f course I can bloody remember it - www.hotmail.com, then my name and the street where you live. Are you sure this is secure?'

'It's a lot more secure than talking on the phone. And, if I were you, I wouldn't hang about. You need to see this, and fast.' The caller hung up.

'Shit,' Krasic muttered, tossing the phone on to the dashboard. 'Where the fuck am I going to find an internet cafe"?' I

'What's going on, Darko?' Tadeusz asked. 'Who was that?'

Krasic swore under his breath in Serbo-Croat. 'Hansi the hacker. He's been doing something for me that turns out to be urgent. I need to find an internet cafe".'

'Well, take the next exit. Every little town and village has internet access these days. What's it all about?'

Krasic scowled. 'You're not going to like this.'

Tm not going to like it any better if you make me wait.'

'After she left you last night, Caroline Jackson met another man.'

Tadeusz looked shocked. 'You were still following her?' 'I was still having her followed. You think I'm going to take a stranger on trust? I've had someone on her tail since you told me about her. And this is the first time she's done anything at all except shopping and working out.'

'So who was this man? Where did she meet him?' Tadeusz was trying to sound casual, but Krasic could hear the underlying tension in his voice.

'He has an apartment in the same block where she's staying. When she got home, she went straight to his apartment. Rado saw them in the window. She was kissing him.' Tadeusz shook his head. 'He must have been mistaken. You know Rado. He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. They'll have been greeting each other.'

Krasic shook his head. 'No. I saw them myself. They were kissing each other like they meant it. And it looked like it wasn't the first time, either. She was in his apartment for the best part of an hour and a half.'

Tadeusz clenched his fists. 'But she didn't spend the night?' 'No. She wouldn't be that stupid, would she? Not when you might be calling her on the phone,' Krasic pointed out brutally. 'She's stringing you along, boss.' 'So what has Hansi the hacker been doing?' 'When the man went out this morning, I tossed his apartment. Got his name and details. I told Hansi to find out all he could about him. I guess that's what he's been doing.' 'Who is he, this man?'

'He's called Dr Anthony Hill. He's pn the staff at St Andrews University, I think. That's in England, right?'

'Scotland, actually.' Tadeusz's voice was tight and clipped. 'There's an exit coming up. Let's go and find out what Hansi the hacker can tell us about this Dr Anthony Hill. And then we'll decide what we do about Ms Jackson.'

Krasic glanced at his boss. His profile was grim, the muscles in his jaw bunched tightly. He wouldn't like to be in Caroline Jackson's shoes the next time they met. Serves the bitch right, he thought self-righteously as he flicked the turn signal to change lanes. You could never trust a woman.

He'd spent all night tossing in a fever, his berth soaked with sour sweat. His head pounded, waves of blackness pulsing between his temples. All evening, the boat had felt like a trap closing in on him. The forced inactivity was driving him crazy. He had nothing to occupy him except mechanical tasks that did nothing to take his mind off the arguments that raged constantly inside his head. Even Gunther and Manfred had | noticed that something was wrong. He'd ended up yelling at them to leave him alone when they'd expressed their concern for the umpteenth time. The look of shock on their faces had been a terrible warning to him about the possible consequences of losing control.

He couldn't afford mistakes, or everything he had worked for so painstakingly would be lost. He had a long way to go before he could be sure that the world would understand what he was doing, and he needed to remember that every I waking minute. ^E

But it was hard to keep a grip on himself when his head was splitting with contradictory messages. Every time he thought he'd got things straight, another insidious notion crept into his mind, throwing things into confusion again. First he'd convinced himself that he'd broken faith with his mission by listening to his grandfather's voice and fucking Calvet. Then he persuaded himself that he'd done the right thing by making her so completely his. Then the pendulum would swing again and he'd be as bewildered as before.

On top of this, there had been the shock of reading the news stories that had identified his work. Although he'd known this moment would come, and had thought he was prepared for it, the actuality had thrown him into confusion. They were calling him a monster, which he'd expected. But he'd thought at least one of them would have realized that there was a solid, sensible reason for what had happened to those arrogant bastards. Instead, nobody had had a word of criticism for his victims. They'd been portrayed as innocents, as if it was inconceivable that they might have deserved to die at his hands.

