Kitabı oku: «The Shadow Project»
SCOTT MARIANI
The Shadow Project
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
AVON
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016
First published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers, 2010
Copyright © Scott Mariani 2010
Cover design © Henry Steadman 2016
Scott Mariani asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007311903
Ebook Edition © MAY 2016 ISBN 9780007358021
Version: 2018-06-22
Technological progress is like an axe in the hands of a pathological criminal.
Albert Einstein
The dogma of Christianity gets worn away before the advances of science.
Adolf Hitler
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Keep Reading
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Scott Mariani
About the Publisher
Chapter One
The Sonoran Desert
An hour’s drive from Maricopa, Arizona Early May
Rock and dust, scrub and cactus and the blinding white sun beating down. Nobody ever came out here.
The dust from two off-road vehicles drifted upwards into the still air as they bounced and lurched across the arid wilderness. The big silver Subaru 4×4 in front crunched to a halt on the stones, doors opened and three men got out.
One of them didn’t want to be there. He stood out from the other two, and not just because he was the only Japanese guy and they were white Europeans. He was also the only one with a .45 auto to the back of his head and his wrists bound behind his back. Tape, not cord. Cord would leave a mark, and his captors didn’t want that. A length of the same silver duct tape was pressed firmly to his face, muffling his protests. The T-shirt he was wearing was damp with sweat.
His captors knew his name – Michio Miyazaki – and that he was a scientist. Beyond that, it wasn’t their concern why this was happening to him.
The bright red Jeep Cherokee following the Subaru pulled up alongside. Its driver killed the engine, stepped down, ran her fingers through her blond hair and wiped the sweat on her jeans. There was no sound except the ticking of hot metal and the feeble protests of the prisoner as the two men started marching him away from the vehicles.
The Jeep was Miyazaki’s, as was the technical equipment in the back. When this was over, it would look as though the scientist had been out here on a research trip, collecting samples. That fitted his profile. He was unmarried, single, no kids, tended to keep to himself, and he wasn’t a well man. Nobody would question what was about to take place.
The woman walked around to the passenger side of the Jeep, opened the door and lifted out the small container she’d been riding uncomfortably beside through the desert. This was one item that didn’t belong to Miyazaki. It was a pale blue plastic lunchbox, with tiny air holes pricked in the top. What was inside weighed almost nothing. The woman held it away from her at arm’s length. With her other hand she grabbed a shoulder bag from the footwell, then shut the Jeep door and trotted to catch up with the others. As she joined them she could hear the prisoner pleading with them through his gag.
They all ignored him.
‘This’ll be fine,’ the taller of the two white men said in their own language, glancing around him. The stocky guy with the muscles straining under his cotton shirt kept the .45 aimed at Miyazaki’s head.
The woman set the container down on the ground and stepped back, happy to get some distance from it. She reached into the shoulder bag and pulled out a pair of thick leather gauntlets. Tossed the right glove to her colleague, then the left.
‘You do it,’ she said. ‘I’m not touching that thing.’
The tall man pulled on the gloves. The one with the gun swept his foot out and Miyazaki crumpled on his back into the dirt. He was crying now, tears streaking the dust on his face.
The tall man walked over to the container and squatted down beside it. The others watched as, very carefully, he unsnapped the lid, lifted a corner, peered inside, dipped his gloved hand into the container and stood up with the thing in his fist.
Miyazaki started struggling and protesting with renewed energy when he saw the glistening brown scorpion trapped between the man’s fingers. He’d spent his life deeply involved in one small specialised corner of science, but he had enough knowledge of other disciplines to know that these people had done their research well. This was an Arizona bark scorpion, one of the most lethal arachnids on the planet.
Miyazaki couldn’t take his eyes from the creature as the tall man walked towards him with a smile. He struggled against his bonds as the scorpion came closer and closer. He could see it wriggling, the long tail lashing out, the stinger turgid with venom. Now it was right over him, six inches above his heaving chest. He could feel his heart pounding dangerously fast.
The man dropped it on him.
The scorpion landed on its feet and froze, as if cautiously assessing its new surroundings. Miyazaki began to gibber, every muscle in his body racked tight as he strained to see the thing that was perched on his torso.
But the scorpion was more interested in flight. It scuttled away, slithered down his ribs and dropped down onto the sand.
‘Shit.’ The tall man stepped quickly over to where the creature was trying to dig itself in, and scooped it back up. Sand ran out from between his fingers as he clenched the scorpion tightly in his palm.
‘Try again,’ the woman said.
The tall man nodded. He admired the creature. These things were tough. They’d been around for millions of years, unchanged, perfect. And they’d still be around long after humankind had obliterated itself. He didn’t want to harm it, just to stress it a little and activate its primal defence mechanisms. He squeezed hard and gave it a shake, feeling its hard carapace wriggle through the glove. Then he held it over Miyazaki’s exposed neck, where sweat was pooling in the hollow at the base of his throat, and let it drop a second time.
This time the creature landed on Miyazaki’s skin with its defences on full alert, poised to strike. The stinger lashed out, faster than a rattlesnake, and found its mark.
The scientist screamed behind the tape and thrashed on the sand as the creature scuttled away. His captors could see where the scorpion had stung him, a livid pin-prick already swelling on his neck three-quarters of an inch from the jugular artery.
‘That should do it,’ the woman said over the muffled cries of terror.
‘Gonna kill the fucking thing now,’ said the stocky guy, watching the scorpion as it ran towards the cover of the rocks. He pointed the pistol.
The woman slapped his arm down. ‘No shooting.’
‘Yeah, leave it be,’ the tall one said.
