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Khalid helped, muttering curses the whole time and weeping. "Why did they have to kill him? He was a good man. A husband and a father too."

  What can you say? "I'm sorry."

  "They laughed! As he suffered, they laughed!"

  They had enjoyed beating us, too. A big day for the camp, catching us.

  Khalid wiped his eyes. "They killed him first. I was to die at dawn today. After prayers."

  "Go get a sheet so we can shroud him."

  After we wrapped him, Khalid said prayers as I stared out over the camp. So much for turning over a new leaf. There were bodies everywhere. They'd asked for it, but I felt bone-tired and depressed looking at the slaughter. This part of my life was supposed to be behind me.

  One of the women wailing brought me out of it. She was on the ground, kicking and screaming. The others stood around, staring helplessly. A small part of me knew I should feel guilty, but the rest of me held fast to the truth: if you decide to play rough, you can't moan if you get wiped.

  Just in case the women had ideas of revenge, I walked over. When they stared, hunched in fear, I put it to them straight, "Trouble and he's dead."

  I pointed a gun at the toddler. I repeated it in Arabic, not certain if I got it all right, but they understood.

  "Get the hell out of here." I pointed at the mouth of the canyon. "Go on, out!"

  They scuttled off, circling around me and making for the plain. I knew they'd not go far, but as long as they were away from the camp that was strewn with weapons, we could get on with it.

  Once they were out of sight, I scavenged. Aside from the essential water bottles and guns, I also came across plenty of blankets and tunics. There was little food. I picked up a few chocolate bars and some tinned beef. The only thing in plentiful supply was apples. They must have raided an orchard recently.

  A couple of days of lean pickings wasn't an issue; as long as we had water, we'd make it okay. I gathered it all. Then, on a brainwave, I raided the chicken coops and scored a dozen eggs.

  Camels are nasty buggers. They have huge teeth and a kick from their massive feet will put you into next week. I approached them with caution and grabbed eight. Two for supplies and one each for the rest of us.

  Saddling them was a bitch. As I struggled with straps and tried to figure out what went where, the buggers nipped, shoved and spat. The offer of apples placated them, but I could see they thought I was soft and that they planned to make my life hell.

  Thankfully, Khalid pitched up. Following his instructions, we got the job done. But by that time, the sun was well up and the camp inundated with flies. The stench was rising too. As we worked, I saw the women peeking at us from the entrance of the chasm. The second we were gone, they'd be hunting in the tents for phones. If one was satellite connected, they might call for reinforcements.

  Combing the place would take hours. And if others were already on their way, looking to share in our ransom, we would be properly in for it. Leaving and fast was the sensible option.

  I walked the camels up to the hut. Wrapping the reins around a rail, I pushed the door open and threw down the clothes I'd sourced. "Come on, let's go."

  "Oh, sweet Jesus." Smith crept out, eyes wide with shock. "What did you do?"

  "I took care of business."

  As Smith became preoccupied with throwing up, I went inside. Tucker was on his hands and knees, checking over Jarvis. "I think he's dead." He was in tears but holding it together. "The bastards killed him."

  I checked again, holding my hand to his mouth and a finger on his neck. "He's breathing. He may still make it."

  "What about Nemir and Khalid?"

  "Khalid is alive."

  "Oh fuck. Nemir has two daughters. And his wife is expecting."

  I took in Tucker. He was a mess, but he was a solid bloke. "The truck is dead, but I've got camels. Let's get a move on."

  Tucker stared. "But what about the camp?"

  "They're all dead."

  We'd been mates, working well together and going for brewskies after. Now he realised what I was. I saw the knowledge dawn in his eyes. But he swallowed and looked away, whispering, "So we live."

  A practical man, Tucker. "Let's get Jarvis out of here."

  Smith had quit heaving and pulled on a tunic. The second he saw me, he tried to take charge. "Cullen, we need to contact Bagdad."

  "There is no coverage out here. Our priority is to leave. Fast."

  He drew himself up, squawking, "You don't give orders! You're just a plumber. I'm the senior engineer!"

  I had him by the throat before conscious thought registered. "You do as you're told or you join the others, get it?"

