“Who is she?” he asked.

“Don’t ask.”

“She’ll be hiding somewhere.”

They exchanged careful looks. Kane glanced around for the men who had brought him here—the doctor and electrician. The doctor was talking to one of the musicians, the electrician was elsewhere, maybe down on the beach. Kane stepped out. He needed to get back to Georgetown, get his map and torch. Get a full satellite link with London in case Taylor had any information from intercept. They needed to establish access to police communications: see what was going on, how deep and dark things were on this island. They could do that from the UK end. The Administrator’s comms would be more complicated.

The coals of the abandoned barbecue glowed. No one was playing football anymore. The waves crashed in. Kane could hear a whispering anxiety among the crowd behind him: cautious, pragmatic, but real.

I’ll take the car.

People are coordinating the search from Georgetown.

From what I hear, her dad popped out for a minute and when he came back she was gone.

Free round to whoever finds her.

The narrow, winding roads were about to be filled with a lot of drunk people moving fast with their minds elsewhere. Kane headed back to his own vehicle.

The night air was hot and soft and the wind felt like someone draping a sheet over your face. Where the volcanoes had been there were just black gaps cut out of the night sky. As Kane began to drive away from the club, something stepped into the road in front of him. He slammed the brakes. It was the donkey. The animal looked unsteady on its hooves, gazing at Kane through the windscreen. It hissed at him before stepping slowly out of the way. When he later thought of that moment, it seemed like the donkey was trying to warn him of what was to come.

A minute further along the road an approaching car flashed its lights and stopped beside him. The woman in the front leaned out.

“Seen a girl about? Blond, fifteen years old?”

“No. I heard. I was going to take a look around.”

The snarl of an army helicopter came into earshot, its searchlight drawing closer, then away as it began to comb the island.

Georgetown had entered crisis mode. People had gathered in front of the church, which was open and spilling light; more people, including military, in front of the bar and the police station. The sea looked black and vicious. Torch beams crisscrossed one another on the beach. It was two a.m.