The Shadow Project bh-5

by Scott Mariani

  ‘No reaction?’ Jeff asked, watching him closely.

  ‘Not my business,’ Ben said.

  ‘Come on. There’s always been something between you two. All those nights sitting together in the kitchen, drinking wine, listening to music. Going for walks. Don’t act like you don’t care.’

  ‘There’s never been anything going on between me and Brooke. Only in your head.’

  ‘I don’t know what she sees in that pumped-up twit, anyway. You’re more her type.’

  Ben ignored that. ‘He is what he is, but he’s paying a lot of money for this course.’

  ‘I get it. You want me to be nice to the bastard.’

  ‘Too much to ask?’

  Jeff kept his eyes on Shannon as he chewed it over. ‘It just might be, yeah.’

  ‘Remember what we agreed, Jeff,’ Ben said. ‘At Le Val we always respect our clients, no matter what. OK?’ But he didn’t like the lecturing way it came out.

  ‘Even the arseholes.’

  ‘Especially the arseholes.’ Ben walked over to the door, opened it and stepped out just as Shannon reached the building. Jeff followed him outside, muttering something that Ben didn’t catch.

  Shannon’s grin broadened as he greeted them. He was a big guy. At six-three he was four inches taller than Ben, probably fifty pounds heavier, about five years younger. He raised his hand to his face and whipped off the shades.

  ‘Ciao, Jeff, ciao, Benjamin,’ he brayed at them. ‘How’s it going, boys?’

  ‘It’s Benedict, not Benjamin. And you can call me Ben.’ Not a great start, he thought.

  Shannon grunted with a dismissive gesture. ‘Whatever. Benedict, Benjamin, Ben, it’s all the same to me.’

  Ben could feel Jeff bristling beside him. He threw him a quick warning glance. Respect the client, no matter what.

  Brooke came up behind Shannon. ‘Hello, Ben,’ she said softly, and smiled.

  ‘Hi, Brooke.’ Ben patted her arm affectionately, like he always did. Shannon noticed it, and cleared his throat.

  ‘The rest of the guys should be arriving soon,’ he said.

  ‘Fine. The accommodation’s ready for you all.’ Ben pointed over at the trainees’ block, across the yard from the main farmhouse.

  ‘I won’t be kipping here,’ Shannon said. He put a big arm around Brooke’s shoulders and pulled her tightly against his side. ‘Us two are booked into the Cour du Château. This little lady deserves a bit more luxury than this old place has to offer.’

  ‘That’s miles away,’ Ben said.

  Shannon grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be here bright and early in the morning. Always punctual.’

  ‘Nice wheels, Rupert,’ Jeff said dryly, motioning towards the Porsche.

  Shannon’s eyes twinkled. ‘Oh yes. I’ve hit the fucking jackpot this time.’

  ‘So this would be the contract you were telling me about,’ Ben said.

  Shannon nodded. ‘You don’t know the half of it, Benjamin. Steiner Industries. Protecting the head honcho himself, Maximilian Steiner.’

  ‘Kidnap threat?’

  ‘One attempt so far,’ Shannon said. ‘Failed, but only just. What d’you expect? The guy’s a billionaire, for Christ’s sakes. Have I hit paydirt, or what? He’s paying one point two million for this gig. And there’s a shitload more to come. You should see the place we’re going.’

  ‘Congratulations, Rupert,’ Ben said. ‘Looks like this new business venture of yours is really taking off.’

  ‘You bet your arse it is. And this is just the beginning, pal. I’ve been looking at new offices. Docklands, right on the river, three floors. PA, receptionists, you name it, the works.’

  ‘Here’s my advice, though,’ Ben said. ‘I know you’re flush from getting this Steiner contract. That’s great. I’m pleased for you. But take it easy. Don’t go mad with it. This is a tough business, and you never know what’s round the corner.’

  Shannon reddened. ‘Listen to this guy. Are you for real, Hope?’

  ‘I just meant, be careful, that’s all. Don’t go spending it all at once, before you’ve even earned it.’

  Shannon laughed and slapped him on the arm. ‘You sound like my fucking nanny. You know what your problem is? You’re getting old and slow.’

