Joe Country полностью

Then he stamped his feet. Cold was good; cold kept you sharp. But his feet weren’t getting the message.

Next time he looked back, Cartwright had disappeared.

Snow was drifting down; not a blizzard, but one of those unstoppable forces that would end up carrying off walls and bridges. In time, its cold began to feel like a different kind of warmth. That couldn’t be a good thing, he decided, as he cut through a copse to find, when he emerged on the other side, a barn.

It sat in the corner of a field, as its skeleton outline on his phone suggested. Its reality was more solid than that empty box, but there wasn’t much in it: even from a distance, J.K. Coe could see holes in its roof. It was a fundamental rule of construction: left to itself, any building will strive to become its base elements once more; in this case, wood and nails. Slow horses knew this. Slough House was a constant reminder that neglect was one of the few things you didn’t have to work at to achieve an impeccably high standard.

He had all those thoughts, and this one too: that there was a man leaning against the barn’s outer wall, watching his approach.

A mile to the coast? Call it a mile.

A mile then, but it felt like three.

River’s legs were aching long before he saw the first sign, Coastal Path, and an arrow indicating he should keep right on. And if he walked far enough, he might hit cartoon gravity; the kind where you don’t start falling until you notice you’ve run out of ground. He wondered how high the path was, how far the drop to the sea, and whether the landing would be onto rocks or water. And if the latter, how long you could be expected to last after impact, in temperatures like this. So many different ways to die arising from the same mistake. That could almost be a mission statement. If not for the Service as a whole, at least for Slough House.

The only vehicle he’d seen had been a car lumbering past in the opposite direction. Its driver, an elderly female, had stared at him but maintained her lumpy pace. The dog peering out of her rear window had laughed at River walking in the snow.

He wondered where Louisa was. The slashed tyres were a good sign. They’d not have disabled her car if they’d already disabled Louisa. So at some point, at least, she’d been active and evading the enemy.

Somewhat unexpectedly he had a signal, so he called Lamb.

“Found her yet?”

“Wales is quite big, it turns out.”

Lamb said, “Yeah, I’ve problems of my own. Are you still in a layby or have you got off your collective arses yet?”

“We found where she dumped her phone.”

“But not the phone itself.”

“We didn’t pack a JCB. It looks like she tossed it. That or . . .” He trailed off.

Lamb said, “I’m not a fucking infant. If she’s lying dead in a field, she’s been there a while, that’s what you’re saying?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, let’s hope not. If I’ve lost a joe while she’s on leave, I’ll never hear the end of it.” River heard the clicking of a lighter, and the sandpaper rasp of a cigarette being lit. Then Lamb said, “You’ve mentioned the snow. Any signs of wolves?”

“Wolves? It’s Wales, not . . . Mongolia.”

“’Cause I’m wondering if that’s what you’ve been chucked to. If Guy went dark, she’d have called it in first, and the Park would have responded. In which case you should be knee-deep in back-up by now. Alpha-types, unlike you and your loser colleagues.”

River said, “I’ve only had a signal about half the time. And if she rang the distress number, she wouldn’t get a human response. It goes to a recording.”

“I really did want a lecture on Park processes. Can you explain their time sheets now?”

“All I’m saying, she might not have known she didn’t get through. She could have dumped her phone and gone dark without the Park knowing about it.”

Lamb said, “That’s exactly the kind of arsehole outcome I’ve got used to.”

Behind him, there was traffic noise; the aquarium swoosh of a big car passing.

“You’re outside?” said River. He hadn’t meant to sound surprised, but, well, Lamb? Outside?

“Visiting an old friend.”

River wasn’t sure which was the less likely scenario: that Lamb had an old friend, or that he might ever make a new one. “My battery’s nearly done,” he said. “I’ll call when I can. Any news from there?”

He wasn’t sure why he asked, except that something had to have happened, if Lamb had left his room.

“Wicinski cut himself shaving. Or someone did.”

Whatever that was about, River didn’t have the battery power to pursue it. “Hanging up now,” he said, and disconnected.

Five minutes later, the snow deeper here than on the road, he was on the coastal path.

“Just a fox,” Louisa said, back at the shed.

Emma, less concerned about local wildlife than the general situation, said, “You should have been out of here the first night. Stolen a car.”