Whiteout (34 page)

THE pantry was cold.

The Christmas turkey, too large to fit into the kitchen refrigerator, stood in a baking tray on a marble shelf, stuffed and seasoned by Olga, ready for roasting. Miranda wondered dismally if she would live to eat it.

She stood with her father, her sister, and Hugo, the four of them trussed like the turkey and crammed into a space three feet square, surrounded by food: vegetables in racks, a shelf of pasta in jars, boxes of breakfast cereals, cans of tuna and plum tomatoes and baked beans.

Hugo was in the worst state. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. He was leaning against the wall and Olga was pressing herself to his naked body, trying to keep him warm. Stanley's face looked as if he had been hit by a truck, but he was standing erect and his expression was alert.

Miranda felt helpless and miserable. It was heartbreaking to see her father, such a strong character, wounded and tied up. Hugo was a rotter but he hardly deserved this: he looked as if he might have suffered permanent damage. And Olga was a hero, trying so hard to comfort the husband who had betrayed her.

The others had tea towels stuffed into their mouths, but Daisy had not bothered to gag Miranda, presumably because there was no point in anyone shouting now that the police had gone. Miranda realized, with a spurt of hope, that she might be able to remove the gags. “Daddy, lean
down,” she said. He bent his tall figure over her obediently, the end of the gag trailing from his mouth. She tilted her head as if to kiss him. She was able to catch a corner of the tea towel between her teeth. She tugged, pulling part of it out; then, frustratingly, it slipped.

Miranda let out an exclamation of exasperation. Her father bent down, encouraging her to try again. They repeated the process, and this time the whole thing came out and fell to the floor.

“Thank you,” he said. “By God, that was ghastly.”

Miranda did the same for Olga, who said, “I kept wanting to puke, but I was afraid I would choke myself.”

Olga removed Hugo's gag by the same method. “Try to stay awake, Hugo,” she said urgently. “Come on, keep your eyes open.”

Stanley asked Miranda, “What's going on out there?”

“Toni Gallo came here with a snowplow and some policemen,” she explained. “Kit went to the door as if everything was all right, and the police left, but Toni insisted on staying.”

“That woman is incredible.”

“I was hiding in the attic. I managed to warn Toni.”

“Well done!”

“That frightful Daisy pushed me down the stairs, but Toni got away. I don't know where she is now.”

“She can phone the police.”

Miranda shook her head. “She left her phone in her coat pocket, and Kit's got it.”

“She'll think of something—she's remarkably resourceful. Anyway, she's our only hope. No one else is free, except the children, and Ned, of course.”

“I'm afraid Ned won't be much use,” Miranda said gloomily. “In a situation like this, the last thing you need is a Shakespeare scholar.” She was thinking how feeble he had been yesterday with his ex, Jennifer, when she threw Miranda out of the house. What hope was there that such a man would stand up to three professional thugs?

She looked out of the pantry window. Dawn had broken and the snow had stopped, so she could see the cottage where Ned lay sleeping
and the barn where the children were. She was horrified to see Elton crossing the courtyard. “Oh, God,” she said. “He's heading for the cottage.”

Her father looked out. “They're rounding people up,” he said. “They'll tie everyone before they leave. We can't let them get away with that virus—but how can we stop them?”

Elton went into the cottage.

“I hope Ned's all right.” Miranda was suddenly glad Ned was not the belligerent type. Elton was tough, ruthless, and armed. Ned's only hope was to come quietly.

“It could be worse,” Stanley said. “That lad's a villain, but he's not a complete psychopath. The woman is.”

“She makes mistakes because she's insane,” Miranda said. “In the hall, a few minutes ago, she was punching me when she should have been catching Toni. That's why Toni got away.”

“Why did Daisy want to punch you?”

“I locked her in the attic.”

“You locked her in the attic?”

“She went there looking for me, and I closed the cupboard door behind her and jammed it shut. That's what made her so angry.”

Her father seemed choked up. “Brave girl,” he whispered.

“I'm not brave,” Miranda said. The idea was absurd. “I was just so terrified that I was willing to do anything.”

“I think you're brave.” Tears came to his eyes, and he turned away.

Ned emerged from the cottage. Elton was close behind, holding a gun to the back of Ned's head. With his left hand, Elton held Tom by the arm.

Miranda gasped with shock. She had thought Tom was in the barn. He must have woken up and gone looking for his mother. He was wearing his Spider-Man pajamas. Miranda fought back tears.

The three of them were heading for the house, but then there was a shout, and they stopped. A moment later Daisy came into view, dragging Sophie by the hair. Sophie was bent double, stumbling in the snow, crying with pain.

