Death Run (11 page)

Jade insisted on returning to London with her dad and Ardman. Neither of them tried to talk her out of it. She and Dad went back to the cottage to collect overnight bags. They both knew they'd be staying in London until they got news of Rich.

Jade shoved clothes into a rucksack, not paying much attention to what she was grabbing. She changed quickly out of her school uniform and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. After a moment's thought, she put on the necklace that Ralph had given her in Venice. A memory of recent adventures with Rich. Of being together. She tucked the delicate glass beads out of sight inside the sweatshirt collar.

Ardman gave them a lift. He drove efficiently and
quickly, on the hands-free phone almost constantly while Jade and Dad sat in the back and talked quietly. It was after midnight now and the roads were quiet.

Jade told him what had happened, as well as she could remember. Anything might be a clue, Dad had told her – any tiny detail seen or words overheard.

As they reached the outskirts of London, Ardman leaned back and said loudly to them, “Apparently, we have a lead.”

“The helicopters?” Chance asked.

“No. One of the gunmen. Seems they left him behind. Unconscious. In a cupboard.” He glanced back, a wry smile on his face. “You know anything about that, Jade?”

Goddard was a tall thin man with a drooping moustache. “I put him in the holding cell,” he told Ardman. “But he's a tough one. You won't get anything out of him easily.”

“I'm sure we'll manage.” Ardman was at his desk. Jade and Chance sat in armchairs nearby, all of them sipping hot coffee. It was a large office in a Regency building, and furnished in keeping with its age – apart from the computer screen and telephone on the desk.
“Who knows he is here?” Ardman asked Goddard.

“Well, the local coppers know we took him. No one else, so far as I know. Apart from the medic who stitched him up. Oh and we've got a cover story out for the school.”

“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 Jones.”

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.”