Death Run (14 page)

She didn't spot him until the tube station. There was a train just about to leave as Jade came on to the platform. The doors were bleeping to warn they were closing and Jade jumped on just in time.

A man she had not noticed must have been close behind her. He managed to get his shoulder between the doors as they closed. The doors opened again and the man smiled an apology at the other passengers. No one said anything. The train pulled away. The man moved down the carriage, avoiding Jade's eye.

And she knew he was following her. Ardman must have sent him. Or possibly Sir Lionel. She sneaked glances at the man as he seemed to read the paper. But she caught the occasional quick look in her direction
as he turned the pages. He was average-height, average-looking, not young but not old… Just the sort of person they would pick – someone she wouldn't normally glance at twice or think anything of.

How could she get rid of him? After listening to Ardman arguing that they should do nothing to help Rich and the banker, she didn't want him keeping tabs on her. The thought of Rich brought an unexpected tear to Jade's eye and she wiped her sleeve across her face. What was Rich doing – was he all right? What would he do if he were here with her? Something clever. He'd have a plan. He'd know exactly how to get rid of this man – he'd have it all worked out. The teachers were right – she needed to be more like Rich.

The underground train pulled into another station. Jade was standing closer to the doors than the man. She moved aside to let people off. She stepped out of the train on to the platform to make way for a woman carrying a sleeping toddler. She could see through the window that the man was getting up ready to follow, so she got back on the train and saw him relax and return to his paper.

Then as the doors started to close, Jade stepped out
of the train again. She ran back down the platform, not looking to see if the man was following. If he wasn't quick enough, the train would leave and she would have lost him. But if he got to the doors again…

The doors finished closing, and almost at once opened again.
I can do this all day
, Jade thought. As she passed the next carriage, the doors closed again. And Jade nipped quickly between them – back on to the train. He wasn't so fast that time. She saw him screwing his newspaper between his hands in frustration. She smiled and waved. He did not wave back.

Jade got off at the next station. As soon as she was above ground she rang Dex Halford on her mobile. The number was busy. She waited as long as she could bear and tried again.

“Halford.”

Jade breathed a sigh of relief. “Dex – it's Jade. I need some help. Can we meet?”

She was surprised to hear him laughing at the other end of the phone. “Yes, just tell me where.”

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing. I'd just put down the phone that's all. It was your dad. He said you might call.”

Rich was cold. Despite the situation, he was bored. He pulled his school blazer tight round him. Here he was, sitting looking out over the sea, trapped in a castle on a tiny island guarded by men with guns, and he was bored.

He'd already decided there was no way off the island. He wasn't going to try to swim for it. He'd seen how far it was to the shore, through the icy water. And even if he made it, he could be anywhere. He might still be miles – hundreds of miles even – from civilisation. He couldn't fly the helicopter and he was unarmed so there was no point attempting a hijack. The only other option was a boat. That sounded good – he'd seen the jetty outside the main gates. But there was no boat there and maybe never would be.

So, he could kick his legs and wait till he froze or got hungry or needed the toilet. Or he could – what? What could he do? What would Jade do?

She'd probably lose it completely, throw caution to the wind and trash the place. Rich smiled to himself at the idea. But maybe he should take a leaf out of her book. It would distract and annoy Bannock and his heavies, and perhaps if he caused
enough trouble, someone on the mainland would see there was a problem and send in help…

Had to be better than sitting around getting cold.

It didn't take Jade long to explain the situation to Halford, and he suggested they meet at Heathrow.

“We'll get a flight up to Inverness. Have to drive from there.”

Jade didn't hide her gratitude and relief that he didn't argue – he just assumed that they were going to Calder to find and rescue Rich.

Dex Halford was a friend of Jade's dad. She and Rich both knew him well – he had helped them get to Krejikistan to rescue Dad, and he had introduced them to Ralph. Halford had been with Dad in the SAS, though neither of them spoke much about it. The most Jade knew was that Dad had carried the wounded Halford out of a firefight behind enemy lines in Afghanistan. Halford had lost his leg from the wound, but if you didn't know you would think he just had a slight limp.

“I know from experience I can't talk you out of coming,” Halford said. “So I won't waste my breath trying. I'd do better to spend the time thinking
about how to tell your dad you came too. Got your passport?”

“Er, no,” Jade confessed. “I didn't think I'd need it.”

“You'll need a photo ID for the flight,” Halford told her down the phone. “But don't worry. I'll sort something out.”

