Yet there it was: an old RAF Chinook, painted with unfamiliar symbols, hovering over the old Salford Quays. A voice crackled over a loudspeaker — first time Catherine had ever heard amplified speech.
On the M62 motorway, about two miles east, a fire was burning. Not a random blaze — controlled. Patterned. Three fires in a line. A signal.
Catherine looked at her father. "You're not going," Marcus said.