cutout, so the back trail stops with him. But as long as he makes the payment to us when we’ve done the job, I don’t care who he’s working for.”
* * *
Ten minutes later Mallory was standing just outside the main door of the hotel, bags in both hands, carefully scrutinizing the parking lot and the street outside the building for any sign of the Ford sedan that had appeared so clearly in the digital video “John” had sent to Robin’s business e-mail account. Robin was inside at reception, checking out of the hotel and pleading a family emergency as the reason for their unexpectedly quick departure.
As far as Mallory could tell, it was all clear, and after a few moments he strode over toward Robin’s Golf, pressingthe remote control to unlock it as he approached the vehicle. He opened the hatchback, took another look around him, put the bags inside, and then closed the hatch. Then he walked around the car, opened the passenger-side door, took a fairly heavy black package from his jacket pocket, and slid it under the front of the passenger seat.
Seconds later Robin walked out of the hotel, quickly glanced all around her, and then walked briskly over to the car. The strap of her handbag was over her shoulder, and inside the bag were the pieces of her smartphone: the body, battery, back, and SIM card. Mallory had reduced the mobile to its component parts within seconds of ending the unexpected call from “John.”
“I’ll drive,” she said briskly, “just in case we meet any opposition, because I’m a whole lot faster than you. I hope you’ve got the weapon somewhere convenient. There may not be time to stop the car and dig around in our luggage for it.”
Mallory tossed her the keys.
“Just what I was going to suggest,” he said. “You driving, I mean. And yes, the pistol’s tucked under the passenger seat. Out of sight, obviously, but ready to hand if we need it.”
“Which way?” Robin asked, pulling her seat belt tight and turning the key to start the engine of the Volkswagen.
“Head east to Exeter,” Mallory said without hesitation. “That’s not where I want to end up, but that’s the fastest road out of Okehampton and we just need to put some distance between us and this place.”
“Right.”
Robin put the car in gear and steered it out of the car park and onto the street. There was a sat nav on the dashboard, but there was no need for her to use it because there was a clear direction sign visible just a few tens of yards ahead. She drove up to the junction, checked the crossing traffic, indicated, and swung the car onto the eastbound carriageway.
* * *
Less than ten seconds after Robin had made the turn, a black BMW repeated the maneuver and began following the Golf, matching its speed and staying about one hundred yards behind. The two men inside the car had been frustrated at the hotel, precisely because it was a hotel, because their orders were to complete their task out of the public eye. They’d hoped that their quarry would go for a walk or at least leave the building at some point, which would have allowed them to do their job. But when they’d seen the man Mallory carry the bags out of the building, they’d realized that their best opportunity had just presented itself.
The car was one of three they used on a regular basis. They’d decided not to use the Ford after they got back from Dartmouth, just in case somebody had seen them there and noted the number, and the BMW was a faster vehicle, which they’d guessed might be important if they ended up chasing their targets across Devon.
The car was street legal in every respect but two. The registration plate was a fake, bearing the number of a virtually identical BMW that they’d identified weeks earlier. That meant they could ignore speed cameras and thelike because the subsequent ticket would be sent to the owner of that other vehicle.
The second modification was far from obvious. Fitted within
* * *
Ten minutes later Mallory was standing just outside the main door of the hotel, bags in both hands, carefully scrutinizing the parking lot and the street outside the building for any sign of the Ford sedan that had appeared so clearly in the digital video “John” had sent to Robin’s business e-mail account. Robin was inside at reception, checking out of the hotel and pleading a family emergency as the reason for their unexpectedly quick departure.
As far as Mallory could tell, it was all clear, and after a few moments he strode over toward Robin’s Golf, pressingthe remote control to unlock it as he approached the vehicle. He opened the hatchback, took another look around him, put the bags inside, and then closed the hatch. Then he walked around the car, opened the passenger-side door, took a fairly heavy black package from his jacket pocket, and slid it under the front of the passenger seat.
Seconds later Robin walked out of the hotel, quickly glanced all around her, and then walked briskly over to the car. The strap of her handbag was over her shoulder, and inside the bag were the pieces of her smartphone: the body, battery, back, and SIM card. Mallory had reduced the mobile to its component parts within seconds of ending the unexpected call from “John.”
“I’ll drive,” she said briskly, “just in case we meet any opposition, because I’m a whole lot faster than you. I hope you’ve got the weapon somewhere convenient. There may not be time to stop the car and dig around in our luggage for it.”
Mallory tossed her the keys.
“Just what I was going to suggest,” he said. “You driving, I mean. And yes, the pistol’s tucked under the passenger seat. Out of sight, obviously, but ready to hand if we need it.”
“Which way?” Robin asked, pulling her seat belt tight and turning the key to start the engine of the Volkswagen.
“Head east to Exeter,” Mallory said without hesitation. “That’s not where I want to end up, but that’s the fastest road out of Okehampton and we just need to put some distance between us and this place.”
“Right.”
Robin put the car in gear and steered it out of the car park and onto the street. There was a sat nav on the dashboard, but there was no need for her to use it because there was a clear direction sign visible just a few tens of yards ahead. She drove up to the junction, checked the crossing traffic, indicated, and swung the car onto the eastbound carriageway.
* * *
Less than ten seconds after Robin had made the turn, a black BMW repeated the maneuver and began following the Golf, matching its speed and staying about one hundred yards behind. The two men inside the car had been frustrated at the hotel, precisely because it was a hotel, because their orders were to complete their task out of the public eye. They’d hoped that their quarry would go for a walk or at least leave the building at some point, which would have allowed them to do their job. But when they’d seen the man Mallory carry the bags out of the building, they’d realized that their best opportunity had just presented itself.
The car was one of three they used on a regular basis. They’d decided not to use the Ford after they got back from Dartmouth, just in case somebody had seen them there and noted the number, and the BMW was a faster vehicle, which they’d guessed might be important if they ended up chasing their targets across Devon.
The car was street legal in every respect but two. The registration plate was a fake, bearing the number of a virtually identical BMW that they’d identified weeks earlier. That meant they could ignore speed cameras and thelike because the subsequent ticket would be sent to the owner of that other vehicle.
The second modification was far from obvious. Fitted within
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