‘Nothing left to cut in my unit. We’re not down to the bone, we’re into it and almost out the other side.’
They don’t have to wait long.
The Deputy Chief raises his voice. ‘Your attention please.’ He waits a beat for the noise to die down. ‘You have been gathered for a matter of urgency. To my left is Drew Blake of the American Embassy and to my right Sebastian Ingram of the Home Office.’ He picks up a large photograph that has been face-down on the table. ‘This is Caitlyn Lock. She is twenty-two years old. She is an American citizen at university in London and she is missing.’ He turns the photograph left and right for all the room to see. ‘Some of you may recognise this young lady. Miss Lock is something of a celebrity. She won the US reality television show Survivor and is the daughter of Hollywood film star Kylie Lock and of course the Vice President of the United States, Thom Lock.’ Most in the room are taking notes and Dockery pauses briefly before continuing: ‘At this stage we have no reason to believe any harm has come to Caitlyn. There has been no ransom demand. She is known to be something of a free spirit, so this may simply be an innocent disappearance with a new boyfriend. However, she has not been seen since midnight last night so it is extremely important that we find her.’ He scans the faces around the table, lets the point sink in, then gestures to his Detective Chief Superintendent.
John Rowlands stands. The head of CID is lean, a little over fifty and serious-looking. He’s the only officer in the county who’s also worked in the Met on homicide, abduction and terrorism cases. ‘Just before midnight Caitlyn Lock tricked her private security team into believing she was in bed when in fact she had slipped out of her father’s apartment in central London, just south of the river, to be with a man known to her friends only as Jake. She later telephoned one of these friends from a service station in Fleet, heading west, and said she didn’t know where she was going — she was being treated to some kind of surprise. The friend said she sounded happy and excited and mentioned an old Campervan but gave no description, no make or colour.’ He lets them process what he has given them. ‘Given the solstice, the van and the timing, this young woman could well be on our patch. If she is, I want her found and returned to London before the maids have changed the sheets on her bed.’ He turns to his left. ‘I will head the inquiry, DCI Tompkins will be my number-two. She will give you the operational details and your duties straight after this meeting. Surrounding forces are setting up their own investigations and the national press is being informed of Caitlyn’s disappearance.’
He hears groans around the room.
‘Be smart, people. The public and the press have the power to find this girl much quicker than we can. They are our eyes and ears. Use them, don’t abuse them. And don’t be stupid. All press enquiries have to be channelled through the communications office. Now go and get something to eat. It will be your last opportunity for quite a while.’
53
Draco catches it on the radio. Not all of it but enough. Something about the daughter of a Hollywood actress and an American politician going missing with her boyfriend. In a Campervan. He pulls out his burner and calls Musca. ‘Have you listened to the news in the last hour?’
‘No. Not been near a TV or radio.’
Draco starts to think. ‘Wait.’ He opens the browser on his phone and pulls up the BBC News page. It’s the lead story. Beneath a picture of the girl. ‘Listen to this.’ He reads aloud: ‘US reality star Caitlyn Lock, daughter of Vice President Thom Lock and actress Kylie Lock has disappeared from her father’s home in south London with an unnamed man. Miss Lock, twenty-two years old, is thought to be in the southwest of the country and police have issued an appeal for anyone who sees her to call them immediately on the number below. She is of athletic build, five feet nine inches tall, has dark shoulder-length hair, brown eyes.’ He pockets the phone. ‘You went to the Sanctuary after we split up this morning, does it sound like the girl?’
Musca can hardly answer. ‘I think so.’
Draco winces. ‘Why? Why do you think so?’
‘She’s American. There’s no doubt about that. She looks athletic and young as well.’
Draco shuts his eyes and wishes it wasn’t so. ‘Get over there now. I’ll call the Master.’ He hangs up, unsure what to do. If the girl is the daughter of the US Vice President the Americans will be going crazy to get her back. They might be using spy technology for all he knows, listening in to phone calls from all over the world.
He glances up at the sky, almost expecting to see a drone hovering above him. If they can do that, he’s said too much already. He calls the number. ‘It’s Draco. I have to see you. It’s urgent.’
‘I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
They both know where for such an emergency. Draco has little time for courtesy: ‘When you hang up, dump your burner somewhere public. We may be compromised.’
The line goes dead. He breaks open the back of his phone and pulls out the battery and the sim card in order to discard them and the hardware separately. Without wasting time, he gets in his car and drives quickly but within the speed limit to the Sanctuary. He takes three detours en route to dispose of the phone. Each time he looks up and wonders whether he is being watched.
54
The Henge Master comes and goes unseen through his own entrance to the Sanctuary, one that only he knows, one disclosed in the sacred books that he inherited.
He walks the unprotected passageway to his chamber and waits for Draco. Before long there’s a knock on the heavy door and he shouts, ‘Come.’
Draco enters hesitantly.
‘Sit.’ The Master’s voice gives away his irritation at being summoned at such short notice. He gestures to the semicircle of stone benching opposite him.
Draco adjusts his cloak as he settles. His voice is low and apologetic. ‘The girl chosen by the Sacreds turns out to be the daughter of the American Vice President. It’s on the news.’
Shock registers on the Master’s face, then disappears. ‘That may well be, but as you just said, she has been chosen.’
Fear glistens in Draco’s eyes. ‘Master, do we not need to distance ourselves from her? The US security services and every police officer in Britain are going to be searching for her.’
‘And they are more important than those we follow?’
‘No, Master.’
‘I repeat — she has been chosen. Has she not?’
‘Yes, Master, but—’
‘Enough.’ The Master’s sharp tone cuts right through him. ‘Our beliefs, our activities have gone uninterrupted by the police for centuries. Our existence has been kept secret for thousands of years. That is not due to luck. We are guided by the will of the Sacreds and that is a greater force than any police constabulary or government in existence.’
Draco understands. ‘I am sorry. I believed caution would be prudent.’
The Master nods. ‘You have done well to consider it and are right to alert me.’ He looks over his steepled fingers. ‘The girl is the one on the radio, Caitlyn Lock?’
‘Yes.’
‘And her boyfriend — what of him?’
Draco swallows. He fears the blunder could somehow be seen as his fault. ‘The boyfriend is dead. He died when he and the girl were taken by the Lookers. It was an accident.’
The Master doesn’t look concerned. ‘Or it was the will of the Sacreds. Perhaps the male was not worthy. What of his body and the vehicle the press are speaking of?’