Nero glided along the country
lane, barely leaving a mark. He slowed to a standstill when Gerhard stopped and
he accelerated when the former soldier got on his way again. Nero had never tracked anyone
cross-country before. His experience was the streets of East London,
fading into the shadows, slipping into an alleyway or deserted shop or these
days a bomb site. But the principles were the same; merging with the
background, absolute silence and an instinct for what the other
person was going to do next.
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