The cramped conditions are physically gruelling. The lack of fresh air is an agony. She is permanently shivering with cold. But what’s really killing her is the boredom. She’s being crushed to death by her own fears and imaginings.
Her teeth chatter. She knows her body temperature is falling critically but there isn’t enough room to do any form of exercise vigorous enough to generate heat. They are giving her water but she’s dehydrating. The persistent migraines are so bad she feels like she’s going to black out. Hunger pains are constant and it’s so long ago since she ate she can’t remember. In the Camper with Jake. That must have been it. A lifetime ago.
Another stomach cramp chews through her abdomen and Caitlyn doubles up in pain. She knows exactly what’s happening to her body. Wishes she didn’t. It’s eating itself. Chewing through her reserves of fat and muscle. Laying to waste all the years of good nutrition and hard work in the gym. Already she can feel her well-toned biceps and quads softening, shrinking.
After her appearance on Survivor, Caitlyn was signed up as an ambassador by GCAP, the Global Call to Action against Poverty. So she knows every dirty detail about starvation. On average, it’s how one person dies every second. Four thousand an hour. A hundred thousand a day. Thirty-six million a year. She doesn’t want to be one of them. Not another awful statistic.
Dizziness washes over her again. She slides to the floor so she doesn’t fall and crack her head. A sickening blackness engulfs her. She’s uncertain now whether she’s awake or hallucinating. Men are lifting her out of her cell and walking her to the showers. Her vision is blurred and she feels faint, struggling to breathe.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees a dark huddle. People moving towards her. Hooded captors, holding someone.
Jake.
He’s alive.
She struggles to focus. Sees him surrounded by other men, robed and mean-eyed. Like the monsters who have been guarding her. He looks naked. His chin is sagging on his chest as they lead him by the arms. She wants to say something but her mouth won’t work. Wants to run to him but can barely stand. Blood rushes through her like a queasy tingling virus and she collapses in the smothering dark.
123
Megan and her boss are still staring at the map. They’ve come to the same conclusion.
Two dead bodies found in such a small area, both discovered within days of each other, and on land owned by a rich and powerful man who unexpectedly killed himself. It’s a combination of factors that can’t be ignored.
‘Pull Gideon Chase in and give him the third degree,’ says Tompkins. ‘Rattle his cage and see if he’s a grieving son as white as pure driven snow or whether there’s something else to him.’
‘Ma’am, I’ve been trying to get in touch with him all day, without any luck.’ She hesitates before adding, ‘I’ve also been unable to contact DS Dockery. He seems to have gone off radar.’
Tompkins fears this is a classic case of the left hand not knowing what the right is doing. ‘Is he already with Chase, Baker?’ The thought amuses her. ‘Is your DS already a step ahead of you?’
Megan doesn’t rise to the bait. ‘Perhaps, ma’am. But that doesn’t explain why I can’t contact either of them. Chase’s landline is tripping to answerphone and I’ve tried both their mobiles and left messages.’
‘Then perhaps Jimmy’s dragged him out to the middle of the Plain. Reception out there can be bad.’ The thought jolts her into a more strategic worry. ‘Actually, we need to get operational support to cordon off the scene where you found Naylor’s remains and find a forensic archaeologist to search the area.’
‘I’ve already had the scene secured, ma’am. I took the liberty as soon as the results came in. You were unavailable at that time, otherwise I’d have updated you earlier.’
The DCI’s door opens and her secretary leans in. ‘The Chief and the Deputy would like to see DI Baker, ma’am.’
Tompkins looks surprised. ‘Why?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know. The Chief’s PA didn’t give a reason, just said I was to find her urgently.’
In Megan’s experience, ‘urgently’ isn’t a good word. Never has been. Never will be.
‘I’ll come with you.’ Tompkins pulls her handbag off the corner of the desk chair. ‘If it’s urgent for you, it’s urgent for me as well.’
124
The Henge Master rises and embraces the new initiate. ‘My son, it is so good that you are now with us.’ He holds Gideon’s head to his face. Hugs him like a father embracing a lost child. ‘Sit. You must rest.’ He turns to Draco. ‘Leave us. I will call for you when we are done.’
The Master smiles as he sits alone with Gideon at the circular stone table. ‘The ceremony is draining. You will feel weak and tired for some hours, but your body will heal, regenerate quickly.’
On the table in front of him are wooden platters and jugs of water and juice. The boards are piled with chopped raw fruit.
‘The food here is perfect for your purified body. Blueberries, cranberries, figs, bananas. Power foods. Please eat. You need to build your strength.’
Gideon picks a little. He has no appetite. He glances around. The dark stone walls seem to suck all of the light from the room.
‘Such a famous fruit and such a powerful symbol, don’t you think?’ The Master holds an apple in the palm of his hand.
‘You mean Adam and Eve?’
‘No, no, I don’t. I was thinking of something Greek.’
Gideon knows he is being tested. His brain slowly moves up a gear. ‘Ah, the Twelve Labours. Heracles had to steal golden apples from the garden of the Hesperides.’
The Master smiles then bites the apple. ‘You are indeed your father’s son.’ He nods towards the coded diaries spread at the end of the table. ‘When we are finished, I want you to read to me. Explain the code.’
Gideon pulls the stalk from a rich red cherry. ‘I have some questions.’
‘Ask. This is your time. I am here to help you learn to become a valued member of our Craft.’
‘I am curious about the Sanctuary. How and when it was built, where exactly it is.’
The Master smiles. ‘You will learn the location of the Sanctuary in good time and when you are fit enough I will personally guide you through its magnificent chambers.’
Gideon looks offended. ‘I am still not to be trusted?’
The Henge Master sighs. ‘The initiation begins your journey of faith, it does not complete it. I think you know that we are approaching an important time in our calendar. One that no one can jeopardise. After that, we will revisit this issue.’
‘The ritual of renewal. I presume that is what you mean.’
‘I do. In three days it will be completed and then we will allow you to leave.’ He smiles. ‘On stepping outside you will know the location of the Sanctuary.’ He laughs. ‘You will know it instantly.’
‘And until then I am to stay here? As what? A prisoner?’
‘Of course not. As a scholar. We shall talk every day. You will educate me about Nathaniel’s writings.’ He picks up a diary from beside him. ‘And I will educate you about your duties as a Follower of the Sacreds. It will be time well spent.’
125
The two policewomen don’t say much as they walk the short distance to the Chief’s office suite. They’re asked to wait outside for a moment, then his PA ushers them through.
Alan Hunt and Greg Dockery sit at a conference table not far from the door. Neither seems to notice that Tompkins has tagged along.