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‘But first I need your Sat-Runner,’ Marchant said.
‘Am I being mugged here?’ Munroe said. ‘That’s what it feels like. Mugged on the London Marathon. Can you believe it?’
‘I really need the GPS,’ Marchant said, as the Ambassador’s babysitters began to ease him across the road. ‘And please don’t slow down.’
Munroe looked at him as he undid the strap and handed the receiver over. ‘3.29.30. A PB was on the cards here, never mind the heat. Somebody’s going to pay for this.’
He watched as Munroe was almost lifted to the kerb, where he stopped, reluctantly. Then Marchant strapped the GPS to his own wrist. Pradeep was now ahead of them, glancing anxiously over his shoulder.
‘We’re in this together now,’ Marchant said, coming up on Pradeep’s shoulder and showing him his wrist.
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