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Back The Dead Line Save as PDF
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

Emily’s eyes were fixed on Casey’s. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please just bring me back my baby.’

32

32

There was a long queue at passport control. The airport was filled with tired Bangladeshi men travelling home. Ed and Casey had flown to Qatar first, and on the flight to Bangladesh they were surrounded by the poorest workers, looking awkward on plush airline seats.

Going home, though. Going home. Because they might have been in Qatar for months, these men. Years, even. Building the palaces and the towers, the stadiums and the follies, all in that blazing heat. For decades, Bangladesh has sent its workers abroad, for some sort of chance. Any sort of chance, really.

Now Ed held Casey’s hand as they got closer to passport control. She glanced down for a second, seeing their fingers intertwined, her knuckles white.

‘OK?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine.’

On the other side of the border, Casey hid their own passports deep in her luggage. Dominic’s and Emily’s passports were in her handbag, easy to reach. Casey slid her hand into her bag for a second and traced the gold lettering, just for a second.

In the Name of Her Majesty . . . to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance . . . Always taken for granted, those most precious words.

And then they walked out into the chaos of the airport, staring round the crowded room as the mosquitoes buzzed about them.

A man glanced at them, looked away. Burton-Smith, read his sign. Casey felt the surge of adrenalin as they walked towards him, with those nervous smiles. Would he guess? Would he know? Would he bite?

‘Dominic and Emily.’ Ed held out his hand, the words solid, so respectable. ‘How do you do?’

As he spoke, Ed wrapped his arm around Casey, and she melted into his side, smiling round at the man.

The man lowered the sign, black eyes flickering over them. Casey forced herself to breathe, the nerves twining in her throat. Please.

‘Welcome to Bangladesh,’ the man smiled, with a half-bow as he swept the sign across his heart.

And Casey’s smile was real, at once.

He was wearing a beautiful black suit, his English impeccable. This must be the man who brought Theo to Vivienne, Casey thought, in that hotel lobby those years ago. Taller than most of the Bangladeshis, and looking down at the airport as it rushed around him.

‘I am Raz,’ the man grinned.

Raz clicked his fingers at an elderly Bengali man beside him, who snatched up their luggage.

‘Please, Mr and Mrs Burton-Smith, do come with me.’

There was a sharp intelligence in Raz’s eyes, and the sense of a snake uncoiling as he began to move across the concourse. Do not underestimate this man, Casey thought.