Dead Man's Gift 02 - Last Night Read Online Free PDF

from the bed and opened the cupboard. The coat – a tatty-looking black Crombie – looked ordinary enough. And it was. It was what was hanging underneath it that set his pulse racing.
    ‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispered.
    ‘Now you know what you’ve got to do,’ said the kidnapper.
    Frank Bale watched the hotel-room interior on the screen in his study. This was the moment of truth. If Tim Horton was going to panic and run, now would be the time. Frank waited until Horton stepped back into shot. The shock was written all over his face, but there was something else too. Understanding.
    He was going to do it.

15
    Dawn was just beginning to break as Scope walked swiftly down the quiet residential street. He was wearing dark glasses and a beanie hat, and the tanning make-up he’d applied in the car a few minutes ago gave him a Mediterranean appearance. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was enough for what he needed to do.
    Frank Bale’s home was one of a new development of five three-storey townhouses set back from the road behind a wall topped with wrought-iron railings and electric gates. The residents’ cars were parked in spaces just in front of their respective houses, and he’d clocked Bale’s black Jaguar outside 25C, the middle one.
    A commuter wrapped up against the cold was hurrying towards him in the semi-darkness so Scope kept walking, keeping his head down and letting the guy get a good few yards past him before he turned and jumped onto the wall, using the railings to pull himself up. Carefully climbing over them, he scrambled down the other side and bent down beside the Jaguar, planting the tracking device on its underside. Now Bale wouldn’t go anywhere without Scope knowing about it. There were already lights on in four of the houses, including Bale’s, and Scope knew he was exposed where he was. This wasn’t going to be easy. Bale didn’t have any kids, but he did have a wife, and Scope had no desire to involve her in any of this.
    Taking a quick look round, he walked up to the front door to 25C and checked the lock. It was a brand-new card-operated system, and very difficult to get through unless you were an expert, which Scope wasn’t. The door itself was PVC, way too strong for brute force, and a burglar alarm flashed ominously a few feet above his head.
    He wasn’t going to get in through the front, nor were there any hiding places in the parking area. The only way in was round the back, but there was no access from within the development so Scope went back over the wall, checking that the street was still empty before he jumped down the other side. He followed the road round to the rear of the building, only to find a fifteen-foot high wall topped with railings, keeping him out. These townhouses had clearly been marketed at the security-conscious, and doubtless Frank Bale had more to fear than most men.
    Scope looked at his watch. A watery sun was rising above the grey, low-rise skyline. It was only a few hours until the select committee meeting began.
    Even so, he had no choice but to wait.
    Tim Horton stared at the padded black vest in his hands. It was a simple creation, made of cotton canvas, with shoulder straps and two large enclosed pockets at the front. The lower pocket contained a single block of something hard, roughly six inches by three inches, and about an inch thick, while the other pocket appeared empty.
    He put the vest down on the bed and tore open the Velcro strap on the lower pocket, visibly stiffening as he saw what it contained. He was no weapons expert, but he knew immediately that what he was looking at was plastic explosives.
    ‘This is a bomb,’ he said, clutching the phone tightly to his ear.
    ‘Well done, Mr Horton. Full marks.’
    ‘It’ll never get through security.’
    ‘Of course it will,’ said the kidnapper with an alarming level of confidence. ‘As you can see it contains no metal, so it’ll go through the detectors without making a