There was an audible crack as they hit the floor, like the sound of ribs breaking. In any case, the man now lay groaning beneath him, the air slammed out of his lungs.
Marco leaped to his feet and plunged through the open train doors as his assailant clutched at his chest and tried to raise himself up onto his elbows. The last thing Marco saw was the look of rage and agony on his face as he put his mobile to his ear.
The people in the train carriage stared at him without comment. No one tried to console him, even though tears ran from his eyes, but no one abused him either.
He sat down on one of the fold-down seats, angling himself so he could see forward through the illuminated tunnel. He had no idea which direction he was traveling in or where he would end up. All he knew was that the longer he stayed on the train, the more time they would have to rally the troops.
The troops? Who were they at this point anyway? Where had his assailant come from? Had he been standing there all day behind the information post, waiting in case Marco should appear? And who was he phoning right now?
Marco wrung his hands in despair as everything around him seemed to merge. The sound of the train’s electric motors propelling him toward the unknown; the ding-dong from the PA system and the voice announcing the next station, Frederiksberg; the passengers sitting impassively in the cold light as the reflected glare of Frederiksberg station’s glass screens warned him he better make a decision as to what to do next.
Should he get off or try continuing on to Vanløse, then leg it to Strindbergsvej, where Tilde lived? What were his chances?
He fixed his eyes on the platform as the train glided to a halt. All seemed peaceful enough. Patient eyes focused on the glass screens, waiting for them to open. Students on their way home. Posters advertising eyeglasses, information posts, ticket machines, and otherwise nothing.
Marco positioned himself at the doors and glanced over his shoulder. Still nothing.
He got off the train. He’d made his decision. He needed to get out of the open, back to his hideout. The workmen would be packing their gear away now, and soon the site would be quiet. All he had to do was get up to street level and head along Falkoner Allé and Frederiksberg Allé, then calmly make his way back to the center from the safest side of the city. This would probably work, as long as no one was up there waiting for him.
He looked in both directions before opting to take the stairway farthest from the Frederiksberg Centre shopping mall. If they were already at the station they would expect him to take the route where there was the best chance of the crowds being biggest.
Forty steps up and he would be out.
He got less than halfway before two faces with watchful eyes appeared at the top of the stairs. Instinctively Marco turned back and ran.
Now there was a train waiting at the opposite platform. The doors were open. Unfortunately it was heading back to the Forum, but what else could he do? The last passenger had stepped inside. Marco vaulted over the final five steps, hearing the sound of running behind him as he squeezed through the closing glass screens. For a moment the train remained standing as its own doors slid shut, leaving two men with Slavic features and frustrated expressions hammering their fists against the glass outside.
A month ago the men had almost certainly been walking the streets of towns like Liepaja and Palanga, dreaming of striking it rich in the West, and now it was plain to see they’d just missed out. That’s when Marco realized the price on his head was a big one, and Copenhagen’s entire assortment of lowlife was now hunting him.
He stretched out low across a pair of fold-down seats as they passed Forum station, raising his head cautiously to see if his former pursuer was still there.
He was, but sitting on the floor against a wall, his hands pressed to his chest. He was on his guard, but injured and in pain. Still holding the mobile in his hand.
At Nørreport station, Marco took the escalator at the far end, knowing that if they were waiting for him at street level he needed to be ready to make a dash for the botanical gardens and the Østre Anlæg park to find a place to hide.
He picked out a woman and stood so close to her as they neared the top that it annoyed her. As well it might, because if they spotted him and got too close, he would shove her into them.
Up on the street all seemed peaceful and normal. The rain had stopped and people were spilling out of the side streets on their way home.
Here in the crowd I’m as good as invisible, he told himself, as he made his way along Frederiksborggade toward Nørre Farimagsgade. From there he would catch a bus the last stretch of the way just to be on the safe side.
Now that he knew what he was up against.
31
He saw shadows everywhere as the bus passed the Palads cinema where not long before he’d come close to losing his life. Men loitering at pedestrian crossings. Men standing inactive in the milling crowds. Men who were just there.
You’re getting paranoid, Marco, he told himself, trying to straighten his shoulders on the seat farthest back. Not everyone was after him, surely?
As the bus slowed and eased past Tivoli’s side entrance opposite the central station, he noticed a group of men in fierce discussion. Though he recognized none of them, it made him feel anxious. Cut it out, he urged himself. Just one more stop, then we’re down behind Tivoli and I’ll be safe.
He ducked down slightly in his seat all the same, keeping an eye on the flock of men as the bus pulled in to the stop. Apart from two who were black, they looked like Eastern Europeans. Bony men who appeared used to living the hard life.
Marco kept an eye on the front of the bus to see who got on. They all seemed peaceful enough.
He heaved a sigh of relief, feeling the battering his body had taken earlier in the day. He ached, and yet he was thankful. He was still alive, wasn’t he?
The bus had just started up again when he sensed a shadow moving fast on the pavement. Someone just missed the bus, was his first thought, as he looked out and saw a young black guy in a green basketball jersey staring up straight into his face as the bus pulled away.
Marco turned in his seat and saw him give chase like a hunting dog with an easy, loping stride, too fast by half.
Immediately Marco got to his feet, all his senses on alert as he moved to the exit. Fortunately the light was green as the bus turned down Tietgensgade, putting distance between him and the jackal behind.
He jumped off at the Glyptotek art museum and crossed the street behind the bus, weaving between the honking cars. The black guy had already rounded the corner farther back and was halfway toward him. Marco fumbled in his pocket and produced a couple of banknotes, then hobbled as fast as he could in the direction of the amusement park’s rear entrance.
And then he froze as he read the sign: THIS ENTRANCE CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.
He looked up and saw his pursuer closing in at the same time as he sensed a sudden turmoil of flashing blue lights on the opposite corner of H. C. Andersens Boulevard. Apparently a patrol car had been waiting over by the Great China restaurant and had just launched itself across six lanes of traffic, straight toward him.
Now Marco was boxed in. If he tried to make a run for it toward Rådhuspladsen or the Langebro bridge in the opposite direction, his pursuer would catch up with him. If he tried to cross H. C. Andersens Boulevard he would run straight into the arms of the police. There was only one alternative left, and that was to clamber over the fence into Tivoli Gardens.
He leaped onto the fence just to the right of the closed gate where there was a post he could grab, and managed to wriggle over the top. Behind him he heard the patrol car screech to a halt on the bike path and saw his pursuer stop in his tracks. For once a police car with flashing blue lights was having a positive effect on his life.