“If we don’t find Becky Sinclair while she’s still alive,” Forsyth said, unperturbed by Hunter’s melodramatic performance, “Sinclair will probably go on a spree and kill everyone he doesn’t like. And you’re top of the list.”
“Talk to them, Stuart,” Samantha Hunter said. “It may help us.”
Samantha continued to console her husband by stroking his shoulder. His shivering eventually stopped and he dried his eyes with the backs of his hands, but still looked tense.
“Sinclair’s an insane megalomaniac. He cheated me and other people I know out of vast sums of money. He has people killed. He wants me dead.”
“How do you know he has people killed?”
“How did you find me?”
“My partner is good at doing things like that. She uncovered your wife’s fake identity as the widow Samantha Knight.”
“But there’s no link between the Knights and the Hunters. Not on any database.”
“She’s very resourceful. We’ve found you, and Sinclair’s still looking for you, so I think you should show us a bit more respect.”
Madeleine returned with a tray of finger snacks and pastries. She placed it on the coffee table without saying a word. Passed around four small plates and napkins and then walked back to the kitchen with an accentuated sway of the hips. She left the gun lying where it was, up against the skirting board.
Hunter was nervously tapping the floor with his foot. His face was flushed. He was shaking and looked like he needed something stronger than a mug of black coffee.
“I haven’t got the will or the energy to change identities again. Sinclair has a contract out on me. He’ll have one out on you by now. Just because you work for him.”
“Look, pull yourself together, man,” Archer said. “He doesn’t know where you are. He won’t get anything from us. We’re only interested in finding Becky, and then getting enough evidence to put Sinclair away.”
“He killed Jane and her husband and Christina before her. He won’t care about Becky – he’s probably behind it all anyway. It’s probably just another one of his smoke and mirror tactics to get rid of her. Then he’ll find another one, a similar but younger model obviously and then carry on regardless. It’s the way he’s operated for years.”
“What makes you so certain he killed them?”
“I know because I know who did it.”
“Who?”
“Nick Carnell.”
“Who’s he?”
“Who was he, you mean.”
“All right, who was he then?”
“He used to work for me.”
“What happened?”
“Sinclair had him killed because he knew too much. He became a liability. The problem was Carnell told me everything before he was killed and Sinclair knows he told me. That’s why Sinclair put a contract out on me.”
This backed up what Sarah and Cavendish had said. If it was true then Becky would be bumped off if she survived. The contract hits might even stretch to annoying investigators.
“Who’s after you, his bodyguards?”
“No. They’re just stupid overpaid grunts that look after him. He’s so paranoid about being killed that he protects himself with a number of highly trained, highly paid goons. But his dirty work is done by teams of hired professionals. Again, all highly paid. You get the picture, I’m sure. He has friends who own private armies.”
“So if he trusted Carnell to do his dirtiest work, why would he then turn on him and kill him? What else did he know that was so important?”
“Good question.”
“I’m listening.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Hunter was regaining his composure. Samantha gave him a small pill, which he took without question. The tension rapidly evaporated from his face and the stiffness was instantly removed from his body. Gone was the hysterical anger, as he continued to drone in an upper-class monotone, far more subdued.
“Carnell worked for me. I had absolutely no idea that he was moonlighting for Sinclair until it was too late to stop him. If he’d told anyone what he had done for Sinclair it would have put them both away for life. Sinclair didn’t trust him, but I never found out why.”
“What was Carnell’s official role in your company?”
“Weapons and tactics expert. Faultless at planning and cautious about the execution. He did excellent work for the government and for several private companies. He was a highly sought-after individual.”
“You must have used him as well though. He did work for you after all?”
“Obviously. Clients paid well for his work.”
“What happened to your company?”
“Sinclair’s associates damaged the company by blackmailing some of my employees to spy for him. Industrial espionage is rampant these days, as I’m sure you’re both aware. They then devalued it with leaks and lies, creating highly compromising misinformation. His American allies bought the company and cheated me out of tens of millions of pounds. I was forced to sell it in order to pay short-term debts that were being pulled by the banks. My clients were walking away in droves. I was lucky to have personal savings, otherwise we would have been left destitute.”
“Do you still have a grudge against him?” Archer asked.
“Yes of course. He ruined me and now he’s taken my liberty by forcing me to hide. But he’s a powerful man and I have no plans for revenge. I’m simply trying to enjoy my retirement without getting myself killed. We enjoy the arts. We go to the theatre, concerts, museums, galleries and the like. Elegant and cultured behaviour. While his associates get away with murder and daylight robbery.”
“Have you got anything at all to do with Becky’s abduction?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“You have motive.”
“I’m hiding from him, not going after him. We’re in a terrible predicament.”
“Seems like you still have a high-quality lifestyle to me, Hunter.” Archer already disliked the man as much as he disliked Sinclair. As far as he was concerned they were from the same mould, but Sinclair had got the upper hand in their pathetic relationship.
