James

Despite the cold, my heated face streams sweat which soaks down my neck and into my clothes.

Slow down, Man…

You can’t sprint for a mile…

I drop to a trot and my heartbeat decelerates to something more sustainable. The banging behind my ears subsides.

Don’t panic…

The kidnappers may say Don’t be late, but their priority is the money.

Irony slaps me around the cheeks. Here I am, in an area I wouldn’t normally consider walking at night, certainly not alone. And I’m running through it, toting a bag containing a cool million in cash.

The steady rhythm of my jogging sets a metronome ticking in my head, clearing my thoughts.

How fast is a jog?

Six miles an hour?

So, I should cover my mile in the ten minutes I have.

Calm down…

Nonetheless, I find myself counting paces; eating up distance with each one…

They must be watching me…

Where are they watching from?

A parked car?

pass, where they can lurk

Could be anywhere.

the river. Once an attractive place for pleasure boats and day-trippers; now derelict, the jetties

at the far end from me; an attractive name for the edge of the more reputable parts of town. As the name suggests, it consists of four blocks of houses and shops

by floodlights set in grassy lawns. The fountain, also floodlit, dances and

I can think of one or

a moment I drop, hands resting on knees as I regain my breath, then, straightening up,

For what?

scanning my

in the right

“James?”

but I

did the message

“Corner of Birch Square by Waverley

right along behind the western side

Stupid… Stupid…

right. I’ll go

down, James. Keep your thinking

reply. He’s right, but I

red-bricks built on three stories ending in a small parade of designer

Still nothing.

and down, my breathing tightens again as I

Doorways…

Store windows…

A mailbox…

Nothing…

make

My watch tells me I’m two

be watching

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