back to the window and hoisted himself up onto the cistern. He leaned
out, gripping the underside of the window frame as his head protruded
into the cool night air.
He stopped for a moment, considering whether he possessed either
the aptitude or the will to go any further. He was no one’s idea of an
athlete. His arms and legs were pitifully weak, and if they gave out
on him now it might be the last thing he did. He wouldn’t survive
landing on his head.
And he didn’t like heights: a fact he’d been neatly skirting around
until now, when it was impossible to block out any longer. Even
though he was trying not to look down, he could sense the void that
existed between his body and solid ground.
He took a deep breath and pushed the fear away. He imagined that
Priya was in the bathroom with him. Do this right, she was saying, and I’ll give you anything you want. Anything you desire . . .
Oliver wriggled backwards, his thighs digging into the frame. The
window was set into one of the dormers that his father had incorporated
into the house design, and it meant there was a small rectangle
of flat roof directly above the bathroom. Thanks to his long limbs,
Oliver was able to reach up and grip the edge of the roof, while his
feet were planted on the toilet cistern.
That left him crouching, half in and half out of the house. Now
the void beneath him had assumed mythic proportions. He levered
himself up, knowing he must present a comical but precarious sight,
clinging on for dear life. And the worst was yet to come.
The dormer roof was clad in some kind of smooth dark material possibly
lead. It was slightly raised at the front, presumably to direct
rainwater towards the gutter at the rear. Oliver found he could hold
it quite comfortably. But could he lever himself up onto the roof?
Only the thought of outflanking his father gave him the impetus
to try. Because it wasn’t just Priya’s admiring gaze that spurred him
on. It was picturing the look on his father’s face when his goons came
to report Oliver missing.
The guards ushered Joe, Liam and Valentin back across the room and
forced them to sit on the floor between the sofas. When Felton didn’t
emerge from the dressing room, Yuri strode over to the doorway and
said something.
A moment later Felton stepped into view, nestling one of the large
gold ingots on his forearm as though it were a favoured pet. He dropped
it on the bed and smiled as it sank deep into the covers.
'What did you mean about Cassie and the children?’ Joe asked.
Acting as though he hadn’t heard, Felton poured himself another
glass of champagne.
'Had an idea for a wager. Yuri’s chomping at the bit to have some
quality time with his erstwhile colleague, so we may as well spice it
up a little. It’s some sort of private dispute, I take it?’
Felton addressed the question to Valentin, who played it dumb. Joe
gathered that Felton was talking about him.
'What did you mean about Cassie?’ he asked again.
'My agenda, Joe.’ Felton raised the glass to Valentin. 'That one bar
will fetch about two hundred and twenty thousand. Interested?’
Valentin looked mystified. 'You are offering me this … for what?’
'I just told you,’ said Felton, exasperated. 'My man Yuri versus your
man Joe.’
'So what is the deal?’
'If Joe wins, you get the gold bar. If Yuri wins, Joe gets to stay alive.’
Felton turned to Yuri. 'Unless you’d prefer a fight to the death?’
Yuri shrugged: Fine with me.
'Well, let’s keep an open mind on that. If Joe dies, maybe I’ll take
whatever’s left in your safe. That seem fair?’
Valentin still looked perplexed. And this is it? The whole deal?’
'Lord, no. This is just a side bet, purely for our amusement. Rather
like the sort of stunts your pal Liam used to pull in the City. No, the main deal we’re doing here concerns your mineral rights in Kajitestan.’
'No,’ said Valentin. It was a gut response, but Felton took no notice.
'You’re going to sign it all over to me. Every last drop of oil, every
scrap of copper and zinc. And I want a signed undertaking that you’ll
provide all the necessary permits, introductions and inducements
necessary for the maximum exploitation of those rights.’ A beat of
'What?’
'I want you off the Reach. This is my island now.’
Valentin finally tried to speak, blustering something that sounded
like gibberish in English or any other language.
'Don’t get so worked up,’ Felton cautioned him. 'This is a very
generous proposition. You’ll still have that nice apartment in
London, and that tacky one in Miami where you entertain your whores.
I’m letting you keep all the decent art, the stuff you sneaked into
hiding. In fact, you can still go ahead with your fraudulent insurance
claim for all I care.’
And what about the rest of us?’ Liam asked.
Felton gave a sombre nod, as if to say he had been coming to that.
'Your role will be to take the rap for what’s happened here, and
think yourselves lucky. You get to escape with your lives, providing
you keep your mouth shut about Valentin’s involvement.’
And if we don’t?’
Felton clicked his tongue. 'Even when you’re detained at Her
Majesty’s pleasure, don’t for one second think you’re beyond my reach.’
'What about the other residents?’ said Joe.
