Oliver rarely went near his father’s bedroom. The whole suite had
recently been refurbished, at a cost of some eighty thousand pounds.
Oliver couldn’t see anything that justified such extravagance. The
interior designer must have laughed all the way to her bank.
He opened the fake panel that covered the safe door, and remembered
his earlier discovery that the code for the fire-protection system
had been re-set. If his father had changed this combination as well,
a bullet in the brain might be only seconds away.
Oliver’s hand trembled as he reached out. 81-23-66. Just three
numbers, but the process wasn’t quite that straightforward. He had to
turn the dial three times to the left, stopping at 81 on the fourth turn.
Not so easy to do with shaky hands.
He was conscious of Turner at his shoulder, snorting like a hungry
raptor. Priya had hung back a little. Twice she’d said they should be
waiting for someone called Liam. The ringleader, presumably.
Oliver turned the dial to the right, going twice round, stopping at
23 on the third time. There was a shuffling behind him: Turner, growing impatient. Oliver felt cold metal pressing against the back of
his neck.
'Don’t get any ideas,’ Turner said. 'We know there’s a silent alarm.’
'I won’t set it off.’
You’d better not. No one would get here in time to save you.’
Oliver swallowed. He could feel sweat prickling on his brow. He
turned the dial one full circuit to the left, then again, stopping on 66.
Then right, back to zero and just beyond, until he met resistance.
The dial wouldn’t turn any further.
The moment of truth.
He gripped the door handle and turned. There was a heavy metallic thunk as the lock disengaged and the bolts drew back. Oliver shut his
eyes. The relief was like a flood of warm water.
Thirty-Two
It wasn’t until eight-thirty that both children were finally sleeping
soundly. Only then did Cassie allow herself to reflect upon the day’s
terrible events, and what seemed like the utter hopelessness of her
position.
She ran a bath and soaked in it for twenty minutes, leaving the
door open so she could see the children. She listened to the gentle
rhythm of their breathing and wondered how she’d be feeling now if
the abduction had succeeded. Just trying to imagine it was like being
speared in the heart.
And yet that was the kind of loss Joe had to endure every day: his
daughters growing up without him. To Cassie, it was an unbearable
tragedy. She’d been raised in a noisy, vibrant household with three
older siblings and parents who were still devoted to one another after
forty years together. Family was everything to her.
But after today her life would never be quite the same. The hairline
cracks in her marriage had split wide open, smashing the relationship to pieces. She and Valentin were finished as a couple.
After the bath, Cassie dried off and dressed again. She saw no point
in going to bed. The prospect of sleep seemed impossible while there
was so much uncertainty.
Instead she sat on the double bed, next to Jaden, and tried to watch
TV. Every thirty seconds or so her gaze drifted to the phone, or to
her watch. Joe had said she mustn’t use her mobile, but how long
was she supposed to wait?
The fears wormed their way into her mind. What if he didn’t
call? Would she just sit here, hour after hour, growing ever more
hysterical?
He’d already been gone nearly ninety minutes. Even if Valentin
was still in his meeting, he must have spoken to Joe by now. So why
hadn’t she heard something?
She stared at her mobile phone. It felt wrong to ignore Joe’s advice.
He’d been an undercover policeman, after all. He knew what he was
talking about.
But one quick call. Could it really hurt?
Yes, it could. Cassie shifted position, trapping her hands under her
thighs. No more looking at her watch.
It’s just like dieting, she thought. Forget how much you want it, and be strong.
Liam took Valentin to Dreamscape, collecting the Ford Explorer from
outside Terry Fox’s place on the way past. Valentin joined the other
prisoners, now seven of them in total, seated in a circle on the garage
floor.
cuffed with her hands in front. The others had their hands behind their backs, which was far less comfortable. Liam wondered if he
should alter it so they were all the same, then decided it wasn’t that
important.
Allotti had collected up the mobile phones and taken them into a
small office on the ground floor. Pendry and Manderson were standing
the other side of the cars, where they’d removed their masks to smoke
and talk in conspiratorial whispers. That left only Eldon to keep watch
on the prisoners.
'Where’s Turner?’ said Liam.
'He went next door,’ said Eldon. 'The Feltons.’
Liam frowned. Apart from himself and Priya, Turner was the only
member of the team who knew that Valentin was in on the robbery.
The others believed he was merely another victim, and it was vital to
keep it that way.
But Liam had his doubts as to whether Turner could be trusted
with such an important secret. Like Priya, Turner was one of Valentin’s
recruits, and didn’t inspire much confidence. Privately Liam had
resolved to eliminate him if he came close to compromising the
operation.
Now he sighed, and checked his watch. Nine-fifteen.
