in?’
‘Whether Wise had travelled to Cambodia and the Philippines on certain, different dates. One was in 2007, the other in 2008.’
Tina felt her heart begin to pound as she asked her final question. ‘And did he?’
‘Yes, he did.’
Between 12 and 18 September 2007, Paul Wise had been in Cambodia, and between 11 and 26 June 2008, he’d been in the Philippines. That was the extent of the information Satnam Singh had given to Nick Penny. According to Singh, they hadn’t discussed what Nick had needed it for. All Singh knew was that he’d needed it, and urgently.
Tina thanked him for his help, then called the Philippines landline number on Nick’s bill. It immediately went to automatic message, telling the caller that he or she was through to the
Manila Post
, that the main offices were currently closed, and giving another numberthat could be called twenty-four hours a day to report a story.
Tina hung up. It was a quarter past six in the morning in the Philippines, and for a moment she considered calling the mobile, but stopped herself. She had no idea who the number belonged to, and if she called it this early, the person on the other end might be reluctant to cooperate.
Instead, she fed the digits of the number into the Google search box, and pressed Enter.
And hit the jackpot.
A company called Aztech Direct Rentals came up. Beneath it was a short advert for a vacation apartment to rent in a place called Anilao. The owner was listed as a Mr Pat O’Riordan, a name that was unfamiliar to Tina. Next to it was the mobile number from Nick Penny’s phone records.
She wrote down the information on the screen, and Googled the name Pat O’Riordan.
A long list of results came up on her laptop screen, and as she ran her eye down them she saw that there was a Pat O’Riordan, now retired, who manufactured high-quality concert whistles, whatever they were; another who was a tax accountant; nine who were listed on Linkedin, the business directory—
She froze. There it was, near the bottom. What she was looking for.
She double-clicked and started reading, a slow coldness creeping up her spine.
Because she now knew exactly why they’d had to kill Nick Penny.
Thirteen
It was the deep grey hour before dawn when I arrived at the address I’d been given, a compact-looking two-storey detached house set back behind thick foliage and a high stone wall topped with a line of rusting razor wire. Situated about halfway down a narrow residential backstreet, it looked like it had seen better days.
The house was dark and the street silent as I stopped at a solid iron gate. It had a sign on it which stated that the property was protected by a company called AAA Emergency Response Inc, which was no great worry since all it meant was that if my target got a chance to call them (which he wouldn’t), there was still a good five minutes minimum before they could get to the house, by which time I’d be long gone.
Tipping the brim of my baseball cap down so that it better obscured my face – just in case there was a hidden camera somewhere – I slipped on plastic gloves then, having found the key I was looking for, very slowly opened the gate. Even so, it still squeaked loudly.
I stepped inside, shutting the gate behind me, and slipped the gun from beneath the jacket I was wearing, screwing on the suppressor. I was in a small, secluded garden, well stocked with a variety of tropical plants. Sweet-smelling bougainvillea climbed up the walls of the house, and a table and chairs were arranged on a patio in front of locked French windows. The place looked like something out of the colonial era, and it struck me as I crept over to the front door, admiring the wooden shutters on the window, that they’d made a real effort with this place, and that if I had to live in Manila, I’d choose somewhere like this.
With the buildings next to it a good thirty feet away on either side, it also made it perfect for an assassination,
‘Whether Wise had travelled to Cambodia and the Philippines on certain, different dates. One was in 2007, the other in 2008.’
Tina felt her heart begin to pound as she asked her final question. ‘And did he?’
‘Yes, he did.’
Between 12 and 18 September 2007, Paul Wise had been in Cambodia, and between 11 and 26 June 2008, he’d been in the Philippines. That was the extent of the information Satnam Singh had given to Nick Penny. According to Singh, they hadn’t discussed what Nick had needed it for. All Singh knew was that he’d needed it, and urgently.
Tina thanked him for his help, then called the Philippines landline number on Nick’s bill. It immediately went to automatic message, telling the caller that he or she was through to the
Manila Post
, that the main offices were currently closed, and giving another numberthat could be called twenty-four hours a day to report a story.
Tina hung up. It was a quarter past six in the morning in the Philippines, and for a moment she considered calling the mobile, but stopped herself. She had no idea who the number belonged to, and if she called it this early, the person on the other end might be reluctant to cooperate.
Instead, she fed the digits of the number into the Google search box, and pressed Enter.
And hit the jackpot.
A company called Aztech Direct Rentals came up. Beneath it was a short advert for a vacation apartment to rent in a place called Anilao. The owner was listed as a Mr Pat O’Riordan, a name that was unfamiliar to Tina. Next to it was the mobile number from Nick Penny’s phone records.
She wrote down the information on the screen, and Googled the name Pat O’Riordan.
A long list of results came up on her laptop screen, and as she ran her eye down them she saw that there was a Pat O’Riordan, now retired, who manufactured high-quality concert whistles, whatever they were; another who was a tax accountant; nine who were listed on Linkedin, the business directory—
She froze. There it was, near the bottom. What she was looking for.
She double-clicked and started reading, a slow coldness creeping up her spine.
Because she now knew exactly why they’d had to kill Nick Penny.
Thirteen
It was the deep grey hour before dawn when I arrived at the address I’d been given, a compact-looking two-storey detached house set back behind thick foliage and a high stone wall topped with a line of rusting razor wire. Situated about halfway down a narrow residential backstreet, it looked like it had seen better days.
The house was dark and the street silent as I stopped at a solid iron gate. It had a sign on it which stated that the property was protected by a company called AAA Emergency Response Inc, which was no great worry since all it meant was that if my target got a chance to call them (which he wouldn’t), there was still a good five minutes minimum before they could get to the house, by which time I’d be long gone.
Tipping the brim of my baseball cap down so that it better obscured my face – just in case there was a hidden camera somewhere – I slipped on plastic gloves then, having found the key I was looking for, very slowly opened the gate. Even so, it still squeaked loudly.
I stepped inside, shutting the gate behind me, and slipped the gun from beneath the jacket I was wearing, screwing on the suppressor. I was in a small, secluded garden, well stocked with a variety of tropical plants. Sweet-smelling bougainvillea climbed up the walls of the house, and a table and chairs were arranged on a patio in front of locked French windows. The place looked like something out of the colonial era, and it struck me as I crept over to the front door, admiring the wooden shutters on the window, that they’d made a real effort with this place, and that if I had to live in Manila, I’d choose somewhere like this.
With the buildings next to it a good thirty feet away on either side, it also made it perfect for an assassination,
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