Fowler hoped he’d judged Trouillot right. It would be a mistake to automatically assume everyone operating a plane in Florida was involved in smuggling, but that didn’t mean a substantial number of them weren’t.
Trouillot gave them both an appraising look. ‘Like that, is it?’
Fowler waited, saying nothing.
Trouillot sighed and held a hand up. ‘Fine. It’s not like anyone’s much in the mood for fishing these days, anyway. Let’s see what kind of notes you’ve got.’
Fowler reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a single roll, noticing the way Trouillot’s eyes widened when he saw how thick it was. He peeled a number of notes off and handed them over.
Trouillot thumbed through the notes, then his eyes followed the remainder of the roll as Thomas stuffed it back in his pocket. ‘That’s a hell of a lot of money to be carrying around like that,’ he observed.
‘Enough for a down-payment on another sub-orb,’ replied Fowler. ‘But the rest of this is for you, if you can get us to where we want to go.’
Trouillot’s eyes flicked back to the screen, his expression becoming troubled. ‘Sounds good. Assuming I ever get the chance to spend it, that is.’
They took off less than an hour later, after Trouillot had run a routine systems check on one of the sub-orbs, and primed its engines. The craft shuddered violently, once its primary boosters kicked in at ten thousand metres, the sudden surge of power crushing the three of them back against their seats until Fowler could feel the metal frame of the acceleration couch pressing through its thick padding and into his spine. But just a few seconds later he felt his weight rapidly fall away, signalling that they were close to the apex of a long arc that would carry them halfway around the globe.
Amanda unbuckled herself from her acceleration couch and pushed herself over to the nearest window, while Trouillot, seated forward in the cockpit, continued talking to someone back on the ground. Semi-transparent weather maps and data feeds slid across the windscreen in front of him.
Fowler got up and joined her, and together they gazed down towards the surface of the Earth curving away below them, under the shadows of clouds drifting across the face of the ocean. They could see the water around the Keys, as bright aquamarine shading into vivid azure depths. Ominous clouds of ash drifted across the Gulf of Mexico.
‘I know I’ve said this already,’ said Amanda, ‘but I’m really glad we’re doing this.’
He rested one hand against her back, and reflected on how all the pain and worry and fear that had been keeping him awake for weeks on end had dissipated away the moment he’d decided to follow her to the Marianas. He didn’t even have to ask Amanda to know it was the same for her. Her eyes were no longer red-rimmed, and, when she smiled, she looked happier than he ever remembered seeing her.
‘Look,’ Amanda said suddenly, her hands pressed against the glass. ‘Can you see? There’s more of them.’
He looked over to the west of California, now receding into the east, and saw several wide swirls of white cloud out beyond the coastline, about where the deep ocean itself started. Seeing the growths like this awakened something primal within him, as if he were a caveman staring up at a thunderstorm with no comprehension or understanding of the energies about to strike him down.
st into his guts. Creasing up, he felt an arm wrap itself firmly around his neck. Something ice-cold touched his throat, and consciousness rapidly slipped away.
TWENTY-ONE
Sophia, Newton Colony, 5 February 2235
Saul found his way back to consciousness by small, faltering degrees, at first only dimly aware of a slight greying in the darkness that pressed up close against his face. The floor on which he lay was hard and unyielding and, as he tried to move, he quickly found his hands were securely tied behind his back. The thick cloth of the hood covering his head felt uncomfortably tight, and his chin itched abominably against the rough fabric.
He twisted, wriggling like an eel, until he was lying on his belly rather than his side.
He soon realized, to his considerable relief, that his legs were not similarly bound, so he could stand and even walk. With his tongue he traced the rim of a tiny hole cut into the hood, to prevent him from suffocating. It wasn’t nearly large enoug.
With a bit of work he shifted himself into a kneeling position. He noticed how the light brightened or dimmed depending on which way he turned his head, which suggested the presence of either a window or a light. He became increasingly aware of background noises, which resolved into the rumble of machinery, and the sound of voices coming from a considerable distance.
He shouted for attention, his dry throat feeling as sore as if he had swallowed a razor. He suddenly felt an urgent need to urinate. Somehow, not being able to see began pushing him close to the edge of outright panic.
He swallowed with some difficulty before making a second attempt at shouting for help. What came out sounded more like the cry of a trapped or wounded animal than anything that belonged in a human throat. He yelled yet again, even though he had already concluded no help would be forthcoming.
Saul froze as he heard the sound of a door opening, then closing again, followed by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. He gasped with shock as a pair of hands grabbed him roughly and dragged him to his feet. He kicked out instinctively, and felt something hard slam against the back of his head with sufficient force for his knees to buckle.
Once more, the same hands hauled him upright, and this time he didn’t resist. As he was dragged away, the glimmer of light first faded and then intensified, and he was aware, from the echo of his own footsteps, that he was being taken from one room to another. Several doors opened and closed before he was finally shoved against a wall.
A moment later he heard the familiar click of a weapon’s safety catch being released, followed by the chill sensation of a gun barrel being pressed up against one side of his head.
