Newton’s Fire

II

Walters had stopped off for a burger with Pete and Kieran. The mood was gloomy; the trail was cold. They were beginning to talk of giving up for the night and starting fresh in the morning when his mobile finally rang. He swallowed away a mouthful of dry bread and meat. ‘Yes?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know who the hell you think you are,’ said a man.

‘Makes two of us, mate,’ Walters told him. ‘You sure you got the right number?’

‘This is the number I was given. I was told you wanted information about one of our SatNav systems.’

‘Ah,’ said Walters. He beckoned to Kieran for a napkin and something to write with. ‘Go on, then.’

‘I don’t know who the hell you think you-’

‘Yes. I got that bollocks the first time. Where are they?’

‘Oxford city centre.’ He read out the GPS coordinates, gave the name of a road. Walters read it back to make sure he had it right. ‘And they went straight there from Cambridge?’

‘They stopped for a while at a place called Oddington.’ He read out coordinates for that too.

‘Thanks,’ said Walters.

‘This kind of thing shouldn’t be allowed,’ said the man, determined to get it off his chest. ‘Honestly, I don’t know who you people think you are.’

‘We’re the people you just shopped one of your customers to,’ Walters told him, with a certain satisfaction. ‘So I wouldn’t go moaning about it if I were you.’ He ended the call, picked up the remains of his burger and fries, examined them dispiritedly for a moment, tossed them back down. Then he nodded to Kieran and Pete. ‘Come on, fellas,’ he said. ‘We’re in business.’