Part 52 (2/2)

When he moved, screams sounded, but only along his sinews as they cracked into motion. Then he was crawling to the end of the bridge avoiding spycams where he hung in place for minutes, before using counterpressure to climb around the end struts, then clamber onto the stairs.

He was in a surveillance blind-zone.

An automated street-cleaning drone moved like a giant louse along the kerbside, its lights strobing orange. It would have anti-vandal countermeasures, but for urban infiltration the Regiment's training was allinclusive: he knew how to avoid tripping the detectors.

Pre-dawn was smearing turquoise to the east. There was no foot traffic, no vehicle in sight besides the drone.

Now.

Two lunging steps and a shoulder-roll, and he was inside the carapace, clinging once more, squeezing his eyes to slits against the grit and noise.

Phase one of his evasion was under way.

There is an insomniac state of mind where someone thinks they are awake, while in fact tumbling through a series of micro-sleeps: undetected, unsatisfying, a safety mechanism for avoiding breakdown. Suzanne flitted in and out of grey drowsiness, worrying about Josh, her knowledge of neurology no help at all.

When the door chime sounded, a rush of acid filled her stomach.

Jos.h.!.+

But the wallscreen, switching to building surveillance, showed three bulky men on the landing outside her door. They had already pa.s.sed through the locked ground-floor entrance. Two wore police uniform, while the third was dressed in a suit and overcoat.

”Adam?”

He had left a message on her phone, hadn't he?

”Oh, G.o.d.”

She pressed the release, and electromag locks clicked open. When she pulled back the door, she blinked her sore eyes, unable to read their expressions.

Bad news?

Adam said: ”Can we come in, Suzanne?”

”Of... course. Yes.”

She was panicking, but she could not speak freely in front of the uniformed officers, not unless she could be sure they knew who Adam Priest was: not a civil servant in the Department of Trade and Industry as his ID declared, but a serving officer in MI5.

”I'm Inspector Edwards.” The larger officer held up his phone, showing the official sigil. After a second, it echoed on the wallscreen. ”And this is Inspector Calvin.”

The smaller man showed his ID the same way.

”Is Josh all right?” said Suzanne.

Inspector was a high rank; she was almost sure of it.

”Ma'am?”

”My... boyfriend. He's in a state of distress his daughter died and he went out running. I'm worried about him.”

”And his name is Josh?””Josh c.u.mberland.” She nodded towards Adam. ”You can tell them, can't you?”

”I already have,” said Adam. ”I could tell you I'd just b.u.mped into the officers by chance, but you probably wouldn't believe me.”

Suzanne had no answer. There were implications here, but she was too tired to unravel them.

”Coffee, ma'am?” asked Inspector Calvin. ”I could make some all round.”

Suzanne said, ”I'll just”

”I'll do it.” Inspector Calvin nodded towards the kitchen alcove. ”No problem.”

”Do you think he's in danger?” asked Adam.

”I'm afraid” Suzanne blew out a breath. ”He might turn that violence inwards.”

Then she wondered whether she had heard correctly. Had Adam said he's in in danger, or he's a danger? She closed her eyes, her nostrils feeling odd as she inhaled, dragging alertness into her mind. danger, or he's a danger? She closed her eyes, her nostrils feeling odd as she inhaled, dragging alertness into her mind.

Something was wrong, but not what she had feared.

”Where would he run?” said Adam. ”Any particular place?”

Inspector Edwards was checking his phone. He was behind Suzanne, a gloomy reflection in the now-dark wallscreen. He looked up at Adam? and shook his head.

Adam's eyes gave the tiniest flicker.

Do they know each other?

”He likes exploring new routes,” said Suzanne. ”No special place.”

”So is Josh very fit?” asked Adam. ”I mean, the way he was in the military.”

There had been a time, after last year's Knife Edge Knife Edge final, when Josh had been recuperating from cut- and stab-wounds: a snarling patient who was h.e.l.l to live with as he forced himself back to full activity. final, when Josh had been recuperating from cut- and stab-wounds: a snarling patient who was h.e.l.l to live with as he forced himself back to full activity.

”He ran fifty kilometres last Sunday,” said Suzanne.

”Some kind of marathon race?” Inspector Calvin was working the coffee machine. ”I've always wanted to try that.”

”Longer. But just a training run.”

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