“Quality compared to your life maybe. So what. It’s still only a flat, even if it is superior to your crummy little bedsit in Acton or wherever the hell you’re from. But he forced us to change our names, have cosmetic surgery and fear people like you knocking on the door. If you tell him where we are he’ll send a contractor straight over here to kill us. You don’t stand a chance against him.”
“You were a shit judge of character with Carnell, and you’re an even worse lifestyle critic. I’d rather hear about Sinclair, if you don’t mind,” Archer snapped.
“Watch it, Archer. I’ve got a room full of loaded guns downstairs. Anyway, if he comes for me I’ll take him down with me. Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because you don’t want a shootout with him and we know where you live.”
Forsyth casually walked across the room, picked up the gun, sat down, checked it was loaded, clicked off the safety catch and aimed it at Hunter’s head.
“Don’t threaten me, woman,” Hunter said, visibly shaken.
“I’m not. You’ve forgotten your lines and I’m the prompt.”
“Oh help them, Stuart, for Christ’s sake!” Samantha screeched. “You got us into this goddamned mess and the minute someone wants to help get you out of it you throw one of your pathetic little hissy fits, pretending to have morals. You were happy enough to change your identity in some ways. Now you tell everyone you went to Eton whereas you really went to a grammar school in Swindon.”
Hunter looked as if he’d have gladly shot her if Forsyth hadn’t held the gun, but he was beaten. He’d reinvented himself once already. Now it was obvious that he had no energy to do it again. The thought of Sinclair coming for him was more than enough leverage.
“Very well, Archer. I’ll tell you, then you leave us alone afterwards.”
“Start talking Hunter. She’s trig
ger happy.”
“Sinclair helped his American associates take over several security companies and merged them into existing defence contractors. They employ all sorts of people including lobbyists, surveillance experts, spies and assassins. He’s a very dangerous man. Way above your league. You’ll just get sucked in by his fake charms and then one day you’ll get a bullet in the back of the head for thanks.”
“I didn’t ask you to read my tea leaves. What sort of companies did they buy?”
“Oakland Security to look legitimate, but behind the façade he was covering up this terrible place he’d built. I don’t know exactly where it is, not many people do, but it’s an underground facility where they torture and kill people – you know, like insurgents or terrorist suspects or anyone they want and then dump their bodies out at sea. It enables MI6 and the CIA to have deniable access to a privately operated Guantanamo-style facility on UK soil.”
Archer was stunned by this candid revelation. A shock of electricity jolted through his body, causing him to stiffen awkwardly. The rumours and suspicions were true. There was a facility called the Boathouse. And Sinclair was definitely connected to it.
“We can put Sinclair away. But we’re going to need help putting together the evidence. More specifically, we’ll need your help, Hunter.”
“You mean you want me to testify against him as a witness?”
“No. That would be the very last resort. We need to get enough evidence together, then we can spare you the inconvenience of ever leaving your silver spoon existence.”
“You want us to risk our lives, even more than now?”
“We can put Sinclair away for life. Why wouldn’t you want to help us do that?”
“Why should we risk our lives?”
“You know very well why. He has to be stopped, put away. Until then you’re risking your lives every second of every day. Talk it over with your wife. We’ll sit here and admire your opulent emptiness while you do.”
The Hunters looked at each other then got up and huddled together at the window overlooking the O2 Arena. For a minute they were engrossed in intense discussion.
“All right, Archer. Guarantee our anonymity and we’ll help you, but remember, Sinclair has people everywhere. Eyes and ears in all sorts of places. People in his pocket in the corridors of power in London and Washington, D.C. I just can’t see how you could pull it off. Sinclair and his partners are too powerful. He’s untouchable.”
“There must be records of what goes on in these secret facilities.”
“The records used to be kept on an encrypted laptop.”
“I want you to write everything down. Use this Hotmail account and password.” Archer started to write on the back of a business card. “Save it as a draft.”
Hunter nodded.
Archer walked up to him.
“Okay. Here’s my card. I want it all, every detail. Names, dates, numbers. You got that?” Hunter nodded silently and looked at his wife for approval.
“Well done, dear. Perhaps we can use our real names again one day.”
Archer was disturbed. Hunter was the kind of man already planning his own way out. He didn’t trust him and decided it was time to leave and find a fresh lead on Becky. At least he wasn’t wasting his time investigating Sinclair. Hunter had confirmed that Sinclair was linked to a facility like the Boathouse. It had to be the same one. So once he found Becky he could spend more time investigating Sinclair.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Archer and Forsyth crossed the road to a modern-looking Italian café full of polished chrome and black leather. They sat on high stools at the window bar looking out at Hunter’s apartment building with the main entrance in good view. They ordered a black coffee and a cappuccino, which came in extra-large cups and saucers with small amaretti biscuits.
“We can take Sinclair down with enough evidence from Hunter,” Forsyth said.
Archer simply wanted to take him down with a gun. He still had Sinclair’s Magnum Desert Eagle in his pocket. He could make it look like suicide. His heart rate increased.
