The Shadow Project

by Scott Mariani

  ‘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.’

&
nbsp; ‘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 acciden
t, 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.’