‘John, are you okay?’
I opened my eyes to see Marie standing over me, the others filing out the door behind her. I hadn’t been aware of my leg bouncing up and down. I was panting. I took a deep breath and held it in my chest, pushing against my ribcage. After a few seconds I coughed and stretched down to the vodka bottle on the floor.
‘Tired,’ I said simply. Which was true, lack of sleep always made the symptoms worse.
‘You don’t look well,’ she said. ‘Maybe leave the bottle?’
I took a swig, put it back down, and pushed my fingers into my eyes. My breathing was back to normal.
‘Are you coming to bed?’ she said.
A little forward, I thought, though I usually wouldn’t argue – but it turned out that whilst lost in my head I’d missed the conversation. To stay together, and to avoid Clay’s festering corpse, the six of us would go three to a room. Hurley and Marie would join me in my room, with Dash, Greenbow, and Alice next door. If anything happened we’d all hear it. If people were having doubts about one of the six of us, they’d feel better in a group, all watching each other. There were no arguments, it was a solid plan in the circumstances.
Alice was holding the door for me, concern on her face. As I stepped through she looked at the others then leant in quickly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll watch the captain. You watch her.’ She pulled away before Marie arrived at my side. A strange comment to make but before I could reply she’d already rushed to catch them.
In my room I gallantly took the floor, offering Marie my bed. It didn’t seem right her sleeping in Demeter’s bed, what with him being dead – although to be fair my bed was only once removed from belonging to a dead man. Hurley dragged his own blankets in, dumping them on Demeter’s bed before disappearing to the toilets. Marie and I tried to listen to the others through the dividing wall. I took a tablet from my washbag.
‘Are you ill?’ Marie whispered.
I swallowed it and laid down. ‘Sometimes, when I’m tired… I’m all right.’
‘You don’t look all right. You need to get off the island.’
How could I tell her that the opposite was true? The itching inside, the tremors and nausea, the faces, they only visited when I spent time with my own mind. It all went quiet when the bullets started flying. A junkie, addicted to a drug that’s slowly killing them and constantly playing roulette with instant death.
She rolled over, staring at the ceiling. ‘Sorry again for locking you outside.’
‘I’d have done the same.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘Doesn’t matter. In a few hours we’ll be on the ship eating a nice cooked breakfast.’
‘Easy for you to say, you’re used to this kind of thing.’
‘I can promise you I’ve never done anything like this before.’
‘This is your world.’
‘I’m no different to anyone else here.’
She turned her head to me. ‘You’re nothing like anyone here, I saw it when you walked in this morning. You’ve seen things. You can wear different clothes, say different things, but you can’t change your eyes. Tell me, what kind of person chooses this –’ she waved her hand around – ‘this shit as a career?’
‘No one chooses it.’
She rolled back over, quiet for a moment, I almost thought she’d gone to sleep until she said softly, ‘I watched you signalling the ship.’
‘Get some sleep.’
‘I ran to get away, while you were distracted. I didn’t realise you’d already finished your message.’
‘I told you, all’s forgiven.’
‘I didn’t think anything of it until you told the others about your conversation with the ship.’ She sat up in bed, eyes narrowed, at first I thought it was anger but no, more like concern. ‘You can’t have said more than five words to them.’
More like four. All well. Be ready.
‘You know Morse?’
‘No, but I know people.’ She chewed her lip then pointed at my arm. ‘Which one is Afghanistan?’
I shuffled and turned my arm over, running a finger over the tattooed outline of the country’s borders as it curved across my wrist.
‘What really happened to that neighbour?’ she asked.
I didn’t want to lie again but the truth wouldn’t help. This wasn’t the time to tell her that I could still feel the snap of the man’s bones against my boots, feel his pulse panicking through his neck as I dragged him out back to the stream, to his death. Him and all the others over the years.
‘Seriously, Marie, you need to get some sleep. Help is on the way, trust me.’
‘I’m not stupid. You didn’t have that conversation with the ship because you want to catch the killer yourself. You want to deal with them yourself, just like in Afghanistan. That seems unnecessarily risky.’
