by Jack Higgins
She was in trouble all right. She just didn’t know what sort.
The waiter risked a grin as he delivered a large bap spilling tuna mayonnaise and sweetcorn over a handful of crisps and a brave attempt at a side salad.
“Thanks,” said Jade, “me hearty,” she added. She gave him her room number to charge the meal to, and he jotted it down.
“Anything else?”
“Just some peace and quiet.”
The pirate laughed. “You’ll be lucky. They’ll be starting the sea shanties in a minute.”
Jade hoped he was joking, but was afraid he wasn’t. She could see a pirate with an accordion limbering up at the bar together with a large woman with dangly earrings and a striped shirt that didn’t do her any favours. Jade sighed, and was about to start her lunch when she saw a man standing further along the bar. He was wearing a dark suit.
As she watched, he turned slightly, picking up a glass of Coke. He had black hair slicked back from his forehead, and a pale brown face that was lined like old stone. He looked familiar, but Jade didn’t know if he was one of the men who’d been following them in the cars or the helicopter. The suit was the wrong style and shade.
Jade was still trying to work out where she’d seen him before, when McCain walked into the bar. He looked round, obviously checking there was no one there he wanted to avoid. Instinctively, Jade shrank back into the booth, hoping he hadn’t seen her.
When she edged along and looked round the low wooden wall, she saw that McCain was walking up the gangplank to the bar. Further along, the man was sipping his Coke. He had turned, and she could see a pale scar running from above his left eye down the length of his cheek. Seeing it made Jade realise where she’d seen him before—at the farm. He’d been looking for them—one of the first men to come after them, before the helicopter.
Jade stood up. The man would see McCain any moment. She didn’t have time to get to him—should she shout a warning? Would the man with the scar try anything in a crowded bar?
It was too late. The man with the scar had seen McCain. He set down his drink on the bar and stood up. He walked slowly and deliberately towards McCain, who had stopped dead in his tracks. The man with the scar smiled and reached out, enfolding McCain in an affectionate bear hug.
Jade ducked back into the booth, startled and afraid. McCain and the scarred man knew each other. She had the sudden, cold feeling she’d been tricked all along. The woman with the official badge— if that’s what it was—had tried to warn her. The man who’d been chasing McCain and trying to kill him was actually his friend. It was all a trap of some sort. A setup. And it looked like Jade and Rich had fallen right into it.
The good news—maybe the only good news—was that McCain didn’t know Jade was on to him. She could slip away and find a phone. Or, she thought, she could try to get close enough to hear what the two men were saying. Maybe McCain had been telling the truth and was now trying to cut a deal of some sort…But she didn’t really believe that.
She would have to go past the bar to get out anyway. Jade made her decision, and got slowly and carefully to her feet. She looked across to the bar, and found the pirate waiter who had served her standing there with another orange juice.
“Free refill,” he said. “It’s Hearty Hour.”
“Thanks.” Jade took the orange juice and drank it straight down. She didn’t know when she’d next get a drink, and the vitamin C would do her good. She gave the empty glass back to the waiter.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. Even his parrot looked sad as he turned and walked away.
Jade watched him go, puzzled. But she had enough to worry about already, so she made her way cautiously towards the bar. She found a spot out of sight round the prow of the ‘boat’. It wasn’t ideal, but she was confident that neither of the men could see her, and she could hear odd snatches of their conversation.
“Not yet,” McCain was saying. “But it won’t be long. He knows where it is. He put it there.”
The other man’s voice was quieter and he was facing away. Jade could hear almost nothing of what he said.
“Chance must return soon,” said McCain. Someone laughed nearby, and Jade missed the rest of what he said. “…Didn’t think we could force him to tell us,” McCain was saying when the noise died down again, “but now we have something I expect he wants very badly. He’ll tell us all right.”
