Breaking the Rules

TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

PART TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

Dodging the Enemy

January–April 2007

TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

PART THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

Winning the Game

April–August 2007

THIRTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

FORTY (#litres_trial_promo)

FORTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

FORTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

FORTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

FORTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

FORTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

FORTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

FORTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Manhattan

September 2007

KEEP READING (#litres_trial_promo)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)

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ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_0f13537f-c72d-5d09-bd2c-80462856eca6)

March 2006 (#ulink_35d723b4-fd73-5bc9-b626-e4c4f8d6bf93)

He was a stocky, slightly rotund man, in his thirties or thereabouts, and he leaned against the van, looking perturbed. He took a long drag on his cigarette, wondering why Bart was taking so long. To his way of thinking, Bart should have done the job already and been back before now. And they should have been speeding away from the scene of the crime. He glanced at his watch; it was just a few minutes past four. They needed to be on their way. Heading back to London.

Wondering whether to go looking for Bart, he suddenly tensed, leaned forward, squinting in the sunlight coming through the trees. He listened acutely, frowning, wondering exactly what it was he had just heard. Scuffling? Branches breaking? Yes, that was it. And also a muffled scream? He wasn’t sure there had been a scream … but maybe there had.

He hoped to God that Bart wasn’t up to his old tricks. They’d be in the shit if he was. And really and truly in it. Like dead.

His impatience spiralled up, dragging with it sudden apprehension. Sam, for that was his name, made an instant decision. He dropped his cigarette on the dirt path, grinding it under his foot. Pulling the key out of the ignition, he shut the door of the van, and hurried down the path into the denser part of the woods. It grew dimmer, sky and sunlight obscured by the density of the trees that formed a dark canopy above him.

Within a couple of minutes, Sam was close to the clearing; sounds became more distinct … Bart cursing and hissing and breathing heavily … and then a female scream cut short by Bart. And more scuffling.

Sam cursed under his breath, began to run, shouting, ‘Bart! Bart! For Christ’s sake, stop it!’

Startled, Bart swung his head sharply, turned his body towards Sam, and in so doing left himself vulnerable.

The young woman pinned under him seized her opportunity. Bringing her right hand up, she bashed Bart hard on the side of his head with a rock, and did so with unusual force. Dropping the rock, she pushed him hard with both hands. Injured, blood spurting, Bart fell backwards.