Credit where it’s due, she was bang on the money, though the risk was all mine and that’s why I get paid the big bucks. Plus I honestly believed it was the best way to ensure the right person was caught. Didn’t matter, there was no time to reply as the door swung open and Hurley climbed into Demeter’s bed.
‘I hope you’ve brushed your teeth,’ he said, ‘cos you don’t wanna be going in there for a while.’
Marie rolled over. I switched off the lamp and lay back down.
‘Greenbow was acting weirdly, eh?’ said Hurley.
I ignored him.
‘Wonder if that bullet in the wall matches his Browning.’
‘Shut up, Hurley,’ said Marie.
Truth was, I’d thought the same.
It was the same calibre.
Chapter Fifty-three
Clay’s death bothered me, it didn’t fit the pattern. We assumed that Andy had been killed to test the anthrax, and the others to cover up its existence. But what about Donald Clay? He’d been an even bigger bastard than Eric Gambetta, but had that been enough to kill him? Had he been killed because he knew something? I doubted he really knew anything that went on.
I squashed the thoughts down, trying to count sheep. Impossible. I’d rather have gone back to those cold caves in northern Pakistan, full of camel spiders and mercenaries with the shits, than stay on that plastic floor. I rolled onto my side. My arm hit something that clinked, rolling away under the bed. The empty bottle of Scotch that I’d poured out the window the previous day. No – I’d only arrived that morning! Jesus, my head was a shed. Marie tutted somewhere above me, thinking I was taking a sip.
No, hang on. My brain was fogged but I knew that when I’d opened the bottle I’d poured a fair bit out the window. I’d wanted an open bottle of Scotch lying around to reinforce the idea that I was a drunk, too incapacitated to be effective.
I’d placed the bottle on the floor by the bed. I thought back to what I’d seen when I’d screwed the windows shut earlier. A half-empty bottle on the bedside table. When we’d then gone room to room looking for Demeter, the bottle had been even emptier, shifting back to the floor.
I blinked even though it was dark, focusing my mind. ‘The poison was meant for me.’
‘What poison?’ Hurley asked.
‘Clay, the thieving bastard, has been helping himself to my Scotch. That’s what didn’t sit too well with him.’
‘We don’t know Clay was poisoned. He could have had a heart attack.’
‘Probably did. Brought on by something in his drink.’
‘Like what?’ asked Hurley.
‘I bet there’s a ton of things in those labs that’d kill you.’
‘That’s true,’ said Marie. ‘There are a lot of uncontrolled substances in there that would be lethal, before you get to the anthrax.’
I had thought about the anthrax, about whether his killer had used some of the Gruinard strain in the Scotch, in the same way Kyle had been dispatched, but I discounted it. There would be an autopsy on Clay, his body wasn’t going anywhere. Whoever had killed the others and hidden that sample under the floor wouldn’t want to risk Porto
n Down isolating the strain from Clay’s body, would want to keep their sample unique. Easier to use something else, whatever chemicals or toxins they could get their hands on from the labs, it didn’t matter.
‘But any poisonous substances would show up in an autopsy?’ said Marie.
‘So what? Just another of Demeter’s victims.’
‘Why would someone want you dead?’ said Hurley. ‘I think this place has got to ya, John. You’re paranoid, get some sleep.’
It wasn’t paranoia. Someone had wanted me out of the way since the morning, but thanks to the impression I’d created, they’d laced the Scotch to get rid of me. Shit, if they’d poisoned the custard creams I’d probably be lying out there on the hillside somewhere with a frozen heart and a gas mask full of puke.
It could have been tampered with at any time and by anyone in the base. Someone had marked me out for execution even this morning, this was their second attempt. Who’d want me dead? Who’d seen me with the tea sample? Gambetta, but I could discount him since he was lying in the radio room missing half his head. Alice, but she already knew I was here undercover to investigate Kyle’s death – it was her who had raised the alarm in the first place. Someone else must have seen. Even this morning that person thought I knew too much.
