‘We’ve just got to sit tight for tonight.’

‘And tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow? If we stick to the river and follow it down, we’ll come across somebody sooner or later, I guess.’

Rose’s lips twitched with the cold. ‘They won’t find us here?’

Julian couldn’t work out whether it was a question or a statement. ‘No . . . no way they’ll find us.’

‘I just . . . I just . . . I can’t believe they shot Grace like that.’

‘I know.’

‘Jules, I’ve never been so flipping terrified.’

‘I know, I know, but I think it’s going to be okay now,’ he said, squeezing her shoulder. ‘We’ve lost them. As soon as I get a bloody signal on my phone, we’ll call someone - the police, a newspaper - and let them know what happened. Shepherd won’t touch us then. It’ll be all over for him.’

They endured the creeping cold in silence, listening to the gentle breeze play with the loose things it could find around the camp, and the chattering of each other’s teeth.

‘What the hell have we found out here, Jules?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This story . . . I get the feeling there’s more to it than we’ve worked out. I don’t understand why Shepherd’s doing this. He’s risking everything just because of some ancestral skeleton?’

‘Maybe he’s got some skeleton of his own to hide,’ he replied.

‘You think?’

Julian shrugged. ‘Who knows? I think it’s safe to say the guy’s unhinged.’

‘Just like his great-great-grandfather.’

‘If he’s happy to see us dead, maybe he’s killed with his own hands before? Who knows what goes on in that guy’s basement . . . if you know what I mean.’

‘But what about the Rag Man? Lambert?’

‘I don’t know, Rose. That may have nothing to do with Shepherd. So that guy survived? So what? Right now we’ve got a bloody psychopathic preacher who’s running for President, chasing after us with his hitman. I’ll be honest with you: right now that’s my main concern.’

She shivered. ‘You want to huddle up? I’m freezing.’

‘Okay.’ Julian shuffled up against her and placed one arm round her shoulders.

Rose sighed, her tremulous breath blowing out a cloud in front of her. ‘To think someone like that could end up being President.’

‘A very scary thought.’

‘Yeah,’ Rose replied thoughtfully. ‘Another very good reason for us to make sure we get out of these mountains ali—’

Julian grabbed her arm.

‘Ouch!’

‘Shh!’

‘What?’ she whispered.

‘Thought I heard something.’

‘Wind-blowing-stuff-around something or . . .’

He squeezed her arm tighter. She got the point and hushed. Then, listening intently for any other noises over the clatter of debris being teased by the occasional gust, they heard it. Faintly at first but quickly growing more distinct: two voices talking quietly and the sound of footsteps approaching.

‘Oh shit-shit-shit,’ whispered Rose. ‘How the hell did they find us?’

Julian shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’

It was impossible unless . . .

Unless there’s some kind of tracking device stuck on either of us.

But there was nothing on them other than the clothes they were wearing, and . . .

He pulled something out of his backpack and, with a click, attached it to the top of his gun. A green glowing light spilled from it.

‘It’s quite a long building. I’ll take point,’ Carl said quietly, ‘and we’ll sweep it from one end to the other. You best stay a few yards behind me, Mr Shepherd.’

‘I understand.’

‘Are you proficient with that firearm?’ he said, pointing towards the rifle Shepherd was holding.

‘I’ve fired a few hunting rifles in my time.’

‘Good. Keep it muzzle down, sir. Unless I shout for back-up fire.’

Shepherd sighed. ‘We’re dealing with a television researcher and a camera girl.’

Carl turned to him. ‘With respect, we’re dealing with two people who saw their friend shot dead. They’ll fight or flee. Either way, we’ve got to be ready to bag ’em.’

Shepherd conceded the point. ‘Yes, you’re right, Carl. Shall we?’

Carl took a step towards the hut’s entrance, his pistol with mounted nightscope raised before him, in his other hand the tracking device, still counting down the distance, but now only tens of yards away. He took a step up into the hut, his boots clunking on the dry wooden floor. Shepherd watched him whip sharply from side to side, checking the corners, checking every angle.

‘Clear,’ he reported quietly. ‘Room full of bunkbed frames. A long bench each side, wood stove at this end, some lockers. The signal’s coming from the far end.’

