by Jack Higgins
“Saying what?” Jade wondered.
“Vandals – they broke in, trashed the place and tried to set fire to it. Lucky the local cops turned up and sorted them out before they could do any more damage, eh?”
“Yeah. Lucky.”
“Tell me about the gunman,” Chance said.
“Well, he’s British and he’s not talking. Don’t know much more than that. Running his fingerprints, DNA and face through the systems. If he’s sneezed in the wrong place, we’ll get a match. We’ll soon know who he is.”
“But that won’t tell us where they took Rich,” Jade said. The whole thing seemed pointless. “Can’t you make him tell us?”
“There are rules,” her father said.
“There are indeed,” Ardman agreed. “But I think this may be one of those occasions where we are justified in bending them.”
“You’re not going to torture him?” Jade said, horrified.
“Of course not. What do you think, John?”
Dad was looking grim. “This is a job for the Professor.”
Jade had dozed off in the armchair. She woke to the sound of voices. Goddard was gone and a new man had arrived. He was dressed in a dark suit and had a neatly-trimmed black beard that made him look slightly satanic. He smiled at Jade and she shivered.
“This is the Professor,” said Dad.
“Pleased to meet you,” the Professor said to Jade. “With a bit of luck I’ll be able to find out where your brother is for you.”
“Are you an interrogator?” He looked the type. Jade could imagine him brandishing electrodes and she shivered again.
“In my spare time I help out Mr Ardman and his colleagues. But actually, I am a stage magician. I do mind-reading.”
“Mind reading? You have got to be kidding.” Jade turned to her dad. “Tell me he’s kidding!”
“No, really,” Dad said. “He’s very good.”
“Oh, you flatter me, Mr Chance,” the Professor said. “Now, where’s Goddard with that file?”
The painting opposite Ardman’s desk was not a painting at all. The Turner sunset faded to black and Jade realised that it was a thin screen. It showed a view from a camera high up in the cell where the gunman had been locked up. Jade recognised him as the man she had tripped. She was pleased to see he had stitches in his chin and his face was bruised.
Goddard reappeared and handed a thin folder to Ardman, who leafed through it quickly.
“He’s still not said a word. Not even asked for a lawyer. He’s a tough one. I wish you luck,” Goddard added to the Professor.
“You need this?” Ardman asked, holding up the file.
The Professor shook his head. “Just give me the bare details.”
It was Goddard who answered. “His name is Duncan Hayman. Ex paratrooper gone bad. Now a mercenary. Been in and out of various African countries who’d have been better off without him, and done quite a lot in Eastern Europe. Nasty piece of work. For what it’s worth, he thinks he’s clean. His fingerprints aren’t on record, he somehow got rid of his army files, and his mugshot didn’t get a match on any of the usual databases.”
“So how did you find him?” Jade’s dad asked.
“DNA. Bit of luck actually. He got flu while he was in the army. They sent a blood sample to identify the strain. Could have been anyone’s, but it was Hayman’s. From that we got his medical records and they cross-reference with his missing army files. We managed to build up some background from that. Not a lot, but it’ll have to do, I’m afraid. Rest of it is long gone.”
The Professor was pacing up and down in front of Ardman’s desk. He paused and regarded the man on the screen. “So, as far as he is aware we know nothing about him – who he is, where he came from… Nothing. Is that right?”
“Right.”
The Professor nodded and turned to Ardman. “Give me two pieces of information about him. Nothing to do with the army or his criminal activities. The two most obscure things you have that you are one hundred per cent sure of.”
“You think you can break him?” Chance asked.
“I doubt it,” the Professor said. “But with a bit of luck and a bit of planning, I think I can persuade him to break himself.”
“But he’s not just going to tell us where they’ve taken Rich and the Banker,” Jade said.
“Oh, yes, he is,” the Professor said. “Now, Mr Ardman, what have you got for me?”
They watched on the screen as the cell door opened and the Professor walked in. The door closed behind him, leaving the Professor together with the gunman – Duncan Hayman – in the cell. An armed guard stood just inside the door watching them warily.
The Professor’s voice came through loud and clear from speakers behind the screen. “I need some information from you.”
The gunman looked up, but did not answer.
“That’s fine. You don’t need to say anything. I shall get what I want anyway.”
The gunman looked away. “You’ll get nothing,” he said. “Do what you like. I’m saying nothing at all.” He turned back and met the Professor’s eyes. “I’ve withstood more than you can imagine in the most godforsaken places on this earth. Man in a natty suit won’t get zilch out of me.”
“If you say so. Now,” the Professor clapped his hands together. “I just need to ask you two control questions first. Then we’ll cut to the chase. That all right with you?”
“You do what you like. I ain’t speaking.”
“I know. You said.”
Jade turned to her dad. “What’s he doing?”
“We’ll see soon enough.”
On the screen the Professor was leaning forward and staring into the gunman’s eyes.
“You won’t hypnotise me, if that’s what you’re trying,” the gunman said. But he sounded wary.
“That’s fine. Just fine. No, not hypnosis. That’s rather old fashioned in my profession now.”
“And what’s your profession?”
“I do a stage act. I read people’s minds.”