Daisy said something to Elton that Miranda could not hear. Then
Tom screamed at Daisy: “Leave her alone! You're hurting her!” His voice was a childish treble, made more high pitched by fear and rage.

Miranda recalled that Tom had a preadolescent passion for Sophie. “Be quiet, Tommy,” she murmured fearfully, although he could not hear her. “It doesn't matter if she gets her hair pulled.”

Elton laughed. Daisy grinned and yanked more viciously at Sophie's hair.

It was probably being laughed at that drove Tom over the edge. He suddenly went berserk. He jerked his arm out of Elton's grasp and threw himself at Daisy.

Miranda shouted: “No!”

Daisy was so surprised that when Tom crashed into her, she fell backwards, letting go of Sophie's hair, and sat down in the snow. Tom dived on top of her, pummeling her with his small fists.

Miranda found herself shouting uselessly: “Stop! Stop!”

Daisy pushed Tom away and got to her feet. Tom jumped up, but Daisy hit him with her gloved fist on the side of the head, and he fell down again. She heaved him up off the ground and, in a fury, held him upright with her left hand while she punched him with her right, hitting his face and body.

Miranda screamed.

Suddenly Ned moved.

Ignoring the gun that Elton was pointing at him, he stepped between Daisy and Tom. He said something that Miranda could not hear and put a restraining hand on Daisy's arm. Miranda was astonished: weak Ned standing up to thugs!

Without letting go of Tom, Daisy punched Ned in the stomach.

He doubled over, his face screwed up in a grimace of agony. But when Daisy drew back her arm to punch Tom again, Ned straightened up and stood in her way. Changing her mind at the last instant, she punched Ned instead of Tom, hitting him in the mouth. Ned cried out, and his hands flew to his face, but he did not move.

Miranda was profoundly grateful that Ned had distracted Daisy from Tom—but how long could he stand this beating?

He continued to remonstrate with Daisy. When he took his hands away from his face, blood poured out of his mouth. As Miranda watched, Daisy punched him a third time.

Miranda was awestruck. Ned was like a wall. He simply stood there and took the blows. And he was doing it, not for his own child, but for Tom. Miranda felt ashamed of thinking he was weak.

At that moment Ned's own child, Sophie, acted. She had been standing still, watching in a stunned way, since Daisy let go of her hair. Now she turned around and moved away.

Elton made a grab for her, but she slipped through his grasp. For a moment, he lost balance, and Sophie broke into a run, crossing the deep snow with balletic leaps.

Hastily, Elton righted himself, but Sophie had disappeared.

Elton grabbed Tom and shouted at Daisy: “Don't let that girl get away!” Daisy looked disposed to argue. Elton yelled: “I've got these two. Go, go!”

With a malevolent look at Ned and Tom, Daisy turned and went after Sophie.

CRAIG turned the key in the ignition of the Ferrari. Behind him, the huge rear-mounted V12 engine started, then died.

Craig closed his eyes. “Not now,” he said aloud. “Don't let me down now.”

He turned the key again. The engine fired, faltered, then roared like an angry bull. Craig pumped the throttle, just to be sure, and the roar turned into a howl.

He looked at the phone. It said: “Searching . . .” He jabbed at the number pad, dialing 999, even though he knew it was useless before the phone had connected to the network. “Come on,” he urged. “I don't have much time—”

The side door of the garage flew open, and Sophie stumbled in.

Craig was taken by surprise. He thought Sophie was in the hands of the dreadful Daisy. He had watched as Daisy dragged her out of the garage. He had wanted desperately to rescue her, but he did not think he could beat Daisy in a fight even if she had not had a gun. He had struggled to remain calm as he watched Daisy maliciously dragging Sophie along by the hair. He kept telling himself that the best thing he could do for Sophie was to stay free and phone the police.

Now she seemed to have escaped unaided. She was sobbing and panicky, and he guessed that Daisy must be on her tail.

The passenger side of the car was so close to the wall that the door could not be opened. Craig threw open the driver's door and said, “Get in quick—climb over me!”

She staggered over to the car and fell in.

Craig slammed the door.

He did not know how to lock it, and he was too rushed to find out. Daisy could not be more than a few seconds away, he figured, as Sophie scrambled over him. There was no time to phone—they had to get out of there. As Sophie collapsed into the passenger seat, he fumbled under the dashboard and found the remote control device that opened the garage door. He pressed it, and heard behind him a squeak of unlubricated metal as the mechanism operated. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the up-and-over door begin to move slowly.

Then Daisy came in.

Her face was red with exertion and her eyes were wide with rage. There was snow in the creases of her black leather clothes. She hesitated in the doorway, peering into the gloom of the garage; then her staring eyes locked on to Craig in the driving seat of the car.

