No point. Either they were ready, or they weren’t. He’d just have to trust them.
He put his phone away. Stood there, at the gate, watching Sally’s tail-lights get smaller and smaller, then disappear.
She was a strong woman — a lot stronger than she thought. She could do this. And Danners and Andy would look after her.
Ray grabbed the gate and hauled it shut again. Clipped the hooky thing onto the chain. ‘Please, God, let it be this time. Let us finally bring Aiden home.’
What really hurt was that he couldn’t be there to help.
He sighed, shook his head, and walked back to the croft.
Danielle slowed the Clio and turned off the stereo — right in the middle of Jimmy Page’s big ‘Heartbreaker’ solo. The road stretched away into the darkness ahead, not a house in sight, not even the distant lights from a lonely farm. Nothing but trees and bushes crowding in on all sides.
The satnav’s voice broke the silence. ‘You Have Reached Your Destination.’
The only feature in sight was an unmarked track on the left, cutting deeper into the woods, wide at first, then narrowing. A black Range Rover gleamed at the edge of her headlights. It’d reversed up the track about twenty / twenty-five feet and sat there. Like a funnel-web spider. Waiting.
She pulled off the road and onto the track, parking in front of it — nose to nose. Killed the engine. Stuck the gun in her pocket again. Put on a plain baseball cap. And climbed out into the rain.
It drummed on the hat’s bill, pattering against her shoulders as she walked across to the big car. The lights were off, but the engine was running — the exhaust clouding in the cold air, drifting away into the trees.
Danielle stopped by the driver’s window and raised her hand to knock. Her knuckles hadn’t even made it that far before the window buzzed down.
Probably a man, going by the build, in a light-grey hoodie and a black leather jacket. Black leather gloves, like her own, and a featureless grey mask. No mouth hole, no nose, or decoration of any kind. A grey slab with two narrow horizontal slits for eyes.
Anonymous as hell.
She gave him a nod. ‘’Sup, Jason Voorhees?’
His voice was deep, authoritative. The kind of guy who expected people to follow orders. ‘You’re new, so you get one chance at this and one chance only. Give me your phone.’ He held out a gloved hand. Ah, why not. She passed it over and he tucked it away. ‘You’ll get it back at the end of the night.’
She better.
He produced a big brown envelope with the letter ‘A’ printed on it. ‘You stay here until you’ve passed all three clients on to the location. You don’t chat to them, you don’t remember them, you don’t let them see your face.’ He reached across to a cardboard box on the passenger seat and came out with another mask. Only this one was a dull-blue colour, with a big white ‘6’ on it. Heavier than it looked, with a thick strap to hold it in place.
OK.
Danielle took off her baseball cap and put the mask on. The world shrank to the view through the two narrow slits. She wedged her cap over the top — tight, but it fit.
‘Better. Park where I’m parked and remove your number plates. Anyone who gives you the watchword gets a card from envelope “A”. Anyone who doesn’t give you the watchword gets sent here instead for a special surprise.’ He passed her another envelope marked ‘B’, same size, same shape. ‘Fingerprints on nothing. Understand?’
She held up her gloved hands, showing them off. ‘Way ahead of you.’
‘No one gets to bring a friend. No one gets to take their mobile phone with them. No one gets to record or photograph anything. If in doubt: confiscate it. Search everyone.’ One more envelope, this one with a big ‘C’ on it. ‘When your last client is on their way, give them five minutes, then get your arse to the venue. Details in there.’ He stared at her, head tilted slightly to one side. ‘Any questions?’
It was... weird. There was something about that blank face and the calm voice that set alarm bells ringing all the way up and down her spine. Like he was a cat and she was a juicy little mouse.
She cleared her throat. ‘What do I do if someone kicks off?’
‘What do you want to do?’
That was more like it. She wasn’t the mouse, she was the attack dog. A grin spread across her face — making her cheeks brush the inside of her mask. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’
He clicked the Range Rover’s headlights on and stuck it in drive.
She waved. ‘Wait: what do I call you?’
‘You don’t.’
OK.
Danielle stepped aside as the Range Rover backed up, pulled around her Clio, bumped onto the main road and drove away. She stood there till its rear lights disappeared into the rainy night. Then nodded. Took a deep breath. ‘Right. Turn the car round, then number plates...’
41
Fat yellow sycamore leaves drifted across the road, caught by the pool car’s headlights as they danced and weaved their way to the rain-rivered tarmac. Danielle’s tail-lights went in and out of focus as the windscreen wipers thunked back and forth across the glass.
Getting nearer...
Logan grabbed Tufty’s arm. ‘Kill the lights. Kill the lights!’
Tufty killed them and the car drifted to a halt in the darkness. ‘What?’
‘She’s stopped.’
‘Oooh.’ He grimaced. ‘Maybe she’s on to us?’
They sat there, in the dark, engine running.
Tufty leaned forward, peering out through the windscreen wiper’s temporary arcs. ‘Or maybe she’s trying to make sure nobody’s following her? Hiding up and waiting for us to drive by, then POW!’
Logan looked over his shoulder. The road behind them was barely visible. ‘Or maybe she’s meeting someone.’ Why else would she be out here, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night? Well, not night, but definitely early evening. ‘Get the car off the road, find a wee track or something... Up there, where the trees get thicker.’
Tufty eased the car forward, nose inches from the windscreen, bottom teeth bared. ‘Talk about your all-inclusive Stygian gloom.’
Twenty feet on, a track disappeared off into the woods on the right. Rutted and bumpy, with a thick line of grass down the middle. Tufty turned onto it, the car lurching and bumping along in slow motion. Shapes loomed in the darkness, swallowed by the rain. ‘Argh, this is horrible...’
A huge lump of whin scraped its way down one side of the car.
Logan tapped the dashboard. ‘OK. You can stop here.’
‘Oh, thank the Great Green Arkleseizure.’ He pulled on the handbrake and killed the engine.
Now the only sound was the rain, pattering against the car roof.
Tufty undid his seatbelt. ‘And now we...?’
‘One of us has to go out there and see what she’s up to.’
‘Urgh.’ He slumped in his seat. ‘Oh noes... Poor Tufty...’
‘Don’t be such a drama queen.’
‘It’s always the lowly police constable, isn’t it? Squelching about in the rain. Dying of pneumonia. Getting all chafed.’
Oh for goodness’ sake.
‘Fine! You stay with the car.’ Logan took out his phone and set it on vibrate. Then did the same with his Airwave. ‘If she drives off, you follow her. Discreetly.’ He grabbed his peaked cap and pulled it on. Then climbed out into the rain. ‘And don’t lose her this time!’
Something squished beneath his feet as he picked his way around the bonnet of the car, breath misting out around his head. He’d got as far as the driver’s side when Tufty cracked the door open and put on a big theatrical whisper: