heard retreating footsteps, the slam of a car door and a squeal of tyres.
Laszlo walked back into the room and switched off the TV. He selected a SIM card from several he had in his jacket pocket, put it into his mobile phone and made a call. He spoke in Russian to his little brother. There was affection in his voice, something no one but Sambor had heard since the deaths of their mother and father. They exchanged pleasantries before getting down to business.
‘I have been compromised.’ Laszlo brushed aside Sambor’s concern. ‘It is not a problem, brother. I am OK. We have to move the plan forward. We start tomorrow morning.’
Laszlo listened as his brother confirmed that everyone was now in place, and fully prepared. Sambor thanked him for keeping his promise.
After breaking the connection Laszlo took out the SIM card, cut it into four pieces with the kitchen scissors and flushed it down the toilet. Then he swung his legs up on the sofa, closed his eyes and settled down to wait.
17
DELPHINE HAD PUT her hair in a loose ponytail and worn a tunic dress in jade green silk for her first date with Tom.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ Moira had said, as she stood in front of the mirror, checking her own hair. ‘But might you not be a little . . . over-dressed? You don’t know where he’s taking you, do you?’ They both heard the throaty sound of a motorbike engine outside. ‘Or how you’re going to get there . . .’
Delphine went to answer the door, and found Tom wearing his usual jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket.
‘You look fantastic,’ he said, then sheepishly held out a motorcycle helmet to her. ‘Er, did I forget to mention I’d be picking you up on my bike?’
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I get motion sickness in cars.’
Tom wasn’t sure if she was just trying to be nice. He drank up every detail of her happy, smiling face.
‘And I used to ride a moped all the time in Nice.’
‘Um . . . I’m afraid Hereford isn’t the South of France.’
She flashed him a dazzling smile. ‘That’s true in so many more ways than you can imagine.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ he said. ‘But right now I’m just worried about the temperature.’
‘Shall I change?’
He shook his head. ‘Wear my jacket over your dress. I’ll be fine in my T-shirt – it’s a warm night, by Hereford standards anyway.’
She slid onto the pillion seat of Tom’s new BMW GS1200, leaned into his back and put her arms around him as he twisted the throttle, gunned the engine and pulled out of the car park. As he accelerated, weaving the bike through the sparse evening traffic, she clung tightly to him, feeling the hard muscle of his body against her arms and chest.
He took her to a gastro-pub in Fownhope, a village a few minutes outside town. The knowing look the waiter gave him as he showed them to a corner table suggested to Delphine that she wasn’t the first girl he’d taken there.
She’d expected him to dominate the conversation, spinning yarns of countries he’d seen and battles he’d fought. After all, wasn’t that what soldiers did? But she was wrong. As they talked over dinner, she was surprised to find that he was attentive and interested in her, asking her a string of questions about herself and her life before she’d come to Hereford.
After a while she began to wonder if it reflected genuine interest in her or was more a tactic to stop her asking him too much about his own life.
‘You’re not very forthcoming about yourself, are you, Tom?’
‘I guess it’s the way all of us are,’ he said. ‘Everything we do at work is on a need-to-know basis – if you don’t need to know, then you don’t get told.’
Delphine smiled. ‘I wasn’t planning to torture you and I don’t want to know any state secrets. I’m just interested in you. But if you don’t want to tell me, or you’re too shy . . . though I’d find that hard to believe . . .’
Tom’s discomfort was already
Laszlo walked back into the room and switched off the TV. He selected a SIM card from several he had in his jacket pocket, put it into his mobile phone and made a call. He spoke in Russian to his little brother. There was affection in his voice, something no one but Sambor had heard since the deaths of their mother and father. They exchanged pleasantries before getting down to business.
‘I have been compromised.’ Laszlo brushed aside Sambor’s concern. ‘It is not a problem, brother. I am OK. We have to move the plan forward. We start tomorrow morning.’
Laszlo listened as his brother confirmed that everyone was now in place, and fully prepared. Sambor thanked him for keeping his promise.
After breaking the connection Laszlo took out the SIM card, cut it into four pieces with the kitchen scissors and flushed it down the toilet. Then he swung his legs up on the sofa, closed his eyes and settled down to wait.
17
DELPHINE HAD PUT her hair in a loose ponytail and worn a tunic dress in jade green silk for her first date with Tom.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ Moira had said, as she stood in front of the mirror, checking her own hair. ‘But might you not be a little . . . over-dressed? You don’t know where he’s taking you, do you?’ They both heard the throaty sound of a motorbike engine outside. ‘Or how you’re going to get there . . .’
Delphine went to answer the door, and found Tom wearing his usual jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket.
‘You look fantastic,’ he said, then sheepishly held out a motorcycle helmet to her. ‘Er, did I forget to mention I’d be picking you up on my bike?’
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I get motion sickness in cars.’
Tom wasn’t sure if she was just trying to be nice. He drank up every detail of her happy, smiling face.
‘And I used to ride a moped all the time in Nice.’
‘Um . . . I’m afraid Hereford isn’t the South of France.’
She flashed him a dazzling smile. ‘That’s true in so many more ways than you can imagine.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ he said. ‘But right now I’m just worried about the temperature.’
‘Shall I change?’
He shook his head. ‘Wear my jacket over your dress. I’ll be fine in my T-shirt – it’s a warm night, by Hereford standards anyway.’
She slid onto the pillion seat of Tom’s new BMW GS1200, leaned into his back and put her arms around him as he twisted the throttle, gunned the engine and pulled out of the car park. As he accelerated, weaving the bike through the sparse evening traffic, she clung tightly to him, feeling the hard muscle of his body against her arms and chest.
He took her to a gastro-pub in Fownhope, a village a few minutes outside town. The knowing look the waiter gave him as he showed them to a corner table suggested to Delphine that she wasn’t the first girl he’d taken there.
She’d expected him to dominate the conversation, spinning yarns of countries he’d seen and battles he’d fought. After all, wasn’t that what soldiers did? But she was wrong. As they talked over dinner, she was surprised to find that he was attentive and interested in her, asking her a string of questions about herself and her life before she’d come to Hereford.
After a while she began to wonder if it reflected genuine interest in her or was more a tactic to stop her asking him too much about his own life.
‘You’re not very forthcoming about yourself, are you, Tom?’
‘I guess it’s the way all of us are,’ he said. ‘Everything we do at work is on a need-to-know basis – if you don’t need to know, then you don’t get told.’
Delphine smiled. ‘I wasn’t planning to torture you and I don’t want to know any state secrets. I’m just interested in you. But if you don’t want to tell me, or you’re too shy . . . though I’d find that hard to believe . . .’
Tom’s discomfort was already
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