Sure, there had been speculation about possible motives. A couple of the papers had even suggested he might be an insane animal rights activist making a statement against vivisection. Unbelievable. The answer was staring them in the face and they were too stupid to see it.

The more he read, the more angry he had felt. He began to think he would have to spell out to them what was really going on. But he didn't want to do anything yet that might expose him. He still had work to do, and nowit>was going to be a lot harder. One of the newspapers had broken the story that the police were warning academic psychologists to report any contact from unfamiliar media personnel. He didn't know how they'd uncovered his way of making contact, but he was blown now. Every one of the bastards would be on their guard. He wouldn't be able to use his cover story to lure them into his power again. Not in Germany, at least.

The next one he had planned was due to be in Holland anyway. Those dirty collaborators were as guilty as the German psychologists, he knew that. Maybe he would be safe there one more time, since the single European market still didn't seem to apply to news. He'd have to be, because he hadn't thought up an alternative yet, and he couldn't afford to wait. He needed to blur the memory of Calvet and prove to himself that he wasn't a failure. He'd just have to be extra careful. But after that, he was going to have to come up with another way to capture his victims.

It was all too much. By the time he'd gone to bed, his head was swimming. Then his body had proved as treacherous as his brain, depriving him of sleep and sending his temperature on a rollercoaster ride of fever and chill.

It had been dawn when he'd finally fallen into a deep and nourishing sleep. And when he'd woken, it was to find that a miracle had happened. The fog and confusion had lifted, leaving him as clear-headed as he had been on the day he first understood that he needed to provide a blood sacrifice.

He was smart. He would manage to come up with another ruse to trap his victims. He might even wait a while after the next one. Let the fuss die^lown, let them all forget that they could be on his list. It was going to be OK.

Now all he needed was for the river to subside.

Tadeusz had been right. Even in the small town just off the motorway junction, it was possible to gain access to cyberspace. It didn't actually run to an internet caf? but a local newsagent had been enterprising enough to turn over part of his shop to what was proudly labelled the Net Zone. It consisted of three tables, each with a PC, and a Coke machine. Naturally, all three machines were occupied. Two teenage boys and an elderly woman stared fixedly at the screens.

Krasic snorted in exasperation. 'Shit,' he muttered through clenched teeth.

'Behave, Darko,' Tadeusz said tightly. He stepped forward and cleared his throat. 'I have a hundred marks for the first person to show they have the hospitality to give up their terminal to the stranger in town.'

The woman glanced up and giggled. The two youths looked at each other, confused. Then one jumped to his feet. 'For a hundred marks, it's all yours.'

Tadeusz took a couple of notes from his wallet and waved Krasic to the seat. 'Let's do it.' He leaned over the Serb's shoulder, gazing intently at the screen.

Krasic typed in the url for the free mail site. As he input what Hansi had told him to, the shopkeeper appeared in front of them. 'You need to pay for your time on the machine.'

'Fine,' Tadeusz said, waving another fifty-mark note at him. 'Keep the change. Now leave us alone.'

'Nothing like drawing attention to yourself,' Krasic muttered as he waited for the system to let him in.

'Like they know who we are. Come on, Darko, get this stuff on the screen.'

Krasic opened the mailbox and clicked on tie promised message from Hansi. There were half a dozen file attachments and he went straight to the first one. It containe/1 the basic details of Tony's life, from his university degree to his present post. 'Reader in psychology?' Krasic said. 'They give you a job just for being able to read?'

'It's a rank. Like professor, only not so senior,' Tadeusz said impatiently. 'Never mind that. What's all this stuff about consultant to the Home Office on offender profiling? This guy's a profiler?'

'Looks like he used to be, anyway.'

'Which means he works with cops,' Tadeusz said heavily. 'Carry on, Darko.'

