The mixture of relief and concern was a strange one. Jenny could not be calling about Sarah. Michael knew that, but still something was wrong.

He pressed to return the call and it was answered almost immediately.

Michael waited for Draper to speak but there was no sound.

‘Jenny?’

Michael felt his heart rate rising again when Draper did not respond. The knot in his stomach returned.

‘Jenny? Are you OK?’

Michael’s concern was increasing. Fast.

‘Listen, Jenny, whatever—’

‘I see you haven’t lost your accent, Michael.’ The voice that interrupted him was one that, until last night, he had never expected to hear again. Emotionless and clinical. Michael recognised it in an instant, knowing in that moment that it could mean only one thing.

‘You son of a bitch,’ Michael swore loudly. ‘If you hurt her—’

‘If I hurt her it will be entirely your fault, Michael. Just like all the others.’ The voice was no louder. It carried no urgency. The words just a statement of fact. ‘And if you don’t want that to happen you’ll do exactly as I say. Understood?’

Michael hesitated. Long enough to think through his options. Long enough to know he had none.

When he answered his voice was flat. Defeated.

‘Tell me.’

SEVENTY

3.45 a.m.

It had been a long two hours.

Michael sat at the wheel of an Audi A3. A smaller car than he was used to. One of thousands of Car Club vehicles parked across London. This one was ordinarily parked on St John’s Street, just a stone’s throw from Michael’s hotel. But right now it was forty miles from its base.

The darkness was absolute. A combination of the night and of the setting.

The village of Brookwood was over a mile away. The nearest major town – Guildford – six miles further. Michael was about as far from artificial light as was possible in twenty-first-century England. Natural light was minimal, too, thanks to the overhanging trees of the Surrey countryside.

Michael glanced at the Audi’s digital clock. The only illumination visible with the car’s battery turned off.

Still 3.45 a.m.

The time matched Michael’s watch exactly. Both told him the same thing.

He was fifteen minutes early.

The adrenaline that had gripped Michael in his hotel suite was gone. It would return, Michael was sure. What he was about to face made that inevitable. But for now he had just his nervous energy. His anticipation. His fear.

Brookfield Cemetery was around half a mile from where the Audi was parked. A three-minute drive at night, thanks to the dark country roads. That left Michael with twelve minutes to do what he had to do. To make the necessary arrangements. It was too long. The timing had to be right.

Michael fixed his eyes on his Omega Seamaster wristwatch and focused as the luminous second-hand swept smoothly around the watch’s face. Once. Twice. Three times.

Nine minutes, Michael thought. Good enough.

Michael’s iPhone was logged into the Audi’s hands-free system via Bluetooth. He had paired them before setting off. Temporarily dormant, the phone reconnected with the car’s electronic brain as soon as Michael turned the key. A single click left the engine off while switching on the electric power.