BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. Acknowledgements ♦ Diolchiadau
  50. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Nefyn bent, the blood drying on her arms, and picked at some seaweed to find its texture soft. She drew her hand back, her eyes finding a form in the debris. She looked again. Pulled the seaweed away. Her mind slow to complete the picture. It was a man. Dark hair straggly. A swollen face. Bruising. She stared, tracing the shape of his back, his legs, his arms in the flotsam. She gasped. Her breathing shallow. She reached out her hand, touched the skin of his face. He was still warm. She stepped back, heart heaving in her chest, and looked around and up, scanned the line of the cliff, but there was no one else. She dropped to her knees, raked the debris from his body with her fingers, his shape becoming clearer. She got to her feet, held his upper arm in one hand, his forearm in the other, and anchored her weight against him. He was heavy. She readjusted her hold, pulled once more and, slowly, he started to move. She straightened her back and started pulling, pulling him up the beach towards the boathouse.

8

Boat ♦ Cwch ♦ Qarib

THE LIEUTENANT COLONEL PRESSED his thumb against the lighter. Tilted his head. Nothing but a spark. He tried again. Again. A flame at last. He tipped his head back, inhaled, threw the lighter down on to the desk. The Captain stood in front of the desk, watching him, bracing himself. He declined the offer of a cigarette.

‘We recovered the driver and the guard. The medic’s body is being taken to the morgue as we speak,’ the Captain said, his voice as tense as his manner.

The Lieutenant Colonel rubbed his forehead with his thumb.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered. He flicked some ash into an ashtray on the desk. Narrowed his eyes. ‘And what exactly are we going to tell the Doctor’s wife?’ he asked.

The Captain looked down. Shrugged.

‘I understand that this is going to be difficult.’

The Lieutenant Colonel leant both hands on the back of his chair, lowered his voice conspiratorially.

‘Questions have been asked. You know as well as I do that Whitehall have been pressuring us about transparency.’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Is he?’

‘He must be.’ The Captain shrugged. ‘I’d say it was problem solved.’

The older man considered this.

‘In his condition? He could never have survived it,’ the Captain mused.

‘Even so, what if his body turns up somewhere? Along the coast?’

The Captain shrugged again.

‘He’s a refugee. A stowaway. From a boat. No one will care. We can have a word with the police. Make sure they’re on board.’

The Lieutenant Colonel’s eyes were drawn to the picture of his wife, his children. He moved around the chair, sat down heavily.