BooksBarbecue
Back The Dead Line
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

And down came the factory, with a mountain’s roar.

The rescue took days. One woman, afterwards, told how she was passed a hacksaw to cut off her own arm. It took hours, she said, trapped under a steel beam. She would saw a bit, pass out, come round.

Casey was back in Chittagong before dawn, driven through the night in an old taxi she found a few blocks from their hotel. On her screen she had watched the Land Cruiser manoeuvre round the north-west of the city, before coming to a halt in the industrial area. And the moment it parked, Casey was on her way.

Hessa was waiting in a faded business hotel, near the centre of Chittagong, her face lighting up as Casey arrived.

‘Welcome to Chittagong,’ Casey grinned. ‘We’ve got to hurry.’

34

34

It had been odd, flying into Dhaka on her own, Hessa thought. Odd not to have her whole family around her, bickering, squabbling, and being met at the airport by a dozen more relatives. Waiting for Casey’s call, she had drifted around and around Gulshan Park. Clockwise, the way they always had. Hessa stared at the pink flowers, and the red roses, and the steep, lush banks sliding down to the sludgy green lake, and wondered.

You have to choose.

She crossed back and forth over the bridges as the joggers ran past. All around the park, she noticed the old buildings replaced by the new. She felt a jolt of sadness at the loss, even though she barely remembered the old ones.

I never had this life, so why do I miss it?

It was easy to blend in, almost. She went to the shops, bought some clothes. A sari, orange and pink. A shawl, the chips of diamante glittering as she moved. Gold earrings, dangling nearly to her shoulders.

You have to choose.

Three girls were in the changing room, chatting about last Saturday and next Saturday and the Saturday after that. Hessa’s conversations, in London.

I never had those friends, so why do I miss them?

She wondered about her mother, a lifetime ago. Did she gossip with her friends, just like this? Hold up the shiny earrings, the long bright sari? I was never here, so why do I have these memories?

Hessa was relieved to hear from Casey. Fly to Chittagong, Hessa, as soon as possible. She had barely unpacked a thing. It took her only a moment to leave that dark hotel room.

In the Chittagong dawn, Hessa and Casey focused on the building where the black Land Cruiser had parked for the night. It was a big white structure that took up a whole block, five floors high. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, to let in as much light as possible.