Read Online The Orpheus Descent by Tom Harper - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom Harper
Tags: Historical
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the way they moved: spread out, heads turning slowly as if they anticipated danger. Two climbed the gangplank and disappeared inside the boat. Two others returned to the car and pulled a large package out of the back. It needed both of them to lift it.
Along the table, Jonah heard one of the volunteers make a crack about Mafia. Others laughed, some nervously. This was southern Italy, after all.
But one of the men looked familiar. So much had happened to him that day that it took a moment for the answer to come. He was dressed differently, too: a black shirt and jeans, not the white T-shirt with the alligator on the chest.
It was the plumber who’d come to fix the shower – the shower that worked perfectly well. So what was he doing here?
Nothing made sense. He pushed back his chair and stood. Blood rushed out of his head, he swayed and grabbed the table. The students looked at him as if he was drunk. Fragments of foreign conversations kicked around him like dust.
‘It’s so bling.’
‘Sandi didn’t think so.’
‘Ari’s such a creep.’
As he turned, he caught the woman at the next table staring at him – not a casual glance, but full bore. She was strikingly beautiful: black hair cut straight across the fringe, delicate features made golden in the fairy lights. A lotus-flower tattoo blossomed on her bare shoulder. He had the nagging feeling he knew her from somewhere, though it might just have been implicit in her too-familiar gaze. Maybe a gig?
She looked back at her food and he decided he’d imagined it. Every night, for the last six weeks, he’d seen hundreds of faces flashed up at him as the lights framed them for an instant. Subliminal overload. Somewhere, his brain probably stored them all. It would explain why he felt déjà vu so often.
But unless he’d imagined the whole incident with the plumber, the man on the dock was no false memory. He ran out of the hotel, down the street. The resort was staggered around the marinas, the condos and hotels built on long fingers divided by moorings. The dock opposite was only fifty yards across the water, but to reach it without swimming was most of a mile. He ran it in ten minutes and felt like throwing up before he was halfway there.
Two blocks away, a macho rumble told him he was too late. He tried to run faster, but the harder he tried, the slower he seemed to go. The engines throttled up; he heard the gassy sound of propellers churning water. He reached the dock just in time to see the lights on the fly-bridge floating away into the night. The wake glowed luminous white; across the transom, he read the name NESTIS.
A blazing white light picked him up. The Mercedes had been waiting in the shadows; now it came to life. The driver, invisible behind the lights, gunned the engine, then dropped the clutch so suddenly the whole three-ton car leaped forward. The light swamped him: for a moment, Jonah thought it would run him right into the water.
The car stopped at the last minute, executed a sharp three-point turn and raced away. Jonah’s eyes swam. Behind him, he heard running footsteps.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Richard’s face was red as a balloon. His shirt-tails flapped untucked, and one of his shoelaces had come undone. He doubled over, clutching a stitch. ‘Jesus.’
‘I thought …’
What?
The energy drained out of him. Had he really seen the plumber on the dock – in the dark, over the water? Or was his overtired mind just throwing up images at him? More déjà vu.
A bird swooped over the marina. Across the harbour, he saw the others watching from the hotel terrace. A billion miles away. He realised how ridiculous he must look to them. The water was still, only a few gentle waves lapping the pilings to show the boat had ever been there.
Richard tucked in his shirt and wiped the sweat off his glasses.
‘It’ll all be fine tomorrow.’
Seven
A stranger who makes his way into the major cities, and persuades the best young men
Along the table, Jonah heard one of the volunteers make a crack about Mafia. Others laughed, some nervously. This was southern Italy, after all.
But one of the men looked familiar. So much had happened to him that day that it took a moment for the answer to come. He was dressed differently, too: a black shirt and jeans, not the white T-shirt with the alligator on the chest.
It was the plumber who’d come to fix the shower – the shower that worked perfectly well. So what was he doing here?
Nothing made sense. He pushed back his chair and stood. Blood rushed out of his head, he swayed and grabbed the table. The students looked at him as if he was drunk. Fragments of foreign conversations kicked around him like dust.
‘It’s so bling.’
‘Sandi didn’t think so.’
‘Ari’s such a creep.’
As he turned, he caught the woman at the next table staring at him – not a casual glance, but full bore. She was strikingly beautiful: black hair cut straight across the fringe, delicate features made golden in the fairy lights. A lotus-flower tattoo blossomed on her bare shoulder. He had the nagging feeling he knew her from somewhere, though it might just have been implicit in her too-familiar gaze. Maybe a gig?
She looked back at her food and he decided he’d imagined it. Every night, for the last six weeks, he’d seen hundreds of faces flashed up at him as the lights framed them for an instant. Subliminal overload. Somewhere, his brain probably stored them all. It would explain why he felt déjà vu so often.
But unless he’d imagined the whole incident with the plumber, the man on the dock was no false memory. He ran out of the hotel, down the street. The resort was staggered around the marinas, the condos and hotels built on long fingers divided by moorings. The dock opposite was only fifty yards across the water, but to reach it without swimming was most of a mile. He ran it in ten minutes and felt like throwing up before he was halfway there.
Two blocks away, a macho rumble told him he was too late. He tried to run faster, but the harder he tried, the slower he seemed to go. The engines throttled up; he heard the gassy sound of propellers churning water. He reached the dock just in time to see the lights on the fly-bridge floating away into the night. The wake glowed luminous white; across the transom, he read the name NESTIS.
A blazing white light picked him up. The Mercedes had been waiting in the shadows; now it came to life. The driver, invisible behind the lights, gunned the engine, then dropped the clutch so suddenly the whole three-ton car leaped forward. The light swamped him: for a moment, Jonah thought it would run him right into the water.
The car stopped at the last minute, executed a sharp three-point turn and raced away. Jonah’s eyes swam. Behind him, he heard running footsteps.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Richard’s face was red as a balloon. His shirt-tails flapped untucked, and one of his shoelaces had come undone. He doubled over, clutching a stitch. ‘Jesus.’
‘I thought …’
What?
The energy drained out of him. Had he really seen the plumber on the dock – in the dark, over the water? Or was his overtired mind just throwing up images at him? More déjà vu.
A bird swooped over the marina. Across the harbour, he saw the others watching from the hotel terrace. A billion miles away. He realised how ridiculous he must look to them. The water was still, only a few gentle waves lapping the pilings to show the boat had ever been there.
Richard tucked in his shirt and wiped the sweat off his glasses.
‘It’ll all be fine tomorrow.’
Seven
A stranger who makes his way into the major cities, and persuades the best young men
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