Grigori's nerves jangle as he sees the ripples of ground spread silently out around the chapel: he is not superstitious but he belongs to the company of Spetsgruppa "V" assigned to KGB support operations, and this is a fucking graveyard at fucking midnight. He lowers the crossbow, raising his left hand to the matrioshka charm dangling at his throat just as the earth beneath him heaves and a bony claw punches up through the grass beneath him and reaches for his neck.

THE OCCULUS TRUCK ROARS ALONG THE M3 MOTORWAY, DRIVING south in darkness.

Major Barnes has a mobile phone glued to his ear. He's nodding unconsciously. Then he turns, looking at Angleton and Mo in the back of the cab. "Dr. Angleton, Dr. O'Brien, we have a fix."

Mo sits up instantly. "Yes?"

"That was Jameson at headquarters—DVLA have coughed up the registration details on Iris Carpenter's car. Highways Agency say it came this way earlier this evening and turned off onto the A322 at junction three. The ANPR cameras on that stretch are down, but looking at this map—what does Brookwood cemetery suggest to you?"

"Brookwood." Angleton raises an eyebrow. "Yes. Continue."

"I'm waiting for—" The major's phone rings again. "Excuse me." He flicks it open. "Yes?" He nods vigorously. "Yes, yes . . . I concur. Yes. I want you to get onto the Surrey Police control center and ask if the ASU can provide top cover. Get them to send a car with a downlink receiver round to the main entrance on Cemetery Pales, we don't have a police downlink—no, no, but if the armed response unit is on duty get them up there. Yes, I'm authorizing that." Barnes blinks at Angleton, who inclines his head. "I'm in the OCCULUS with Howe's brick; get the rest of third platoon moving immediately, I think we're going to need all the support we can get. Is there any SCORPION SCARE coverage—all right, that was too much to hope for. We should be at the gates in another fifteen minutes. Get the police to block all the roads in and out—The Gardens, Avenue de Cagny, yes, and the rest—tell them it's a terrorism incident."

When he finally hangs up he looks tired. "Did you catch that?" he asks.

Mo stares at him. "It's a cemetery. Yes?"

"Brookwood is not just a cemetery," Angleton informs her: "It's the London necropolis, the largest graveyard in Western Europe. Eight thousand acres and more than a quarter of a million graves."

The penny drops. Her eyes widen. "They're planning a summoning. You're thinking it's death magic?"

"What does it sound like to you? Lots of space, no neighbors within earshot, lots of raw fuel for a necromancer to work with, raw head and bloody bones." Angleton looks at Barnes. "Have you tried to call the cemetery site office?"

"Gordon tried that already. Got a bloody answering machine."