He watched the search teams troop off in their different 382.

directions then picked out a can from the provisions crate, drinking it slowly as he leaned against the rear of the truck. He was starting to feel a tightening in his stomach, which the lukewarm Irn-Bru was unlikely to relieve.

In his head he could hear drills, but they weren't the kind Deacon was working on.

383.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER SIXTH.opposing force.Ray was in a jail cell without bars, only the refraction of light from the corridor betraying that there was a force- field preventing his exit. He was dreaming again, he knew: playing in his sleep because it was as close as he could get these days. Jailbreak this time: a mod in which if you got fragged, you were imprisoned in the opposing side's cell block until a team-mate managed to bust you out. Rescue was on its way: standing just beyond the force-field was the female who'd thawed him out yesterday: 'Athena' player-model, her hair tied back in a ponytail, but with Angelique de Xavia's face.

'Time we got you out of here,' she said.

Ray opened his eyes. Angelique was standing in the doorway of the section-house bedroom, holding a steaming mug of coffee and a generously stacked bacon roll.

'Come on, sleepyhead. Here's that hot meal, but don't freak out until you've finished the coffee.'

Ray blinked a few times, feeling extremely groggy.

'I'll leave these here and I'll be back in five,' she said, placing the items on his bedside table and withdrawing.

Ray struggled into a sitting position, knowing that he'd nod off again otherwise. Contrary to his confident prediction, he'd found sleep difficult to come by, given what was going through his head, and he hadn't needed the shower or the hot meal to precipitate freaking out. They said you shouldn't give your stomach too much to digest close to 387.

bedtime, but that went double for your mind, and what he'd just been fed was the mental equivalent of a five- course blow-out. There was something else too, some indistinct niggling sense of insecurity that kicked in every time he felt close to reconciling himself to Angelique's shattering revelation. It was as much his failing attempts to pin it down that kept him awake as the feelings of anxiety that it caused.

Eventually he must have given in to sheer exhaustion, but it felt like that had only happened about half an hour ago. He sipped the coffee, which was pretty good, and had a mouthful of the roll, which was magic. Cholesterol therapy. Before he started work at Burnbrae, it was sausage and bacon rolls that had got Kate and himself through the mornings, she eating with one hand and steadying Martin on her breast with the other. It suddenly felt a long time ago, a long way away. He was missing them both so much, the sense of longing flooding into him in concentrated doses when he wasn't having to worry about imminent death or resurrected psychopaths.

Angelique returned bearing more gifts: this time a couple of towels and directions to the shower.

'You're an angel.'

'Angel X.'Ray's unease didn't dissipate once they were underway, despite the fact that Angelique's car was taking him home; maybe even because it was taking him home. Short-timer's disease: the closer you get to finishing your tour of duty, the more nervous you become. The silence wasn't helping either. It wasn't awkward, but in between bouts of small talk, there was nothing to keep his mind from his worries.

'Do you mind if we have the radio on?' he asked. 'I feel 388.

like I've been away for a month and I could do with catching up.'

'Sure,' she replied, reaching for the dial. They were greeted with a blast of the truly loathsome Ibiza Devil Groove by EGF, something Ray was grateful not to have heard for a good three years.

'A wee kick in the Balearics there, ha ha ha, from the Silver City FM crypt,' whined the DJ.

'Should never have been exhumed,' Ray muttered.

'What's wrong with it?'

'If I start telling you, I might never stop.'

'It's good to dance to.'

'I want out of this car,'

Angelique laughed. 'What is it about boys and music? They're always so serious about it. It's like they're fighting a war or something.'

'Aye. A war against shite.'

'There's a place for everything. It's all music, isn't it?'

'You're gaunny stick up for the Spice Girls and All Saints in a minute, then I really am gettin' out of the car. I don't care what speed it's travelling.'

'And if you died, it would be natural selection. No place for you dinosaurs here in the future.'

'That's a bit harsh.'

'You're the one who said it was a war.'

The song mercifully faded, giving way to the half-hourly news, which led with a story on fishing quotas.

'Don't suppose two missing Glasgow schoolboys is considered a story up here,' Ray remarked. 'Have you heard anything more?'

'Afraid not.'

They listened to the rest of the bulletin. Like yesterday with the papers in the supermarket, it felt like the world's 389.

events were dragging along at a far slower pace than Ray's life. The only event that seemed genuinely 'new' was the collapse of a road bridge near Crianfada, eliciting a snort from Angelique.

'What?' enquired Ray.

'That'll be on my desk when I get back. Anything suspicious was to be reported to me while we were all on the look-out for the Black Spirit. You should have seen some of the shite I got. I bet the bastards who make the arrests didn't have to investigate any fertiliser thefts.'

'You still hurtin' about endin' up being' the bridesmaid?'

'It's traditionally not the bridesmaid who gets fucked.'

'You know what I mean,' Ray insisted.

'Yeah I do. And I am. I ought to maintain a sense of perspective about it, though. They're mounting one of the biggest police operations in British history today. I don't know what starring role I thought I would've had amid a cast of thousands.'

'Are you allowed to tell me what the big plot is yet?'

'No.'

'Who am I gaunny tell?'

'Nothing personal. But if it got out, there would be panic and everything could fall to bits.'

'Panic?'

'We're talkin' about a major public event. Crowds and hysteria don't mix.'

'So why isn't it being cancelled, whatever it is, if you know that's what he's gaunny attack?'

'Because we might never get another chance like this. If we cancel, then he knows the game's a bogey and he'll disappear again.'