Hansi had done a good job. Tony's address, phone number and bank details followed the CV. 'He's not exactly rolling in it, is he?' Krasic said. It didn't say much for Caroline Jackson's taste, he thought. The guy wasn't even good looking. Any woman who passed up his boss for this sad fucker wasn't someone whose judgement he'd be inclined to trust, that was for sure.

He opened the next attachment. It was a newspaper article about the trial of a serial killer called Jacko Vance. It focused on the role in his capture played by psychological profiler Tony Hill, the founder of the National Offender Profiling Task Force. 'Works with cops,' Tadeusz repeated, his eyes dark with anger. 'What's next?'

It was another newspaper article, this time about a serial killer who had claimed four victims in the northern English city of Bradfield. The writer described how psychologist Tony Hill had worked with the police to develop a profile that had led them to the murderer, but that it had almost cost him his life. 'What the fuck is Caroline Jackson doing with him?' Tadeusz demanded. 'You said she checked out, that people knew she was one of us.'

Krasic shrugged. 'Maybe she's the reason he isn't working with the cops any more. If your girlfriend's a criminal, you can't keep running with the hounds, can you?' He didn't really believe what he was saying, but he knew he had a better chance of convincing Tadeusz that Jackson was trouble if he didn't appear to be completely negative about her.

His words tailed off into silence as he opened the next file. It was a news photograph. Tony was in the foreground, three quarters profile. He looked as if he was saying something to the woman behind him. Even though her face was slightly out of focus, there was no mistaking Caroline Jackson. Krasic kept his hand on the mouse motionless. He wanted to scroll down to the caption, but he had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was going to be very bad indeed.

He clicked on the <down> arrow and the words came into sight: Dr Tony Hill, Home Office profiler, with Detective Inspector Carol Jordan at the scene of Damien Connolly's murder.

'She's a fucking cop,' Krasic said with quiet venom. 'She's a rucking snake in the grass.'

Tadeusz had turned white. He had to grip the edge of the table to stop his hands shaking. This was the woman he had wanted to sleep with the night before. This was the woman he had taken inside his business. This was the woman he had allowed to heal his heart. And she was a traitor. 'We're going back to Berlin,' he said, turning on his heel and storming out of the shop, oblivious to the fact that everyone else was staring at him openmouthed.

Krasic cast a glance over his shoulder. There was still one attachment to open. He read the text, his heart sinking even further. 'Fuck,' he said under his breath, then quickly exited from the e-mail program and turned off the computer. He jumped up and hurried after his boss, ignoring the shopkeeper's angry shout of, 'Hey, you're not supposed to switch them off like that.' ]

He found Tadeusz leaning against the lockecj/car, the rain streaming down his face like tears. 'I'm goingto kill the bitch,' he said as Krasic approached. 'I'm going to fucking kill the treacherous lying bitch.' He pushed himself upright. 'Come on, let's go.

'Hang on, Tadzio. Look, we've come this far. Another hour will see us in Koln, we can pick up the drugs and head back then. It's not like she's going anywhere. She doesn't know we've rumbled her. And neither does that bastard she's shagging-'

'I want to go back now.'

'We need to think about this. Because there's more.'

'What do you mean, there's more?'

'Hill went to an apartment this morning. I got Hansi the hacker to check that out too. It belongs to a woman called Petra Becker. She's a cop. She works for the criminal intelligence unit. The bastards who have been trying to get something on us for years.'

Tadeusz smacked the flat of his hand against the side of the car. 'Let's go back. We pick him up, then we kill the bitch.'

'He's not in Berlin any more. Rado called me from Tempelhof, Hill was catching a flight to Bonn and Rado was trying to get on it.' Krasic pulled out his phone and dialled Rado's number. 'Where are you?' He listened intently, then said, 'Fine. Call me with an update every fifteen minutes.'

He turned back to Tadeusz. 'He's been driving around boatyards in Koln. Now he's heading down towards Koblenz. We're a lot nearer him than her. And she's going to be waiting for you to come back. If you want to pick him up, we can do it. And we can send Rado on to Koln to pick up the heroin.'

