Forty-six

19.12

Voorhess had seriously considered killing the old man who’d seen him earlier at the lock-up garages.

He’d almost done it too, when the man had given him a shock by poking his head out of the garage slightly further up, just as he’d been putting the Stinger in the back of his Shogun. It wouldn’t have been difficult. There was no one else around, and there was no way the old man would have been expecting it. Voorhess might have been a big man but he had the kind of friendly face and open, natural smile that set people immediately at ease. He was also obsessive about no one seeing his face when he was on a job. It was the sole reason he’d insisted on collecting the missile from a quiet, neutral location. So that the client never saw him. The irony of then being spotted by someone else was not lost on him.

Even so, he’d made the snap decision to leave the old man alive on the basis that it was highly unlikely he’d ever connect him to the day’s terrorist attacks. Instead, he’d given the man a friendly wave and a grin, keeping his body language as natural as possible, before getting in the driver’s seat and pulling out of there.

Now, as he reversed the Shogun into Mr Butt’s ground-floor garage, careful not to run over his girlfriend’s body, Voorhess was pleased that he’d spared the old man. He didn’t like unnecessary killing, especially when it was at such close quarters, as it had been with Mr Butt’s girlfriend earlier. The old man had looked a cheerful fellow, and it amused Voorhess to think that he would never know quite how close he’d come to death.

But for Mr Butt himself, it was unfortunately going to be a different story.

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