Read Dead Man's Gift 02 - Last Night for Free Online Page A

wasn’t his problem.
    The laptop on Orla’s lap bleeped loudly. Frank Bale’s car was on the move.
    ‘Right, time to go,’ he said, switching on the engine and pulling out into the road.
    ‘What are you going to do when you catch up with him?’
    It was a good question. ‘We’re going to follow him and see where he heads.’
    ‘You think he might lead us to Tim’s son?’
    ‘I don’t know, but there aren’t going to be many people involved in this, and he’s probably the most senior, so he’s going to know where Max is. If we get close to him and I get the chance I’m going to speak to him.’
    But getting close to him proved to be impossible. Central London rush hour was in full swing, and it took them a full five minutes to get onto the A404. According to the tracker, Bale was heading south and was roughly eight hundred metres in front of them.
    For the next twenty minutes Scope weaved in and out of the traffic, getting steadily closer to Bale’s Jaguar as it turned onto the North Circular, heading down through Hangar Lane and then onto Ealing Broadway until it was only fifty metres ahead of them. There were still far too many cars and pedestrians to even think about intercepting him, but it didn’t matter to Scope so long as he kept Bale in his sights. He’d wait until a suitable opportunity to make a move presented himself, then he’d go in hard. There’d be no niceties. He would make Bale take him to where they were holding Max. After that, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
    ‘He’s turning left,’ said Orla, looking up from the laptop screen and craning her neck so she could see past the single line of slow-moving traffic ahead of them. Scope did the same thing and saw the Jaguar pull into the front car park of a large, shabby-looking building straight out of the school of crap 1960s architecture.
    It was another minute before they drew level with it, and Scope cursed when he saw that the building was Ealing police station and that Bale’s car, and Bale himself, were nowhere to be seen.
    ‘Shit,’ said Orla. ‘What now?’
    Scope carried on driving, before pulling into a residential street fifty metres past the station and parking illegally halfway up on the pavement. He was about to answer when the phone rang in his pocket.
    It was Tim Horton, and the time was 8.53 a.m. This time instinct told Scope to answer.
    ‘Are you free to talk?’ he asked, putting the phone to his ear.
    ‘Yes, but not for long. They’re monitoring me.’
    ‘I’ve located the man I think may be masterminding this, but I can’t talk to him at the moment. He’s just gone inside a police station.’
    ‘Voluntarily?’
    ‘Yeah, he’s a cop.’
    ‘You’re joking?’
    ‘I don’t joke in these situations.’
    ‘Jesus. The bastard.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve just had a recorded message from Max on my phone. He’s definitely alive, Scope. But time’s running out. I’m on my way into Parliament, and I’m wearing a suicide vest. They’re going to make me use it in the hearing at eleven. I’ve got two hours, Scope,’ he continued, his voice cracking under the strain. ‘After that it’s all over.’
    Scope’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. This was worse than he’d thought. ‘I know it’s hard, but try not to panic. It won’t help.’
    ‘That’s easy for you to say.’
    ‘I’ve been in life-threatening situations before, remember. Just like the one you’re in now. And I’m going to get you out of this one. Are you meant to detonate it yourself?’
    Orla’s eyes widened when she heard this, but Scope gave her a look that said keep quiet.
    ‘No,’ said Tim, ‘that’s the thing. The detonator’s hidden in the gents’ toilets after the metal detectors. I’ve just been told to put it in the vest. I think they’re going to detonate it by mobile phone.’
    ‘Don’t pick up the detonator. You might set it off prematurely and the minute you’re wearing it, you’ve got no control over what