He went over to his holdall and picked it up. As he was walking away, he felt eyes watching his back and looked over his shoulder to see the dog standing there. Its head was cocked and it was observing him with a kind of curiosity. The rope was still attached to its neck. Wolf walked slowly over to it, extended a gentle hand for it to sniff, then carefully removed the rope. He said in a soft voice, ‘Well?’

For a moment the dog seemed to be deciding whether or not to tag along with him; then it turned, trotted lopsidedly off and disappeared. Wolf wouldn’t have minded its company, but he understood. He’d always been a loner, too.

He muttered, ‘See you around, amigo.’ And set off towards the hills.

Chapter 12

Ben had entered Wolf’s apartment at 4.45 a.m. and spent less than an hour inside. It was 5.38 when he got back to his car, already working out his next move.

Now that he knew where he needed to go from here, he considered his travel arrangements. A flight from Heathrow or Stansted to Zaragoza or Valencia, plus checking-in and waiting-around time, plus the extra driving distance to his final destination, was going to take a few hours but was his fastest option. By road, he faced a sixteen-hour marathon journey, or even longer if he factored in minor details like the need to eat or rest – but with the important advantage of being able to travel armed, as long as he didn’t get caught. Getting caught was bad. But going after Wolf unarmed was worse. At least the customs officials wouldn’t kill him and make his body disappear.

Ben made the choice to go by car. Retracing his steps from London back to the coast, he stopped on his way south to replace his gun in its hiding place. He arrived in Folkestone at 7.07 a.m., grabbed a paper cup of sour-tasting coffee while waiting for his Eurotunnel connection, and got the car on board for a 7.30 crossing. By 9.06 local time, he was rolling out the other side in Calais. After parading his concealed stash of weaponry right under the noses of the customs officials for the second time in hours, he grabbed another coffee and a sandwich to munch en route, and was off. His route would steer him southwards past Paris and cut straight down across France: through the nature reserves of La Brenne and Perigord-Limousin, then Montauban, Toulouse and the French Pyrenees before he hit the Spanish border. He would zip by Aragón’s capital city of Zaragoza before the final two-hour leg of the journey took him to Albarracín. A long way for a single person to drive, but Ben had driven longer.