Money Run (19 page)

“I don't—” Ash began shakily.

“…then I'll kill you,” de Totth continued, “because that means you're absolutely useless to me.” She ripped off Ash's shoe and clicked off the safety catch on her gun. “Ready to start?”

Peachey reached the 25th floor, and eased the stairwell door open. The first thing he saw was a SIG Sauer 9 mm pistol with the safety catch off.

The second thing he saw was Adam Keighley holding it.

Peachey's eyes widened. What the hell was this?

His first thought was that Keighley worked security for Buckland as well as being a secretary. But that made no sense. Buckland already had security, and besides, security shouted “Halt!” or “Freeze!”. They didn't just take aim silently, grim concentration on their faces.

His next guess was that Keighley was an undercover cop. They were tougher than security guards and, as a general rule, a little more relaxed about the rules and etiquette of shooting someone. They could get away with a lot by explaining that they were “only maintaining their cover”.

This day had been so insane that it seemed anything was possible. Peachey wouldn't have been surprised if Keighley turned out to be an alien protecting the mother ship concealed in the basement. But it was his third thought that made the most sense to him.

It had baffled him all day how Buckland had seemed to know he was coming, when Walker had said that the operation had only been planned a few days ago. On the one hand, Buckland couldn't possibly have improvised his many traps so quickly, but on the other, why would Walker lie about something like that?

Now Peachey thought he had found a third possibility. He didn't understand the
why
of it just yet, but he thought he'd grasped the
how
.

Buckland had seen it coming because he had forced it to happen.

Whatever reason the government had for wanting him killed, he knew about it. So he forced their hand, making sure he knew when the hitter would be coming. The best form of defence is attack. Maybe he had decided to retire or planned a trip overseas or something. Either way, he told no one except his closest, most trusted employees. Knowing that at least one of them was a government agent.

If Adam Keighley was one of Walker's men, that would explain how Walker had managed to hack into the CCTV footage. And it would explain how Walker had been able to track Peachey's movements; he remembered Keighley spraying his – Ford's – name tag with something to “activate” it. Microdots, most likely, so the government could keep tabs on him. And it would explain how Buckland had managed to stay a step ahead the whole way – he'd been controlling the information that got to Keighley, so Keighley passed on only certain things to Walker, and Walker passed them on to Peachey.

Keighley being a government agent made perfect sense. After all, he wasn't pointing the SIG at Peachey. He hadn't even noticed the lift doors opening, as far as Peachey could tell. He was pointing it down the corridor, at someone Peachey couldn't see from where he was.

“Where is the other government agent?” de Totth asked.

She thinks I'm working for the government, Ash thought. Her mind was racing. That means she doesn't work for the government herself. She works for Buckland! The TRA aren't the real TRA, they're here to protect Buckland!

“Sorry,” de Totth said. “I should have clarified this. Silence counts as refusing to tell me.” She wrapped her gloved fingers around Ash's toe, holding it in place.

“I don't work for the government!” Ash said. “I'm on your side!”

“Wrong answer,” de Totth said, pressing the barrel of the gun against Ash's toe.

“No! Wait!” Ash said.

The barrel was cold against her skin. De Totth ignored her.

“Wait!” she said again. “I'll help you!”

De Totth paused. Okay, Ash thought. How do I get out of this?

“You were right,” Ash said. “I'm a government agent. I don't know where he is, but—”

De Totth's finger tightened on the trigger.

“
But
,” Ash said, desperate, “I can contact him.”

“Tell me how,” de Totth said.

“My iPod headphones. They're connected to a phone in my back pocket. He's on the other end of the line.”

“You can make him come to get you?”

Ash took a deep breath. “No, but maybe you can. He outranks me, he's not supposed to follow my instructions. But if you told him you had captured me and made him believe that I was giving you information, he might show up. To silence me.”

De Totth examined Ash with inky black eyes. She stood there for what felt like a long time. Ash's breathing came in ragged gasps.

“Okay,” de Totth said. “Give me the phone.”

Ash rolled onto her side so she could reach her back pocket. She withdrew the phone slowly. I sure hope Benjamin heard all that, she thought. And that he'll be able to play along.

Ash held out the phone, but de Totth didn't take it. She was staring into space, like she was listening carefully, or trying to tell the direction of the wind.

“Trap,” she growled.

She started to turn, lifting the MP5 from Ash's toe and clicking the safety from semi to auto. But she didn't make it.

Ash screamed as pink mist puffed out from the back of de Totth's head. Hot wetness spattered Ash's face, and she gagged. The bullet kept going, thunking into the wall behind her. Only then did she hear the gunshots from the corridor behind de Totth – she rolled off Keighley's desk and landed on all fours behind it.

