Terror's Reach (35 page)

Joe couldn’t decide what to make of Felton’s performance. Priya was
bound to assume that Felton was feigning his disdain for Oliver, but
Joe wasn’t so sure. He knew a little about the tensions between them,
mainly from gossip passed on by Angela Weaver. And with so much
at stake, it seemed all too plausible that Felton would be willing to
sacrifice Oliver for his cause.
But one thing was certain. Regardless of which side prevailed, Joe’s
fate was sealed. No one would trust him to keep quiet about their
deal: therefore he had to be eliminated.
When he glanced at the doorway, trying to gauge if he could take
Liam on, he was confronted with the unexpected sight of Oliver Felton.
The young man’s face was a white mask of shock as he listened to his
father’s ruthless condemnation.
He’ll believe it, Joe thought. He’ll want to believe it, to fuel his
paranoia and self-pity.
But at least Oliver was going to get away. That was one small mercy.
And if Priya really had killed Felton’s men, maybe the other prisoners
at Dreamscape had a chance of freedom as well. With any luck, Oliver
would help them escape, and then raise the alarm.

Fifty-Eight

When Angela cut Terry free, the first thing he did was wrap her in a
heartfelt embrace. It lasted only a couple of seconds, but its effect was
extraordinary: obliterating all the pain and fear in an instant. She could
scarcely believe how wonderful it felt. Her instinctive response was to
clamp her arms around him and not let go, but Terry was already stepping
away.
Of course he was. They had two more people to release. To keep
them waiting would be rude and selfish. But she was sorry it had
ended so soon.
While he cut the restraints, Terry set out his escape plan. 'We may
have to get past guards or a roadblock at the bridge, so I suggest we
go to my place first. My Hummer’s parked in the garage.’
Angela nodded her agreement, but Maria gave an apologetic smile.
'So sorry. But first I need . . .’ She made a face, embarrassed.
Terry frowned. 'What?’
Then the driver, Pete Milton, said, “Me too. I feel like my bladder’s
gonna explode.’

'You know that every second we stay in here — '
'We know, Terry,’ said Angela. 'But we’ve been trussed up in here
for hours, and frankly I’m also in no fit state to run anywhere until
I’ve visited the loo.’
She started towards the inner door, but Terry stayed where he was.
When she turned, he waved her away.
'You go on. I’ll meet you in the hall.’
They found two cloakrooms on the ground floor. Angela took one,
and Maria the other. Milton didn’t discuss what arrangements he’d
made, but when Angela came out she found him strolling back from
the kitchen, looking a lot more relaxed. He’d also managed to wash
off some of the blood around his broken nose.

Terry was waiting for them in the hall, bouncing on his feet like a
hyperactive teenager. He too looked much happier, and he showed
her why, lifting a handgun into sight.
'Found this on the guard,’ he said. 'Loaded and ready to go.’
'You really think you’d use it?’
'Too bloody right I would.’
Making sure the way was clear, Terry led them outside. Angela and
Maria followed close behind him, with Milton bringing up the rear.
The night was clear and starry, the air cool and sweet after the evil
stench of the garage: to breathe it was a heady delight.
They made it across the driveway, but as Terry reached the gates
he suddenly flapped his free hand in a downwards motion. He dropped
into a crouch, checking over his shoulder to make sure they’d done
the same.
'What?’ Angela mouthed, but by now she could hear the footsteps.
Somebody coming . . .

Priya didn’t like the way Felton was looking at her: with a lazy smile
and half-closed eyes, an expression that was at once smug, disrespectful,
even faintly lecherous. He radiated the type of blithe natural confidence
that seemed impervious to threats.
Worst of all, she didn’t think he was faking any of it. He really did
believe he was immune to failure.
'Lot of mopping up to do,’ he observed. 'The poor buggers next
door, and those two, of course.’ He nodded towards the squash court:
Liam and Joe. 'If we do it your way, there can’t be any witnesses.’
'You don’t have a say in the matter.’
Felton shrugged, then called out to Liam: 'How do you feel about
being surplus to requirements? Priya and her lover boy won’t want
you playing gooseberry.’
'Shut the fuck up,’ Liam responded.
Grinning, Felton turned back to Priya. 'The truth hurts,’ he said
quietly. 'It’s the same with you, I’m afraid. You made a poor choice
with that wannabe oligarch.’ He leaned slightly, peering along the
corridor behind her. 'Valentin was never a player. Just look at his wife.
He couldn’t get a supermodel or a Hollywood star, so he settled for
some one-hit wonder from a TV talent show. Believe me, Priya, you
can do much, much better than that.’
She smiled. You’re wasting your breath.’
'Oh, I think you’re tempted. Even if Valentin does get his hands
on that gold, he’ll find a way to squander it somehow. And then where
will you be?’

