Chapters (45)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Prologue
- 2046
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- About the Author
‘I know what gang members are.’
‘I had therapy. They gave me a new name and that was it.’
‘Therapy?’
‘Yeah. They thought I’d be messed up in the head for killing a bunch of people.’
‘Were you?’
‘Nope.’
Harry eats the croissant and stands from the table. ‘You ready?’ he asks, but doesn’t wait before walking off towards the door.
Ben watches him go, feeling like a complete wanker for refusing to engage in conversation. Fuck it. Instead, he eats slowly and drinks water, staring round in baleful hatred at the bare concrete walls and the bare concrete floor while thinking back to Safa last night.
Eventually, he heads outside to both of them waiting at the table with three pistols already on the top. Ben sighs and picks one up.
‘Field strip?’ he asks sarcastically. Seconds later the gun is stripped and in parts on the table. ‘Reassemble?’ he asks and clicks it back together. ‘Field strip?’
‘No,’ she says, staring at him with an altogether new expression. She places a box on the table with a factory-printed logo and the words 9 millimetre etched on the sides and top. Then he notices three sets of ear defenders on the table and looks past them both to the high wall of sandbags stacked further down the ledge.
‘Rounds cost money,’ she says, opening the first box to reveal the shiny brass bullets. ‘In the police we were limited to what we could fire in practice . . . but now’ – she ejects the magazine in her Glock and starts feeding the rounds into it – ‘now we don’t have to worry . . . and can fire as many as we want. Look over there.’
Ben looks over to another table to see every type of pistol they have stripped and rebuilt resting on the top with cases of bullets next to each.
‘Put these on,’ she says in a blunt tone after showing him how to load a magazine and handing him a set of ear defenders. ‘Keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire. Slide back to bring the first round up into the chamber. Keep a two-handed grip and do not ever point the weapon at me or Harry. Point it down when you turn. Face down the range.’
Ben picks the weapon up and adopts the two-handed grip that she and Harry are using while noticing the way she looks at him is different and the gentle tone in her voice has gone. He moves round the table carrying a loaded gun. They both track every movement he makes until he’s staring down the ad hoc shooting range at the wall of sandbags. She glances to Harry. He nods with an almost imperceptible movement. She places her gun down on the table and moves in close behind Ben, tugging the ear defender back from his right ear as her foot moves between his legs and starts kicking them out to widen his stance.