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       18 June 1989

       They came this morning and told me that the time is close and we must start to prepare. I'm not sure that I'm ready for what must be done.

       19 June 1989

       I watched Judith playing in the back garden today. How am I supposed to give my little girl to them? They tell me it is for the greater good, but what of her?

       22 June 1989

       I leave with Judith today. My darling wife, Samantha, is supportive as ever, a true part of the Ministry. I don't want to be worthy.

The entries were all short and Harrison lit another cigarette.

25 June 1989

       I was supposed to meet them at the station, but I couldn't do it. I took Judith and I ran. She should be safe with the new family and they'll raise her as their own. As for me?… I can never let them find me.

Harrison paged through to later entries, studying the drawings and symbols with interest. Whoever the suicide had been it was clear he was some kind of religious nut, a cult member of some kind. The drawings showed constellations and sketches of icons Harrison had never seen. About half way through he came across the first drawing that didn't seem religious. He started to read.

       01 June 2008

       The time is coming again and the Ministry are calling to me. I'd hoped they would forgot, but I can feel them tugging at me stronger everyday. Why? They don't need me... Or do they?

       01 June 2008 I dreamed about them last night. Something is wrong. I fear 'they' are free. I can't live with the fact that I am to blame. I should have given them Judith. I betrayed the Ministry and I may have damned the world to eternal darkness. I dreamed of a family, happy and joyful until 'they' came. They fed on the children first. I awoke to the scream of the father and his dying word…Maria.

       What have I condemned us to?

       The book fell from Harrison's fingers and landed in the foot well. He stared down at the open notepad, his mind spinning at the words he'd just read. It couldn't be a coincidence...

       
Could it?

       Megan did her usual trick of waking up five minutes before the alarm. Many a time she'd thought about throwing the clock away, but she knew what happened when you tempted fate. If she got rid of the timepiece she'd sleep in, it was sod's law. Better to have it than miss the best part of the day.

       She jumped out of bed and started sorting through the clothes scattered across the floor, sniffing at trousers and blouses and choosing the freshest on offer. Unlike most young women, Megan didn't show any inclination towards wasting time on personal primping. Clothes were a necessity for her, not a fashion statement. She pulled on a pair of Khaki cargo pants over the briefs she'd slept in and slipped a beige t-shirt over her head without worrying about a bra.

       Megan crossed to the en-suite and picked up a toothbrush, the bristles worn and splayed outwards. She inspected it for a moment and then dropped it back into the sink, opting instead for the quicker option of gargling with mouth wash.

       Downstairs she flopped into the tattered armchair and slipped her feet into the heavy duty work boots, the laces having been removed on the day of purchase. As she stood back up the phone began to ring from beneath the coating of study notes and paperwork that littered the room.

       
The Megan Grant filing system.

She found the cordless phone, pulled the aerial out with her teeth and then pressed the phone to the side of her head.

       "Hello, City Morgue," Megan quipped. "You stab 'em and we bag 'em."

       
No answer.

       "Hello?" Megan frowned. "Is that you Peter?"

       "Megan," the reply came from far away and was followed by a burst of static.

       "Hello?" Megan asked again, but still received no answer. "Fucking perv." She hung up and threw the phone down on the sofa.

       She stood and stared at the phone as if it was some diseased body part. The call had upset her, made her angry. She looked at the clock on the wall and decided she had time to blow off some steam before leaving. Megan stepped over the clutter that covered the carpet, stopping when she reached the only clear area.

       Megan glared at the punch bag, picturing what the caller had looked like. She took three deep breaths and then laced into it with everything she had, beating at the bag with fists, legs and elbows. Finally she stepped back and headed back across the room, jumping up and grabbing the pole she had fitted at the top of the hallway door.

       Her breathing grew harsh as she began pulling up and lowering down, each time touching her chin on the bar. She continued until she felt the anger subside to little more than a sense of being mildly pissed off. Only then did she drop to the ground, pick up her keys and leave the house. As she opened the front door she glanced at her watch.

       
5.45

       Time to see if she could beat her personal best. Megan locked the door, pocketed the keys and set off at a run. She didn't bother with an ipod or some cheap MP3 player. She had as much time for music as she did her appearance. The run to work wasn't a pleasure thing, it was just another opportunity to push at her own limits, to see what she could achieve if she tried.

       She turned out of the street and onto the main road, shunning the pavement in favour of the tarmac surfaced road. She preferred the softer feel of it under her feet. Cars passed at speed, the drivers usually looking over at her. Some of them smiled – mostly the men – some shook their heads and others just plain ignored her. Megan noticed none of this, her mind focused on the road in front of her, her concentration narrowed on the attempt to capture the sensation of running wild.

       "Want a lift?" The car slowed down and Peter grinned at her from the lowered window.

       He kept level with Megan and waited for an answer but she just carried on running, oblivious to Peter's offer.

       "Excuse me, miss," Peter raised his voice. "Could you pull over and let me see your licence."

       "No need to shout, Peter," Megan answered without looking up. "I know you're there."

"Then jump in."

       "Not today." She didn't even break pace. "But I'll race you." Only then did she look at Peter, her face breaking into a smile, the phone call suddenly forgotten.

       "Five pounds says you lose." Peter put his foot down and left Megan behind, the tail lights of the car disappearing as he turned left at the next junction.

       Megan forced her legs to pump harder, a fine sweat beading her brow. As she neared the junction her smile grew broader, almost splitting her face in two when she saw the long queue of traffic and Peter's car right at the back.

       As she sprinted passed she slapped the roof of the blue Honda.

       "I'll pay you later," Peter shouted out the window.

       Megan slowed, spinning around and running backwards. "Make it breakfast and we'll call it quits."

       "OK, but you're a cheat."

       Megan gave him a two fingered salute, turned back to facing forward and ducked around an idling bus.

* * *

       Zahra was lying on her side and licking at the raw placenta, the two cubs curled up against the warmth of her stomach. Megan watched from the viewing gallery, happy at having seen the birth yet saddened by the loss of the other two cubs. Megan had been with the small team that entered the compound and removed the limp corpses. Zahra had been too tired and pre-occupied to take any notice of them.

The birth had been filmed and Megan would take a copy home with her so she could watch it again and again. Peter had arrived twenty minutes late and missed the entire thing, but he now stood at Megan's side and watched the new mother.

       "Do you fancy that breakfast now?" he asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.