‘Bong!’ said the clock in his local church tower, as he left home that morning. Only six days and twenty-two hours left. ‘Bong!’ said Big Ben, as he passed the Palace of Westminster. Another hour gone, and you’re still no closer to finding Max. And now this caretaker – this insignificant little runt in charge of the small government warehouse in Wapping – was wasting even more of his precious time by refusing to let him go inside. ‘They’re only dusty old records,’ he told the man. ‘Nobody gives a tuppenny damn about them.’ ‘If nobody gives a tuppenny damn then why are you interested in them?’ the caretaker countered. It was a fair point, Patterson agreed silently, but he couldn’t help wishing that the cantankerous bugger hadn’t been bright enough to make it. If only he had his warrant card, he thought. A warrant card was the magic key that opened most doors. But he didn’t have his warrant card. It had been taken from him when he was arrested – and since no one at the Yard believed that there was even the remotest possibility it would ever be given back to him, it had probably already been destroyed.
What do You think about Blackstone And The Endgame?
