She narrowed her focus. The office block was between her and the prison. The Freelander should have been parked in a side street, out of direct sight of the prison but close enough to be started quickly when they needed it.

She had clipped the walkie-talkie onto her jacket. She thumbed the channel.

“One, Twelve. Comms check.”

There was a crackle of static, and for a moment she doubted that they were going to work.

“Twelve, One,” Faulkner said. “Copy that. I can hear you.”

“What can you see?”

“They’re getting ready. The gallows are up. There’s a small crowd. At least three hundred. Maybe four.”

“The guards?”

“Two in the watchtower with rifles. I can see fifteen in the yard. Eight of them are armed. Automatics and semi-automatics.”

“Anything else I need to know?”

“No. You still sure about this?”

“Just tell me when they bring them out.”

Beatrix had the bullpup F2000 Tactical TR on the seat next to her. She rested her hands on the steering wheel and slowly squeezed it tighter and tighter. This was the worst kind of jerry-rigged plan, thrown together too quickly with too little research. She would never have agreed to it if it had been presented to her. There were so many things that could go wrong.

The sun was rising into the sky, but it was invisible behind the thick blanket of black clouds.

“Twelve, One,” the walkie-talkie crackled. “Here we go. They’re bringing them out.”

She reached down and started the engine. “You ready?”

“On your mark.”

“You better be able to shoot straight, Faulkner. I’m going to need you.” She fed the engine revs and let off the handbrake. The car started towards the prison gates. “Here we go.”

Faulkner was pleased.

Beatrix knew what she was doing.

The unfinished office was an excellent overlook position. He would have liked to run a laser range to gauge things properly, but they hadn’t been able to get the equipment for that, and besides, he was already pretty close to the targets. He worked out a crude firing solution on the watchtower and then on the yard beyond it, and noted the details in the logbook by his side. Satisfied, he glassed the entire area, fixing the landmarks in his mind’s eye.

The rain had started to fall, and it had quickly fallen faster and faster until it was a deluge, sheeting down, a virtual torrent that made sighting much more difficult than it would have been if they had been conducting this operation yesterday.

But that was an excuse, and Faulkner dismissed it. He didn’t need excuses.