“Are you all right in there?”

Lockhart and Leni froze.

“Are you all right in there?” the man asked again. “You seem very quiet.”

“Yes thank you!” Lockhart croaked back. “I think it must have been something I ate!”

The man chuckled a little.

“Thanks for asking though,” said Lockhart.

“That’s all right!”

And with that, the man walked out. Leni and Lockhart exhaled together, feeling the relief streaming through them, a relief they wouldn’t have felt if they could have seen the man leave the lavatory, walk up to a policeman, and tell him that he thought someone was hiding in one of the cubicles.

Lockhart reached for his Luger as soon as he heard the sound of marching boots. Leni’s eyes widened.

“You’re not!” she whispered.

Lockhart put a finger to his mouth.

The lavatory door slammed open.

“Out!”

Lockhart coughed.

“Sorry?” he groaned, trying to sound ill.

“I said out!”

“I’m terribly ill.”

“I don’t care! Just open the door! We’re looking for a dangerous terrorist!”

“But I’m not a terrorist.”

“Open the door or we’ll kick it down and arrest you!”

Lockhart guessed there were two of them. He looked at Leni, who appeared to be as terrified as he felt inside.

“All right, all right,” said Lockhart. “Give me a few seconds, will you?”

“Fine! But we don’t have all day!”

Lockhart passed the gun and the newspaper to a quizzical Leni, who looked even more so when he removed his jacket.

“What are you doing in there?” the policeman shouted.

“I’m nearly there!” Lockhart shouted back.

He took the gun from Leni and pointed at the lavatory chain, indicating that she should flush it. As the water gurgled noisily through the system, Lockhart quickly wrapped the jacket around his right hand and the Luger. It was the best silencer he could hope for in the circumstances.

He started coughing as he opened the door. He was presented with two civilian policemen, neither of whom had their weapons drawn. More fool them.

“Come with us!” the nearer policeman shouted at him. Just as he was finishing his command, he looked over Lockhart’s shoulder at Leni.

“What…”

It was to be the policeman’s last word, a word that Lockhart used as his cue. He aimed his jacket at the man’s stomach, and fired. The policeman bent violently double, a shocked look defiling his face, and then fell on his side, gasping hideously. The other policeman did not stand a chance; Lockhart shot him as he was gazing in a stupor at his downed colleague. The bullet went through his heart, killing him before he had even cracked the back of his skull on the edge of a washbasin. Lockhart briefly considered putting another round into the first policeman, but thought better of it: he needed the ammunition, and he didn’t want to make any more noise than was necessary. The jacket had done a reasonable job deadening the noise of the gunshots, but they would still only have half a minute at most in which to escape.