The Increment by Chris Ryan Page B

rang six times before Matt answered it. He rolled over in bed and picked up the Nokia. He glanced down at the Caller ID screen. Nothing. It didn't work in the Ukraine. No way of telling whether it was Gill finally calling or not.
'Matt, I'm sorry, I hope it's not too late there.'
He recognised the tone. Urgent, sometimes tearful, always tense.
'Eleanor.'
He sat up in bed, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. They'd only been out for a couple of hours, hitting one bar for a beer, then grabbing a pizza at Vesuvio Pizza on Vulitsya Reytarska, one of the new American-style restaurants that had opened in the city in the past few years. Beer, food, and then bed. That would be the routine until they could get this mission behind them.
'Yes,' she replied. 'It's just that I couldn't think who else to call.'
'What's happened?'
'There's been another one.'
Matt rubbed the back of his palm across his forehead. Another one? Somehow he knew he didn't need to ask another what. 'Tell me about it.'
There was a pause on the line, enough time for Matt to form a picture of her in his mind. Sitting by the phone, alone, maybe in a dim light, with her hair tied up around her head, and that intense, determined expression written into the skin on her face. For a moment Matt wished he could be there next to her, able to reach out and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
'A man called Simon Turnbull, down in Esher in Surrey,' she started, her voice gaining in strength as the sentences progressed. 'A year or so out of the forces. A paratrooper. He'd drifted from job to job since he got out, never settling down to anything, living in bedsits and hostels. He was working at Burger King, he'd been there about a month. He arrived at work yesterday morning, same as usual, worked for about an hour, then lost it.'
'What did he do?' asked Matt.
'Took one of the giant vats of fat they use to fry the chips in, and started throwing it over the staff and customers, causing horrible burns. He killed three people, including a child. Then he stood in the centre of the restaurant, poured the rest of the fat over himself and set himself alight.'
We flame-griddle our burgers, thought Matt, stopping himself from saying it when he realised how inappropriate the joke was.
'He went up like a bomb. Caused more damage, and badly injured one of the chefs. By the time they put the fire out, he was burnt to a cinder.'
'That makes four then,' said Matt. 'First two, then Ken, then this guy.'
'In a month, Matt,' said Eleanor, stressing the words. 'All ex-soldiers, all gone crazy.'
'Any link between Turnbull and the other guys?'
'I've got no idea, but I shouldn't think so. Burger King are playing down the whole incident. No surprise there. But so are the local police, apparently. The only reason it came through to the register of psychological incidents is because some of the families of the victims are being treated for post-traumatic stress.'
Matt looked around the room. It was completely silent, and outside the window he could just see the dim glow of a street lamp. 'Another soldier goes crazy, and nobody wants to investigate.'
'It's scary, Matt.'
'I'm going to ask around. If these are the four we know about, then, well, there may be more of them out there.' He put the phone down, then checked his watch. Almost one a.m., they had an early start in the morning. He rolled over and closed his eyes. He would try to sleep, but he knew that it would be tough. Too much was happening for his mind to switch itself off.
I can't see how the pieces fit together.

NINE
Sergei Malenkov was a broad man, with thick shoulders and a short, closely cropped beard that covered his chin and his neck. He was wearing dark canvas trousers and a long grey sweater, and was carrying a small black bag slung over his shoulder.
In the last twenty-four hours, Matt had noticed the streets were full of them. Hard, strong-looking men, drifting around the town, desperately poor, looking for any kind of work they