by Tom Bale
'It was left there on purpose, wasn’t it? For us to find.’
Silence. Liam tapped the young man’s head with the gun. 'Wasn’t it?’
'I suppose so.’
Now that Oliver was responding, Liam casually moved the note,
holding it in such a way that Valentin would be able to read it. He
heard gasps as the other prisoners also digested the message.
You knew this was here,’ said Liam.
'I … I saw the envelope,’ Oliver admitted in a small voice. 'I didn’t
understand it, not until … all this happened.’
'Sure about that?’ Liam’s finger tightened on the trigger. Oliver
must have felt the tension, the desire within Liam to shoot, but he
looked untroubled by it. There was a dreamy expression on his face
as he whispered something that Liam didn’t catch.
'What?’
'Do it,’ said Oliver. 'I want you to do it.’
Joe read the unease in Liam’s movements, in his voice. The man was
on the brink of panic. If Joe misjudged now, he might very easily push
Liam over the edge. But neither could he sit there and let Oliver die
the way Travers had done.
You need to think carefully about this,’ Joe said.
'Don’t interfere,’ said Liam, 'or you’ll be next.’
But his trigger finger relaxed, just slightly. The barrel of the gun
drifted a couple of inches from Oliver’s head.
Checkmate.
Joe had seen the message, as had the others. He suspected Liam
had deliberately allowed Valentin to read it. The Ukrainian had given
no reaction, even when Liam’s questions had also revealed that Felton’s
safe was empty.
They told Valentin earlier, Joe thought. That’s why he was taken out
of the room: for a progress report.
You’ve been played,’ he said, but his words were lost as Turner
stomped over.
'Nothing from Gough,’ he told Liam. And I know he was alive
after we caught Joe, because I spoke to him.’
'Try him again. He may not have heard you.’
'I tried three times. I’ve sent Pendry to look for him.’ Turner noticed
the paper in Liam’s hand. 'What’s that?’
Liam showed him the letter and the envelope. Turner exploded.
'What the fuck is this about?’
Joe got in first. 'It’s Yuri. I thought maybe he’d got greedy, wiping
out some of your team so he could make off with a larger share. That’s
why I tried to warn you. But it’s worse than that.’
Liam started to rubbish him, but Turner, who looked like the sort
of man who trusted no one, said, 'Hold on. I wanna hear this.’
Joe nodded, then addressed Valentin. 'I think you should have the
guts to explain. After all, it’s you that got us all into this mess.’
Valentin recoiled at the accusation. 'Wh-what do you . . . ?’
'This is all about Robert Felton, isn’t it?’ said Joe. Your pathetic
feud. You wanted revenge, so you planned to rob him. And you
pretended to be a victim yourself so Felton wouldn’t suspect it was
you.’
Angela Weaver cried out, and there was an angry exclamation from
Terry Fox. Even Oliver lifted his head to stare at Valentin.
'This is more crazy talk,’ Valentin said, forcing sarcasm into his voice.
'Just a way for you to buy your freedom, like Travers tried to do.’
Joe shook his head. You’re the one who’s been lying through his
teeth. And you’re the one who bears responsibility for what these
people have done.’
'What did you mean about Yuri?’ Liam demanded.
Joe paused for a moment, making sure he had their full attention.
'He’s double-crossed you.’
Forty-Four
The clock moved inexorably towards 11 p.m. while Cassie tried without
success to sleep. The room was uncomfortably hot, but because they
were on the ground floor she didn’t dare open the main window.
Instead she’d opened a small trap window, but the air in the room
hardly stirred. The night was warm and still, and they were too far
inland to benefit from the cooling sea breezes that made sleeping at
Terror’s Reach so pleasurable.
At the thought of her home a sadness and longing enveloped her.
She considered making another phone call, perhaps this time to
Valentin himself. She didn’t know whether to feel frightened or
betrayed that Joe hadn’t called back. Surely by now he would have
heard her message?
She turned over, facing towards Jaden. He was sleeping under a
sheet, snoring softly, his face almost impossibly serene. Cassie lay on
top of the covers, wearing only knickers and a thin T-shirt. She curled
into a foetal position and fought off another bout of tears.
The knock on the door was nearly too quiet to hear. Her body
jerked, the way it did sometimes when she was on the verge of sleep.
She waited a few seconds, then dismissed it and shut her eyes again.
She must have been dozing off, after all.
Another knock. Cassie flinched. She lifted her head, staring at the
door in the murky half-light. She held her breath and listened with
all her concentration: heard a creak from the travel cot as Sofia kicked
her leg, and an answering snuffle from Jaden; further out, the rumble
of traffic on the ring road and the bass thump of a car stereo. But
only silence beyond the door.