The stocky guy gave a shrug and put the pistol away. They looked down at the prisoner. His movements were already slowing, eyes rolling back in his head as the toxic shock started shutting down his weak heart. After another minute he wasn’t convulsing or kicking any more. His arched back sank down against the sand, his head lolled to one side and stayed there.
The tall man kneeled down next to the body and used a clasp knife to cut the tape from the dead man’s wrists. Once that was done, he ripped away the gag.
‘Now let’s dress this thing up to look how it’s meant to,’ the woman said.
The Picos de Europa mountain range Northern coast of Spain Two days later
The killers set out early. Seven in the morning, the low sun was glinting over the mountain peaks.
They’d driven up until they ran out of track. It was a long way down to the tree line. The cold breeze buffeted the van and made it hard to open the door. The woman stepped down from the vehicle and shivered. Reaching for the Minolta binoculars that hung from her neck, she scanned the mountainside, up, down, left and right. Nothing but rocks and shrubs.
Her two colleagues got out and walked around the van to join her. ‘OK?’ the tall man asked her without a smile.
‘Let’s get it done.’ She stepped over to the back of the van, opened up the back doors.
Julia Goodman blinked as the sunlight hit her eyes. Her heart was in her mouth and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She knew what was coming. She’d known it for days. Just not how they’d do it.
‘Let’s go,’ the woman said.
‘Please.’ Julia had repeated that word so often, it seemed to have lost all meaning. But all she could do was keep saying it and hope. Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Please.’
The woman looked at her impassively.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Julia had been saying that a lot, too. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make it work. I—’
‘Save your breath.’
With a last glance around them, the two men dragged Julia from the van. She struggled and kicked, but they held her tight and her cries vanished in the wind.
The woman walked around to the side door, slid it open and yanked out the quilted jacket, the hiking boots, the rucksack. Everything inside it had been checked and double-checked, right down to the keys to the blue Renault Espace that had been leased in the university lecturer’s name two months earlier. The Renault had already been transported to a hidden storage facility nearby. By the time the accident was reported, the car would be up here waiting for the police to find it.
Again, they’d thought of everything. They always did, every detail. It was what they were paid for.
The woman carried the gear over to Julia and dumped it at her feet. ‘Put it on.’
Julia obeyed, weeping uncontrollably and shaking so badly she could barely tie the bootlaces.
‘Please,’ she kept saying. ‘Please.’
‘You want to die some other way?’
‘I don’t want to die,’ she sobbed. She collapsed to her knees and sank down to the stony ground. ‘I don’t.’
The men yanked her up by the arms and held her steady as the woman grabbed the rucksack and looped the straps around Julia’s arms, then walked round to her front and did up the fastenings. Julia was sagging at the knees, too weak to fight, making little whimpering sounds.
‘See?’ the woman told her. ‘If you don’t fight it, it’ll be much easier.’
Twenty yards from where they were parked, the ground sloped sharply down to the edge of the precipice. The woman and the two men kept a tight hold of Julia as they walked her in that direction.
‘Please don’t do this,’ Julia pleaded desperately. ‘I’ll keep trying. I’ll work harder. I can make it work. I know I can. Give me another chance. Some more time. I—’
‘Shut it,’ the tall man commanded, and she did.
Then, with a sudden surge of energy, she ripped free of their grip. The stocky guy made a grab for her hair. She lashed out with a hiking boot, and he yelled in pain as the steel toecap caught his shin. Then she was dashing away from them, scrambling over the rocks.
She didn’t get far before they caught up with her and dragged her back. Ten yards to the edge. Five. Three. A sheer, vertiginous, thousand-foot drop below. The wind was whipping her hair across her face, sticking to her tears. She let out a cry when she looked down.
‘Nice view from up here,’ said the stocky guy, still grimacing with the pain in his shin. Then three strong pairs of hands shoved her hard down the slope towards the edge. She lost her footing and stumbled and rolled, grasping for stones and rocks, anything that would halt her momentum as she slithered towards the drop. Her fingertips found a crack in the rock, and suddenly she stopped sliding and was dangling with her legs in space. Her eyes were crazed, teeth bared, her breathing rapid.
‘Damn,’ the woman breathed. ‘Why do they always make things difficult?’
‘Don’t let me fall,’ Julia implored them. ‘Help me. Please. Don’t let me die.’
‘Could just leave her,’ the tall man said. ‘She won’t hang on forever.’
The woman shook her head. ‘I want to see her go over.’ She thought about the options. Too risky to scramble down the slope towards the edge and kick her hands loose. A long stick would work, but there wasn’t one around. She saw a jagged stone and picked it up. Hefted it in her hand. It was about the right size and weight. ‘No,’ Julia quavered.
The woman lobbed the stone. It caught Julia on the cheekbone. She let go of the rock and went tumbling into empty space with a guttural shriek that died away as she spun and cartwheeled down to the rocks below.
Four long, drawn-out seconds later, the scream was cut short along with Julia Goodman’s life.
Then the killers returned calmly, quietly, to the van, thinking about what to do with the rest of the day.
Chapter Two
Le Val Tactical Training Unit Near Valognes, Normandy Six weeks later
Ben Hope was sitting at his desk facing a mountain of papers, letters, contracts, insurance policies and bank statements, feeling impatience mounting up inside him and wanting to dash the whole lot to the floor when his radio beeped and Raymond on the security gate informed him that the first of the new clients had arrived.
A few seconds later, a gleaming black Porsche Boxster roared into the yard. It circled between the buildings and let out two long blasts of its horn.
‘Here comes Rollickin’ Holligan,’ said Jeff Dekker from his desk on the opposite side of the office and looking at his watch. ‘Right on time.’ Jeff was a former officer of the SBS, the Royal Navy’s Special Forces regiment, and Ben’s right-hand man at Le Val.
