Jokerman

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Tullivant settled his right eye against the telescopic sight and waited.

The car carrying the target crawled along the driveway like the beetle that was making its unhurried way along the twig inches from Tullivant’s face. Tullivant tracked the vehicle in the crosshairs of the scope: an executive car, a silver Mercedes R Class, probably armour plated. In its wake a thin skein of dust dissipated into the morning air.

The Mercedes was moving from right to left, from Tullivant’s point of view. He took his eye away from the scope for a moment to obtain a broad view of the scene again. On the left-hand side of his visual field the driveway expanded into a gravelled forecourt which hugged the front of a large, Georgian-era house. Three more cars were parked before the house, and a knot of people thronged around them.

The Mercedes pulled up on the forecourt and stopped. Across the expanse of lawn, Tullivant heard its engine shut off.

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