He depressed the clutch and shoved the gearshift into reverse. It was never easy, with the Ferrari's six-speed box. The stick resisted his push, and there was a grinding of cogs; then something slipped into place.

Daisy ran across the front of the car and came to the driver's side. Her tan glove closed on the door handle.

The garage door was not yet fully open, but Craig could wait no longer. Just as Daisy opened the car door, he released the clutch and trod on the accelerator pedal.

The car leaped backwards as if fired from a catapult. Its roof struck the lower edge of the aluminum garage door with a clang. Sophie gave a yell of fear.

The car flew out of the garage like a champagne cork. Craig stamped on the brake. The snowplow had cleared the thick overnight layer of snow from in front of the garage, but more had fallen since, and the concrete apron was slippery. The Ferrari went into a backwards skid and stopped with a bump against a bank of snow.

Daisy came out of the garage. Craig could see her clearly in the gray dawn light. She hesitated.

The car phone suddenly spoke in a female voice. “You have one new message.”

Craig pushed the gearshift into what he hoped was first. He eased the clutch out and, to his relief, the tires found purchase and the car moved forward. He turned the wheel, heading for the way out. If only he could make it onto the drive, he could get away from here with Sophie and summon help.

Daisy must have had the same thought, for she fumbled in the pocket of her jacket and brought out a gun.

“Get down!” Craig yelled at Sophie. “She's going to shoot!”

As Daisy leveled the gun, he stamped on the accelerator and swung the steering wheel, desperate to get away.

The car went into a skid, slipping across the icy concrete. Alongside his fear and panic, Craig had the feeling of déjà vu: he had skidded this car, in this place, only yesterday, a lifetime ago. Now he struggled to control the vehicle, but the ground was even more slippery after a night of steady snow and freezing temperatures.

He turned into the skid, and for a moment the tires gripped again, but he overdid it, and the car skidded in the opposite direction and spun around in a half circle. Sophie was flung from side to side in the passenger seat. He kept waiting for the bang of a gunshot, but none came yet. The only good thing, a part of Craig's terrified mind told him, was that it was impossible for Daisy to take steady aim at a vehicle that was being driven so erratically.

The car stopped, with great good luck, in the middle of the drive, facing directly away from the house and toward the lane. The path in front of Craig had obviously been swept by the snowplow. He had a clear road to freedom.

He pressed on the accelerator pedal, but nothing happened. The engine had stalled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daisy raise the gun and take careful aim at him.

He turned the key, and the car jerked forward: he had forgotten to take it out of gear. The mistake saved his life for, in the same instant, he heard the unmistakable firecracker bang of a gun, only slightly deadened by the soft snow covering everything; then the side window of the car shattered. Sophie screamed.

Craig knocked the stick into neutral and turned the key again. The throaty roar filled his ears. He could see Daisy taking aim again as he pressed the clutch and found first gear. He ducked involuntarily as he pulled away, and it was lucky that he did, for this time his side window smashed.

The bullet also went through the windshield, making a small round hole and causing the entire pane of glass to craze over. Now he could see nothing ahead but blurred shapes of darkness and light. Nevertheless he kept the accelerator depressed, doing his best to stay on the driveway, knowing he would die if he did not get away from Daisy and her gun. Beside him, Sophie was curled up in a ball on the passenger seat, hands covering her head.

On the periphery of his vision, he saw Daisy running after the car. Another shot banged. The car phone said: “Stanley, this is Toni. Bad news—a break-in at the lab. Please call my mobile as soon as you can.”

Craig guessed that the people with guns must be connected to the break-in, but he could not think about that now. He tried to steer by what he could see out of the smashed side window, but it was no good. After a few seconds, the car went off the cleared path, and he felt the sudden drag as it slowed. The shape of a tree appeared in the crazed glass of the windshield, and Craig slammed on the brakes, but he was too late, and the car hit the tree with a terrific crash.

Craig was thrown forward. His head hit the broken windshield, knocking out shards of glass, cutting the skin of his forehead. The steering wheel bruised his chest. Sophie was flung against the dashboard and fell with her bottom on the floor and her feet up on the seat, but she swore and tried to right herself, so he knew she was all right.

The engine had stalled again.

Craig looked in the rearview mirror. Daisy was ten yards behind him,
walking steadily across the snow toward the car, holding the gun in her suede-gloved hand. He knew instinctively that she was coming closer just to get a clear shot. She was going to kill him and Sophie.

He had only one chance left. He had to kill her.

He started the engine again. Daisy, five yards away now and directly behind the car, raised her gun arm. Craig put the gearshift into reverse and closed his eyes.

