Last Light Read Online Free Page B

weapons, would be discovered at some point by the police, but that wouldn't matter to me as I'd handed it over sterile. It shouldn't matter to these people either, as they ought to be professional enough to leave it in the same condition as they'd received it. If they didn't, that was their problem.
    I rubbed my eyes.
    Another light flashed.
    Sniper One was in position, ready to go.
    I hit the send press el three times, and after a short pause Sniper One's bulb flashed three times in return.
    I was feeling a little better now, with two snipers sitting perfectly still, watching and waiting as they continued to tune into the killing ground. I could only hope that Sniper Three was close behind.
    THREE
    Big Ben struck half past the hour. Thirty minutes to go.
    I continued to stare at the box, trying to transmit positive thoughts. The job was going to happen with or without Sniper Three, but what with the weapon problems, three chances of a hit were better than two.
    My positive transmissions weren't working at all, and after ten minutes or so my eyes were drawn to the killing ground again. Things were happening. Different colours of clothing were moving amongst the black and white of the catering staff like fragments in a kaleidoscope. Shit, they were early.
    I put one eye to the binos and checked them out, just as One and Two would be doing. The new arrivals seemed to be the advance party, maybe ten suited men, all of them white. I checked that the Yes Man wasn't amongst them and had fucked up his own plan. He wasn't. He would have fitted in nicely, though: they didn't really seem to know what to do with themselves, so decided to mill around the door like sheep, drinking champagne and mumbling to each other, probably about how pissed off they were to be working on a Sunday. Dark, double-breasted suits with a polyester mix seemed to be the order of the day. I could see the well worn shine and lard-arse creases up the backs of the jackets even from here. The jackets were mostly undone because of the weather or pot bellies, revealing ties that hung either too high or too low.
    They had to be Brit politicians and civil servants.
    The only exception was a woman in her early thirties with blonde hair and rectangular glasses, who came into view alongside the catering bully. Dressed in an immaculate black trouser suit, she seemed to be the only one of the new arrivals who knew what was what. With a mobile phone in her left hand and a pen in her right, she seemed to be pointing out that everything his staff had done needed redoing.
    The cameraman also wandered into my field of view, taking light readings, and clearly enjoying the last-minute flap. There was a flash as he took a test shot.
    Then there was another in my peripheral vision, and I looked down.
    The third bulb. I nearly cheered.
    I left the blonde-haired PR guru to get on with it, and concentrated on the box as I replied to the flashes. Sniper Three duly acknowledged.
    Big Ben chimed three times.
    Relief washed over me. I'd known all along that these people would only get into position at the very last moment, but that didn't stop me worrying about it while I was waiting. Now I just wanted this thing over and done with, and to slip away on Eurostar to the Gare du Nord, then on to Charles de Gaulle. I should make the check-in nicely for my 9 p.m. American Airlines flight to Baltimore, to see Kelly and finish my business with Josh.
    I got back on the binos and watched the PR guru tell the Brits, ever so nicely and with a great big smile, to get the fuck away from the door and prepare to mingle. They cradled their champagne glasses and headed for the nibbles, drifting from my field of view. I kept my focus on the doorway.
    Now that it was clear of bodies, I could just about penetrate the shadows inside. It looked like a canteen, the sort where you drag your tray along the counter and pay at the end. What a let-down: I'd been expecting something a bit more regal.
    The door-frame