Long Time Lost Read Free

elevator zip up into the sky towards the distant operator’s cab.
    Patrick had begun to moan then. He’d started to thrash and grapple with his ankle bindings until the second man walked over and squatted next to him. He was short and muscular with a thick, square head and mangled boxer’s ears. His lightless grey eyes were wide-set, creeping towards the sides of his skull, reminding Patrick of a hammerhead shark.
    The man wore a shiny blue tracksuit and pristine white training shoes. He raised a finger to his lips and shook his head in a no-nonsense warning, which, coming from this guy, was enough to make Patrick stay almost completely still as the big metal hook was lowered all the way down from the end of the jib, where it was secured to the chains coiled around his ankles before the mechanism was reversed and the hook was winched up and Patrick was dragged into the air until he was suspended the wrong way round with his blood rushing to his head, just beyond reach of the tower and the cab and any remote chance of safety.
    Patrick kept willing himself to pass out but he remained stubbornly conscious as the little elevator shuttled downwards then whirred back up again, whereupon the man in the tracksuit hauled back the caged door and climbed nimbly and confidently between some railings until he was clinging to the outside of the tower, reaching for the flapping hood attached to Patrick’s sweater.
    Patrick moaned from behind his gag, and kept moaning even as the man yanked him towards him and shook him vigorously, even as the older man in the suit leaned out of a window on the operator’s cab and told him to shut the hell up.
    ‘Do you know who we are?’ the older man shouted.
    Patrick assumed the question was rhetorical. There was no way he could talk around the gag, even supposing his sweater wasn’t crushing his throat.
    ‘Do you know who sent us?’
    Patrick nodded and swallowed hard, which was a strange sensation, being upside down and half throttled.
    ‘So then you know why we’re here. You’ve probably heard of my colleague. People have probably warned you about him.’
    People had warned Patrick about a lot of things. But nothing specific. And certainly not this.
    Why hadn’t he listened to those people? Why did he never listen to good advice?
    ‘They call my colleague the Hypnotist. Know why? I’ll tell you, Patrick. It’s because he has this rare ability to persuade anyone he wants to do anything he likes. But there’s one big difference between my colleague and a stage hypnotist. He doesn’t have a pocket watch to swing before your eyes. But that’s OK. He doesn’t need one.’
    The guy in the tracksuit let go of Patrick’s hood and clutched at his face, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of his cheeks. He pulled Patrick close to him – so close that Patrick could see the crazed glimmer in his eyes – then shoved him away fast and hard.
    ‘You’re the watch,’ the older man shouted, as Patrick swooped through the air.

Chapter Three
    Miller found the body in the bedroom. The man was dead, no question. But it almost hadn’t turned out that way. He must have gotten very close to fulfilling his contract. He’d fallen on to his back right next to the bed, toppling the lamp on the nearside cabinet.
    There was blood on the duvet. Blood on the pillows and the walls. Kate had shot the man through the throat, close quarters, and Miller guessed he must have been leaning over her at the time. Perhaps she’d been keeping the gun under one of her pillows. Maybe she’d faked being asleep and had waited until the very last moment to shoot.
    Impressive, if so.
    The guy was dressed all in black. Black trousers, a black gilet over a black cable-knit jumper, black gloves and a black balaclava. His automatic pistol was fitted with a suppressor.
    Miller shone his torch into the sightless eyes behind the balaclava. Was this the man he’d vowed to kill four years ago?
    He squatted and peeled back the