“A flight goes once a month from Johannesburg via Saint Helena, the other island of ours a few hundred miles to the south of Ascension. There used to be a direct military flight from the UK, but that’s been canceled, so I think via South Africa is our best bet. But we’d have to move fast. The next flight is in a few days’ time.”

“A few days? Jesus.”

“There’s a cruise ship swinging by on Sunday, but passengers only land for twenty-four hours, so it’s not much use to us. What do you think? You’d have to be there for a month, until the next flight back. We’d arrange all cover, something that gets a visitor’s permit from the Administrator without drawing undue attention.”

“Like what?”

“Sportfishing.”

“I’m not going to do much from a boat.”

“But at night you’d be socializing: meeting people. Your sort of thing. Isn’t that how one does it? It’s been a while.” She hesitated. “Obviously if there’s more to this . . . If there’s a hostile presence on the island, I’d want you to feel you were in the right place, mentally.”

“You mean do I think I’ve still got it.”

“Yes. Do you feel mission-sharp?”

It wasn’t just a question of sharpness, Kane thought. Missions like this took a particular kind of willpower. A suspension of disbelief. He knew men braver than any, the ones you sent in when no one else would go, who one day kitted up and couldn’t walk out the door. And they had to step away from the front line forever because—this was Kane’s analysis—they had become sane: suddenly, painfully sane. They didn’t crave the cocktail of testosterone and adrenaline that overrode this sanity, couldn’t justify the willingness to inflict pain on others. They were healed.

“If I say no? If this is beyond me?”

“I would understand, of course. Dominic will insist on continuing with the project regardless. I’ll have to pray that that’s not foolish in any way.” She placed her mug down on the coffee table. “Sleep on it. Have a think.”

Taylor stood up. Kane walked her downstairs, where they swapped numbers, then hugged tightly.

“I want the final decision to be yours,” she said.

“It will be.”

“One way or another, Rory died. Something happened to him over there.”

When the sound of her car had faded, Kane put his coat back on and walked to the college library.