Next, he sat up, loosening his shoulder muscles. He pulled an energy bar from his rucksack and munched on it as he used the spotting scope to monitor activity below.

In the centre of the park was the huge execution-themed rollercoaster, while to one side was an area apparently designated for souvenirs and food, complete with picnic tables and concession stands, a set of balconied buildings on three sides.

As he watched, he saw activity. A man in green overalls moved out to the balcony. Across the quad was a woman. The two of them were looking intently at one another, words were exchanged, and she raised her fist.

Scolar thought nothing of that. Whatever was happening there fell outside of his remit.

He sat, munched on his energy bar and continued to wait.

He glanced at his watch. The game was very shortly to begin and so it was time. Time to go to work. He pushed the wrapper back into his rucksack. Same with the spotting scope. Next, he stretched out and then lay down on the blanket, pulling himself to the weapon, rather than the other way around. The first thing he saw was a motorcycle making its way to the far end of the park. It was carrying two people. Neither wore helmets. The rider wore a black denim jacket, the pillion passenger was a figure in an orange boiler suit.

He took a good look at the guy in the orange overalls. Accepting the job, he’d wondered if he might recognise any of the proxies. The strange assistant, Kennedy, had told him that each competitor was operating in total secrecy and that none knew the identity of another’s proxy. Even so, Scolar had wondered. It might well be that he would see somebody he had dealt with in the past. A fellow traveller. Their world, after all, could be somewhat insular. But not the guy in orange.

‘Enemy,’ said Scolar to himself, finding the guy’s head in his crosshairs and tracking him as the motorcycle moved across the park. It would be so easy to pick him off now, but Scolar had his instructions. He was to use gunfire as cover. Under no circumstances should he give himself away.

Tracking to the side he saw a second bike. This one’s pillion passenger wore the yellow boiler suit. ‘Friendly,’ said Scolar to himself.

He felt the first drops of rain.

Chapter 53

CHAPTER 53

‘It’s just a final precaution,’ Abbott was told as he was zip-tied with his hands behind his back. He looked at the motorbike, rider already in the saddle. ‘And how am I supposed to get onto that?’

McGregor pointed to the pillion handle. ‘Passenger rear grab. We used to call it a sissy bar back in Glasgow. Back in the day, when I was just a wee boy.’