‘So, the air crash occurred in your MI5 days,’ Philip remarked.
‘Yes. However, I have no idea if the EG220 disaster is connected or not to the firm.’
‘But you’d like to find out.’
‘Yes.’
Something in his tone made Philip’s eyes narrow. ‘I’d be careful about seeking a reprisal if I were you. It will only cloud your judgement.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Dan’s tone was stiff.
‘Fill me in.’ Philip waved a hand like a magician, and Dan did as he was told. He didn’t see any reason to withhold anything. If Philip let him go to Morocco he’d need to be in the loop.
When Dan finished, Philip half closed his eyes, gazing at the building opposite. ‘You have a nose for rooting out moles, fraudsters, imposters and liars – bad guys of every description – but you can also get into an awful lot of trouble.’
Dan remained silent.
Philip tapped a little tattoo on his knee before turning his head to survey Dan. ‘I take it Jenny’s okay with this?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dan admitted.
‘If she’s on board, then I suggest you take the time you need. The last case you worked on with your policewoman friend proved excellent for business. The clients like your quiet style, your confidence, but what really works for them is seeing you performing so productively in the field.’ His gaze intensified. ‘You’re good for business, Dan. Just don’t get into any hot water this time.’
The first bit of hot water he was going to experience was talking to Jenny. Although they’d agreed he should feel free to follow any investigation he was involved in, wherever it may lead, he knew she hated it when he went overseas. Procrastinating calling her, he looked up flights on the internet to see there was an easyJet departing first thing tomorrow, which would give him time to tidy his desk, go home and hopefully pack his bag. He’d leave work early, he decided. Have some time with the family.
He’d barely walked inside the house when Jenny appeared with a grizzling Mischa in her arms. His left cheek was a hot red from teething.
Jenny looked at Dan. He looked back.
‘You’re going to Morocco,’ she said. It wasn’t a question.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Have you just turned clairvoyant?’
‘I can’t see any other reason why you’re home early.’
’Are you okay with my going?’
She looked down at Mischa. ‘At least I’m not pregnant this time.’ Her voice was wry.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But even so…’
Jenny touched the ceramic pendant at her neck, which he’d given her last year. Her gaze was clear. ‘I can no more stop you going on mad missions than fly to the moon. That said, please be careful?’
‘I promise.’
The next morning Dan walked onto his easyJet aircraft with a sandwich, a bottle of fresh orange juice, and a spring in his step. He loved his life with DCA & Co, and loved his wife and children very much, but he needed an edge in his life, a quest as well as a challenge from time to time.
As the Airbus rose into the sky the corners of his mouth lifted. He never felt more alive than when on a mission.
17
Isla was dreaming of smoke. Not from a log fire or a stove, but great gouts of black clouds, dripping oil. She was trying to run from them but her feet were like lead, her legs as though they’d been filled with sand. A scream was building at the back of her throat when she became aware of a knocking sound, getting louder and louder…
She opened her eyes. At least she thought she had but she couldn’t see anything. Was she still dreaming?
The knocking became insistent, followed by a woman calling, ‘Room service. May I make up your room, please?’
Isla sat up in bed, heart thudding. It was daytime? She rubbed her eyes. Nothing. She could feel the sheets against her naked body, hear the air-conditioners rumble, smell the faintest aroma of bacon drifting from the hotel kitchen. But she couldn’t see.
It wasn’t night. She could tell by the sound of traffic outside, a rubbish truck’s grinding, an aeroplane gliding overhead. There was an energy in the air too, that you didn’t get at night.
She shook her head. Looked up and down, from right to left.
Nothing.
She knew exactly where she was. Room 324 of the Park Grand London Kensington. She had an en suite double room and a mini bar. She knew the breakfasts were excellent. Earls Court tube station was at the end of the street. She’d stayed here countless times. Why couldn’t she see?
Then came the sound of a key card being inserted in the door.
‘Wait, wait!’ Isla called. Panic threatened to erupt. There had to be an explanation. But what?
She wriggled to the edge of the bed. Put her feet on the floor. Rubbed her eyes again. Why couldn’t she fucking see?
‘Madam?’
‘Wait! I haven’t got any clothes on!’
‘You want me to come back?’
‘No.’ Isla pulled the duvet around her. ‘Please…’ Her mind raced. Could she trust the maid? Her money and passport were on the side table… ‘Yes, come back later. No. Sorry. Stay.’ She changed her mind. Suddenly she didn’t want to be alone.
‘Madam?’
‘I have a problem. I can’t see. Can you fetch me my robe? It’s in the bathroom.’
‘I can come back if you like.’
‘No! Please, just get me my robe.’
Soft sounds as the maid moved across the room. As she returned, Isla felt the woman lay it carefully on the bed. Cautiously, the maid said, ‘Are you okay?’
Her voice was soft with an accent that was hard to place. Eastern European, maybe? Turkish? She sounded gentle, though. Helpful.
‘I can’t see.’ Isla was amazed how calm she sounded. She wanted to scream. ‘I could see last night. I fell asleep being able to see. But now I can’t!’
‘You are blind?’
‘Yes.’ A rush of horror. Was this aerotoxicity? Had the others gone blind as well?
‘My phone. My phone…’ She’d left it on the bedside table and now she clutched
