There had been an improvement in the mood of her captors the previous evening. French had looked and sounded fractionally more cheerful, though he had said nothing to explain why. Zlenko, meanwhile, had added, ‘You be OK,’ to his other pet phrases, as if the chances of her being OK really had increased.
She had heard French drive away early that morning, destination unknown. Later, she had seen Zlenko out in the yard, pacing to and fro as he talked on his phone, presumably to French. When the call ended, he had walked into the room, smiling broadly, and announced, ‘All good.’ She had asked what he meant, but he had merely added, ‘Not worry,’ and left her to her own devices.
Now, as she fretted and hoped and wondered, time passed slower than ever. The sunlight in the yard strengthened. And Zlenko kept his distance. She swore to herself that, if she survived this experience, she would live by different rules. And she began to imagine what those rules would be.
Her waiting ended in the sound of a car drawing up in the yard. But the engine note was somehow different from French’s 4WD. She saw Zlenko walk past the kitchen window. She heard a voice. Not his. Not French’s. Whose was it? She strained her ears. She could not make out any words, but the tone of the newcomer’s voice was …
Harkness.
Some minutes passed. Maybe five, though it felt longer. Then Zlenko came into the room, smiling as before. He unlocked the handcuffs and helped her out of the chair in some ludicrous parody of Victorian drawing-room etiquette. ‘Go time,’ he announced with evident pleasure.
They exited into the yard. Harkness was standing by a bright red Mercedes convertible that Fran felt sure was Coleman’s. Harkness too was smiling. In one hand he held a canvas holdall.
‘Hello, Fran,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been through the mill on my account.’
‘What’s happening?’ she said as they approached him. Zlenko was holding her by the elbow, but lightly, as if he had become more of an escort than a captor.
‘We’ve done a deal. You’re free to go.’
Zlenko’s hand left her. He reached out and took the bag from Harkness. She glimpsed wads of cash inside. ‘You’ve paid them to release me?’
‘I have. Handsomely, it must be said.’
‘How did you get here? You’re not allowed to leave London.’
‘Yet here I am.’
He touched her back, gently encouraging her to leave. She felt suddenly close to tears, but swallowed them down and clenched her jaw. ‘Am I really free to go?’ she asked hoarsely.
‘Yes. And you should, without delay. The key’s in the ignition. Drive wherever you like. But, please, don’t contact anyone just yet. French will give Don your phone when he and I are done.’
‘Don?’
‘He’s been very helpful. He’s on his way here now with French. I’ll leave with him when we’ve wrapped everything up. I suggest you meet him at Pawley’s offices in Helston at …’ Harkness glanced at his watch. ‘Noon should do it. We’ll all have gone our separate ways by then.’
‘Where does that mean … for you?’
‘Not a question my wife’s solicitor needs to know the answer to, Fran. Just get in the car and drive away.’
‘It’s Coleman’s … isn’t it?’
‘That’s not something you need to worry about at the moment. There’ll be a lot of sorting out to be done in due course. The police will have to be notified of what’s occurred. But French and Zlenko will be long gone by then. And so will I.’
‘Where—’
‘No more questions.’ There was a look of urgency in Harkness’s eyes. ‘Just go.’
He opened the driver’s door for her. She climbed in and turned the key. The car burst into life. She looked up at Harkness. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply.
He winked at her disarmingly. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Do svidaniya,’ said Zlenko.
She reversed slowly round in a half-circle, then drove out into the lane, where she stopped. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Harkness signalling for her to turn right. She nodded, pulled out into the lane and accelerated away.
Within seconds, the place where she had spent the last two days was out of sight. She was free.
Filippo Crosetti stares at me as he walks through the door. He looks shocked. He wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t expecting me.
‘Gesù. What is she doing here?’
‘You know each other?’ Jane looks surprised as well.
‘She was at the Schweizerhof last night.’ His stare turns into a glare. ‘That wasn’t an accident with the phones, was it?’
‘No.’ I don’t flinch. I look him in the eye. Then Jane. ‘I got a peek at the messages on Filippo’s phone. That’s how I know where and when you’re meeting Ingrid Denner. Head office, Zug. Symposium room B4. Noon today.’
