Joan had said she’d let the new clients in as far as the hall. And he would guess she’d probably let the van driver in as far as the kitchen. He took a lot of time over both areas, feeling beneath carpets and behind curtains, taking the cookbooks off the bookshelf in the kitchen.

He found the first bug in the hall.

It was attached to the inside of the telephone.

He went into the kitchen and switched on the radio, placing it close to the phone extension. Then he unscrewed the apparatus and found another bug identical to the first one. Both had the letters USA stamped into their thin metal casing. He wiped sweat from his face, and went through to the living room. Despite an hour-long search, he found nothing, which didn’t mean the room was clean. He knew he could save a lot of effort by getting hold of a locating device, but he didn’t have the time. And at least now he knew-knew his family wasn’t safe, knew his home wasn’t secure.

Knew they had to get out.

He sat on the chair beside the dressing table in their bedroom. A morning ray of sun had found a chink in the curtains and was hitting Joan’s face, moving from her eyes to her forehead as she twisted in her sleep. Like a laser sight, Reeve thought, like an assassin taking aim. He felt tired but electric; he’d spent half the night writing. He had the sheets of printer paper with him on the chair. Joan rolled over, her arm flopping down on the space where he should have been. She used the arm to push herself up, blinking a few times. Then she rolled onto her back and craned her neck.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning,” he answered, coming towards her.

“How long have you been up?” She was blinking her eyes again in an attempt to read the sheet of paper Reeve was holding in front of her.

“Hours,” he said with a lightness he did not feel.

DON’T SAY A WORD. JUST READ. NOD WHEN YOU’RE READY. REMEMBER: SAY NOTHING.

His look told her he was serious. She nodded, sitting up farther in bed, pushing the hair out of her eyes. He turned to the next sheet.

THE HOUSE IS BUGGED: WE CAN’T SAY ANYTHING IN SAFETY. WE’VE GOT TO PRETEND THIS IS JUST ANOTHER DAY. NOD WHEN YOU’RE READY.

She took a moment to nod. When she did so, she was staring into his eyes.

“So are you going to lie there all day?” he chided, turning the page.

“Why not?” she said. She looked frightened.

YOU’VE GOT TO GO STAY WITH YOUR SISTER. TAKE ALLAN. BUT DON’T TELL HIM. JUST PACK SOME THINGS INTO THE CAR AND GO. PRETEND YOU’RE TAKING HIM TO SCHOOL AS USUAL.

“Come on, get up and I’ll make the breakfast.”

“I’ll take a shower.”

“Okay.”

WE CAN’T SAY WHERE YOU’RE GOING. WE CAN’T LET ANYONE KNOW. THIS IS JUST AN ORDINARY MORNING.

Joan nodded her head.

“Will toast do you?” he asked.

I DON’T THINK WE’RE BEING WATCHED, JUST LISTENED TO.

He smiled to reassure her.

“Toast’s fine,” she said, only the slightest tremble evident in her voice. She cleared her throat and pointed at him. He had foreseen this, and found the sheet.

I’LL BE FINE. I JUST NEED TO TALK TO A FEW PEOPLE.

She looked doubtful, so he smiled again and bent forward to kiss her.

“That better?” he asked.

“Better,” she said.

I’LL PHONE YOU AT YOUR SISTER’S. YOU CAN CALL HER ON YOUR WAY THERE, LET HER KNOW YOU’RE COMING. DON’T COME BACK HERE UNTIL I TELL YOU IT’S ALL RIGHT. I LOVE YOU.

She jumped to her feet and hugged him. They stayed that way for a full minute. Her eyes were wet when he broke away.

“Toast and tea it is,” Reeve said.

He was in the kitchen, trying to hum a tune while he made breakfast, when she walked in. She was carrying a notepad and pen. She looked more together now that she was dressed, now that she’d had time to think. She thrust the notepad into his face.

WHAT THE FUCK’S THIS ALL ABOUT?

He took the pad from her and rested it on the counter.

IT’D TAKE TOO LONG. I’LL EXPLAIN WHEN I PHONE.

He looked up at her, then added a last word.

PLEASE.

THIS IS UNFAIR, she wrote, anger reddening her face.

He mouthed the words I know and followed them with sorry.

“Had your shower already?” he asked.

“Water wasn’t hot enough.” She looked for a second like she might laugh at the absurdity of it all. But she was too angry to laugh.

“Want me to cut some bread?” she asked.

“Sure, thanks. How’s Allan?”

“Not keen on getting up.”

“He doesn’t know how lucky he is,” Reeve said. He watched Joan attack the loaf with the bread knife like it was the enemy.

Things were easier when Allan came down. Both parents talked to him more than usual, asking questions, eliciting responses. This was safe ground; they could be less guarded. When Joan said maybe she’d have that shower after all, Reeve knew she was going to pack. He told Allan he was going to get the car out, and walked into the courtyard, breathing deeply and exhaling noisily.

“Jesus,” he said. He circled the property again. He could hear a tractor somewhere over near Buchanan’s croft, and the drone of a light airplane overhead, though the morning was too overcast to see it. He didn’t think anyone was watching the house. He wondered how far the transmitters carried. Not very far by the look of them. There’d be a recorder somewhere, buried in the earth or hidden under rocks. He wondered how often they changed tapes, how often they listened. The recorder was probably voice-activated, and whoever was listening was only interested in telephone calls.

Or maybe they just hadn’t had time to bug the house properly.

“Bastards,” he said out loud. Then he went back into the house. Joan was coming downstairs with a couple of traveling bags. She took them straight out to her car and put them in the trunk. She motioned for him to join her. When he did, she just stared at him like she wanted to say something.

“I think it’s okay outside,” he said.

“Good. What are you going to do, Gordon?”

“Talk to a few people.”

“What people? What are you going to talk to them about?”

He looked around the courtyard, his eyes alighting on the door to the killing room. “I’m not sure. I just want to know why someone has bugged our telephones. I need to get hold of some equipment, sweep the place to make sure it’s clean apart from the two I found.”

“How long will we have to stay away?”

“Maybe just a couple of days. I don’t know yet. I’ll phone as soon as I can.”

“Don’t do anything…” She didn’t complete the sentence.

“I won’t,” he said, stroking her hair.

She brought something out of her pocket. “Here, take these.” She handed him a vial of small blue pills-the pills he was supposed to take when the pink mist descended.

The psychiatrist had wondered at pink. “Not red?” he’d asked.

“No, pink.”

“Mmm. What do you associate with the color pink, Mr. Reeve?”

“Pink?”

“Yes.”

“Gays, cocks, tongues, vaginal lips, little girls’ lipstick… Will those do for a start, Doctor?”

“I get the feeling you’re playing with me, Mr. Reeve.”

“If I were playing with you, I’d‘ve said red mist and you’d’ve been happy. But I said pink because it’s pink. My vision goes pink, not red.”

“And then you react?”

Oh, yes, then he reacted…

He looked at his wife now. “I won’t need these.”

“Want to make a bet?”

Reeve took the pills instead.

Joan had told Allan they were taking Bakunin to the vet. The cat had resisted being put in its carrier, and Allan had asked what was wrong with it.

“Nothing to worry about.” She’d been looking at her husband as she’d said it.

Reeve stood at the door and waved them off, then ran to the roadside to watch them leave. He didn’t think they’d be followed. Joan drove Allan to school every morning, and this was just another morning. He went back inside and stood in the hallway.