Dark Winter Read Free Page B

scored.
    As we sat there and waited, I felt in my trouser pocket for the bike key. The target would be leaving for work soon. Even terrorists need to make money and have a cover story.
    He was illuminated by the sign as he came out a couple of minutes later. He was a little early tonight. There was normally a fifteen-minute window after prayers before he set off. His white shirt was now tucked into a pair of black trousers, and he was wearing black patent leather shoes. He crossed the fence once more and headed to his Lite Ace, dodging the puddles in an attempt to keep his shoes clean.
    I got to my feet. ‘Right, might as well get back to the hotel.’
    Suzy nodded and stood up. I picked up my helmet, putting it on as I walked to the bike. She hooked the bag over her head and shoulders, then put her helmet on as I kicked up the side-stand and turned the ignition. She waited while I revved up and added our share of black exhaust to the rest as I manoeuvred the bike with my feet to get it facing the road.
    The Lite Ace moved towards the mosque gates. There was no indication of which way he was turning, but if he followed his own script of the last week and a bit he should be going with the traffic: to his left, our right. Suzy climbed on, and fiddled with her helmet to buy us time while we waited for the Lite Ace to get on to the road. My head was already hot and sticky inside the crash helmet, which stank of years of tourists’ greasy hair. The plastic strap under my chin was slippery against my two days’ growth.
    She tapped me on the shoulder, just as the Lite Ace merged with the traffic. We turned right, against the flow, in front of the massed headlights, and began to take the target. There were four cars and a swarm of Honda 70s between us. He slowed for a group of tourists crossing the road, then accelerated to catch up with the flow. We followed, stopping and starting, guided by his flickering right brake light. If I lost him, this would be an excellent VDM for me to look out for either in the dark or in general traffic confusion. I knew it was there because I had slipped out with a screwdriver a couple of nights ago. If whipping was the penalty for using a dodgy satellite card, I dreaded to think what it would be for tampering with a vehicle.
    The cars and heavy vehicles came to a halt again, but the scooters carried on weaving in and out. Instead of following suit, I stopped and kicked down into first, kept the clutch in and stayed well back.
    Suzy adjusted herself behind me, wiggling her arse either side of the seat to unstick her thin trousers from the plastic. Her right hand was round my stomach and the bag was squeezed between us; her revolver, an old six-shot .45, Second World War vintage, almost silver with wear, dug into the small of my back as I inhaled another lungful of exhaust fumes.
    Keeping two vehicles behind the van, I played the cautious tourist, making no attempt to copy all the others on two wheels. My legs were sweating inside my cheap night-market trousers, and it was nice to get a bit of breeze through my trainers as we moved.
    There was a burst of light inside the Lite Ace before cigarette smoke leaked from the driver’s window. Suzy leant forward over my shoulder and breathed in deeply, then I could hear her laughing behind me. I didn’t know whether to be pleased she wasn’t flapping on the job, or to flap myself because she wasn’t. I liked people who got scared.
    The coastline of Penang was low-lying, but as soon as you turned inland you began to climb. The target worked as a waiter in a Dutch restaurant up on the high ground in the centre of the island; I knew we’d be coming up to some lights soon, and he should be turning right. But something was wrong. He wasn’t moving into the right-hand lane; instead he fought his way past the traffic at the junction waiting to turn inland.
    Suzy was on my shoulder. ‘What’s he doing?’ I ignored her and carried on with the take; there was