A. G. Riddle - Departure

Harper Voyager

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper Voyager 2015

Copyright © A.G. Riddle 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015

Cover designed by Damonza and Richard L. Aquan

Cover illustration © Damonza

A.G. Riddle asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Designed by Paula Russell Szafranski

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008156862

Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN: 9780008156886

Version: 2015-09-25

For those stubborn enough to dream

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part One: Survivors

Chapter One: Harper

Chapter Two: Nick

Chapter Three: Nick

Chapter Four: Harper

Chapter Five: Harper

Chapter Six: Nick

Chapter Seven: Nick

Chapter Eight: Harper

Chapter Nine: Harper

Chapter Ten: Nick

Chapter Eleven: Nick

Chapter Twelve: Harper

Chapter Thirteen: Harper

Chapter Fourteen: Harper

Chapter Fifteen: Nick

Chapter Sixteen: Nick

Chapter Seventeen: Nick

Part Two: Titans

Chapter Eighteen: Harper

Chapter Nineteen: Harper

Chapter Twenty: Harper

Chapter Twenty-One: Harper

Chapter Twenty-Two: Harper

Chapter Twenty-Three: Nick

Chapter Twenty-Four: Nick

Chapter Twenty-Five: Nick

Chapter Twenty-Six: Nick

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Nick

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Harper

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Nick

Chapter Thirty: Nick

Chapter Thirty-One: Harper

Chapter Thirty-Two: Harper

Chapter Thirty-Three: Harper

Chapter Thirty-Four: Harper

Chapter Thirty-Five: Nick

Chapter Thirty-Six: Nick

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Harper

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Nick

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Harper

Chapter Forty: Nick

Chapter Forty-One: Nick

Part Three: Strangers

Chapter Forty-Two: Harper

Chapter Forty-Three: Nick

Chapter Forty-Four: Harper

Chapter Forty-Five: Nick

Chapter Forty-Six: Harper

Chapter Forty-Seven: Nick

Chapter Forty-Eight: Nick

Chapter Forty-Nine: Nick

Chapter Fifty: Nick

Chapter Fifty-One: Harper

Chapter Fifty-Two: Harper

Chapter Fifty-Three: Harper

The story continues!

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by A.G. Riddle

About the Publisher

IN ONE HOUR, THIS PLANE WILL LAND, ANDI’ll be forced to make the Decision, a call that I may regret for the rest of my earthly existence. Depending on how it goes, chaos and poverty may follow. Or pure bliss. Fifty-fifty odds, I’d say. Not dreading it all. Barely even thinking about the Decision most seconds.

Like most writers, I don’t get out much. Or get paid much. I fly economy, and nine times out of ten I’m sandwiched between a feverish person who coughs when I least expect it and a married man who inevitably asks, “So how’s a cute little thing like you still single?” I suspect the airlines have a flag in their system for me: “Not a complainer, reassign to misery row.”

Not this flight.

Approximately six hours ago I entered a magical world, a place that only exists for brief periods of time forty thousand feet above Earth’s surface: first class on an international flight. This joyous land that pops into and out of existence like an alternative universe has its own strange customs and rituals. I’ve taken it all in, knowing that this will likely be my last glimpse. The ticket probably cost two months’ rent at my microscopic flat in London. I would have rather had the cash, but the ticket was a gift, or, more precisely, an attempt at manipulation by the billionaire who presented the Decision at our meeting in New York.

Which I’m not thinking about right now. Yes, at present, I exist in a Decision-free zone.

The flight time from New York to London is just under seven hours. Every fifteen minutes I switch the screen to check where the plane is, willing it to just keep going, to fly until we run out of fuel. Maybe I’ll slip the flight attendant a note: “Drop below 40,000 feet and it blows!”

“Hey, who do I have to kill to get a refill here? And what’s the deal with the Internet?”

Trouble in paradise. As far as I can tell, there are only two unhappy inhabitants of First Class, Pop. 10. I call this pocket of unrest the Aisle of Brooding and Snide Remarks. Its thirtysomething residents have been waging a drinking and sarcasm contest since takeoff. I know one of them, the individual currently pressing his drink request, and I know what’s eating him because I’m involved in it. His name is Grayson Shaw, and I’ve made every effort to avoid him.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Grayson yells.

A thin, dark-haired flight attendant whose name tag reads JILLIAN pokes her head out of the galley and smiles weakly. “Sir, the captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belts sign and suspended drink—”

“For God’s sake, just throw me two mini bottles. We’re like eight feet apart.”

“Ignore him, Jillian,” the other brooder says. “Two mini bottles won’t fix his problem.”

“Thanks, random guy in 2A. Really insightful.”

Grayson jumps up as another wave of turbulence rocks the plane. I feel him pulling on the back of my headrest as he wades forward. His long blond hair falls around his face, hiding me from his view, and I’m glad for that. He stops in front of my first-row seat, at the entrance to the galley.

“Okay, it’s not that hard. You’re a cocktail waitress in the sky. Now hand me the bottles.”

Jillian’s put-on smile recedes. She reaches for something, but the plane phone rings, and she grabs it instead.

Grayson massages his temple and turns to the side. His eyes meet mine. “You. Jesus, this flight keeps getting worse.”

He’s about to launch into me, but the other brooder is here now, standing uncomfortably close to Grayson. He’s quite handsome, his dark hair short, his face lean, his eyes unflinching.

Grayson stares at him for a second, then cocks his head. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, I came up here to help you.”

Normally I don’t go in for this sort of macho stuff … but I have to say, I like the hero from 2A. There’s at once something mysterious and familiar about him.