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?

where they can lurk in

Could be anywhere.

series of berths alongside the river. Once an attractive place for pleasure boats and day-trippers; now derelict, the

the far end from me; an attractive name for the edge of the more reputable parts of town. As the name suggests,

lawns. The fountain, also floodlit, dances and sparkles by the central Christmas tree which

think of one

for a moment I drop, hands resting on knees as I regain my breath,

For what?

scanning

I in the

“James?”

Ross, but I

the message say,

the note, reading aloud. “Corner of Birch Square by

right along behind the western side of

Stupid… Stupid…

right. I’ll

down, James. Keep your thinking

right, but I don’t need reminding of

built on three stories ending in a small parade of designer

Still nothing.

up and down, my breathing tightens again as I look for whatever

Doorways…

Store windows…

A mailbox…

Nothing…

make it hard to

begins to bubble inside me. My watch tells me I’m

must be

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