The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET

by Scott Mariani

  ‘You’re not going to say anything, are you?’

  ‘Would I?’

  ‘You’d better swear to that, Jeff Dekker. One word and—’

  Brooke was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the vinyl floor of the corridor. She and Jeff turned to see the doctor walking towards them. Brooke stood up, looking at him with a mixture of expectation and worry.

  The doctor smiled. ‘No need for alarm,’ he said. ‘There’s no serious damage.’

  ‘But he must be in a lot of pain, yeah?’ Jeff asked hopefully, smiling back.

  The doctor rubbed his chin pensively, glanced down at his clipboard and spent the next minute or so gravely reeling off a long list of medical terminology.

  ‘Ben did all that to him?’ Jeff said, eyes wide.

  ‘Monsieur Shannon is also complaining about severe back pain, and although there’s nothing showing up in the X-ray, it would be prudent to keep him under observation for a few days.’

  ‘Are you saying he can start work again soon?’ Brooke asked.

  The doctor shook his head. ‘Certainly not. Complete rest will be essential for at least three weeks.’

  ‘Shit,’ Jeff said to Brooke as the doctor walked away. ‘There goes Switzerland,’ she muttered. ‘I was afraid of that.’

  ‘Guess we’d better go and break the news to Ben.’

  ‘You go. I ought to stay here with Rupert. It’s probably for the best.’

  Chapter Seven

  Adam sat on the edge of an armchair in the living room at Teach na Loch, head in hands. He reached out for the tumbler in front of him and knocked back the inch of Bushmills malt that was still in it, then grabbed the bottle and swilled some more into it. His head was spinning with shock, the taste of vomit still on his lips from when he’d thrown up earlier on. He’d thought he was never going to stop.

  Now he just felt numb. It was unreal. Lenny Salt had been right. The old weirdo hadn’t imagined it after all.

  The kidnappers’ instructions had been simple. He was to get all his Kammler material together and get on a flight to Graz. He checked the atlas: it was in Austria, near the Hungarian border. They’d given him the name of a hotel in the city, where a reservation had been made for him, and he was to check in there no later than 10 p.m., local time, the following evening. The orders were to sit in his room, speak to no one, and wait to be contacted.

  Adam suddenly felt hot tears welling up out of his eyes. He thought of Rory. What were they doing to him? Where was he? Would he ever see him again? He could imagine the look of terror on the boy’s face when they took him, could hear his screams of protest.

  If only Salt hadn’t turned up at the presentation. I’d have been here. I could have done something.

  A thought suddenly crossed his mind. Had Salt had something to do with it? Had he been deliberately planted there to delay him?

  He stood up from the armchair, unsteady on his feet. Walked over to the bookcase across the room and picked up the framed black and white photo of Rory. Sabrina had taken that one, just after he’d turned twelve. They’d gone to London for a weekend and visited her photography studio there. It was such a beautiful shot of the kid. He was smiling and looked so happy in it. Sabrina had a giant blow-up of the same picture on her studio wall. Adam knew his younger sister doted on her nephew – he was the only real reason they stayed in touch.

  Sabrina. What was he going to tell her when she got here? Adam glanced at his watch and winced. Any time now. His hand was trembling as he replaced the picture frame on the bookcase. Another acid lurch in his throat, and he turned and stumbled towards the downstairs bathroom.

  He was bent over the toilet bowl, retching vomit and whiskey, when a smooth female electronic voice announced through the hidden speakers: ‘You have a visitor.’

  Sabrina Connor paid the taxi driver, got her bags from the back and watched as the car turned and disappeared out of the gates. She looked up at the house, shielded her eyes from the bright afternoon sunshine, and smiled. She was looking forward to this break. Seven whole days away from London, the hustle and humidity and bad air, her capricious celebrity clients. Perfect. And it was great to be able to spend some time with Rory – she hadn’t seen him since Christmas. This time she might actually beat the little smartass at chess.

