Eagle Strike (15 page)

“She won’t.”

Sabina tried to shout her disagreement from behind the gag. Alex took a breath.

“You’ll still have me,” he explained. “If Sabina goes to the police, you can do whatever you want to me. So that’ll stop her. Anyway, she doesn’t know what you’re planning. There’s nothing she can do.”

Cray shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What?”

“No deal!”

“Are you serious?” Alex closed his hand around the tube.

“Entirely.”

“What about Eagle Strike?”

“What about your girlfriend?” There was a heavy pair of kitchen scissors on the desk. Before Alex could say anything, Cray picked them up and threw them to Yassen. Sabina began to struggle furiously, but the Russian held her down. “You’ve made a simple miscalculation, Alex,” Cray continued. “You’re very brave. You would do almost anything to have the girl released. But I will do anything to keep her. And I wonder how much you’ll be prepared to watch, how far I’ll have to go, before you decide that you might as well give me the flash drive anyway. A finger, maybe? Two fingers?”

Yassen opened the scissors. Sabina had suddenly gone very quiet and still. Her eyes pleaded with Alex.

“No!” Alex yelled. With a wave of despair he knew that Cray had won. He had gambled on at least getting Sabina out of here. But it wasn’t to be.

Cray saw the defeat in his eyes. “Give it to me!” he demanded.

“No.”

“Start with the little finger, Yassen. Then we’ll work one at a time towards her thumb.”

Tears formed in Sabina’s eyes. She couldn’t hide her terror.

Alex felt sick. Sweat trickled down the sides of his body under his shirt. There was nothing more he could do. He wished now that he had listened to Jack. He wished he had never come.

He threw the flash drive onto the desk.

Cray picked it up.

“Well, that’s got that sorted,” he said with a smile. “Now, why don’t we forget all this unpleasantness and go and have a cup of tea?”

INSANITY AND BISCUITS

T
ea was served outside on the lawn – but it was a lawn the size of a field in a garden like nothing Alex had ever seen before. Cray had built himself a fantasy land in the English countryside, with dozens of pools, fountains, miniature temples and grottoes. There was a rose garden and a statue garden, a garden filled entirely with white flowers, and another given over to herbs, which had been laid out like sections in a clock. And all around him he had constructed replicas of buildings that Alex recognized. The Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum in Rome, the Taj Mahal, the Tower of London: each one was exactly one hundredth the scale of the original and all of them were jumbled together like picture postcards scattered on the floor. It was the garden of a man who wanted to rule the world but couldn’t, and so had cut the world down to his own size.

“What do you think of it?” Cray asked as he joined Alex at the table.

“Some gardens have crazy paving,” Alex replied quietly, “but I’ve never seen anything as crazy as this.”

Cray smiled.

There were five of them sitting on the raised terrace outside the house: Cray, Alex, Yassen, the man called Henryk and Sabina. She had been untied and the gag taken off her mouth – and as soon as she had been freed, she had rushed over to Alex and thrown her arms around his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” she had whispered. “I should have believed you.”

That was all she had said. Apart from that she had been silent, her face pale. Alex knew that she was afraid. It was typical of Sabina not to want to show it.

“Well, here we all are. One happy family,” Cray said. He pointed at the man with the silver hair and the pock-marked face. Now that he was closer to him, Alex could see that he was very ugly indeed. His eyes, magnified by the glasses, were slightly inflamed. He wore a denim shirt that was too tight and showed off his paunch.

“I don’t think you’ve met Henryk,” Cray added.

“I don’t think I want to,” Alex said.

“You mustn’t be a bad loser, Alex. Henryk is very valuable to me. He flies jumbo jets.”

Jumbo jets. Another piece of the puzzle.

“So where is he flying you?” Alex asked. “I hope it’s somewhere far away.”

Cray smiled to himself. “We’ll come to that in a moment. In the meantime, shall I be mother? It’s Earl Grey; I hope you don’t mind. And do help yourself to a biscuit.”

Cray poured five cups and set the pot down. Yassen hadn’t spoken yet. Alex got the feeling that the Russian was uncomfortable being here. And that was another strange thing. He had always considered Yassen to be his worst enemy, but sitting here now he seemed almost irrelevant. This was all about Damian Cray.

“We have an hour before we have to leave,” Cray said. “So I thought I might tell you a little about myself. I thought it might pass the time.”

“I’m not really all that interested,” Alex said.

Cray’s smile grew a little thinner. “I can’t believe that’s true. You seem to have been interesting yourself in me for a considerable time.”

“You tried to kill my father,” Sabina said.

Cray turned round, surprised to hear her voice.

“Yes, that’s right,” he admitted. “And if you’ll just shut up, I’m about to tell you why.”

