Each and every one of them had been easy to dispose of. James Henshaw had accepted his death well before the end. Starving someone was quite simple. Watching the realisation and the defeat in their eyes when they knew there was no way out had brought a little satisfaction.
Michael Foreman believed right until the end that he would be forgiven and that the driver really wouldn’t kill him. His demise had been far quicker than James’ – but equally as painful.
As for Zoe Harrison, she wasn’t sure what to think. The driver didn’t know if she had accepted it or not but he really admired her spirit. Right until the final second, ever the fighter. She simply would not give up. Even now she was trying to set him up, pit him against Anthony Palmer, which he found hilarious.
They thought they had a safe cyber address. A place where no one could spy on them, see what they were saying, and what they were doing. The driver laughed to himself. It wasn’t as safe as they had assumed. It mattered not that Palmer had changed his phone, rendering his listening useless. He didn’t need it. Those silly bastards were doing his work for him.
Fail to prepare, and you prepare to fail. That’s what they had taught him in the military. That’s what they were doing now. They thought that together they had the upper hand; that the driver didn’t know what they were up to. They were failing to prepare.
He cracked his fingers. He was tired, but the end was near. He’d spent the entire last week rearranging the unit, making it unrecognisable. He would have the upper hand in the end. He knew Anthony Palmer was on his way. He suspected the man would be feeling pretty smug after the information Zoe Harrison had given him.
What a shock he would receive when they finally met.
Staring into the mirror, the driver realised he was about to play his trump card. He’d spent time on his research. He knew exactly what troubled Anthony Palmer, especially when he had seen it all first-hand at the airport.
The driver laughed. Palmer would shit his own body weight when they met.
Chapter Fifty-three
“What are you doing?” asked Brian.
“Watching him,” replied Sam.
“Why? What’s he up to?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Then why are you watching him?”
Sam was sitting on the long wooden seat in front of a unit called Transmech, which was situated on the Industrial Park on Crimbald Cragg Close near Harrogate, opposite one called CDC. Only now, the name had been changed to Blockheads.
“I’ve been watching him a while now,” said Sam. “All those cars sitting outside must have been inside. He’s moved them. He’s been in and out of the place all week in that white van of his, loading and unloading gear, all sorts of stuff; no idea what he’s up to.”
Sam offered Brian a sandwich from a large box, containing four roast beef in granary, two yoghurts, two chocolate bars and a couple of packets of snack tubs containing nuts – not to mention a variety of fruit. Brian had no idea where the hell he put it all because he was as thin as a lathe.
Neither of them had what you called a stressful job, or one that overworked them or provided any exercise. They were both draughtsmen, which involved hours sitting at a desk, staring at drawings all day. If Brian so much as sniffed one of the chocolate bars he’d put a stone on.
“Something about him is obviously bothering you.”
They’d been friends for fifty years. Born around the same time, grew up on the same street, went to the same school and spent a lot of time together after school and outside of work, taking part in similar sporting interests: darts, snooker, badminton. Only difference was, Brian was married but Sam was a confirmed bachelor. He was also very intelligent, loved puzzles and studied people. He couldn’t help it.
“It is, but I can’t say what. Maybe he’s taken over from them four that were in there before.”
“Probably why he’s changed the name,” said Brian.
“But what kind of a company is Blockheads?”
“If it’s anything to do with the uniform it must be some kind of military establishment.”
“If it was anything to do with them surely there’d be a lot more people hanging around.”
“Well, I don’t mean government,” said Brian, “maybe it’s something to do with an Army & Navy store.”
“It’s a big place, and why still only one person?” said Sam, glancing at his friend. “And there’s something else that bothers me – the same bloke was sat here a few weeks back. Middle of the afternoon, not long after we’d finished dinner.”
“What was he doing then?”
“Watching that place. He brought some dinner with him, and a flask, and he was sitting there for about two hours.”