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Join Wundry Plus in the Wundery App or on Apple Podcasts. It was a warm October afternoon on the island of Malta. A man sat on a rocky hillside under an almond tree,

waiting. He leant forward and peered through a telescope.

Eight hundred yards away across the shallow valley, a limestone house glowed in the sun,

surrounded by a lush garden.

Just then, the door of the house opened

and a woman hurried out.

She was middle-aged with long dark hair.

The man grabbed his phone and made a call. He spoke into it as he watched her.

She crossed the garden, opened the gate and hurried up to a small white perjou hatchback parked in the driveway.

Then she stopped, as if she sent something, the man took a breath. He lifted

his eyes from the scope and looked at her across the valley. She was standing near the

car motionless.

Then she turned and went back into the house.

The man muttered into the handset and hung up.

Six miles away, the man on the other end of the call lowered the phone.

He was standing on a small yacht, the Maya, floating near the breakwater in Malta's Grand Harbour.

He picked up another mobile, a cheap Nokia, and checked its screen.

Hours earlier, he typed a text message there.

It was computer code. H-R-E on. The phone rang again. It was the man on the hill.

The woman was back on the move. He listened to him relay her movements.

She was getting in the car, moving off on the driveway, left onto the main road,

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