Free Assassin (John Stratton) by Duncan Falconer

low wall that marked the track boundary. He paused, breathing heavily, as he looked back along the length of the train, which curved away in both directions. No one appeared to have followed. A man stood in the open doorway that he’d leaped from. But he only watched Chandos. He wondered if it was the assassin. And if so, why wasn’t he following?
    Chandos didn’t fancy waiting for an answer to the question. He scrambled over the low wall. The ground the other side was lower and on a steep incline. He dropped onto it, lost his footing and rolled most of the way down, winded and somewhat dizzy when he hit bottom. But within seconds he was up on his feet and pulling on his coat while hurrying down a tarmac path towards a main road.
    He looked back up the incline as he passed a row of trees that blocked much of his view of the boundary to the track. There was still no sign of a follower. At the mainroad he stopped briefly to decide on a direction. Office buildings ran the length of the other side of the road. There was a lot of traffic. He charged out into the road. Hurried through the crawling traffic. Mounted the pavement the other side. Ran through a gap between some buildings, across a car park the other side and onto another road lined with parked cars nose to tail. He kept going up it. When he reached the next junction, he paused to look back and catch his breath.
    A man came out of one of the buildings. He was wearing a business suit and headed away from Chandos. There was no one else.
    Chandos felt encouraged but forced himself not to be complacent and to seek complete success for that stage of the plan. There was a long way yet to go.
    He saw a taxi dropping someone off and ran across the road towards it. As the passenger walked away, Chandos pulled open the door and climbed into the back of the cab.
    ‘Heathrow Airport, please,’ he said, out of breath, as he looked back in the direction he’d come.
    ‘That’ll be around fifty quid from ’ere, mate?’ the driver said.
    ‘That’s fine. I’m in a hurry, if you don’t mind.’
    The driver pulled the cab away from the kerb and they headed away from the junction. Chandos kept his eyes out of the rear window. No one appeared.
    As the cab took another turn, Chandos relaxed just a little. He looked ahead, confident he’d shaken the assassin,for the time being at least. He was under no illusion of escaping the killer completely. That would be impossible. He knew that. All he’d done was buy some time.
    His next move was even dicier. It would throw up a flag that would signal his location. But it was essential to his overall plan. He only hoped he’d have enough time to do it.

7
    Mahuba felt tired as they drove along the bumpy, busy road to Bagram. His backside ached on the lumpy seat and his shoulders felt stiff. But he’d allow nothing to slow him down or deter him from reaching the destination. A couple more hours and he’d be there.
    The road began to climb and wind its way up into the hills. They passed several village compounds built on the treeless land either side of the highway, each a collection of mud houses surrounded by a single high wall. None were occupied and all had long since been abandoned.
    The land in all directions was vast and open. A boundary of distant mountains paralleled the road on their left. Those on the right were out of view but Mahuba knew they were there. He could see small bands of nomads on the distant plains. Their handful of tents. Trucks and camels. Goats. The Pakistani general glanced in his rear-view mirror to see the crate still there.
    Such an innocuous-looking object, he thought.
    He shifted his focus to the Hilux behind, its driver and passenger in the front, three armed Afghans sitting on the flatbed. The other Hilux behind that. Another in front.The Afghan escort had done its job well. Their presence alone was sufficient. They’d passed through two checkpoints without any problems. The police showed no interest