He was leaning casually against the wall, toeing some dust on the floor and making patterns in it. He was illuminated by a phone held in his hand which he checked before glancing up at him.
‘Hello, Sir Nikolas. How are you enjoying your island? Nice sword. But I expect you hear that a lot from men, don’t you.’
Aleksey didn’t rise to this; he was calculating the distance between them, which he would have exploited—if not for the gun held loosely in the man’s other hand. Simon pressed something on his phone and the music track changed again.
‘Maybe I should try something sugary sweet and tempt him out. What do you think? Honey better than vinegar?’
Aleksey could not see how anyone could have mistaken him for this man. Sure, Raiden was well over six feet. Yes, he had blond hair, longish on top with a severe cut to the back and sides. And yes, he was handsome—except for the scar. So, yes, he had a badly scarred face. But that’s where the similarities ended. He knew with certainly that were he close enough to look into his eyes, he would not see himself reflected back.
They werenothingalike.
Now.
‘Turn it off.’
‘Excellent. He speaks.’ Simon clicked the music off. Then he raised his gun. ‘You have five seconds to tell me where he is.’
‘I don’t know where he is. I have been searching for him as well. I assumed he was dead.’
‘Well you’re not much use to me then, are you?’
‘I’m not trying to be.’
He saw the man’s finger tighten, began to turn, but Simon’s head suddenly whipped around, and Aleksey heard it too—the same metallic clanking sound that had set the hair standing up on the back of his neck when he had stood remembering Nina.
It appeared to have a similar effect on this other man. ‘What the fucking hell is that?’
Aleksey exploited the moment, spun on his heel, and sprinted into the closest room.
‘Hey!’ A shot rang out.
He was lucky—the room led internally to another and that back to the corridor—as he’d hoped. This was empty now—was possibly not even the same one.
He grinned and chose another room at random, exploiting the strange properties of the abandoned building which had once so unnerved him.
But he knew what that sound was now.
He’d put it together with Ben’s realisation about the water tank.
He stood still in the darkest corner of the room, listening.
He could not hear the man pursuing. Perhaps they were no longer in the same building. It was an amusing fancy, and he smirked to himself as he slipped into another dark space and then back cautiously into a corridor. He made his way to the end and found what he was looking for: stairs up to the roof.
Billy was not in the asylum. Had possibly never been in the old home since it had closed. He was living on the roof and coming and going via the precarious old fire escapes outside. That was the metallic screeching sound he’d heard—their groaning swing and clank against the walls. He climbed the stairs, found the door at the top locked, but put his shoulder to it and forced it open. It made some considerable noise, grating and squeaking on the roof top, and he paused, waiting in the shadows to see if Raiden appeared below.
It was a huge relief being out on the roof. The wind was up; something was clanging and banging.
He could see the settlement on Benhar as a glow to the east behind its sheltering hillside. He tried to see the lights of a small boat, but reckoned Ben must be well beyond sight now, hopefully already at St Mary’s.
The water tank loomed ahead of him. He made his way towards it, cautious, aware of the height of the building and the uneven surface. The tank was made of concrete, or blockwork, its surface rough to his hands as he braced against it.
‘Billy?’ He felt foolish even calling the name, and yet…the top of the ancient, rusty fire escape was right there, a wide platform no more than a step away. He felt Billy’s presence, just as he had sensed someone in the lighthouse the very first time he had sailed past it in the summer: a wink of light, a feeling of being observed, an awareness that the island had a heart, a spirit.
Sound.
But not the one he wanted to hear.
This one came from the doorway.
