The device

In the basement of the Church of the New Word, sat a flight case Phil Armstrong would have no problem recognising.

Once again, Adam observed the rigmarole of the catches being opened, and the various components being plugged in. The whole thing looked like the kind of kit you'd see round a mixing desk at a gig, he thought.

Through repetition, the sense of dread he'd felt the first time had all but disappeared. Something told him he had nothing to fear ... well, from the equipment, at least. The posh bloke and these goons though, he wasn't so sure about them. Hewson too, if it came to that.

One of the the dumb and dumber crew - as he'd come to think of them - was trying to sort out a tangle of leads. "Be good when we can get this set up properly, for good like," he was saying. "Doing my head in this is, boss," he moaned to the Major ... or in the direction of the Major, anyway.

"Yes, yes," he replied irritably. Cotter would bet that he wasn't the only one who thought these guys weren't the brightest bulbs in the box. "Get a move on, will you?"

He turned to look at Adam. "This is the last-chance saloon for our young friend here. Make or break, you might say."

Adam did not like the sound of that.



Part Three begins here.