He stepped further inside, making his way slowly to the middle of the floor between the two facing rows of bunk frames. Shepherd stepped up to the doorway of the hut. It was the only way in and the only way out; as good a place as any to hold position. He knelt down in the doorway, holding the rifle muzzle down as Carl had told him, imagining for a fleeting moment that he was a real soldier doing a house-to-house through some Baghdad back street.

He grinned in the dark.

This is fun.

‘Checking this end first,’ whispered Carl, sweeping his nightscope across the stove and around the nearest bunks. He crouched down low and looked quickly beneath the bottom bunks. ‘Signal’s here . . . can’t see anyone, though.’

Shepherd decided to flush them out. ‘Julian! Rose! We know you’re in here! Your phone was tagged. I’m sorry, but there’s no getting away. You best come out.’

There was no response. A gust of wind played with the skylight shutter in another bunkhouse further along.

‘Why don’t you come out? I don’t really want to add to the body count if I can help it.’

Nothing.

‘Grace was a mistake. Carl reacted too quickly. He didn’t need to shoot her. I’m truly sorry about that.’

Shepherd held his breath and listened more closely to the faint sounds coming from inside the hut: the rustling, skittering sound of a rat, the soft moan of a gentle wind eddying inside amongst the rafters . . . and yes, he could hear it now, the stuttering breath of someone trying to be ever, ever, so quiet.

‘Come on out. We’ve got some matters to discuss. We’ll come to some arrangement.’

Carl took another few steps forward, panning his scope left and right between the bunks that he passed by. ‘The signal’s ten yards from my position, right ahead.’

Shepherd swallowed back a nervous giggle. This was getting to be too much fun.

‘Oh, you know what? Screw this . . . I’m lying. You’re both going to die. I might kill you quickly, or I might decide to have some fun first. It really depends how much you piss me off right now.’

Shepherd listened intently again as the last vibration of his voice faded. He could hear that staccato breathing, faster now, fluttering with fear.

Carl took another few steps forward, whip-panning left-right. ‘I’m nearly on the signal. Can’t see ’em yet, though.’

‘One of them, at least, is in here. Can’t you hear the breathing? It’s the young woman.’

Carl listened. ‘No, not yet.’ He looked at the display in his hand. ‘The signal’s just ahead, to the left, between two bunks.’

Carl took another few steps forward, crouching low to sweep beneath the bunks on both sides, then finally he drew up to where the signal was coming from. His display read just over two yards. Through the nightscope, he saw something lying on the floor.

‘Shit!’ he snapped out angrily.

It was the BlackBerry. He knelt down to pick it up. ‘The fuckers ditched it and ran.’

‘No!’ Shepherd called out from the doorway. ‘I can hear . . . I can hear her breathing. The girl’s right in here with us.’

Carl held his breath and listened. He could hear nothing. He picked up the phone and then heard something else - the soft puff of exhaled air and the rustle of sudden movement from right beside him. He swung the nightscope to his left, just in time to catch a blurred streak of movement from the top bunk of the frame beside him.

With a sickening penetrative crunch, his eyes saw stars and his ears whistled and rang with a deafening white noise - the sound of his mind going into traumatic shock. His finger convulsed on the trigger and fired off half a dozen rapid rounds.

‘Rose! Get out of here! RUN!’ he screamed, letting go of the wooden handle, and watching Barns slump to the floor with the large, rusty canting hook through the back of his skull, little rapid breaths puffing out of his mouth like a steam train.

He heard the clump and scrape of feet on the wooden floor, someone scrambling. Then he heard Rose whimper and cry out in the dark on the other side of the hut - the sound of a struggle, and her desperate, muffled cries.

Then a heavy thud.

Oh Christ, no.

Julian struggled with the pain in his leg, trying to pull himself out of the bunk.

‘Rose?’ he called out.

It was quiet.

‘Rose!’

Grimacing, he managed to swing his leg over the wooden bunk frame and lower himself to the floor. By the faint, ghostly blue glow of light from a device in Barns’s twitching hand, Julian could see the metallic glint of something smooth on the floor; the man’s gun.

As he reached down for it, everything went black.