A Silent Death by Peter May (top books to read .txt) 📗

times. A signal. She was certain of it. They wanted her to come to them. Perhaps it was too exposed here on the Skywalk. She slipped a torch from the pocket of her anorak, and in its beam saw steps carved into the rock six metres below. They wound their way up and along the crest of the Rock towards the summit. She climbed down to the foot of the stairs, and began the steep ascent into the dawn to meet her destiny.

*

Ana feels the wind wrapping itself around her, almost violent in its caress. It fills her mouth, and makes her sightless eyes water as though she were crying. Her hair is pulled back from her face like the repeated strokes of a brush fighting to remove every tug. She has to brace her feet firmly on uneven ground to keep from losing her balance.

The journey by boat had seemed to last for ever. She had not been on water since childhood, and although the sea was not rough, a heavy swell had made her feel quite nauseous. Cleland had sat with her, holding her hand for most of the journey, fetching her water when she asked for it and holding the container to her lips.

When finally they had disembarked, she’d had the impression of a great sense of open space around her. An industrial smell. The stink of motor oil and smoke. Solid ground beneath her feet again had come as a relief.

Then there had been the short journey by car. Climbing ever upward through bends that tipped them in their seats, one way then the other. Cleland’s hand ever-present.

Emerging from the car, she had immediately felt the force of the wind, and experienced a great sense of height. She could feel the difference in pressure, the temperature of the air. And then Cleland’s hand on her arm, guiding her up endless crooked steps that turned and twisted, up and up until her legs ached and her lungs were close to bursting. Apprehension grew with every step.

She knows that they have come to Gibraltar. Or, at least, that’s what he has told her, so now she assumes they are somewhere high up on the Rock. That great monolithic limestone promontory that so characterized the southern skyline of her childhood. She can picture it. It is exhilarating. And were she not so afraid, she would feel almost exultant to be standing here on the roof of the world.

Cleland’s hand has never left her, fingers firmly wrapped around her upper arm. She is not quite sure how, but she feels another presence, as if they are not alone. But with all her senses so assailed by the wind, she cannot be certain. Neither can she escape the feeling that if he let go of her, she would blow away. Fly off into the void, an escape to some gentler place.

‘Are we on the Rock?’ she asks, raising her voice because she knows that otherwise the wind will drown it. She holds out a hand for his response. He takes it. A single tap for yes, two for no, the code that has somehow evolved in the last twenty-four hours. He taps once.

‘Describe it for me.’ She wants to picture it in her mind, for him to paint that picture with words traced on her palm. But she can feel his hesitation. ‘Please.’

– We’re close to the top. 400 metres up. Dawn. Clear sky. A wall to our right, then a sheer drop to the sea. An old watchtower. Below and left, trees hide the road up from the town. In the distance . . .

But he breaks off now, and she feels his sudden tension.

With dread in her heart she asks, ‘Is she here?’

– She’s coming.

‘Don’t harm her, please. Kill me instead.’

He does not respond and she breathes deeply, attempting to calm the inner turmoil. She tries to complete the picture he did not finish. In the distance she imagines the lights of Algeciras. Her parents took her there once as a child, when they went to visit the windblown beaches of the south coast. She knows that a short way across the water, the Dark Continent lies brooding in mystery. She has seen the distant Atlas Mountains. She has breathed the smell of Africa in the heat of the wind.

She says, ‘I saw you last night.’

And the tightening of his fingers on her arm signals his surprise. Then his touch on her palm.

– How?

‘In a dream.’

– You can see in your dreams?

‘And hear. Just as if I was a normal person. Except that I can also fly. Last night I flew with you.’ She is lost for a moment in thought. ‘You cannot begin to know how it feels to wake up and remember that you are deaf and blind, to have your sight and hearing taken away from you every single day of your life. When I am asleep I never want to wake again.’ She smiles, a tiny sad ironic smile. ‘Maybe this is my dream. Or my nightmare. Maybe I will wake up and see you again and not feel sad.’

– What did I look like?

‘Hard to describe. Kind, I would say. Yes. Kind.’

But she has lost his attention. She feels his whole body stiffening next to her, and she knows that Cristina has come to die for her.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Mackenzie had little head for heights at the best of times. And this was not the best of times. As the cable car winched higher into the dawn, the wind sent it swinging wildly. He could barely bring himself to look at the distant horizon as it tilted one way then the other.

The far mountains were fully lit now, bathed in early morning sunlight, although he and Greene were still in the shadow of the Rock, and it seemed almost impenetrably dark here. A glance at the other man told Mackenzie that Greene was no happier with this perilous ascent than he. Both