Free One Dead Witness by Nick Oldham Page B

minutely so he could grip it
and comfortably press the button with his thumb. A wire-free
earpiece was already implanted in his ear and a microphone -
doubling as a tie pin - was pinned to his tie. In order to transmit
he had to talk down to his chest without falling into the trap of
mumbling his words.
    He stood to attention and tugged down the hem of his jacket.
He cocked his head at Myrna.
    ‘ Obviously I can see the bulge when you do that,’ she said
witheringly.
    Kruger let go. The jacket bounced back to its normal
shape.
    ‘ That’s better.’
    He picked up the pistol from his desk top - a Sig Sauer P230
in .765 Browning calibre, the standard blue-black version with an
eight-round magazine capacity. It was the gun all his operatives
were issued with whenever necessary, and had been chosen by Kruger
following his Army and police experience. A lightweight weapon,
rugged and very simple to handle and a good size for concealed
carrying.
    He clicked the magazine out, emptied and re-loaded it so he
was satisfied. After slotting the mag back into the butt, he placed
the gun into the holster on his belt at the small of his back.
Another piece of equipment hopefully hidden by his
jacket.
    Myrna had done exactly the same.
    She smiled at him.
    ‘ Sorry about all this,’ he said with a pathetic
shrug.
    ‘ We all make mistakes. Let’s just hope this puts yours behind
us all.’
    There was a light knock on the door. The three other members
of that night’s team sauntered confidently into the
room.
    There were the two brothers, Jimmy and Dale Armstrong - two
ex-cops with a lot of SWAT and undercover experience behind them.
Then there was Kelly Marks, former employee of Bell in the area of
Communications Engineering. All three had been fully
briefed.
    They were bang on time. Kruger greeted them warmly. They had
been approached for their expertise and trustworthiness ... and, of
course, they were volunteers because Kruger would not make anyone
act against Bussola against their will.
    ‘ Ev’rybody a-rarin’?’ Kruger asked.
    He received assent from all.
    ‘ Let’s go then,’ he said.
     
     
    Danny stirred uncomfortably in her double bed.
    She had been there six hours, had trouble getting to sleep
initially, and once there, had problems remaining. She tossed and
rolled, sweating uncomfortably into the pillow and duvet. Too hot,
then too cold. Never in quite the most comfortable of
positions.
    She was feeling sore from her encounter with Sands. Physically
and mentally.
    Her face smarted from the open-hander he had given her. The
blow the base of her spine received when he’d dropped her onto the
ground had jarred the whole of her body and her lumber region
throbbed. The bump on the back of her head had transformed into a
tender swelling the size of a ping-pong ball and was giving her a
roaring headache despite the Anadin.
    And she was angry - deep down and all over. Why had she let
herself get taken by surprise like that! She should have known what
a sneaky, low-down bastard Sands could be - after all, hadn’t he
been having an adulterous affair for several months? And why hadn’t
she fought back? She was perfectly capable of it. And now, damnit,
she was indebted to Henry Christie. For God’s sake, she could fight
her own battles, didn’t need a man to come to her
rescue.
    Danny sighed as she remembered the heavy figure of Sands
straddling her and admitted to herself that she had been well and
truly beaten. It was a good job Henry had come along, but (and here she
thumped her pillow with frustration), she did not want to be
beholden to anyone, let alone a man, even if he was a nice guy. The
frustration turned to a giggle as she pictured Henry dancing about,
holding his sore fist ... and then the laugh faded. A feeling of
dread seeped into the pit of her stomach when she recalled Sands’s
body out cold on the garage floor ... and she knew it wasn’t
over.
    She rubbed her eyes, squinted at the digital alarm