Tiff huddled close to him. He had never seen her so scared. The vehicle was so familiar; they had been in it most days for the past few weeks. Now a man sat beside him, watching them with a gun. It felt like their home had been invaded.

The bald man nudged Hex with the gun. Hex turned to look at him. He was holding out his hand. On it were four white pills.

'Take two and give the other two to her.'

The gun barrel reminded Hex that he had no choice. He picked up the pills. Tiff looked at him with fearful eyes.

'What are they?' Hex asked.

'Special K,' said the driver.

Special K. Ket. Vitamin K. Ketamine. Veterinary anaesthetic.

The bald man's eyes narrowed. He twitched the end of his gun. 'Go on. It'll hurt less.'

Hex felt Tiff's fingernails curl into his arm.

29.

PURSUIT.

A hooded figure got up from the narrow window seat in the morning room. Amber had covered her dirty tweeds with a floor-length velvet cape from the restaurant cloakroom. With her black skin it had made her invisible to anyone who glanced into the darkened window.

She had seen everything in the yard. She saw Tiff throw the brick through the window. She saw her yelling at Hex. She saw the big man seize her. She saw brave Hex explode out of the storeroom and tackle the other man. He was fast; he could have got away. But they would have killed Tiff.

She watched them drive away.

Amber had been in hiding ever since she made the call to Hex's phone and the menacing voice had answered. Now she went back to their suite. It was a mess: the chaises longues, the ornate desk had been tipped over; a lamp lay smashed on the floor. She lifted the receiver of the phone and dialled.

'h.e.l.lo, Alex?'

Li lay in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask over her face. She knew Paulo was in a room somewhere near, having tests, but the last she had seen was when the medics got them into the helicopter. Medics had put oxygen masks on her and Alex, and crowded around Paulo. She could only see their backs, watch their urgent movements, see stethoscopes, tubes, needles and bloodstained pads. Their mouths were moving but the whine of the heli drowned out their words. The mask felt like it was suffocating her. She pulled it off and a police officer gently replaced it again. In the moment before it enclosed her nose and mouth she caught a faint smell. Charred flesh.

When they had touched down at the hospital, a team of medics swooped on each of them and swept her away to examine her. She wasn't able to see either Paulo or Alex.

The doctors had done co-ordination tests on her and said she had some neurological damage from inhaling carbon monoxide. She kept taking off her oxygen mask and demanding to know about her friends. They were being taken care of, she was told, and the mask would be gently replaced. But Paulo was shot, she had said. He's being taken care of, she was told and the mask was patiently replaced again.

After a few hours of rest and concentrated oxygen therapy she should be all right, they said. But staying calm and quiet was driving Li mad.

She was in a small ward. Her agitated brain had taken in every inch of the room: the tiny floral pattern on the curtained screens, presumably to make them look more homely than clinical; the clock radio glowing on the bedside table; the dim light in the corridor. If she wasn't attached to this oxygen tank, she'd be wandering around the corridors, looking for the others.

Someone came in. She recognized Alex's step before he pulled back the curtain. She sat bolt upright and pulled her mask off. 'They've let you out! Why aren't you on one of these?'

He sat on the bed. 'I think I was lucky. There's more of me, I suppose.' He still had smears of mud all over his face and clothes, like camouflage cream.

'How's Paulo?'

'They're still doing tests.' He took Hex's palmtop out of his pocket. 'Amber called. There were two other guys working with the drug guys. They've got Hex.' He showed her the palmtop screen. On it was Hex's tracer, moving into the hills.

Li swallowed. 'Oh my G.o.d.'

Alex put the palmtop back in his pocket and got up. 'Is your phone still working?'

'Yes.'

Alex was moving backwards, heading for the door. 'Keep it on standby in case I need to contact you. I've told the police and given them the registration of our old Range Rover. Amber said that's what they're using. I'll see you later.'

Li reached down and hooked her phone out of the bedside cabinet. Its screen glowed as she switched it on. 'Are you sure you should go? The police have loads of guys out.'

But Alex knew it was a rhetorical question. When one of your friends is in enemy hands, you need as many rescuers as possible, to cover all the angles. You don't leave it to someone else while you've got breath in your body.