Ben threw a glance at his friend and felt like saying something about respecting clients, but kept his mouth shut. The truth was, he didn’t like Rupert Shannon any more than Jeff did, and had been glad that almost two months had passed without the guy turning up. But business was business, and the ex-Para and his new six-man bodyguard team had booked Le Val for an intensive two-day refresher course in VIP close protection after landing some new contract in Switzerland. That was what Ben did, pass on his special skills to men like Shannon, so that vulnerable people would be kept safe and protected. His opinion of the guy didn’t matter.
Ben and Jeff both got up from their desks and walked over to the window.
‘I was getting bored of paperwork anyway,’ Jeff said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Just think. This time next week I’ll be in Nice, basking on a beach with a frosted glass in my hand. You should come along. Five days of doing nothing but sitting watching the girls go by.’
‘And no paperwork,’ Ben said with a smile.
Jeff rolled his eyes. ‘Can’t bloody wait.’
‘It’s been a busy time. You deserve a holiday.’
‘So do you. The place is closing down for that week anyway.’
Ben laughed. ‘Only so that I can catch up on all the other things that need doing around here.’
They watched through the window as the Porsche parked up across the yard, near the small bungalow that Ben had built for Jeff next to the trainee accommodation block. The early evening sunlight glittered off the car’s sleek bodywork and tinted windows. The driver’s door swung open and Rupert Shannon climbed out wearing aviator shades, a shiny black leather jacket and a wide grin. The breeze ruffled his sandy hair and he quickly patted it back into place as he glanced around him.
Jeff shook his head in disgust. ‘Will you take a look at this guy? If the fucker was made of chocolate, he’d eat himself.’
Ben was about to head for the door to greet their new arrival, when the Porsche’s passenger door opened.
‘Shit,’ Jeff muttered. ‘I had a feeling she’d be with him.’
Ben followed Jeff’s gaze and saw Brooke Marcel get out and walk around the side of the car. Her thick auburn hair was tied loosely back from her face, and she was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt that hugged her slim figure. She looked as good as she always did, but today Ben thought he could see a frown on her face, a certain self-consciousness in her body language. She looked down at her feet a couple of times as she followed Shannon across the yard towards the office building. Seemed to be trailing behind, holding back. It wasn’t like her.
‘Why is Brooke here?’ Ben murmured. ‘She’s not needed for this course. This is purely practical. Shannon doesn’t need lectures in hostage psychology.’
Jeff didn’t say anything.
‘And what’s she doing with him?’ Ben added.
Jeff gave a derisory snort. ‘Can’t you tell?’
‘They’re—’
‘Yup. Looks like it. They’re an item.’
‘Since when?’
‘Not sure. Since the last course, I think. I’d noticed they were spending a lot of time together. I was going to tell you. Must have slipped my mind. Or maybe I just didn’t want it to happen. Denial, or something.’
Ben watched her approach. Dr Brooke Marcel. Expert in hostage psychology, with an alphabet of letters after her name. Based in London, she’d spent years as a consultant to specialised police and military units, but was recently spending more and more time lecturing at Le Val. She was thirty-five, maybe thirty-six. He suddenly realised that maybe he didn’t know her as well as he’d thought.
‘No reaction?’ Jeff asked, watching him closely.
‘Not my business,’ Ben said.
‘Come on. There’s always been something between you two. All those nights sitting together in the kitchen, drinking wine, listening to music. Going for walks. Don’t act like you don’t care.’
‘There’s never been anything going on between me and Brooke. Only in your head.’
‘I don’t know what she sees in that pumped-up twit, anyway. You’re more her type.’
Ben ignored that. ‘He is what he is, but he’s paying a lot of money for this course.’
‘I get it. You want me to be nice to the bastard.’
‘Too much to ask?’
Jeff kept his eyes on Shannon as he chewed it over. ‘It just might be, yeah.’
‘Remember what we agreed, Jeff,’ Ben said. ‘At Le Val we always respect our clients, no matter what. OK?’ But he didn’t like the lecturing way it came out.
‘Even the arseholes.’
‘Especially the arseholes.’ Ben walked over to the door, opened it and stepped out just as Shannon reached the building. Jeff followed him outside, muttering something that Ben didn’t catch.
Shannon’s grin broadened as he greeted them. He was a big guy. At six-three he was four inches taller than Ben, probably fifty pounds heavier, about five years younger. He raised his hand to his face and whipped off the shades.
‘Ciao, Jeff, ciao, Benjamin,’ he brayed at them. ‘How’s it going, boys?’
‘It’s Benedict, not Benjamin. And you can call me Ben.’ Not a great start, he thought.
Shannon grunted with a dismissive gesture. ‘Whatever. Benedict, Benjamin, Ben, it’s all the same to me.’
Ben could feel Jeff bristling beside him. He threw him a quick warning glance. Respect the client, no matter what.
Brooke came up behind Shannon. ‘Hello, Ben,’ she said softly, and smiled.
‘Hi, Brooke.’ Ben patted her arm affectionately, like he always did. Shannon noticed it, and cleared his throat.
‘The rest of the guys should be arriving soon,’ he said.
‘Fine. The accommodation’s ready for you all.’ Ben pointed over at the trainees’ block, across the yard from the main farmhouse.
‘I won’t be kipping here,’ Shannon said. He put a big arm around Brooke’s shoulders and pulled her tightly against his side. ‘Us two are booked into the Cour du Château. This little lady deserves a bit more luxury than this old place has to offer.’
‘That’s miles away,’ Ben said.
Shannon grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be here bright and early in the morning. Always punctual.’
