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‘On it.’
‘Right, let’s find the egress route from here, as he’s bound to have had a vehicle nearby, unless he got picked up, which I can’t see. I’m betting he’s gone to that next tree block around the loch. Can you send the dog over?’ said Max.
Within a second, Wendy was off again, nose down, tail swaying, as she headed around the loch towards the trees, before she began fussing with interest just on the leading edge of the trees by a large gorse bush. As before, she sat, looking at her handler expectantly, until they joined her. Max peered into the shrub, noting the broken and bruised evergreen branches, and studied the ground, spotting the single tyre track that headed away from the muddy ground and the woods towards the farm track, where it disappeared completely on the compacted, hard surface.
‘He’s on a motorbike, off-road style, I’d say. Looking at the skinny, knobbly tyre prints I’d say it’s a fairly low-power one, as the tracks haven’t decayed at all, yet. Reckon he left here no more than ninety minutes ago. He’s gone, and he could be bloody miles away by now.’
‘Shit,’ said Janie.
‘Indeed. Make it clear, we need divers in the loch. A weapon capable of firing that size of round would be hard to conceal, particularly on a motorbike. I’m betting it’s in there, and it’ll not be far from the edge.’
33
DROOPY WAS SITTINGbehind the wheel of his anonymous Ford Mondeo as he navigated the busy Edinburgh traffic when his phone rang on the seat next to him. He indicated and pulled off the main road and onto a small side street before stopping and picking up the handset. He always did this. Droopy had stayed well off law-enforcement radar for as long as he had by not doing stupid things, like driving and talking on the phone. No need to get loads of penalty points, it just put you in the bastards’ sights. A ban for someone like Droopy would be inconvenient, to say the least.
‘Aye?’
‘It’s me.’ The accent was a curious mix of Manchester with just a hint of something European, yet somehow flat and devoid of any emotion.
‘Any problems?’
‘Nope. Easy as owt, mate. Like shootin’ ducks at a fairground.’
‘Both?’
‘Yep. Both now have a case of missing head syndrome. When can I expect the moolah to be transferred?’
‘As soon as there’s official confirmation.’
‘Well, I’m confirming it, mate. I watched it happen through me scope.’
‘Well, nice of you to say, pal, but funnily enough my employer likes official confirmation from independent sources. Nae disrespect, like.’
‘None taken. It’ll be all over news soon. Straight away, yeah. I’ve onwards travel booked.’
‘It’ll be done. Make sure you ditch this phone, okay?’ said Droopy. It shouldn’t have been necessary to say this, but the sniper, whilst efficient and a decent shot, wasn’t the brightest.
‘Of course. I’ll watch my bank.’ He rang off.
Droopy slid the SIM card out of his cheap smartphone, and slotted in another. He didn’t immediately dial, but navigated to the BBC News page.
Breaking news: Police at major incident at Scottish loch, unconfirmed reports of two fatalities.
Droopy smiled and dialled again. The phone was answered immediately with a hoarse whisper. ‘Yes?’
‘Any news for me?’ said Droopy.
‘Your man did the business.’
‘Both?’
‘Aye.’
‘A permanent solution.’
‘As permanent as it’s possible to be.’
‘Any other casualties?’