Tadeusz slumped against the car again. 'I suppose.'

Krasic unlocked the car and opened the passenger door. All the fight had gone out of Tadeusz. He collapsed into the seat. Krasic settled in behind the wheel and put the car in gear. They hit the autobahn at iiokph and the needle kept rising. Tadeusz stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. After about twenty minutes, he finally spoke. 'You know what this means, don't you, Darko?' There was an agonized note in his voice that Krasic had last heard after Katerina's funeral.

'It means we could be fucked,' Krasic said.

Tadeusz ignored his response. 'If she's a cop, it's no coincidence that she is Katerina's double. They've been planning this for a long time, Darko. They didn't just happen to have a convenient lookalike to step into Katerina's shoes. They thought this whole thing up because they had a cop who could have been her sister.' His even tone cracked into a sound like a sob. 'They killed her, Darko. They wiped out the woman I loved so they could set me up. Now I know who to blame for Katerina's death. Not some stupid fucking careless biker, Darko. Carol Jordan, that's who.'

Petra leaned back in the comfortless chair and propped her feet up on the narrow prison hospital bed. Marlene was looking as rough as anxiety and prison could make a woman who hadn't started out with that many advantages. There were bags under her eyes, signalling lack of sleep and maybe even a few tears. All the better for my purposes, Petra thought In spite of her ambivalence about the timing of the operation, she couldn't be anything less than whole-hearted in her commitment. She tossed a packet of cigarettes and a lighter to Marlene, who looked at them suspiciously, then shrugged and lit up. "What am I doing in here?' she demanded. 'There's nothing the matter with me.'

'You've got acute appendicitis,' Petra said. 'Well, we think you have. If we're right, you'll have to be transferred to a civilian hospital for treatment.'

Marlene took a long drag on the cigarette, looking blissed out as the nicotine hit her bloodstream. 'What's your game?' she said, affecting boredom.

'I know where Tanja is.'

Marlene crossed her legs and gave Petra an appraising look. 'And your point would be?'

'Children should be with their mothers.'

'Yeah, but you bastards don't let us have them with us in here, do you?' Marlene blew a thin stream of smoke in Petra's direction.

'Marlene, I've had a hard day. I really can't be bothered going all round the houses with you. Here's the deal. I know Krasic is using Tanja as a bargaining chip. You keep your mouth shut and nothing bad happens to your daughter. Personally, I'd consider being tied up like a dog in a farmyard on the bad side, but I'm not you.1

'What the fuck are you talking about, tied up like a dog?'

Petra cut straight across the interruption. 'What I'm offering you is this. We liberate Tanja from her keepers, we get you out of here, and we put the pair of you into the witness protection programme. New city, new identity, new life. In exchange, you testify against Krasic and Radecki.'

Marlene stared at her, open-mouthed. She even forgot to smoke momentarily. 'Why should I believe you?' she said at last.

Petra fished a sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to Marlene. 'I took it myself this morning with a digital camera.'

Marlene unfolded it to reveal a colour print of a small child straining on the end of a rope. The photograph had been doctored to remove any identifying features. She let out a small gasp, her hand flying to her mouth.

'Sorry it's a bit blurred, I was using a long lens.'

'Is she OK?'

Petra shrugged. 'As far as I can tell. But, hey, if I had a kid, I wouldn't be too thrilled at the thought of Darko Krasic's cousin the pig farmer taking care of her. So, Marlene. What do you think? Might we have a deal?'

'You don't know who you're up against here,' Marlene said apprehensively. 'Krasic is an animal.'

'Marlene, I'll let you into a little secret here. You are not the only lever we have into Krasic and Radecki. In a few days' time, what you have to offer may well be strictly academic.

Those guys are going away, and they're going to be gone for a very long time. But I would very much like to tie Kamal's murder round their neck along with everything else. Yes, you'll be sticking your neck out, but it's going to feel like a flea bite to those two compared with what we have lined up for them. I promise you, we'll keep you and Tanja safe. You have my personal guarantee of that.'

