Terror's Reach (30 page)

The bottom tier was formed of large 12.5-kilo ingots, arranged in
piles of a dozen. There were twenty piles that Joe could see, and
possibly more beyond his view. At least two hundred and forty in total.
He could scarcely begin to estimate their value.
The top tier was mostly one-kilo: neat rectangular slabs the size of
chocolate bars. Too many to count, but there had to be hundreds.
Along each side of the room, Joe could see sealed boxes and what
looked like artwork bundled in thick layers of bubble wrap. Some of
it may have been priceless, but it seemed almost insignificant in
comparison to the gold.
Felton waited in silence, allowing them all to absorb the sight and
in Liam and Valentin’s case, to reflect on their failure.
'How much is it worth?’ Joe asked.
'Including the art, about a hundred and fifty million.’ Felton
sounded vaguely dismissive. 'I’d like more, but liquidating assets and
moving into gold hasn’t been that easy lately. The trouble is, everyone’s
doing it.’
'Because of the recession?’
'Broadly speaking. I’ve always kept a healthy percentage of my wealth
in precious metals. Another problem is that some of it isn’t strictly kosher.’
A hollow laugh from Liam. 'You stole it?’
'Of course not. Just acquired it in somewhat unorthodox circumstances.
Usually as payment for services rendered, in parts of the world
where it’s wise to avoid regulatory interference.’
Joe snorted. 'And tax.’
'Absolutely. Paying tax is for muggles. It’s bad enough that I’ll lose
value on the bars that don’t have sound provenance.’
'It’s a tough life.’
'It certainly is,’ Felton agreed without a trace of irony. He turned
his attention to Valentin. 'Perhaps you can enlighten me on one thing.
How did you know about the gold?’
Valentin frowned. 'It was my maid.’
Felton appeared relieved. 'That’s what Yuri claimed. I wasn’t sure
whether to believe him.’
'She is friendly with one of the women who cleans for you. This
woman overheard a phone call. You were making arrangements to
store gold at home. She mentioned it to my maid, and Maria told me.’
'So we owe all this to the gossip of servants?’ Felton pretended to
be marvelling at the thought, but that theatrical air was back. He was
playing with them again. 'I had my reservations, but to be on the safe
side I dispensed with the cleaning woman in question.’
'“Dispensed”?’ Joe repeated.
'Well, the police will most likely treat it as a domestic burglary gone
wrong.’ Felton chuckled. 'I thought that would be rather fitting.’
Valentin scowled. 'Enough of these games. If you wish to kill us,
do it. If not, tell me what you want.’
Felton raised an admonitory finger. 'My agenda, Valentin.’
'Fuck your agenda.’
Liam told him to cool down. Felton agreed. 'If ever there was an
occasion to keep that famous temper in check, this is it.’
He produced the voice recorder and scrolled through its menu.
'Let’s have another reminder, shall we?’
He pressed play, and they heard Travers’s disdainful growl:
There are no boundaries with that guy. No proportionality. He just
doesn’t understand the concept. If you’re loyal to him, and he knows it,
there’s no better man to work with. But cross him and you’ve signed
your own death warrant.
In response, Valentin’s laugh was high and mocking and slightly
false, because even then he must have been aware of the high-wire
act he was attempting.
Felton cut off the tape.

“I’m disappointed in you, Valentin. You rejected some very good
advice there. So far you’ve shown yourself to be arrogant, and stupid,
and selfish.’ He gestured at Joe. 'Earlier today this man saved the lives
of your family. Have you expressed your gratitude to him? No. You’re
so caught up in your bid for survival, I bet you’ve hardly given it a
thought.’
He grinned, and Joe felt a twist of fear in his gut.
'In fact,’ Felton added slyly, 'I bet you don’t even have a clue where
they are right now.’

Forty-Nine

Oliver’s bedroom window was large enough to escape from, but it didn’t
lead anywhere. Just a twenty-foot drop onto a concrete path. He knew
the fall wouldn’t necessarily kill him, but it might shatter his ankles,
and then what would he do? Suffer yet more humiliation when his
father’s goons discovered him bleeding and broken on the path.
Instead, he opted to climb out of the little window in his bathroom.
It was a tight squeeze, even with the window shoved wide open. Made
worse because he had to go out backwards, head and shoulders first,
facing the room.
He managed it by climbing onto the toilet seat, then turned his
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
silence. 'Oh, and I’m taking your house as well.’
'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.’