Part 33 (2/2)

'b.l.o.o.d.y wept,' Zoe continued.

'Yes.'

That didn't leave much to say, for the moment. They sat watching the birds wheeling in front of them, as if in celebration of the gift of flight. Though actually, Sarah thought, birds didn't do that: birds were just birds, no more capable of taking joy in their gifts than men were. Ha! She must still be tired; she was definitely talked out.

Zoe lit another cigarette.

This time Sarah stretched her hand out, and Zoe dropped a cigarette into it without comment. The lighter flared. She felt the first drag catch the back of her throat, and her cough was pure reflex: a real hacking, throat-killing experience, her first in years.

Zoe said, 'That sounds really bad. Have you thought about giving up?'

'It's crossed my mind,' Sarah said, when she could speak.

'Course, it's not gunna kill you that much faster than anything else.'

That went past Sarah the first time. Then she thought about it, and nodded. 'I know.'

'You given much thought to your options?'

'I thought, the press.'

'Could be. Kind of depends on how much credibility you've been left with, though.'

'How do you mean?'

Zoe ticked them off on her fingers. 'You were caught packing dope. Your husband's a thief. You can't prove Rufus was anywhere near your house, because the spooks disappeared him . . .'

'What about your friend in the force?'

'Uh-uh. He's not a friend, he's a contact. And he's got a family to support and b.u.g.g.e.r all qualifications. That's why he joined the force in the first place.'

'Oh.'

'Plus, your friend Rufus isn't dead. That's the story, anyway. Word is, he's got terrorist connections, was using your friend Wigwam as cover I think the word ”dupe” was mentioned and went to ground when he was rumbled. And the press have already been told they can't print a word of this, so obviously they're convinced it's the truth. As for your friend Michael, he died years ago, remember?'

'Singleton's body . . .'

'Wasn't Singleton's. By which I mean, n.o.body's gunna have an easy job proving it was. Particularly given that what's left of him's been cremated.'

'So I need Michael.'

'Looks like. Pretty urgently, too, you ask me.'

Sarah looked at her.

'Sweetie, if I can find you, they can. And in case you've forgotten, we're fighting a war at the moment, rather than 'fess up to revolting toxic warfare experiments. If the spooks catch you now, I doubt a fake drugs bust will be their method of choice. Not now you've been in close contact with Downey. Even if he hadn't told you everything, they're bound to a.s.sume he did. There's no pretty way of saying this. They're going to kill you, Sarah.'

She nodded dumbly. She knew they were going to kill her. Hearing somebody else say it still had a raw edge to it somehow . . .

'But finding Michael Downey again, well, that would be a start.'

'He's gone after Dinah.'

'Yeah.'

'On this island. Somewhere out there.'

'I've got a map.'

Of course Zoe had a map; she probably had a car in the depths of that bag of hers. While she rooted it out, Sarah finished her cigarette: the first in a h.e.l.l of a long time but, such was the familiarity of it, probably not the last. Not the quickest way to kill yourself, after all . . . A sudden vivid flash, and she was looking at Joe again, slumped over his desk, the razor still in his hand. Rufus had done that. Killed him, arranged him, left him there: you didn't do a job like that without practice. And Rufus might be dead, but there'd be others just like him. Brothers under the skin.

Zoe hadn't seen Joe dead, but she'd buried him . . .

'You should go,' she said suddenly.

'You what?'

'It's like you said, they'll be after me. Sure. But they're not after you. They don't even know you're here.'

Zoe nodded. 'Probably not.'

'So go. You think, when they find me, they'll let whoever I'm with disappear? When they find me, they'll find you too.'

'But they haven't done that yet. Sarah. I'm not gunna make a big thing of this. But I can't just walk away. That would make me bad as them.'

'Better than being dead as me.'

'You're not dead yet, you silly b.i.t.c.h. You've done all right so far. Would you walk away and leave Dinah be?'

'If I'd done that, I'd not be in this mess.'

'But you didn't. So shut up. Look.' She spread the map out in front of them: the wind tugged at its corners, making a paper earthquake of the landscape. 'No islands.'

'Maybe we're on the wrong stretch of coast. Michael '

'Michael might have been wrong, sure. But if he was, and we're somewhere else entirely, then at least n.o.body will think of looking for us here. And if he was right, then the island's out there. It's just not on the map. Okay?'

'Can I have another cigarette?'

'Help yourself. So, first thing we do is, find a boat.'

'A boat?'

'Unless you were thinking of swimming. Or flying. Whatever. But personally, I think a boat. For crossing water, it's traditional.'

'You want to go find it?'

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