  ‘Forty next birthday,’ Ben said. ‘Be dead soon.’

  ‘Fucking forty,’ Shannon guffawed. ‘Five years from now you’ll be just another flabby-arsed, ulcer-ridden businessman sitting behind a desk.’

  ‘You might be right,’ Ben said. Now he could sense indignation radiating from Jeff in waves. Couldn’t say he blamed him.

  Shannon grinned down at Brooke and squeezed her to his side. ‘Now why don’t we see about heading back to the hotel and grab some nosh?’

  ‘Any plans for tomorrow?’ Ben asked her.

  She shrugged. ‘Not really.’

  ‘We’ll be doing kidnap simulation exercises in the morning. How d’you feel about coming along and playing the principal?’

  ‘Sounds fun,’ she smiled. ‘Looking forward to it.’

  Chapter Three

  The Sheldon Hotel, Dublin

  The next morning, 10.15

  The audience broke into enthusiastic applause as the speaker brought his presentation to an end. Up on the low stage, Dr Adam O’Connor smiled from the podium, thanked them all for listening and started gathering up his notes. People rose from their seats and started filtering out towards the exit. Adam folded up his laptop, walked over to the projector and turned it off.

  He was pleased with himself. The last fifteen minutes of the talk had been a Q and A session and, judging by the level of interest, he was pretty sure he’d get back home to find some new orders coming in. ‘The smart house is the home of the future’ had been his closing line. It looked as though his audience felt that way too.

  As he wound up the cable from the laptop to the projector, Adam cast his mind back, thinking about the last eighteen months and how well things were going. His academic colleagues at City University NY had all thought he was crazy, giving up a plum academic position to go off and start up a new business from the ground up. Back to the old country, they’d joked. But Adam was serious about his Irish roots – virtually the first thing he’d done on hitting these shores was to change his surname from Connor and reinstate the missing ‘O’ that the English had forcibly removed from the names of his ancestors. Adam O’Connor. He liked the way it sounded. New name, new life.

  As for the business side, what he didn’t like to boast about to his former colleagues was that selling smart house technology installations was able to bring him in ten times his old academic salary, and rising fast every month. Not bad for a physics geek. He should have done this ages ago. Everything was better here – the air was cleaner, the countryside was lush and beautiful, the people were open and friendly. He felt he’d come home at last. The new environment in the Wicklow Hills was wonderful for his thirteen-year-old son, Rory, and the house itself was fantastic. Seven months of sweating over architect’s plans, but it had been worth it. Stunning lakeside view, a dozen large open-plan rooms, beautiful wood and acres of glass, incorporating many of his own patented designs. Teach na Loch was the Gaelic name he’d chosen. He could pronounce it pretty well now, getting his tongue round the guttural consonants. Tee-ach na Loch: the Lake House.

  For a fleeting moment he thought about Amy and wondered where she was now. Last seen heading off towards southern California on the pillion of a chopped Harley with her arms around some large, hairy guy in denim and leather. Never a thought for her kid, let alone her husband.

  That’s what you get for being a nerd, Adam thought to himself.

  The last time they’d spoken was over a year ago. Seemed like a different life now. And Rory seldom asked about his mom any more.

  The last of the delegates were filtering out of the entrance as Adam zipped up his bags, looked at his watch, picked up the copy of the Irish Times he’d bought that morning and thought about
heading for home.

  Just then, he heard a little cough behind him, and turned to see who was there. Stepping furtively out from behind one of the curtains that flanked the entrance was a figure he recognised. Someone he hadn’t heard from in quite a while.

  ‘Lenny,’ he said, surprised.

  ‘Hi, Adam,’ Lenny Salt muttered in a low voice. He walked up between the empty rows of seats, glancing nervously about him.

  So nothing had changed, then, Adam thought. Still the same old Lenny, always acting as though the Men in Black were just one step behind him. Physically, he hadn’t changed much either. A little more stooped, maybe. A little greyer and, as he came closer, it seemed to Adam as though his teeth were fewer and blacker.

  Adam put out his hand. The limp handshake was still the same, too.

  ‘What brings you here, Lenny?’ he said, smiling pleasantly, while wondering what the hell this was about. ‘Good presentation, man.’

