by Jack Higgins
They exploded open as a large blue van crashed through into the open area inside the yard. It screeched to a halt, skidding on the wet ground. Two men leaped out and ran straight at Chance. A heavy crowbar caught the light from the street outside the shattered gates as one of the men wielded it.
Jade cried out, but no one apart from Rich heard.
The heavy bar crashed down. Chance stepped neatly aside and slammed his elbow into the man’s stomach. The attacker doubled over, dropping the bar. Chance immediately grabbed him tight round the neck and spun him around. Into the other attacker. Both assailants went down with a cry of pain.
Chance stepped back, ready for them to come at him again.
One of the men produced a gun from his waistband. There was the staccato crack of a shot followed by the sound of the bullet impacting in the ground close to Chance. Then a blur of movement as Chance was running – straight at the man with the gun. He kicked out and the gun went flying.
“We should help,” Jade said. But she was frozen to the spot as she watched.
“Not sure he needs help,” Rich said as Chance slammed his fist into the shooter’s face. Both children winced as they heard the crack of knuckles on jawbone.
But two more men had appeared from the back of the van and were rushing at Chance. The man who had lost the gun was groaning on the floor. The man with the crowbar had recovered enough to join his fellows as they dived on Chance.
Jade started across the yard, but Rich grabbed her arm. “There’s nothing we can do,” he said. “They’ve got guns – look.”
The two newcomers had handguns levelled at Chance, who put his arms up in surrender. As soon as it was clear that he was not a threat any more, one of the men stepped forward and thumped him over the head with his gun. Chance collapsed to his knees. He looked up at the man who had hit him, and Jade could see that her dad’s face was full of anger, rather than fear or pain.
Then Chance’s gaze shifted – looking past his attackers, straight at Jade, as she stood in full view, outside the protective shadows. He gave the slightest shake of his head, the slightest smile. Rich had hold of Jade’s hand and pulled her gently back into the darkness.
The men led Chance to the van and bundled him into the back. The doors slammed shut behind them, then the van turned in a slow circle and drove out through the broken gates.
Jade and Rich waited a moment, then walked slowly after the van, out into the street. Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them noticed the woman with long black hair who stood in a dark doorway further along the street. Nor did they see the man in a long grey raincoat standing in the shadows outside the gates. But the woman did. She watched as the man took off his dark-framed glasses and wiped the rain off them with a crisply-ironed white handkerchief. Then he waited until the two children were out of earshot before using his mobile phone.
“Phillips here, sir,” he said, as soon as his call was answered. “I came to meet Chance as arranged, but I’m afraid there’s a bit of a problem.” He watched the two children turn out of the end of the lane into the main street beyond. “Make that a couple of problems,” he said gravely.
6
Rich and Jade stood at the end of the lane and looked up and down the main street.
“Did you see which way the van went?” Jade asked.
Rich shook his head.
“God, you’re useless,” she told him.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “And I s’pose you saw where it went – got the number and everything.”
“God, I’m useless,” Jade said. “So – what do we do? Do you think they’ll let him go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where were they taking him?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do they want with him?”
“Look, I’m useless, right?” Rich told her. “I don’t know.”
Jade was pacing back and forth, looking each way along the road. “What do we do? And don’t say ‘I don’t know’ – think of something. Anything.”
“Well…” Rich said. “We could go back to the flat and hope he turns up. Maybe it was some prank, some mates of his from work…”
“They had guns,” Jade said. “They beat him up. They weren’t mucking about.”
“No,” Rich said quietly. “Can’t you stand still a minute?” He sat down on the wet pavement and Jade slumped down beside him. “Maybe back at the flat,” he said. “Maybe there’s some clue about who these people are and why they want him and where they’ve taken him. Or if they let him go, he’ll come back to the flat. Or call. Whatever.”
“Perhaps the guys who took him will call,” Jade said, “and demand a ransom.”
“We don’t have any money,” Rich pointed out. “Anyway, you probably wouldn’t pay to get him back.”
Jade didn’t answer that. “We could go to the police.”
“Probably should,” Rich agreed.
“If they believe us.”
“We saw it. It happened. He’s gone. They’ll have to believe us.”
Jade had her mobile out. “999 then.”
Rich shook his head. “I’d rather talk to a real person. Make sure they do something.” He looked Jade in the eye. “He’s our dad. He’s all we’ve got.”
She sighed. Then she nodded. “We’ll get him back,” she said. “Whatever he’s up to, whatever he’s involved in, whatever it takes – we’ll get him back.”
The inside of the police station was smaller than Jade had expected. There was a little seating area where several bored people were waiting, and a high desk with a computer on it. Behind the desk, Jade could see another room, and several police men and women were busy at their own computers.
There was a policeman standing at the desk – a sergeant from the three stripes on his uniformed arm. He stared at Jade and Rich as they came in, then went back to writing in a book.
“Our dad’s been kidnapped,” Jade told him.
The sergeant looked up.
“Kidnapped?” he said. Jade nodded.
“Course he has,” the sergeant said. “And I’m the pope.”
