He soon found himself in a deep rut in the soft earth, where one of the massive logging tractors had passed at some point. Crawling to the lip of the rut, he saw that he was about sixty metres from the side of the house, giving him a good view of the vehicle hard-standing, rear garden, and the path to the back door.

Squinting through the MP7 sight, the house was bathed in a greenish glow as the optic enhanced the natural light present in the windows. He surmised that the curtains were closed but the lights were on, as the optic was not overwhelmed by the artificial light coming from the property.

Satisfied with his position, he settled down to wait. He was patient and could wait as long as it took; sniper training had taught him that as much as how to shoot straight.

Pet’s voice erupted in his ear. ‘Tom, are you there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Branko is ringing now, can I patch him in?’

‘Yes, do it. I take it my phone is in the same area as last time?’ He didn’t want to speak so close to the house, but he felt that the wind was strong enough to mask his voice. He ducked down into the ditch a little to get out of the elements.

‘Novak?’ the gruff voice barked.

‘Yes.’

‘I hope you’re being sensible.’

‘I’m still here. Is that all?’

‘I’ll know if you’re not. I can even tell what fucking room you’re in if I so choose.’

‘Couldn’t be more pleased for you, Branko. Is that all?’

‘Remember: it’s nine o’clock now. I want that card by eleven in the morning or people will be hurt.’

‘I remember.’ Tom resisted the urge to finish with a threat of vengeance.

Tom heard nothing more until Pet spoke.

‘He’s gone,’ she said.

‘Thanks, Pet. I have to be quiet now.’

‘Sure. Take care and don’t do anything silly. I’m going to put your communications on open mic so we can monitor what’s going on.’

Tom didn’t reply but tapped the pressel twice and crawled back up to his viewing point, turned the scope back on the farmhouse, and settled back down while ignoring the creeping dampness in his legs.