"Four men total. Two emerged from the van. One hit her with the cloth—chloroform, probably. The other covered me."
"You got one."
"Knife to the thigh. Slowed him, not enough. The big one slammed me into the gravel, broke a rib or two. I dropped, went limp. Played dead. They left me.”
"I stayed still until I heard the van drive off, then crawledinto the ditch, used the culvert to get distance. Found a farmhouse. Called in at eleven-oh-seven."
My jaw ticks once.
"You see faces?"
"Gloved. Masked. Military movement, not street."
She pauses.
"Professional. Quick. No chatter."
"You think they knew who she was?"
"Yes," she says simply.
"They knew exactly what they were taking."
I file it away.
"You did what you could."
Lena looks me in the eye.
"It wasn't enough."
My reply is quiet.
"Then we make sure next time, it is."
Fiachra waits in the hallway, leaning against the jamb.
He doesn't look at me when I join him.
"Council?" he says, the word a dare.
I shake my head.
"Not yet. We run it close."
He grins, liking this more than he lets on.
I head to the surveillance room, where my man Tomas has three screens running, each playing back the same thirty-second slice from a different angle.
He sits hunched, chewing the skin off his thumb, sweat pooling in the crease of his neck.
He doesn't look up when I enter.
"South quay, petrol station," he says, voice flat.
"First sighting since the bypass."
I step behind him.