  The popping eyes and muted squeals signalled agreement. I shook him to underline I meant it. "Help Tucker settle Jarvis." When I put him down, Smith gasped and scuttled inside with his tail between his legs.

  I went back down to the camp and looked for flammables. The flies were swarming, feasting on blood. They buzzed off as I chucked around cooking oil, lighter fluid and flour. Few people realise, but flour in the air acts like an explosive.

  While I set up, Khalid and Tucker had the others ready to go. I waved them on, "Get to the entrance."

  Tucker paled as he took in the bodies. "What about you?"

  "I'm right behind you."

  Khalid nodded. "Careful, my friend."

  I watched him lead the camels out, checked the women and the kid were still well away, and then chucked a lit rag into the tents. It took a few seconds, but as the canvas went up in flames, the flour caught.

  The boom and roar of flames sent the camels into a hasty trot. I was right behind them and accelerating. We ran like hell, with the rocky cliffs on both sides magnifying the boom of the exploding flour, running until we hit the open plain.

  When we pulled up, I was panting like a tart riding joystick. My cracked and bruised ribs were on fire.

  Tucker held on to Jarvis with one hand. With a broken nose, black eyes and two missing teeth, he looked like hell. The trousers that were three sizes too big, and a blanket soaked in gore, weren't helping either. But he was grinning like a bastard. "That was spectacular. What the blazing hell was that?"

  "Flour." The camel I approached gave me an evil look. Then, taking in that I was not in the mood for nonsense, it stood still as I climbed up. It's uncomfortable transport at the best of times and with my body one big aching bruise, the trip home would be hell. But taking in the blue sky and endless rocks, my optimism returned.

  Khalid beamed. "It's a miracle from heaven. I can't believe we made it."

  "This phone isn't working!" Smith wasn't seeing the bright side. He brandished the hater's phone. "I can't dial out."

  Tucker shrugged. "There's no signal out here."

  "Why have a phone if you can't call?" Smith fumed.

  There was a nice, stiff breeze. I took a swig of water and broke out the apples. My teeth were loose on one side. It didn't matter; I'd eat with the other side and crunch carefully. Wellbeing flooded me.

  "It's going to take days to get back," Smith moaned. "And what if we're heading in the wrong direction?"

  "Don't worry," Khalid assured him. "We aim for the hills. We'll spot the city easily enough."

  Smith spat with rage. "Why should we trust you? You're one of them!"

  My punch got him right on the button. As Smith slumped, the beauty of the plain before us stretched out.

  "It's a lovely day for a ride," Tucker said cheerfully. "And Jarvis moaned when we picked him up. I think he's going to make it."

  "Good."

  Khalid turned to me. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

  "Casablanca? I'm a big fan."

  The teeth flashed as he placed a hand on his heart. "Khalid Dabdoub Al-Faraj."

  "The name's Cullen, Max Cullen." It came to me that there was no point in pretending anymore. They knew what I was. "My friends call me Trigger."

  Chapter Two

  It was exactly as I remembered. The oak tree dominated the little square, shading the tourists in Marco's enjoying their cream teas. Behind them, Culpepper's Grocery showcased fresh fruit, and St Peter's advertised their perpetual jumble sale. Even Scottie, the rough sleeper who dossed down in the church porch every night, was in place, holding out his tin cup for spare change. Three years and Ringmere was unchanged.

  I picked up my rucksack, crossed the square, and took a shortcut through Market Lane. The déjà vu blasted away; I was ten years old again and walking home from school. The ancient walls, built in the time of the Normans, and the window boxes, filled with pansies and petunias, seemed unreal.

  I turned the corner and walked right into the present.

  "You moron! I need that cake for a shoot!" She was tall, slim and her flaming hair cascaded down her back in loose curls. Marco's best cream sponge lay splattered all over the cobbles.

  "Cheeky bitch." He was built like a barn, and from the spider tattoos, a member of the Razors. "You owe me. I want ten percent."

  A business dispute. Fuck. I didn't want to know, but I couldn't walk away. He looked a nasty piece of work.

  "I'm an independent. You can bugger off, Jaffa."

  "You'll give me a cut or I'll carve up your pretty face."