‘Nice wheels, Rupert,’ Jeff said dryly, motioning towards the Porsche.
Shannon’s eyes twinkled. ‘Oh yes. I’ve hit the fucking jackpot this time.’
‘So this would be the contract you were telling me about,’ Ben said.
Shannon nodded. ‘You don’t know the half of it, Benjamin. Steiner Industries. Protecting the head honcho himself, Maximilian Steiner.’
‘Kidnap threat?’
‘One attempt so far,’ Shannon said. ‘Failed, but only just. What d’you expect? The guy’s a billionaire, for Christ’s sakes. Have I hit paydirt, or what? He’s paying one point two million for this gig. And there’s a shitload more to come. You should see the place we’re going.’
‘Congratulations, Rupert,’ Ben said. ‘Looks like this new business venture of yours is really taking off.’
‘You bet your arse it is. And this is just the beginning, pal. I’ve been looking at new offices. Docklands, right on the river, three floors. PA, receptionists, you name it, the works.’
‘Here’s my advice, though,’ Ben said. ‘I know you’re flush from getting this Steiner contract. That’s great. I’m pleased for you. But take it easy. Don’t go mad with it. This is a tough business, and you never know what’s round the corner.’
Shannon reddened. ‘Listen to this guy. Are you for real, Hope?’
‘I just meant, be careful, that’s all. Don’t go spending it all at once, before you’ve even earned it.’
Shannon laughed and slapped him on the arm. ‘You sound like my fucking nanny. You know what your problem is? You’re getting old and slow.’
‘Forty next birthday,’ Ben said. ‘Be dead soon.’
‘Fucking forty,’ Shannon guffawed. ‘Five years from now you’ll be just another flabby-arsed, ulcer-ridden businessman sitting behind a desk.’
‘You might be right,’ Ben said. Now he could sense indignation radiating from Jeff in waves. Couldn’t say he blamed him.
Shannon grinned down at Brooke and squeezed her to his side. ‘Now why don’t we see about heading back to the hotel and grab some nosh?’
‘Any plans for tomorrow?’ Ben asked her.
She shrugged. ‘Not really.’
‘We’ll be doing kidnap simulation exercises in the morning. How d’you feel about coming along and playing the principal?’
‘Sounds fun,’ she smiled. ‘Looking forward to it.’
Chapter Three
The Sheldon Hotel, Dublin The next morning, 10.15
The audience broke into enthusiastic applause as the speaker brought his presentation to an end. Up on the low stage, Dr Adam O’Connor smiled from the podium, thanked them all for listening and started gathering up his notes. People rose from their seats and started filtering out towards the exit. Adam folded up his laptop, walked over to the projector and turned it off.
He was pleased with himself. The last fifteen minutes of the talk had been a Q and A session and, judging by the level of interest, he was pretty sure he’d get back home to find some new orders coming in. ‘The smart house is the home of the future’ had been his closing line. It looked as though his audience felt that way too.
As he wound up the cable from the laptop to the projector, Adam cast his mind back, thinking about the last eighteen months and how well things were going. His academic colleagues at City University NY had all thought he was crazy, giving up a plum academic position to go off and start up a new business from the ground up. Back to the old country, they’d joked. But Adam was serious about his Irish roots – virtually the first thing he’d done on hitting these shores was to change his surname from Connor and reinstate the missing ‘O’ that the English had forcibly removed from the names of his ancestors. Adam O’Connor. He liked the way it sounded. New name, new life.
As for the business side, what he didn’t like to boast about to his former colleagues was that selling smart house technology installations was able to bring him in ten times his old academic salary, and rising fast every month. Not bad for a physics geek. He should have done this ages ago. Everything was better here – the air was cleaner, the countryside was lush and beautiful, the people were open and friendly. He felt he’d come home at last. The new environment in the Wicklow Hills was wonderful for his thirteen-year-old son, Rory, and the house itself was fantastic. Seven months of sweating over architect’s plans, but it had been worth it. Stunning lakeside view, a dozen large open-plan rooms, beautiful wood and acres of glass, incorporating many of his own patented designs. Teach na Loch was the Gaelic name he’d chosen. He could pronounce it pretty well now, getting his tongue round the guttural consonants. Tee-ach na Loch: the Lake House.
For a fleeting moment he thought about Amy and wondered where she was now. Last seen heading off towards southern California on the pillion of a chopped Harley with her arms around some large, hairy guy in denim and leather. Never a thought for her kid, let alone her husband.
That’s what you get for being a nerd, Adam thought to himself.
The last time they’d spoken was over a year ago. Seemed like a different life now. And Rory seldom asked about his mom any more.
The last of the delegates were filtering out of the entrance as Adam zipped up his bags, looked at his watch, picked up the copy of the Irish Times he’d bought that morning and thought about heading for home.
Just then, he heard a little cough behind him, and turned to see who was there. Stepping furtively out from behind one of the curtains that flanked the entrance was a figure he recognised. Someone he hadn’t heard from in quite a while.
‘Lenny,’ he said, surprised.
‘Hi, Adam,’ Lenny Salt muttered in a low voice. He walked up between the empty rows of seats, glancing nervously about him.
So nothing had changed, then, Adam thought. Still the same old Lenny, always acting as though the Men in Black were just one step behind him. Physically, he hadn’t changed much either. A little more stooped, maybe. A little greyer and, as he came closer, it seemed to Adam as though his teeth were fewer and blacker.
Adam put out his hand. The limp handshake was still the same, too.
‘What brings you here, Lenny?’ he said, smiling pleasantly, while wondering what the hell this was about. ‘Good presentation, man.’
‘You’re in the market for a smart house?’ Adam knew he wasn’t.