And then a woman’s voice, hushed with concern for the sleeping
children: 'Mrs Carter? Are you awake, Mrs Carter?’
The landlady. Cassie swung her legs off the bed and jumped up,
reeling as her circulation tried to adjust to the sudden movement. It
didn’t seem right to waste time getting dressed so she grabbed up the
towel she’d used after her bath, wrapped it around her waist and
padded across the room.
She started to unlock the door, then caution overcame her. Joe
wouldn’t want her to open up without knowing it was safe.
'What is it?’ she hissed.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Carter. There’s an urgent message for you.
I didn’t want to transfer the call to your room in case it woke the
kiddies . . .’
Joe, she thought, fumbling with the lock. It must be Joe. Thank God.
Cassie turned the handle and the door opened as if on a spring. It
hit a glancing blow to her wrist as she threw herself sideways. She
heard a thud as the landlady’s body crumpled and was pushed into
the room, followed closely by the two men who had tried to abduct
Sofia in Brighton.
Joe said: You went next door, but Felton’s safe was empty. Just that
box full of paper, is that right?’
No one responded. They didn’t have to. Joe saw the whole picture
with a clarity borne of long experience. Bank heists, drug deals, frauds:
they all had their own distinctive patterns. But throw together a group
of individuals whose principal traits were greed, aggression and
stupidity, and the results were miserably predictable.
You found a note inside the box, which you seem to think is for
you.’
'It’s addressed to him,’ Turner said, looking at Valentin.
'So Felton must have known about this from the start. He se
t this
up to fail.’
'Using Yuri?’ Turner said. Of the three, he seemed most willing to
get to the truth.
Now the woman, Priya, said, You’re claiming that Yuri has been
working for Robert Felton?’
Yes.’ Joe remembered something. 'I want to know why you turned
him loose. When I first saw him, he was being brought here as a prisoner.’
There
was an awkward silence before Liam said, 'He offered to
help the search, after someone tried to make a phone call. I take it
that was you?’
Joe nodded. 'I made a mistake there. But it gave Yuri the perfect
opportunity. Once he was free he could get on with following his
orders, which came from Robert Felton.’
Priya again: 'Why would Felton do this?’
'Because he wants more than just a laugh. The note’s there to illustrate
how brilliantly he outsmarted you. It’s like a practical joke. It
also shows he could have prevented your attack if he’d wanted to. But
he didn’t. He let it go ahead, and now he’s got Yuri picking off your
men one by one. Killing them. That means there’s a far more serious
motive.’
'Revenge,’ Valentin whispered, and it sounded as though his spirit
leaked out with the word. 'He wants revenge.’
It was true. Liam knew it in his heart. Joe wasn’t simply trying to talk
his way out of here. He’d supplied a plausible explanation for every
discrepancy.
There was a heavy silence. For captors and captives alike, it seemed
as though nobody grasped what this meant, or how they should
respond.
To Liam, the only sensible option was to cut and run. Whether he
could bring himself to do it was debatable, having been promised so
much.
Valentin was first to move. He strained to get up, leaning heavily
against his maid as he tried to stand. The woman scowled, jabbing
him in the side with her elbow.
'What are you doing?’ Liam asked.
'Let me go.’
The other prisoners started to protest, throwing insults at the
Ukrainian. Valentin did his best to turn a deaf ear to them. Once
upright, he thrust out his hands.
'Free me, then get away from here. It is your only hope.’ He nodded
graciously at the seated prisoners. “I’ll release them, and call the police.’
You’re fucking joking!’ Turner growled.
'It won’t work,’ Joe said.
'I’m a victim here.’ With difficulty Valentin stepped back, out of
the circle of prisoners. 'There’s no evidence to say otherwise.’
Yuri,’ said Joe.
Valentin kept his gaze on Liam. When he spoke, it sounded as
though he was reading from a prepared statement. 'I have no idea
what Yuri has done, whether he has betrayed me, or you. I am a victim
here. Let me go, and I will help the others.’
'Oh no, you’re not getting away with this,’ Angela Weaver shouted
at him. You killed my husband.’
Valentin wore a patient frown, as though regretting this outburst
from an emotionally unstable woman.
'I killed no one. These . . . strangers killed your husband. As you
can all see, I am merely trying to negotiate our freedom, so that no
one else has to die.’
Joe laughed. Your plan failed, and now you’re going to portray
yourself as a hero?’
Valentin kept up the pressure on Liam. His eyes flashed a warning
that the prisoners didn’t catch.
Go. Go while you still can.
It was tempting. Liam could see the fear hiding in the Ukrainian’s
face. And if Valentin was scared, then Liam knew they should all be
scared.
He glanced at Turner and Priya. Both seemed dubious, thinking it
through. Liam was doing the same, and he believed there was a
glimmer of hope.