  The clenched fist was about to smash red's little upturned nose. I was between them before I could think. "Knock it off, mate."

  The bloody idiot tried to hit me. The massive fist came from below, aiming straight for my jaw. I sidestepped, grabbed the hairy wrist, and pulled. He smashed into the wall, propelled by his own momentum. As he groaned, momentarily stunned, I kicked him in the balls. Queensbury rules be damned.

  As spiderwebs sang soprano and slid down the wall, the redhead threw arms around me. "You're a hero!"

  She was a happy armful, with soft skin and a sweet scent. Call me cynical, but I slid my hands over her wrists before remembering my cash and papers were secreted in the money belt strapped around my waist.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Hey, what the hell? I'm no thief!"

  "Of course not." I wasn't pointing out that nice girls wouldn't twig. "Force of habit. Sorry."

  The smile powered on again. "I can't believe it's you, Max. Ohmigod, I thought you were dead!"

  "The papers got it wrong."

  "Really? I guess it's a bit wild out there." She squeezed my hand. "I'm glad to see you back."

  Great, except I had no clue who she was. The tiny shorts, heavy make-up and the announcement that she was independent showed she was a working girl. I knew plenty of those, but as they usually come with a tonne of baggage, I had always kept them at arm's length. But she knew my name, so I nodded as if I remembered her.

  "That was straight out of the films," she sighed. "You've not changed."

  "He needed putting down." Some habits die hard.

  Two blokes appearing at the mouth of the alley frustrated our leaving.

  "Oh-oh," she whispered. "Trouble."

  "I'll have you!" Spiderwebs was back on his feet. "I'll kill you!"

  He couldn't stand up straight, but he had a knife. This might be messy. I patted the girl on the rear. "Best go, love."

  But spiderweb had a nasty gleam in his eye. "Not so fast."

  This time I caught the fist and twisted.

  He squealed and paled. "You broke my fucking arm!"

  And then there were half a dozen of his mates crowding the little alley.

  "What the fuck?"

  "Jaffa, what happened?"

  "He broke my flipping arm!"

  Clocking them and figuring trouble was automatic. I blessed my rucksack, as it would protect me from being bashed from behind. I was sunk if they had guns, but from the flashes of steel, nobody was packing.

  Equally automatically, I shook my knife out of its holster. Feeling it slide handle first into my hand was a comfort. "Okay, Red, get behind me." It was a tactical error. I would have been better off having the girl in the middle. But I wasn't having her hurt. Thankfully, while the Razors were hardcore, they weren't professionals.

  I was set for battle when a suit swanned out of a doorway.

  "Holy hell!" He had spit coloured eyes, a one-inch crew cut and a nasty scar that ran from his eye down to his mouth. Not a face you forget in a hurry. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

  "Hello, Masher."

  "I heard you were dead."

  A copper entering the lane took one look, turned around smartly and vanished. That's Ringmere for you. People know not to get involved.

  "He broke my arm!" Spiderwebs Jaffa was a whiner.

  Masher didn't even look his way. "It was in the papers. They said you were dead."

  "But you're delighted I'm alive and well."

  The pale eyes darted towards the girl and then to Jaffa. "What's going on here?"

  "She owes me."

  Having stepped in, I was committed to finishing it. Stifling the impulse to walk away, I turned to her. "You're working on Razor turf?"

  "No way!" The balled fists and angry eyes attested to the truth. "I'm camming from my own place." She was loud and angry. "They have no right to my money. I earn every cent. They do nothing for me."

  "You're my girl!"

  "One drunken tumble doesn't make us an item!"

  "Bitch!"

  "Bastard!"

  I stopped her from getting into it. "You live here? In Market Street?"

  She glanced at me. "No. I'm by the park, around the corner from the Lion and Unicorn."

  I put Masher straight. "Your man is out of line. Your turf ends here."

  The pale eyes flickered. There was no doubt Masher was dying to try me, but he survived on the streets because he understood his limits. Specifically, he knew messing with me was too much trouble. He turned on Jaffa. "Get that arm seen to."

  "What? No way! He has to pay!"

