Georgetown was in disarray. It had been evacuated fast, with the remains of last night’s crisis littering the place. A couple of abandoned dogs remained beside the church. Terrified donkeys stumbled through gardens into the road. The rollers crashed in high, spray visible above the roofs.

“There’s his car.”

Anne hit the brakes. The Buick with its bullet-cracked windscreen sat parked at the edge of the jetty.

“Jesus Christ. What happened?” she said, getting out and starting to run. “His boat’s still there,” she shouted, as they crossed the concrete. Then they saw Thomas and Carina.

The pair stood at the bottom of the jetty’s steps, water lapping at them. Thomas was helping Carina on with her life jacket. They looked absurdly fragile beside the vicious sea. The tide was in and their dinghy tossed fiercely.

“Thomas!” Anne called over the crash of the waves, starting down the steep steps toward him. “This is insane. Stop it, whatever’s going on.”

He straightened, pointed the gun at her.

“Get away, Anne. I’m sorry.”

Carina began screaming. “Mommy!”

“Thomas, are you crazy? What the hell . . .”

Anne took another step.

“I’m serious. Don’t come closer, Anne. Please.”

Thomas held the girl in one hand and the gun in the other. They ducked as a wave broke, drenching them. Kane began down the steps behind Anne, calculating options. The pair were unstable on the bottom step. Thomas needed to turn to climb into the dinghy, but the waves were getting more violent. He’d need both hands to help the girl in.

Anne was still moving, one step at a time.

“Talk to me. Thomas, please. Give me Carina.”

Thomas clung to the girl. If he fired, Kane would have two or three seconds to move. Could he reach him before he re-sighted? If Anne lunged first, it was anyone’s guess. They’d all be an inch from the edge. But another factor had begun massing in the distance: a roller, slow and huge. Kane was watching it grow when another voice came from above them.

“Let her go.”

Connor stood on the quay. He let his bike drop to the ground, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the Beretta.

“Let her go,” he said again, aiming at Thomas.

“Connor,” Thomas said. “You don’t understand the situation and you don’t know how to use that.”

Connor stood very still with the gun raised, both hands on the grip.

“Let Carina go,” he said.

“Connor, listen. You could hit your sister.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Connor said. “Let her go or I’ll shoot her too. I’ll shoot her first. Would you let that happen?”

“Jesus Christ, Connor.”