It sounded like they were hoping to get something from her dad, Jade thought. McCain had hoped to find him at the cottage. Hoped to ask her father for something. Now he had a way to force Dad to tell him what he wanted to know.
She was feeling suddenly light-headed and woozy. She felt even worse as she realised that the ‘something’ McCain thought he had to bargain with was her. It was definitely time to be going, but her legs weren’t working. In fact, she was having trouble getting up. She grabbed the nearest thing to force herself off the bar stool. It was a sign propped up against the bar:
‘Hearty Hour—Free Refills: 6:30-7:30 every nite’
She felt the last of her energy draining away. It wasn’t Hearty Hour at all. The orange juice refill wasn’t free—someone had paid for it. McCain must have seen her when he came in, and guessed she was on to him when Jade tried to hide in the booth. The waiter had said he was sorry— and he was sorry because he’d seen what McCain put in the drink. A pill, a liquid…The waiter was in on it. Probably bribed.
But that didn’t matter. What did matter was that Jade had to get out of the bar and find somewhere to hide so she could sleep off whatever the drug was.
She tried to put one foot in front of the other. Shuffling along. Then came the crash of a falling chair.
Somewhere a hundred miles away a woman was singing A Pirate’s Life for Me, accompanied by an accordion. Jade almost laughed. The fat lady was singing, and as the floor rushed towards her she knew it was all over.
“It’s all right, no worries. I’ll get her.” McCain’s voice sounded as though it was filtered through soggy cotton wool. Jade felt his hands on her shoulders, lifting her up.
“She’s just dead on her feet.”
Then nothing.
9
Although few of the people who worked with Hilary Ardman knew it, he’d been a good field agent once. But that was years ago. Now he was responsible for a department that didn’t officially exist and that reported directly to the British Cabinet’s emergency committee known as COBRA.
If there was a security matter within the British Isles that the police, Special Branch, or MI5 didn’t want to handle—or for some reason couldn’t be seen to be involved with—then Ardman’s group was called in.
If there was a ‘problem’ overseas that the armed forces or MI6 couldn’t handle, then it went to Ardman.
He had a small team of carefully chosen operatives, but the power to call on help from any of the other ‘services’ he needed. Some of those services resented Ardman’s power and remit. But most of them were only too glad to help—the better Ardman did his job, the more likely he was to keep it. And when all was said and done, the alternative didn’t bear thinking about—no one wanted such a powerful agency to be run by anyone but Hilary Ardman.
No one apart from terrorists, organised criminals, smugglers and warlords, anyway.
Over the years, Ardman had faced down trained gunmen, got the better of bombers and madmen, argued vehemently with Prime Ministers and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He had calmly and efficiently got his own way in meetings and situations where other senior staff had been looking pale and feeling sick.
Now, as he stood in a small, unmarked room in Heathrow’s Terminal 5, Ardman reflected on some of those meetings and encounters. And he decided that he had never been as apprehensive as he was at that moment. The flight had landed, the passengers were disembarking. Shortly, the man Ardman had sent to sort out a ‘problem’ in South America would be walking towards him. And Ardman had bad news for him.
The flight was late as most flights wer
e. John Chance didn’t care. He had fallen asleep as soon as the wheels left the ground in Rio, and he didn’t really wake up until they touched the tarmac in London.
Occasionally, his eyes had flicked open, on a sort of autopilot of their own. Whenever anyone brushed by or there was a sudden noise, or a slight change in the air temperature or a bump of turbulence. Whenever the slightest thing happened that might signify danger, John Chance opened his eyes, scanned the plane for any problems, and then switched off totally once more.
Before boarding the flight, he had been awake for seventy-two hours, give or take a few minutes. But it had been worth it. He’d done his job, earned the reluctant thanks of a local army officer, and made the world a better, safer place. Probably. Now he was going home for a rest.