  ‘You’re in the market for a smart house?’ Adam knew he wasn’t.

  Salt shook his head. ‘No, man. We need to talk.’

  Ten minutes later they were sitting over coffees in the hotel bar downstairs. Adam wanted to make this quick. Salt was a rambler, especially when he got started on his pet subjects – and if it was radical and wacky enough, he was up for it. UFOs one year, the fake moon landings the next. He’d hold you with his glittering eye, and, three hours later, you’d still be sitting there none the wiser and your smile beginning to freeze on your lips, wishing you were somewhere else or just had the courage to ask the silly old bastard to shut up.

  Today, Lenny Salt looked especially spooked. Maybe he was just getting crazier with age, Adam thought.

  ‘What did you want to talk about, Lenny? I don’t have a lot of time.’ He slipped a hand in his pocket and restlessly fingered the key to his Saab. ‘My sister’s coming to stay for a few days, I have a new housekeeper arriving after lunch, and Rory’s on his own. Need to get back.’ He reached for his cup.

  But Lenny Salt didn’t seem interested in Adam’s home life. He leaned forward.

  ‘Julia’s dead.’

  Adam’s cup abruptly stopped halfway to his mouth. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘Our Julia? Julia Goodman?’

  Salt nodded.

  ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘She fell off a mountain in Spain. They found the body last week. She’d been down there a while. Very nasty.’

  Adam put the cup down on its saucer with a rattle. Sank his head in his hands, his mind suddenly filled with images and memories. ‘This is awful. Poor Julia.’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident, man.’

  Adam looked up sharply.

  ‘Nah. It was just made to look like one. Nobody had heard from her in three months. She apparently just went off on her own. Doesn’t that sound a bit strange to you?’

  ‘She was into hiking in a big way.’

  Salt raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Come on, Lenny. This is nuts. Isn’t it awful enough that she’s dead, without making up crazy—’

  ‘I know what you think about me. But this isn’t crazy.’

  Adam felt a flush of anger in his cheeks. ‘Then tell me how you know there’s something strange about it. What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Because there’s more to it that I haven’t told you,’ Salt said. ‘If you’d let me finish.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Michio’s gone too.’

  ‘Michio often goes off places without warning,’ O’Connor said testily. ‘His research takes him to every desolate corner of the planet. He’s probably wandering about on a glacier somewhere as we speak, collecting ice samples.’

  Salt shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. He’s dead as well.’

  Adam stared at him.

  ‘Died of a scorpion sting out in Arizona. Forgot to pack his anti-venom, apparently. Oh, and his heart pills too. Very convenient.’

  Adam took a few seconds to digest all this, staring into his coffee. He couldn’t drink any more.

  ‘How come you know so much, Lenny? How come I haven’t heard anything?’

  ‘I’m not the one who cut himself away,’ Salt replied. ‘I didn’t turn my back on my friends, man. I stayed in touch with the rest of the Krew.’

  ‘Never mind the damn Kammler Krew. That was never a serious thing, and you know it.’

  ‘It was for Julia, Michio and me.’

  Adam didn’t want to get into old arguments. ‘How did you find out about Michio?’

  ‘His brother emailed me a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘And you didn’t call me about this? Two old friends die, and you don’t think to tell me about it?’

  ‘I didn’t have your number.’

  ‘I gave it to you.’

  Salt shrugged. ‘I didn’t write it down. I don’t like to use the phone. You never know who might be listening in.’ He leaned across the table with a conspiratorial look. ‘Listen to me, man. Something’s up. Something bad.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting that Julia’s and Michio’s deaths are connected?’

  ‘Of course that’s what I’m suggesting. It’s obvious. Someone murdered them, and now they’re coming after us. We’re all that’s left of the old Kammler Krew. Now it’s just you and me.’

  Chapter Four

  At that moment, deep within the acres of dense forest that surrounded the training facility at Le Val, Brooke was sitting reading a paperback in the specially adapted cottage that Ben Hope referred to as his killing house.

  It was the place where the bulk of the tactical raid and assault exercises were carried out, the many bullet holes and ragged splinters in the plywood walls silent witnesses to the amount of live-fire practice that went on there. The two-seater sofa Brooke was reclining on, deep in her novel, had looked better in the days before it had become riddled with 9mm rounds; one end was resting on bricks, and the stuffing was hanging out all over the place.

