‘The others are already here?’ he asked, glancing up at the clocks behind her desk. There were three of them, each showing a different time, with ‘Woking’, ‘Hamburg’ or ‘Boston’ written below. Naysmith thought they were pretentious.

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘I think they’re in the boardroom.’

‘Okay.’ He picked up his bag. ‘I’m going to grab a coffee before I go in – would you like one?’

Her face lit up. Clearly it had been a while since anyone else had offered.

‘I’ve got one here,’ she smiled, pointing to a cup hidden behind her screen, ‘but thanks for asking.’

‘No problem,’ he grinned, opening the office door. ‘See you later.’

Coffee in hand, he pushed open the heavy door and walked into the boardroom. There was a polished oak table that ran the length of the room, with high-back chairs on three sides and a large video conference screen at the opposite end. As he walked in and took a coaster for his cup, the three people already seated greeted him. On the screen, a man wearing rimless spectacles waved and called, ‘Hey, Rob!’

‘Morgen, Andreas.’ Naysmith raised a hand in acknowledgement. ‘Are you running Hamburg on your own today? I don’t see Christof.’

‘No, but he will soon join us I think.’ Andreas smiled. ‘Everyone is there in England now?’

‘Yes, we’re all here.’ Naysmith took his seat and looked round the table. Fraser and Gina, the two directors, sat opposite him, while Alec, the permanently miserable project manager, was to his left.

Gina finished typing and closed her laptop. She was immaculately dressed as always, in a navy blue jacket, her dark hair in a smart bob.

‘I think we’ll get started.’ She smiled. ‘Rob, would you like to begin?’

Naysmith’s presentation went smoothly. He ran through the new opportunities from his visit to Amsterdam, then gave an update on existing clients and sales projections.

‘Looks like we’re going to hit our numbers for the quarter.’ Fraser nodded approvingly as he looked at the spreadsheet in front of him. He was a lean man in his early fifties, with short greying hair and a likeable manner. Naysmith got on well with him.

The morning ebbed away as the meeting dragged on. Andreas and Christof discussed business from the German office and then, after the arrival of a tray of sandwiches and cold drinks, Alec launched into a monotonous report on the status of the various projects that his team was working on.

Naysmith found his mind wandering. He began to think about his next game, anticipating the thrill of finding a new target. He yearned to be out of this room, out in the streets waiting for fate to present that next challenge. But it couldn’t be anywhere round here. Finding someone too close to his work or home would be foolish. He had to be patient.

Alec was still talking. The report he was giving sounded very much like the report he had given last month.

Naysmith wondered what sort of person his next target would be. He or she was out there now, the path of their life meandering blindly towards that instant when they would meet him and the game would begin. It fascinated him to think of them, being so unaware that they were on a countdown to such a significant moment.

He glanced at his watch and willed the meeting to end.

By three o’clock, he had escaped. Emerging into the strong sunlight from the underground car park, he at once felt invigorated and threaded his way out of the town centre before speeding north towards the motorway. Gina was always a difficult one to impress, but she’d been pleased by the numbers he’d presented today. She and Fraser would both give him a free hand now, which was ideal. Especially if he wanted to dedicate time to a new game.

Leaving Woking behind, he cut across country and soon joined the motorway. Pulling into the outside lane, he could feel the desire growing steadily inside him. He was wound tight with expectation and impatience, rebelling at the monotonous miles of green and grey sliding by. He yearned for that terrible rush, the heightened sense of awareness that flowed through him when he hunted. It was so strong in him now, he could barely contain himself.

A road sign indicated ‘Winchester’, next junction.

Winchester.

He felt a sudden calm, as though something inevitable had slotted into place. Smiling, he moved into the left-hand lane and turned off the motorway.

Winchester was somewhere he’d rarely visited, but as he approached the city centre he found himself warming to the place. Old buildings and narrow streets, trees and stone, not yet wholly overcome by the wretched creep of bland town planning.

He drove for some time without purpose through a knot of unfamiliar one-way streets. After a while, the road began to climb and he found himself breaking free of the city centre. Crossing a bridge, he instinctively turned right up a steep hill lined with a terrace of elegant town houses on one side and tall trees on the other. It was quieter here, away from the traffic, and he slowed down. Cresting the rise, a small swathe of green park opened up on his left – a tranquil oasis above the shops and offices. He drove on until he found a place to leave the car, then parked and walked back along the leafy road.

Tall trees cast long shadows in the afternoon sun and he strolled thoughtfully across the grass towards an old wooden bench. He sat down, running his fingers along the rough grey planks of the seat. A faint breeze stirred the dust around his feet and he leaned back, enjoying the cool air on his face as he gazed up at the cloudless blue sky.

It was perfect.

He shut his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun through his clothes. The rustle of wind in the trees mingled with snatches of birdsong, but there were also voices in the distance.

People.

The familiar wave of excitement washed over him as he prepared himself for the start of a new game. In a moment, he would open his eyes and walk back to the road, then on down the hill. As ever, the first person to make eye contact would be the one.

He smiled, listening to the distant voices for a moment longer, then opened his eyes, squinting for a moment under the sudden glare of the afternoon sunlight . . .

A child stared back at him.

Naysmith blinked. A little boy, clutching a brightly coloured ball, was standing there, some twenty yards across the grass, staring quietly at him. For a long, dreadful moment, everything stopped, the child’s unwavering gaze holding them together in frozen fascination.

No!

Three years old. Blond curls framed a round face. Large eyes and a small mouth. He wore a blue top with a picture of a hippo on it, jeans and tiny trainers.

‘Jack?’

Naysmith glanced round. Nearby, a woman with a pushchair had stopped and was calling to the child. Early thirties, five foot six, with a natural figure. She had straight brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, and a sleepy smile as she called to her son.

‘Come on, Jack.’

The little boy turned and scurried away across the sunlit grass, his mother already moving on along the path at an easy pace, unaware and unconcerned.

Naysmith watched them dwindle into the distance, unable to look away. Somewhere, beyond the trees, a clock struck four.

He sat there for some time. Nothing like this had happened before – it was something he’d never even considered. And yet, there were rules to his game, and they could not be taken lightly. The choice had to be random, which meant he had to accept the targets he was given. His fingers gripped the wood of the bench beneath him, nails digging into the rough underside of the plank as he struggled silently, alone in the quiet of the park.

No!

Suddenly getting to his feet, he strode away over the grass, his face contorting in an involuntary snarl.