The Three Most Wanted Read Online Free

slight slope into the forest. Bane’s omniPhone had illegal trig mapping—technology usually reserved for the EuroArmy—so at least we weren’t likely to get lost.
    Jon tried walking alongside, swinging his hiking stick in front of him, but we weren’t following any sort of trail and the fallen branches and mossy hillocks caught feet and stick every other step. Soon he took Bane’s shoulder with his free hand, both to guide and steady himself.
    “Let’s get at least eight kilometers into this forest.” Bane pointed to the screen on his phone as they stopped an hour later for a drink. I blinked sleepily and tried to listen. “Then we can pitch camp and wait until Margo’s well enough to start walking in short stages.”
    Jon agreed, but by the time the sun began to drop in the sky they were both breathing in short gasps and their determined stride—or trip, stride, trip in Jon’s case—had become a weary trudge.
    Shortly after Bane announced monosyllabically that we’d gone six kilometers, Jon cracked.
    “Hadn’t we better look out for a good place to stop?”
    Man speak for: “I’m done in; surely you’re done in?”
    Bane just grunted but barely fifteen minutes later, we came to a stream with shelving grassy ledges running down to it, and he came to a halt. “Y’know, that looks like prime real estate for happy campers.”
    “Then for pity’s sake let’s take up residence without delay.” Jon couldn’t keep the thread of exhaustion from his voice.
    They scrambled down onto the grass of the nearest ledge, and Bane sat me down on a rucksack. “Jon, tent? I’ll collect some firewood. Well, I’ll scout around first...”
    “Okay.”
    “Well, as soon as you bring some wood,” I said, “I’ll cook. I can do that sitting down.”
    Bane muttered something about me taking it easy, but went off without voicing any more audible objection—must be tired.
    Jon unfastened the two identical rucksacks from one another and unerringly opened the closer one. How’d he identified it...? Oh, a scrap of fabric was tied to the top of each one. A length of silk ribbon on mine, a strip of denim on Jon’s and some hairy woolen stuff on Bane’s. Clearly Bane had never seriously considered leaving Jon behind.
    Jon took out the round tent tin, feeling around the grassy area.
    “You’ve got it smack in the middle of a large enough space, if you won’t bite my head off for saying so.” I’d a feeling he was actually tired enough to do so.
    He just said “thanks” and pushed the lever. The tin’s quarters shot in four directions on their telescopic poles, the tent fabric unfolded upwards with a sibilant whump and with a thud the pegs went into the ground. A chink from one corner—one had found a rock.
    Jon traced his way straight around to that corner. Click-click-click went the ratchet as he pulled the peg up for another try. Thud . All sorted. He began to pull out the guy rope reels and trigger the pegs. Squeak, squeak, squeak, thud ...
    Pulling my rucksack towards me I unfastened it to examine the contents. My own sleeping bag from home nestled in the bottom compartment—an ancient, ex-tourist one, of course, but still a good three-season bag. Several foil survival blankets were tucked in with it—a fourth season, just in case.
    Squeak, squeak, squeak, thud.
    I raised the sleeping bag to my face and inhaled—then almost wished I hadn’t. The scent of home —the wave of homesickness was sharper than anything I’d felt in all the four months in the Facility. Because home no longer existed...
    Squeak, squeak, squeak, thud.
    The secret sanctuary where I’d been baptized and confirmed was now an innocuous broom cupboard, the priest hole an innocent alcove. Perhaps some of our things still remained, photographed and prodded and poked through by EuroGov agents, but not the people who made it home. Lord, please keep Mum and Dad safe!
    Squeak, squeak, squeak, thud.
    “There. Home sweet home.”
    Well, if