Salt shook his head. ‘No, man. We need to talk.’
Ten minutes later they were sitting over coffees in the hotel bar downstairs. Adam wanted to make this quick. Salt was a rambler, especially when he got started on his pet subjects – and if it was radical and wacky enough, he was up for it. UFOs one year, the fake moon landings the next. He’d hold you with his glittering eye, and, three hours later, you’d still be sitting there none the wiser and your smile beginning to freeze on your lips, wishing you were somewhere else or just had the courage to ask the silly old bastard to shut up.
Today, Lenny Salt looked especially spooked. Maybe he was just getting crazier with age, Adam thought.
‘What did you want to talk about, Lenny? I don’t have a lot of time.’ He slipped a hand in his pocket and restlessly fingered the key to his Saab. ‘My sister’s coming to stay for a few days, I have a new housekeeper arriving after lunch, and Rory’s on his own. Need to get back.’ He reached for his cup.
But Lenny Salt didn’t seem interested in Adam’s home life. He leaned forward.
‘Julia’s dead.’
Adam’s cup abruptly stopped halfway to his mouth. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘Our Julia? Julia Goodman?’
Salt nodded.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘She fell off a mountain in Spain. They found the body last week. She’d been down there a while. Very nasty.’
Adam put the cup down on its saucer with a rattle. Sank his head in his hands, his mind suddenly filled with images and memories. ‘This is awful. Poor Julia.’
‘It wasn’t an accident, man.’
Adam looked up sharply.
‘Nah. It was just made to look like one. Nobody had heard from her in three months. She apparently just went off on her own. Doesn’t that sound a bit strange to you?’
‘She was into hiking in a big way.’
Salt raised an eyebrow.
‘Come on, Lenny. This is nuts. Isn’t it awful enough that she’s dead, without making up crazy—’
‘I know what you think about me. But this isn’t crazy.’
Adam felt a flush of anger in his cheeks. ‘Then tell me how you know there’s something strange about it. What makes you so sure?’
‘Because there’s more to it that I haven’t told you,’ Salt said. ‘If you’d let me finish.’
‘Then what?’
‘Michio’s gone too.’
‘Michio often goes off places without warning,’ O’Connor said testily. ‘His research takes him to every desolate corner of the planet. He’s probably wandering about on a glacier somewhere as we speak, collecting ice samples.’
Salt shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. He’s dead as well.’
Adam stared at him.
‘Died of a scorpion sting out in Arizona. Forgot to pack his anti-venom, apparently. Oh, and his heart pills too. Very convenient.’
Adam took a few seconds to digest all this, staring into his coffee. He couldn’t drink any more.
‘How come you know so much, Lenny? How come I haven’t heard anything?’
‘I’m not the one who cut himself away,’ Salt replied. ‘I didn’t turn my back on my friends, man. I stayed in touch with the rest of the Krew.’
‘Never mind the damn Kammler Krew. That was never a serious thing, and you know it.’
‘It was for Julia, Michio and me.’
Adam didn’t want to get into old arguments. ‘How did you find out about Michio?’
‘His brother emailed me a couple of weeks ago.’
‘And you didn’t call me about this? Two old friends die, and you don’t think to tell me about it?’
‘I didn’t have your number.’
‘I gave it to you.’
Salt shrugged. ‘I didn’t write it down. I don’t like to use the phone. You never know who might be listening in.’ He leaned across the table with a conspiratorial look. ‘Listen to me, man. Something’s up. Something bad.’
‘You’re not suggesting that Julia’s and Michio’s deaths are connected?’
‘Of course that’s what I’m suggesting. It’s obvious. Someone murdered them, and now they’re coming after us. We’re all that’s left of the old Kammler Krew. Now it’s just you and me.’
Chapter Four
At that moment, deep within the acres of dense forest that surrounded the training facility at Le Val, Brooke was sitting reading a paperback in the specially adapted cottage that Ben Hope referred to as his killing house.
It was the place where the bulk of the tactical raid and assault exercises were carried out, the many bullet holes and ragged splinters in the plywood walls silent witnesses to the amount of live-fire practice that went on there. The two-seater sofa Brooke was reclining on, deep in her novel, had looked better in the days before it had become riddled with 9mm rounds; one end was resting on bricks, and the stuffing was hanging out all over the place.
Today, though, there was to be no live shooting. Brooke was playing the role of a VIP, albeit the kind of VIP that would be hanging out in a semi-derelict cottage wearing faded jeans and an old rugby top. Shannon’s guys – Neville, Woodcock, Morgan, Burton, Powell and Jackson – were stationed at strategic points inside and outside the building, assigned to protect their charge from Ben’s squad of ‘kidnappers’. The imminent raid was a test designed to expose any weaknesses in Shannon’s team and form the basis of the training sessions to come. They’d been waiting for what seemed like an eternity, and so far no sign.
As team leader, Shannon had insisted on remaining closest to his principal. He was padding up and down the room in his black tactical clothes, glancing at her occasionally, trying not to look edgy, the empty 9mm Glock slapping on his thigh in its holster. The only sounds outside were the singing of the birds and the whisper of the breeze in the trees.
‘I don’t like this place,’ he muttered. ‘Too quiet.’
Brooke flipped a page and went on reading.
‘You’ve always got your face in a book,’ he said irritably. ‘You read too much. I don’t know how anyone can read all the time.’
‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘You’re the bodyguard, remember? You’re supposed to be protecting me, not chatting to me.’
He snorted and walked over to the window, stared out at the rustling greenery. ‘What’s keeping the bastard?’
Brooke glanced up at him. ‘You mean the guy you came here to learn from?’
He ignored her. ‘Come on, Hope,’ he murmured to himself.