There was a shout from the room next door, I was on my feet with Hurley at my side, moving on autopilot. More shouts, thuds, furniture breaking, something smashed, Alice screamed; we were out of our room, into the corridor, into their room.
Chapter Fifty-four
We pushed through the door to see Dash straddling Greenbow, arm raised. His other hand gripped Greenbow’s, slamming his pistol against the floor. He brought his fist down into Greenbow’s face, not a particularly strong blow but with Greenbow pinned, the fight was one-sided. Dash raised his arm again but before he could swing I grabbed it, twisted it round.
‘Let me go, he’s flipped!’ Dash shouted.
Hurley gripped Dash’s other hand, wrenching it away from Greenbow. He realised his error as Greenbow, now free, brought the gun up.
‘Get off me!’ Greenbow screamed, pointing the gun at Dash’s head. I stamped down on Greenbow’s arm, pinning it to the floor again. A gunshot blasted in the tiny room, the bullet punched into a cupboard. I ground Greenbow’s wrist beneath my foot. Rapid shots followed as Greenbow screamed, jerking the trigger, sending splinters and shards of laminate ricocheting around the room. People dove for the floor as bullet after bullet slammed the walls and furniture. Hurley wrapped a huge arm around Dash’s neck, hauling him backwards, but as soon as Greenbow’s other arm was free, he whipped it round into my knee. I staggered back as he stood, levelling the pistol at Dash and Hurley. Everyone froze.
‘You idiots!’ Dash shouted above the ringing in my ears. ‘He’s gone mad, he’s gonna kill me!’
‘Get away from him!’ Greenbow screamed. ‘He killed Gambetta!’
‘Put the gun away,’ I said calmly.
‘Tell them!’ The pistol didn’t waver as he stooped to swipe up his beret. ‘Tell them about the watch!’ He smoothed his hair down and replaced the beret. It flicked a switch, calming him down, almost returning him to normality, or what passed for his brand of normality.
‘Put the gun away, Captain,’ I said again, more firmly this time.
Greenbow’s eyes flicked sideways. His pistol followed a split second behind, stopping as he finally realised my gun was pointing at him. His mouth flapped open. ‘You can’t shoot me, I’m still in charge!’
‘These bullets don’t give a shit about rank, Captain.’
He sidestepped towards the door. ‘Tell them where you got it, Chaudhary.’
‘He’s gone mad,’ said Dash, shaking.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ I asked.
‘He’s wearing Gambetta’s watch.’
All eyes flicked to Dash. He shook his arm, trying to pull his shirt down, but there it was, the Tag Gambetta had been wearing when he’d been shot, the one I’d seen when I’d checked the room.
‘I knew someone had moved his arm. You took his watch?’
‘Why did you do that?’ Alice said, stepping away from Dash. I noticed they’d all moved back, leaving him standing alone.
‘He killed him!’ said Greenbow. ‘Tie him up.’
‘We’re not tying anyone up.’ I brought the pistol up, just slightly, just enough to remind him.
‘I’ll see you court-martialled,’ he said to me, edging closer to the door.
‘That’ll be difficult, since I’m a civilian.’
Pausing in the doorway, he swept the Browning around the room. ‘When the helicopter arrives I’ll have you all arrested for aiding a killer.’ He stepped into the corridor. ‘I’m warning you, anyone steps foot in my room they’ll get a bullet between the eyes.’
The door slammed.
All eyes returned to Dash, and so did the barrel of my gun. He looked at each of us in turn, landing on me, on the evil-looking Heckler & Koch in my hand.
‘The captain’s right,’ I said. ‘Last time I saw that watch it was on Gambetta’s wrist.’
‘Look, I’m not a thief. And I didn’t kill Gambetta.’
‘Convince me.’
The bed groaned as he sat. He sighed, brushing splinters off the sheets, staring at his feet, finally inhaling deeply and looking up. ‘It’s my watch. I was getting it back.’
‘Why did Gambetta have it?’ I asked.
‘I owed him money, okay? The cards… it was security, ’til we got back to the mainland. Don’t look at me like that, he doesn’t need it, it was never really his.’
‘Where’s the missing window key?’
