Forty-Eight
Alisdair made his way along the A92 to the west. The Elliot Industrial estate was almost the last thing you passed before heading into the countryside.
He looked at the map on his phone. A couple of turns and he should see the facility. Switching off the screen, he slipped the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket which was lying on the passenger seat.
The Advanced Fabrics factory was a typical big box construction. There was no sign outside. No flag poles. Nothing to suggest what the building was, or who owned it.
Alisdair found one remaining spot at the far end of the car park and backed into it. After gathering his jacket, he climbed out and locked the door. The air was getting colder, as if the little warmth the sun had managed to produce for a couple of hours that
