The Bone Clocks

Holly puts her device back into her bag. “The police at home would never go to such trouble.” A cycle courier zips by and the traffic lurches forward. “How on earth did you find me, Officer?”

“Detective Marr,” says Brzycki. “Needles in haystacks really do get found. The precinct put out a Code Fifteen and although ‘slimbuilt female Caucasian in her fifties in a knee-length black raincoat’ hardly cuts the field down on a rainy day in Manhattan, your guardian angels were working overtime. Actually—it’s maybe not appropriate to say this at this time—but Sergeant Lewis up front there, he’s a bigfan of yours. He was giving me a lift back from Ninety-eighth down to Columbus Circle, and Lewis said, ‘My God, it’s her!’ Isn’t that right, Tony?”

“Sure is. I saw you speak at Symphony Space, Ms. Sykes, when The Radio Peoplewas out,” says the driver. “After my wife died, your book was a light in the darkness. It saved me.”

“Oh, I’m …” Holly is in such a state that this rheumatic story passes muster, “… glad it helped.” The meat truck draws up alongside. “And I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks for saying so, Ms. Sykes. Truly.”

After a few seconds, Holly menus her device. “I’ll device Sharon, my sister. She’s in England, but perhaps she can find out more about Aoife from there.”

The stream flickers and dims. The cord’s thinning,I subwarn Фshima. What have you found out about our host?

Her name’s Nancy, hates mice, she’s killed eight times,comes the delayed answer. A child soldier in South Sudan. This is her first job for Brzycki … Marinus, what’s “curarequinoline”?

Bad news. A toxin. One milligram can trigger a pulmonary collapse in ten seconds. Coroners never test for it. Why?

Nancy here and Brzycki have curarequinoline in their tranq guns. We can conclude it isn’t for self-defense.

“I’ll call my office again,” says Brzycki, helpfully. “See if they can’t get the name of your daughter’s hospital in Athens. Then at least you’ll have a direct line.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Holly’s pale and sick-looking.

Brzycki flips down his wraparounds. “Anchor Two? Unit twenty-eight, you copying, Anchor Two?”

Unexpectedly, the earpiece in Nancy’s helmet comes to life, and through it I hear Immaculйe Constantin. “Clear as a bell. All things considered, let’s play safe. Eliminate your guest.”

Shock boils up but I rally myself: Ф shima, get her out!But my only reply is a blast of blizzard down the overstretched cord. Фshima can’t hear me, or he can’t respond, or both.

Clarity returns. “Copy that, Anchor Two,” Brzycki is saying, “but our present location is Fifth and East Sixty-eighth, where the traffic’s still at a dead halt. Might I advise that we postpone the last order as per—”

“Give the Sykes woman a tranq in each arm,” orders Constantin in her soft voice. “No postponement. Do it.”

I subshout hard, Ф shima, get her out get her out!

But no answer comes either from his soul or his inert body, propped up by mine on the bench, a block from the police car. All I can do is watch via the cord as an innocent woman, whom I lassoed into our War, is killed. I can’t transverse this distance, and even if I could I’d arrive too late.

“Understood, Anchor Two, will proceed as advised.” Brzycki nods at Lewis in the mirror, and at Nancy.

Holly asks, “Any luck with the hospital number, Detective Marr?”

“Our secretary’s on it.” Brzycki unholsters his tranq gun and flicks off the safety catch, while left-handed Nancy, through whose viewpoint I must watch, does the same.

“Why,” Holly’s voice changes, “do you need your guns?”

On reflex, I try to suasion Nancy to stop, but one cannot suasion down a cord and I just watch in horror as Nancy fires the tranq—at Brzycki’s throat, where a tiny red dot appears, on his Adam’s apple. The Anchorite touches it, astonished, then looks at the red dab on his fingers, looks at Nancy, utters, “What the …”