Whistleblower

by Terry Morgan

CHAPTER 92

  "I can't see anything, Tom. It's too dark. And if it is Guido in there - which is only your opinion, not mine - and he comes out and sees me there is no way that this Fiat 500 will outpace that Mercedes. Let's come back in the morning. At day break if you like, I don't care."

  They were standing outside an iron gate in the shadow cast by a light from the winding driveway of a large house that overlooked the lake. Just visible were two big cars - a Mercedes and a BMW parked side by side, their registration plates hidden from view. Two lights were on inside the house.

  "Did you hear that?" Tom asked.

  "What?"

  "Someone shouting."

  "It was an owl. Let's go, find a hotel."

  "But if I can get in there, close enough, I can check the number plates."

  "By climbing over this gate? Or over the wall with the ivy growing on it. If it's Guido he's probably got guard dogs - bloody big Alsatians or a Doberman.

  "Ah, for God's sake. But perhaps you're right. I hate fucking dogs. Let's sleep in the car."

  "Tom. Christ's sake. Do you not fancy a pizza or something? I tell you, Tom, I'm about to collapse of hunger. We've hardly eaten since yesterday."

  "Ah, OK, I'm hearing what you say. Let's come back at daybreak."