Rich followed his nose. His stomach was rumbling as he could smell bacon cooking. It occurred to him he'd not eaten since lunch the previous day. Since he was heading for the kitchen anyway…

There would be all sorts of useful things in the kitchen. Not just knives – though Rich doubted he could bring himself to use one in anger. But if there was bacon as well, then that was a bonus.

The kitchen was in the basement under one of the massive towers – there were four of them, one at each corner of the castle. There was no reason to suppose the kitchen would be guarded, but Rich approached cautiously. He could hear the clatter of metal pans and someone whistling.

A chef, in white uniform and tall hat, was busy at a large cooker. Rich watched from the shadows outside the door as the chef went about his business.
Rich didn't recognise the man, but he could be one of the gunmen who had been at the school – if he saw Rich in his crumpled school uniform, he might raise the alarm.

The chef was done. He had a plate ready on a tray and loaded it with fried bread, scrambled egg, sausage and bacon. Rich was about ready to knock the man down and grab the food. But he forced himself to wait. Sure enough, the chef put a metal cover over the plate, then took the tray and left.

As soon as the chef was gone, Rich went into the kitchen. He waited just inside the door, listening in case there was anyone else here. But the place was silent and still. There was no bacon or sausage left in the pan, but Rich found a fridge and helped himself to bread and ham.

He found a small, sharp knife – which might come in handy for cutting through ropes or material. He found a half empty bottle of white wine in the fridge and took out the cork. He pushed the thin blade of the knife into the cork until the sharp edge was completely covered, then put it in his blazer pocket.

More immediately useful was a large metal drum of cooking oil and a box of matches. Rich stuffed the
matches into his pocket as well. The drum was empty enough that he could carry it, though the outside was slippery where oil had spilled. Before he left, Rich turned on all the gas taps on the hob.

The higher up he was the better, Rich decided. It was tricky getting the heavy drum of oil up the stairs. He paused frequently to listen for the sounds of anyone coming and because he needed to rest. At one point he froze as he heard footsteps from the floor above. But the steps continued on, not coming down the stairs.

Eventually, Rich was on the top floor. He rolled the drum along the carpeted corridor. Viscous cooking oil was leaking out round the cap, but that didn't matter. The first room Rich tried was a bedroom. There was a phone on the cabinet by the bed. When Rich listened, there was a tone, but no matter what he dialled he got nothing more. So he ripped the cord out of the wall and dumped the phone on the bed.

The next room was another bedroom, but the bed was unmade. There was a book on the cabinet by the bed and another phone. He ripped out the phone, tossed the book under the bed and moved on.

An empty room with a window looking out at the distant mainland was the best option, he decided. Leaning out of the window, he could see the empty wooden jetty and the cobbled causeway underneath him. He must be right over the main gates. Rich left the drum of oil in the middle of the room and went back to the nearest bedroom to grab sheets and blankets. There was a magazine about cars by the bed, so he took that too.

Rich piled the blankets on the floor, the sheets on top. After some thought, he moved the pile close to the window and trailed the sheets out of it. They billowed in the breeze and one nearly escaped and blew away. He wrapped them through the window hinges until they were secure. He tore the pages from the magazine, poking them in between the folds of the blankets so that the edges were still visible. Then he emptied the drum of oil over the blankets.

It worked better that he had hoped. Rich lit the exposed edges of paper, and before long the whole mass of blankets was burning furiously. The sheets also caught, and the oil meant there was plenty of smoke. The breeze outside dragged the smoke from the room. Anyone watching from the mainland would
think – Rich hoped – that the castle was on fire.

It was a faint possibility, but maybe, just maybe, someone would report it and a police launch would come out to the castle. Or something. Anything.

Daydreaming about the various possibilities of rescue, and keeping well clear of the heat and smoke, it took Rich a while to hear the shouts from below. Of course – the guards at the gate had seen or smelled the smoke almost at once. With a last satisfied look at the roaring fire, Rich turned and hurried from the room.

Already, he could hear people running up the staircase, so Rich set off the other way down the corridor. He rounded a corner and slammed into a large man. Powerful hands gripped him tight.

Rich kicked as hard as he could at the man's shins. The grip slackened as the man grunted in pain and Rich managed to tear himself free. He dodged round the man. But there was another man right behind him – Bannock.

Rich pulled the small knife from his pocket. But before he could even remove the cork, it was knocked from his hand and went flying. He kicked out desperately, but Bannock grabbed Rich's foot, pulling him violently off balance. Rich crashed to the floor.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, rolling him over. He struggled to crawl away but the hands lifted him back on to his feet. With one arm now pinioned, Rich grabbed the only thing he could reach – Bannock's beard. He heaved as hard as he could.

