Contents ( 48)
- PAST LIFE
- David Mark
- PART ONE
- PROLOGUE
- 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
- PART TWO
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- PART THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘There have been break-ins,’ mutters McAvoy, looking around. ‘The calls from here – the missing equipment – the way he appeared and vanished again. He must be on the water. Must be somewhere by the shore.’
‘That doesn’t narrow it down,’ says Kincaid, apologetically.
McAvoy kicks a bin. Squats down, fists at his hairline, holding himself tightly. He can feel his heart thudding against his ribs. Can feel his blood moving in his veins.
‘I wasn’t eavesdropping,’ comes a voice from the door.
McAvoy looks up. Sees Lucas Barrington, hovering nervously in the doorway. ‘I think we’ve found your intruder,’ McAvoy says, though his voice barely rises above a whisper.
‘I don’t think I managed to get the words out,’ says Barrington, nervously. ‘After the break-on. The first one. Um …’
‘Not now, eh?’ says Kincaid, tactfully.
‘It’s just, like I tried to explain – I had trackers fitted. The sea canoe. The radio. The all-weather gear. Spent my own money, but, well, if it’s the same person, we can pinpoint his location almost exactly. Would you like me to show you?’
Kincaid offers McAvoy his hand. Hauls him to his feet as he takes it. McAvoy closes his eyes. The room is spinning, his head full of hopes and desperate fears. ‘Please,’ he mumbles. ‘Please.’
‘Still on the water,’ says Barrington, coming back in, staring at his laptop. He glances over the top of the screen. Sees McAvoy’s wide, pleading eyes. Glances back at the screen. Gives a little laugh. ‘Passed there this morning,’ he says, chattily. ‘Good spot to hide away, provided you don’t get any urban explorers knocking on your door.’
McAvoy takes the laptop from his hands. Looks at the flashing red dot on the screen, half a mile out to sea, where the Humber estuary becomes the sea.
‘Haile Sands Fort,’ he says, quietly. He looks at the coxswain. ‘You said you passed there …’
‘Body found down towards Mablethorpe. Bit of a trek for us but, well, that missing lad …’
McAvoy nods. Licks dry lips.
‘Do you want me to call 999?’ asks Barrington, quietly.
McAvoy stares into the computer screen. Calls up a memory of the great grey military tower, standing on metal legs in the middle of the water. Stops himself before he imagines his way inside, and fills his head with horrors at the thought of his Fin, captive and afraid.
‘No,’ says McAvoy, shaking his head. ‘I want you to take me there.’
‘Steady, sergeant,’ says Kincaid. ‘Come on, from what I’ve heard you’re the guy who does thing properly. By the book, so they say. I need to call my boss, tell him you’ve accepted the TTL verbally, absolved us of responsibility. You need tactical support, you need to know what you’re dealing with …’
McAvoy shoots out a hand and closes his fist around Kincaid’s face. Squeezes his mouth shut. Drags him close, eyeball to swivelling eyeball.
‘Get in the fucking boat.’
THIRTY-ONE
Twelve years ago
Hard rain and sticky skin; the air pungent, thick.