Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(221)

“What?” Emily demanded. “What the hell are they doing?”

“Anti-terrorist exercises. Been in the planning for six months, they said. They'll radio the chopper, but they can't guarantee it'll get here in time. You want the Coast Guard?”

“What bloody good is the Coast Guard going to do us?” Emily shouted. “D'you think Malik's going to surrender like a good boy just because they pull alongside and ask him?”

“Then all we can hope is that the chopper gets out here. I gave them our compass reading.”

Emily gave the boat more throttle in reply. Fogarty lost his balance. The carbine slid from the seat with a clank. Emily glanced back at the weapons. “Give me the holster,” she called. She slung it over her shoulder, one hand on the wheel. She said to Barbara, “See anything?”

Barbara scanned the horizon. They weren't the only craft on the sea. To their north, the rectangular forms of ferries made a squat line from Harwich and Felixstone harbours, stretching towards the continent. To their south, the Balford Pleasure Pier cast lengthening shadows on the water as the sun drew lower in the afternoon sky. Behind them, wind surfers cut colourful triangles against the shoreline. And before them …before them was the endless stretch of open sea, and hulking at the horizon of that sea the same bank of dirty grey fog that had hung off the shore for as many days as Barbara had been in Balford.

There were boats out there. In the height of summer even towards the end of the day, there would always be boats out there. But she didn't know what she was looking for, aside from a craft that appeared to be heading in the same direction as they were taking. She said, “Nothing, Em.”

“Keep looking.” Emily gunned the Sea Wizard. The boat answered with another wild leap from the water and another pounding return to the sea. Barbara grunted as her unhealed ribs took her body's weight. Inspector Lynley, she decided, would not be chuffed with the manner in which she'd spent her holiday. The boat rose, smashed, and rose again.

Yellow-beaked gulls soared above them. Others bobbed on the swells. These burst into flight at the approach of the Sea Wizard, their angry screams obscured by the roar of its engines.

For thirty minutes they held the same course. They powered past sailing boats and catamarans. They flew by fishing boats that sat low in the water, their day's catches made. They drew ever closer to that low grey band of teasing fog that had promised the coast of Essex cooler weather for days.

Barbara kept the binoculars trained ahead of them. If they didn't catch Muhannad up before they reached the fog bank, their advantage of speed would do them little good. He would be able to outmaneouvre them. The sea was vast. He could change his course, taking himself miles beyond their reach, and they wouldn't be able to catch him because they wouldn't be able to see him. If he reached the fog bank. If, Barbara realised, he was even out in the open sea at all. He could have been hugging the coast of England. He could have another hideout altogether, another plan set in place long ago should the gaff be blown on his smuggling ring. She lowered the binoculars. She rubbed her arm across her face, removing not sweat this time but a sheen of saltwater. It was, she decided, the first time she'd been cool in days.

PC Fogarty had crawled to the stern, where the carbine had slid. He was checking it over, adjusting its setting: single shot or automatic fire. Barbara guessed he was opting for automatic. From her coursework, she knew that the weapon had a range of about one hundred yards. She felt the bile rise in her throat at the thought that he might actually fire it. At one hundred yards, it was as likely that the constable would hit Hadiyyah as he'd hit Muhannad. A completely non-religious woman, she sent a fleeting prayer heavenward that one shot aimed well above his head would convince their killer that the police were pursuing him in deadly earnest. She couldn't imagine Muhannad surrendering for any other reason.

She returned to her watch. Stay focused, she told herself. But she couldn't keep her mind's eye from seeing the little girl anyway. Plaits flying joyously round her shoulders, standing flamingo-like with her small right foot scratching at her thin left calf, nose scrunched with concentration as she learned the mysteries of a telephone answer machine, brightly putting the best possible face on a birthday party with a single guest, dancing with happiness at the discovery of a near relation when she'd thought she had none.

Muhannad had told her that they'd meet again. She must have been bursting with delight at how soon again had actually occurred.

Barbara swallowed. She tried not to think. Her job was to find him. Her job was to watch. Her job was to—

“There! Bloody hell! There!”

The boat was a pencil-smudge on the horizon, rapidly approaching the fog. It disappeared with a swell. It reappeared again. It was on an identical course to theirs.

“Where?” Emily shouted.

“Straight on,” Barbara said. “Go. Go. He's heading into the fog.”

They roared onward. Barbara kept the other boat in sight, shouting directions, reporting what she saw. It was clear that Muhannad hadn't yet twigged that they were behind him. But it wouldn't be long before he realised that fact. There was no way they could silence the scream of the Sea Wizard's engines. The moment he heard them, he'd know capture was imminent. And the desperation factor would weigh in like a boxer.

Fogarty moved up to join them, carbine in hand. Barbara scowled at him. “You don't intend to use that thing, do you?” she shouted.