Bannock guffawed with laughter. He prised Rich's fingers from the beard and slammed him against the wall of the corridor. Rich's cheek connected painfully and the pressure was so hard he felt he might burst and be splattered across the wallpaper.

“How the hell did you get here?” Bannock demanded.

The pressure eased slightly so that Rich could answer. There didn't seem to be much he could gain by lying, though he wanted to keep the Banker out of it. “I hid in a cupboard, in Mr Argent's classroom. And then someone put the cupboard on a helicopter. I managed to sneak out of it after the helicopter landed, but then I was stuck in this castle.”

“So you thought you'd burn it down.” As he spoke, a man ran past them with a fire extinguisher.

“I couldn't get out. I was scared. I was trying to signal for help.”

“He's resourceful,” the man Rich had kicked said.

“Too resourceful. You're not going anywhere, sonny. Except, maybe back in the cupboard.”

Bannock marched Rich to the room where the Banker was locked up. As he was thrust back into the room, Rich was afraid that Bannock really was going to lock him inside the cupboard again. His legs were beginning to ache just at the thought of it.

“Company for you,” Bannock told the startled Banker.

Rich shook his head just enough for the Banker to see and know to say nothing.

“Might focus your mind,” Bannock went on. “Because, you know what? I don't believe that stuff about not knowing the account numbers and codes. Nor does the Tiger.” He grinned at the Banker's anxious expression. “Oh yes, he's coming to see us. And when he gets here in a few hours, you'll tell us what we want to know. Otherwise, we'll kill the boy.”

His grin froze as from somewhere below them came the rumble of an explosion, followed by shouts.

“Ah, sorry,” said Rich. “That'll be your cooker.”

Ardman and Chance were waiting outside Sir Lionel's office when he returned from lunch.

“Gentlemen – what can I do for you?” He waved them inside.

“No Quilch?” Ardman commented.

“Oh, gave him some time off. Now, what are you two after? Found our elusive Banker yet, have we?”

Chance could detect the smell of wine on Sir Lionel's breath. He was a cool one, that was for sure. His funds had been wiped out and he might be about to be exposed as a traitor and criminal, but he still made time for a decent lunch. And keeping up the bluster was quite an act…

“We haven't, I'm afraid,” Ardman said. “But it
looks like that doesn't matter any more.”

“Oh?” There was a definite wariness in Sir Lionel's voice.

While the man's attention was all on Ardman, Chance took the opportunity to walk slowly across the office. He pretended to be examining a picture on the wall.

“The woman, Eleri Fendelmann, has regained consciousness.

“I wasn't told,” Sir Lionel snapped angrily.

“Only just happened, sir. Quite by coincidence, Chance and I were at the hospital checking with the doctors.”

“So what's she got to say for herself? She's this Banker man's daughter, so she probably doesn't know much at all.”

“On the contrary.” As he spoke, Ardman walked across Sir Lionel's office – away from where Chance was standing. Sir Lionel was watching him carefully.

So, if he saw Chance reach out and straighten the picture slightly, he paid no attention. Certainly, he did not see the slim metal box that Chance pressed against the wood panelling behind the picture.

“Miss Fendelmann worked very closely with her
father. She handled the day-today business and transactions for him. The Tiger has messed up royally, I'm pleased to say.”

Sir Lionel seemed to be shaking with anticipation. Or anger. “How d'you mean?” he demanded.

“He should have taken the woman, not the father. She's given us the account numbers and the access codes. She's identified which accounts are legitimate business accounts they serviced as part of their cover, and which are the ones we are interested in.”

“So – it's all over,” Sir Lionel said quietly.

“Just about, sir,” Chance agreed. “Just a formality now. We need to freeze the accounts in case the Tiger does get the information. But after nine o'clock tomorrow morning it will be no use to him if he does.”

“Well, well, well.” Sir Lionel seemed to have recovered some of his composure. “Good job. All's well that ends well, eh?”

“Indeed,” Ardman agreed. “I thought you would want to be told personally and as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. Oh, just one thing,” he added as Ardman and Chance made for the door. “Why nine o'clock tomorrow? Why the delay?”

“Legal formality, sir,” Chance said. “That's the
earliest we can get a judge to rule on the order to freeze the assets. Without that the banks won't release the funds, and technically the accounts can still be accessed till then.”

“If the Tiger is hoping to get his money back from under our noses,” Ardman said, “then he'll have to move fast.”

The first flight they could get on was early afternoon. The check-in clerk looked at Jade's passport then at Jade.

