Chapter Seventy-three
It was a Wednesday night, around 8 pm. No one remained in the factory complex apart from Matthew Jameson and Joe Simpson, and a bitter wind swept in from the Southern Highlands, lowering the temperature to around nine degrees Celsius.
The concrete floor seemed to transmit this frigid air into Matthew’s body, and he constantly rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet to keep his circulation moving. Since just after noon he had been hiding in a tiny storeroom behind the mechanic’s office. There was no heating of any kind, and Matthew cursed himself for not bringing any warm clothing or food to keep him from his present miserable state. Even a book to keep his mind off the coming confrontation would have been clever – then again, not being at the workshop at all
