One of the security service men came running out again and shouted for someone to call an ambulance. Dillon looked back one last time as more dark-clad figures appeared, and then sirens sounded from the road outside Hart’s luxury home.
At the same time he could hear the low throbbing of twin inboard diesel engines nearby. Frank Gardner’s sleek power cruiser slipped out of the darkness, and seconds later Dillon was grabbing hold of the rear ladder, pulling himself out of the water and onto the dive platform at the stern.
He leant back against the bulkhead, legs leaden, mind numbed. He slowly closed his eyes and was almost unaware that the boat was now powering away from the shore at high speed, back towards Salterns Marina.
And then, through a mist of melancholy that had descended upon him, almost as if Charlie Hart himself had planted the thought there and then, he decided that it was time to take a much needed break. Somewhere he could recharge his batteries and get his head together, without the constraints and pressures of everyday life.