‘Are you telling me you wouldn’t want what he’s got?’
Doyle shook his head.
Helen slowly withdrew her leg, allowing him to pass.
‘Do you think the men who are trying to kill us are out there now?’
‘I doubt it but I’m not going to take that chance.’
‘What if they’re watching or listening to us. The house could be bugged.’
Doyle shook his head.‘As far as we can tell there’s no electronic surveillance,’ he said reassuringly. The phone company have already done line sweeps. We’ve used RF detectors inside the house. No spycams either. Special Branch already had spectrum analysers in place so the men who are trying to kill you can’t use laser bounce either. The place is clean.’
As Doyle reached the kitchen door he paused and looked back. These guys aren’t interested in your conversations, Mrs Duncan, they just want you dead.’
BELFAST:
R
tion.
ain hammered against the windows of the Fiat making it virtually impossible to see in any direc-Daniel Kane checked his watch and tried to squint through the glass into the rain-drenched night beyond. Nothing but darkness.
From where he’d parked, he could see the lights of Belfast below him, twinkling in the foul night. He saw the landing lights of an aircraft as it swung low on its last descent into Aldergrove.
He’d parked just off the road on a narrow dirt track that led to open fields, waterlogged by the last two days’ persistent rain. The dirt track was rutted from the passage of farm vehicles and the ruts had filled with muddy water.The Fiat was approachable by that route but Kane knew from which direction the other car would come.
He checked his watch and murmured something irritably under his breath.
Another two hours and it would be light.The dawn would haul itself reluctantly across a sky swollen with dark clouds.
Still the rain fell.
Kane switched on the engine for a moment and allowed warm air to blow on to his windscreen. The inside of the car was misting up, thick with condensation.
He wiped some away with his hand, the high-pitched squeaking filling the car.
Headlights cut through the darkness.
Kane sank further down in his seat, one hand sliding inside his jacket to brush the butt of the Smith and Wesson 9mm, model 9 auto.
The headlights continued towards him.
Then passed by.
Just a small white van. He watched as its tail lights disappeared into the
gloom then sucked in a deep, stale breath.
The tapping on the side window almost made him shout aloud in surprise. He tugged the 9mm free and pressed his face to the glass.
The figure standing outside the car was soaked. Clothes sodden by the pouring rain.
Kane hesitated a moment then reached back and opened the rear door. The figure clambered in and sat in silence for a moment.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Kane snarled. ‘Why the hell didn’t you park where you normally park?’
The figure in the back seat said nothing.
Kane could smell the dull stench of wet earth and something more pungent.
‘Have you been walking through cow shit?’ he demanded.
Still the figure said nothing.
‘Come on then, get it over with,’ Kane insisted. ‘You were the one who wanted this fucking meeting.
You told me that it was definitely Declan Leary who killed Ivor Best and Jeff Kelly. Where’s the bastard now? If he’s coming after me I want to know.’
He turned to face the figure. As the dark shape began to speak, a flash of lightning tore across the sky. The rain continued to hammer down.
In the back of the Fiat, the figure continued his speech.
CHESHAM, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE, ENGLAND:
There’s a van coming up the drive.’ Doyle touched the earpiece he was wearing as if unsure of the words he’d just heard.
When Mel repeated herself he peered through the privet hedge surrounding the orchard and saw the red vehicle making its way towards the Duncans’ house.
Post van.
‘I can see it, Mel,’ he murmured into the pin-microphone attached to his lapel. ‘Are they expecting any deliveries?’
‘No.’
Doyle slid one hand inside his jacket, his fingers touching the butt of the Beretta.
Just in case.
‘I’l follow it in,’ he said. ‘You watch yourself.’
He made his way quickly back along the narrow path that wound between the trees and opened on to a large expanse of lawn. He was two hundred yards from the house. If he moved now the occupants of the van would see him.
How many were there?
It was difficult to tell from his vantage point. He squinted and caught sight of one man.
There could be others in the back.
Doyle eased the automatic from its holster, gripping it in his fist.
The van came to a halt and the driver’s side door swung open. The man who got out was dressed in the usual dark uniform of a postman. He stood looking up at the house for a moment then strode towards the front door.
Doyle slipped the safety catch off.
The newcomer rang the doorbell and waited.
‘He’s on his own as far as I can see,’ Doyle said into his microphone. ‘I’m on him. Just watch it when you open the door.’
‘Got it.’ Mel’s voice filled his earpiece.
He saw her open the front door.
Doyle could hear snatches of their conversation through his earpiece but it was only the odd word here and there. He lowered the 9mm and began walking across the lawn towards the house.
He was halfway there when he saw the man return to the van and retrieve something. It appeared to be a box about 12 inches square.
Doyle moved more quickly now, watching as the man handed the package to Mel.
The former counter terrorist was less than a hundred yards from the van now.
His eyes never left the uniformed man.
Seventy yards. Doyle was practically sprinting.
Fifty yards.The postman turned away from the door and headed back towards the
van. He saw Doyle
as he was preparing to climb back in.
‘Hold it there,’ Doyle said, raising the Beretta. He was advancing slowly now.
The man turned pale and his lower jaw dropped.
‘What’s in the box?’ Doyle wanted to know.
The man tried to answer but ail he succeeded in doing was shaking his head.
‘It feels quite light,’ Mel called.
‘Any smell?’ Doyle wanted to know.
Mel looked puzzled.