“What?” Jade asked. “What's she doing, Uncle Dex? What's the problem?”

The picture in the passport that Halford had brought didn't look much like Jade. But it was the only one his contacts could find for him that would do for a teenage girl. So according to her passport, Jade was seventeen, she was called Claire Read, and she had long black hair.

“She's had her hair cut,” Halford said to the clerk.

“It's dyed too,” Jade added. “That's allowed, isn't it?”

“It doesn't look dyed,” the woman said staring at Jade's blond bob.

“In the
photo
,” Jade told her. “I had my hair dyed
when the photo was taken. God, you can see the roots if you look.”

“Can we hurry it up, please, do you think?” Halford asked. “I mean, what's the problem – it's only an internal flight.”

The woman said nothing, but she printed out the boarding cards.

The flight to Inverness was just under two hours, but then they needed to get a car.

“It'll be dark by the time we get to Calder,” Jade grumbled as the plane lifted from the runway.

“That may not be a bad thing,” Halford pointed out. “He'll be fine,” he went on. “Your brother's a clever kid. He'll be OK.”

“I know.” Jade watched the ground dropping away. The plane rose through cobwebs of cloud. Her face was reflected in the plastic of the window – a blond-haired girl wiping her eyes and staring into the sky.

The Banker listened attentively as Rich explained what he'd discovered about where they were and what he had been up to.

“Bannock didn't believe me,” he told Rich. “He thinks I'm holding out on him. Things will
soon get very ugly, I think. Once the Tiger gets here…” He shivered.

“Haven't you met the Tiger?”

“No. Not even when he first employed me. It was all through intermediaries. He is a very private, very cautious man. But over the years I have dealt with him by phone and email. Enough to know that he is not a nice man. He pretends to be. He is respected and has a direct line, some say, to the Prime Minister. But I'm not looking forward to our first meeting.”

The door opened and Bannock came in. “I've just got word that the Tiger will soon be on his way here,” he said. “He asked me to tell you that you have until dawn to provide the information we need.”

“Or what?” Rich asked defiantly.

“Or we kill you. After nine o'clock tomorrow the information will be useless.
You
will be useless,” he said to the Banker. “So you'd better think of a way of making yourself useful.”

“Nine o'clock tomorrow,” Rich repeated.

“Let's not split hairs,” Bannock said. “We need time to use the information. So, let's say seven o'clock, shall we?”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Rich looked at the watch that Ralph had given him. It was approaching five in the afternoon. Outside, the evening would be drawing in. The clock above the mantelpiece gave the same time. “We must be in the same time zone,” Rich realised. “We're probably still in Britain – Europe's an hour different isn't it?”

“Doesn't matter where we are,” the Banker said glumly. “The Tiger will be here all the more quickly and we have only fourteen hours left to live.”

Keeping to his schedule, Sir Lionel left the ministry at six o'clock that evening exactly. His ministerial car was waiting outside. The chauffeur climbed out and opened the back door for him. It was not the usual man, Sir Lionel noticed.

“Where's Lawson?” he asked.

“Off sick today, sir.”

Sir Lionel frowned. The man's face was shadowed by the peak of his cap which was pulled down low. “Don't I know you?”

“Probably driven you before, sir.”

“Yes, that's probably it.” Sir Lionel got into the back of the car and settled himself on the leather
seat. He set his briefcase down beside him. “Home then, please,” Sir Lionel ordered. “And remind me of your name, would you?”

“Goddard, sir.”

Sir Lionel felt a chill as he realised where he knew the man from. “But – you work for Ardman. In operations.”

“That's right, sir.” The car was pulling up already, just a hundred metres from the ministry.

“That's ridiculous. What are you doing here? Why are we stopping?”

“I'm on an operation now actually, sir,” said Goddard.

“I've authorised nothing like this. Does Ardman know?” Sir Lionel demanded. “I shall have severe words with him.”

“Right you are, sir. Actually, to save time, you could do it now.”

The back door of the car opened and Ardman climbed in beside Sir Lionel, who shuffled across and grabbed his briefcase ready to get out the other side. But that door opened too and Chance got into the car.

“This is intolerable!” Sir Lionel complained loudly.

“I quite agree,” Ardman said darkly. “To the office, please, Goddard.”

Sir Lionel opened his mouth to protest, but he felt something jab into his ribs. When he looked down, Sir Lionel saw that Chance was holding a pistol tight against him.

“I shall protest in the strongest terms,” Sir Lionel insisted. “Just wait until Malcolm Henderson hears about this.”

