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I open the bag and check the contents. Chalk. Change of clothes. Gun. Everything a growing boy needs to succeed in life.
I strip out of the wetsuit, burying it in the sand along with the oxygen tank. I’m not sure if the beach is patrolled offshore but I don’t want anything to give away that I was here. No footprints on the sand except mine. The only access is a goat track a quarter mile to the north.
I get into the climbing gear. Tight trousers with no loose fabric, long sleeve top, climbing shoes. All black.
I stand up, chalking my hands before slipping the things I need back inside.
I hook the rucksack in place and then move to the edge of the overhang. I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. Last chance to walk away.
I put my hands on the first grip I find and hoist myself into the air. I shift my weight, clinging close to the cliff edge, my arms taking the strain, fighting gravity.
I pull myself up the overhang and onto the top above it. I lean against the wall, looking for the next hold. Unclimbable cliff, that’s what Paolo called it.
We’ll see about that, won’t we?
It takes time, I’ll give him that. There aren’t many grips and those there are seem designed to send me down to the beach that’s already a fatal distance below.
The rock crumbles in places and in others has no give at all. The sandstone parts rub at my suit as I move upward. By the time I’m halfway up, my knees are getting shredded and my elbows aren’t far behind.
From the safety of the island to this in such a short space of time. Climbing to save my wife or doom us both.
I keep going, the weight in the rucksack making me want to discard it. I can’t do that. For this to work, I need everything left inside.
I look up. I can see the stilts of the building. They stick out of the cliff sides like badly thrown spears, holding up the floor of the house.
From the far shore, I saw the one thing I needed to see, the one thing that gives me an advantage.
I keep climbing. The sun moves across the sky, the only thing giving me a sense of time passing.
I’m in the zone, moving from one section of rock to another, thinking of nothing but making my way up. I don’t think of Amato. I don’t think of Anna. I don’t think of anything but the climb.
I’m nearly there when she comes unbidden into my mind. My concentration breaks, my left hand slipping loose, sending my back flailing outward. I don’t panic. I grip tighter with my feet, grunting quietly as I lean forward and get hold again. No more thinking of her. Not now, not when I’m so close.
I make it to the bottom of the first stilt. It’s embedded into the rock with steel chains but looks breakable. I could try to work it loose, send the house crashing down to the beach. But that might kill her as well so it’s a risk I’m not willing to take.
I swing myself inward, balancing on the girder that forms the stilt on this side of the house. I ease my way along it until I reach my goal. A steel door set into the cliff. Presumably set up this way so he can threaten his enemies with a fatal fall.
There’s a lock on the door. I reach into my bag and bring out the explosive. It’s in the shape of a cube but I squash it together over the lock until it forms a crescent.
Sticking the detonator into the center, I back up along the girder, swinging around it and dangling from one hand, pressing the detonator control button with the other.
There’s a dull thump and then sections of door explode outward. Alarms start going off above my head.
I haven’t got long.
I swing my way back onto the girder and dive forward through the remains of the door.
The heat signatures we saw through the monocular gave away their positions. Everyone upstairs apart from two figures tied up in the basement. It can only be Anna and Fleur. “Anna,” I call out as I get to my feet. “You in here?”
“Back here,” she shouts as my eyes adjust. Heat hits me as I look around. The door exploding has started a fire and the flames are blocking me from reaching Anna and Fleur.
I can see them through the licking orange and yellow heat. The haze of it keeps digging into my skull, freezing my thoughts.
Fire. The car crash. I can’t move. I’m trapped in place. The flames are moving toward them and I’m just standing here, doing nothing.
How am I supposed to get to them? They’re tied to those wooden chairs. The flames are going to reach them any second and then it’ll be too late for anything.
“Save her,” Anna shouts to me. “You can get to Fleur easier than me.”
