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the peril of so many lives. Far off to the south, Tom could see the weird architecture of the
Morvah cliffs, blades and pinnacles catching the first rays of sun. His watchtower was almost
visible from here. He tried to remember when he had left it, and remembered with a shock
that it had been a week ago, in another different world.
Vic, he said, and saw Victor, who had tranquilly been watching the skyline, turn and
smile at him. I seem to remember somebody saying you were looking after my dog.
Yeah. You can have her back any time. She eats more than my three kids combined.
I know. He came to settle cautiously on the gunwale tube, every inch of him protesting.
I ll settle up with you.
Don t be daft. I owe you a lot more than a few tins of dog food. Vic glanced back at the
canopy. How s your flotsam?
Cold. Shocky. He ll be okay, though. Can I take this while you rest? With Flynn, if you
don t mind he needs the hypothermia-hug.
Bloody hell, Doc. I think I ll leave that kind of thing to you. Vic s face lit up with a smile in
which there was so much good-natured amusement, and such an absence of malice, that
Tom heard himself break into laughter. Nah, I m fine here. We re nearly home. I radioed
Porth to see if anyone could come and pick him up, but they re still pretty busy out there. Lots
of damage. No casualties, though, apart from&
Tremaine. Yeah.
What the hell happened?
Tom released a breath. He could hardly believe himself, in the sweet morning air, the rup-
ture that had racked the night. Sounds like he was getting paid to stop the ASaC lads from
getting to that arms shipment. He brought their Lynx down to make sure.
Christ almighty. Suddenly Victor raised his head, frowning at the western horizon. Tom
followed his gaze. His ears were still ringing with the roar of the storm, but he could dis-
cern faint, growing stronger every second the song of another boat s engine. Vic
shrugged, shook his head. Typical, that is. Too little, too late.
Is it the lifeboat?
Victor shielded his eyes. Doesn t sound like her. He squinted off across the water. No,
it s a launch of some kind. Sunseeker, I think. I don t recognise her. Suppose they might ve
sent someone from Hawke.
Tom nodded. He was getting a bit sleepy, his body wanting to shut down and attend to its
damage. A fast launch from Hawke, or even passing tourists or fishermen, would be
good they could take Flynn off, get him to hospital, not that Tom could imagine letting him
out of his sight. We should signal them.
No need. They ve seen us. They re coming about.
Okay. Tom sat back down. For a moment he watched the hull of the approaching craft. It
was catching the light from the east, gleaming like a pearl on the dark waters. He heard in
memory his own voice say to Victor, he brought down their Lynx to make sure. It was stupid,
really. In the whole of this night, not once had Tom thought beyond that one end of Tre-
maine s. To disable the chopper and escape with his life&
And then what? Cast himself into a heaving waste of sea, lose himself beyond all hope of
collecting his reward? What had he done the time before?
Arranged for his pickup, obviously. Tom frowned into the rapidly diminishing distance
between the launch and the raft. Now she was close enough to pick out her lines. She was
powerful and sleek, scudding across the grey-green swell. Someone s private vessel yes, a
Sunseeker. Very expensive.
Tom glanced at Vic, and saw him seeing it too. Completing the same thought. Their eyes
met. Victor said softly, If we needed to outrun that thing&
We couldn t. Could we?
No. And I m sure there s no call to, but& have you still got my Browning?
Tom started. It felt like a century ago that he had stood in the Porth Bay boathouse and
taken Victor s service gun from him. He had tucked it into an inner pocket of his jacket. Yeah,
I do. I think Flynn s probably sleeping on it. Hang on a minute.
Flynn was curled on his side against the hull, a motionless, abandoned shape among the
coats Tom had bundled round him. Tom ran a hand over his hair, murmured his name, but he
didn t respond. Carefully Tom shifted him far enough to extract the revolver from his damp
coat, then straightened back up into the daylight. Victor was waiting for him, one hand out-
stretched.
What? Tom asked him, smiling wryly. You think I wouldn t use it, if& I m as much a sol-
dier as you are, Vic.
Victor nodded. Probably more so. But you got paid to fix the bullet holes, Doc. I got paid
to put them in.
Tom thought about it. The Sunseeker was only a couple of hundred yards out from them
now. It jarred his instincts, to relinquish any possibility of guarding Flynn. But he knew that Vic
would be the better shot, and after a moment he handed the weapon over. Well, like you say.
I m sure there s no call. But&
If there is, I ll make em count. He tucked the Browning under the belt of his jeans, un-
tucking his shirt to conceal it. No sense in coming on all lairy if it s just a friendly passing mil-
lionaire, now, is there?
It was not. The launch accelerated violently on its approach, then at the last moment cut
its engines, slewing silently round the raft s stern. Tom was reminded of a cat s final circling
move in pursuit of its prey, to cut off an exit route, to display itself and its powers for the sheer
joy of it. He saw Vic s move for the gun saw him abort it, as he understood, in the growing
dawn light, that the two men at the rail were holding enough firepower in their hands to cut
him and Tom in half in one burst of semiautomatic fire.
The men were strangers. Whoever they had expected to find on the downed helicopter s
raft, it was probably not the village doctor and a boatbuilder. That, and the deep sleep he d
just seen Flynn at last surrendered to, barely visible under the raft s canopy, gave Tom cause
to hope. We just came out to help. No, we didn t find anyone.
Then the launch drifted to a halt. Through the wheelhouse glass, Tom saw a low ray of
sunlight catch on red hair. A strapping six-foot Bronze Age Celt unfolded himself from the pi-
lot s seat and came to stand at the rail between his colleagues. Well, freeze my piss if it s not
Dr. Tom, Rob Tremaine boomed, grinning broadly. My personal bad bloody penny. I have
no idea what the fuck you re doing out here, but I m willing to bet you ve got something I
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