  Masher booted him, snarling, "Do as you're told!"

  Then Jaffa tried to top himself. He darted a venomous glance at the girl, muttering, "I'll be seeing you." And with a hiss, "I carve you up."

  "Fuck!" Masher stepped in front of him hastily. "He didn't mean it, Trigger."

  At that, Jaffa's mates instinctively took a step back. They didn't recognise me, but they knew the name. There was a muffled exclamation, "Fuck, he's the one that took out the Bridgeton Mob?" Yes, it was straight back to the old days. It was four against one, but my rep meant they were too scared to try me.

  "The girl can cam from her place," Masher stated. "It's not our business. Nobody will touch her."

  Jaffa took one look at his boss, another at me, and kept silent. It almost killed him, but his raging eyes said he knew he was beaten.

  I nodded at Masher. "See you around."

  He couldn't hide his relief. "Sure."

  As the Razors disappeared, the girl put a hand on my arm. "Thanks, Max. You'll want to see your mum, but maybe I can buy you a beer later?"

  Red hair and she knew my name. Walking up the road, the penny dropped. "Rachel? Rachel Fox?"

  "That's right." She had emerald green eyes and a sprinkle of freckles under the make-up. "You're always rescuing me," she confided. "Remember when I got stuck in the apple tree?"

  "Your cat too. A dog had treed him."

  She had a happy giggle. "You had to save both of us."

  We'd been at school together. "It's been a while."

  "You haven't changed a bit, love. The way you dealt with Jaffa was brilliant."

  Exiting the alley, we crossed the little park. The scent of the sea wafted over, sending me back into the past again. Rescuing Rachel had been an ongoing project. Shortly after finding her stuck in the woods, she'd come to school with a black eye and bandaged wrist.

  "You saved my life." Rachel tugged me to a halt. "I never thanked you."

  I'd put her brute of a father in hospital, but deflection was automatic. "The tree wasn't that big."

  She rolled her eyes. "Not that, silly. He never touched me again. You put the fear of God in him."

  I'd broken both his arms, his wrists, his legs and taken a cricket bat to his ribs. He'd been in hospital for ten weeks. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  She stroked my cheek. "Okay. But thank you anyway."

  "You moved in with your aunt."

  "I did. London was fantastic, but dear Aunt Flossy passed away two years ago." She squeezed my hands. "I came home. Ringmere is small, but business is good."

  I'd stopped her drunken brute of a father, but it had been too late. After school, I had thrown myself into my apprenticeship and the family business. I'd lost sight of Rachel, thinking vaguely she had gone to college. But here she was, back in Ringmere, and a working girl.

  It gave me a pang, but there was nothing I could do about it. "Stay away from creeps like Jaffa. In fact, stay away from the Razors."

  "I know. But I was lonely."

  Her loser dad had lost one job after another. He was a drunk, a gambler, and a waste of space. Poor Rachel had been out of it all her life. "Are you truly independent?"

  The sparkle was genuine pride. "I've got a proper following. I'm making four figures a month."

  "And it's safe?"

  She crossed her heart. "It's camming, Max. I'm not a tart."

  "You keep your location secret?"

  "Yes, and I have all kinds of cut-outs and firewalls. They all think I'm a London girl."

  "Good." I had to ask. "Marco's finest cream sponge?"

  She giggled. "A private client likes cake-sitting."

  "That's a thing?"

  "Wet and messy with a sweet twist."

  "It takes all kinds, I guess. But Rachel, stay away from that Razor scum." I shouldered the backpack and followed the path that was my yellow brick road.

  "I'll get Marco's to deliver." She bounced along at my side, genuinely happy to see me again. "I'm glad you're back."

  I wasn't, not really, but I wasn't up for talking about it.

  We stepped out of the park and there it was: Bute Court. Seeing my home hit me in the gut. I didn't even notice Rachel vanishing. I crossed the street on autopilot. The two guards spotted me, recognised me with salutes and opened the gate. I didn't know them, but the facial recognition system would have identified me.

  I'd been away three years, but my security measures were still in place. Gates, CCTV and a man walking a Rottweiler provided visible protection. There'd be two extra sets of eyes on the roofs.