  The door opened. Adam stepped out to greet her. When he came up and hugged her, it was more tightly than usual. She could smell the sharp tang of mouthwash on him, and when she broke the embrace and looked up at her elder brother, she could see his eyes were a little pink.

  ‘You changed your hair again,’ he said.

  She ran her fingers through the spiky red highlights. ‘I like it like this. You OK? You look a little wired.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just working hard.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Come inside. It’s good to see you. Want a drink?’ He picked up her bags and ushered her inside.

  ‘Coffee would be great. Oh, here. I got you something.’ She unzipped one of her bags and took out a little package. ‘Happy birthday. Forty-five.’

  He took it. ‘Forty-six. And it was nearly two months ago.’

  ‘What a close-knit little family we are. Well, aren’t you going to open it?’

  He tore the wrapper. ‘Handkerchiefs.’

  ‘Irish linen,’ she said. ‘Had to scour London for them. I got them embroidered, too, see? Adam O’Connor.’ She exaggerated the ‘O’.

  ‘I know you think it’s stupid, me changing my name. But it’s important to me. It’s heritage.’

  She shrugged. ‘Do what you want. Fine by me.’

  ‘Nice hankies.’

  ‘Kind of a lame present, huh?’

  ‘No, really. I like them.’

  Sabrina glanced around. ‘Where’s Rory?’

  ‘Tennis camp,’ he replied instantly.

  ‘Tennis camp? You’re kidding me, right?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘Nope. Tennis camp.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I drove him up there yesterday.’

  ‘Where?’

  He made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘Up in Donegal.’

  ‘They even have things like tennis camp in this place?’

  ‘Whatever they call it. Activity holiday, something like that. Why, you think we’re all bog paddies living in mud huts out here?’

  ‘Oh, give it a rest with the whole Irish thing, Adam.’

  ‘Anyway, so he’s at tennis camp.’

  She shrugged. ‘Fine. It’s just I thought he hated sports.’

  Adam headed for the kitchen to put some coffee on. ‘You know what kids are like. One of his friends plays and so he wanted to have a go. It’ll do him good. Get him away from that damn chess computer of his.’

  ‘When will he be back?’

  ‘Couple of weeks.’

  Sabrina made a face. ‘Jesus, Adam. You didn’t think to tell me about any of this before? I was really looking forward to seeing him, you know.’

  He sighed. ‘Look, the truth is that I totally forgot. I was meaning to call you about it ages ago. It just slipped my mind. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I spoke to him on the phone not long ago, and he never said a word about going to any tennis camp.’

  ‘Well, you know Rory. He moves in mysterious ways sometimes. Like I said, I’m really sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry too.’ She sighed. ‘Just disappointed, that’s all.’

  The coffee was beginning to bubble up in the percolator. Adam took two mugs from the shelf and poured it out for them. Sabrina settled on a stool at the mahogany breakfast bar and sipped her coffee. She felt soft fur brush her leg, and a Siamese cat jumped up on her lap. ‘Hey, Cassini.’ She stroked the cat and it rubbed its head against her.

  ‘You’re the one visitor he doesn’t bite,’ Adam said, pulling up another stool. ‘He likes you.’

  She forced a smile. ‘Anyway, here I am. Rory or no Rory.’

  ‘It’s really good to see you, sis. Really good.’ She watched him. ‘Is something
wrong?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. You just seem a little tense. Things going all right here?’

  ‘Things are fine.’

  ‘Thought maybe you’d heard from Amy or something.’ He snorted. ‘Who? No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘How’s business?’

  ‘Business is great.’

  She touched his arm. ‘Look, I know that you and I aren’t that close. But you’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?’

  Adam forced a laugh. ‘Don’t be silly. You know I would. I’m just a little tired. I’ve been working late a lot the last couple of weeks. New project.’ He paused. ‘Speaking of which—’

  She glanced up. ‘What?’

  He hesitated. ‘I have to go away too.’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning. Something really important just came up. There’s this conference in Edinburgh, and someone dropped out, and I’ve got to speak in their place, and, well…’

  ‘I just love your sense of timing.’

