Angel of the Dark

“I’m calling 1298. Hold on, David. Help is on the way.”

BACK IN THE SURVEILLANCE VAN, DANNY McGuire checked his seat belt and clutched the handrail above the door for support. Jassal was on clear, straight road now, his siren blaring. They must be doing ninety at least.

Danny looked at his watch: nine P.M. He felt like a royal idiot.

Matt Daley, of course, was still in the Ishag house. He’d known Danny was there all along and lured him away with a classic bait and switch.

Had they done it yet? Had he and Sarah Jane—Azrael—killed David Ishag?

In the seat next to Danny the sound engineer was struggling with the van’s complex radio equipment. They had to get in touch with the other members of the team, get inside the house before it was too late.

Danny shouted at him, fighting to be heard above the screeching sirens.

“Anything?”

The man shook his head. “We’re in range, but I can’t get a signal.”

The lights of Marathi twinkled in the distance. Soon the Ishag mansion itself would be in view.

“Keep trying.”

SARAH JANE HUNG UP THE TELEPHONE. “They’re on their way.”

David drifted in and out of consciousness. What was I supposed to do again? Something about chest pains? It was so hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t. Was Sarah really holding his hand? Mopping his brow? Or was that a dream? She seemed so loving…but wasn’t she planning to kill him?

He closed his eyes again.

When he opened them, a man was standing over the bed. He was masked and dressed from head to toe in black like the grim reaper. In his hand, glinting silver against the dark fabric of his pants, was a knife.

David contemplated screaming, but his larynx seemed to have swollen shut, and in any case he wasn’t as afraid as he’d thought he’d be. He was just very, very tired. I’m probably dreaming. He’ll disappear in a minute.

He closed his eyes and drifted away.

“I’VE GOT THEM, SIR! VOICES. IN the master bedroom.”

Danny McGuire punched the air with relief. “And the others?”

“Yes, sir, we have contact.”

“Demartin, Kapiri, do you copy?”

The Indian policeman’s furious voice was the first on the line. “McGuire? Where the fuck have you been?”

“Never mind that. Get into the house, now! They’re in the master. Get Ishag out of there.” Hanging up, Danny turned back to the sound engineer. “Can you hear Ishag? Is he alive?”

The sound engineer clasped his headphones, closing his eyes in concentration. “I’m not sure. I can hear the woman. She—”

Suddenly the man ripped the headphones from his ears. Danny McGuire didn’t need to ask why.

Everybody in the van heard Sarah Jane Ishag’s scream.

IN DAVID ISHAG’S BEDROOM, THE MAN in black pulled his mask off and smiled.

“What’s the matter, angel?” he asked.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

CHAPTER THIRTY