“Could you come up to my office?” He hung up before she could answer.

14

Kane passed the RAF camp at Travellers Hill. He identified the guards’ hut from which Rory had been seen alive for the last time, then continued along the road in the direction Rory had been driving, slowly now, looking for an explanation as to how the engineer could vanish and then reappear hanging off an antenna. Then Kane saw the turnoff.

It wasn’t clearly marked on the map. This seemed to be because the road was not used much anymore. It had been built to US specifications, with a solid yellow center line, and had evidently been busy enough at one point, because the line had needed repainting, a second ghost line faintly shadowing the first. But the traffic had stopped a while ago, and vegetation had begun to reclaim it.

Kane waited to see if any other cars were nearby, then turned onto the abandoned road. It snaked into the hills, climbing steeply through a series of switchbacks. He passed a huge crater ringed with colored bands of rock so that it looked like a racetrack, then rattled over a dry streambed. The Atlantic Ocean appeared ahead of him, a flash of light between gravel mountains. Then the road twisted inland again, rising into ever-increasing desolation.

Soon he was on little more than a dirt track. The car shook complainingly. He wasn’t confident the suspension could handle it, let alone the wheels. Terry’s words echoed: You won’t be able to take this one off-road. Was he still on the road? The idea of getting stuck on a long-forgotten stretch of tarmac in the blazing heat wasn’t appealing. No reception; no emergency phones here.

Kane pulled over and wondered at the wisdom of continuing on. He had nothing definite to suggest Rory came this way. He climbed out to stretch, and the sun on his head was like a blow. For a bizarre second he thought he heard Rory’s voice. He was somewhere in the center of the island. Peaks surrounded him. Large black birds with narrow bodies and pointed wings circled in the air above him. They soared high and steady, and brought with them a raucous screaming that sounded like machinery grinding. Kane searched for any shade, for a moment’s respite from the heat, then gave up and climbed back into the car. He licked the sweat off his lips, drank the last of his water, and decided to give it five more minutes before turning back.

Three of those minutes had passed when he reached a dead end. The road parted around some abandoned concrete—a crumbling, disused building guarded by the stumps of dead palm trees. On its far side, the ground gave way entirely and a deep crevice opened up with sheer, ridged sides. According to his map, it was known as Devil’s Ashpit.