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.‘They’re letting you out, are they?’ asked Nick.Wheatfield snorted, ‘How should I know? Who cares.I’m off anyway.’‘Yeah.Not a bad idea.’ Nick got to his feet.‘Well, see you again some time.These are friends of yours in Tulip Street?’Wheatfield nodded briefly.‘See you around then.’Nick sauntered back to his bed, then hurriedly threw on his clothes.Sister came pounding up to him.‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she demanded.‘You’ve got a fractured skull!’‘Home, Sister.And it’s only a hairline fracture.’‘Now, don’t be ridiculous!’He didn’t have time to argue and pushed firmly past her.When he got to the corridor he saw a nurse come striding purposefully out of Wheatfield’s room.He intercepted her.‘Is he there, nurse?’‘No!’ she exclaimed indignantly.‘I think he’s just walked out!’Nick ran along the corridor and pounded down the stairs.A sharp pain shot through his head and he felt a moment of nausea.He came to the last flight.The main hall of the hospital was visible below.He ground to a halt.Wheatfield was emerging from the lift.Nick stayed still, ready to dart back out of sight if Wheatfield should look round.But Wheatfield walked straight towards the main doors and went out.As Nick emerged into the street and picked up Wheatfield twenty yards ahead, he wondered if the man would be watcher-conscious.If so, he hadn’t a hope in hell of keeping on his tail.Not on his own, not without any back-up.But Wheatfield was no professional.With a bit of luck he’d never know.Wheatfield turned into Tottenham Court Road.Nick guessed he was heading for Warren Street Tube station.In which case he would have to close the gap.Risky.He quickened his step a little.So far so good.Wheatfield hadn’t looked back once.But now Wheatfield was stopping at a crossing and glancing back.Nick looked into a shop window.Suddenly a small warning bell sounded in his mind.A nasty nagging little feeling that made him uneasy.He looked behind him.There.On the other side of the road.He groaned inwardly and thought: I should have known.A watcher.He looked back.There was another, further behind, walking faster, coming up to overtake.Nick recognized him.The man was from his own section.Nick thought furiously.But he knew it was no good.There’d be a hornets’ nest if he went on.He stopped and leant against the shop window.The one on his side was coming up fast.As he approached he gave Nick a long look and, passing close to him, said out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Conway wants a word with you.’Nick thought: I bet he does.Wheatfield had reached the station and disappeared into the darkness of the ticket hall followed by the first watcher and then the second.Nick waited.After a few moments an unmarked car slid to a halt by the kerb.Nick went over.Conway wound down the window.‘Why aren’t you in bed like a good boy?’‘Couldn’t sleep.Look, do me a favour.Don’t tell Straughan.’Conway looked doubtful.‘Well, all right.But piss off home, will you? I can do without the extra aggravation.’‘How long’s the watch on for?’ Nick asked quickly.‘Until we know where our friend lives.’‘That’s all?’‘Yeah, for the moment.’‘Another favour.Give me the info when you’ve got it.I’ll phone later.’Conway groaned, ‘Now what would you want to know that for?’‘Come on.’‘All right,’ Conway agreed reluctantly.‘But don’t go and get into trouble, for Pete’s sake.Oh, and as far as I’m concerned, we never even saw each other, right?’The headache was a stinker, the sort that makes you feel heavy, bad-tempered and sick.Nick regarded his bed longingly.It looked very tempting.But it would be a mistake to lie down.He’d only sleep for hours.Instead he found some aspirin in the kitchen and washed three tablets down with a cup of bitter strong coffee.He put on a record of Carmen and, massaging his temples, wished the aspirins would take effect.He felt so damned fuzzy …He risked sitting down for a moment.He wondered if Conway had found Wheatfield’s abode yet.Even if he had, it wouldn’t achieve very much.It wouldn’t establish who his friends were … Only a proper surveillance would do that …Nick considered phoning the boss and making a request for a proper observation, but immediately discounted it.He’d only get bawled out for not taking sick leave.Of course, if he was really stupid he could watch Wheatfield on his own, but it would be impossible to do a good job.What else was there?His eyes were trying their best to close.He fought them open and, turning up the music, walked backwards and forwards across the floor.Photographs.Damn.He’d forgotten to ask Conway what ‘makes’ – positive identifications – he’d got from his shots at the demo.Perhaps there was something on Black Beard.He suddenly remembered the pictures taken by the girl journalist.They had been very good.He wondered if any of the lads had checked the rest of her shots, the ones that hadn’t actually been published.He thought for a moment.It would give him something to do …He called the Sunday Times and asked for the picture editor.He got an assistant who gave him the information he wanted without even asking for his name.Miss Gabriella Carelli.Care of Inter-News.An Italian? He was puzzled.She’d had no accent that he’d noticed.A brisk woman answered the Inter-News number
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