'I wish I could come with you,' said Li.

He waved and disappeared.

Paulo was lying on a treatment table. Two men in white coats stood with their backs to him examining a set of x-rays. He could see the glowing monochrome shadows of his bones but they gave nothing away.

At first it hadn't hurt; perhaps because he hadn't fully realized what had happened. He'd even carried on crawling, which surprised him. He thought that if you'd been shot, you'd be knocked over, like you would if you'd been hit by a car. He even had time to think about it a bit. Of course, it made sense. If the force of the bullet was enough to knock him over, it would also knock over the person who fired the gun.

That was the last coherent thought he had.

The doctors had given him morphine, but the pain was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He'd had injuries before. If you handled big, strong animals all the time you got used to being knocked about. But sprains and broken bones were nothing compared with this. It was a sickening pain, searing through his shoulder like a red-hot lance. He imagined the track of the bullet, the flesh it had torn through. He could smell his own flesh charring. It was truly brutal, like burning off a part of your body.

'I can't see a bullet in there,' said one doctor.

'Let's see what the arteriogram says,' said the other. He turned to Paulo. 'Good news, it looks like it's gone right through.'

Paulo's stomach turned. He never thought he would be so upset by a wound. Maybe the morphine would kick in soon.

Alex left the hospital. The police had wasted no time in setting off. The helicopter was lifting into the sky, lights winking as it swooped over his head. Sirens were sounding and tyres were scrambling on gravel as unmarked Land Rovers headed for the hills. Glaickvullin community hospital had probably never seen so much action.

On the moor behind the hospital, a pair of headlights was joggling over the b.u.mpy ground. They came down into the floodlit hospital car park. A quad bike, a slender black figure at the handlebars.

Amber braked and slid to a stop beside Alex. 'You look rough.' She spoke briskly.

Alex climbed on. 'Where did you get this?'

'It's still ours technically. I reclaimed it and hotwired it again. Where's Hex?'

Alex showed her the palmtop.

Amber glanced at it, then turned to face forwards again. 'Right. Hold on tight.'

30.

KETAMINE.

Hex kept looking at his watch. He didn't know how long it took for the drug to start working, but it must have been about twenty minutes since he had taken it. He'd tried to palm the tablets, but the man insisted on seeing them on his tongue. He'd tried to spit them out but they'd dissolved instantly. There was no escape.

Tiff slumped beside him, silent. Her eyes were two grim slits, as if she was concentrating fiercely on resisting the drug. She had good reason to dread it. Hex kept remembering what Alex had looked like after he'd taken some, when it was mixed with something else. The terror on his face, the panic.

They'd had two whole tablets each. Undiluted.

How did it start? An itch on his arm was that normal? His burning throat and nostrils were they that bad before? Was the road really this b.u.mpy?

Tiff suddenly seemed to grow taller in the seat. She sat up very straight and grabbed him. She looked into his eyes with wide black pupils. 'Slow down!' she shouted.

They weren't going that fast, but the fear in her voice was genuine.

The bald man spoke to her sharply. 'Be quiet.'

Hex patted her hand in an attempt to rea.s.sure her. But now he felt something too. And he didn't like it.

It felt like the vehicle was speeding downhill, out of control.

Tiff dug her hands into his skin like claws. 'Help me,' she whispered.

Help her? He was in a bad enough state himself. He tried the door. The handle moved freely but didn't engage. He saw himself in the window, a hollow-eyed face against the gloom, fighting to get out.

'Child lock,' the bald man reminded him.

Hex saw the speedo. It said 70 kph. If he left the car at that speed he'd be killed. A thought occurred to him and he smiled sardonically. Well, at least it might not hurt.

Tiff collapsed against his shoulder. She tried to move her arm but it just twitched. She was losing control of her limbs. Of course. She was much lighter than him. Two tablets would be bound to affect her faster than him.

The vehicle stopped. Hex breathed a prayer. Thank goodness.

There was a clunk as the door was opened from the outside. Hex jumped.

'Get out.' The bald man pushed him roughly and levelled the pistol at him.

Hex tried to obey, but Tiff was like a dead weight. Even a fragile-looking thing like her was amazingly heavy when she had no muscular control. He had to grab the door frame to lever himself out.