  ‘I know. But you’re more than welcome to stay here. As long as you like.’

  ‘All alone?’

  ‘You’ve got Cassini for company. And you don’t even have to worry about feeding him or letting him out. All automated. The house takes care of everything.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘You should have everything you need. But if you need to go out for anything, the password to open the front door is “Constantinople”.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Constantinople?’

  ‘Just say it into the sensor. It’ll recognise any voice. And if you want to lock the guest bedroom door, just tell the house “lock” and it’ll hear you. OK?’

  ‘Yeah, like I’d need to, out here.’

  ‘And if you lock it, I’ve set it up so you just say “Cassini” and it’ll unlock again. It’s the same password for all the bedrooms. Popular security feature. We never use it ourselves, though.’

  She glared at him. ‘Fantastic, bro.’

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry. There’s nothing I can do about it. Just bad timing, like you said. Why don’t you call Nick? Maybe he could come over and join you.’

  ‘Nick and I aren’t together any more. Not since he started screwing the model I used in his last shoot.’

  ‘That’s a real shame,’ Adam said absently. He bit his lip. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go and get my things sorted out for this conference. Help yourself to more coffee. See you in a little while, OK?’

  Sabrina watched him leave the room. He definitely seemed odd. She poured herself another cup and sat stroking Cassini. ‘Tennis camp,’ she muttered.

  Chapter Eight

  When Jeff walked into the office at Le Val, Ben was slamming down the phone. He sat down heavily in his desk chair, clapped his hands to his head and swore loudly.

  ‘Listen, Ben, I’ve got to tell you something. The doctor said—’

  ‘I already know what the doctor said,’ Ben replied without looking up.

  ‘You’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘I didn’t need to. Shannon’s lawyer’s just told me. Multiple contusions, possible lower back injury, out of action for at least three weeks.’

  Jeff looked perplexed. ‘The bastard’s been talking to his lawyer? Already? From his hospital bed?’

  Ben got up from the chair and went over to the window. ‘Not one to waste time. He’s threatening to press charges. Grievous bodily harm.’

  ‘Nothing that grievous about a bit of a twisted elbow and a couple of bruises. Shannon can take it.’

  ‘Tell that to the lawyer,’ Ben said. ‘But that’s not all.’

  Jeff was quiet for a second as the meaning sank in. He swallowed. ‘He’s suing us, isn’t he?’

  ‘For loss of earnings,’ Ben said, still gazing out of the window. Over the roofs of the facility buildings he could see the trees beyond. He so much wanted to be there. Hidden deep within Le Val’s sprawl of woodland was the tumbledown ivy-covered ruin of an old church that for the last seven hundred and fifty or so years had been home to the wild creatures of the forest. It was a place Ben loved to go and spend time away from everything, just him and the stillness of the sun-dappled woods, the whisper of the trees and the sound of the doves nesting in the remains of the steeple. At this moment, all that seemed infinitely beyond his reach.

  ‘As in one point two million kind of earnings?’ Jeff asked quietly.

  Ben nodded. He tore himself away from the window, went back to his desk and reclined in his chair. ‘The Swiss gig will have to be cancelled. Which basically leaves Shannon and the rest of the team out of a job. And I’m responsible for that.’

  ‘Can’t they manage without him?’

  ‘Apparently not. He insists they need a leader. It’s his contract, and he can do what he wants.’

  ‘Then we’re fucked,’ Jeff said.

  They sat in silence for a long time. Three minutes passed, then four. Both men sat staring into space.

  ‘Why? Why?’ Ben muttered under his breath. ‘Why did I have to hit him?’

  ‘You didn’t exactly hit him, Ben. If you’d really hit him, you’d be up for manslaughter now.’

  ‘That’s a comforting thought, Jeff. Thanks for that.’ Ben took out his cigarettes and Zippo, and lit one up. Offered one to Jeff, and they sat smoking together.

  ‘There’s got to be a way out of this,’ Jeff said. ‘Is there no way we can just deny responsibility? Pretend it never happened?’