'A cop's guarantee?' Marlene snorted. Her fingers plucked at the blanket and she stared at the wall for what felt like forever to Petra, though it was probably less than a minute. She forced herself to keep quiet, to let Marlene calculate the odds for herself. Eventually, Marlene gave an impatient shrug. 'Fuck it, what have I got to lose?' she muttered bitterly. 'OK, we've got a deal.'

Petra gave a silent cheer. Now she could go back to the Special Ops Neanderthals cluttering up her squad room and let them release their testosterone in action. 'You made the right choice. For you and for Tanja. You'll be moved from here directly to a safe house, though everybody will be told you're going to hospital. And as soon as we've got Tanja, she'll be brought to you.'

She swung her feet on to the floor. 'Hang in there, Marlene. Between us, we're going to take these bastards down.'

Marlene snorted. 'Listen to little miss gung-ho. You've no idea what you're up against here, have you? I just hope you do the business as well as you talk it.'

So do I, Petra thought as she walked out. For all our sakes, so do I.

By the time Tony had navigated his way to the Marina Widenfeld a watery sun was burning offtheiast of the clouds. The marina was packed with boats, ranging from Rhineships lying low in the water to small pleasure craft with their cockpits covered in tarpaulins. A few people were on deck, swabbing down after the rain or doing the small maintenance jobs that were easily overlooked during the normal working of the river. There were a couple of bars and cafe's set back from the wharves, and a large chandlers that announced diesel at competitive prices.

Tony found a space at the far end of the car park and sat for a few moments, lost in thought. 'You're out there,' he said under his breath. 'I know it. We're going to meet today, Geronimo. And you're going to have no idea who I am. I'll be one more nosy tourist, filling an hour before dinner, admiring your boat. Because I've got a hunch it'll be worth admiring. You kill so neatly, you won't live sloppily.'

He got out of the car and started a slow meander around the commercial area of the marina. The working barges were remarkable, he thought. Each was different, each spoke of the character of its owner and crew. There were immaculately kept boats, with troughs of herbs and plants anywhere that wasn't in the way of work. There were scruffy coal barges with wheelhouses seamed with rust and blistered with old paint. Some had neat lace curtains at the windows, while others were adorned with elaborate flounces and niching. Bright, fresh paintwork sat alongside varnished wood. Several had bikes chained to the safety rails, while others had cars squatting incongruously on the stern roofs. There was endless variety, right down to the pennants and flags that hung limp in the damp air.

Tony sauntered along, camera round his neck, occasionally pretending to take photographs of some of the finer specimens. He had passed a score of barges and Rhineships without success when he rounded a corner of the marina and almost walked into a black Golf. Right next to it was a magnificent wooden ship, its woodwork glistening with yacht varnish.

Across the stern, in flowing cursive, he read Wilhelmina Rosen, Hamburg.

His heart leapt and he stepped back to take in the full majesty of the boat. He walked her entire length, then turned back to take a photograph. Finally he strolled back to the stern, giving the boat admiring looks all the way. As he drew parallel to the wheelhouse, a young man with dark hair tied back in a ponytail stepped out on to the deck. Even under a shapeless sweater, he was obviously broad-shouldered, his long legs clad in tight jeans, heavy work boots on his feet. He was clearly physically strong enough to be this killer, Tony thought. He pulled a baseball cap on as he emerged, obscuring his eyes.

'You've got a beautiful boat,' Tony called up to him.

The young man nodded, '/a,' he said laconically. He made his way round to the gangplank, a few feet away from where Tony was standing.

'You don't often see older boats in such good condition,' Tony continued as the man came ashore.

'It takes hard work.' He continued towards the car.

'I couldn't help noticing that rather unusual pennant you've got there,' Tony tried, desperate to engage his putative killer in conversation.

The man frowned. 'What? My English is not good.'

Tony pointed to the triangular pennant hanging from a short flagstaff at the stern. It was black with a white fringe. Embroidered in the centre of it was a delicate weeping willow. 'The flag,' he said. 'I've never seen one like that before.'

The young man nodded, a smile of comprehension fleeting across his nondescript features. 'It is for death,' he said in a matter-of-fact tone. Tony felt his flesh crawl. 'My grandfather was skipper before me. But he is dead since two years.' He pointed to the pennant. 'We have flag to remember.'

Tm sorry to hear it,' Tony said. 'So you're the skipper now?'

The young man opened the car and took a road atlas out of the door pocket, then headed back for the boat. '/?She is mine.'

'It must be hard for you, not being able to work because of the river.'

The young man stopped on the gangplank and turned back to face Tony. He shrugged. 'The river gives and the river takes. You get used to it. Thank you for liking my boat.' He sketched a wave and went back on board.

So much for your people skills, Tony thought wryly. He didn't expect his killer to be over-endowed with the social graces, but he'd hoped to draw him out a little more. There was nothing to confirm or refute their suspicion of the skipper of the Wilhelmina Rosen. Unless you counted that slightly morbid mourning pennant, which Tony was inclined very much to do. It was interesting that Mann had claimed his grandfather had died two years before. The sinister flag didn't look nearly bedraggled enough to have been hanging there for weeks, never mind months. If Mann had changed the pennant regularly, it might be a way of keeping his grandfather's death fresh in his mind. But there might be a more sinister explanation. Perhaps the pennant wasn't for the old man. Perhaps it was for Marie-The'rese Calvet. He had a feeling in his bones that he had just exchanged pleasantries with a serial murderer. Certainly Mann exhibited some of the characteristics he would have expected to find in a personality disordered killer - the reluctance to engage, the refusal to meet his eyes, the social awkwardness. But these could simply be the marks of a shy man. Bottom line? They had barely a shred of evidence to support his gut instinct.

Probably the only thing they could do now was to keep Mann under surveillance until he targeted his next victim. It was time for Marijke to put ambition to one side and whistle up the cavalry. He'd better call her, he realized. First, however, he had to finish making his stroll round the marina look innocent. Tony turned away from the Wilhelmina Rosen and walked on along the quayside, occasionally pausing to study one or other of the barges. It was boring, but necessary. Like so much in the profiler's life, he thought with a smile. But what was a dose of tedium compared to the high of saving lives?

Krasic swung the big Mercedes into the marina and cruised slowly along the perimeter. 'I know this place,' Krasic said. 'We've kept barges here before.' Suddenly, he pointed over to the side of the quay where a man with a camera was pottering along studying the boats. 'There he is. That fucking bastard Hill,' he said.

'That's him?' Tadeusz sounded incredulous. 'The little guy in the stupid tweed jacket?'

'That's him, I swear.'

'Give me your gun.'

'What?' Krasic was wrong-footed. He was the enforcer, not Tadzio.

'Give me your gun.' Tadeusz held out his hand impatiently. i

'You're not going to shoot him in broad daylight?' Krasic asked. The mood his boss was in, anything was possible.

'Of course I'm not going to shoot him. Just give me the gun. When I get next to him, bring the car alongside.'

Krasic reached round to the small of his back where a subcompact Clock 627 nestled in a padded leather holster. He drew the gun and handed it to Tadeusz. 'Nine in the magazine,' he said abruptly.

'I don't plan on using it. At least, not yet,' Tadeusz said coldly, putting the gun in his raincoat pocket. He got out of the car and walked briskly over to the man Krasic had pointed out. As he came up behind Tony, he closed his hand round the comforting grip of the pistol. Drawing level, he jammed the muzzle of the gun into Tony's ribs. 'Don't move, Dr Hill,' he said, his voice brutal, his free hand gripping Tony's arm. To a distant observer, it would have looked like two friends meeting and greeting. 'That's a gun.'

Tony froze. 'Who are you?' he croaked, unable to see his assailant.

'My name is Tadeusz Radecki.'