Crack! Crack!
Slugs slammed against the side of the desk but didn't penetrate. She heard a thud as de Totth's body hit the ground. The shots kept coming, either because the shooter wanted to be certain that Alex de Totth was really dead, or because he was hoping to hit Ash through the desk.

Peachey watched as Keighley fired shot after shot down the corridor in quick succession. The guy's undercover work was obviously much better than his marksmanship.

The gun clicked empty.

“Hello,” Peachey said.

Keighley whirled around, pointing the gun. “You!” he said.

“Me,” Peachey said. “Did you hit anything, or is it early days? I'd lend you some bullets, but I think I might be fresh out.”

“I'm doing your job, Peachey,” Keighley hissed. “How about you take over?”

“You mean after all those shots, Buckland is still alive?”

Keighley pointed. “That was Alex de Totth, Buckland's main bodyguard. So now that I've done the hard part for you, how about you finally do what we're paying you to do?”

Keighley killed de Totth? No way. Peachey stepped out of the lift and stared down the corridor. There she was, in front of a colander-like reception desk, with at least three gunshot wounds, including one just above her left eye. She was dead, all right.

“Buckland's in his office,” Keighley said. “Unarmed, and unguarded. Don't screw up this time.” He stepped into the lift, pushed a button and the doors swept shut.

Peachey scanned the floor for de Totth's gun, but it seemed to have disappeared. No matter. He suspected Keighley was probably right – he had done the hard part. Without de Totth, the rest of her team would evacuate. If Buckland was in his office, Peachey would be able to kill him with his bare hands.

The part about de Totth working for Buckland didn't seem to quite fit. Why had she let him out of the deep fryer if that was the case? But Peachey figured it was time he stopped worrying about everyone else's motives and finally finished the day's work.

Wright waved his arms in the air, signalling to the police helicopter. The rooftop was swept clean of litter and dust as it swung in to land.

“Do you mind?” the girl in headphones roared. “We're recording cut footage over here!”

“Relax,” said the reporter. “These shots won't have audio.”

“Do you want us to come with you across to HBS, sir?” Caswell asked Wright.

“The assault team will be all the manpower I need,” Wright said, “and once the building's empty we can all have a look around. I need you and the others here tracing the girl's path, trying to find a clear print.”

“Don't we already have that from the car, sir?”

Wright sighed. “I'm betting she wiped down the car.”

Caswell raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He hadn't met the girl, so he didn't understand. Wright had her figured as a genius or a lunatic. Maybe both. But definitely smart enough to clean the car on her way out.

The thundering of helicopter blades discouraged further discussion. The landing skis clanked against the roof, but the blades didn't slow down – the attack team wasn't getting out. This was only a temporary stop to pick up Wright.

Wright raised a hand by way of farewell and jogged over to the chopper. The hold door ground open as he approached it.

“Detective Wright?” a masked and goggled man yelled, cradling a Remington 870 shotgun.

“Yeah,” Wright shouted as he clambered in.

“We were hoping you could brief us on the situation on the way over,” the man said.

“You'd have to go around the block a few times,” Wright replied.

Ash had heard the conversation between Keighley and “Peachey” from a safe distance away. When she'd heard the click of an empty gun, she had slipped out from behind the desk. De Totth's MP5 had landed a couple of metres away from her body – Ash grabbed it. She had no idea how to use it, but she didn't want the assassin to have it. She ran around the corner. Apparently neither man had spotted her.

She was still shivering. She hadn't been injured in her encounter with de Totth, but it had been a close call. The image of her toes being shot off one by one would haunt her nightmares for years. And every time she shut her eyes, she saw de Totth's head twitch as the bullet punched through it. She folded her arms over her chest to banish the cold. It was futile; the shivers were coming from within.

Okay, she thought. Keighley is a government agent. He gets the job as Buckland's secretary, and finds out that Buckland is planning to leave the country. He reports this to his superiors, and they hire a hit man to kill Buckland – that's this guy named Peachey. But Peachey “screws up” somehow, and gives Buckland time to call in his backup. Buckland has planted some fake anthrax under his office, and calls his team of mercenaries disguised as TRA, led by Alex de Totth. That keeps the cops out of HBS and his employees out of the crossfire as the mercenaries and Peachey fight it out.

Why actually plant fake anthrax? Ash wondered. Why not just make the call? Was he hoping someone else would find it?

Doesn't matter – I messed it up, Ash thought. De Totth mistook me for a government agent, since I wasn't one of hers and I wasn't a cop and I wasn't an employee. She tried to use me to find out where “the other government agent” was. At the time I thought she meant the hit man, Peachey – but now I'm pretty sure she meant Keighley, who is presumably instructed to finish the job if Peachey fails.

So while de Totth was distracted with me, Keighley managed to get behind her. Now she's dead, and Buckland is defenceless.

Because of me.

