He fastened his belt then, made sure the plastic restraints weren’t dangling at his back, and replaced the signing folder back on the shelf. He looked at the machine pistol locked behind the steel mesh to the side of the armoury safe. It had never been used, Gebi told him, in the seven years since he started here. The station had been staffed for five then. Gebi did the monthly commissioning, removing the gun’s movements from the other safe and inserting them.

Gebhart stepped out and around the corner, and rapped on the kitchen door.

“Fred, sign up,” he called out. “We’re going any minute.”

Felix headed for the equipment room, noted that it was only a minute off six o’clock now. He passed Korschak coming out. He took down the vests first, and then made sure he had the tripod that Gebi was so particular about. The laserpistole the radar gun was a pig on batteries. He took the second pack from the charger and slipped it into the bag that held the odds and ends.

He closed the case again, and parked it, along with the tripod and vests, by the door. Then he returned to the duty room.

“Rush hour until nine,” he heard Gebi say, to Korschak, he presumed. “We’ll probably do three spots, to keep ahead of the snitches.”

Gebhart took two hand sets from the charger.

The dawn was milky, with parchment and orange streaks still.

Gebi helped load the gear into the boot of the Opel, the second of the two patrol cars at the post. Felix had noticed the care Gebi showed in how he warmed the engine, and how he coaxed it up to 100 before backing off and muttering about “strain” and “transmission” and “clear the injectors.”

“Start over by Semmarach,” he said to Felix. “There’s a spot near a farmhouse there. You know it? You get the real headers tearing up there. They know they’re close to the autobahn.”

Felix checked the car radio with Korschak and gave him their destination.