Thank you for coming to peacefultomorrows-sayyourpeace.org The website is being built now peacefultomorrows-sayyourpeace.org was created: August 14 2012 18:36:54. Today Sunday 19 May 2013 00:10:07 I kept moving slowly toward the target, at the same time wanting to get there as quickly as possible. My balls were so cold I thought they might make a dash for my armpits. Underfoot it was rocky and a couple of times I hit an obstruction and got entangled in weed. It was time to discard the 3C. I wouldn't be needing it anymore, because if everything worked to plan, the next time I contacted Elizabeth I'd be back in the U.K. and if it didn't and I was in the shit, Sarah would know how to extract information from it and the flash cards. I got level with the house and turned to face it. The curtains were closed and there were still no lights on. Placing my wrist behind the bergen to shield it from the target, I pressed the backlit display on Baby-G. It was just after midnight. I started to shiver even more now that I'd stopped. I needed to get out of the water and back into some clothes. I moved forward in a direct line toward the slipway, pushing the bergen in front of me. The boat was now dead ahead, and all I could see of it was the bow tilted down toward me. I inched my way, eyes glued on the target; the only sound was the rain as it hit my bergen and the water. As I got closer and the floor started to rise, I forced my body lower by bending my knees and hunching down. A few meters from the end of the slipway I had to get right down on my stomach to keep as much of me in the water as possible to make a smaller profile. I had to use my hands and knees to work myself forward. A meter from the edge the bergen hit bottom. I stopped, looked and listened. The echoey sound of the rain hitting the fiberglass of the boat took over from the splash of it hitting the water. Now came the wriggly bit. I had to cross open ground to get to the boat and shelter under the hull. Ideally I would have taken maybe as long as an hour to cover the five meters, but I didn't have that time to spare. I unraveled the string attached to my wrist and, lifting myself up on my elbows and toes, I kitten-crawled forward, four inches at a time, trying to hold and control my breath and stop my teeth from chattering. I could feel stones and water moss pushing against my legs and stomach, moving with me as my trunk touched the bottom. The fact that it was cold no longer mattered; I knew I was doing it correctly from the pain in my elbows as they took my weight on the gravel. I was more interested in trying to make sure my trunk didn't scrape along the ground and make a noise. I was now at the slipway. Lifting the bergen a fraction, I edged it forward another few inches, lowered it onto the concrete and eased myself up behind it. Then I stopped, listened and repeated the move. Inch by inch I neared the boat, in a direct line with the point where the tow bar touched the concrete slip. As long as I moved slowly enough and kept flat, the motion detector shouldn't pick me up, and once I was in the lee of the boat I'd be completely safe. Fifteen minutes later, I was there, where I wanted to be, under the boat. The rain hammered the fiberglass. It was like being in a greenhouse in a thunderstorm. The garage doors were still only semi closed I could see the back of the Explorer and the pitch-dark beyond. I was staring into the darkness and contemplating my next move when a light came on to my right, spilling through the gap in the doors. It came from the rear of the garage. My heart skipped a beat, then started to pump at warp speed. If I'd been discovered, there wasn't much I could do. I gripped myself: Stop, calm down, watch. Almost immediately another light came on, this time on the other side of the garage. Through the gap, I could see what was happening. Someone had opened the lid of a chest freezer; the glow from the interior light showed the face of a man, as if he were shining a flashlight under his chin, like we used to at Halloween. I wasn't sure which of the targets it belonged to, just that it wasn't Sarah. He rooted around for a moment, then pulled out three or four small boxes of food, stood up and seemed about to close the lid again, but instead, he looked back inside and picked out some more stuff. With his arms full, he walked away. I could make out the lower part of his body; he was wearing trainers and checkered, knee-length shorts. I tried to count how many cartons he had. There seemed to be five. © ISPmanager licensed