Jane glances reproachfully at Filippo, but she says nothing. Instead, he says, ‘Why is this woman here?’
‘My name’s Blake,’ I butt in. ‘Pleased to meet you. Again.’
Filippo’s getting angry now. Maybe angrier with Jane than with me. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
I keep telling myself I’m not going to be intimidated by these people. Jane tried to frighten me just before Filippo arrived. Now he’s turning volcanic. But they have nothing on me. Nothing at all. ‘I know who Astrid really is,’ I say, super cool.
Jane stays silent. Filippo’s eyes bore into me. His jaw clenches and unclenches. Eventually, he gives an irritated little toss of his hand and says to Jane, ‘Tell her to go away.’
‘I’ve tried that,’ Jane responds matter-of-factly.
He turns on me. ‘What do you want?’
‘The truth about you two and what you do for Harkness.’
‘And if we tell you to just fuck off?’
‘Then Ingrid Denner will learn Astrid really is Jane Glasson, just as Gareth Lawler claims. Which I guess will open you up to a lot of questions from her you won’t want to answer.’
‘You think we will want to answer your questions?’
‘I think you have to choose. Hers or mine. I’m trying to help Jane’s father find out what happened to his daughter. Ingrid? Well, her agenda’s about pinning the blame on someone for the scandal Harkness Pharmaceuticals is caught up in. Which conversation would you rather have?’
Filippo gives Jane a dark look. ‘I told Jack this would happen one day.’
Jane sighs faintly, like he’s trying her patience. ‘We should say as little as possible, Filippo. Don’t let her get under your skin.’
‘Under my skin? What is that? English fucking irony?’
There’s a glass fruit bowl on the table about three strides away. Filippo covers the distance in two, grabs the bowl and hurls it towards the sleek black stove in the fireplace. It hits the marble hearth in an explosion of fragments. Apples and oranges roll around the wooden floor.
I start back from the scattering fragments. But Jane, I notice, doesn’t react at all, apart from shaking her head ever so slightly.
Filippo’s breathing heavily now. He wipes a hand across his mouth and looks at me. ‘How much to go away, little girl?’
I think he’s trying to bribe me, which is really pitiful. I get the vibe Jane knows just how pitiful. ‘I’m not looking for a pay-off,’ I tell him – and her.
‘Make her see some sense, Astrid,’ he snaps, almost pleadingly.
‘If only I could,’ she responds.
‘It just gets worse,’ he continues, sounding now as if he’s talking more to himself than either of us. ‘This is supposed to be about the big picture. Insurance against … disaster.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘There’s not meant to be any way we can be …’
‘We’ve done the right thing, Filippo,’ Jane says softly, reassuringly.
‘It won’t sound like the right thing if anyone ever …’ He moves to one of the windows and glares out at the city. ‘I keep wondering what Jack is doing,’ he mumbles. Then he says in a louder voi
ce, as if posing a question, ‘What is he doing now?’
‘I have no idea,’ says Jane.
‘Why has he gone on the run?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where is he? Where—’
‘Cornwall,’ I cut in.
Filippo turns round and stares at me. ‘What did you say?’
‘Harkness is in Cornwall.’
‘How do you know?’ He’s not sure whether to believe me, but the idea that Harkness could be in Cornwall seems to have frightened him for some reason. There’s sweat on his forehead.
‘I spoke to a friend of mine in Cornwall last night. He mentioned Harkness.’
‘Mentioned him?’
‘They’re working on something together.’
This sounds evasive, even to me, and it totally freaks out Filippo. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
‘You don’t want to answer my questions. Why should I answer yours?’
‘Is it to do with the house – Wortalleth West?’
‘Could be. But I’m—’
‘For Christ’s sake, Astrid.’ Filippo’s shouting now. Something’s snapped inside him. ‘Don’t you see? Jack’s not willing to wait any longer. In case we decide it shouldn’t go ahead – ever. He knows I’m away from the lab because of fucking Ingrid Denner. And he’s made his move.’
