Kitchener crept up behind him. She looked ahead, not interested in disturbing the silence.
‘Did you sleep?’ King said.
‘Barely,’ she said. ‘I keep replaying everything. Over and over again.’
‘That’s natural.’
‘Where do we go from here?’
‘I think we should—’
Kitchener’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She withdrew it and checked the screen.
‘Huh, that’s weird.’
He looked over. ‘What is?’
‘An old friend’s calling…’ she said. ‘Give me a moment.’
She swiped at the screen, returning a missed call. She pressed the phone to her ear and began to pace back and forth in front of him, speaking intermittently, nodding along, listening closely. She talked for a couple more minutes, then hung up and dropped the phone back into the pocket of her uniform.
‘We may have something here,’ she said.
‘An old friend?’
‘Paul Robinson.’
‘And he is?’
‘He owns a skydiving dropzone not far from here. Twenty-minute drive, tops. I did my solo course there a few years back. Needed something to shake up the normal routine. Have you ever jumped?’
King scoffed internally. ‘Thousands of times. Usually into hostile territory.’
She paused. ‘Ah. I keep forgetting you’re a different breed.’
‘Continue.’
‘A plane of his was stolen overnight. It’s a PAC P-750 XSTOL.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘They’re built out of New Zealand. Perfect for skydiving. Large exit door, that sort of thing. Which also means you can load crates of anthrax in fairly easily.’
‘How long ago was it taken?’
‘Paul arrived at the hangar half an hour ago and found it empty. He called me straight away.’
‘You think it’s connected?’
‘It’s got to be.’
‘We don’t have much else to go off,’ she said. ‘What were you going to suggest before?’
He shook his head. ‘This trumps anything I had planned. Let’s go.’
He went back to the room and explained the new development to Kate. She nodded, yet her expression seemed dazed. Like the events unfolding were just another part of an unbelievable, improbable rollercoaster.
He drew her in, wrapping an arm around her.
‘It’ll be over soon,’ he said. ‘I promise. We’re close.’
‘I hope so.’
They packed up the rifles and the flashlights and the few supplies Kitchener had brought in from her car and the three of them slipped back into the vehicle. King looked back at the metal work factory as they peeled away from it and shuddered up the same gravel path. He knew he would never see it again. Whether his life depended on it or not, he was never coming back to this place. Too many bad memories. He’d spent too long in the same place.
He couldn’t shake a feeling that the endgame was approaching.
They had to pass through Jameson on the way to the dropzone. Kitchener drove, guiding them from memory. For added caution, King lay down across the back seat as they passed through the main strip. It would do no good to attract unwanted attention. He got Kate to do the same. When civilisation dropped behind them once again, they resumed their positions.
‘What are you going to do when this is all over?’ he said to Kitchener.
‘Leave. Find another job.’
‘No longer a fan of police work?’
‘I’ve seen enough lately to turn me off that career path.’
‘And you?’ he said to Kate.
‘Still trying to work that out.’
He nodded his understanding.
‘What about you?’ Kitchener said. ‘Where will you go?’
‘Haven’t quite figured that out yet either,’ he said.
They passed through Hurst, and King eyed the motel Kate had brought him to. A supermarket, a stretch of cafes, a hardware store and a bank all flashed past. He saw regular civilians going about their lives. Carefree. Unaware that their world could be brought to a crashing halt at any moment.
The world’s a strange place, he thought.
In seven days every man, woman and child within a fifty mile radius could succumb to violent, painful deaths, all dependent on the choices of a single individual.
Unless King managed to stop him.
Ten minutes later they arrived at the dropzone. It was a huge tract of land, mostly grass, with a stretch of runway in the centre of the property. A sunbaked single-lane road led onto the tarmac. Down by the far end King saw the hangar. They accelerated toward it, picking up speed. The building had nothing on the industrial sites he’d recently encountered. There was just enough room to fit a small plane. The hangar doors lay open, revealing nothing inside but gear and maintenance tools. It was conspicuously empty. Connected to the hangar was a long concrete structure, a single room that King guessed was for fitting harnesses and parachutes. Then alongside both these buildings lay a ranch-style clubhouse with a wide covered deck. A pair of big four-wheel-drives rested out the front of the hangar, both at least ten years old. Useful for picking up the day’s jumpers.
King had enough skydiving experience to be knowledgeable about the craft. He appreciated the setup. Surprisingly, he found himself envying the owner, much the way he had appreciated the serenity of the bartender during his travels into Jameson. These men had set up a business for themselves, doing what they loved, and they made enough to live a comfortable and peaceful life. He wondered if it was too late to do something similar.
He was pulled from his thoughts when the door to the clubhouse opened and a short, stocky man with long flowing hair made his way across the runway. They climbed out of the car. Kitchener waved to the man, and he waved back.
‘Long time no see, Paul,’ she said.
He seemed like he would ordinarily be a happy, laid-back man. Now his face had creased with worry.
‘Hey, Lisa,’ he said. ‘Nice to meet you guys. I’m Paul.’
He shook King’s hand, then Kate’s. As they went through the motions of rudimentary greetings, King noted his use of the name Lisa. He never had asked Kitchener’s first name.
It suited her.
‘Who are these chaps?’ Paul said.
‘Just a couple of friends,’ Kitchener said. ‘We’re… understaffed at the moment. So what can you tell us?’
‘Actually, quite a lot,’ he said. ‘But I wanted you here to see it, of course. Don’t wanna be snooping around behind your back, hey? Police need to know about this shit.’
‘What shit?’
‘GPS in the plane, mate. I know where it is. The buggers who stole it aren’t that smart, are they?’
All three of their eyes widened simultaneously, but not for the reasons that Paul thought.
‘You have its exact location?’ King said. ‘Right now?’
Paul nodded. ‘I do. Wanna take a look?’
He ushered them into the clubhouse. The interior was fully furnished. Sports paraphernalia dotted the walls, ranging from posters to jerseys to footballs, many signed. A beer fridge lay in one corner, full to the brim with cans of lager. An entire wall had been taken up by a shoddily constructed bar. There wasn’t a large variety of alcohol save for Jack Daniels and Malibu. Sprawling couches took up the majority of space, all surrounding a large television. There were several stands packed with flyers on skydiver safety and upcoming events.
Paul crossed to a laptop open on the countertop of the bar. He brought up a program which was nothing more than a large satellite map of the countryside. A small green dot shone in the upper left-hand corner. He zoomed in and pointed at it.