Ash put the headphones back in her ears, and heard only silence. “Benjamin?” she whispered.

“Ash! Thank goodness. I thought…are you hit?”

“No,” Ash said, “just freaked out. Did you hear that conversation between Keighley and the hitter?”

“Bits of it. So de Totth and her fake TRA team work for Buckland, not the government, right?”

“Right,” Ash said. “And I'm pretty sure Buckland planted the fake anthrax to get them in here. But now de Totth's dead and her team is missing.”

“So, Buckland…”

“Is screwed, yeah,” Ash confirmed.

There was a pause.

“It's not your fault, Ash,” Benjamin said gently.

“If I hadn't come here, de Totth would still be alive and Buckland might have a chance,” Ash hissed. “That sounds like it's my fault to me.”

“Don't be stupid. You may as well blame Peachey's mother for giving birth to him. You're not the one about to kill Buckland, and you didn't intentionally create the circumstances leading to his death. It is
not your fault
.”

Ash heard Peachey's footsteps as he walked up the corridor to Buckland's office. She flattened herself against the wall as he walked past. “Maybe not,” she whispered. “But maybe I can stop it.” She slipped out from behind the corner and followed Peachey towards Buckland's office.

“Why is he just standing there?” the assault team leader shouted.

The helicopter was drawing a giant spiral in the sky, slowly looping in towards the HBS rooftop. The night was moonless, so the many city lights below provided the only illumination. The yellow cube glowed in the halogen lights on the roof.

The lights were on in several HBS offices, and Wright could see the employees lounging against sofas and desks. Their panic had dissipated, leaving only resignation and boredom. Ties were loosened, sleeves rolled up, watches frequently checked.

But Wright wasn't looking at them. He was staring through the empty window frame, into Hammond Buckland's office. The water lapped gently at the edges of the spa. The papers on the desk fluttered in the breeze. And Buckland stood with his back to the window, perfectly still.

If Buckland had confined himself there once the quarantine had started, Wright would have expected him to be either pacing nervously or sitting down. Perhaps even working at the computer. And if the girl was right, and there were people in the building trying to kill him, he should be hiding under the desk. Or, again, pacing nervously.

But he was just standing there, the wind ruffling his hair, hands in his pockets. Like he'd been sentenced to death, but he'd had time to get used to it. Wright wished he could see his face.

“What's he doing?” the leader shouted.

“I have no idea,” Wright replied.

Adam Keighley opened the lift doors again. He wanted to follow Peachey to the office unseen. It was his job to send confirmation of the hit to Walker.

As he stepped out into the corridor, he saw that someone was already following Peachey. Ashley Arthur. What the hell was she still doing here?

Keighley wondered briefly if he should stop her. There had been enough mistakes already today, and he didn't want her messing things up. He was out of bullets, but he could always strangle her, smother her, break her neck.

Trouble was, Peachey would almost certainly hear him do it. And Keighley didn't want Peachey to know he was being followed. Better for him to believe that Walker was relying on his word to establish Buckland's death. Better for him to think that if he failed, there was no contingency plan.

And besides, Peachey creeped Keighley out. He was unpredictable and violent. Better that he didn't know Keighley was behind him.

Keighley watched as Peachey opened the door to Buckland's office and stepped through. Ashley crept slowly past the reception desk.

Leave her alone, Keighley decided. How much of a threat could a teenage girl be?

He leaned against the wall and waited to hear the gunshots.

Peachey closed the door behind him.

“You're late,” Buckland said.

Peachey was about to charge towards him, but he noticed two things. One: Buckland appeared to be unarmed. Two: the Glock he'd discarded when breaking the window that morning was lying exactly where he'd left it, under one of the chairs. He scooped it up, ejected the magazine, checked that there were still bullets in it. There were. He snapped it back in, clicked the safety off, and pointed it back at Buckland. The whole process took less than two seconds.

“I agree,” he said.

“But still,” Buckland continued, “I am impressed. You passed.”

Peachey raised an eyebrow. He'd had some weird people say some weird things to try to talk him out of killing them. But this was the beginning of something he'd never heard before – and he'd never seen a victim this calm.

“There's nothing you can say to stop me from killing you,” he said.

“I have a job for you,” Buckland replied.

Ash took a deep breath outside the door. She checked her hands. They were shaking so much they were almost blurry.

She didn't know what was going on inside. She knew Peachey was in there, probably Buckland, and potentially anyone else from mercenaries to police. She didn't know what Peachey was armed with. It could be sharp or blunt – either was dangerous in those hands. Worse, it could be a firearm, and Ash thought she'd probably used up her nine lives where dodging bullets was concerned.

But she knew that only hours ago she'd bludgeoned Peachey unconscious with nothing but a pair of bolt cutters and the element of surprise. And she still had both those things.