‘Which one?’
‘The one you took from the radio room.’
‘Wait, I thought you took it? Marie said you had a key?’
‘Long story, I had a different key all along. So who took the key from the radio room?’
Dash just stared open-mouthed. Hurley and Alice stared back hard. He looked at Marie, imploring.
I lifted my jumper, slid the pistol back into the holster, which broke the tension. Marie knelt to dab Dash’s split lip. I’d no way of knowing if his story were true or not, but it was plausible and accepting it was better than holding a gun on him all night.
‘He attacked me to divert attention from himself, if you ask me,’ Dash continued.
‘Don’t push it,’ I said.
‘You think Greenbow’s the killer?’ asked Hurley, turning to me.
‘He’s lost the plot, but a killer? Nah.’
‘Try saying that when you’re on the receiving end,’ said Dash. ‘He just tried to shoot me. I’d be dead if you hadn’t come in, so don’t tell me he’s not a killer.’
‘We should stay together,’ said Marie.
I looked at the smashed furniture, the line of bullet holes stitched up the wall. ‘In my room,’ I said, poking my head into the dark corridor. Greenbow had disappeared.
We returned to my room, double-checking the window was secure. Alice and Marie took the beds, Dash and Hurley on the floor in between. I sat against the door where I could keep my eyes on the window – and crucially, the other four. I envied Greenbow, in his own bed behind a locked door.
In the black, the snoring of the other four turned to whispers in my sleep-deprived mind, the drumming of the rain was gunfire. Shapes swirled in the darkness, forming figures writhing around the room. I screwed my eyes shut, occupying myself by stripping my pistol by touch, laying the components on the floor, reassembling them, the familiarity of process keeping the phantoms at bay. Not long now. Just had to make it to morning then put my plan into action. I turned it over in my mind, fighting to stay awake.
My head rested against the door.
Lines of sheep run in both directions, tethered to wire fences stretching into the mist. Bodies held in crates, bleating heads sticking out through a hole so they can eat if they want to, but none of them do. Poles spear the sky, sudden flashes light th
e tips, rain cascades out, rolling along the ground in a great cloud. I’m lost in a fog, swirling grey, crows barking in the distance, laughter nearby. Muffled gunshots are swallowed, indistinct shapes encircle me, beckoning, dissolving into the mist, I try to follow but it’s like pushing through old engine oil.
The bleating has stopped, complete silence as the fog descends to the mud, tendrils of mist seeping away through the grass, leaving behind rows of sheep heads, hanging from the crates by rotting threads. One after another they drop to the ground then roll over, tumbling down the hillside.
Black oozes from the crates, trickling through the mud, reflecting streams creeping towards me. Noise explodes again as flies swarm from the crates, rising from the gore, buzzing around me, turning the sky as black as the ground. The creeping blackness holds me firm, sucking me down. A glove rises from the ooze, an arm, followed by a gas mask, no eyes. Dark sockets. One of the eyepieces is smashed. The mask droops, the mouth behind it screams, rising to a crescendo. There’s another flash, everything is white, searing heat. My brother, staring at me, his head completely motionless but somehow he’s shouting, imploring me to help, but I’m powerless. The sound dies away, everything is quiet, completely still as I sink lower. I have no power. No power. There’s no power.
Chapter Fifty-five
No power. My eyes snapped open. Pitch black, still paralysed, not sure what’s going on, what’s real and what’s nightmare. Sweat is beaded across my forehead, freezing cold. I was screwed up on the floor, neck bent into the door, solidified, as if I’d been poured there and left to set. No light filtered through the blinds. I tested my fingers, stretched my wrists. The hands of my watch had lost their luminosity. Early morning, I guessed. I gently untwisted my limbs, flexed them, waited for the numbness to give way to agonising pins and needles, side effects of yet another uncomfortable night. As I waited for control of my muscles to return to me, my thoughts flitted between dead sheep, endless mud, sand, burning SUVs, and, God, it was cold. Hurley or Dash snored somewhere and, barely audible, Marie’s soft rhythmic breathing to my right.
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