“Hunter won’t risk his life to get back at Sinclair. There’s something not right about him. I don’t know what it is exactly, but he’s too shifty. He’s just as bad as Sinclair.”
“I know what you mean. He creeps me out too – like Sinclair, only less successful. I don’t trust him either, so where’s that leave Becky?”
She sipped her cappuccino with both hands around the cup.
“We need Hunter’s evidence, but he can’t help us find Becky. I guess we need to move on and find her before Saturday night.”
“Carnell worked for Hunter and look what he did for a living.”
“Exactly, but I can’t see his wife being involved in anything like that though.”
“No, she never had anything to do with his business when I investigated them.”
“Do you still think he’s involved in the kidnapping?”
“No, but he definitely acted odd.”
“We have to find Becky now. We can’t be everywhere at once. Perhaps it’s time to split up and see if one of us can find another lead. You could go help Zoe.”
“Sean, look. That’s Hunter leaving the building. What’s he up to?”
Hunter wore a cream overcoat and hat. He had the collar up, the trilby pulled down and he wore large dark glasses. He looked conspicuous by his obvious attempt to disguise himself.
“Better tail him. Come on, let’s go.” Archer left enough cash for the coffee plus tip and they let Hunter get a head start. They followed him in the autumn sunshine to Canary Wharf where he stopped off at a trendy-looking but completely empty bar for a stiff gin and tonic. He took a long swig and then made a phone call using the phone behind the bar. The barman walked away to give his only customer some privacy.
Forsyth took a small radio from her bag and extended the aerial.
“Hardly a good time to catch up on the cricket scores down under.”
“Watch this then, matey.” She placed a small earpiece in her left ear and offered Archer the second. He accepted the bud and placed it in his ear. She then pointed the aerial through the window towards Hunter and started to tune in the device.
“You should never talk in public, especially in pubs, as there are nosy people like me around who can listen in.” Archer smiled to himself. He had the newer model, but kept quiet.
They huddled together to listen, their faces almost touching. They could only hear Hunter’s side of the conversation, but it was enough to get the gist of what he was up to. He was after a team of mercenaries to protect him. He asked for four men immediately and argued that tomorrow was too late. They were left unsure as to exactly what was agreed, but knew that two men would show up in the park near his apartment at six p.m. Hunter drank his gin dry and ordered another.
They left Hunter alone in the bar to wallow in his tall glass of Bombay Sapphire and walked back towards the car in the sunshine.
“I’ll go back to the penthouse for a while. See if I can find something new to help us out from that angle.”
“Are you going to tell Sinclair about Hunter?”
“No way. We need to stay one step ahead of him. We need Hunter to tell us all he knows, and then we can take Sinclair down. He’s used to playing people, but he’s not in control of the situation. I need to make the most of that leverage.”
“I’ll drive past the flat in Marylebone and check it out on the way to your office.”
Forsyth’s car still had the top down as they headed back to Sinclair’s penthouse in Mayfair. She drove fast, accelerating and breaking hard with the radio on, singing along to Coldplay. She was badly out of tune, but seemed to be enjoying herself.
She dropped Archer off outside the rear entrance of Sinclair’s building and waved at him as she took a hands-free phone call.
Archer entered the lobby and texted Zoe:
We must have missed something. Dig deeper into Becky’s sister Louise Palmer and the dri
ver Steve Jones as the prime insider suspects and then the bodyguards Haywood, Adams, Best and Clarke.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The penthouse door did not open automatically and Archer pressed the small silver button next to it. After a two-minute wait the door opened and an expressionless Clarke waited at the console desk to close it behind him. Clarke measured Archer up and down like a warrior.
“Everyone’s out. I’m manning the phone.”
“Where’s Sinclair?”
“He had to go back to the office.”
“What about the others?”
“They had to go out as well.”
Archer thought this was strange. The kidnapping was the priority. Wasn’t it?
“I thought you were Sinclair’s most trusted bodyguard?”
“I am. That’s why he trusts me enough to man the phone alone.”
Clarke walked back to the phone and sat quietly. Archer walked around the living room in silence, waiting to see if Clarke offered any additional information about Sinclair or his men. He didn’t. He just sat vacantly by the phone like a robot on standby.
After several minutes Archer walked up to the desk and looked him straight in the eye.
“Where did they go?”
“Docklands,” Clarke said matter-of-factly, looking bored.
“Why?”
“We have a lead on Stuart Hunter.”
“What? Where is he?” Archer tried to hide his surprise.
“He made a call to someone he shouldn’t have trusted. He thought he was being clever, but dialling 1-4-7-1 was all it took to find out that he was calling from a bar in Docklands. We’ve been waiting for him to make that call for some time. Something must have prompted it – probably because he’s behind the kidnapping,” Clarke sneered and made a fist as if he’d won some game.
“Which bar?”
“This one.” He picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Archer. He read it and handed it back. “They’re showing people his photo down there right now. They should find out where he’s hiding in no time. He must be close by.”
The Boathouse Page 14