He heard a bang just as he stamped on the throttle. The rear window shattered. The car leaped backwards, straight at Daisy. There was a heavy thump, as though someone had dropped a sack of potatoes on the boot.

Craig took his foot off the throttle, and the car rolled to a stop. Where was Daisy? He pushed broken glass out of the windshield and saw her. She had been thrown sideways by the impact and was lying on the ground with one leg at an odd angle. He stared, horrified at what he had done.

Then she moved.

“Oh, no!” he cried. “Why won't you die?”

She reached out with one arm and picked up her gun, lying on the snow nearby.

Craig put the car into first gear.

The car phone said: “To erase this message, press three.”

Daisy looked into his eyes and pointed the gun at him.

He let out the clutch and stamped on the throttle.

He heard the bang of the gun over the bellow of the Ferrari engine, but the shot went wild. He kept his foot down. Daisy tried to drag herself out of the way, and Craig deliberately turned the wheel in her direction. An instant before the impact he saw her face, staring in terror, her mouth open in an inaudible scream. Then the car hit her with a thud. She disappeared beneath its curved front. The low-slung chassis scraped over something lumpy. Craig saw that he was headed straight for the tree he had hit before. He braked, but too late. Once again, the car crashed into the tree.

The car phone, which had been telling him how to save messages, stopped in mid-sentence. He tried to start the engine, but nothing
happened. There was not even the click of a broken starter motor. He saw that none of the dials was working, and there were no lights on the dashboard. The electrical system had failed. It was hardly surprising, after the number of times he had crashed the car.

But that meant he could not use the phone.

And where was Daisy?

He got out of the car.

In the driveway behind him was a pile of ripped black leather, white flesh, and gleaming red blood.

She was not moving.

Sophie got out and stood beside him. “Oh, God, is that her?”

Craig felt sick. He could not speak, so he nodded.

Sophie whispered, “Do you think she's dead?”

Craig nodded again, then nausea overwhelmed him. He turned aside and vomited into the snow.

KIT had a terrifying feeling that everything was coming unglued.

It should have been a simple thing for three tough crims such as Nigel, Elton, and Daisy to round up stray members of a law-abiding family. Yet things kept going wrong. Little Tom had made a suicide attack on Daisy; Ned had stunned everyone by protecting Tom from Daisy's revenge; and Sophie had escaped in the confusion. And Toni Gallo was nowhere to be seen.

Elton brought Ned and Tom into the kitchen at gunpoint. Ned was bleeding from several places on his face, and Tom was bruised and crying, but they were walking steadily, Ned holding Tom's hand.

Kit reckoned up who was still at large. Sophie had run away, and Craig would not be far from her. Caroline was probably still asleep in the barn. Then there was Toni Gallo. Four people, three of them children—surely it could not take long to capture them? But time was running out. Kit and the gang had less than two hours to get to the airfield with the virus. Their customer would not wait very long, Kit guessed. If something seemed wrong he would fear a trap and leave.

Elton threw Miranda's phone onto the kitchen table. “Found it in a handbag in the cottage,” he said. “The guy doesn't seem to have one.” The phone landed beside the perfume spray. Kit longed for the moment when the bottle would be handed over, never to be seen again, and he would get his money.

He was hoping that the major roads would be cleared of snow by the end of today. He planned to drive to London and check into a small hotel, paying cash. He would lie low for a couple of weeks, then catch a train to Paris with fifty thousand pounds in his pocket. From there he would make his leisurely way across Europe, changing small amounts of money as he needed it, and end up in Lucca.

But first, they had to account for everyone here at Steepfall, in order to delay pursuit. And it was proving absurdly difficult.

Elton made Ned lie on the floor, then tied him up. Ned was quiet but watchful. Nigel tied Tom, who was still sniveling. When Elton opened the pantry door to put them inside, Kit saw to his surprise that the prisoners had managed to remove their gags.

Olga spoke first. “Please, let Hugo out of here,” she said. “He's badly injured and he's so cold. I'm afraid he'll die. Just let him lie on the floor in the kitchen, where it's warm.”

Kit shook his head in amazement. Olga's loyalty to her unfaithful husband was incomprehensible.

Nigel said, “He shouldn't have punched me in the face.”

Elton pushed Ned and Tom into the pantry with the others.

Olga said, “Please, I'm begging you!”

Elton closed the door.

Kit put Hugo out of his mind. “We've got to find Toni Gallo, she's the dangerous one.”

Nigel said, “Where do you think she is?”

“Well, she's not in the house, not in the cottage because Elton's just searched it, and not in the garage because Daisy's just been there. So either she's out of doors, where she won't last long without a coat, or she's in the barn.”