She gripped the handle and turned it slowly. She was awash with the sudden fear that someone on the other side was watching it turn, waiting for her to open it, just a crack, so they could take aim and blow her head off.

She heard the soft click of the lock. She pushed the door open gradually.

“Goddamn it,” the team leader said. “We have a situation.”

Wright watched from inside the helicopter, knuckles white around the binoculars. There was a man in Buckland's office, pointing a gun at Buckland. He hadn't been carrying the gun when he entered – he'd found it on the floor. Buckland hadn't reacted at all, as far as Wright could see. What was going on?

A member of the assault team was quickly assembling a sniper rifle out of a box. “I'm on it, sir,” she said. “Give me thirty seconds, I'll be ready to take a shot.”

“Good,” the leader said. “But hold your fire until I give the order.”

“Understood.”

Wright saw the door handle turn, and the door open a crack. He squinted.

The girl's face edged into view.

“Oh, no,” he said. “No.” Then, to the leader: “We have another civilian in the room, repeat, civilian in the room.”

“Keep it steady,” the sniper roared at the pilot.

Peachey could hear a helicopter outside, blades pounding over the wind. But he couldn't see it in the darkness. Maybe it was de Totth's team pulling out.

“I already have a job,” he growled.

“Mine pays better,” Buckland said. “I'll give you ten billion now, another ten when the job is done.”

He was moving, walking slowly and calmly from the desk, past the spa, towards the painting on the wall.

“Stop right there,” Peachey said.

“Originally, I didn't think you would be up to it,” Buckland said. “Then I tried to kill you, and discovered how hard it was. The gas, the water tank, the deep fryer – I have to say, you're one tough—”

“I said stop,” Peachey said, and Buckland obeyed. He raised his hands and smiled.

“Are you going to shoot me? Throw away $20 billion?”

“I always complete my mission,” Peachey said.

“You have a new mission now,” Buckland replied. “Put down the gun, and I'll brief you.”

Was he serious? Peachey stared at Buckland's golden eyes. They held his gaze too frigidly, too compulsively.

A smile spread across Peachey's face. “You're bluffing,” he said.

Ash crept towards Peachey's back. She remembered that he'd taken two blows before losing consciousness last time, and vowed to give him at least three to make sure.

She raised the bolt cutters. She was four steps away from him.

One
.

“There's no job,” Peachey said.

Two
.

“You'll tell whatever lie you think will save you.”

Three
.

“But no matter what you do, no matter what you say, you have only seconds left to live.”

Four…

Ash gripped the handle tightly, and started to—

Buckland was shaking his head. He was looking at Peachey but Ash suddenly sensed that the gesture was intended for her.

“No,” he said. “Don't do it.”

The girl was too close to the guy with the gun. The sniper wasn't ready yet. But when she was, if the girl was still standing there, the sniper wouldn't be able to take a shot without the risk of hitting her.

“Come on, Ash,” Wright whispered. “Get out of the way.”

“Nearly ready?” the leader asked.

“Fifteen seconds,” the sniper said without looking up. She snapped the barrel into place.

“You are about to make a very stupid decision,” Buckland warned.

Peachey smiled. This was what he wanted. He wanted to hear the fear in the billionaire's voice.

“You've already made too many,” he replied.

“Your employer isn't really a government agent – he works for me,” Buckland said. He was starting to sound desperate. “I hired him to test you. Kill me, and you don't get paid.”

“The agent was a woman,” Peachey said smugly. “Nice try. Is there anyone you'd like me to pass your goodbyes on to?”

Keighley pressed his ear against the door. He hadn't heard any shots yet, and he thought he detected the mumbling of voices. Do your job, Peachey, he thought. Do it.

Ash backed away. What's wrong? she thought. I'm his only chance – the hit man's not buying his story. Why doesn't he want saving?

“If you're planning on pulling that trigger, you'd best say your own goodbyes,” Buckland said. “Because you're going straight to prison. This area has been quarantined, remember? There are police roadblocks all around. There's no way out.”

“Time's a factor,” Wright said. The girl was moving back from the guy with the gun.

“Almost ready,” the sniper said. She lay down on the floor of the chopper and nestled the stock in the crook of her arm.

“Mission complete,” Peachey said.

“No,” Buckland said. “No, don't—”

Crack
.

Wright saw the muzzle flash from the guy's gun, and the firework of blood as the first shot burst through Buckland's left shoulder blade.

“Goddamn it! Open fire, now!”

Crack.

Torso right. Peachey barely saw the second shot puncture the right breast of Buckland's suit – he was already taking aim at the head.

Crack.

Ash watched with horror as Buckland's head twisted backwards, like someone had grabbed him by the hair and tugged. His legs gave way instantly, and he toppled backwards, crumbling down, into the spa.