made. They drew ever closer to that low grey band of teasing fog that had promised the coast of Essex cooler weather for days.
Barbara kept the binoculars trained ahead of them. If they didn't catch Muhannad up before they reached the fog bank, their advantage of speed would do them little good. He would be able to outmaneouvre them. The sea was vast.
He could change his course, taking himself miles beyond their reach, and they wouldn't be able to catch him because they wouldn't be able to see him. //he reached the fog bank.
//, Barbara realised, he was even out in the open sea at all. He could have been hugging the coast of England.
He could have another hideout altogether, an65 other plan set in place long ago should the gaff be blown on his smuggling ring. She lowered the binoculars. She rubbed her arm across her face, removing not sweat this time but a sheen of saltwater.
It was, she decided, the first time she'd been cool in days.
PC Fogarty had crawled to the stern, where the carbine had slid. He was checking it over, adjusting its setting: single shot or automatic fire.
Barbara guessed he was opting for automatic.
From her coursework, she knew that the weapon had a range of about one hundred yards.
She felt the bile rise in her throat at the thought that he might actually fire it. At one hundred yards, it was as likely that the constable would hit Hadiyyah as he'd hit Muhannad. A completely non-religious woman, she sent a fleeting prayer heavenward that one shot aimed well above his head would convince their killer that the police were pursuing him in deadly earnest. She couldn't imagine Muhannad surrendering for any other reason.
She returned to her watch. Stay focused, she told herself. But she couldn't keep her mind's eye from seeing the little girl anyway. Plaits flying joyously round her shoulders, standing flamingo-like with her small right foot scratching at her thin left calf, nose scrunched with concentration as she learned the mysteries of a telephone answer machine, brightly putting the best possible face on a birthday party with a single guest, dancing with happiness at the discovery of a near relation when she'd thought she had none.
Muhannad had told her that they'd meet again.
She must have been bursting with delight at how soon again had actually occurred.
Barbara swallowed. She tried not to think. Her job was to find him. Her job was to watch.
Her job was to -
"There! Bloody hell! There!"
The boat was a pencil-smudge on the horizon, rapidly approaching the fog. It disappeared with a swell. It reappeared again. It was on an identical course to theirs.
"Where?" Emily shouted.
"Straight on," Barbara said. "Go. Go. He's heading into the fog."
They roared onward. Barbara kept the other boat in sight, shouting directions, reporting what she saw. It was clear that Muhannad hadn't yet twigged that they were behind him.
But it wouldn't be long before he realised that fact.
There was no way they could silence the scream of the Sea Wizard'?, engines. The moment he heard them, he'd know capture was imminent.
And the desperation factor would weigh in like a boxer.
Fogarty moved up to join them, carbine in hand. Barbara scowled at him. "You don't intend to use that thing, do you?" she shouted.
"Sure as hell hope not," he replied, and she liked him for the answer.
The sea round them was vast, an undulating field of murky green. They'd long ago left the lesser pleasure craft behind them. Their companions remained only the distant ferries that were making for Holland, Germany, and Sweden.
"Are we still on him?" Emily shouted. "Do I need to correct?"
Barbara raised the binoculars. She winced as the jouncing boat rattled her ribs. "Left,"
she shouted in return. "More to the left. And Jesus.
Hurry." The other boat looked inches away from the fog.
Emily guided the Sea Wizard to port. A moment later, she gave a cry. "I see him! I've got him!"
And Barbara lowered the binoculars as they roared closer.
They were some one hundred and fifty yards away when it became apparent that Muhannad had realised that they were on him. He rode a swell and looked back over his shoulder. He bent his attention to the wheel and the fog, since he couldn't possibly hope to outrun them.
He powered onward. The boat cut into the swells. Water spit over its bow in great froths.
Muhannad's hair, free from the ponytail he'd worn since the first moment Barbara had seen him, flew about his head.