Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
The question came from the man standing away from the window. Short and overweight, he wheezed as he spoke. The sedentary nature of his job did his health no favours.
‘No clue,’ his companion replied, holding a pair of non-glare digital binoculars. They gave him a clear view of the biker who had taken up sentry duty outside of Quilty’s building. ‘But if he’s here looking out for Quilty then maybe we’ve got the right guy.’
‘Maybe. Should we call it in?’
‘Homework first. Take a few close-ups and send them over. They can get an ID on this guy, work out why he’s here.’
‘OK.’ The shorter man moved closer to the window, a high-powered surveillance camera in hand. ‘If Quilty is the one they’re looking for, what do you think’s gonna happen?’
‘Who knows,’ the second man replied. ‘But whatever it is, I doubt it ends well for the old guy.’
His accomplice nodded. There was nothing more to say. He raised the camera to his eye and zoomed in on the biker’s face.
SEVENTEEN
Nizar Mansour had not needed to look up. The voice had been familiar enough, but he was sure he would be able to recognise the sheer physical presence. It was as if the man had some sort of gravitational pull.
It had left no room for doubt. Even before the agent had used his name.
Romeo.
In the hours since he had entered the police station Mansour had thought repeatedly of coming face to face with the man who had ordered his brother’s murder. In his grief, he had envisaged violence. He had envisaged blood. He had envisaged death.
What he had not envisaged was the sheer terror that had overtaken him. Or the effect it had upon his exhausted body and his battered soul.
It had paralysed him. Unable to move. Unable to speak. And, at first, unable even to think.
As the fear gripped him – as the hopelessness of his position sank in – Mansour’s mind spun in every direction. He thought about DCI Bruce Bull, who had stepped outside the interview room with Romeo.
He’d been so close to trusting Bull. Now he didn’t know what to think. Bull had seemed genuine. He had seemed like he wanted to help. That perhaps he could see there was more to this than met the eye. But now he was outside with Romeo. Mansour had no idea what they were discussing. Fuelled by fear and paranoia, he imagined their conversation. Saw them collaborating against him.
Panic was beginning to take hold, making the room spin. It was accompanied by the sound of static, pitched at an ear-piercing level. It was all-pervading, distracting Mansour as he struggled to regain control.
He could feel his breath coming shallow and fast, his heart racing wildly. There was no way out of this. And soon he would be trapped in this room with the man responsible for all of this. With his brother’s killer.
*