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shoplifters, and it seemed unlikely that one of them would be mounting a well-oiled surveillance operation in the name of revenge. No, there was no reason to be jumpy. And yet there was something making her uncomfortable, a lingering doubt overpowering her usually resolute rationality.
    They passed Earl’s Court and turned towards Hammersmith. Stella was starting to feel tired. The pint of lager she’d drunk, whilst not putting her over the limit, was having a soporific effect. She stifled a yawn.
    â€œLong day?” asked Cronin.
    â€œNot really,” she replied. “It’s the beer. I’m not very good with afternoon drinking, it always makes me sleepy. I shall probably grab an hour when I get home.”
    â€œI’m the same. Although, don’t get the wrong idea – I don’t do an awful lot of afternoon drinking.”
    Stella laughed. “I shouldn’t imagine you do. But then again, aren’t you Catholic priests renowned for having a tipple?”
    â€œMaybe in books, films, and Father Ted ,” grinned Cronin. “But in reality we’re far less bibulous. Well, most of us anyway.”
    Five minutes later Stella pulled up outside Our Lady of Grace & St Edward Roman Catholic Church, Chiswick. Father Cronin unbuckled his seatbelt.
    â€œI hope I was of some use today,” he said.
    â€œYou’ve been great,” Stella smiled. “Like I said, it was really good of you to give up your afternoon to help.”
    Cronin opened his door and got out. “It was a pleasure. Give me a call about next Sunday.” He said goodbye and closed the car door behind him.
    Stella drove off, glad to be nearly home. She was looking forward to crashing out on the sofa for the evening. She didn’t notice the silver Vectra pulling out of a side road two hundred yards behind.

Chapter 14
    Kamaljit Singh sat on the hotel bed watching the news with interest. Two days had passed, and the assassination attempt was still the main headline. He smiled as the anchorman continued to harp on about the menace of Al-Qaeda, and their threat to the foundations of modern society. So long as the terror group were getting the blame it kept him in the clear. Particularly pleasing was the photo fit that had been constructed – it looked absolutely nothing like him. It was amazing what you could do with some latex and a fake beard. He wondered if it would ever get to the stage where they started making false arrests.
    Satisfied he was still in the clear, he turned off the television and got out his laptop. He logged on to the Internet and went straight to his Swiss account. A scowl crossed his face as he checked the balance. There was still no sign of the transfer he’d been expecting. Half a million dollars before and half a million after had been the deal. He was beginning to think that the second payment was being held back. It should have been in there at noon yesterday. He looked at his watch: they were thirty hours late. If it wasn’t in there by tomorrow afternoon he would have to start making noises.
    He phoned room service, ordered dinner, and went to take a shower.
    After towelling down and putting on fresh clothes, he sat cross-legged on the bed and meditated, losing himself in a comfortable void. He stayed there until room service knocked.
    The girl was courteous and, he thought, extremely beautiful. She had delivered most of his meals during his stay. She wheeled in the trolley and set out his food on a table in the corner. He watched closely, unable to take his eyes off her. She was white with long dark hair, and sparkly blue eyes. Her body seemed firm and athletic. She looked too good to be slaving away as a dogsbody in a hotel. Perhaps it was a part-time job to see her through college.
    She lay out the cutlery and turned to him and smiled. “Is that everything sir?”
    Singh gave the table a cursory glance. “I believe so,” he said. “Thank you