“No, really, he has,” Rich said. “And you’re not the pope,” he pointed out. “You’re a policeman and you’re supposed to help us.”
The sergeant sighed. “Then I suppose you’d better tell me all about it.”
He listened while Jade and Rich gave an account of the evening’s events. Then he said, “You don’t seem to know your dad very well.”
“We only just met him,” Jade said.
“You only just met your dad?”
“We lived with our mum,” Rich said. “Only she died. Now we’re with dad.”
“And he’s been kidnapped, by armed thugs in a van.”
The sergeant turned away for a moment, as if checking with someone out of sight in the next room. “From a scrapyard,’ he repeated as he turned back.
“Yes,” Jade insisted.
“Have you heard of wasting police time?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes,” Rich said quickly, before Jade could reply. “But that isn’t what we’re doing.”
“You think we want to be here with you?” Jade asked.
The sergeant seemed to consider this. “All right, let me take some particulars and we’ll see what we can do.”
“Great. At last,” Jade said.
“Names first,” the sergeant said. “Yours and your father’s.”
They told him, and the sergeant tapped away at his computer.
“That’s John with an ‘h’, is it?” the sergeant asked. “And how is Chance spelled?”
Rich spelled it out. The sergeant tapped away for a bit longer, then shook his head. “Nope,” he told them.
“What do you mean, ‘nope’?” Jade demanded.
“I can check all the public records from here – electoral roll, phone book, council tax records. And I can check police data
too, and everyone who pays an electricity or gas bill.”
“So?” Rich asked.
“So, there’s no one called John Chance.”
“Maybe he’s registered at a different address,” Rich said. “He’s not been there that long.”
“That’s right,” Jade agreed, remembering the letters addressed to the previous tenant.
But the sergeant was shaking his head. “I don’t just mean that address. I’ve checked the database for the whole of London. There’s no John Chance listed. Not anywhere closer than Bedfordshire.” He leaned forward across the desk, his face serious and his voice low. “Perhaps you’d like to go away and think about that,” he said.
Jade was about to reply – to tell him what she thought of him and his computer and its database. But Rich grabbed her arm.
“You’re right. I think we’d better go,” he said.
Jade caught the tone in his voice. He was right – there was no point in arguing and getting into more trouble. She turned and stamped out of the police station.
Rich and Jade walked back along the street, back in the direction of the flat.
Rich paused and looked back at the police station. “It’s not like it’s that unusual a name, is it? No one called John Chance? No one at all in the whole of London?”
“What are you saying?” Jade said.
“The policeman’s lying. I don’t know what’s going on here, Jade. I don’t know what we’ve got ourselves into. But I don’t like it.”
Back in the police station, the man who had been standing in the shadows of the doorway by the desk stepped forward and nodded to the desk sergeant.
“That was fine, thank you.”
The sergeant said nothing. He didn’t like deceiving anyone – especially children.
“They’ll be all right,” the man assured him. He regarded the sergeant through dark-framed glasses for a moment, then he buttoned his long grey raincoat and walked out of the door.
Andrew Phillips walked slowly along the street. Ahead of him he could see the Chance twins, heads down, heading back – he assumed – to their dad’s flat. Not that it was really their dad’s flat at all, of course. They’d find that out. They were clever kids. But that didn’t make it any easier. Phillips sighed and pulled out his mobile.
The small phone was slightly chunkier and heavier than it needed to be. The built-in mobile scramblers were getting smaller, but they still bulked up the phone. Phillips pressed the key combination to activate the device that would encrypt his voice and decipher the scrambled voice data coming to him. Then he dialled a number.
The phone at the other end was answered at once.
“Mr Ardman,” Phillips said. “Just reporting progress.” He gave a brief summary of events at the police station.
“You’re not happy about this, are you, Andrew?” Ardman said when he had finished. “I can tell. I’m not happy either.”
“They’re just kids. They’ve already lost their mother.”
“And now it seems that Vishinsky has their father. I agree, it doesn’t look too good, does it?”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” Phillips muttered. The scrambler software in the phone amplified his words before encrypting them, so that Ardman would hear him.
Ardman’s sigh of frustration was also amplified and relayed clearly. “If Vishinsky has Chance,” the man said, “and I don’t know who else could be behind this, then he’s probably dead already. If not, he will be very soon. Which leaves only one question.”
“What did Chance do with the sample? He hadn’t had a chance to get it to me safely, what with this business with the kids and the fact he was probably being watched by Vishinsky’s people. So he must have hidden it.”
“And we need to find it. Before Vishinsky does. Things don’t look good, Andrew, I have to admit that. But there is the possibility that Chance is still alive and will hold out. There is also the possibility that his children know where the sample is hidden. If not they may draw out Vishinsky’s people, make them overplay their hand and reveal themselves. Either way it’s worth keeping them in play. They may even be able to help us get their father back.”
Phillips was not convinced. “Like you said, Chance’s probably dead. But if he isn’t…” His voice trailed off.
“Yes?” Ardman prompted.
