Free No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller by Roland Fishman Page B

surprisingly modern sun-drenched interior. He paused inside the front door and noted three potential exit points: the entrance, kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen and bathroom were both situated at the rear left of the square room.
    An elderly couple, the only other guests, sat eating their meal in the middle of the restaurant, facing a floor-to-ceiling window at the back. It framed a natural billabong, a small pond created after a river changes its course. It was surrounded by tall spindly gums and low-lying bush. Soft jazz played in the background.
    Carter and Erina exchanged a look and chose a table at the front of the restaurant near the right side wall. Erina’s high heels clipped over the polished wooden floorboards. They both sat facing the entrance, their backs to the billabong, giving them a clear line of sight out to the highway.
    “Okay, we’re sitting down,” Erina said. “Start talking.”
    She sounded angry, but Carter didn’t respond. He was waiting for the van that had been following them to return.
    “Don’t even think about messing with me,” she said.
    “What are you going to do? Knock me out again? Trust me, I’m not here because I want to be.”
    “Just tell me what’s happened.”
    “Erina, you need to chill out.”
    “Don’t tell me what to do.”
    He’d forgotten how fired up she became if she felt he’d slighted her.
    A young waitress approached and handed them a menu. With a warm smile, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”
    Outside, above the hum of the air conditioning and the light clatter from the kitchen, Carter identified the sound he’d been expecting: the purr of an engine and tires crunching on gravel.
    They both looked out the window at the same time. Erina had clearly heard it too. It was the grey van.
    “We’ll order in a minute,” Erina said to the waitress, who nodded and walked away.
    Twenty yards from the restaurant the van veered along the path that led to the truck and coaches parking area, out of sight from where they sat. The vehicle’s windows were heavily tinted, making it impossible to see who was inside.
    Erina stood, took off her glasses and placed them on the table.
    “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “I’m going to check it out.”
    He stood up. “Let me do it.”
    “Why?”
    “I’d hate to see you ruin your outfit. Especially the heels.” He looked her directly in the eye. “You look good.”
    She stared back at him without acknowledging the compliment.
    After a few seconds’ thought, she sat back down and with the hint of a smile said, “Okay, it’s about time you did some work.”
    She pulled her phone out of her shoulder bag. “I’ll call Thomas and find out why the change of plan.”
    “You do that.”
    He slung the daypack over his left shoulder and perused the menu while he stood. “And while you’re at it, order me two turkey sandwiches on rye and a double-shot, extra-hot coffee.”
    Without waiting for a response, he headed for the rest room at the back of the restaurant.

6
    Carter pushed through the door of the men’s room and locked it behind him. There was an opaque glass window high up above the single toilet’s cistern. He grabbed the handtowel from next to the sink and shoved it into his daypack.
    He closed the toilet seat cover, stood on it and examined the window. It was open a few inches at the base, as far as it would go without breaking. Carter lined up the heel of his hand with the window base and struck hard. The cheap lock and hinge exploded, dropping to the ground, and the window snapped wide open.
    He stepped onto the cistern, squeezed his head and shoulders through the opening and studied the terrain. A dirt path ran behind the restaurant, in front of the billabong, and continued behind the back of the motel. It led to the coach and truck-parking stop, which he couldn’t see from the window. A thick cover of scrub surrounded the back of the property on the other side of the dirt track. It’d