Even a couple of years ago, Chance wouldn’t have thought of himself as a homebody. He wouldn’t have considered settling down, and any thoughts of a family were right out. But just as circumstances changed quickly in his professional life, so they’d changed quickly in his personal life too. Suddenly he had found himself a father of teenage twins. It had changed his perspective. It earned his—initially—reluctant thanks. And it made John Chance’s world a better place. Definitely.
So far, it had to be said, his family world had not been a safer place. His children seemed to have inherited Chance’s own knack of getting into trouble. Luckily they also seemed to have his knack of getting out of it again. But maybe that was luck, and Chance knew that you only had to be unlucky once. He was looking forward to going home, and seeing his children, and forgetting all about how terrible and unsafe the world could actually be…
He watched with tight-lipped amusement as people hurried to stand up and grab their bags as soon as the plane stopped. For all their impatience, they might gain a couple of minutes at most. Chance waited till the people started to move before joining the crush. He only had a small holdall. A scheduled flight was the quickest and cheapest way for him to travel, and his other luggage would be sent back by a different, more secure route.
A child in front of Chance slipped and fell as someone jostled her. Chance caught her arm with his free hand—automatically, without thinking. He pulled her back to her feet and smiled at her. The girl’s mother muttered a thank you, her surprise at the speed of his reaction evident in her eyes. Yes, Chance was looking forward to seeing the twins again. They’d be in school now of course, but he’d ring and leave a message at the cottage as soon as he was off the plane.
When everyone else headed for passport control, Chance stopped at an unmarked door, and knocked. The window in the door was opaque, but he knew that someone was watching from the other side of the one-way glass.
Sure enough the door opened, and Chance handed the uniformed official his passport.
The man barely glanced at it. “Welcome home, sir,” he said. “Mr Ardman is waiting for you.”
Chance frowned. His mission had not been that important, and there were no problems. He hadn’t expected to see Ardman until after the weekend for a routine debriefing. But he could see a tall, lean man with thinning dark hair standing at the back of the room. Chance felt his stomach tighten as the official closed and locked the door, and then left the room by a side exit.
“I’m sorry,” said Ardman.
Chance stared back at him through cold, blue, unblinking eyes. His voice was every bit as cold and flint-hard. “Just tell me.”
Ardman nodded. “Mark Darrow has your daughter.”
The world was white. There was a breeze. Even before she opened her eyes, Jade could tell there was something odd about the quality of the light. Like when you know it’s snowed even before you open the curtains. But it was too warm for that—despite the cool of the breeze, it was hot.
She opened her eyes. Thin, silk curtains hid the outside world from her. They rippled and shimmered round the bed. The sheets were also white silk. The pillow was the softest she’d ever rested her head on.
Jade snuggled down into the luxurious softness of it all, and closed her eyes again.
Then, suddenly, she was awake. Where was she? What was going on? She remembered the bar, the pirate waiter. McCain and the drugged drink— falling…Was she in another room in the hotel? Not Space Zone, obviously, but maybe Luxury Land?
Pushing the sheets aside, Jade saw she was still dressed in the same jogging bottoms and sweatshirt. She fought her way through the billowing silk curtains, and saw that someone had laid out a white silk dressing gown over the back of an ornate wooden chair. On the chair was a change of clothes—thin shirt, trousers, a headscarf…All white. All silk.
She ignored the clothes and walked slowly round the bedroom. Everything was pale. The walls were painted white; the floor was pale marble and warm under her bare feet. The furniture was light wood with gilt handles and trimmings. The breeze was coming from vents close to the floor.
Through an archway was a small bathroom, almost filled by a large sunken bath. It was already full of foaming water. Jade dipped her toe in, and found it was pleasantly cool. She was tempted to take a bath in it straight away, but she wanted to know where she was first. Once—if—she found she was safe, then she’d allow herself to relax and have a bath. But not before.
Her trainers were under the chair, and Jade pulled them on to her bare feet.
There was a large wooden door with a gold handle. There was no keyhole, but she expected the door to be bolted. In fact, it opened easily.
