Rebus lost his grip, tumbled down steel steps, gashed his side and dabbed a hand there, finding oil instead of blood. They were twenty feet above him and laughing, taking their time: where was there for him to go? Maybe he could fly, flap his arms and leap into space. The only thing to fear was the drop. Like landing on concrete. Was that better or worse than landing on spikes? He had decisions to make; his pursuers weren’t far behind. They were never far behind, yet he always stayed in front of them, even wounded. I could get out of this, he thought. I could get out of this! A voice directly behind him: ‘In your dreams.’ Then a push out into space. Rebus started awake so suddenly his head hit the car roof. His body surged with fear and adrenalin. ‘Christ,’ Ancram said from the driver’s seat, regaining control of the steering-wheel, ‘what happened?’ ‘How long was I asleep?’ ‘I didn’t realise you were.’ Rebus looked at his watch: maybe only a couple of minutes.
