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
The twelve hired men were blindfolded then driven round Berlin for a few hours before being led downstairs to a cellar, where the portal was open against a wall covered by a thick curtain that gave the impression they were moving from one room to another through a standard doorway.
None of those survivors could say who hurt them other than it was two men and a woman. One of the men was called Harry and he was English. That was it. They didn’t know where they had been taken or who ran the prototype detention centre.
Herr Markel put the word out. His men were tough. They were all ex-military. They were professionals and now six were dead. Who did this?
The security services in Berlin react in the manner of a close-knit community, reeling from the impact of six operatives killed in one unknown job. That catches the attention of the local intelligence services. In turn, that feeds into the immensely heightened state of surveillance currently under way.
That attention instantly shifts to Berlin. They have a location. They have a start point. Berlin is immediately geofenced. Hundreds of analysts from dozens of organisations are put to work scouring every social networking account, every email, every text message and every voicemail going into or coming out of Berlin.
Agents are despatched to put boots on the ground. Airports become thick with countermeasures to lay false trails.
The secret, silent hunt begins in earnest.
Nine
Nine
Three austere, sterile rooms. Concrete walls. Concrete floors and ceilings. A single metal-framed bed in each room. Two of the rooms have metal shutters indicating the placement of a window.
‘Shit,’ Ben mutters at the pain in his retinas. Pain in his face. Pain in his knuckles and pain that seems to be coming from every part of his body at the same time. The memories come back quickly. The attack on the Underground. Waking up in here. Meeting Harry and Safa. Going into that big room, then the fight.
On his feet and again the dizziness rushes through him but he makes it to the door before his vision closes and he slides down the metal rivets into a crumpled, groaning heap on the floor.
Harry wakes the same as before. Opening his eyes slowly to adjust to the glare from the light. He tenses his limbs, feeling pain but knowing nothing is broken. He rises gently to sit on the edge of his bed, compensating for the wave of dizziness by moving gradually. The images of the fight swarm through his mind. The German guards he attacked. Why didn’t they shoot him? He did not expect to wake up again. With a grunt he remembers seeing Safa fighting and pushes a hand through his bushy beard. He’s never seen a woman fight like that before.