After he entered the loo, he occupied himself at the sink until the room emptied of occupants. Upending the bin closest to the stall by the window, Gilmont located the jacket with an eight-inch blade inside an interior pocket. Tension drained from his body. Bless Mohammad, a young Persian member of his league. He had come through.

Gilmont slipped into a toilet stall and latched the door behind him. Fully dressed, he sat on the commode and opened his small suitcase. He carefully switched out the mustache and sideburns glued to his face for the fake nose. Trading his fedora and Mackintosh for an anorak, he stopped to admire his disguise in the compact mirror. If someone identified him now, he deserved to return to prison.

He removed a large folded duffel with wheels from his carry-on and emptied the remaining contents of his case inside the duffel. Keeping an eye on his watch, Gilmont delayed another five minutes before he let himself out of the men’s and hopped a bus to Edinburgh proper, transferring conveyances at Haymarket and disembarking near Dean Village.

Mohammad, a former student, stood across the road in front of a narrow close, the alleyway just under three meters wide. The young man’s dark eyes inspected every tourist who came within his proximity. His eyes passed over, then returned to Gilmont, and passed on again, only to return. Gilmont crossed the street before Mohammad spoke.

“Your car is located at the Belford Terrace car park near the Britannia Hotel.” Mohammad patted the low stone wall beside him, where a ticket and fob lay. “The equipment you requested is in the boot.”

“Mobile burner?”

“It’s all there.”

“Excellent.”

Gilmont knelt to tie a shoelace. When he rose to his feet, Mohammad passed him a folded piece of paper.

“If you should need assistance, others in the area are more than happy to oblige. Their numbers are listed.”

Gilmont eyed his former student. Mohammad had been more than helpful, but Gilmont couldn’t risk the man turning on him and betraying his plans. Dipping his hand inside his jacket, his fingers closed over the knife hilt. It was a shame to use Mohammad this way, but he wasn’t Gilmont’s only contact in Edinburgh.

He thanked Mohammad and gave him a manly hug, holding his shoulder in a crushing grip. With his opposite hand, he plunged the knife into the man’s back, just at the kidney, and twisted the blade.

“Sorry, old chap.”

Mohammad’s eyes bulged, and a sucking noise emanated from his gaping mouth. Gilmont dragged him into the close and left his former student on the ground. He slipped out the opposite end to the connecting street, pulling his duffel behind him. He needed to wash his hand and sleeve before someone noticed.