Duffy followed. McNulty was behind him, the Remington held in both hands.

Tariq took the key card that he had requisitioned at reception and, after checking that Duffy was ready, slipped it into the slot.

The lock changed from red to green, and the door clicked open a fraction.

“Ready?” Duffy asked McNulty and the other operative.

Both men raised their weapons and nodded that they were.

Duffy kicked the door open.

He went inside, nerves afire, clearing the en-suite bathroom and then the bedroom beyond.

Empty.

It was a decent enough room; clothes lay scattered across the bed. He picked up a white T-shirt. There was a towel on the floor, still damp.

“She’s been here,” he said. “Not long ago.”

McNulty came out of the bathroom. “Shower’s only just been used,” he said.

“Dammit.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go down to the lobby. Close the hotel down and call for backup. No one goes in or comes out. She might still be in the building.”

“Will do.”

McNulty and Tariq left him alone.

There was a box of bullets on the bed. Nine-millimetre hollow points. He picked up the box. It was empty.

It was her. She had been here. They had missed her by a matter of minutes.

This had been his chance. His best and only chance. There had only been one opportunity, and it had passed. She knew, for sure, that they were onto her now. She would be a ghost. They wouldn’t see her again until she decided to come for them.

For him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Faik had been alone for almost twenty-four hours. They had brought him to the punishment wing after the riot had been pitilessly quelled. Solitary confinement. He had only seen fleeting glimpses of his fellow inmates as they returned from interrogations, and he had heard the sound of prisoners moaning in their cells after heavy-handed beatings. The long hours of the night had been filled with desperation and restlessness, and it had continued into the day. He had no idea what was planned for him, and into that void came doubt and terror. His sleep was haunted by awful dreams that he couldn’t make stop.

The isolation cell was tiny. He could touch the walls with both hands when he stretched out his arms. There was a bucket for a toilet, no chair and nothing to sleep on save the cold, hard, concrete floor. He had been given no food or drink, and the cell was so stiflingly hot that he felt woozy.

A door opened and closed, and he heard footsteps approach from down the corridor. His stomach clenched. Part of him willed the footsteps to continue to another cell. The other part wanted them to stop and his door to be unlocked and opened so that he might have fresh air and water.

A key was inserted into the lock and turned. The door opened.

It was Donkey, with two other guards behind him.