Nothing more happened until after dawn, by which time the sky had become heavily overcast and a steady rain started drumming on the van roof. At seven a.m. sharp, Grace’s front door opened and she walked out to her Land Rover. Her long black hair was tied back into a ponytail. She was wearing a blue cap, her crisp police-issue trousers and shoes and a light raincoat over her uniform blouse. It was clear she was heading to work. The rest of her uniform and kit would be waiting for her in her locker at the station in Fort William. She appeared calm and unworried as she got into her vehicle, and never once glanced across the road in the direction of the black Range Rover, or back at the plumber’s van on the corner. This indicated to Jeff and Tuesday that Grace had no idea she was being watched.

Her scabby old 4X4 blew out a vast cloud of smog as it coughed into life, then pulled away from the kerb and rumbled off up the street. The black Range Rover remained in place until she was rounding the corner out of sight, then fired up, darted sharply out of its parking space, and went after her. The plumber’s van stayed where it was.

The time was 7.01 a.m. ‘Here we go,’ Jeff said to Tuesday. ‘Going to be an interesting day.’

Chapter 28

Albarracín, Spain

The downdraught from the landing Bell Jet Ranger whipped up a storm of scorched vegetation and still-cooling embers from the site of the burnt-out vehicle. A length of yellow police cordon tape was blasted loose from the flimsy pole dug into the ground and flapped like a dying snake in the wind. The chopper touched down on the rocky, scrubby ground, skids flexing as its weight settled. The side hatch swung open and a man climbed down from the cockpit, leaving his assistant and the pilot in their places as he exited the chopper alone. Not yet eight in the morning, and the sunshine was already burning down on his head. He disliked the heat.

His name was Vaughn, and he’d been travelling hard ever since receiving the call from his superiors in the middle of last night. A private jet had whisked him and his assistant, a man named Caldwell, from London to Zaragoza, where the chopper pilot had been waiting for them.