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
Harry turns as the chair slams into his chest. He goes down amongst a shower of broken wood and men diving in with kicks, punches and stamping feet. Safa goes in fast. Her eyes locked on the man that hit Harry with the chair. He turns to face her. The rage on his face morphing into a puzzled expression as she sidesteps as though to go past him but then hooks her arm out across his neck, slamming him down into the ground. She follows through with a fist ramming into his nose, breaking it instantly. She twists as she rises. One step into the maelstrom of violence centred on Harry and she leg sweeps one away and throat punches another, who drops back gargling for air with his hands clutching his neck. She hits two more away before the mass realise what’s happening and go for her. She’s fast, though, and tough too. She hits hard and ducks to weave and bob, using her knees and elbows to hit and strike anything that comes at her. She is brutal. She is efficiency of training in doing a thing she excels at. Every move is calculated. Every punch is aimed. An arm comes round her neck from behind. She drops instantly on to her back to kick up with the heel of her foot into the man’s face. She rolls over and away before rising swiftly as Harry surges up, sending men sprawling as he roars to fight on.
Ben just watches. His mind now empty. His eyes watching, but his head detaching from the present reality. In that chaos he almost calmly takes in just how bloody tough Safa is. She’s vicious. Totally and utterly vicious.
The fight gets worse. The violence increases. The men are hurt and angry. They grab staves of wood from the broken chairs and rush at Harry and Safa with weapons. In return they get broken arms, dislocated shoulders, snapped fingers, fractured wrists and busted noses. Still it increases. Still it gets worse. Safa is struck by a fist hammering into the side of her face, snapping her head over as a blond-haired man slams a length of broken chair into the back of her legs. She goes down hard and tries to roll away as Harry is taken down by two men launching at his legs and a third grabbing him round the neck. Safa rolls and tries to rise but the blond-haired man runs at her, battering her down with the length of wood with a wild, raging scream.
For Ben, time slows the same as it did twice before. Once when he was seventeen and the other just a few hours ago on the platform at Holborn. Everything in perfect clarity. Every move predicted and laid out.