‘Yep, Father Marty. Uncle Marty to some. He talks to everyone. Even the Serpent. Actually, he is the only person I have ever seen speak to the Serpent. Interesting story behind it all, but yuck, I won’t go near him.’ She shook her head and lowered her voice. ‘He really freaks me out.’

‘What’s he like? The chaplain, I mean, not the Serpent.’

‘Marty? I dunno. He’s just Uncle Marty. He’s been here forever. Way before I got here. Why?’

‘Oh, no reason, really. Dunno. Guess I’m just a bit suspicious of the whole “come to God” routine. Especially in here. I can’t imagine he has a good strike rate.’

‘Oh no, he does okay, I think,’ Laura said, smiling again. ‘He’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked. I’ve heard he even helps guys out once they leave.’

Jax zoned out as she finished cleaning him up. She was saying something about X-rays, but Jax couldn’t focus. His mind kept returning to those eyes. There had been no life in them, no humanity. Jax wondered what Laura could see in his own eyes. Was there anything left in them?

The X-rays revealed Jax had a broken cheekbone and two cracked ribs. He spent the next four days in the clinic, locked away in his own hospital cell, mostly asleep. The painkillers were bliss – but the nightmares were hell. The Serpent had slithered his way into Jax’s head.

CHAPTER 12

Milan, Italy

HE tied the six nine-volt batteries together with the silver gaffer tape, exactly as he had been shown. Then he soldered the wires to the terminals: the red ones to the positive terminals, the black ones to the negative.

He picked up the trigger, a modified PC joystick, and pressed the red button. ‘Boom,’ he shouted.

‘What are you doing, dickhead,’ Adam shouted back. ‘Don’t even muck around with that shit.’

‘It’s not connected to anything,’ Steve said defensively. ‘The bomb’s in the oven, bra. Chillax.’

‘Just shut the fuck up,’ Adam replied. ‘You’re a dumb cunt. What if someone is listening, bruz?’

‘As if,’ Steve said. ‘Nobody has a clue. Fuck me. Stop acting like you’re my boss.’

Steve was glad it was almost over, as he couldn’t put up with Adam for much longer. He’d been living with him for almost two years – he didn’t know exactly how long because he’d stopped counting down days and looking at dates when he was released on parole. He figured they’d lived in the farmhouse for about a year and a half. A couple of hundred kilometres outside Sydney, in the middle of nowhere, completely isolated, but wanted for nothing. The Mahdi had set them up just like he’d promised. He gave them food, shelter, knowledge and, most importantly, a purpose.