FORTY-FIVE

'You guys are serious about this?' Howlett still seemed to doubt, despite several repetitions, that they meant what they had said — what Harry had said, at any rate, with Chipchase's less than wholehearted support.

'We're going to Vatersay, Mark. With or without you. We mean to find out what this is really all about. And that's where all the clues lead. Vatersay — and Haskurlay.'

Yeah. I guess they do. OK.' A widening of Howlett's eyes signalled the decision he had reached. 'I'm in.'

'Good.'

'When d'you want to leave?'

'Sooner the better.'

'I checked up on how to get there a few days ago.' Howlett pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his hip pocket. 'It's … quite a drag.' He squinted at his notes. 'There's a car ferry to Barra from Oban most days. It's a five-hour trip. Or you can fly .. . via Glasgow. But that could be pricey.'

'And tricky,' observed Chipchase. 'Airlines have a habit of insisting on ID.'

'So?'

'We're a little short of… documentation.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Does the ferry run on Sundays?' Harry asked, eager to rein in Howlett's curiosity.

'Er, let's see…' More squinting. Yeah. It does.'

'What time?'

'Er… fifteen ten.'

'And how long would it take to drive to Oban?'

'It's about five hundred miles. I guess… ten hours.'

'In your rust-wagon that'd feel like ten days,' Chipchase remarked.

'Hey, I'm not forcing you to take a ride with me. If you've a smarter motor to—'

'We haven't,' said Harry, glaring at Chipchase. 'The point is, Mark, if we leave tonight… we can be on that ferry tomorrow afternoon.'

'Yeah. I suppose.'

'You said you were in. And time's pressing.'

'Pressing hard,' muttered Chipchase. 'Take our word for it.'

'All right, all right.' Howlett rubbed his face. 'OK. Let's do it. Let's go.'

'Great,' said Harry.

'You know it makes sense,' Chipchase added through gritted teeth.

'We'll have to swing past my place so I can pack a bag,' said Howlett. 'What about you two?'

'No baggage beyond this,' said Harry, pointing to the small rucksack Jackie had bought to hold toiletries and a change of clothes.

'Except the mental kind, of course,' muttered Chipchase.

'No car. No ID. No baggage to collect.' Howlett pondered their suspicious lack of trappings. 'You two really do travel light, don't you?'

'You have to at our age, Marky,' said Chipchase. 'Otherwise you'd never travel at all. And then where would you be? Tucked up in bed at home with a mug of cocoa and not a care in the world.' He drained his glass. 'Can't have that, can we?'

—«»—«»—«»—

Howlett did not invite them in when they reached his flat, to the rear of a row of shops near Bermondsey Tube station. He said he would be gone only a few minutes, then vanished through a gate next to the dented, graffiti-blotched door of a seemingly abandoned garage. It was the first chance Chip-chase had been presented with to give Harry his uncensored opinion of the journey they were about to embark on. And he did not waste the chance.

'The Outer bloody Hebrides, Harry? Ends of the bloody Earth, more like. Is taking off there really such a smart move?'

'Maybe not. But it's the least futile. It's odds on Ailsa's hiding out with her brother on Vatersay. Howlett's girlfriend could well be with her. He hasn't said so, but that's really why he's agreed to go. Because he hopes they're hiding together.'

'From what?'

'We'll ask them.'

'Great idea, Harry. A hum-bloody-dinger, if you don't mind me saying so.'

'They already know what we'd have learned if we'd been able to decrypt that disk, Barry. We have to speak to them.'

'Fine. So, let's suppose we track them down. And they agree to share the secret with us. Has it occurred to you — has the thought flitted across the farther horizons of your see-a-windmill-let's-take-a-bloody-tilt-at-it mind — that knowing what the secret is could be a whole sight more dangerous than not knowing?'

'Yes,' Harry replied, surprised by how calm he felt. 'Of course it has.'

'Oh, good.' Chipchase fell silent for a moment, then added, 'That's reassuring.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Harry's calmness, as it turned out, was not destined to last the night. Several hours later, during a stop at Sandbach services on the M6, he called Donna. She did not answer the phone. But it was answered. By someone whose voice he recognized very well: their old friend, Makepeace Steiner.

'Hi, Harry.'

'Makepeace? What are you doing there? Donna never mentioned you were paying a visit.'

'Kind of a last-minute arrangement. Donna asked if I could look after Daisy for a few days. And I don't need to remind you of all people how many favours I owe Donna, so—'

'She's not there?'

'No, Harry, she surely isn't.'

'Then… where is she?'

'Somewhere over the Rockies. On a plane heading your way.'

'What?'

'She wouldn't tell me what's going on any more than I expect you will, but it was pretty clear she was worried. About you. With good cause, I take it.'

'Oh God.'

'Thought so.'

'I asked her to stay there. Pleaded with her.'

'She's a stand-by-your-man kinda gal, Harry. You should know that.'

'I do. Worse luck.'

'Are you OK?'

'Don't I sound it?'

'Since you ask… Not really.'

'It must be a bad line.'

'Yeah. Sure thing.'

'Before she left… did Donna say anything about a bloke called Marvin Samuels? He was… looking into something for her. Well, for me, actually.'

'She never mentioned him.'

'Or about a drug called… MRQS?'

'Nope. Not a word. But she can give you an update herself tomorrow. Her flight's due into Heathrow at two p.m. your time. She said she'd go straight from the airport to Swindon. And that's where you are, right?'

Harry steeled himself. 'Yes. I'm in Swindon.'

'So, what's the problem?'

'No problem.' Harry suppressed a groan. 'None at all.'