want Tariq to see the tears that had started to run down her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Maybe it was exhaustion – or guilt. Wherever she went it seemed, people died – and she was weary of death. It seemed to walk alongside her, taking the lives of everyone she touched and driving others away. She couldn’t shake the growing feeling that it was she who was at the heart of all this misery – that she was the cause and the curse.
‘What are you doing?’ Tariq said, drawing level with her, his voice a low whisper so it would not carry.
‘I’m going back,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the compound. ‘And if they shoot me then they’ll be doing me and everyone else a favour. You go on to Al-Hillah if you want. I’m tired of running scared.’
She marched on, feeling relieved more than anything as the tension continued to unwind inside her. The adrenalin of the incident with Kasim burned away leaving a gnawing sickness in the pit of her empty stomach and her muscles feeling heavy and weak. Ahead of her the compound opened up a little as her perspective shifted. She could see past the main building now into the wide central area where the derrick rose from the main pool of water. There was still no sign of life, no horses, no people. Maybe they had realized the water was poisoned and ridden away.
The compound opened up a little more and she saw two vehicles parked by the main transport hanger that hadn’t been there before: a jeep and a transport truck. It explained the fresh supplies of fuel. She was close enough now to read the registration plates and make out the logo on the side of the truck – a flower with the earth at its centre. The heat of hope warmed her exhausted muscles and she broke into a shambling run. It was the symbol of the international aid agency ORTUS – the charity Gabriel worked for. He had said he would come back. He had promised. Maybe he had …
She made it to the gate too exhausted from her sprint even to call out his name. She rattled the gate then found a stone on the ground and started banging it against the steel frame. The anvil clang echoed in the night like a chapel bell and she kept at it, beating the stone against the metal until it splintered in her hands.
A door opened on the side of the transport hangar, framing the silhouette of a man and Liv crumpled to her knees, all her energy spent. The figure hurried out of the door towards her and another followed. She could not make out details of their faces because of the bright lights shining behind them. She watched them draw closer, clinging to the gate to keep herself vaguely upright as hope drained steadily out of her. The way they moved, the slope of their shoulders, other tiny things told her, long before they reached the gate to open it, that neither man was Gabriel.
She let go of the gate and allowed herself to slump down the last few feet to the cold earth. The smell of the earth filled her nostrils as her head made contact with the ground. Then she gave in to the welcome relief of oblivion, closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.
44
The Reverend Fulton Cooper was shorter than Shepherd had expected but he displaced the air like a much larger man. He was standing in the middle of a large room that had been converted into a TV studio, talking to a tall reed of a man clutching a clipboard and wearing headphones. The studio was basic, just three cameras on wheeled tripods with wireless transmitters plugged in the back feeding a signal directly into a large iMac in the corner. Including the laptops the telephone operators were using there was maybe less than twenty thousand dollars' worth of technology on display. No wonder the Reverend could afford to base his church in a million-dollar mansion. He was broadcasting to the world with a miniscule overhead and no taxes to pay.
‘Gentlemen.’ Cooper finally turned his attention to them, all smiles and open arms. ‘My apologies for the wait. As you can see I am rather busy, but I am more than happy to be of assistance if I can.’ He stayed where he was, inviting them to