Hi Nicola. Hope you’re well. Weather here is cooling now. Work’s mostly done and I can avoid most of the daytime glare. Sea remains too rough to swim though. This week’s challenge—a psychologist called Jack Moretti—American, I think—can you find out what happened to him? Prob now in his 50s. Would be very interested to know where he is working. Anything really. Sending love as ever. Off here soon. R

Nicola appeared in the doorway.

“Oh. That came last week. Just after I heard.”

“With no address?”

“It was in an envelope.”

“Sent from the island?”

“Yes.”

Taylor made a quick calculation. The Ascension post came and went on an RAF flight approximately every three weeks. If the postcard arrived last week, it had been sent a couple of weeks ago.

“This is definitely Rory’s handwriting, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s Jack Moretti? Did you look into this?”

“No. It was too late by the time I got it.”

“Has he made other requests like this?”

“Not quite like this. Usually it’s just things he was curious about.”

“What was he curious about?”

“Everything. The history of the island, information on the plants, the birds. Sometimes he’d choose something obscure as a challenge. The library has access to all sorts of journals that no one uses. You know Rory—or, perhaps you did. He was always investigating something, finding a new topic of interest.”

Both glanced at the card in Taylor’s hand.

“Do you think it’s connected to something on the island?” Taylor said. “Maybe he mentioned it in previous correspondence.”

“I don’t think so. He hadn’t mentioned anything like this before.”

“I’m going to need to keep this.”

“Do you think it’s helpful? What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to try to find out.” Taylor gathered up her coat. “We’ll let you know when . . . everything can go ahead. I’ll be in touch.”

“And will you tell me if you find something out?”

“Of course.”

7

“Lousy weather, ma’am.” The armed guard smiled. Taylor smiled back, touched her card to the sensor, then entered her pin code and waited for the perspex airlock to admit her into Vauxhall Cross.

Her team occupied a remote corner of the sixth floor. She’d only been leading the department for a year, since her return from sick leave. The scale worked for her. The floor was arranged by region: Russia and Eastern Europe dominating the front, a handful of Middle Eastern offices in the center. Her South Atlantic team was small, with desks at the back plus her own office. As controller, she was responsible for twelve permanent staff including operational managers, data analysts, two technical specialists, and the requirements officer reporting to Whitehall.