He paused. A pair of butterflies shimmered around a bed of lavender.

“I have had an extremely interesting and privileged life,” Cray began. “My parents were rich. Super rich, you might say. But not super. My father was a businessman and he was frankly rather boring. My mother didn’t do anything very much; I didn’t much like her either. I was an only child and naturally I was fabulously spoilt. I sometimes think that I was richer when I was eight years old than most people will be in their lifetime!”

“Do we have to listen to this?” Alex asked.

“If you interrupt me again, I’ll ask Yassen to get the scissors,” Cray replied. He went on. “I had my first serious row with my parents when I was thirteen. You see, they’d sent me to the Royal Academy in London. I was an extremely talented singer. But the trouble was, I hated it there. Bach and Beethoven and Mozart and Verdi. I was a teenager, for heaven’s sake! I wanted to be Elvis Presley; I wanted to be in a pop group; I wanted to be famous!

“My father got very upset when I told him. He turned up his nose at anything popular. He really thought I’d failed him, and I’m afraid my mother agreed. They both had this idea that one day I’d be singing opera at Covent Garden or something ghastly like that. They didn’t want me to leave. In fact, they wouldn’t let me – and I don’t know what would have happened if they hadn’t had that extraordinary accident with the car. It fell on them, you know. I can’t say I was terribly upset, although of course I had to pretend. But you know what I thought? I thought that God must be on my side. He wanted me to be a success and so He had decided to help me.”

Alex glanced at Sabina to see how she was taking this. She was sitting rigidly in her chair, her cup of tea ignored. There was absolutely no colour in her face. But she was still in control. She wasn’t giving anything away.

“Anyway,” Cray continued, “the best thing was that my parents were out of the way and, even better, I had inherited all their money. When I was twenty-one, I bought myself a flat in London – actually it was more of a penthouse – and I set up my own band. We called ourselves Slam! As I’m sure you know, the rest is history. Five years later I went solo, and soon I was the greatest singer in the world. And that was when I started to think about the world I was in.

“I wanted to help people. All my life I’ve wanted to help people. The way you’re looking at me, Alex, you’d think I’m some kind of monster. But I’m not. I’ve raised millions of pounds for charity. Millions and millions. And I should remind you, in case you’ve forgotten, that I have been knighted by the Queen. I am actually
Sir
Damian Cray, although I don’t use the title because I’m no snob. A lovely lady, by the way, the Queen. Do you know how much money my Christmas single, ‘Something for the Children’, raised all on its own? Enough to feed a whole country!

“But the trouble is, sometimes being famous and being rich isn’t enough. I
so
wanted to make a difference – but what was I to do when people wouldn’t listen? I mean, take the case of the Milburn Institute in Bristol. This was a laboratory working for a number of cosmetics companies, and I discovered that they were testing many of their products on animals. Now, I’m sure you and I would be on the same side about this, Alex. I tried to stop them. I campaigned for over a year. We had a petition with twenty thousand signatures and still they wouldn’t listen. So in the end – I’d met people and of course I had plenty of money – I suddenly realized that the best thing to do would be to have Professor Milburn killed. And that’s what I did. And six months later the institute closed down and that was that. No more animals harmed.”

Cray rotated a hand over the biscuit plate and picked one out. He was obviously pleased with himself.

“I had quite a lot of people killed in the years that followed,” he said. “For example, there were some extremely unpleasant people cutting down the rainforest in Brazil. They’re still in the rainforest … six feet underneath it. Then there was a whole boatload of Japanese fishermen who wouldn’t listen to me. I had them deep-frozen in their own freezer. That will teach them not to hunt rare whales! And there was a company in Yorkshire that was selling landmines. I didn’t like them
at all
. So I arranged for the entire board of directors to disappear on an Outward Bound course in the Lake District and that put a stop to that!

“I’ve had to do some terrible things in my time. Really, I have.” He turned to Sabina. “I did hate having to blow up your father. If he hadn’t spied on me, it wouldn’t have been necessary. But you must see that I couldn’t let him spoil my plans.”

Every cell in Sabina’s body had gone rigid and Alex knew she was having to force herself not to attack Cray. But Yassen was sitting right next to her and she wouldn’t have got anywhere near.

Cray went on. “This is a terrible world, and if you want to make a difference, sometimes you have to be a bit extreme. And that’s the point. I am extremely proud of the fact that I have helped so many people and so many different causes. Because helping people –
charity
– has been the work of my life.”

He paused long enough to eat the biscuit he had chosen.

Alex forced himself to drink a little of the perfumed tea. He hated the taste but his mouth was completely dry. “I have a couple of questions,” he said.

“Do, please, go ahead.”