‘You don’t know any of that for certain, Filippo,’ says Jane, trying to reason with him.
‘You tell me what other explanation makes any sense.’
‘Tell us what Jack and your friend are doing, Blake.’ Jane urges me with her eyes to help her defuse whatever crisis it is Filippo is convinced they’re facing. ‘Please.’
‘Not till you’ve told me what Jack and you two are doing. What it is you might decide shouldn’t go ahead – ever.’
‘Merda,’ snaps Filippo. ‘What are we going to do, Astrid?’
‘We’re going to keep calm,’ she replies, keeping calm herself. ‘And we’re going to get through this.’
‘We should leave. Now.’
‘There’s plenty of time.’
‘No. There isn’t.’
‘We’re not due to meet Ingrid Denner until—’
‘I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about Jack.’ Filippo strides across the room and grasps Jane by the arm. ‘He’s going to do it. I know he is. He’s going to do it.’
‘He won’t go back on our agreement, Filippo. He’s a man of his word.’
‘He’s a twister of words. That’s what he is. He’ll get someone else to do it. Someone who doesn’t understand. Then technically he won’t be breaking our agreement.’ Filippo gestures towards me. ‘It could be this friend of hers. You know what he calls people like that. Useful idiots. He probably thinks we’re useful idiots too.’
Jane closes her eyes. She takes in a breath and lets it out. Then she looks at Filippo like really sombrely. ‘What do you want to do? Go back to Locarno?’
Filippo’s still holding her arm. I see his grip tighten. ‘I don’t think there’s time. But there’s a relay in his office at HQ.’
‘Is there?’
‘It was on a schematic I wasn’t supposed to see. An override for my override would be my guess. He’s never trusted us, Astrid. Not totally.’
‘And now you’ll be proving he was right not to.’
‘You and I, we’ve argued this through again and again. Look at what’s happening. It’s late, but it’s not too late. We don’t have to do this. I told Jack right at the start. Come ultimo ricorso, sì. Yes. If it was the only way. But I don’t believe it is. Not any more. And neither do you.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘We can’t let him make the decision on his own. It’s too big.’
‘Phone him.’
‘He doesn’t answer.’
‘Phone him again.’
Filippo pulls out his phone and punches in a number. He shows Jane the screen. ‘Voicemail. Every time.’
Jane looks sharply at me. ‘What is your friend doing with Jack, Blake?’
‘I told you just now. If—’
‘We’re running out of time, Astrid,’ wails Filippo. ‘We have to move.’
‘At least phone your friend and ask him where they are.’ Jane shakes Filippo off and steps closer to me. ‘Will you do that for me?’ For me, I notice. Not us.
There doesn’t seem to be any really good reason to refuse. If I do this, maybe Jane will tell me a bit more than she has so far, which is nothing. It’s probably less than fifty-fifty that Don will answer anyway. I pull out the phone and make the call.
No answer. I don’t leave a message. He’ll know I called. That’s good enough. If he could’ve answered, he would’ve. I slide the phone back into my pocket. ‘Sorry,’ I say with a shrug.
‘Per l’amor di Dio, Astrid,’ says Filippo, sounding just a fraction less hyper. ‘Do you agree there’s a chance I’m right about why Jack’s gone to Cornwall?’
Jane frowns, as if thinking it through. Then she says, ‘Yes. It’s possible.’
‘And do you agree, if I’m right, we have to stop him?’
A long time seems to pass before she answers that one. And it’s almost a whisper. ‘Yes.’
‘Then we have to get to his office at HQ. As soon as we can.’
She looks at him in a way I can’t decipher. And I bet he doesn’t even notice the little drift of something behind her eyes. She nods. ‘OK.’
‘A taxi’s the quickest way. We can pick one up at Bürkliplatz.’
‘Take me with you,’ I cut in.
‘No,’ says Filippo, almost without thinking.
‘I’m your best chance of finding out what Harkness is doing.’
‘We don’t need her, Astrid,’ Filippo insists.
‘Sounds to me like you need all the help you can get,’ I counter.
‘You don’t understand. You know nothing.’
