Bestselling Conspiracy Thriller Trilogy: Sanctus, The Key, The Tower. Simon Toyne

saw him. Standard surveillance procedure. As he closed in on her he thought about just telling her to run, then disappear himself until all this blew over.

      He fixed his eyes on the dark blue hood and walked a little faster. Just ten feet away now.

      Five.

      He was almost upon her when he saw the white van pull to a stop at the far end of the pedestrian street, trapping her like a rat in a drainpipe. There was no way she could get away now. No way either of them could. He had to go through with it.

      He slowed, allowing the distance between them to lengthen again as the flow of people took her closer to the van. He didn’t want to drag her further than was absolutely necessary. Up ahead he saw the big man with the beard step out of the van and move round to open the rear doors. They were only ten feet away now. He stepped forward. Reached out to grab her. Noticed the other guy inside the van frowning at the notebook then looking up and shaking his head.

      Too late.

      His freckled hand landed on the girl’s shoulder and he spun her round.

      ‘Hey!’ She twisted out of his grip.

      Sulley looked at the shocked face framed in the blue hood. It wasn’t the girl.

      ‘Sorry,’ Sulley said, jerking his hand away like he’d touched a live cable. ‘I thought you were …’

      He pointed at the POLICE sweatshirt. ‘Where did you get this?’

      The girl glared at him. He dug out his badge and watched the defiance vanish.

      She pointed back in the direction they’d come. ‘I swapped it with some girl.’

      Sulley followed her outstretched arm. Saw nothing but a mass of strangers. ‘How long ago?’

      She shrugged. ‘Couple of minutes.’

      ‘What did you swap it for?’

      ‘Just another sweatshirt.’

      ‘Could you describe it?’

      The girl raised her palms. ‘White. Kind of … washed out. Bit worn at the sleeves.’

      In the midday warmth most of those filling the street had now dispensed with their coats and jackets; more than half were wearing something white. With his back still turned to the van, Sulley allowed himself a smile.

      Nice work, missy, he thought to himself. Nice work indeed.

      81

      Liv walked out of the tourist information office and headed against the flow of people, which bothered her slightly, back in the direction of the police building, which bothered her more.

      She checked the free map she’d been given, tracing different routes to the street circled in black felt pen. She could have chosen a more circuitous route, but it would take longer and she was already on borrowed time. She’d just have to risk it. She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the screen. The battery icon was empty. She pressed the speed-dial key anyway, praying there’d still be enough power to make one call.

      ‘It wasn’t her,’ Kutlar said, before the policeman had a chance to speak. He wanted to remind Cornelius of his usefulness.

      ‘No, it wasn’t,’ the officer said, leaning in through the open window. ‘She switched to a plain white top. The girl she swapped with couldn’t say which direction she was headed.’

      Cornelius started up the engine. ‘Get in,’ he said.

      The policeman shuffled uncertainly, pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘You know I should probably –’

      ‘Get in,’ Cornelius repeated.

      He got in.

      Kutlar glanced at the screen and started to relax a little. Knowing what the girl looked like was the only thing keeping him alive right now. Having the policeman tag along made him nervous because he knew what she looked like too. The sooner he split the better.

      The van moved off, jarring Kutlar’s leg again on the uneven road.

      He hit return and the hourglass icon appeared as the system reached out for the girl’s signal.

      82

      The ringing tone kicked in as Liv passed a street stall selling freshly made flat breads. The thick, hot smell of roasted spices and onions reminded her how long it had been since she’d had anything substantial to eat. The sun beat down on the bone-coloured flagstones and buildings that all looked like churches.

      ‘Where the hell have you been?’ the familiar voice yelled. Rawls Baker, owner and editor of the New Jersey Inquirer, was not one of life’s whisperers. ‘You’d better be calling to file copy on that birth story; I got a hole in the lifestyle section you could drive a truck through.’

      ‘Listen Rawls, I –’

      ‘Don’t give me excuses. Just give me that story.’

      ‘Rawls, I haven’t written it.’

      There was a moment’s pause. ‘Well, you’d better start writing it right this –’

      ‘What’s the story on the front page of the Inquirer this morning?’ she asked, before he could launch into a full-blown roasting.

      ‘What the hell’s that got to do with anything?’

      ‘Just answer the question.’

      ‘The monk. Same as every other paper.’

      ‘He was my brother.’

      The phone went silent.

      ‘You’re shitting me!’

      ‘I’m in Ruin now; I flew in this morning. There’s something strange going on here. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something big. I’m in the middle of it and I need your help.’

      The silence flooded back. She could picture him in his office, staring out at the river, calculating how much an exclusive might be worth. Her phone beeped loudly in her ear and for a moment she thought she’d been disconnected. Then Rawls’s voice rumbled back through the ether. ‘What do you need?’

      ‘I’m heading towards the offices of a local newspaper called Itaat Eden Kimse. I want you to call ahead and get them to kit me out with some petty cash, a notebook and some pens. Maybe the loan of a desk for a few hours.’

      ‘No problem.’ She heard the scratch of Rawls’s pen. ‘Just don’t go sharing anything valuable with them. Remember who’s signing your paycheque. Tell them you’re writing a travel piece or something.’

      ‘OK,’ she said. The low-battery signal beeped in her ear again. ‘My cell’s about to die. Can you see if they can hook me up with a charger as well?’ She gave him the make and model, but there was only silence at his end of the line.

      The screen was blank. She slipped it back into her pocket. Looked back up the road. Saw a vehicle approaching.

      83

      ‘Over there …’ Kutlar pointed at a group of people eating stuffed flatbreads from a food stall but kept his eyes on the screen. Cornelius turned towards them. Sulley’s door was open almost before they came to a stop. ‘I’ll look around,’ he said, and slammed it back shut with a pungent cloud of spices and onions. Kutlar glanced up from the screen. He watched the policeman hitching up his trousers and scanning the crowd.

      ‘You see her?’ Cornelius said.

      Kutlar scrutinized the mass of faces on both sides of the street. ‘No,’ he said finally. The smell of the food made him feel nauseous.

      Cornelius