LITMIR.BIZ

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hand. Dillon helped himself to a military trench coat and an old black trilby hat.

      ‘Will I do?’ he asked.

      ‘If you want to look like a French gangster in one of those old Jean Gabin movies.’

      He smiled wickedly. ‘But that’s exactly what I was hoping for.’

      He took her arm and they ran through the rain to the Mini.

      Abu was in a small car park outside a burger bar on the main road, one of several bikers and truck drivers. He and Farouk had a highly sophisticated device in the left ear that allowed them to communicate with each other, and it was Farouk who used it first.

      ‘The main gate is moving, so I’m getting out of here now. I’ll pull in on the main road.

      ‘Excellent, and I’ll be on your tail unless it turns out to be a false alarm. Remember to switch on your For Hire lights so you look nice and normal.’

      Roper picked up the cab on his security camera the moment it moved and called Dillon on his radio. ‘You’ve got traffic, Sean, take care.’

      On the main road, Farouk had pulled in to the kerb, switching his For Hire lights on, and was immediately approached by a middle-aged couple. He turned them away, saying he was booked, and the Mini flashed by a moment later. He allowed three or four cars to pass before pulling out, and Abu did the same thing so that he hung well back, relying on Farouk to give him a running commentary as to where their quarry was going.

      Meanwhile, Dillon, handling the Mini carefully in the pouring rain, had Roper on the line.

      ‘He’s definitely on your tail, Sean. What do you intend to do about it? Are you sure the cab is the only vehicle you have to contend with?’

      ‘It’s all your security cameras noted. A few cars, the odd van or truck behind, is all. It’s early morning, remember.’

      ‘What about Sara?’

      ‘Just now she’s reloading her Colt .25.’

      ‘Never mind that. What’s going to happen to her?’

      ‘Well, I can’t take her home to Mayfair, because gunfire at this hour in the morning would certainly disturb the neighbours.’

      ‘You could drop her off at the Dorchester?’

      ‘Get real, Giles,’ Sara told him. ‘I’m going where Sean is, so no arguments.’

      ‘I’ll come back to you on that,’ Dillon told him. ‘Just now, I want to try some heavy driving. I’ll leave the radio on so you can monitor.’

      Sara said, ‘Are we aiming for your place?’

      ‘Let’s say the general direction, then I’m going to divert down to the Thames. There are some decaying warehouses on Butler’s Wharf. A couple of cobbled streets, a few alleys, and the warehouses waiting to be knocked down. With development money being in short supply these days, everything is locked up. I often do my early-morning run down there, and I know it well.’

      ‘So what are you suggesting?’

      ‘Bottom of the hill is the big gate into the yard of an old warehouse. It’s been smashed open by someone so you could drive inside.’

      ‘And why would you do that?’

      ‘Because if someone was pursuing you at speed and you swerved into that yard, the only way the cab would have to go would be straight along the wharf. As that collapsed halfway along two years ago, they’d go straight over the end to drop forty foot into the Thames.’

      ‘My God,’ she said. ‘And that’s the best you have to offer? You must be crazy.’

      ‘That’s what everyone says, so let’s get on with it. Driving should be fun, don’t you agree? I’ve had this little beauty for years and it’s been supercharged, which gives you quite a turn of speed, so let’s do it, shall we?’

      He dropped a gear, slammed his foot down, and the engine roared as he swerved out of the tail of traffic and took off. Farouk was caught napping, but only for a moment, then smiled in delight.

      ‘You want to play games, do you? Well, let’s see what you’ve got,’ and he pulled out of what traffic there was and roared after Dillon, leaving Abu far behind.

      Belted in tightly, Sara braced herself with both hands as they swung off the High Street into a network of mean lanes and run-down houses, with lights still on in some of them, Dillon working the wheel and the brake pedal expertly, sliding on cobbles slippery in the rain.

      Farouk, on his tail, was enjoying himself, because this bastard was as good as anyone he had ever raced against and that was meat and drink to him. He drove as he hadn’t driven for years, and Abu, far behind because he’d been totally caught out, was shouting loud in Farouk’s ear, demanding answers.

      ‘He’s broken away,’ Farouk told him. ‘We’re heading down to the Thames. It looks like he’s trying to shake me off in the warren above Butler’s Wharf. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but he’s a hell of a driver.’

      ‘But what would he be trying to do down there?’ Abu called.

      ‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ Farouk replied.

      ‘Well, take care. This guy is special, I told you.’

      Dillon turned into Butler Walk and slowed, the narrow alley dropping steeply, just the odd streetlight still working, the warehouse below. What was left of the wharf jutted out into the river, lights sparkling on the other side, a couple of tugs moving towards the estuary, lights on.

      Farouk roared in behind him, Dillon glanced sideways at Sara, who braced herself, a fierce look on her face, and nodded. He stamped hard, gunning the engine, and they plunged down, gathering momentum. At the head of the wharf was a single light, and it seemed to rush towards them.

      Farouk followed, giving it everything he had, teeth bared as he shouted, ‘I’ve got you, you bastard.’

      The lamp and the light were suddenly larger, but it illuminated the entrance to the warehouse on the left, the two wooden gates standing half open, and Dillon stamped on the brake pedal, jerked the handbrake, spinning the Mini around to slide in through the entrance, bouncing the gates and sliding to a halt.

      Farouk, desperately trying to brake too late, hurtled along the wharf and over the edge and plunged down into the Thames. Dillon slid from behind the wheel, ran out of the yard onto the wharf, but there was only darkness down there, and he turned and went back to see how Sara was doing.

      From the top of the alley, Abu had witnessed what had happened and was filled with rage. He had tried to impress on Farouk how dangerous Dillon was, but his friend wouldn’t listen. Now he was dead. There was only vengeance left, and with Allah’s blessing, Abu intended to have it. He switched off the motor, eased the handbrake, and sitting astride, freewheeled down the alley.

      Dillon, returning to the yard, discovered Sara struggling with her seat belt, which had jammed because of the impact the Mini had suffered when bouncing the half-open gates aside. She’d lowered the window, and he leaned down.

      ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘I will be when I’ve cut myself out.’ She was struggling in the confined space, trying to find the flick knife in her right boot, when suddenly the Montesa swerved silently into the yard at a surprising speed.

      ‘Behind you, Sean,’ she cried.

      The Montesa slid sideways, and as Dillon turned, Abu swung his arm in a powerful blow that had him on his knees. Abu let the bike fall, kicked Dillon in the body, turned and wrenched the Mini door open.

      ‘Get out, bitch,’ he said, drawing his Glock. ‘I want you to watch. My name is Abu, and mark it well.’

      Dillon had raised himself to one knee, his right hand under his jacket feeling for the Walther against his back.

      Abu

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