Chapters (134)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J.S. MONROE
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Contents
- One week earlier
- 1
- Friday
- 2
- Saturday
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- Sunday
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- Monday
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- Tuesday
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- One week later
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- One month later
- 116
- Acknowledgements
- About the author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
Silas turns to look at her, closing his laptop. He definitely needs a cigarette. ‘Where?’ he asks.
‘Heathrow. Terminal 2. Waiting to board a flight to Thailand. She’s checked the airport data. No matching names on the manifest, no passport photo matches. Just a dirty spot made by Centaur – she’s sending over the smudge now.’
Silas leans across as Strover opens an email on her own laptop and clicks on the frame grab from the CCTV footage. He doesn’t see the figure at first, but then he notices him in a queue, wearing a baseball cap – and glancing up at the camera.
‘That’s him,’ she says, pointing at the screen.
Could it be? Silas leans in closer. There’s a taunting look of triumph in the man’s eyes that Silas doesn’t like. Doesn’t like at all. An air of mission accomplished. Of a job well done.
‘Maybe Gilmour didn’t need to frame Rob to destroy him,’ Strover offers, sitting back. ‘Just the threat of his arrival was enough to lead Rob astray. It became self-fulfilling, made him bend the rules, abduct super recognisers, kill barmen. He was desperate by the end, would have done anything to stop Gilmour coming for him. And he finally knew the game was up, that Gilmour had won, when we confronted him outside his flat in Shoreditch. There was only one way out. Give Gilmour what he wanted, what his doppelgänger had come for. His life. His soul.’
Silas stares at the image in stunned silence. It must be one of Rob’s other doubles. There were seven in total, weren’t there? And his features are barely visible. The likeness is only passing. It’s a software error. A case of mistaken identity.
Just another face in the crowd.
*
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Acknowledgements
Thank you to my consummate agent, Will Francis, and everyone at the London office of Janklow & Nebsit, particularly Kirsty Gordon, Zöe Nelson, Emma Winter, Ellis Hazelgrove and Rachel Balcombe. Thanks too to Kirby Kim and Brenna English-Loeb in the New York office.
I am indebted to all the team at Head of Zeus, my UK publishers, particularly Laura Palmer, the best editor in London; Florence Hare, Maddy O’Shea, Chrissy Ryan, Vicky Joss, Dan Groenewald and Nikky Ward. A special thank you too to Lucy Ridout for her forensic copyediting and spot-on suggestions, as ever. And thanks to Jon Appleton for proofreading.