‘She should come with us,’ says Jane, calmly but firmly. Why she wants me along I’m not sure. Maybe she thinks I really can help. Or maybe she thinks I’ll do less harm if she keeps me close. As for the possibility that I’ll find out what’s going on, she’s obviously willing to risk that.
‘No, no,’ Filippo protests.
‘Yes.’ In Jane’s voice, the word sounds final.
And Filippo seems to accept that. ‘Crazy,’ he growls. But he doesn’t argue any more. ‘We have to go. Now.’
‘Then stop talking,’ says Jane, glancing at me. ‘And move.’
Don had stuck doggedly to French’s tail from Lizard Point. Harkness and Zlenko were waiting for them in the yard at Chybargos, leaning against a wall and chatting amiably, or so it appeared. Certainly Harkness was smiling. But that, as Don well knew, meant little. What concerned him far more was that there was no sign of Fran.
Harkness seemed to read his mind, however. ‘Don’t worry,’ he called, waving cheerily as he walked over to where Don had pulled up alongside French’s 4WD. ‘Everything’s OK.’
‘Where’s Fran?’ Don asked at once through the open window of the MG.
‘En route to Helston in Coleman’s Merc. I’ve said you’ll meet her at Pawley’s office at noon. She’s going to keep the lid on this till then.’
‘So all we have to do is …’
‘Put the two halves of the money together for this pair and take our leave.’
As Don climbed out, he saw French talking animatedly to Zlenko, who by contrast looked half asleep. Zlenko opened the holdall Harkness had delivered for French to examine the contents. He gave a curt nod of approval.
‘You have my bag, Don?’ Harkness asked.
‘Here.’ Don leant back into the car to retrieve the money-filled bag and handed it over.
‘French is happy?’
‘I wouldn’t exactly say that. But you were right. He couldn’t say no.’
‘Money’s the universal pass-key, Don. It opens all doors.’
At that moment French shouted across the yard to them, ‘We
have somewhere better to be even if you don’t.’
‘I won’t hold you up long,’ Harkness shouted back as he ambled round to the rear of the 4WD, carrying the bag. As he went, he glanced into the storage compartment of the car, where a tarpaulin was draped over something bulky. ‘What have you got there, Amos? Oxyacetylene cutting gear by any chance?’
‘Nothing you need to worry about now.’
‘Who said I was worried?’
‘I guess you must be sometimes. The laid-back couldn’t-give-a-shit act doesn’t fool me.’
‘Nothing fools you, does it, Amos?’
‘Not much.’
‘Sorry our latest run-in is ending so anti-climactically.’ Harkness handed the bag to French. ‘Two and a half plus two and a half makes five,’ he went on. ‘That’ll buy you all the fun there is to be had in the land of cowbells and cuckoo clocks.’
French gave him a stiff look. ‘You want to laugh about making Gennady and me rich, go right ahead. We’ll be the ones laughing when they measure you up for a prison jumpsuit.’
‘I don’t see that ever happening.’
‘You can run from Uncle Sam, but you can’t hide from him. You’ll learn that the hard way.’
‘Will I? Well, thanks for—’
Harkness broke off at the sound of a vehicle approaching along the lane. They all looked towards it. An interruption was the last thing any of them needed. Don found himself fervently hoping the vehicle would drive on by. He noticed Zlenko reaching behind his back and lifting his jacket clear of something in his waistband that Don greatly feared was a gun.
The vehicle did not drive on by. Worse still, as it turned into the yard, Don saw that it was a police car. It stopped and a fresh-faced young uniformed constable got out. He had a passenger, who also got out. To Don’s utter astonishment, it was Wynsum Fry.
‘Can we help you, officer?’ Harkness asked casually. Then, and only then, he saw Fry. ‘Well, well, well,’ he added, as if merely mildly surprised.
‘Are you Jack Harkness, sir?’ the constable asked.
‘That’s ’im right enough,’ said Fry. ‘The King o’ Spades.’
The constable glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand. A print-out of Harkness’s photograph was Don’s guess. ‘Well, sir?’
Panic Room Page 31