The gunman guffawed. “Oh, my God, they’re desperate, aren’t they?”
“Are they? You think so? You might have seen my act or maybe one like it. It’s not really mind-reading, of course. It’s a combination of things. Psychology, planting seeds in people’s minds and knowing how to read people’s reactions. For example, if I ask you a question, you’ll think of the answer. And everything you do, even if you try to suppress it, will scream that answer at me. If I know how to read your reactions, I know the answer.”
The gunman stared at the Professor. “You’re joking. You’re mad. No one can do that.”
“I really don’t care what you think. Now, as I said. Two control questions first.”
“I ain’t telling you nothing.” He folded his arms. “And you’re not guessing it by some fancy trickery either. You want to know where the helicopters went? You won’t get that from me.”
“Actually,” the Professor said, sounding very reasonable, “I’d like to know your mother’s maiden name.”
The gunman stared back, open-mouthed.
“Thank you,” the Professor said. He pulled out a small notepad and jotted something on it. “And now, perhaps you can tell me—”
“Hold on!” the gunman shouted. He took a step towards the Professor, but the guard at the door raised a pistol and pointed it at the gunman. He backed off.
“And now,” the Professor continued as if nothing had happened, “perhaps you can tell me the name of your first schoolteacher.”
“You’re mad,” the gunman said. “You won’t get anything out of me.”
“Thank you. And now we move on…”
“That’s just rubbish!” the gunman yelled. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t know squat.”
The Professor sighed. He looked at the guard, then turned back to the gunman. “Don’t insult me,” he said, his tone suddenly severe. “Your mother’s name before she married was Jefferson and your first teacher was Miss Jo
nes.”
The gunman stared. “That’s impossible,” he said, but his voice was weak and nervous.
“Now, where did the helicopters go? Where have they taken the Banker?”
The gunman was shaking his head. “I won’t tell you. You can’t know, you won’t get it from me.”
“Thank you,” the Professor said. “That’s everything I need for now.” He turned to the guard. “Tell Mr Ardman I have it,” he said. The guard unlocked the cell door.
“So far, so good,” Ardman said, rubbing his hands together.
“Is that it? Does he know where Rich is?” Jade asked.
“Oh no, of course not,” Ardman said. “As you know, we provided the answers to the questions the Professor asked.
“So what was the point?”
“The point is,” Dad told her, “that Mr Hayman now believes we know where the Banker has been taken.”
“So how does that help?”
“Wait and see.”
The Professor was smiling as he returned. “I think that went rather well,” he said. “Let’s see how our friend reacts. Give him five minutes to stew on it.”
When the door opened, Duncan Hayman was ready and waiting.
“Grub’s up,” the guard announced. He was holding a tray with a plate covered by a metal lid and a polystyrene cup of steaming coffee.
The guard set the tray down on the floor close to where Hayman was sitting on the bed. As he stooped, Hayman saw that the guard’s holster, strapped to his waist, was unbuttoned – the pistol poking out.
Hayman leaped up and grabbed the gun. The guard turned quickly, but not quickly enough. Hayman backed away, towards the door.
“You stay right there, unless you want your head blown off.” He quickly glanced along the corridor, and seeing it was clear, stepped out of the cell. The key was still in the lock and he swung the heavy door shut.
“Enjoy your coffee,” he said as he turned the key. He could hear the guard shouting and banging on the door, but it was muffled. No one would hear unless they were very close. Even so, he knew he didn’t have much time.
The corridor was a contrast to the bare concrete cell. It was carpeted and wallpapered. Pictures were hung at intervals, with wall lights over each. The back of the cell door, Hayman saw, was panelled wood that matched the other doors off the corridor.
The first door he tried was locked. He moved on quickly to the next – that was locked too. But the third door opened to reveal a plush office. Hayman immediately saw the phone on the desk. There was a nameplate too – ‘Geoffrey Calthorpe’. He lifted the receiver and was surprised to hear a dial tone. But dialling the number just gave a protesting bleep. He tried 0 and a female voice answered immediately.
“This is Calthorpe, can you get me an outside line, please?” Hayman said.
“Of course, Mr Calthorpe. If you hang up, then prefix the number with 9 I’ll authorise that for you now.”
“Thank you.”
The phone was answered at once – another switchboard. “Extension 222,” Hayman said.
“Putting you through.”
The phone rang for a while before anyone picked up. But Hayman recognised the voice that answered.
“This is Hayman.”
“Where are you? Bannock told me that—”
“I may not have much time. Ardman’s people had me, but I managed to get away.”
The voice was angry now. “And you called me? Here? You fool!”
“No wait – I had to warn you. They know.”
“Know what?”
“They know about the Banker, they must know about you. And they know about Calder.”
There was a pause. Then the phone clicked and the dial tone returned. Hayman could feel a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Like a sixth sense. As if someone was watching him. He turned slowly – to find the man who had questioned him standing in the doorway watching. There was another man with him – broad-shouldered with short, blond hair.
Hayman felt suddenly cold. “You – you didn’t know about Calder at all, did you?”
The man with the neat beard smiled. “No,” he admitted. “But we do now. I said you’d tell me what I wanted to know.”
