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He opened his jacket and pulled a mobile phone from his inside pocket.

"Let Euan explain; he was expecting a call later anyway."

He turned on the power and waited to put in his PIN number. He smiled as he looked down at the phone's display.

"This is how the Americans found you, you know. People think that detection can take place only when the phone is in use. Not so. As long as they're switched on, these things are miniature tracking devices, even if no calls are made or received. It's actually a form of electronic tagging. We find it terribly useful."

He tapped in his PIN number, the tones blaring out of his hand.

"However, once you'd given them the slip at Lorton, our only option was to let you make entry back into the UK. I needed to know what you'd found out. I have to say, I'm so glad your cancer treatment was successful."

Fuck! He hadn't even mentioned my lack of hair. That was because he already knew. But Euan. He'd been aware enough to mention it. I felt sick knowing he was using his skills against me.

Simmonds smiled. He knew he had me by the balls.

"Nick, I'll say this again. I really do need all the disks. You know the child would suffer greatly; it's not something that we would enjoy, but there are important matters at stake."

I wanted so much for him to get through to Euan. I wanted to speak to him, wanted him to confirm that it was a bluff. But in my heart of hearts I knew that it wasn't.

Simmonds had nearly finished tapping in the number.

I had no choice. I couldn't risk Kelly. He wasn't going to make this call.

With my right arm in a hooked position, I swung around hard and connected with his nose. There was a dull crunch of fracturing bone as he went down with a muffled moan. While he writhed on the ground I kicked his case under one of the vans and, in the same motion, picked up the phone in my left hand, got behind him, and positioned it at the front of his throat. Grabbing the other side with my right hand, I jammed it firmly under his Adam's apple.

I looked to the right and left. We were too exposed where we were; what I had in mind would take several minutes to complete. I shuffled backward, dragging him in between two of the trucks. I got down onto my knees, all the time pulling back on the phone. He was kicking out, his arms flailing, trying to rip my face apart.

His whimpers and chokes filled the air. I responded by leaning forward, using the weight of my upper body to bend his head down so that his chin was more or less on his chest.

At the same time I pulled even harder. Just another two minutes and I'd be done.

After thirty seconds he started to struggle furiously, with all the frenzied strength that a man draws on when he knows he is dying. But no matter what he did now, he wouldn't be getting up.

His hands still scratched at my face. I bobbed and weaved to avoid them but maintained the pressure on his throat.

Already the scabs from the fight with McGear had been pulled off, but I couldn't feel much blood. Then Simmonds managed to get his fingernails into the cut just below my eye. I stifled a scream as his three nails started into the already damaged soft skin. I made the injury worse by pulling my face away; as I did, Simmonds's nails took my skin with them.

I didn't bother now to see if anyone was watching. I was beyond caring. I was fighting for breath myself with the effort, as sweat stung the injuries on my face.

Gradually at first, his movements subsided to no more than a spasmodic twitching in his legs. His hands stopped grasping. Seconds later he was unconscious. It crossed my mind just to get up and walk away, to leave him to suffer the effects of hypoxia and be brain-damaged for life. I decided against that. I wanted this fucker dead.

I gave it another thirty seconds. His chest stopped moving.

I put my fingers on the carotid pulse and felt nothing.

I dragged him to the wall and sat him up against the doors of a unit. Then I got to my feet and started dusting myself off.

Keeping to the shadows, I tucked my shirt in and wiped away the sweat and blood with my sleeve. I checked the phone. It had been turned off in the fight. I wiped my prints off it, then just left everything where it was and casually walked away. If anybody had seen me, so what? It didn't really matter. I had more important things to worry about.

I drove west, holding my coat cuff against my eye to stop the bleeding.

The whole situation was still spinning around inside my head, slowly beginning to make sense.

I now knew how Luther and his lot had found me--they must have beaten the number out of Pat and traced the signal while I had it switched on waiting for his call.

If I'd let on to Euan or Simmonds that there was just one more set of backups in my laptop and had handed it over, I'd have been dead. They were covering their asses by retrieving the information.

Had Simmonds arranged to phone Euan some time after our meeting? Euan was more than three hours away, and Simmonds's body would be discovered soon. If Euan found out, he wouldn't take any chances. He would change location, maybe even kill Kelly right away. Either way, I'd have lost her. This time there was no question of just leaving her. I could call her on the mobile and tell her to run, but what would that achieve? She was in the middle of nowhere; even if she ran for half an hour, it would make no difference.

Euan's cottage was in the middle of acres of mountains, grass, rocks, and sheep shit. He would find her.

I could call the police, but would they believe me? I could waste hours trying to convince them, by which time it would be too late. Or they might take it on themselves to raid Euan's house, and the result would be the same.

For a fleeting second I thought about Big Al. I hoped he'd be well out of it by now. He didn't have getaway accounts for nothing. If he'd transferred four hundred grand into mine, for sure he'd have taken eight hundred for himself. Old Watermelon would be OK. I cut him from my mind.

The highway services just before Heathrow were just coming up. I had a thought.

I pulled off and drove into the parking lot. Now all I had to do was get to a phone and make a call. The service station was busy. I'd had to park a hundred yards from the main entrance. I got out of the car just as the heavens opened. By the time I reached the bank of four telephones outside Burger King, I was soaked. The first two I tried accepted only cards. I had about three pounds in change in my pocket--not enough. I ran into the shop, wiping my face to get some of the blood off. I bought a newspaper with a river, walked out, the woman looking worried at the state of my face. I men went back in and got a packet of M&Ms with a tenner. The woman looked even more scared. She was just happy for me to take my change and get out.

As I dialed the number I felt a knot in my stomach, as if I were a teenager phoning to arrange his very first date. Would she have charged it and left it switched on? Why wouldn't she? She had never let me down before.

It started to ring.

For a moment I felt like a child in a candy store with his dad, hardly able to contain my excitement. Then I had new things to worry about. What ifEuan had the phone now?

Did I hang up or did I try to bluff it and maybe find out where she was?

It was too late to think. The ringing stopped; there was a pause, then I heard a quiet, hesitant, "Hello, who is it?"

"Hi, Kelly, it's me. Nick," I said, trying for all the world to sound like Mr. Casual.

"Are you on your own?"

"Yes, you woke me up. Are you coming back now?" She sounded tired and confused. I was trying hard to think of an answer; thankfully she went on.

"Euan said that I might be staying with him longer, because you have to go away. It isn't true, is it. Nick? You said you wouldn't leave me."