'They’ll be released unharmed. At the appropriate time, they’ll
receive a very generous offer to sell up. From now on I intend to
control who lives here.’ He flapped his hand in Valentin’s direction.
'No more foreign undesirables, for a start.’
Valentin spat on the carpet. And if I refuse?’
'If you refuse, well. . .’ Felton took a slow, measured sip of champagne.
'What do you think might happen, Joe?’
Oliver split a fingernail, clawing at the roof as he hauled himself up.
Oddly, the sight of blood gave him a comforting rush. He was engaged
in the type of strenuous physical challenge that real men welcomed with
gusto. It was a mindset he normally despised: right now he could
appreciate the thrill of it.
Kneeling on the tiny rectangle of lead, he breathed slowly and waited
for his nerves to settle. It was extraordinarily quiet out here. A brilliant
starry night with only a sliver of moon, the sea black and glistening
like oil. White flashes in the air revealed themselves as seagulls, gliding
through the darkness. For a moment Oliver felt humbled by his lowly
place in the universe: as though anything that happened here tonight
could possibly matter in the scheme of things.
Eventually he felt secure enough to plan his next move. The main
roof rose above him at a pitch of about forty-five degrees. It was clad
in grey slate, with contrasting red clay tiles on the ridge. By lying flat,
Oliver thought he should be able to crawl the thirty feet or so to the
top, then work his way along to the opposite
side of the house.
Scared and yet exhilarated, he stood up and pressed himself against
the interlocking slates. They felt rough to the touch, still warm from
the day’s heat. He knew they would bear his weight, but was the angle
of elevation shallow enough to prevent him from sliding to his death?
'Guess I’ll soon find out,’ he murmured.
'Why are you asking me?’ said Joe. Even before the words were out,
he realised he knew the answer.
'Your boss doesn’t seem too bothered about his family’s whereabouts,
but I take it you are.’ Felton grinned. 'That was impressive work,
fighting your way free. And some nifty driving, from what I heard.’
'They’re safe,’ Joe said. But it was a hollow declaration, the words
of a man endeavouring to convince himself.
'Sure about that?’
'I won’t give them up.’
'You misunderstand, Joe,’ said Felton, his voice silky in victory;
almost musical. 'You see, you might have foiled the first attempt to
snatch them. But the second attempt succeeded.’
Fifty
'You’re lying,’ said Valentin.
You don’t really believe that,’ Felton said. 'I have them all. Cassie,
and her boy, and your baby daughter. My ultimate insurance policy
against any mishaps tonight. Any over-confidence, any defiance or
displays of rebellion, and it all ends badly for the children.’
'Felton’s bluffing,’ Joe told Valentin. 'I got them to safety. No one
knows where they are.’
A cackle from across the room, to which Felton added: 'Not quite
true.’
Joe turned and saw Yuri holding a mobile phone between his finger
and thumb. Joe’s phone. Yuri had taken it when he’d captured Joe
down on the deck. But it shouldn’t have been of any use to them,
unless . . .
'She left message for you,’ said Yuri. 'Stupid bitch didn’t use her
cellphone. She called from landline.’
A homely little B&B in Chichester, wasn’t it?’ Felton said. 'I really
have to thank you for bringing them so close to home. It took us no
time at all to fetch them.’
'So where are they now? Here?’
'Nowhere you’ll find them.’
'If any harm comes to them . . .’ Joe said, but Felton only laughed.
You won’t be in a position to defend anyone. Besides, as Valentin
says, this is business. Once the paperwork’s been signed and authenticated
by lawyers, they’ll be released untouched. A matter of a few
days at most – providing I have Valentin’s complete cooperation.’
'Prove it,’ Valentin said. 'Prove this is not a bluff.’
'Very well.’ Felton produced the voice recorder and selected a file.
For a second or two all they heard was a low electronic buzz. Felton
noticed Joe desperately listening for background noise that might give
a clue to the location of the recording. He shook his head: You won’t
do it.
Then a woman’s voice broke the silence. 'Valentin? It’s me, Cassie.
Please give them what they want.’ They heard the tears spill over into
her voice. 'Don’t let them hurt us. Please, Valentin . . .’
Felton cut the tape. 'I think that’s more than sufficient.’
He was Batman. A creature of the night. A dark avenger.
Oliver smiled. He adored The Dark Knight, had watched it a
hundred times, knew every line and move and nuance. But it was
never the Batman whom he wanted to emulate. It was Heath Ledger’s
Joker that had spoken to him, made a connection deep in his soul.
Amoral, adrift and utterly alive in every moment of his existence.
That was the lesson Oliver took from the movie. That was the lesson
he tried to apply now.
