of what he told them. There was only one way to find out.

      The last thing he wanted was for attention to be drawn to the contents of the slim leather case he carried. Looking around, he saw a large tree, at the base of which he cleared away some of the thorny vegetation in order to deposit the secret files. Once satisfied that they were well concealed, he walked up to the main door, turned the handle and went inside.

      Twenty or so wary faces turned towards him. They were a miserable and unfriendly-looking lot—their clothes, hands and faces covered in what looked like a month’s amount of grime and dirt from working the fields. Most were short and stunted, long-haired and bearded, their unpleasant faces set in permanent scowls. From the doorway, Myers’ initial reaction was to turn on his heels and make a run for it for there was a blatant animosity levelled at him. He was the outsider and he had dared walk into this social gathering uninvited. Mustering his courage, he defiantly stood his ground and glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The room itself was extremely run-down; the wallpaper peeling away in great flakes, the floor unswept and the black-beamed ceiling sagged noticeably.

      It was clear that the building served as a tavern or an inn of some sort for several unsavoury patrons we gathered at a makeshift bar. Others were sat at tables, whilst in one corner a group of bizarre-looking musicians glared at him. There was a fat, drooling imbecile seated at a dust-covered piano and a tall, gangly freak cradling an ancient-looking double bass. Mercifully shadowed, something unsightly with a violin sat huddled in a corner.

      There was not a single woman to be seen, which, given the overall level of ugliness of those inside was probably for the best.

      A gruff, questioning Bulgarian voice called out from behind the bar.

      Myers shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

      The man who had spoken stepped forward. “You English, yes?” He smiled in a tight, wintry way,

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