IMPOSTURE: Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery Ray Clark (lightest ebook reader TXT) 📖

“Sure thing,” she replied, without so much as a glance.

Having passed the first test, he typed in the password for another. Eventually the screen led him to the next page, where he typed in the final information.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw he had a message.

The excitement level rose when he noticed it was from Zoe. That meant she wasn’t dead – yet.

He opened it to find a lot of text, which was almost certainly unlike her, but the style pretty much confirmed it was. By the time he finished reading what she had to say, he nearly vomited.

Anthony jumped up. Exiting the booth, he collided with the waitress. The coffee went all over the floor and the cup and saucer smashed. Her expression said it all: wide eyes, mouth open, hands round her head.

“Sorry,” said Anthony, noticing everyone else staring at them.

“No problem, I’ll get you another.”

“No, sorry, no time.” He passed her a five-pound note and ran out so fast he nearly left a trail of smoke.

Chapter Fifty-two

Fail to prepare, and you prepare to fail. The driver wasn’t going to.

He was sitting in one of the offices, staring into the mirror, waiting for what lay ahead.

It was twelve weeks since the Hunters had died. Not died – had been killed in cold blood by a bunch of thieving, murdering, parasitical bastards. It was bad enough that they ran him over but to drag his weakened body over to the electric box, hide him from view and fuck off was completely unforgivable.

The driver had had many sleepless nights since the incident, repeatedly thinking about what they had done. Every time he’d end up thinking, wondering, had David Hunter actually still been alive when they were moving him? Had he known what was happening when one of them dragged him as far away as they could, to cover their mistake? Had he died alone? What were his last thoughts?

The driver felt hollow. When he thought of how he’d passed the last twelve weeks, avenging their deaths, it had all been worth it. He had taken no pleasure in the acts of torture. That was the soldier in him, something he had been trained to do. He simply wanted them to feel a little of what they had dished out.

Each and every one of them had been easy to dispose of. James Henshaw had accepted his death well before the end. Starving someone was quite simple. Watching the realisation and the defeat in their eyes when they knew there was no way out had brought a little satisfaction.

Michael Foreman believed right until the end that he would be forgiven and that the driver really wouldn’t kill him. His demise had been far quicker than James’ – but equally as painful.

As for Zoe Harrison, she wasn’t sure what to think. The driver didn’t know if she had accepted it or not but he really admired her spirit. Right until the final second, ever the fighter. She simply would not give up. Even now she was trying to set him up, pit him against Anthony Palmer, which he found hilarious.

They thought they had a safe cyber address. A place where no one could spy on them, see what they were saying, and what they were doing. The driver laughed to himself. It wasn’t as safe as they had assumed. It mattered not that Palmer had changed his phone, rendering his listening useless. He didn’t need it. Those silly bastards were doing his work for him.

Fail to prepare, and you prepare to fail. That’s what they had taught him in the military. That’s what they were doing now. They thought that together they had the upper hand; that the driver didn’t know what they were up to. They were failing to prepare.

He cracked his fingers. He was tired, but the end was near. He’d spent the entire last week rearranging the unit, making it unrecognisable. He would have the upper hand in the end. He knew Anthony Palmer was on his way. He suspected the man would be feeling pretty smug after the information Zoe Harrison had given him.

What a shock he would receive when they finally met.

Staring into the mirror, the driver realised he was about to play his trump card. He’d spent time on his research. He knew exactly what troubled Anthony Palmer, especially when he had seen it all first-hand at the airport.

The driver laughed. Palmer would shit his own body weight when they met.

Chapter Fifty-three

“What are you doing?” asked Brian.

“Watching him,” replied Sam.

“Why? What’s he up to?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then why are you watching him?”

Sam was sitting on the long wooden seat in front of a unit called Transmech, which was situated on the Industrial Park on Crimbald Cragg Close near Harrogate, opposite one called CDC. Only now, the name had been changed to Blockheads.

“I’ve been watching him a while now,” said Sam. “All those cars sitting outside must have been inside. He’s moved them. He’s been in and out of the place all week in that white van of his, loading and unloading gear, all sorts of stuff; no idea what he’s up to.”

Sam offered Brian a sandwich from a large box, containing four roast beef in granary, two yoghurts, two chocolate bars and a couple of packets of snack tubs containing nuts – not to mention a variety of fruit. Brian had no idea where the hell he put it all because he was as thin as a lathe.

Neither of them had what you called a stressful job, or one that overworked them or provided any exercise. They were both draughtsmen, which involved hours sitting at a desk, staring at drawings all day. If Brian so much as sniffed one of the chocolate bars he’d put a stone on.

“Something about him is obviously bothering