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Rupert watched it all unfold before him. The satisfaction he felt when he saw Gallagher and the rescue party was only superseded by the joy that coursed through him when the tower guard began firing and the Hungarian patrol vehicles arrived, their headlamps providing him with a clear view in the fast-fading light. He squinted through the cheap little binoculars, bought at Vienna Airport, and easily recognised Max Drexler, his heart almost bursting with relief. As quickly as euphoria had come it ran away as he realised that Radler had made it through to the West. He was about to open fire when Drexler did it for him but frustration boiled inside him as he saw everything unravel again.
His anger and fear were so great he hadn’t thought about the possible consequences of his opening fire. The fusillade that erupted around him, kicking up dirt, breaking branches and covering him in bits of leaves came as a surprise but he kept firing towards where Radler lay; now more difficult to see not only due to the lighting conditions but also because someone was shielding him. He cursed. He knew he should’ve taken the shot as soon as they’d stood up to run from the fence. Radler’s white shirt had stood out but he’d taken too long in the aim, trying for a perfect score. By the time his finger began squeezing the trigger, Drexler had interceded.
Now, with the pain increasing and a feeling of nausea gripping him, the opportunity was lost. He rolled away from his firing point and hauled himself to his feet. Shoving his way through the bushes, he needed to get back to his car.
No lights, Astrid drove along the track in darkness, guided only by the lightness of the surface. A car ahead was suddenly illuminated from behind by the headlights of an oncoming vehicle which swiftly turned ninety degrees and sped away towards the woods on the border. Catching a brief glimpse of a figure, she turned on her headlamps to reveal a man now slumping down against the front bumper of the car she faced. It was Rupert Wilkinson.
She stopped and, realising he had a gun in his hand, she flooded him with main beam as Felix stepped out from the passenger door.
Rupert heard the crunch of the tyres on the stony track but overcome with increasing pain and crippling weakness he could do nothing more than sink to an eventual sitting position, one hand clutching his bloodstained chest, the other feebly raising the gun.
Felix stayed behind the glare of the light and called out, “Rupert! It’s me, Felix. It’s over. Put the gun down and we’ll get you some help.”
“Fuck you, Felix! Fuck all of you!” Tears dribbling down his cheeks, Rupert fought to control the trembling in his hand whilst he struggled to keep the weapon raised. Finger tightening on the trigger, he began firing as his strength ebbed away.
Rounds smashed through the windscreen then into the grill. Weapon drawn when he got out of the vehicle, Felix pumped four rounds into the already dying man.