Timebomb

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The sudden silence was as eloquent as anything Gregory Stevens could have said. For a few seconds he just stared at the immaculately dressed man sitting on the leather seat beside him, then turned his head to glance out of the heavily tinted side window.

The late-afternoon traffic was moving comparatively freely by Washington’s rush-hour standards, and the black Lincoln was making good progress despite the light dusting of snow on the roads. But neither of the two men occupying the back seat behind the driver’s partition had the slightest interest in where they were going or even how long it took them to get there.

‘This isn’t a request, Greg. We need to get this done, and you’re the obvious choice.’

Stevens looked back at him and shook his head. ‘It’s madness. Who the fuck dreamt this one up? Langley’s come up with some crackpot schemes before, but whatever idiot put this one together is in a class all to himself.’

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