The climb to the ridge of the roof was perilous but exciting. He
clambered up and sat astride the red clay tiles. Riding the house like
a mighty steed. He giggled at the image, and wondered if he wasn’t
a little too high on adrenalin. Might have to tamp it down a bit.
Shuffling along to the front of the house was easy, but he wasn’t
looking forward to the descent. Much easier to fall when you were
already heading down: the momentum always threatening to take
control.
In the end he was able to negotiate it without too much difficulty.
There was a valley on the roofs north-east corner, which lessened the
gradient. Oliver crept down and eased across to the next dormer.
It was about the same size as the one he’d emerged from, but with a
narrow pitched roof. It too had a single window, just large enough to
accommodate him.
He stood to one side of it, his toes pointing into the gutter. Gripping
the top of the dormer roof tightly with both hands, he braced one foot
against the main roof and used his other to kick at the glass.
The impact was horribly loud and hurt his toes, but it failed to
break the glass. He should have anticipated this and brought a tool.
He kicked the window again, aiming for the top corner rather than
the centre of the glass. He’d read somewhere that it was weaker around
the edges than in the middle. The window still didn’t break, but it
cracked. Almost broke his foot as well.
The third time did it. The glass shattered with a sound that
seemed to expand and fill the universe above him. It made Oliver
jump so badly that he nearly let go. He clung to the dormer roof,
too petrified to move, waiting for the inevitable response: shouts,
doors slamming, even gunfire.
But none came.
After a couple of minutes he leaned out and confirmed that the
attic room, his beloved sanctuary, was empty. He kicked the remaining
shards of glass from the frame, swung his body round and went in
feet first. He landed as softly as he could, crunching on the broken
glass, and waited again, his heart racing.
Still nothing. Oliver pressed the button to open the hatch. More
noise as the ladder began to extend: a low-pitched metallic grinding
that seemed to rattle through the house like a dentist’s drill.
He made it down the ladder, and there was no ambush; no one
came running. He debated whether to put the ladder back up and
decided that he must. After pressing the button he hurried away,
pushed through the door to the main corridor, and that was when
he heard footsteps coming towards him.
He ducked into the nearest room. Crouched behind the door and
listened as several people tramped past. Risked a look and glimpsed
the tail end of the group – Valentin Nasenko and one of the guards – turning the corner onto the short landing that led towards the games
room.
It seemed a peculiar destination, but Oliver had long ago given up
trying to fathom the logic of his father’s actions. At least they were
moving beyond the main stairs, which meant he should be able to
get out of the house safely.
But why the games room? What on earth could they want in there?
Fifty-One
Liam watched in sullen silence as the other prisoners were herded
from the room. It stung his ego that he wasn’t deemed important
enough to be taken along for the s
how. He was left in the custody of
a single guard, a thin-faced man with eyes as small and black as rabbit
droppings.
He consoled himself with the thought that at least he wasn’t
being fed to Yuri in the name of sport. Yuri was an ogre, a fact that
Liam had conveniently managed to ignore all the time he was Valentin’s ogre. Now that Yuri belonged to Felton, he was a very
different proposition.
Joe had proved himself pretty resourceful so far today, but Liam
couldn’t see him putting up much opposition to the Ukrainian. No
doubt that was why Felton was so enthusiastic about the wager in the
first place. It might be all over in a minute or two.
And then what?
His guess was that Felton would carve out the deal he wanted, and
Valentin would meekly go along with it. With his wife and daughter
held hostage he really had no choice. Then Felton and his men would
melt away into the night, leaving Valentin to summon the police and
let nature take its course.
Liam felt a tightening in his throat at the thought of what lay ahead:
decades of incarceration, impossible to endure. He noticed the guard
smirking at the misery etched on his face, and he found the strength
to push the self-pity aside. He nodded towards the dressing room.
'Don’t suppose your man left the panic room door open?’
The guard said nothing.
'Only I’m thinking, we grab ourselves a couple of bars each and
get the hell out of here. What do you say?’
The guard shook his head. 'What I say is: I’m earning plenty for
this. And I’m going nowhere with a fucking Paddy. It was you bastards
killed my uncle, on patrol in Armagh.’
Liam almost had to laugh. Just his luck.
His thoughts turned to Priya, and whether she had survived the
assault on the garage. He was certain he’d felt Turner go down, and
maybe someone else as well. If Priya was alive, it was odd that she
hadn’t been brought next door. Such an exotic creature would
definitely intrigue a ladies’ man like Felton. Unless he didn’t know
that much about her—
The revelation was stunning – a forehead-slapping moment, if his
hands hadn’t been taped behind his back. Liam felt a turbulent mix
of emotions. Anger at himself for not working it out sooner. Disgust
that he’d wasted such an opportunity, and made a bloody fool of