Chapter 48

CHAPTER 48

He knew it was Poland from the language on the signs, but as for whereabouts, he had no idea. Not the nice bit. Not Krakow or Warsaw. What he saw mainly was motorway with barren fields on either side, scenes that seemed eerily familiar from his time at Kemptown.

‘Why do I seem to make a habit of waking up in Range Rovers?’ he said groggily. Except, he realised somewhat belatedly, he was no longer in a Range Rover. At some point, they had changed cars. He was now in a Mercedes people carrier.

Otherwise, everything was the same. Still the same companion next to him, a guy they had been referring to as List, or maybe it was Liszt, while upfront sat Kilgore in the passenger seat with McGregor driving. The difference being that McGregor, driving, was now on the other side of the car.

‘Not a Range Rover, now,’ said McGregor redundantly.

‘Yeah, I just worked that out,’ said Abbott. ‘You know, if you’re wanting me to take part in your game, I mean, just a thought, but it might be worth not drugging me beforehand.’

Kilgore and McGregor shared a look. Kilgore was the older of the two, taller and clearly the most senior in the relationship, but of the two of them McGregor knew Abbott better. He wondered which of them had suggested drugging him and which of them had been against it.

‘OK, well, how do you feel now, then?’ asked Kilgore. It was him, Abbott decided. He was the one who had wondered about the wisdom of drugging Abbott. He could imagine the conversation. McGregor telling Kilgore, ‘No, it’s too dangerous, pal.’

‘Groggy,’ said Abbott, which was an accurate reflection of how he really felt. ‘When do the games begin?’

‘We’ll be arriving in a couple of hours,’ said Kilgore. ‘Just get some rest.’

He sat back, partly because it really was in fact the world’s dumbest idea to drug a guy you were expecting to go into battle for you, and so, yes, he could use the rest, and partly because he needed to think.

His plan for the game had always been that he would have the back-up of Ward, Miller and Brace, but the situation had gone FUBAR (an old military term meaning Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition) before he’d had the opportunity to set those wheels in motion. And to say the situation had moved rapidly was understating it. In the space of what felt like a few hours he’d gone from a Travelodge in Derby to what felt like the back of beyond in Poland.

So you’re on your own. What are the odds? What are your chances? For the first time possibly since Lady Norton’s proposal he thought seriously about it.