Read Online Cronos Rising by Tim Stevens - Free Book Online

just how many, because that would help him estimate his odds of survival.
    Taking care not to walk too gingerly that he’d attract attention, but not so nonchalantly that he risked keeling over, Purkiss headed down the terminal in the direction of the check-in desks. These were the areas that would be under the scrutiny of the security detail, and as such he’d be relatively protected there.
    His face was set, but his eyes roved, scanning the bobbing heads that passed on either side of him. His vision was rapidly returning to something approaching normal, but the excoriation in his gullet and his gut remained. If the mucosal lining of his gastrointestinal tract had been damaged, he might start vomiting blood at any moment. Perhaps haemorrhaging uncontrollably. There might be an anticoagulant in the toxin, a warfarin-like agent that would turn him into a leaking vessel of blood –
    Focus.
    Purkiss passed a woman, and for a moment glanced at her face. Their eyes met for the briefest of instants before she disappeared behind him.
    He fought the impulse to turn and stare after her.
    There’d been something there, in that split-second of contact. It was more than the neutral acknowledgement one human being might display of another. Neither had it been a spark of sexual interest.
    The woman had recognised Purkiss.
    Without breaking stride, he angled himself a little to the right so as to begin an imperceptible loop back in the direction he’d come. He concentrated on the brief impression he’d had of the woman, burning the details onto his memory. She’d been young, perhaps late twenties or early thirties. Dark blonde hair, possibly bobbed, beneath a hat. Casual clothes: a fleece, jeans. And a shoulder bag which looked as if it might hold a laptop computer.
    He was almost certain he’d never seen her before.
    So: she recognised his face, which meant she’d been primed to spot him. He had to consider her one of the opposition. That increased their numbers to two, at least, including the man in the coffee shop who’d poisoned his meal.
    Purkiss reached the queues for the check-in desks. Despite the restricted numbers of flights, the major airlines seemed to be doing good business, with the lines of waiting passengers snaking back almost to the opposite side of the terminal. Purkiss chose a queue for a budget airline and joined the end. He fished out the new phone he’d bought and gazed at it, his thumb moving, just as everybody did these days while standing in line and waiting.
    Using the periphery of his vision, and occasional lifts of his head to check the progress of the queue, he studied his environment.
    The woman was nowhere to be seen. He assumed she’d passed close to him as part of a surveillance sequence of some kind, which involved the opposition keeping close to him at all times to reduce the risk he might escape. Sooner or later, they’d make a move. But would they dare to do so here, in full view of the watching security people?
    The nausea roiled though his belly and chest once again, without warning, and Purkiss thought for a moment he was going to throw up again. He clenched his jaws, breathed deeply through his nose, fought the squirming in his gut back down.
    He felt himself shoved from behind and half-turned, tensing, the adrenaline surging in his blood. But it was a couple with three children and a huge pile of suitcases. The man, his sweating face red with harassment, muttered an apology.
    As Purkiss turned back to face the distant desk, his gaze sweeping the terminal, he sensed a tug at his right side. He glanced down, saw his overcoat swaying, felt a lightness there, barely noticeable.
    Clapped his hand against his coat.
    The wallet.
    A man was moving quickly away from the queue, towards the row of shops and eateries at the back of the terminal. Purkiss automatically worked out the quickest route to him. He could reach the man in under ten seconds.
    Distraction , his mind shouted at him. Don’t