A sky-blue Ducati Panigale approached a T-junction on an empty back road. To the rider’s left was a sharp bend so even though he thought the road was clear, he had no option but to stop. Before he could pull away again, Alberto stepped into the road in front of him, with his hand in the air and a smile on his face. The rider instinctively lifted his visor, assuming Alberto needed help. Alberto looked apologetic, as though he was lost and needed to ask for directions, but when he got within arm’s length of the rider, Alberto quickly punched through the open visor. The rider’s body shuddered, as though having a seizure. When Alberto pulled his hand away, a small knife could be seen protruding from in between his forefinger and middle finger. Alberto deftly caught the bike as the rider slid lifelessly from it, then removed the helmet, shook the blood from inside it, climbed onto the bike and sped away.

*

In Jack’s pocket, his mobile phone started pinging as the requested coordinates for the Merc updated. Jack climbed into the back of the helicopter and put on his headphones. The pilot had no clue what was going on: all he’d been told was that he’d been commandeered by the police and was to follow the instructions of the officer who’d meet him at the helipad. But Jack, with his head wound and blood-soaked collar, was not what he was expecting.

Jack handed over his mobile phone and said three words that, in seventeen years as a police officer, he’d never actually uttered before: ‘Follow that car.’

Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

Bjarne Kristiansen was a Norwegian Army Reserve helicopter pilot who, in recent years, had earned his living from flying around the same patch of sky, repeating the same script about local landmarks and places of interest, or ferrying people from A to B like a taxi. He couldn’t complain about the money, but he found it frustrating when his EC120 Colibri was capable of so much more. He was proud of his skills and could make her dance; he just never got the opportunity. Until tonight.

Bjarne tucked Jack’s mobile securely between his thighs, so that he could see the screen, and took off, feeling a surge of adrenaline he hadn’t experienced for a long time. As soon as he was off the ground, he tipped the nose down and accelerated forwards, flying so low that Jack could have sworn his blades were going to decapitate the crowd. Bjarne followed the constant positional updates along the back roads running parallel to the A429.

‘I reckon they’re headed for the M4,’ he said.

‘That’s what we expected. But get a bit higher. I don’t want them to know we’re here,’ Jack told him.

‘Don’t worry, she’s as quiet as a mouse. They won’t know what’s hit them,’ Bjarne reassured him.