Stolen Angels

Начало книги

If he hurried, he might just make it, thought Peter Hyde as he scuttled across the crowded concourse of Euston Station. He glanced at his watch, apologising as he bumped into a woman dragging a large suitcase on a set of wheels. It looked as if she was taking the luggage for a walk, Hyde mused, weaving his way through the maze of bodies which thronged the busy area.

He was torn between the options of using his briefcase as a weapon to clear a path through the milling throng or holding it close to him in case he accidentally struck anyone with it. Ahead of him he saw a young man with an enormous back-pack turn and slam into an older man in a grey suit who was sweating profusely, perspiration beading on his bald head. The suited man slapped angrily at the back-pack and marched towards the platforms.

Hyde glanced beyond him and saw what he sought.

He had minutes if he was lucky.

Would there be time?

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