  ‘Nice idea, if you can forget the six witnesses who saw him go down. Seven, if you include Brooke.’

  ‘Brooke wouldn’t say anything.’

  ‘That’s not the point, Jeff. If it comes down to it, I won’t ask her to perjure herself for nothing.’

  ‘It was self-defence. He made the first move.’

  ‘But I overreacted. I didn’t have to cripple the guy.’

  ‘What about public liability insurance?’

  ‘I don’t think the policy underwriters would be happy about forking out a seven-figure sum because I beat up my client.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. The bastard had it coming.’

  ‘It is my fault. No excuses. I’ve put the customer in hospital, and that’s it. He has every right to sue for loss of earnings.’

  Silence again for a few moments.

  ‘How about this?’ Jeff suggested suddenly. ‘We go back to the hospital, you and me, right now. We hang around and wait until Brooke and the doctor are out of the way. And then we slip into Shannon’s room and tell him that if he goes ahead with this, we’ll—’

  ‘Forget it. That’s not going to work either.’

  ‘Then we’re fucked,’ Jeff said again. ‘Completely screwed. Dead in the water.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve got another idea.’

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning

  The rust-streaked prow of the ship cleaved through the waves at a steady ten knots, throwing up a bow wave of white spray. The tweendecker cargo vessel was more than forty years old, and every inch of her hundred-and-sixty-foot hull was crusted with salt and oily grime, but she was a fast and reliable ship. Her speed was one reason she’d been chosen for this assignment; the other was that her Icelandic captain and his crew of six were savvy enough to take the cash and ask no questions of the two men and the woman they were being hired to ferry eastwards across the northern tip of Scotland into Scandinavian waters. They wanted to know even less about the ‘cargo’ that their three passengers had stored down below.

  The ship had sailed in the night from Clifden on the Irish west coast. A few hours into the voyage, the sun was shining but the salty sea wind was cool as they left the Outer Hebrides behind them, the Orkney Islands a few hours ahead. The diesels kept up their steady grind, the clouds drifted overhead and the sea foamed white in their wake as the vessel ploughed onwards towards Stavanger, Norway, where the plane would be waiting to deliver the package to its final
destination.

  The stocky guy was not feeling good. He hated this fucking pile of rust, the stink of oil and ocean, the nauseous pitch and yaw of the floor under his feet. He was ill all the time, and he’d have loved to shoot down one or two of those incessantly screeching fucking seabirds. Not the most rewarding job he’d been on. He couldn’t wait for it to be over.

  The things you have to do for money, he was thinking as he clanged open the hatch and carried the tray down into the part of the hold that was off-limits to the crew. He hated having to act as waiter to the damn kid, too, and carried the tray carelessly. Some water sloshed out of the tin cup and spilled onto the thin cheese sandwiches. If the kid complained, then fuck him. Let him starve.

  Down in the murky shadows, the stink of oil was even stronger. The guy could make out the pale shape of the mattress on the floor and the dull glint of the handcuffs that secured the kid’s left wrist to the pipe.

  Hold on. He shone the torch. The white circle of light danced on the rusty wall.

  The handcuff was dangling empty from the pipe.

  He dropped the tray with a clatter and stood there, mouth hanging open as his rising fury quickly gave way to fear. He dropped into a squat and rubbed his chin. If he’d lost the kid, he was a dead man.

  Spotting a twisted length of wire lying among the filth on the floor, he picked it up and examined it, and his rage started flooding back. Little bastard.

  He couldn’t be far away. The guy muttered and cursed and shone the torch this way and that in the shadows.

  A soft sound came from behind him. He started to turn towards it, but then something came whooshing out of the darkness and caught him a glancing blow to the side of the head. His vision flashed white with pain. He dropped the torch and fell to the floor. The hard object hit him again and he felt unconsciousness washing over him.

  Then he was dimly aware of someone bending over him, feeling through his pockets. Light footsteps running away.

  He gritted his teeth and forced himself to clamber to his knees, just in time to see the kid momentarily framed in the sunlight that streamed through the open hatch. Then he was gone.