“My first one is for Yassen Gregorovich.” He turned to the Russian. “Why are you working for this lunatic?” Alex wondered if Cray would hit him. But it would be worth it. All the signs indicated that the Russian didn’t share Cray’s world view. He seemed uncomfortable, out of place. It might be worth trying to sow a few seeds of discord between them.

Cray scowled, but did nothing. He signalled to Yassen to answer.

“He pays me,” Yassen said simply.

“I hope your second question is more interesting,” Cray snarled.

“Yes. You’re trying to tell me that everything you’ve done is for a good cause. You think that all this killing is worth it because of the results. I’m not sure I agree. Lots of people work for charity; lots of people want to change the world. But they don’t have to behave like you.”

“I’m waiting…” Cray snapped.

“All right. This is my question. What is Eagle Strike? Are you really telling me it’s a plan to make the world a better place?”

Cray laughed softly. For a moment he looked like the diabolical schoolboy he had once been, welcoming his own parents’ death. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what it is. Sometimes great people are misunderstood. You don’t understand me and neither does your girlfriend. But I really do want to change the world. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I’ve been very fortunate because my music has made it possible. In the twenty-first century, entertainers are much more influential than politicians or statesmen. I’m the only one who’s actually noticed it.”

Cray chose a second biscuit – a custard cream.

“Let me ask you a question, Alex. What do you think is the greatest evil on this planet today?”

“Is that including or not including you?” Alex asked.

Cray frowned. “Please don’t irritate me,” he warned.

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “You tell me.”

“Drugs!” Cray spat out the single word as if it were obvious. “Drugs are causing more unhappiness and destruction than anything anywhere in the world. Drugs kill more people than war or terrorism. Did you know that drugs are the single biggest cause of crime in western society? We’ve got kids out on the street taking heroin and cocaine, and they’re stealing to support their habits. But they’re not criminals; they’re victims. It’s the drugs that are to blame.”

“We’ve talked about this at school,” Alex said. The last thing he needed right now was a lecture.

“All my life I’ve been fighting drugs,” Cray went on. “I’ve done advertisements for the government. I’ve spent millions building treatment centres. And I’ve written songs. You must have listened to
White Lines
…”

He closed his eyes and hummed softly, then sang:

“The poison’s there. The poison flows

It’s everywhere – in heaven’s name

Why is it that no one knows

How to end this deadly game?”

He stopped.

“But I know how to end it,” he said simply. “I’ve worked it out. And that’s what Eagle Strike is all about. A world without drugs. Isn’t that something to dream about, Alex? Isn’t that worth a few sacrifices? Think about it! The end of the drug problem. And I can make it happen.”

“How?” Alex was almost afraid of the answer.

“It’s easy. Governments won’t do anything. The police won’t do anything. No one can stop the dealers. So you have to go back to the supplies. You have to think where these drugs come from. And where is that? I’ll tell you…

“Every year, hundreds and hundreds of tons of heroin come from Afghanistan – in particular the provinces of Nangarhar and Helmand. Did you know production has increased by fourteen hundred per cent since the Taliban were defeated? So much for that particular war! Then, after Afghanistan, there’s Burma and the golden triangle, with about one hundred thousand hectares of land used to produce opium and heroin. The government of Burma doesn’t care. Nobody cares. And let’s not forget Pakistan, manufacturing one hundred and fifty-five metric tons of opium a year, with refineries throughout the Khyber region and along the borders.

“On the other side of the world there’s Colombia. It’s the leading supplier and distributor of cocaine, but it also supplies heroin and marijuana. It’s a business worth three billion dollars a year, Alex. Eighty tons of cocaine every twelve months. Seven tons of heroin. A lot of it ends up on the streets of American cities. In high schools. A tidal wave of misery and crime.

“But that’s only a small part of the picture.” Cray held up a hand and began to tick off other countries on his fingers. “There are refineries in Albania. Mule trains in Thailand. Coca crops in Peru. Opium plantations in Egypt. Ephedrine, the chemical used in heroin production, is manufactured in China. One of the biggest drugs markets in the world can be found in Tashkent, in Uzbekistan.

“These are the principal sources of the world’s drug problem. This is where the trouble all starts. These are my targets.”

“Targets…” Alex whispered the single word.

Damian Cray reached into his pocket and took out the flash drive. Yassen was suddenly alert. Alex knew he had a gun and would use it if he so much as moved.

“Although you weren’t to know it,” Cray explained, “this is actually a key to unlock one of the most complicated security systems ever devised. The original key was created by the National Security Agency and it is carried by the president of the United States. My friend, the late Charlie Roper, was a senior officer with the NSA, and it was his expertise, his knowledge of the codes, that allowed me to manufacture a duplicate. Even so, it has taken enormous effort. You have no idea how much computer processing power was required to create a second key.”