Jenny twisted in her seat and studied the pavilion anxiously, half-expecting a swarm of people to suddenly emerge from it and charge them down, hell-bent on pulling them out of the car and ripping their throats out.
My God, doesn’t this feel just like that . . . Like one of those crazy zombie movies?
This whole situation was like some post-apocalyptic scenario; the glimmering firelight from the bonfire, the debris and detritus strewn across the tarmac, the flickering torchlight and the frantically scrabbling crowd inside the building, the noise, the chaos.
Paul drove across the car-park towards the exit leading on to the slip-road that led out to the motorway and headed south once more.
She watched the service station in the wing mirror until it disappeared from view.
My God, this is how it is after only four days.
Alex Scarrow lives a nomadic existence with his wife Frances and his son Jacob, their current home being Norwich. He spent the first 10 years out of college in the music industry chasing record deals and the next 12 years in the computer games business. His previous novel - A Thousand Suns - is also available from Orion paperbacks. Visit his website at www.scarrow.co.uk.
The moral right of Alex Scarrow to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
For my son Jacob, smart, imaginative . . . and maybe one day, competition. I love you man.
For Jacob’s eyes only:
VQ BMJJN RJXB GR ZWB BDWCB RNBADC
FADNSRMPR
OQXL CGN JRMP NO RWZTDUZWC
Acknowledgements
There’s a small list of people that deserve a mention for the help they gave me in putting together this book. There’s no particular order in which I want to do this, so I’ll dive right on in.
Robin Carter for extensive proofing and valuable comments. Yes . . . his name does appear in the book as you, dear reader, will soon see. Obviously for legal reasons, I need to say something about this being utterly coincidental and any resemblance . . . blah, blah, blah. A damn good character name that. I also want to thank Andy Canty for his proof reading and comments as well, and again . . . that’s another Christian name that has turned up in the book! Funny old world.
My thanks also go out to someone I can’t name for security reasons, who gave me some useful ‘on the streets’ details of life in Iraq. He knows I’m thanking him anonymously like this, and that’s how it needs to be.
I want to thank my wife, Frances, for reading the first draft. I must extend my apologies for making her cry with the second draft. Her comments were many and varied; you’ll never truly know how valuable her feedback is. Dad, Tony, and brother, Simon, thanks you two for your encouragement. Additional thanks go to Jerry Stutters for some background military details.
Finally, a thank you to my editor, Jon Wood, and agent, Eugenie Furniss, for working with me on this and helping me to finesse the story and take it up to the next level.
December 1999
Room 204
She stared at the door of room 204.
Like every other door along the corridor, it was a rich dark wood with the room number and handle in gold plate.
A bloody expensive hotel, that’s what Dad had said.
‘Enjoy it guys . . . we’ll probably never stay in another as expensive as this one.’
He’d made a joke to Mum about sneaking out the bathrobes and selling them at some place called ‘eee-bay’.
The corridor was silent; leaving the lift her footsteps were hushed by the thick carpet - not even the