Khoury had spent half the day watching the Lighthouse Project, waiting for her return. Earlier, he’d walked the area, getting to know the backstreets and alleys; potential escape routes should he need them. He noticed quite a few people hanging around with seemingly little to do, standing on street corners, leaning against lamp posts, sitting on the steps of houses watching the world go by.
Nobody paid them any attention and vice versa. Khoury soon understood why. A number of facilities similar to the Lighthouse Project, with signs above the door, peppered the area. Despite this, he felt exposed and took to walking a little, pausing a little, following a circuitous route.
Last night, Khoury had left the Lighthouse at a run, keen to put distance between himself and the police, all the while keeping an eye out for Larry and his friend. He saw neither them nor the law. He grabbed a couple of hours’ sleep in a shop doorway, until he was woken, stiff and freezing, by a passing bin lorry. He was still cold and getting hungry.
He halted a hundred yards away from the Lighthouse and sat on a wall. As his backside was growing sore, the front door opened. Two men stepped outside. One he recognised as Kelvin, the other, a tall, grey-haired man he hadn’t seen before. He moved like police. They walked down the steps and turned towards the seafront. Khoury considered following them, but it was Natalie he needed to see. A few minutes later, he walked up the steps to the Lighthouse and knocked. No one answered. He went back to his route.
As the middle of the day approached, an old yellow VW Golf trundled by the Lighthouse and parked a hundred yards or so along. Natalie was behind the wheel. She looked tired and haggard. Khoury pushed off the metal fence opposite the Lighthouse and made his way over. Natalie didn’t notice him. She climbed the steps, fished around in her bag for her keys, and selected one from a decent-sized bunch.
While Natalie was turning the key, Khoury went up the steps. She glanced over her shoulder when his shadow fell. The door was already open a crack. Khoury pushed it wide and bundled Natalie through. She stumbled into the hall, tripping on the carpet, and fell onto her knees. The bag hit the floor and spilled its contents everywhere. Khoury kicked the door shut behind him.
Natalie rolled onto her backside, leaning away, hands on the floor, knees drawn up. Her expression changed with recognition. Fear crept into her face. Khoury looked down, feeling ashamed. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he imagined a new life in the UK. But he had to do this. For Najjar. For Shadid. For the family he would never see again.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Khoury pulled Natalie to her feet and guided her forward through into the refectory, then the kitchen.
“Food,” said Khoury.
Natalie blinked. She opened the fridge and pulled out a large, plastic tub. She put it on a work surface and peeled off the lid, the seal parting with a loud snap.
She spooned stew into a bowl, microwaved it for a couple of minutes, all the while keeping her eyes on him. His eyes darted nervously from the kitchen door, then back to Natalie. When the microwave pinged she took the bowl out and put the bowl on a table. Khoury indicated for her to slide onto one of the benches, then sat down to face her. He placed his knife on the table and ate quickly, glancing up at her with each slurp.
When he’d finished, he stood so he had the height advantage and dominance. He hated himself for frightening a woman. But if she thought he was dangerous, then she would cooperate. “Where is Larry?”
“Who?”
“Larry. He was here last night.”
“Do you mean Larry Lost?”
“Yes. Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He works in a couple of pubs. Why do you ask?”
“Write down the names.”
“I’ll need a pen and paper. They were in my bag, by the front door.”
“Get it, then.”
Natalie stood and went back into the hallway, Khoury right behind her in case she decided to make a dash. Natalie knelt down, swept fingers through her possessions on the floor, found what she wanted.
“Pass me your purse,” said Khoury.
Natalie handed it over. Khoury opened the clasp and took out the few notes she had in there. He stuffed them into a pocket and dropped the purse on the floor.
Standing again, she rested the paper against the wall, wrote an address, and passed it to him. He glanced at the details, which meant nothing to him, before putting the paper into the same pocket as the cash. Khoury wasn’t entirely satisfied, though. With Larry and Dave on his tail, and possibly the police, as well, he needed to minimise his movements, his exposure. “Anywhere else he might be?”
“I’ve told you all I know.”
A thought occurred to him. “Does he have a boat?”
“I think so.”
“Where?”
“Ramsgate, I would expect. It’s the largest anchorage in the area.”
Khoury remembered the words on the back of the boat when he’d thrown himself overboard. Etna and Ramsgate. A name and the port of registration. “I'm sorry, but I need your car.” He held out his hand.
Natalie bent down, scooped up a key on a fob, and dropped it into Khoury’s palm. He folded his fingers over it.
“You might warn your friend, Larry, that I’m coming for him.”
“He’s no friend of mine.”
As Khoury considered his options, there was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be Kelvin,” said Natalie.
Another thump at the door and then the letterbox rattled. “Can you let me in?”
“Why don’t I open up, and you just walk out of here?” Natalie asked Khoury. “There isn’t a way out the back. It’s the front or nowhere.”
Khoury put his knife away, nodded at Natalie as the letterbox flapped once more. She took a couple of steps forward, undid the lock, opened the door wide, and stepped back against the wall to let Khoury pass. Kelvin was standing on the top step, looking bewildered and lost for words.
Khoury barged past him. Kelvin stumbled but didn’t react. Natalie grabbed Kelvin by the wrist and dragged him inside. When Khoury looked over his shoulder, the door was slamming shut.
Khoury walked up the street until he reached Natalie’s car. He got in, started the engine, and pulled straight out into traffic, ignoring the blare of a horn.
After a minute’s drive Khoury reached some traffic lights. They were red. He slowed, looked at the signs. One pointed towards Ramsgate. There was the pictogram of a boat.
When the lights turned green, Khoury followed the arrow and kept doing so until the harbour spread out before him. A huge rectangle of calm water dotted with yachts and motor boats was protected by two harbour arms which didn’t quite meet in the middle, leaving a small gap for the boats to head out the North Sea.
Khoury drove past a line of restaurants, looking for a space. He found one near a tall stone monument in the shape of a needle and a shiny silver burger van. He pulled in, switched off the engine, and looked at the various seagoing vessels. They were many, maybe even hundreds. Khoury didn’t bother to lock the car. He took a slow trip around the circumference, trying to recognise Larry’s craft.
He’d walked nearly all the way round by the time he spotted a possible candidate. He paused on a metal footbridge. The shape looked right. Long, low prow; and raked cabin, painted black. However, Khoury couldn’t take a closer look as the jetty was barred by a metal gate and high fence to the side of which was a keypad. He tried the gate anyway, just in case. Firmly locked.
There were two ways to get in. Either drop off the harbour wall into the water where there was no fence, or climb over it. The former meant a twelve-foot plunge and a bit of a swim, so Khoury wasn’t keen. He’d had enough of swimming. The latter meant awaiting darkness. Khoury decided on option two and returned to the stolen car.