The fresh air hit him and caught in his throat. He tried to stand but his limbs felt very alien. He didn't dare let go of the side of the Range Rover.

'Get her out,' said the big man.

Hex turned and tried to comply, but could only cling to the door. The bald man got out of the other side and pulled her across by the shoulders. Her heels dragged two marks in the velour of the back seat; her eyes stared at Hex.

Hex became aware of a sound. The sea. Waves, brushing up against sand and pebbles. Under his feet was shingle. They were on the beach. What did this mean? What were the men going to do?

On the other side of the Range Rover, the man let go of Tiff. She flopped to the ground and made a noise as if she had been winded. The bald man shone his torch on her and her eyes looked back, big and black. She tried to avoid the light but couldn't. Hex felt a wave of anger. She didn't deserve to end up like this: dying a frightening death at the hands of vicious drug traffickers.

'We can come back for her,' said the big man. He grabbed Hex under one arm. The bald man took him under the other arm and the gun brushed against Hex's cheek. As if he could do anything: he couldn't even walk. The men hoisted him along and he tried to move his legs but they wouldn't work.

His legs started to grow, then shrink. He looked down: he couldn't see them, but he could feel them. His legs were growing and twisting, the bones were changing, shrivelling. On his right the bald man said something to him but Hex didn't hear. He only saw a distorted mouth with an extra row of teeth, a bald skull rippling like melting plastic. Hex cried out and tried to retreat but the men held him firmly.

Ahead was a black shape in the cliff. A hole full of terror and blackness, like a bad dream. Hex shrank away and struggled, trying to crawl backwards away from the black thing; but he was carried in through its maw.

The rock underneath gave way to soft sand. It sucked at his feet. His legs were being eaten away. He gave a whimper but the men forced him further into the sand. His head sc.r.a.ped on the roof of the cave. He couldn't pull it out of the way but it didn't hurt.

The men dropped him and he lay there like a discarded rag. They went away. Hex watched their lights disappear, leaving him in total darkness. He tried to move but all he could do was hear and smell. The cave smelled of salt water, and an acrid, searing chemical. Methylamine.

The torches came back. The men were dragging Tiff along. They took her past him and dropped her. He heard a splash.

They came back for him, hoisted him up and within moments he was plummeting down a hole in the floor of the cave. He hit the water and went under, but then came up again. A torch picked out Tiff next to him, floating helplessly, like a carca.s.s.

Alex clutched the palmtop in one hand, and held on for dear life with the other. Amber was throwing the bike across the dark ground. She stopped for nothing, just rode all the b.u.mps as if they were the fences at the Grand National. Police helicopters wheeled in the distance, red and white lights winking in time with the beat of their rotors.

Something changed on the lighted display. Alex checked it, then tapped Amber on the shoulder.

She braked and Alex nearly tumbled off. He caught himself, then gasped, 'Hex's trace has gone.' He showed her the map. 'Here. On the coast.'

She nodded, then gunned the throttle. If she had been driving with grim determination before, she pushed the bike even harder now. Alex tucked the palmtop into his pocket and held on tight.

There were two situations in which the tracers didn't show. Underground and underwater. Losing contact like that meant Hex must be in even greater danger.

For a while Hex began to think the men had just left them there in the water-filled shaft. He tried to move again, tried to get out. From what he'd seen in the torchlight, it would be simple the water level was less than half a metre from the lip of the shaft. He could just haul himself out, then get Tiff. But his arms and legs felt like they had disappeared.

He kept telling himself that was just an effect of the drug, a hallucination. Thank G.o.d he had seen Alex in this state too. Alex hadn't known what was happening to him, but thanks to him, Hex did. He clung to that knowledge.

He called out, 'Tiff?'

A blurred sort of cry was his answer. That at least was rea.s.suring. Her head must be above water for her to be able to make a noise.

But for how long? And how long would he last?

There were other times in his life when he'd been trapped underground. Whenever he went underground, there seemed to be a fifty-fifty chance that something awful would happen.

'Hey, Tiff,' he said. 'You were right. Potholing sucks.'

There was no answer.

'Tiff? Tiff, talk to me.'

Another painful noise. It was all she could produce.