Karen stopped in her tracks and surveyed them. It was the first time she had ever seen such a team. They exuded calm, confidence and good humour. And efficiency. They were an efficient killing machine.
Karen cleared her throat and moved to the front of the room, aware for the first time of the magnitude of the chain of events that she might be just about to unleash.
She introduced herself and her two colleagues.
The ceiling of Hinksman’s room had many cracks in it and some dampness in one corner. He lay on the bed, hands clasped across his chest, staring blankly up at it, when Paglia rushed in without knocking.
Even though the door had been flung open, Hinksman had reacted instinctively as soon as the handle had started to move downwards. He rolled off the bed, grabbing the revolver which was on the bedside cabinet, twisting himself onto his knees, using the bed as cover; by the time Paglia actually stepped into the room he was greeted by the sight of a black muzzle pointing directly at his chest, the hammer on its deadly backwards journey.
Paglia froze. His jaw dropped.
Fortunately, Hinksman saw who it was and eased the hammer back into place with his thumb. He stood up angrily.
‘ Jesus H Christ,’ he cursed through gritted teeth, ‘I told you knock and wait. Next time I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.’
Paglia gulped. ‘Sorry,’ he blabbered, ‘but I thought you should watch this.’
He switched on the portable TV. The top story was being wound up with an artist’s impression of the man police were after in connection with the M6 bombing. The sketch was Hinksman, of that there was no doubt. It captured his features exactly, right down to the cruel, piercing eyes. Killer’s eyes.
Hinksman watched scornfully. ‘So?’ he spat. ‘It changes nothing.’
‘ Oh,’ said Paglia, bemused by the calm reaction.
‘ Because they think they know what I look like means nothing. They don’t know my name or where I am, do they?’
‘ Right, right,’ said the hotel-keeper. ‘I thought you should know, that’s all.’
Hinksman nodded. ‘You did right.’
When Paglia had left, Hinksman switched the TV off and lay on the bed again. The drawing had been a very good likeness — and that was a niggling worry. There was no way it could have been drawn from someone’s memory. It was a lift from a photograph, Hinksman suddenly realised. But which one?
Maybe it was time to quit this Godforsaken little country after all. Get the job done and get out. In the meantime, Hinksman decided, he’d hole up somewhere else. In a city. Manchester or Liverpool somewhere he could just fade into the background.
The telephone rang in the reception area. Hinksman heard Paglia answer and then the sound of footsteps running upstairs.
This time Paglia knocked and announced himself nervously through the closed door.
‘ Come in, you idiot.’
‘ Phone for you,’ said Paglia, out of breath again.
‘ Who is it?’ Hinksman asked sharply.
‘ Only one other person knows you’re here.’
Hinksman shouldered Paglia out of the way and sprinted down to take the call.
Only a minute later he was back.
He started to pack. Quickly.
Paglia hovered at the bedroom door. ‘Problem?’
‘ Big problem,’ said Hinksman, stuffing his clothes into a holdall.
‘ They do know who I am and what’s more, they know where I am.’
And not only that, Hinksman thought as he looked at Paglia, you know far too much about me.
Chapter Nine
The briefing was over. The team was ready to move.
Karen had been as honest as she could be about the situation, which pleased them all. Normally briefings were couched in half-truths, downright lies and need-to-know, which could put team members in unnecessary danger. Here, she laid it all on the line, laid it on thick that Hinksman was a killer out of the top drawer, who knew how to kill well, had been trained to do it efficiently and probably enjoyed it too.
They got the message.
‘ Do you have any further questions?’ she asked as she packed her notes together.
The team leader, Sergeant Macintosh, a well-built officer over six feet tall, who looked as if he would take no messing from anyone, asked: ‘Where has the information about the hotel-keeper come from?’
Karen looked at Donaldson.
He coughed and replied, ‘From a reputable Mafia source in Florida — a man who’s presently serving time.’
‘ And how much do we know about this Paglia fellow?’
‘ Very little, other than he’s been in this country for thirty years, generally in the hotel or restaurant trade. He’s got a family connection with a Mafia boss we’re currently investigating — and family connections mean a lot to these people. It would appear that over the years he’s given refuge to many Mafia members en route from either Italy or the States.’
‘ So what do you think, Sarge?’ Karen asked.
‘ Ideally, I’d like to seal off the whole area, evacuate the surrounding buildings and then go in, preferably with a floorplan of the hotel… I mean, we don’t know how many other guests there are, how many staff, even if our man is there.’
‘ I know, it’s a far from ideal situation,’ agreed Karen, ‘but we need to move quickly and get to him before he’s alerted.’
Macintosh nodded and pursed his lips. He consulted a large-scale map of the relevant area of Blackpool. Everyone in the room had a copy.
‘ In that case,’ he said, ‘we’ll back and front the place. I’ll send a couple to the rear of the premises and, once they’re in place, we’ll hit the front and take it from there.’
‘ I’ll leave it up to you, Sarge. You’re the pro.’
‘ Thanks,’ he said with a trace of irony. ‘OK guys and gals, let’s move.’
The firearms team were parked up three streets away in their ‘battle-bus’: an armoured personnel carrier with one-way bulletproof windows which enabled occupants to see out but no one else to see in, giving the vehicle a sinister appearance.
Karen’s car drew up behind.
In the back seat Donaldson and McClure were poring over one of the street maps, muttering to each other.
Over her shoulder, Karen said, ‘What the hell are you two prattling on about?’
‘ Prattling?’ asked Donaldson. ‘Prattling? A peculiarly English term, is it?’
Karen managed her first smile in several hours.
‘ We’ve been trying to think like Hinksman,’ said McClure. ‘He’s hardly likely to park his car outside the hotel, so we were just wondering where it might be — if he’s still got the same hire car, that is.’
‘ I think we’ll have a mosey through the highways and byways in this area,’ said Donaldson, circling an area of the map with his finger, tilting it so that Karen could see. ‘It’s near enough to be in walking distance, but far enough away… if you know what I mean?’
‘ Mosey? What the hell is mosey?’ she said with another grin. ‘It’s a long shot,’ she added dryly.
‘ It’ll give us something to do while the boys and girls are playing Cowboys and Indians,’ said Donaldson.
The side door of the battle-bus opened. The team disembarked.
They were all tooled up to the back teeth.
‘ They look like a SWAT squad,’ remarked Donaldson. ‘And I thought England was s — o-o-o backward.’
On a word from Macintosh they sprinted away. The team leader gave Karen a quick thumbs-up and followed.
The operation was underway.
Karen’s stomach churned over. The colour seeped from her face as she thought, What have I done?
‘ We’ll keep monitoring the radio,’ McClure said, pocketing a personal radio which was tuned into the secure channel being used by the team. He patted the snub-nosed revolver at his side, arranged his jacket to cover it smoothly and climbed out of the car.