‘He’ll come.’
‘He’ll never get to you, you know. No way he and his guys are going to get past my boys. There’s a reason why Steiner picked us, out of all the thousands of close protection outfits out there. It’s simple. We’re the best there is. Yeah.’ Shannon made a fist.
‘Nothing to do with your uncle the brigadier’s connections, then,’ Brooke said quietly, without looking up from her novel.
But Shannon didn’t hear. He gazed out of the window for a while longer, breathing noisily.
‘Maybe we didn’t even need to come here. Maybe I’m wasting time and money here. I mean, we’re ready. We’re fucking ready. You can’t improve on perfection.’ He turned away from the window, grinning to himself.
Then his grin froze.
And so did he.
‘Morning, Rupert,’ Ben said. He was sitting on the sofa beside Brooke, a pistol dangling lazily in his hand. The worn cushions were sagging in the middle, pressing them together so that their thighs were touching.
The door swung open, and Jeff Dekker walked in with Paul Bonnard and Raoul de la Vega, the two ex-military fitness trainers Ben employed as assistants. The shapes of Shannon’s men were visible through the doorway, face down on the bare floorboards, tape across their mouths, struggling against the plastic ties that bound their wrists and ankles. Trussed up like turkeys.
Shannon stared for a long moment. Next to Ben on the sofa, Brooke was trying to suppress a smile.
Ben stood up, slipping his pistol in its holster. ‘You need to pay more attention, Rupert. A gang of clog dancers could have come hopping and skipping in here, and you wouldn’t have noticed them. Maybe you should spend less time chatting to your principal, and more time focused on your job.’
‘You set me up,’ Shannon protested. ‘It was your idea to make her the principal.’
‘Good training,’ Ben said. ‘Teaches you to remain objective. That’s something we can work on a bit more over the next couple of days.’ He reached out a hand to Brooke and pulled her gently to her feet. ‘Break for coffee?’ he said to her.
She smiled. ‘Love to.’
‘Like fuck we will.’ Shannon ripped his Glock from its holster and pointed it at Ben. ‘Stand down. This isn’t over. Give her back.’
Ben wasn’t worried about having an empty pistol waved at him. But he was annoyed at the pointless gesture, and he didn’t like the way Shannon was shoving it in his face.
‘Drop it, Rupert. You’re out of the game. Your principal is taken. We’re having a break, and then we’re going to do this again, and keep doing it until your team’s providing effective protection. You do want to be worth that million, don’t you? You don’t want to be sent home from Switzerland in disgrace.’
But Shannon wasn’t listening. ‘Stand down,’ he yelled again. ‘Get on your knees. Hand over the principal.’
‘Rupert—’ Brooke began. Shannon ignored her and took another step towards Ben.
‘Put the weapon down,’ Ben said quietly. ‘You’re wasting everybody’s time. I’m not going to say it again, OK?’
Shannon kept the gun levelled. His face was burning red. ‘On your fucking knees,’ he bellowed. ‘Throw down your guns and let her go.’
Ben stared at him for a second, then moved. He carried out the disarming technique gently and at half speed. Because doing it properly at full speed, he would have trapped Shannon’s finger in the trigger guard and broken it like a twig when he twisted the weapon round out of his grip, disarming and crippling him at the same time. He didn’t want to do that.
But Ben was quick enough that Shannon’s hand was empty before he even knew what was happening. He tossed the weapon to Jeff, who was looking at Shannon in disgust.
‘You think you’re pretty fucking smart with your SAS tricks, don’t you?’ Shannon sneered. ‘None of that stuff’s worth shit in the real world.’
‘Change of plan,’ Ben said. ‘No coffee break. We’re going to work straight through the morning. Maybe through lunch, and through dinner if we have to. Nobody leaves this house until we get it right. Understood, Shannon?’
Shannon said nothing. Instead he came on another step and took a swing at Ben.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ Jeff groaned.
The punch was long and curved, and Ben had plenty of time to anticipate it. He stepped easily back out of the arc of the blow. He didn’t try to block it. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt.
‘What’s wrong with you, Major Hope? Forgotten how to fight?’ Shannon took another swing, and again Ben moved out of the way.
‘You’re being ridiculous, Rupert,’ Brooke shouted. ‘This is supposed to be an exercise, not a bar-room brawl. What’s got into you?’
But Shannon had completely forgotten the exercise. ‘Just like I said, Hope. You’re getting too old and too slow for this, you fucker.’
Ben ignored him and calmly turned away. ‘Enough. Everyone back into position.’ He clapped his hands, twice. Pointed through the open door at Shannon’s trussed-up team. ‘Paul, Raoul, untie them. Let’s go again.’
It was partly the look on Jeff’s face, but mostly Ben’s natural instinct that made him sense the movement behind him.
It happened fast. He half-turned. This time Shannon was flying at him with all his weight and power.
If Ben had done nothing and stayed where he was, the incoming punch was on course to take him on the side of the head. Shannon was a muscular guy, with a broad back and thick shoulders. A blow like that could do considerable damage. Loss of hearing in one ear. Damage to an eye. Or worse.
Naturally, the blow couldn’t be allowed to land. Instead, Ben moved again. And this time he moved at full speed.
Shannon hit the floor with a crash that almost broke through the planks and sent him tumbling down into the foundations. He writhed and rolled and howled in agony, clutching his arm. ‘You bastard!’
Brooke ran over to Shannon and kneeled down beside him. ‘Let me see.’
‘He’s broken my fucking arm!’
She looked angrily up at Ben. ‘What did you do to him?’
Ben didn’t reply. Apart from Shannon’s groans, there was absolute silence in the room. Shannon’s men were lying there staring in horror through the open door at their prostrated leader.