'Hell of a risk, given his track record.'

'Not if we're ready for him. He's used to being unexpected 390.

and invisible - that's part of his track record too. This time, we know where he's headed and we know when. We also know what he looks like, at long last, thanks to you - though he knows that as well, and he's probably already booked an appointment with a plastic surgeon for when this is over. He doesnae make many mistakes, so we have to take this chance because it could be a bloody long time before he makes another.'

'He doesn't know that,' Ray countered, thinking of all that business with the hood back at the farmhouse.

'Know what?'

'That you know what he looks like. He knows I escaped an' he knows I'd tell the polis what I saw, but I didn't see him. He made sure of that. He's got no way of knowin' I've sussed he's still alive.'

'Even better. He's unlikely to disguise himself today, then.'

But for Ray, the insecurity was back, fast turning from a niggle to a full-blooded kick to the kidneys. There had always been something that didn't quite add up, and now that he was beginning to see what it was, he understood why he was still scared.

'If he was so intent on messin' with my head, why didn't he reveal himself back at the farmhouse? Wouldn't that have been his big moment? I mean, if he was gaunny kill me anyway - which I think we're both agreed on - why deny himself that quintessential wanker pleasure?'

'Maybe he was savin' it. I mean, he didnae know you were gaunny bugger off in the middle of the night, did he?'

They turned to look at each other.

'Oh fuck,' they said, in stereo.

'He did know,' Ray confirmed. 'I was supposed to escape.

391.

Christ, why didn't we see that? This guy's a master of planning, covers all the bases, pulls off all these amazingly complex operations, but he locks me up in a wee daft pantry with conveniently loose floorboards, leadin' to a direct route out of the house? And for fuck's sake, the night before, there's two gunmen come after me: they're professional bloody killers but they cannae hit me from five yards? A newbie on AOL with a three-hundred ping wouldnae have missed from that range. It was a set-up. The gunmen didnae miss, because they werenae supposed to hit: they were sent to put the wind up me, so I'd tell the polis I was being' chased by armed assassins.'

'And the polis would then give greater credence to your story when you turned up a few days later, claiming to have been kidnapped.'

'Exactly. That carry-on at the bridge was just to plant the seeds for what was comin' next. Which was for them to abduct me purely so that I could escape and lead the cops to the farmhouse.'

'Where they conveniently discover a load of photocopied blueprints and promptly go chargin' off to Sunderland.'

'Sunderland? The England friendly?'

'Doesn't matter now, does it? Because it's not Sunderland: that's the point. Christ on crutches.'

Angelique pulled the car over into a layby and drew to a halt. Ray knew he wasn't going home any more, in her car or anyone else's.

'This was his plan all along, wasn't it?' he said. 'He needed a decoy. If he hadnae seen me at the airport and decided to indulge himself, he would have abducted some other sucker for the same role.'

'He'd have been safer abducting somebody else. So he's still a wanker.'

392.

'But a clever wanker. He's sent all the polis to the Stadium of Light while he gets on with his felonious little plans elsewhere.'

'And we're back to square one,' Angelique said gloomily.

'Maybe not. How many collapsing road bridges do you get on the average weekend?'

'Good point. Where did they say that was?'

Ray couldn't remember, having been distracted at the time by Angelique's snort. 'It'll be comin' up again in the travel report,' he said, turning up the volume control on the radio, where the sports bulletin had reached rugby and was therefore coming to an end. They waited with gritted teeth through the incongruously cheery weather forecast, then finally got what they needed, the bridge story being the lead travel item.

'There is still access to Crianfada, but the road to Cromlarig is closed and, according to police, is likely to remain so for several days until a temporary structure can be put in place. The only route into Cromlarig at the moment is via Strathairlie, and the AA are warning that if you're approaching from the South, that represents almost a three-hour diversion, so if you're planning to attend today's Highland Games, you'd better get your skates on. Meanwhile on the A9, a slow-moving extra-wide vehicle with police escort is causing tailbacks of up to . . .'

Crianfada. Cromlarig.

'Have you got a road map?' Ray asked.

'Glove compartment. Where's Cromlarig anyway?'

'West Highlands. About three hours north of Glasgow, maybe a bit less west of here. But that's when the bridge hasn't collapsed, obviously.'

Ray popped open the fibreglass hatch and fished out a well-thumbed road atlas, flipping impatiently from the grid 393.

reference to the appropriate page. He placed it on the dashboard so that they could both have a look, but there really wasn't much to see.

'Maybe the bridge collapse is just a coincidence,' Angelique said, having pored over the map for a while.

'Christ, what is there for him in the Highlands? There's hardly even any people there to kill.'

'What's nearby?' Ray asked. 'Any airforce or army bases that wouldn't be on the map?'

'The military bases are on the map - just none on these pages anywhere near Cromlarig. It's tourist country. Lochs and mountains and tartan and shortbread.'

'Isn't there a nuclear submarine base up there somewhere?'

'Nearest one is the Holy Loch, and that's about fifty miles from Loch Fada, on a different road through the glens too,'

'Could there be another one that the government have kept secret?'

'No,' said Angelique, pointing to the page. 'Not here anyway: Loch Fada's landlocked.'

'Good. It would be nice to rule out nuclear weapons, don't you think?'

'What about nuclear power?'

Ray looked again at the map. 'No. The nearest nuclear station would be Dounreay. All there is here is ... oh fuck.'

'What?'

There it was all the time, staring out at him, waiting for him to notice, waiting for him to make the connection.