Free To Kill a Grey Man by D C Stansfield Page A

the voice said.   “If we think you are being followed or if I
find out you are not who you say you are, you will be killed, there will be no
fucking around.   Do you still want to
meet?”
    “Yes,” replied Keith.
    “Okay.   Get a flight to Geneva
tomorrow and hire a car with a satellite navigation system,” instructed the
voice.

 
    The next morning Keith was on an Easyjet flight from Gatwick to Geneva at 8.15 am.   As the flight was packed, he had paid extra to be in the front seat to
get off the flight quickly.

 
    He walked directly to the Hertz desk and hired a black Mercedes E
class.   As he settled himself in the car
his phone text alert sounded.   He had
been sent a postcode and a name which he typed into the sat nav.   This took him out of Geneva on the motorway
towards Lausanne.   It was a beautiful day.   The sun was shining in a Simpson’s sky with
its soft white fluffy clouds and as he neared Lausanne he could see Lake Geneva
on his right with Mont Blanc in the background, quite a stunning sight.   Just before he got into the town, the sat nav took him to a nearly deserted car park by a supermarket
and he parked up in the centre where he could be clearly seen and he left the
engine running.

 
    He sat there becoming more and more agitated.   His eyes constantly scanning for a contact.   As the time passed he wondered if something
had happened and the meeting was scrubbed.   Finally after nearly an hour he got another text, another postcode and
another name, “The Window on the Lake Hotel”.   He tapped the details into the sat nav and saw
it was thirty five miles away.   He drove
slowly and carefully all round the outside of Lausanne and then onto the
motorway, down a long hill with the lake constantly on his right.   At the bottom of the hill he came off the
motorway and followed a small road which after a number of turns eventually brought
him onto the coastal path around the large lake.   It was a small, narrow road with only one
lane on each side of the road, nowhere to pass and a top speed of thirty miles
an hour.   He could see how well chosen
this road was.   Most of the time it was
completely open, a large hill to the left and the lake to the right.   Anyone who wanted to observe his car could do
so at ease from the hill or one of the many boats without getting spotted
themselves.

 
    After another five miles he passed the border into France which
consisted of a small booth and two parked police cars.   He was waved through without being asked to
stop.   Finally he arrived at the hotel and
he parked three hundred yards before it in a free public car park.

 
    He got out of the car and decided not to take his briefcase with him.   He wanted to show he was unarmed and had
nothing to hide.   He was dressed in a
cream shirt and blue jeans which showed off his obviously massive muscled body
so he slipped on a loose fitting jacket to try make himself look more ordinary.   He knew from experience that his physique
could unsettle other men and the last thing he needed was a macho man contest.

 
    He walked along and turned right into the hotel’s front garden.   It had a walled front and once through the
opening he could see that the place was a sun trap with tables and chairs set
out for drinks.   The hotel was lovely and
quaint, backing directly onto the lake with cut flowers in crystal vases
everywhere.   It was obviously very old
but it was in pristine condition.

 
    He went through the door into reception which opened into a large
corridor with a reception desk on the right.   He was obviously expected as a pleasant looking middle-aged man in a
grey waistcoat and trousers with a white shirt and black bow tie waved him on.   He continued to walk through into a dining
room already laid out for dinner, then into a conservatory which was full of cane
and whicker furniture and highly patterned cushions.   It looked directly out on the lake and the
huge glass