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
‘Who’s this?’
‘AirGen delivery, sir. I’m here to change over your oxygen tanks.’
Quilty looked over his shoulder. With his bedroom tank empty the timing was about right. And he could see the AirGen logo on his other tank from here.
‘How many of . . . how many of you are . . . there?’
‘Just me, boss.’
‘I’m . . . two floors up and no . . . no lift. You’ll need to make . . . to make two trips.’
‘Not a problem. If you buzz me in, I’ll be straight up with the first tank.’
‘OK. I’ll leave the . . . the door on the latch.’
Quilty pressed the key icon on his intercom, releasing the main building door downstairs. Then he opened his own locked door and left it ajar.
He turned to the key table that sat next to the wall beside the door. Opening the middle of three drawers, he reached in and took out an old, battered pack of cigarettes. A remnant from a less painful time in his life. They had sat there untouched for maybe two years. Beside them was a cheap plastic lighter.
The exertion was beginning to take its toll. Quilty could hear it in his breathing even before he could feel it.
He shuffled back to his armchair and lowered himself in. Once down he placed his mask back on his face and took five long hits of air. The deepest he had managed in months.
On the fifth breath he reached out and moved the oxygen tank closer, positioning it just ahead of himself but still within easy reach. He made an adjustment to the valve and then sat back into his chair, facing the door and awaiting his guest.
Once down he didn’t have to wait long. Three minutes at most.
The first thing Quilty noticed was the AirGen logo on the right-hand chest of the newcomer’s grey boiler suit. He had come in uniform. For a fleeting moment, Quilty felt a doubt. Maybe this guy was from the air company.
The second thing he noticed dispelled that doubt. His eyes scanned the full length of the boiler suit, taking in the distinctive bulge at its waist. Left side. Easier for the right hand to reach.
SIG Sauer P229 probably, he thought. Standard issue Secret Service.
The man stepped closer. Even in the uniform, Quilty recognised him as one of the men he’d seen over the last few days. The men who had parked outside in the grey sedan.
His colleague was nowhere to be seen. This guy was on his own.
Shame, Quilty thought to himself, as the man stepped through the door and into the apartment.
‘You . . . forgot the . . . air.’
Quilty showed no trace of fear. Today was his day. It had been a long time coming.
‘You don’t seem too surprised by that,’ the man replied. He closed the apartment door behind him, never taking his eyes away from Quilty. ‘How’d you know?’