The sharp jab of the weapon’s muzzle against the burns on his back – in an arc from the top left shoulder blade, down across his spine to his lower back – brought fresh torment. There was no escaping the agony. He had dealt with physical pain many times in his life. It was the first lesson of boxing: take the pain, accept it – and hit back. But this pain was of a different magnitude. Raw and constant.

‘Down the stairs.’

Jung prodded him again. Wilde stumbled on the carpet, nearly lost his footing, then steadied himself.

In the kitchen the back door was open, cold wind gusting in from the garden. The sky was cloudless and speckled with stars and a sliver of moon. Wilde was pushed again. This time he tripped over the doorstep and fell forwards onto the flagstones.

Then the bloodshed began.

Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

Bodie Cashbone had no staff to call on, so he had been keeping Philip Eaton under surveillance with a private detective funded out of his own deep pockets. He hadn’t trusted the one-armed limey from the beginning of this operation. He wasn’t sure why he had even been required to work with the British intelligence man, but the order had come from Bill Whitney that there must be co-operation with the host nation.

So if he was right that Eaton was not to be trusted, he knew it would be only a matter of time before Wilde came to see him – or vice versa. And Cashbone didn’t have to wait long to be proved correct. Eaton soon arrived at the college, followed by Wilde.

The professor had stayed awhile and left. As a precaution, Cashbone had the back gate covered by the PI, name of Penrose, and watched the main gateway himself. Penrose was under strict orders to follow Wilde along whatever winding route he took, but in the event it wasn’t necessary; the professor emerged from the front gate, close to where Cashbone was parked. He slid his large body low into the seat of the car and peered through the driver’s side window. The dark came early without street lights, but he could see Wilde well enough. He was leaning into a car, while an old lady stood at his side.

Cashbone was still trying to work out what Wilde was doing, when a figure emerged from the darkness and swung what looked like a wrench hard against the side of Wilde’s head, then pushed him into the back of the car while the old lady – suddenly looking anything but frail – climbed into the front, and the car set off. Cashbone’s engine was already running. He put it into gear and followed.

He kept a discreet distance and was pretty sure he hadn’t been spotted as the car led him eastwards out of Cambridge, into an area of scattered houses, allotments and open countryside.