Free Ultimate Weapon by Chris Ryan Page B

were like ice cubes, freezing everything around them. He’d put the heating on but it would take a couple of days for the place to thaw out again. He looked out of the window again, trying to remember if the BP station on the road into Hereford sold beer or wine, and whether it might be open at this time of night. Just onedrink, he thought to himself.
To get me through the next few days.
    Another movement. Something was out there.
Somebody. He was certain of it.
    Nick remained still. The expression on his face was relaxed, impassive, as if he was just admiring the shapes the moon and the clouds were creating on the hills. But inside his mind was working furiously. Someone is out there, he told himself.
Somebody is watching me.
    He started moving away from the window. Whoever they were, he didn’t want them to know they’d been spotted. Just act casual, like you have no idea they’re out there.
    Flicking on the TV, he caught the closing headlines on the ITV news. Blair was talking some rubbish about the threat of Saddam Hussein supplying biological weapons to terrorists. Nick turned the sound down. If anyone was watching the house right now, they’d think he was just slumped in front of the box. No threat to anyone.
    Quietly, he slipped away to the phone. He picked up the receiver, and started to dial, but used only eight digits instead of nine. The phone just made a rapid bleeping sound. That was fine. Nick didn’t want to speak to anyone right now. Still holding the phone to his lips, he turned his back to the window. Kneeling down, he started to unscrew the back of the phone. It was a cheap receiver he’d bought in Argos for a tenner: the back came away simply enough. Inside, he could see a small black chip measuring one centimetre lengthwise and half a centimetre across. Nick recognised it at once.
    A bug.
    Someone was listening to his calls.
    He screwed the receiver back into place, then dialled Sarah’s mobile number again, just for a number to ring. Whoever was listening into the calls, he didn’t want them to know they’d been rumbled. Not yet. ‘Hiya, silver girl, it’s me,’ he said when he got the voicemail message that was now tediously familiar. ‘Give us a ring when you can.’
    Slowly he moved back towards the TV. A Clint Eastwood film was just starting. Perhaps he’d watch it. After all, there wasn’t much chance of sleeping tonight; maybe just crash out in front of the box. Let them think I haven’t seen them.
    The listening device was familiar to Nick. One of the first things you learnt on the security circuit was how to sweep a room for bugs. This was nothing special: a simple plug-in device you could buy from a couple of dozen firms that sold them over the Internet. It took the phone call and transmitted it over a short-wave radio signal to a listening post nearby. Its range was about half a mile, depending on the terrain. In these hills, maybe less. That meant they were close by.
    Glancing up at the silent screen, Nick could see Clint pulling his Magnum from its holster. Somebody is watching me. And my phone is tapped. Nick repeated the same two phrases to himself sombrely.
    Well, mate, all I know is this. You picked on the wrong fight this time.
You’ve got a hell of beating coming to you.
    * * *

    The sky was darker tonight, Nick noted. A thick layer of clouds had settled into the valley early in the day and showed no signs of moving. The moon was hidden, and none of the stars was visible. Perfect, he told himself.
For this evening’s work, I need all the darkness I can get.
    Once or twice he’d glanced towards the spot where he’d seen the movements, but he hadn’t looked at it for more than a fraction of a second. That would create suspicion. He had no idea who might be watching him, or why, but he assumed they’d been properly trained. That meant one of the first things they’d be looking for was a sign that they’d been rumbled. Any hint of that, and they’d evacuate the