"Jesus Christ!" Craig controlled his temper with an effort. He wanted to tell her she was a stupid fool, but that would not help. He was silent for a moment. The memory of kissing her came back to him, and he could not be angry. His rage evaporated, and he put his arms around her. "All right," he said. "Never mind."

She rested her head on his chest. "I'm sorry."

"Let's think of something else."

"There must be more phones, or a charger we can use."

He shook his head. "Caroline and I don't carry mobiles-my mother won't let us have them. She doesn't go to the toilet without hers, but she says we don't need them."

"Tom hasn't got one. Miranda thinks he's too young."

"Hell."

"Wait!" She pulled away from him. "Wasn't there one in your grandfather's car?"

Craig snapped his fingers. "The Ferrari-right! And I left the keys in. All we have to do is get to the garage, and we can phone the police."

"You mean we have to go outside again?"

"You can stay here."

"No. I want to come."

"You wouldn't be alone-Tom and Caroline are here."

"I want to be with you."

Craig tried not to show how pleased he was. "You'd better get your coat on again, then."

Sophie came off the radiator. Craig picked her coat up from the floor and helped her into it. She looked up at him, and he tried an encouraging smile. "Ready?"

A trace of her old spirit came back. "Yeah. Like, what can happen? We could be murdered, that's all. Let's go."

They went outside. It was still pitch-dark, and the snowfall was heavy, bursts of stinging pellets rather than clouds of butterflies. Once again, Craig looked nervously across the yard to the house, but he could see no more than before, which meant the strangers in the kitchen were unlikely to see him. He took Sophie's hand. Steering by the courtyard lights, he led her to the end of the barn, away from the house, then crossed the yard to the garage.

The side door was unlocked, as always. It was as cold inside as out. There were no windows, so Craig risked switching on the lights.

Grandpas Ferrari was where Craig had left it, parked close to the wall to hide the dent. Like a flash, he remembered the shame and fear he had felt twelve hours ago, after he had crashed into the tree. It seemed strange now that he had been so anxious and afraid about something as trivial as a dent in a car. He recalled how eager he had been to impress Sophie and get her to like him. It was not long ago, but it seemed far in the past.

Also in the garage was Luke's Ford Mondeo. The Toyota Land Cruiser had gone: Luke must have borrowed it last night.

He went to the Ferrari and pulled the door handle. It would not open. He tried again, but the door was locked. "Fuck," he said feelingly.

"What's the matter?" Sophie said.

"The car's locked."

"Oh, no!"

He looked inside. "And the keys have gone."

"How did that happen?"

Craig banged his fist on the car roof in frustration. "Luke must have noticed that the car was unlocked last night, when he was leaving. He must have removed the keys from the ignition, locked the car, and taken the keys back to the house for Grandpa."

"What about the other car?"

Craig opened the door of the Ford and looked inside. "No phone."

"Can we get the Ferrari keys back?"

Craig made a face. "Maybe."

"Where are they kept?"

"In the key box, on the wall of the boot lobby."

"At the back of the kitchen?"

Craig nodded grimly. "Just about two yards from those people with guns."

6:45 AM

THE snowplow moved slowly along the two-lane road in the dark. Carl Osborne's Jaguar followed it. Toni was at the wheel of the Jag, peering ahead as the wipers struggled to clear away the thickly falling snow. The view through the windshield did not change. Straight ahead were the flashing lights of the snowplow; on her near side was the bank of snow freshly shoveled up by the blade; on the off side, virgin snow across the road and over the moors as far as the car's headlights reached.

Mother was asleep in the back with the puppy on her lap. Beside Toni, Carl was quiet, dozing or sulking. He had told Toni that he hated other people driving his car, but she had insisted, and he had been forced to yield, as she had the keys.

"You just never give an inch, do you?" he had muttered before sinking into silence.

"That's why I was such a good cop," she replied.

From the back, Mother said, "It's why you haven't got a husband."

That was more than an hour ago. Now Toni was struggling to stay awake, fighting the hypnotic sway of the wipers, the warmth from the heater, and the monotony of the view. She almost wished she had let Carl drive. But she needed to stay in control.

They had found the getaway vehicle at the Dew Drop Inn. It contained wigs, false mustaches, and plain-lensed spectacles, obviously disguise materials; but no clues as to where the gang might be headed. The police car had stayed there while the officers questioned Vincent, the young hotel employee Toni had spoken to on the phone. The snowplow continued north, on Frank's instructions.

For once, Toni agreed with Frank. It made sense for the gang to switch cars at a location that was on their route, rather than delay their getaway with a diversion. Of course, there was always the possibility that they had foreseen how the police would think and deliberately chosen a location that would mislead pursuers. But in Toni's experience villains were not that subtle. Once they had the swag in their hands, they wanted to get away as fast as they could.

The snowplow did not stop when it passed stationary vehicles. There were two police officers in the cab with the driver, but they were under strict instructions to observe only, for they were not armed, and the gang were. Some of the cars were abandoned, others had one or two people inside, but so far none contained three men and a woman. Most of the occupied cars started up and fell in behind the snowplow, following the track it cleared. There was now a small convoy behind the Jaguar.

Toni was beginning to feel pessimistic. She had hoped by now to have spotted the gang. After all, by the time the thieves had left the Dew Drop Inn, the roads had been all but impassable. How far could they have got?

Could they have some kind of hideout nearby? It seemed improbable. Thieves did not like to go to earth close to the scene of the crime-quite the opposite. As the convoy moved north, Toni worried more and more that her guess was wrong, and the thieves might have driven south.

She spotted a familiar direction sign saying "Beach," and realized they must be near Steepfall. Now she had to put the second part of her plan into operation. She had to go to the house and brief Stanley.

She was dreading it. Her job was to prevent this kind of thing happening. She had done several things right: her vigilance had ensured that the theft was discovered sooner rather than later; she had forced the police to take the biohazard seriously and give chase; and Stanley had to be impressed by the way she had reached him in a blizzard. But she wanted to be able to tell him that the perpetrators had been caught and the emergency was over. Instead, she was going to report her own failure. It would not be the joyous reunion she had anticipated.

Frank was at the Kremlin. Using Osborne's car phone, Toni dialed his mobile.

Frank's voice came out of the Jaguar's speakers. "Detective-Superintendent Hackett."

"Toni here. The snowplow is approaching the turnoff for Stanley Oxenford's house. I'd like to brief him on what's happened."

"You don't need my permission."

"I can't get him on the phone, but the house is only a mile down a side road-"

"Forget it. I've got an armed response team here now, bristling with firepower and itching to go. I'm not going to delay finding the gang."