Jeff had his arms folded and one eyebrow raised. Ben caught his look. Jeff didn’t have to say it. Respect the client, no matter what?
Shannon was still whimpering on the floor.
Ben turned to his assistants. ‘Raoul, call an ambulance, will you?’
Twenty minutes later, there were flashing blue lights in the yard at Le Val as paramedics took Shannon away on a stretcher. Ben watched from a distance, saying nothing, trying not to contemplate what had just happened. He looked on numbly as Brooke climbed into the back of the ambulance. The paramedics closed up the back doors and Ben lost sight of her.
‘Ben?’ said Jeff’s voice behind him, and Ben turned.
‘I’ll go along too. Best you stay here, OK?’
Ben nodded. ‘Fine.’
Jeff held his eye for a moment. It was hard to tell whether he was about to laugh or start yelling at him. Maybe both. Then he ran over to the ambulance and clambered in the front, leaving Ben standing there on his own. A blast of the siren, and the ambulance took off. He watched as it drove out of the yard and started making its way down the long drive towards the gates. He guessed they’d take Shannon to the hospital at Valognes, a few miles away.
There was nothing left to do except wait. Ben slumped on a low wall and lit up a cigarette. Storm, his favourite of the German Shepherds, and more of a pet than a guard dog, came running over and licked his face. Ben ran his fingers through the dog’s fur, genuinely grateful for the company.
He sat on the wall and smoked as Shannon’s team came filing past about thirty yards away, firing hostile looks across the yard at him and muttering among themselves in low voices. They disappeared one by one into the trainee block. Neville was the last to go in, shooting a long stare at Ben before slamming the olive-green door shut with a bang that echoed around the buildings. Paul and Raoul had repaired to the office, maybe awaiting his instructions.
He couldn’t think of any to give them. They might as well go home now.
He blew out a cloud of smoke and ruffled the dog’s ears.
‘Well, Storm, that surely was a fine morning’s work.’
Chapter Five
The outskirts of Dublin shrank away in the Saab’s rearview mirror as Adam O’Connor drove southwards into the green countryside. A choral air by the medieval composer Thomas Tallis filled the car from the six-speaker CD player, but Adam hardly heard the music. He was thinking about the deaths of his old friends, and feeling sad. And just a little guilty, too, that he’d allowed himself to lose contact with them.
Michio and Julia and him. Part of Adam missed those days. The three of them might have seemed an unlikely bunch of friends – the sober American professor quietly going crazy with his marital problems, the ebullient, fun-loving Japanese planetary scientist and the brilliant, hard-driving young head of the Applied Physics Department at Manchester University – but it had been great for a while, a refreshing antidote to the daily drag of teaching and research, lectures and seminars and department politics. There’d been a kind of innocent camaraderie between them, almost like schoolkids. From the outside, it might have seemed even stranger that what had drawn the trio together from across the world was their shared interest in an obscure, all-but-forgotten, wartime Nazi engineer and SS general. Hans Kammler had been personally appointed by Adolf Hitler in 1943 to work on some very, very strange things indeed.
Their first meeting had been a chance encounter at a physics conference in Cambridge, just about the driest and most uninspiring series of lectures Adam had ever listened to. He’d actually fallen asleep in the middle of the morning session, until he’d been prodded awake by the grinning little Japanese guy sitting next to him and he’d realised with a flush of embarrassment that he’d been snoring.
When the lecture ended, Michio had laughed about it all the way to the delegates’ lunch. Adam liked him right away, and sat with him. Across from them had been a bright-eyed, attentive and switched-on young British physics PhD who introduced herself as Julia Goodman.
Instant friends. Just one of those moments in life when people seemed to chime with one another. They’d endured the rest of the afternoon’s lectures as a threesome, then got together again for the evening in the bar at the hotel where many of the delegates were staying.
That had been when the ever-smiling Michio had first mentioned the name Kammler to them. He’d kept them up until after midnight in the bar, babbling on about his discoveries. The little guy’s almost hyperactive enthusiasm had been infectious, and it hadn’t taken him long to persuade them that this obscure piece of science history was more than just bizarrely compelling. Adam could still remember the rush of amazement he’d felt, and the look on Julia’s face, when Michio had told them what he reckoned the Nazis had really been into. If you were even half-alive, if academia hadn’t yet dried out your soul, it was the kind of physics that could turn your blood to wine just thinking about it.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Adam had asked Michio. Sometimes the most exciting theories were nothing more than a cool idea waiting to be destroyed by an ugly, inconvenient truth. But even as he’d asked the question, the sparkle in Michio’s eyes told him this was no fanciful notion.
‘I’m more than sure. I know they could make it work.’
‘But the implications of what you’re saying—’ Julia cut in.
‘Blows your mind, doesn’t it?’ Michio had grinned. ‘Get used to it. There’s more.’
And there was. The more Adam and Julia listened to what Michio had to say, the more incredible it seemed. This was pure, beautiful, intoxicating science. Nothing to do with politics or ideology. Science the way it was meant to be. It was easy to forget that the man behind it all was an SS general, one of the minds behind the building of Hitler’s death camps and, in the closing days of World War II, one of the top five figures in the dying Third Reich. Adam had found himself almost obsessively consumed with the Kammler theories, as the months went on. The three of them had started meeting up whenever they could – London, Tokyo, New York – and staying in touch via email in between, mulling over ideas, postulating what-if scenarios. It had become a little gang of three, and they’d even made up a fun name for it. The Kammler Krew. Almost as much as his relationship with his boy Rory, it had been what had sustained Adam through the dark times of his break-up with Amy.
