lips and tongue. McCain was next to her, his gun held loosely, watching with interest. He glanced back. The crocodiles were halfway across the river. His first instinct was to run, but he knew he would be shot if he tried. Nor would he be allowed back on the platform. Everything had been carefully arranged. There was only one way of escape.
Sick with himself, knowing that he was doing exactly what McCain wanted, Alex climbed the stepladder. He was trying not to panic, but now his every instinct was driving him up, out of harm’s way. As he drew nearer to the top, he felt the whole structure tremble underneath him and for one terrible moment he thought he was going to fall. Somehow, he managed to steady himself. He reached the top even as the first crocodile heaved itself out of the water and began to crawl toward him.
Alex turned back and looked at it. It was a mistake. In an instant he felt the terror that McCain had promised him, the deep-rooted fear of this ancient monster that had to be hot-wired into every human being. The crocodile that had just emerged was almost twice his own size, from the ugly snout to the writhing tip of its tail. Its great mouth was open, with two lines of ferocious white teeth waiting to snap shut on his arm or leg. That was how they operated, of course, clamping down on their victim and then dragging them back into the water. And only when the bones were loose and the flesh had begun to decompose would they begin their feast.
But worst of all were the eyes, midnight black, snake-like, and swollen on the side of its head, surely too small for its body and filled with hatred. They really were the eyes of death. Alex had heard it said that crocodiles wept as they attacked their prey, but there would be no pity in those eyes. They were part of a machine that existed only to kill.
The second crocodile was a little smaller and much quicker. Alex saw it overtake the other, scuttling over the shingle on its short, squat legs, all the way to the foot of the ladder.
He climbed the last few steps, using his hands to steady himself at the top. If he fell! . . . He could imagine it. Smashing into the shingle. Perhaps breaking an ankle or a leg. And then being torn apart between the two animals as they fought over him. There could be no more horrible death.
The crocodile threw itself at the ladder and the whole thing shuddered. How many people had McCain terrorized in this way? He looked up. He still wasn’t level with the observation platform. He knew what he had to do. With dreadful care, he balanced himself on the highest step. The handles at the end of the pipe were directly above him. Swaying, using his arms to steady himself, he reached up and grabbed hold of them. His fingers closed around them even as the larger crocodile reared up, throwing its entire weight against the ladder. The whole thing came crashing down. Alex was left dangling in space.
And now he saw how McCain had arranged things.
He was facing McCain, the two of them level with each other, no more than a yard apart. The two crocodiles were directly underneath Alex, climbing on top of each other, snapping at the air. For the moment he was safe. But he was stretched out, hanging in space, clinging to the pipe by his fingers. His wrists and arms were already feeling the strain as they supported his entire body weight, and the burn of lactic acid was building up in his shoulders. It was just as McCain had said. He was actually inflicting the pain on himself, and it would get worse the longer he hung there. In the end, of course, he would have to let go. And that was the horror of it. Once he dropped, there would only be more pain and then death. How long did he have?
“The longest anyone has ever remained where you are is eighteen minutes,” McCain said. He spoke slowly and evenly. He didn’t have to raise his voice to make himself heard. “The man in question had lost his sanity before the end. He was giggling as he fell. But you, Alex, you have one hope, one chance of survival. My men can shoot at the crocodiles and scare them away. But first you have to answer my questions, and you have to make me believe you. If you can make that happen, then you will be safe.” Alex swore. It was difficult to speak. All his concentration was fixed on his hands, the increasing pain in his arms, the need not to let go.
“I dislike that sort of language, Alex,” McCain said. “I am, after all, an ordained priest. Would you like me to go away for five minutes and come back when you’re in a better frame of mind?” One of the crocodiles leapt toward him. Instinctively, Alex pulled his legs up, curving them in toward his stomach. The movement put extra strain on his arms, but he actually heard the jaws of the animal snap together and he knew there were mere inches between it and his ankles.
“No,” he shouted. His voice was strangled. He didn’t sound like himself. But he had to get this over with. “Ask me what you want.”
He had been hanging for less than a minute. It already felt longer. He would never manage another five, let along another seventeen. In his desperation, he found himself twisting around. His wrists crossed and he had to jerk his body to bring himself face-to-face with McCain.
“The first question, then.” McCain paused. He was speaking deliberately slowly. He knew that every second only added to the torture. “Why were you at Greenfields?”
“It was a school trip.”
“You’re still lying to me, Alex. I’m going to leave you for a little while . . .” McCain turned his back on Alex and walked away. Below, on the beach, the crocodiles were writhing together in a frenzy of claws and scales and black eyes and teeth.
“It’s the truth!” Alex shouted after him. His hands were sweating, making it even more difficult to keep his grip. “It was a biology project for my teacher Mr. Gilbert. But then MI6 asked me to help them.
They weren’t interested in you. It was Leonard Straik.”
McCain turned back. “Go on.”
“There was someone in Greenfields. An informer . . .” What was his name? Alex thought back desperately. “Philip Masters. He’d gone to the police and then he was killed. That was why they wanted to find out about Straik.”
“You broke into his computer.”
“They gave me a memory stick. That was all they asked me to do.”
“What about Poison Dawn?”
“They never said anything about Poison Dawn. They never even mentioned it to me. I’m telling you, they only knew about you and Straik when I told them I’d seen you together.”
“That was very unfortunate. What else did you tell them?”
“I told them I heard the two of you talking . . . but you didn’t say anything that made any sense. I gave them the stuff I found in Straik’s office.” To Alex, it was as if his arms were being torn out of his shoulders. He could feel his body hanging in space. He didn’t dare look at the crocodiles below. “But I never even spoke to them again. I don’t know what they know. They don’t know anything else. . . .” McCain let him dangle in silence. Ten seconds dragged to twenty and then to half a minute. Alex felt every one of them. He could feel his bones wrenching in their sockets and knew that McCain was doing this on purpose. He was staring straight into