  Today, though, there was to be no live shooting. Brooke was playing the role of a VIP, albeit the kind of VIP that would be hanging out in a semi-derelict cottage wearing faded jeans and an old rugby top. Shannon’s guys – Neville, Woodcock, Morgan, Burton, Powell and Jackson – were stationed at strategic points inside and outside the building, assigned to protect their charge from Ben’s squad of ‘kidnappers’. The imminent raid was a test designed to expose any weaknesses in Shannon’s team and form the basis of the training sessions to come. They’d been waiting for what seemed like an eternity, and so far no sign.

  As team leader, Shannon had insisted on remaining closest to his principal. He was padding up and down the room in his black tactical clothes, glancing at her occasionally, trying not to look edgy, the empty 9mm Glock slapping on his thigh in its holster. The only sounds outside were the singing of the birds and the whisper of the breeze in the trees.

  ‘I don’t like this place,’ he muttered. ‘Too quiet.’

  Brooke flipped a page and went on reading.

  ‘You’ve always got your face in a book,’ he said irritably. ‘You read too much. I don’t know how anyone can read all the time.’

  ‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘You’re the bodyguard, remember? You’re supposed to be protecting me, not chatting to me.’

  He snorted and walked over to the window, stared out at the rustling greenery. ‘What’s keeping the bastard?’

  Brooke glanced up at him. ‘You mean the guy you came here to learn from?’

  He ignored her. ‘Come on, Hope,’ he murmured to himself.

  ‘He’ll come.’

  ‘He’ll never get to you, you know. No way he and his guys are going to get past my boys. There’s a reason why Steiner picked us, out of all the thousands of close protection outfits out there. It’s simple. We’re the best there is. Yeah.’ Shannon made a fist.

  ‘Nothing to do with your uncle the brigadier’s connections, then,’ Brooke said quietly, without looking up from her novel.r />
  But Shannon didn’t hear. He gazed out of the window for a while longer, breathing noisily.

  ‘Maybe we didn’t even need to come here. Maybe I’m wasting time and money here. I mean, we’re ready. We’re fucking ready. You can’t improve on perfection.’ He turned away from the window, grinning to himself.

  Then his grin froze.

  And so did he.

  ‘Morning, Rupert,’ Ben said. He was sitting on the sofa beside Brooke, a pistol dangling lazily in his hand. The worn cushions were sagging in the middle, pressing them together so that their thighs were touching.

  The door swung open, and Jeff Dekker walked in with Paul Bonnard and Raoul de la Vega, the two ex-military fitness trainers Ben employed as assistants. The shapes of Shannon’s men were visible through the doorway, face down on the bare floorboards, tape across their mouths, struggling against the plastic ties that bound their wrists and ankles. Trussed up like turkeys.

  Shannon stared for a long moment. Next to Ben on the sofa, Brooke was trying to suppress a smile.

  Ben stood up, slipping his pistol in its holster. ‘You need to pay more attention, Rupert. A gang of clog dancers could have come hopping and skipping in here, and you wouldn’t have noticed them. Maybe you should spend less time chatting to your principal, and more time focused on your job.’

  ‘You set me up,’ Shannon protested. ‘It was your idea to make her the principal.’

  ‘Good training,’ Ben said. ‘Teaches you to remain objective. That’s something we can work on a bit more over the next couple of days.’ He reached out a hand to Brooke and pulled her gently to her feet. ‘Break for coffee?’ he said to her.

  She smiled. ‘Love to.’

  ‘Like fuck we will.’ Shannon ripped his Glock from its holster and pointed it at Ben. ‘Stand down. This isn’t over. Give her back.’

  Ben wasn’t worried about having an empty pistol waved at him. But he was annoyed at the pointless gesture, and he didn’t like the way Shannon was shoving it in his face.

  ‘Drop it, Rupert. You’re out of the game. Your principal is taken. We’re having a break, and then we’re going to do this again, and keep doing it until your team’s providing effective protection. You do want to be worth that million, don’t you? You don’t want to be sent home from Switzerland in disgrace.’