Hayman brought up the gun he had taken from the guard. “Move aside.”
“I don’t think so,” the broad-shouldered man said.
“I warned you.” Hayman snarled and pulled the trigger. There was a dull click from the gun. “It was all a set-up,” he realised.
With a cry of rage, Hayman launched himself at the two men, raising the gun like a club. But the broad-shouldered man caught his arm easily. He twisted it up behind Hayman’s back, ran him across the room and slammed him into the wall.
Hayman slumped to the floor, his vision blurring.
He heard the man who had questioned him, as if the sound was filtered through water. “Thank you, Mr Chance.”
Then everything went black.
On the screen, Jade and Ardman saw the gunman slump unconscious to the floor.
“Why didn’t he fire?” Jade asked.
“The guard removed the bullets before he let our friend escape. It seemed a wise precaution. Can’t have nasty people running round the place with loaded guns, you know.”
“Suppose not. So, now we know – Rich and the Banker are at Calder.” For the first time in ages Jade was feeling elated. “So, let’s go get them.”
“Well…” Ardman coughed. “There is one slight problem there.”
“What?” Jade demanded.
“I have no idea where or what Calder is.”
“It’s a…” Jade hesitated. “I suppose it could be a place, or a house, or a company.”
“Or a person or a small country for all I know. But don’t worry – we’ll find out.”
The door opened and the Professor stepped into the room, followed by Chance.
“Well done,” Ardman told them. “Yes, very well done indeed. Thank you, Professor.”
“My pleasure.”
“But he didn’t really do anything,” Jade said. “I mean, there was no mind reading or anything. It was just a trick. Anyone could have done it.”
The Professor laughed. “Oh, please – don’t tell them that or I shall be out of a job.” He turned to Ardman. “The man was telling the truth on the phone. It isn’t a bluff.” He turned to go, then paused and said to Jade, “It isn’t all trickery, you know. You’ve spent a long time in the United States. You recently lost someone very dear to you and you’re worried you might lose someone else. Your star sign is Gemini and you’re not sure whether to cut your hair differently.”
“Yeah, all right,” Jade said, smiling.
“You once had a hamster… No – a guinea pig wasn’t it? Called Sam. And the first boy who kissed you was—”
“I said all right!” Jade told him. “Point taken. You’re very clever. They should pay you more.”
The Professor nodded and smiled. “And you’re very astute. Nice to meet you, Jade.”
As soon as he was gone, Jade glared at her dad. “You told him,” she accused.
“Not me. How would I know that stuff anyway?”
“Hmm.”
Dad frowned. “And you’ve kissed a boy?”
“Hey, back off. My dad wasn’t around to set a good example, remember?”
Goddard entered and interrupted. “We’re running a check on Calder, whatever it is. The number Hayman called was a reroute. Went through about four reroutes before it connected, all with different telecoms suppliers and one at least outside this country. Very high tech. Very clever. It’ll take us a while, but we should get the number.”
“Excellent,” Ardman said. “And how is poor Jenkins?”
“Back on duty now. Says he enjoyed his coffee. There is one small problem though,” Goddard went on.
“Oh?”
“Sir Lionel Ffinch’s office just called. He wants to know why the police at the school think we have one of the gunmen in custo
dy and didn’t tell him. He’s on his way over now. And apparently, he’s not happy.”
16
Sir Lionel Ffinch was a tall, lean man with thinning grey hair and hooked nose. Jade took an instant dislike to him as she listened to the man telling Ardman off like a child for not keeping him informed.
“And so I have to find out what is happening inside my own department from some bobby on the beat!”
Ardman seemed used to Sir Lionel’s manner and kept his face blank and unresponsive. “I didn’t see any need to inform the minister who oversees my department,” he said with no hint of irritation. “Not until we actually had some useful information from the man.”
Sir Lionel grunted. His aide cleared his throat. “And have you? Any useful information, I mean?”
“Oh good question, Quilch,” Sir Lionel said. “Very good question there.”
Jade didn’t much like Quilch either – he was a smaller, dapper man about the same age as Sir Lionel with slicked back grey hair.
“No,” Ardman replied. “Nothing I would yet describe as useful, to be honest.”
“Complete waste of time then,” Sir Lionel said.
“Which is why I didn’t bother you with it, Sir Lionel.”
Sir Lionel made a noise in his throat which could have been agreement or might have been censure. Turning from the desk, he seemed to catch sight of Jade and her father for the first time.
“And who is this charming young lady?” he asked.
“Get lost,” Jade so nearly said. But she caught Dad’s warning look and said nothing.
“It’s my daughter, Sir Lionel. Jade Chance.”
“Really? Why isn’t she in school?”
This time Jade did answer. She smiled as sweetly as she could manage. “Well, you see, sir, some nasty people came and blew up my school.”
Sir Lionel frowned. “That’s all right then. So long as there’s a reason. Thought you might be having one of those dreadful bring-your-children-to-the-office days.”
“We have those,” Quilch said. “The PM is very keen.”
“Right then,” Sir Lionel said to Ardman. “Seems we’ve had a wasted journey.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Ardman levelly.
