“I have the hard drive,” Randall said.
“I see.”
“I’ll destroy it elsewhere.”
The fire engine barrelled past, the speed of it rocking the van. The sudden blare of its siren, unnecessary given that they were in the countryside in the middle of the night, had Jackson unnerved. He didn’t like feeling so out of sorts, so on the verge of being caught. Never had he experienced this in all his time of working for Sid.
Sid turned onto a narrow track, and they continued their journey at a slower speed. Feeling it was less likely they were going to be pulled over, Jackson relaxed, allowing his body to sink into the seat.
“Listen,” Sid said, “and listen good. There’s a place you can stay while the passport is being sorted. I also need you, Mr Whiteling, to allow me online access to your bank so I can get you a new account, one that no one will find, if you catch my drift. Debit cards also need to be made that match the new account and the name you’ll be going by after tonight. This is a complete break, understand? No going back. No contacting anyone. It wouldn’t be so bad if I knew this wasn’t going to come back on me in some way, but it might. I’m going to be questioned as to why I was probably spotted picking you up on a country road in the middle of nowhere.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, the money Mr Whiteling will be paying can buy many things, including an alibi from the usual tart who covers my arse from time to time, but that’s not the point. Never been caught for anything in my life, but this might be the one time where I get hauled behind bars. It’s not on.”
“But it’s what you do,” Jackson said. “The only difference between Mr Whiteling and another client is that he asked you to come and get us. Why didn’t you send Gail? She would have done it.”
“She was busy on another job—they all are. I was the only one left.”
“And greed is why you said yes to helping us out,” Jackson said. “Don’t make out you’re doing this begrudgingly or that we forced you. Money is always your motive, and even if you thought what you were doing would be dangerous, you’d do it anyway if it meant upping your bank balance.”
Sid laughed. “Fucking hell, am I sitting on Dr Phil’s sofa or what?”
Jackson didn’t bother speaking further. He’d said his piece, and that was the end of it.
What appeared to be a farmhouse without any lights on came into view. Set off the road, it was surrounded by trees, ensuring the property was well hidden. Sid turned off the track and onto a driveway, gaining speed as if the desire to get to the place had overtaken him. Once outside the property, Sid parked then cut the engine. He got out. Walked to the front door. Knocked. Waited.
“What the hell’s he doing?” Randall asked.
“This must be the place he mentioned.”
Sid disappeared inside the house, swallowed by the darkness. He reappeared and beckoned for them to join him. They got out of the van. Inside the cottage with the door closed, Jackson wandered blindly down a dark hallway until they reached a door. Sid opened it, and light spilled out, showcasing a splash of red wall with white wainscoting. They filed inside; the windows had blackout material covering them. A man stood in front of one, a white backdrop on a stand beside him, a chair in front of that. Jackson studied him—in his forties, greying at the temples, a moustache that belonged in nineteen twenty-five. He wasn’t a threat.
“You’ll need to cut your hair off,” the man said, nodding at Randall. “Still, small price to pay for a bit of freedom, eh? Come on then, take a pew.”
Randall did as he was told.
“That’ll do nicely.” The bloke collected a camera on a tripod from the corner and put it in front of Randall. “Keep still. And don’t scowl. That hair…” He grabbed a cordless set of clippers. “Like I said, it needs to come off.”
The buzzing of the clippers went on for ages then stopped. Randall appeared so different. Jackson wouldn’t have known it was him if it wasn’t for those piercing eyes.
Photos were taken of Randall, then the photographer walked over to a computer in the corner. He plugged the camera into it. “You may as well go and get some sleep. Rooms are upstairs. The passport won’t be ready for a while yet. Got any name preference?”
Randall shook his head. “No. Best you choose it.”
“Fine,” he said. “On you go then.”
Jackson stared at Sid, silently asking if it was okay that they stayed here. This hadn’t been fully discussed, and he wasn’t sure if he was completely happy with it.
“Dick’s all right, aren’t you, Dick?” Sid said. “Always has the windows blacked out so it seems like the place is abandoned. Got a brilliant alarm system, and, would you bloody believe it, there’s an underground getaway wotsit. You know, one of them tunnel things.”
Jackson felt a little better.
“I need those bank details,” Sid said to Randall. “And don’t worry, I won’t fiddle you out of any money that I’m not due.”
Randall fished his wallet from his pocket then handed over his bank card, giving him a code to log in online.
“That’s the ticket,” Sid said. “I’ll pick you up in the morning or whenever the passport is ready and your flight has been booked.”
Upstairs, Jackson chose a room at the front so he could nose outside if any vehicles came—providing he peeled back the blackout material that was attached by Velcro. Jackson looked around.
