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
‘Yeah,’ she whispers. She can smell the chemicals in the air. The dry heat of air blasted through the tunnels. The smell of iron in the blood and the stench of faeces from bowels opening on death and locking eyes with Ben running backwards, dragging a dead man. She didn’t know who he was at that point, or why he was pulling the man, but she caught sight of the suicide vest and the connection was made. She ran screaming at the driver, who slammed the brakes on but too late. The train goes in, blocking the view of Ben as it fills the station, and a few seconds later the explosion tears through the tunnel, bucking the train backwards and up on to the platform as she runs back to the safety of the exit.
Her heart hammers in her chest as the footage ends and Harry sits back, folding his arms across his chest in contemplation of the event he just witnessed.
‘Christ,’ Roland says again. He too knows Ben now. He knows the man, and to see Ben at work is something else. Malcolm and Konrad feel the same and every bad thought they had of the man that refused to work vanishes. Safa was right. They have to remember him as he was and not how he is.
‘Okay,’ Harry says, still with his arms folded.
‘There it is,’ Safa whispers as the footage ends, changing to a black screen.
It’s said of the commandos during the Second World War that you cannot fictionalise anything they ever did because they would have done it in real life, and Harry knows good work when he sees it. His eyes narrow and he blasts air out through his nose. That man he just watched is not the man here. He thinks of Ben outside placing the shots with an almost casual manner. He thinks of the first day and the intelligence in him. He thinks of the fight in this room and how Ben ran in despite being terrified to the core. Some soldiers are made and some are born.
Harry never says much but he speaks now. Mad Harry Madden, who brought a German base to its knees, and when Mad Harry Madden speaks out, others listen.
Thirty
Thirty
They have already been paramedics for this mission and now they are tourists. Bearded, unshaven, clean shaven, tidy hair, messy hair. Neat clothes, slightly creased clothes. They blend in and do not draw attention. Their clothing is carefully chosen to be loose-fitting to hide their muscular forms and they constantly check each other for visual clues that could suggest a military background.
They drink beer but not copious amounts. In public, they chat amiably as old friends. They tell jokes, berate each other and discuss buildings, art, road layouts, the youth of today, sports and every other normal topic of conversation.