It might just work. If they went now there was no reason to assume
they’d get caught. The masks and gloves had protected their identities.
Of course, Valentin knew who they were, but he couldn’t reveal that
without incriminating himself. And maybe he really would convince
the police that he was a genuine victim. It didn’t matter what allegations
the other residents hurled at him: without solid proof to back
them up, Valentin would be in the clear.
No one else has to die.
Lie low for a few months, then have a serious talk with Valentin
about compensation. Generous compensation.
It was a very appealing concept, and Liam basked in its glow for
all of five seconds.
Then the lights went out.
Forty-Five
The darkness was absolute. Joe felt as though he’d been sucked into
oblivion. For maybe half a second he had nothing to go on: no light
or sound or movement. No sensory input at all.
But he knew it wouldn’t last. This was the calm before the storm.
Right on cue, the next half-second produced a sensory bombardment.
The garage’s internal door blew open and Joe felt the vibration
of urgent but coordinated movement. He heard the stomp of heavy
feet and the clatter of weaponry. Beads of red light danced across the
garage like fireflies, alighting on the invisible forms around him.
Several voices bellowed at once.
'Drop your weapons!’
'Get down now!’
'Everyone on the ground!’
Joe was already reacting. Despite his restraints, he managed to grab
hold of Angela’s sleeve. He felt her turning, trying to get her legs out
from beneath her, but the prisoners were too tightly bunched to move
easily. As Joe pushed himself backwards to make room he hit someone’s
foot: Liam’s, perhaps, or Priya’s.
A red spot roamed across Angela’s head and lingered at the base
of her neck, illuminating a swirl of grey hair. Joe threw himself against
her.
'Lie flat. Flat as you can.’
He hoped his voice might cut through the shock. He could sense
that some of the prisoners were only just beginning to process what
was happening; their actions sluggish and uncertain. Behind him,
Liam, Priya and Turner seemed equally unresponsive, as if the roving
red dots had pinned them to the spot.
Joe knew they were infrared sights, probably from scopes attached
to high-powered automatic rifles. Often their primary purpose was
intimidation rather than operational necessity. To move with such
assurance in a complete blackout their attackers had to be equipped
with night-vision goggles.
Another long second passed. The men at the doorway were still
shouting orders. Joe heard the scuffles as they fanned out to cover the
room. Good solid tactics against an enemy that was blind and stunned,
but not entirely helpless.
And, worse still, susceptible to panic.
Joe couldn’t tell who fired first. He’d given up trying to see anything
and ducked his head, his cheek pressed against the cool concrete.
One shot, away to his right, from a handgun with no silencer.
The response was a multiple burst of gunfire. Two automatic weapons,
each firing several rounds. Joe glimpsed the muzzle flash f
rom one, saw
the gunman moving as he fired. The clink clink clink of spent cartridges
bouncing on the concrete evoked surreal images of a slot machine paying
out. No winners here tonight, he thought, as screams and a grunt from
close by confirmed that someone had been hit. Along with the crash of
falling bodies came a shower of dust and grit and fragments of concrete.
The air smelled hot and dense with smoke and blood and fear.
In that very first second, one conclusion had leapt into Joe’s mind:
a police raid. Now it was replaced by another. This time the image
was of a handwritten letter, and a single word.
Checkmate.
Liam understood. At least, that would be his impression afterwards.
That he worked out right away what he was facing, but just couldn’t
respond. It reminded him of those dreams where running feels like
wading through syrup. He couldn’t force his limbs to obey.
Hopelessly he thought: If only I could jettison the mask and suit,
throw myself amongst the prisoners . . .
No time. He absorbed the order to get down and from the tone he
knew these people weren’t messing. Then something hit his foot, and
in jerking away his knees unlocked and he started what felt like an
agonisingly slow descent. At the same time he heard Turner muttering
an angry curse and Liam gauged that he was moving too, but in a
very different way.
The gunshot, at such close range, was a shock but not really a
surprise. Neither was the answering barrage of fire.
Must be Turner, he thought. As stupid as he was aggressive. Well,
tough. Liam didn’t give a shit about him.
By then he was on the ground, one leg wedged under someone
else’s body. He felt the passage of the bullets, close enough to sense
their energy, their unremitting potency and purpose. This was Death
rushing past, and what Liam knew above anything else was that he
was still alive, he hadn’t been hit, and the hot viscous blood that splattered
against his mask was not his own blood but someone else’s;
someone who deserved whatever they got.
Angela was suffocating. There was a scream trapped in her throat like
a chicken bone. She could feel it pressing against her windpipe, the
pain sharp and dull at the same time. Her eyes were tightly shut, but
her vision was filled with dazzling light, exploding in her brain with
a dreadful intensity.
She had always feared the dark. Combined with the frantic activity,
