Sanctus

up from his paper and slid the glass panel to one side. His hat lay on the counter in front of him. An official-looking badge on the front said ‘Airport Security’.

‘Can I help you?’ he said, checking out the men inside.

‘Has a Gabriel Mann signed in today?’ a voice asked from the passenger seat.

‘Maybe. Who’s asking?’

Arkadian flipped open his leather wallet and leaned across the driver to show him. The guard peered over the edge of the counter and inspected the gold inspector’s badge. He pressed a button underneath the counter and the barrier started to rise. ‘Came in ’bout a half-hour ago with his girlfriend in tow,’ he said.

Arkadian felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle at the mention of a girl. ‘What did the girlfriend look like?’ he asked, slipping his badge back into his jacket pocket.

The guard shrugged. ‘Young. Blonde. Pretty.’

It wasn’t exactly a portrait in words but Arkadian had a fairly good idea who it was. He still hadn’t heard back from Sulley — or from Liv. ‘And where would I find them?’

‘Follow the yellow line,’ the guard said, leaning forward and pointing at a line of thick paint on the tarmac that curved away, parallel to the fence. ‘It’ll take you past the warehouses. They’ll be in hangar 12, about three hundred yards on the left. It’s the one with the old tail-gunner cargo plane parked out front.’

‘Thanks,’ Arkadian said. ‘And please don’t tell them we’re coming. This is not a social visit.’

The guard nodded uncertainly. ‘Sure,’ he said.

The car slipped beneath the barrier, the headlights following the bright yellow line round toward the row of grey, oblong warehouses. Most of them were shuttered up and silent. They slipped past the open windows of the car like headstones.

Up ahead a squat plane was parked on the concrete, its truncated rear pointing back towards a hangar. On the front of the building a large sliding door stood slightly open, spilling orange light out into the gathering gloom. ‘Kill the lights,’ Arkadian said to the driver, his eyes fixed on the gap, trying to see what lay beyond it. ‘And pull up short, I want to take a look-see.’

The driver hit a switch and the headlights died, plunging the road ahead into darkness. He slipped the car into neutral and killed the engine. With the headlights gone, Arkadian could see the stars starting to shine out of the inky sky beyond the hangar as they glided forward with a hiss of tyres on cooling tarmac.

When they got within fifty feet Arkadian held up his hand and the driver eased the car to a stop using the handbrake so as not to fire up the brake lights. Arkadian leaned out of his open window listening for voices, or any other noise coming from inside the warehouse. He heard nothing but the distant whine of jet engines and the ticking of the car as it started to cool in the evening chill.

He unclipped his belt, reached inside his jacket and slipped his gun from its pancake holster. The driver looked across. ‘You want me to come with?’ he asked.

He was a fresh stripe officer, newly minted. The smell of the street patrolman still clung to him despite the plain clothes. ‘No, I’ll be OK. Let me take a look first. I’ll wave you over if I think I need back-up.’

Arkadian reached up, flicking the switch on the car’s interior light so it would stay off then popped his door release and slipped into the night.

Chapter 111

Kathryn swept the remote off the desk, ramping up the volume on the TV as the newsreader filled in the details.

‘. . fire crews have rushed to the home of internationally renowned newspaper editor Rawls Baker and we are receiving reports that his body has been found burned to death at the wheel of his car.’

‘Oh my God,’ Liv said. ‘That’s my boss.’

The picture cut to an exterior of a residential street crammed with firetrucks and ambulances. Yellow police tape fluttered in the foreground keeping everyone back, while in the distance firemen, cops and paramedics gathered round the smoking skeleton of a car.

‘Did you phone him?’ Gabriel asked.

Liv nodded.

‘When?’

She shook her head and tried to remember. ‘Earlier today,’ she said.

‘Did you call anyone else?’

She thought hard, running back through the events of the morning. She hadn’t called anyone until she’d got away from the cops. Then she’d called her boss, and. .

She looked across at Kathryn. ‘I called you,’ she said.

Gabriel sprang across the floor towards his mother. ‘Give me your phone,’ he said.

She took it from her pocket and handed it to him. He checked the call log. Noted the time of Liv’s call. Held the power key to turn it off and turned to Liv. ‘We need to get out of here,’ he said. ‘Looks like they were not only tracing your phone, they were also tracing your calls. So anyone you’ve spoken to will be in danger.’

Liv looked back at the TV as another photo of Rawls cut on to the screen. It showed him standing in front of the offices of the Inquirer, beaming from ear to ear. She couldn’t believe he was now dead, just because she’d spoken to him. She couldn’t even remember what they’d talked about. Then she looked down, saw the smudged phone number on her hand, and remembered who else she’d called.

Chapter 112

Bonnie was upstairs in the nursery bedding the twins down when she heard the knock on the front door. She made no move to answer it. Myron was downstairs fixing lunch. He’d let her know if it was for her.

She smiled down at the two tiny faces, peeping out from their soft white blankets and cotton caps, and pressed a button on the plastic box fixed to the side of the double crib they shared. Above them a mobile started to twirl, black-and-white shapes waltzing along to the sounds of seagulls and the shore. One of the babies’ tiny mouths curled into a smile and Bonnie lit up at the sight of it — the hell with anyone who suggested it was only wind.

Her mobile phone rang in the bedroom next door, puncturing the moment. It had been going nearly constantly since Myron sent the group text announcing the arrival of Ella — six pounds four ounces — and brother Nathan, two ounces heavier and one minute younger. She took one last look at her babies then padded from the room, dimming the lights as she went.

Bonnie entered the bedroom, moving gingerly toward her phone, which stood charging on the nightstand. She still felt sore from the long labour and traumatic childbirth. She picked it up and glanced at the caller ID. Number withheld. She was about to put it down and let the voicemail deal with it when she remembered Liv’s earlier message. It might be the new reporter calling about the story. She’d told just about everyone she knew that her babies were going to be in the paper and she was damned if she was going to be proved a liar. She pressed the button to answer. ‘Hello?’

‘Bonnie!’ The voice was urgent and tight.

‘Who’s this?’

‘It’s Liv — Liv Adamsen. The reporter from the Inquirer. Listen, you need to take Myron and the kids and get out of there right now.’

‘What are you telling me, honey?’ she asked, her professional calm automatically kicking in. Then she heard a sound downstairs. Like something soft and heavy falling on the hallway floor. ‘Hold on a second,’ she said, and started to lower the phone.

‘No,’ Liv screamed. ‘Don’t go. Have you got a gun?’

The question was so unexpected that Bonnie froze. Downstairs she heard more sounds. The click of the door