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
Ben sees people and figures who will know what is going on. He can hear them talking and snatches of words in English and German. The dark-haired man he glimpses is speaking English, but someone else is translating into German. Why German? His mind reaches the conclusion that he must be in a European detention centre. Which explains the weird set-up.
Harry sees German guards speaking German in a German POW camp.
Just as Safa is about to take control by calling out, and just as Ben is about to whisper his thoughts to the others, Harry nods once, smiles and sets off striding towards the German guards speaking German in the German POW camp.
‘Er . . . where’s he going?’ Ben asks, pointing after Harry.
‘Harry Madden. Sergeant. Second Commando Unit . . .’ Harry booms across the room, snapping the head of every German guard towards him, who see a huge man in a grey tracksuit with toilet tissue poking from his nose.
‘Holy fuck,’ Safa mutters. ‘He really thinks he’s . . .’
‘Parachute Division. British Army . . .’ Harry shouts, his voice deep and proud. He rolls his shoulders as he walks and flexes his wrists while making fists, telegraphing his intent to fight. ‘I am a commando. I was dressed as a civilian . . .’
Ben tries to snort a dry, humourless laugh and sends the tissue from his left nostril shooting out. Safa shakes her head in disbelief but clocks the formation as the men in the coveralls suddenly disperse from a tight group to one that ranges out in a flanking manoeuvre. She takes a step forward. Her eyes reading the tiny visual nuances in the men, who check their immediate space and slide feet to keep one forward and one back in a basic combat stance.
‘Harry!’ a man calls out in English, striding from the back of the group. A tall man with dark hair. The same one Ben could see in the crowd. Ben gets that jolt of déjà vu again. The same as when he saw Safa and Harry. The same weird, unsettling sensation that is rapidly becoming too familiar. His mind races to remember how he knows this person, but he cannot find the context or place in his mind.
‘Sir.’ Harry comes to a sudden stop and snaps a smart salute. ‘Are you the CO in the camp?’
‘The what in the what now?’ Roland asks, blinking in response.
Harry lowers the salute, instantly absorbing that this man is not an officer. He rolls his shoulders again. Makes fists and looks round at the guards. ‘Come on then,’ he says mildly. ‘Get it over with . . .’