Assassin by Tom Cain

the change. And please, don’t bother calling the police. I don’t want to press charges.’
    The barman gasped, ‘But …’
    ‘They attacked me. You saw that.’
    ‘Sure, sure,’ babbled the barman, taking the money.
    ‘See what I mean?’ said Carver to Maddy as they walked out into the lot. ‘How are you supposed to stay happy when so many people just want to screw it all up?’
    She got into the Bronco, still not saying anything. As they headed for the road Carver noticed a nondescript grey sedan parked at the far end of the lot. It looked like a million others. But he was absolutely certain it was the same one that the guy at the hot-dog stand had been driving. It could have been a coincidence. But Carver didn’t believe in coincidence, any more than he did in accidents.
    When Carver and the woman had gone, Tyzack got out of the car and went to see what had happened. He had spotted the two rednecks as they arrived and decided on the spur of the moment to use them in a little experiment. He told them his wife was inside, having a date with another man. He said he wanted the two of them taught a lesson and offered five hundred bucks, up-front, for the job. The idiot duo had been only too happy to oblige, unaware that they were being used as lab-rats. Tyzack was curious to see what kind of shape Carver was in. Fifteen minutes later, Carver walked out without a scratch. The lab-rats, Tyzack soon discovered, had taken part in a very swift, very brutal experiment. Carver, it seemed, was on excellent form.
    Tyzack was delighted. It wouldn’t be half so pleasurable taking down a man who couldn’t put up a good fight.

23

    Tord Bahr was sitting in front of a screen in Washington, DC, looking at water features in Bristol, England. They ran down the middle of Broad Quay, the waterside area at the city’s heart that was once one corner of the Golden Triangle of the British slave trade. Three centuries ago, ships left Broad Quay for Africa, laden down with trade goods that would be exchanged for human beings. This living cargo was shackled with iron chains and kept in conditions so vile that more than twice as many Africans died on the journey as survived to be sold in the markets of Maryland, Virginia and the Carolinas. The money raised by their enslavement was used to buy sugar, molasses, cotton and tobacco to take back home to Bristol.
    Given all that, Bahr understood why the President wanted to make his public address from a stage at the end of the quay. He could see the symbolic significance of starting a war against modern slavery from that point. But that didn’t mean he liked the President’s sudden decision to go there, not when it was his job to keep Lincoln Roberts alive. An overseas presidential visit required a massive amount of planning, involving as many as two thousand bureaucrats, servicemen and women, presidential staffers and politicians, not to mention the bomb dogs that would sniff every square inch of the ground the President would cover. Under normal circumstances, a Presidential Advance Team would be sent out months in advance to consider every possible eventuality that might occur during a visit. Now Bahr was being given days, not weeks, to do the same job.
    There was at least the minuscule consolation that any potential threats to his boss’s life would be working at equally short notice. An assassination typically requires at least as much planning as its prevention, but even so, killers are as capable of being spontaneous as anyone else. So now Bahr was looking at dozens of water-spouts, no more than six inches tall, arranged in rows along a series of shallow, flagstoned basins down the centre of the quay. Assuming that the whole area would be packed with people - and when you had a president who made rock gods and supermodels look like minor local celebrities, every area was always packed - those basins would be as filled with people as the cobblestoned areas around them. And Bahr