Outside was a wide corridor. The walls and floor matched the bedroom. There were other doors, but Jade followed the passageway. She didn’t see anyone or hear any signs of life.
The passage ended in a flight of steps—leading both up and down. Jade could feel the heat coming up from below, so she decided to try upstairs first. The steps were rough stone and the walls seemed to be textured with sand.
Jade walked carefully and quietly. The stairs turned sharply, and she could feel the warmth, could see the sunlight filtering down from above. The steps emerged on to a vast, flat roof. The sky above was azure blue and the sun beat down so hard that Jade had to screw up her eyes against the glare.
As she gradually got used to the light, she made out tall palm trees in large earthenware pots. Moving closer, she could see that the trees were swaying gently over the edge of a massive swimming pool. The water was as blue and clear as the sky.
Beyond the pool, there were steps up to a raised area of the roof. A low wall round the section where Jade was standing meant she could see nothing but the sky. They must be high up. There was no wall round the upper level, so Jade climbed the steps.
The floor of the upper area was covered in dark asphalt. The area was square, with a large circle painted in white and marked off round the edge. It was, Jade realised, a helicopter landing pad.
But that was not what made her gasp with astonishment. From up here, she could see out over the surrounding area.
She stood and stared, the warm breeze catching her hair and tugging at her sweatshirt. She was not as high up as she had thought. The reason she could see nothing was because there was nothing to see. There were no buildings and no trees, as far as Jade could see.
Just sand. Rolling, golden sand stretched to the horizon in every direction. Jade was standing alone on the roof of the only building in a vast, empty desert.
10
The helicopter flew Rich and Halford down to London. The American agents Chuck White and Kate Hunter left in a fast car, together with two other dark-suited Americans.
As the helicopter lifted from the car park, Rich looked down on the huge Boscombe Heights Adventure Park. The rides were like toys, the people tiny as ants. He could see uniformed local police working their way through the crowds and knew they were showing photographs of Jade and McCain—Darrow—to everyone.
The picture of Jade was one that Ardman’s people had sent through— goodness knew how they’d got it, but it looked like her passport photo. The picture of Darrow was a scanned and enhanced c
opy of the photo Rich had brought with him, carefully cropped so it showed only Darrow and not his SAS colleagues.
He hated to leave, but Rich knew that by now Darrow was probably miles away, and Jade with him. If they were still at the theme park, then the police had more chance of finding them than Rich and Halford.
Even so, he was in a sullen mood all the way down to London. Halford soon gave up trying to make conversation, which was difficult enough anyway in the noisy cabin. It wasn’t until the helicopter touched down in the grounds of a country house, just outside the M25 on the very outskirts of London, that Rich began to feel better.
The helicopter had barely touched down, and was still bouncing slightly on its wheels when the door was hauled open and a man leaned into the cabin.
“Dad!” exclaimed Rich.
His father smiled. But Rich could see the concern and anger in John Chance’s eyes. “What the hell have you and Jade got yourselves into this time?” he demanded.
“Sorry about the location,” said Ardman. “Speed is of the essence and there was room to land a helicopter on the lawn. Algernon’s away for the week, so we have the place to ourselves.”
He did not explain who Algernon was—or even if he knew he had unexpected guests. No one asked.
They were in a large library in the west wing of the stately home. Dark wooden bookcases lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes. Almost all the furniture had been removed or pushed to the sides of the room, and replaced with a modern horseshoe-shaped desk made up of sections. One side of the horseshoe was covered with computer and monitoring equipment, while the other looked like a communications exchange with radios, telephones, a fax machine and a video-conferencing set-up.
The end of the horseshoe was piled with papers and documents. A flipchart stood to one side, with a list on it: “Ports, Airports, Harbours, Chunnel, Rail, Motorway network cameras, Radar intercept, Sat-intel…” Each and every item had a tick against it.