“I’m going over there myself,’ he told Eldon. 'When Turner comes
back, you and Pendry can get to work. Take the Citroen and start with
the Weavers, okay?’
Eldon nodded. Liam scowled at Manderson and Pendry; they felt
his gaze but brazenly continued smoking and chatting. As he turned
away, Liam made eye contact with Valentin. The Ukrainian gave an
almost imperceptible bow of his head.
Good luck.
On the way out Liam detoured to the office. Allotti was splayed in
a chair, chuckling to himself as he scrolled through the menu on
someone’s phone. He saw Liam and scrambled to sit upright.
'What is it?’
'McWhirter. Nudie pictures of some hooker. Much too young for
him.’
Liam grunted. 'You turned the jammer off yet?’
'No. I can do, if you want.’
The plan had been to restore the mobile phone network once the
island was secure, allowing incoming calls to be intercepted rather
than blocked. Allotti’s job was to monitor texts and phone messages,
and either respond to them himself or get the prisoners to reply, to
maintain an illusion of normality.
'We’ll risk leaving it on a bit longer,’ Liam said. You can monitor
anything coming in on the landlines, though?’
'Oh, yeah.’ Allotti gestured enthusiastically at a small receiver and
telephone handset on the desk. 'We’re piggybacking from the junction
box, with wireless transmission to here. I’m using a similar
frequency to the two-way ra
dios, so the jammer won’t affect it. It’s a
sweet set-up. I don’t even have to get out of my seat,’ he declared
happily.
Liam nodded. Allotti was a clever bastard, but a lazy one.
Then his radio buzzed, and he forgot all about Allotti and the
phones.
It was Priya. Her voice sounded tight and unfamiliar, almost vibrating
with tension.
'There’s a problem.’
The mystery of McWhirter’s whereabouts didn’t take long to solve.
Joe found the South African’s body in Valentin’s study. He felt for a
pulse, but knew it was useless. McWhirter’s eyes were open, waxy and
sightless. Nothing that could be done for him.
Scanning the room, Joe noticed Valentin’s hip flask sitting on the desk
next to his laptop. A few drops of whisky had run down the side and
pooled on the glossy walnut surface of the desk. The image troubled
him somehow, but he couldn’t say why.
And there was no time to dwell on it. He left the office and swiftly
checked the rest of the house: partly to make sure he was alone, but
also to search for a weapon. He paid particular attention to the guest
bedroom appropriated by Yuri, hoping there would be a gun stashed
somewhere, but found nothing.
In Cassie’s room he made an unwelcome discovery. A Cartier watch
and a set of diamond earrings lay in full view on her dressing table.
It was inconceivable that such items would be excluded from the
robbery, which meant the gang might come back at any moment.
Joe drank some water in the kitchen, then opened the cutlery drawer
and selected a six-inch boning knife. Not very effective against a gun,
but useful for close-quarter combat.
His last call was the basement. As he reached the communal living
area he saw the vault door standing open. He looked inside, and
frowned. He’d last been in here about a fortnight ago, when he’d
accompanied Valentin’s insurance assessor, who was producing an
updated inventory. On that occasion the room had been bursting with
treasure.
Around half of it remained, sitting undisturbed, but the other half
was missing. Had it already been removed?
Joe puzzled over it for a second or two, but reached no conclusion,
other than a vague sense that this was something more complex
than a simple raid. More complex – and therefore more dangerous.
Outside, the light was rapidly fading. With most of the houses in darkness,
and no street lighting, the twilight had a more emphatic quality
than it did in towns and cities. Already the woods across the road
looked impenetrable and slightly sinister, like something from a ghost
story. Soon they would need flashlights to see their way from place to
place, Liam thought.
But at least it was cooler now, too. Liam tilted his head to catch a
gentle breeze coming in off the sea. The mask was driving him mad,
but he couldn’t dispense with it until Oliver Felton had joined the
other prisoners at Dreamscape.
And that wouldn’t happen until Oliver had served his purpose.
In the minute or so that it took Liam to walk next door, he tried
to push Priya’s gloomy message aside, half fearing that she’d gone and
stabbed the boy to death. He didn’t want anything to detract from the
anticipation he felt right at this moment – for Robert Felton was the
reason they had come to Terror’s Reach.
The plan had been hatched by Valentin Nasenko, after his fortune
had taken a pounding in the banking crisis of 2008. He and Felton
had been enemies for years, for all kinds of reasons that were frankly
of no interest to Liam. He’d quickly learned to tune out whenever
Valentin began ranting about all the lucrative deals which Felton had
supposedly denied him, thanks to his network of political cronies
around the world.