Tony couldn't help the spasm of shock that gripped his muscles. He twitched violently in Tadeusz's grip. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'Who are you?'

Tadeusz jabbed the gun viciously against Tony's ribcage. 'Don't act stupid.' He heard the purr of the Mercedes engine as it came up behind him. The car stopped and Krasic got out. 'Get the back door, Darko.'

Krasic opened the door and Tadeusz pushed Tony inside, taking the gun out of his pocket as he did so. He climbed in beside him, holding the gun pointed at his stomach. 'A gut shot is the worst way to die,' he said conversationally.

'Look, there's been some mistake,' Tony protested feebly. 'I have no idea who you guys are and you're obviously mistaking me for someone else. Just let me go and we can forget all about this.' Pathetic, he thought. Where's your training now? Where's that famous empathy now?

'Bullshit,' Tadeusz said, his tone curt. 'You're not only fucking Carol Jordan, you're working with her. Darko, find us somewhere we can talk.'

Tony's brain raced into overdrive. They knew who Carol was. Her cover was blown. They knew who he was, and they wrongly assumed he was here because of them. What were they doing here though? How could someone have followed him? He must surely have noticed, so haphazard had his travels been. But then, he hadn't been looking for a tail.

He pushed that thought to one side. Nothing could be more irrelevant than how Radecki came to be here. What mattered now was rinding a way to protect Carol. He was under no illusions about what he was dealing with here. These men were killers. If he had to buy Carol's life at the expense of his own, so be it. Saving her was what mattered. If ever he had needed all his ingenuity, he needed it now. He made himself hold Radecki's stare without flinching.

He was surprised when the car suddenly came to a stop again. He hadn't been paying attention to anything other than the man in front of him. Now, he glanced over Radecki's shoulder through the window. They were in a more remote part of the marina, a much smaller dock with room for only half a dozen vessels. There wasn't another person in sight. The Mercedes had stopped alongside a steel barge painted battleship grey. 'Give me a minute, boss,' Krasic said, climbing out of the car. The boot lid rose, and Krasic disappeared behind it. He re-emerged, tucking a crowbar inside his jacket.

Tony watched with mounting anxiety as Krasic looked around him, then ran nimbly up the gangplank to the barge. He climbed on to the hatch cover and swiftly popped the hasp of the padlock holding it shut. He slid it open and peered inside. Then he hurried back to the car, giving Tadeusz the thumbs-up signal.

'We're going to get out of the car and we're going to board this barge. If you try to run, I will shoot you in the legs. I am a very good shot, Dr Hill,' Tadeusz said calmly. 'There's no point in shouting either. This place is deserted.'

Krasic opened the door and Tadeusz backed out, never taking his eyes off Tony, who slid across the seat and out of the car. Krasic grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him around. The gun was in his back again. He stumbled forward, almost tripping over the edge of the gangplank.

Once on board, he was marched up to the open hatch. Krasic clambered on to the ladder with surprising ease for so bulky a man. He descended into the gloom below. There was the hollow sound of footsteps on metal in an empty space, then a dim glow appeared in the hold.

'Get down there,' Tadeusz ordered him.

Gingerly, Tony turned to face him and negotiated his way on to the ladder. He was a couple of rungs down when he felt an excruciating pain in his hand, so sudden and severe he had to let go. His feet went from under him, scrabbling in mid-air for purchase, and for a terrifying moment he swung by one hand. He looked up in panic, seeing Tadeusz's hand swinging the gun butt towards his clenched ringers. Sweating with fear, he threw his injured arm round the ladder and managed to get one foot on a rung, pulling his undamaged hand out of the way at the last instant. He would never know how he managed it, but somehow he swarmed down the ladder fast enough to avoid any further attrition from above.

His shaking legs had barely reached solid ground when Krasic was on him, delivering a punch to the solar plexus that doubled him over in agony, his lungs screaming for breath, his muscles in spasm. Tony lay curled on the cold steel floor of the hold, a trickle of vomit escaping from the corner of his mouth. When he was next aware of anything outside his body, he saw Radecki towering above him in a distorted perspective that made him look huge and terrifying.