“If he isn’t,” Phillips said, “and he finds out we’ve deliberately put his children in danger, then I for one won’t be worrying about Vishinsky any more. Will you?”
There was a pause at the other end of the phone as Ardman considered this. “Probably not,” he agreed at last. “In that scenario, I expect we’re all dead.”
John Chance opened his eyes, but he already knew he would see nothing – he could feel the hood over his head. From the low humming sound and the slight feeling of motion, John Chance could tell he was on a plane – a small plane, probably a private jet. He could guess who it belonged to. He shifted position very slightly, just enough to establish that his wrists and ankles were tied. Just enough to be sure there were no easy means of escape.
No, he’d have to sit this out. For the moment. Vishinsky would want to know where the sample of fluid was hidden. Chance knew that as long as he didn’t reveal its whereabouts, he had a chance of staying alive. The irony was, he thought, that he didn’t actually know where the sample was.
He closed his eyes, not that it made much difference, and prepared for a long and boring journey. Best to conserve his strength for any chance, however slight, of escape. He wasn’t bitter. He didn’t blame anyone for his current predicament – it was an occupational hazard. But he was annoyed that he hadn’t managed to pack Rich and Jade off to school. He was irritated and concerned that they had seen what happened at the scrapyard. And he was determined that whatever fate awaited him, nothing would harm his children…
7
When the hood came off, John Chance was left blinking in the sudden light. The first thing he saw was the curved ceiling of the plane. He was in a large comfortable seat. There was no row in front, just an open space until the bulkhead a long way in front – comfort and style, Chance thought. Except, of course, that he was tied up.
“Boris Yeltsin himself sat in that seat,” a voice said. It was rich and deep, speaking English with a heavy Russian accent. “Several times.”
“Fancy that.” Chance’s reply was barely more than a croak. “Doesn’t seem like there’s enough room.”
“Our guest is thirsty,” the voice said. “Probably tired as well. Travelling is such hard work.”
The man with the rich voice appeared in front of Chance. He was a tall man, slightly stooped, with hair that was so grey it was almost white. He was dressed immaculately in an expensive, handmade grey suit.
“Viktor Vishinsky,” the tall grey-haired man said. “I’m delighted you could join me.”
“How could I refuse?” His voice was stronger now. He held out his hands – tied together at the wrist. His ankles were tied as well, and he could feel the cords biting into his flesh. Straps held him tight in the chair. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake your hand, but…” He let the words hang.
“But you are rather tied up at the moment,” Vishinsky said. Teeth appeared in his thin face, but there was no other indication that he was amused. His eyes remained cruel and grey.
“…I never shake hands with insects like you,” Chance went on as if the man had not spoken.
There was a moment’s pause. Then what there was of the smile vanished. At the same time, a fist slammed into Chance’s stomach. He wanted to double up with the pain, but could not move because of the straps holding him to the chair. A large man in a white steward’s uniform smiled at Chance’s pain and flexed his hand.
“Please, please,” Vishinsky admonished. He sounded reasonable and calm and friendly. But Chance knew the man would kill him without hesitation when it suited him.
Vishinsky was speaking again. “I know who you are, Mr Lessiter,�
� he said. Chance smiled at the use of his alias. The smile faded as Vishinsky went on: “Or should I say, Mr Chance.”
“You brought me all this way to check my CV, did you?” Chance said.
“No. But I must apologise,” Vishinsky was saying, “for not realising sooner that I had such a talented gentleman on my staff. I shall have to make sure that KOS checks up on the so-called experts it employs rather more diligently in future.”
“Always best to take up references,” Chance said quietly.
Vishinsky ignored him. “But in the mean time, what are we to do with you?” he wondered, leaning forward to stare into Chance’s face. “Kill you?”
“Your people could have done that in London,” Chance pointed out. “You didn’t need to put me on a plane first.”
“And where do you think we might be going?” Vishinsky asked. He didn’t wait for Chance’s answer, but walked slowly over to a table fixed to the floor on the other side of the wide cabin. He helped himself to a drink from a decanter – colourless liquid that Chance guessed was vodka.
“I imagine we’re heading for Krejikistan,” Chance said. “Either to the headquarters of Krejikistan Oil Subsidiaries or to your own humble abode.”
“Oh, I have several humble abodes.” Vishinsky sipped at the vodka. “Do go on, this is most illuminating.”
“Very well. I imagine you’ve gone to all the trouble of kidnapping me because you want something from me. Something more than amusing conversation.”
“You know what I want,” Vishinsky said.
“Do I?”
“Oh, I think you do,” Vishinsky seemed amused rather than angry. “And I expect you’re wondering what it is and why we need it. That small sample of fluid you took from my London installation.”
Chance could not help but smile. “I expect you want it because we blew the rest of it up, so that sample – assuming I even took a sample – would be all that’s left.”
“We know you took a sample,” Stabb said. “We have the CCTV footage. We saw you at the canister.”
“You think,” Chance said. “But whether I took a sample or not, why don’t you just make more of the stuff?”