Ardman ignored him. Goddard and Chance were standing behind Sir Lionel, ready to move in if things got nasty. Who knew what a cornered tiger might do?

“Please confirm, Sir Lionel, that this is your voice,” Ardman said. He tapped a key on his computer and a voice said:

“Ah, glad I caught you. I've got some news I thought you might be interested to hear…”

Ardman stopped the playback. “Well?”

“Yes, of course it's my voice. But—”

“Just answer questions as they are put to you, sir,” Chance told him.

“That was a playback of your side of a telephone call you made this afternoon at 4:45pm. Do you deny making the call?”

“No, of course not.” Sir Lionel was shaking with rage. “Am I to understand that you've been tapping my phone?”

“No, that would have taken too long to arrange,” said Ardman.

“So we bugged your office instead,” Chance explained. “That's why, sadly, we only caught your side of the conversation.”

The playback cut in again: “It appears that Ardman has managed to get the account numbers and access codes that he needs. So the money controlled by the Banker will be frozen at nine tomorrow morning. After that, no one will be able to get at it. I don't have to tell you what that means…” Then was a pause, then Sir Lionel's voice continued, “You too. I'll see you soon.”

“And what does that mean?” Ardman said. “I think you owe us an explanation.”

“I owe you nothing of the sort – what is going on here?”

“Sir Lionel,” Chance said quietly, “we gave you certain confidential information this afternoon. Very sensitive information that could be highly damaging. If it were true.”

“What do you mean? It isn't true? We're not freezing the accounts?”

“I'm afraid not,” Ardman admitted. “But you didn't know that. And you passed that information on to an accomplice. It is fairly clear from what we heard that you were telling them they had till nine o'clock tomorrow morning to get the information you need from the Banker.”

“From the Banker?” Sir Lionel had gone very pale. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “You cannot seriously believe I know where the Banker is when you've failed to find him?”

“Oh, come on,” Goddard said. “Of course you know. Your people took him.”

“My people?”

“The people you called to tell them to hurry up and get the bank data.”

“This is ridiculous.” Sir Lionel reached into his jacket pocket.

But Chance grabbed his hand and lifted it away. “Careful, sir.”

“Check he hasn't got any cigarettes,” Goddard said.

“I don't smoke. I was putting my hanky away.”

“You don't smoke, Sir Lionel?” Ardman said. “But you offered our prisoner Hayman a cigarette, if I recall. You even joked about it. A last cigarette.”

“Not so funny as it turns out,” Chance added. “Given the cigarette killed him.”

“What?” The word was almost a shriek. “But it wasn't my cigarette. I borrowed them. Forgot to give them back actually. The pack's probably still in the bin at the office.”

“The office where Hayman called you?” Goddard said. “The office where you made that call we just heard?”

“I was calling Quilch. He's got some days off, but I thought he'd be pleased to hear the good news. That's what I was telling him – when I said ‘you know what that means' I was telling him it was over. We've got the funds frozen and all our work has paid off.” Sir Lionel wiped a hand across his brow. “Mind if I sit down. Feeling a bit wobbly. Now you tell me it isn't true at all, and I haven't a clue what's going on.” He walked slowly to the nearest chair and sank down into it.

Ardman and Chance looked at each other. “Hayman made a call, from here,” Ardman said. “To the Tiger.”

“I know nothing about that,” Sir Lionel said.

“He called the ministry – he was put through to your office. An hour before you and Quilch arrived here to see him.”

Sir Lionel frowned. “But that means…”

“And we know that the Banker is being held on Calder. Which you arranged to be sold to your own company.”

Sir Lionel was shaking his head. “Only forty per cent mine. And I never wanted the damned place – it's too far out in the middle of nowhere to be of any use. That was Quilch's idea. Save the heritage boys from having to pay for the upkeep. Give a little bit back. And for your information, an hour before coming here, I was in a meeting with the PM. I'm sure he'll remember and if by some quirk he doesn't, it's in both our diaries.”

“But then who took the call?” Chance said. But even as he asked he guessed the answer – as he saw Ardman had.

“Same person as takes all my calls when I'm out of the office,” Sir Lionel said.

The helicopter kicked up a cloud of dust as it settled down in the courtyard of Calder Castle.

Bannock was waiting to greet the Tiger as he stepped out on to the flagstones. It always amazed Bannock that such a small, unassuming-looking man could control such power, such wealth. Could be so powerful and – even by Bannock's standards – vicious.

The Tiger straightened his suit. “We don't have much time!” he shouted above the noise of the rotor blades.