Krasic yanked him up by the collar of his jacket, practically throttling him. He threw Tony on to a pile of folded tarpaulins. 'Sit up, you useless twat,' he growled. Tony managed to prop himself up against the cold bulkhead. 'Now, strip off,' Krasic shouted.

Numbed with fear, Tony struggled to undress. It was matte more difficult by the pain in his left hand. He thought at least | two of his fingers were broken. The two men circled him like wolves tormenting their prey as his clumsy fingers worked his clothes off. Finally, he sat naked on the tarpaulins, breathing as hard as if he'd just run a mile. They're doing this to humiliate you, to make you feel vulnerable. Don't let them take control of your head. Keep thinking, keep your brain moving. The voice in his head seemed ridiculously reassuring, given the extremity of his situation. But it was all he had.

'You're working with that bitch against us, aren't you?' Tadeusz demanded.

'No, you've got it wrong. I'm working on a serial killer case for Europol. That's what I do, I profile serial killers.' Tony said, steeling himself for whatever was coming next. Krasic delivered a brutal kick to his shins that made him whimper in spite of himself.

'Wrong answer.' Tadeusz shifted his grip on the gun, holding it by the barrel. 'She's a cop and you're working with her to bring me down.'

Tony wiped a drizzle of spit from his chin and shook his head. 'Please, listen to me. I'm telling you the truth. Carol used to be a cop, it's true. But she's not any more. She went rogue. She changed sides. I knew her when she was a cop, I've been trying to talk her out of what she's doing now.'

He saw the gun butt coming but he was powerless to do anything more than swerve helplessly. It still caught him, and he heard as well as felt the splintering as his cheekbone shattered. This time, he threw up properly, a stream of hot vomit pouring over his thighs.

'Stop lying,' Tadeusz said, his voice gentle and sad. 'I know the truth. What is it they call it? A black operation. The sort of devious shit that never becomes public. I know what you people did. You killed the woman I loved because she looked like Carol Jordan. And then Carol Jordan moved in on me. Advised, no doubt, by your psychological expertise.'

Fuck, Tony thought. If that's what they believe, there's no way out of this. But he had to keep trying. 'No, please. That's not how it was. Look, Carol isn't a cop any more, but she still has friends who are. One of them showed her a photograph of Katerina, after she died, not before. Because he thought it was amazing how alike they were.' He paused to draw breath. The fact that nobody had hit him again gave him hope. 'She decided off her own bat to take advantage of that. She decided she was going to get into bed with you. Literally and metaphorically.' Big words for a battered man, he couldn't help thinking irrelevantly. 'I had to come to Germany for this murder investigation. The killer who's targeting psychologists. You must have seen it on the news?'

Tadeusz and Krasic exchanged a quick look. Tony thought he saw a trace of uncertainty in their eyes. Tm telling the truth,' he said, almost sobbing. 'I thought I could talk Carol out of what she was doing, get her back on track somehow. I love her. I don't want her to be on the opposite side of the fence.' He forced himself to cry, racking sobs that made his ribs scream in pain.

'So what were you doing here, checking out the barges?' Krasic demanded, his fist crashing into Tony's ribs, smashing his opposite shoulder into the cold steel bulkhead.

Tony screamed with the pain, folding his arms across his chest. This time, the tears were real. 'We've got a suspect,' he gasped. 'For the murders. We think he's a bargee. His boat's here. The Wilhelmina Rosen. Please, you've got to believe me,' Tony begged. He wiped the strings of snot from his nose, trying not to think about the blood streaking them.

'It's a good story,' Tadeusz said. Krasic looked at him as if he'd gone mad. 'It's a really good story. It's almost good enough to be true.'

'Boss,' Krasic protested.

Tadeusz raised one finger. 'It's OK, Darko. There's a very simple way to prove whether it's true or not. We're going to take our good friend Dr Hill back to Berlin with us. We've got a warehouse we can store him in temporarily. And then we run our little test.'