Anyone who saw the two men as they trudged between dingy run-down warehouses would have taken them for an odd couple. The older of the two carried himself with a certain aristocratic air, a man accostomed to wielding power. His companion was stocky, muscular and moved with the practiced ease of someone who’d seen his fair share of close-range combat. Both wore black. The aristocrat’s trenchcoat and hat marked him out as someone who didnt want to be seen. His companion wore black biker’s leathers as if they were a second skin.
“Im telling you Yochanan, when we reach the bridge, we will be unable to cross it. Its as though its not even there. Something, or someone, will hold you back” the dangerous man said.
“Now, now Mister McKenna. Im sure there’s a logical explanation for all of this.” Yochanan replied.
The wind chose that moment to rise, tearing their voices away. They pressed on to the end of the buildings and followed the road until it reached the river, a few hundred yards later. In front of them stood a disused toll booth, broken barrier and teh cracked pavement of the bridge. For a few moments they stood there alternately lifting first one foot and then the other, seemingly indecisive about crossing. The sports page of a newspaper danced past on the wind and caught on the remains of the booth.
“I do believe you’re right.” Yochanan said finally, “I cant go any further. Who else have you told about this?”
McKenna turned to him slowly, “No-one, but before you get any ideas, its all documented and in a safe. My lawyer will open it upon my death…”
Yochanan laughed, “Is that paranoia? It wasnt a threat. What is documented? Are there more of these places?”
“Yes, I could take you to a couple more like this nearby.” McKenna said, and stopped as Yochanan who raised a hand.
“I would like you to investigate further. One of these makes a point, more then one a line … map the edge of the world and I will pay you well Mr. McKenna, very well.”