What interested Liam was that Nasenko wanted revenge, and he
needed money. Stealing from Felton satisfied both objectives. The
catch was that it had to be done in a way that avoided any suspicion
falling on Valentin.
It was Liam who had provided the solution, which had three main
elements. Firstly, target all the homes on the island to make it appear
that Felton was just one of several victims. Next, find a way to ensure
that Travers – a trusted associate of Felton’s – was present to witness
and later corroborate Valentin’s ordeal at the hands of the gang.
The last touch, which really added the seal of authenticity, was the
cold-blooded murder of Valentin’s loyal adviser, Gary McWhirter. Even
Felton was unlikely to think his rival capable of such a ruthless gambit.
Valentin himself had dreamed up an additional component. He
planned an overture to Robert Felton, via Travers, regarding a business
deal in some godforsaken Central Asian republic. This was a
quite genuine proposal, albeit one that Felton would normally reject
out of hand. After all, he had no incentive to do business with Nasenko.
Except that, as a result of tonight’s activity, Valentin’s offer would
be made from a position of strength, having helped himself to a large
slice of his neighbour’s fortune.
Reaching the open front door, Liam gave a short, gleeful laugh. It
was a hell of a fortune. A hell of a slice.
He found Turner in the living room, sucking on a cigarette and
pacing up and down like an expectant father in an old movie. When
he saw Liam he dropped the cigarette and ground the butt into the
floor. He looked worried and upset and aggrieved all at once. There
was no sign of Priya or Oliver Felton.
'Where are they?’ Liam asked.
'Upstairs.’
'So what’s the problem?’
Turner just glowered, shouldering his way past Liam.
'What?’ Liam asked again. His hand drifted towards the gun in his
belt.
'See for yourself,’ Turner said without looking back. He marched
across the hall and started up the stairs.
'Mask,’ Liam said, hurrying after him.
'Fucking thing,’ Turner said. But he put it on.
The master-bedroom suite occupied about a quarter of the first floor.
It was a ridiculously large space, with dressing rooms, twin bathrooms
and even a sitting area with sofas and a coffee table. Oliver Felton was
perched on a sofa, rigid as a dummy in a shop window, staring blankly
at the far wall. Priya was standing over him, absently biting her lower
lip. She hardly reacted when Liam and Turner walked in.
One of the walls was clad in light-oak panelling. Robert Felton’s
safe was set into the wall, concealed by a section of fake panelling,
which had been swung aside. The safe door was open. Operated by a dial combination lock, it was made of heavy reinforced steel with
three-way boltwork and anti-drilling plates: exactly as their research
had suggested.
The interior space was about six feet high, three feet wide and two
feet deep. There were five shelves, but four of them were bare. A
handful of trinkets lay gathering dust on the top shelf, and there was
an old foolscap box file on the floor.
And that was it. Nothing else.
The safe was empty.
Thirty-Three
Joe was relieved to find his own room still intact. He locked the door
behind him and dragged his bed across it for greater protection. Then
he stripped off and allowed himself thirty seconds in the shower. He
dried and got dressed in clean jeans, black T-shirt and trainers. Pocketed
his multi-tool and keys and the boning knife, and then remembered
his mobile phone.
He took out his strongbox from the wardrobe. There was another
phone in there, and he could swap the SIM card. Although he’d told
Cassie not to call, he didn’t like the idea of her being unable to contact
him if she really needed to. That meant he had to keep hold of the
number she had for him.
But he was also aware of the time ticking away. He couldn’t afford
to get caught down here. Besides, he ought to find a better hiding
place for his own possessions, to prevent his IDs from falling into the
wrong hands.
Joe moved the bed away from the door and tucked the strongbox
under his arm. He crept upstairs, listening hard for any movement in
the house.
Back in the hall, he paused. There was a landline extension on the
wall. He thought about McWhirter, lying dead in the study. He thought
about the prisoners, marched off to an unknown fate. Shouldn’t he
call the police while he had the chance?
Still he hesitated. The junction box was just along the road from
here. He felt sure they would have cut the line, or disabled the phones
in some way.
He looked at the receiver for a long second, then snatched it up.
Expecting nothing, he felt his heart stutter as he recognised a dialling
tone.
Maybe they thought cutting the lines was too great a risk. If someone
called the island and couldn’t get through, they might report a fault.
As he pressed 9, a voice in his head warned him:
The police won’t believe you.
He pressed it again.
They haven’t cut the lines, but they must be—
A blast of feedback made him jump. He nearly dropped the receiver.
The line went dead. Someone had cut him off.
'Shit,’ Joe whispered. He’d just made a really big mistake.
Liam stared at the safe in disbelief.
'What the hell is this?’
You tell me,’ Turner growled. 'There’s meant to be a fucking fortune