About a year into their friendship, the trio had become a foursome with the arrival of Lenny Salt. Lenny liked to tell people that he was a physicist, but in fact he’d just been Julia’s lab assistant at Manchester, doing basic routine jobs that any decent first-year student could do. Adam hadn’t been too sure about his coming on board, and had thought that Julia was too soft in letting him join. She’d said that Lenny was deeply interested in the subject and that he’d be happy to do some research for them to help out. By the time they’d discovered he was unable to contribute much to their discussions except his own brand of conspiracy paranoia, it had been too late to say anything for fear of offending Julia.
Lenny Salt’s arrival had cooled Adam’s enthusiasm for the Kammler Krew. After another year and a couple more meetings, he could feel himself drifting away from the group. By that time the whole smart house thing had begun to take over Adam’s life in any case; he’d been winding up his teaching career, heavily involved in buying the plot of land in Ireland and designing, and subsequently building, Teach na Loch. With all that going on, he’d had less and less time to keep in touch with his fellow Krew members.
What nobody knew was that, though he’d slackened his involvement with the gang, Adam hadn’t lost his interest in the Kammler research. He’d still often sit up late into the night, day after day, working feverishly on his ideas, even after setting up in business and moving to Ireland. He had a bunch of notes on four CD-ROMS that he kept locked away in his safe at the house. Sometimes he’d think about it, when he was supposed to be working on his smart house business, and the possibilities would start to flood his mind all over again, coming so thick and fast he was almost choking.
The worst thing had been having to keep quiet. This stuff was just too hot, and not just because it derived from the work of a Nazi. It was hot because of its incredible, almost limitless implications. Never mind making millions from smart homes. If anyone could make the Kammler theories work, they’d be talking billions. Money on tap.
And maybe, Adam thought now as he drove, that was also the problem. With Julia and Michio dead and Lenny’s warnings still echoing in his ears, he could feel his heart beating and an icy chill run down his spine.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. Had that black Mercedes been following him all the way from Dublin? He started to worry as he watched it, taking his eyes off the road so long that he had to hit the brakes hard to avoid crashing into the back of a slowing truck. He overtook the truck, glanced nervously in the mirror and saw the Mercedes indicate and move out to follow him.
Shit. They are tailing me.
Don’t be ridiculous.
He drove faster nonetheless, and the Mercedes kept pace with him. Then, just as he was getting really edgy, a straight opened up ahead and the black car flashed by him, doing at least ninety. Adam laughed shakily to himself.
A couple of miles further on, he spotted the Mercedes in a fuel station forecourt and saw that the driver was a young woman with a small child.
He cursed Lenny Salt for putting daft ideas in his head. What a weirdo the guy was. What an insult to their poor friends to come out with such a cockamamie story and cheapen the tragedy of their deaths like that. It was typical of the conspiracy theory mindset. Pure ego. Like anyone would even think to come after a pathetic old fart who thought he was a real scientist.
Adam’s thoughts wandered back to Julia and Michio. The coincidence was terrible; but surely a coincidence all the same.
Just then, his mobile ringtone chimed through the car’s sound system.
It was the housekeeping agency. Adam frowned as he listened to the woman informing him that the new housekeeper wouldn’t be able to come until tomorrow, due to a minor road accident.
‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘She just had a bit of a shock,’ said the woman. ‘She’ll be right as rain in no time, and with you tomorrow afternoon.’
Adam said he was pleased to hear that. Tomorrow afternoon was no problem. He ended the call and huffed with irritation. Wonderful. Now he’d have to start clearing up the house himself for Sabrina’s visit.
Don’t be such a jerk, Adam. You’ll survive. He stabbed at the CD player and switched from the Tallis to a lively Vivaldi violin concerto. Michio and Julia floated up in his thoughts again, and he tried to focus on driving.
A couple of minutes later, the phone rang again.
‘Dad?’
‘Hey, Rory.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Sorry I was held up. Be with you in about five minutes, all right?’
‘Don’t worry. Everything’s under control. She just got here.’
‘Sabrina’s there already?’
‘No, not Sabrina.’
‘Then who?’ Adam asked. Rory was like that. A separate question and answer for everything. You had to tease stuff out of him. He was at that age.
‘The housekeeper, stoopid,’ Rory said in an affected moronic voice. ‘Remember?’
‘I hate when you talk in that damn voice. And what are you going on about? The agency just called me to say she won’t be arriving until tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know,’ Rory said in a deadpan tone. ‘Maybe they changed their mind.’
‘How do you know it’s the housekeeper?’
‘Because I spoke to her just now on the security monitor. She said her name was Sue. I just buzzed her in the gate and she’s parking her van up outside. I’m watching her right now, from the window.’ A pause. ‘Where’s she from? Kinda weird accent.’
‘I’ll be there in exactly two minutes, all right?’
‘Hey, there’s a couple of guys with her,’ Rory said.
‘A couple of guys?’
‘Yeah, they’re walking towards the house.’
‘Rory, hold on till I get there. Don’t open the door.’
But the kid had already hung up.
The Saab was coming into the bends a mile and a half from the house as Adam dialled the number for the agency. ‘This is Adam O’Connor. We spoke a couple of minutes ago.’
‘Yes, Mr O’Connor?’ the same woman replied pleasantly.
‘Did I misunderstand you before? I thought you said nobody was coming out until tomorrow.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then where did this Sue come from?’ he asked, letting his irritation flood out. ‘And who are these two guys with her? You know, this kind of disorganisation doesn’t make you people look very good.’
‘We don’t have anyone called Sue working for us,’ the woman said archly. ‘There must be some confusion. And I must say I don’t like your tone, sir.’
‘Fine. Shove it up your ass. I’ll find someone else.’
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