CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
From where he was waiting, he could see the smoke and hear the sirens. Fadil sat in the truck with the Walther P38 resting on his knee. They’d been too long. He knew of course they’d gone to Allah. That was the alternative. Now he was on his own. It was everyman for himself.
Gathering up what he could from the truck, including a small medical kit and the remains of Harry’s lunch, Fadil walked quickly down the gravel track until he reached the stolen car.
The Ford key, from the set that were left in the ignition while the man had popped into the paper shop to buy cigarettes, turned in the door lock to let him in.
Fadil sat still. He did a complete sweep of the car park. It could be a trap. They’d found the car and were waiting for him. But nothing. It all looked quiet