Far away from any of you, Priya thought. With my own money safe
and sound.

Felton opened his hands palm out: a straight-talking gesture. 'Look,
I could pour on a lot of flattery about how smart you are, how beautiful,
but I don’t need to do that. All I’m suggesting is that you reassess
your position. It’s not too late.’
'To change sides, you mean?’

He nodded. 'To be a winner.’
His gaze flickered past her, and a touch of caution entered his face.
Valentin returned, one hand caressing the small of Priya’s back as he
came alongside her. He looked about twenty years older than Felton,
grey and drab and weary.
One foot in the grave, she thought.
He showed her the key in his hand. 'I can’t find him. The door
was locked, but the room is empty.’

Felton displayed grudging admiration. 'He’s escaped? My God, I
didn’t think he had it in him.’
'The bathroom window was open,’ Valentin went on, 'but it’s a long
drop. Unless somehow he climbed down?’
Priya was picturing the house, the peculiar little dormers and
concealed attic room. She shook her head.
'He went up. Climbed over the roof.’
As she said it, Felton was waiting with a congratulatory smile:
one step ahead of them as always. It was the smile of a man who
believed he was home and dry, because without Oliver they had
no leverage at all. Reason dictated that Priya would have to take
his offer seriously. She would see the merit of his argument and
climb aboard.
It could be done in an instant, she thought. Valentin was just inches
away from her: unarmed, unsuspecting, his attention focused mostly
on Felton. Point-blank range.
Easy as a bullet, once the decision was made.
Easy as a bullet.

The footsteps were light but rapid. Angela felt her stomach clench at
the thought of yet more violence. She had sensed a subtle change in
Terry, now that he was wielding a gun. Not quite a swagger, but definitely
a swelling of confidence, as though he would welcome a chance
to use it.
For all her misgivings, it was quite understandable. And if their
survival depended on his willingness to kill, Angela knew she would
not object.
A figure loomed over them as Terry launched himself up, ready to
shoot. Angela was the first to recognise Oliver Felton, but it was too
dangerous to shout or grab Terry’s arm. Instead she rushed past him
and threw herself in front of the tall, thin, bewildered boy.
'Oh, Jesus.’ Terry whipped the gun away from them, and Angela
saw the white spots on his knuckles. 'I nearly. . .’
Angela touched Terry’s cheek; she could feel his warmth, and the
roughness of his stubble. 'It’s all right. Oliver’s on our side. Aren’t
you?’
For a moment Oliver just stared at her, as if she’d spoken in a
foreign language.
'So is it your dad over there?’ Terry asked, indicating the Felton
house. 'Is that who those other men are working for?’
'His storm troopers,’ Oliver said, his voice strangely placid.
'Why didn’t they release us when they had the chance?’ Angela
asked.
'He had a deal to make first. With Valentin. It’s all he cares about:
deals, money, power. My father is a monster. Always has been. Always
will be.’
His voice tailed off as he looked beyond them and fixed his gaze
on Dreamscape. Angela had the unsettling impression that he’d been
talking to himself, and barely knew they were there.
'We need to hurry,’ Terry reminded her.
Yes.’ She waved her hand to attract Oliver’s attention. 'Come on.
Leave them to their in-fighting and let the police take over.’
'He’ll only buy his way out. Police, judges, politicians, they all
succumb at the right price.’
He smiled, as though he found his own wisdom immensely satisfying,
and continued to stare at the huge empty house.
Angela flinched as a hand gripped her shoulder. Terry. 'What he
does is up to him. But we’re leaving. Now.’
He eased her towards the road, but she went sluggishly, still trying
to persuade Oliver.
'Please come with us. Don’t stay here.’
But it was no good. Oliver’s dreamy smile never faltered as she
backed away, and finally she allowed herself to turn, hurrying to keep
pace with the others, her heart wrenched by a sudden conviction that
she would never see him again.

'Is that how he got out? Did he climb over the roof?’ Priya asked. The
answer was immaterial, but she needed time to think and this bought
her valuable seconds.
'I’ve no idea,’ said Felton. 'Maybe he built a glider and flew away
on it.’ He lifted his hand and made a fluttering motion with his fingers,
all the time his eyes locked on Priya, glinting with the thrill of their
illicit communication. We could fly away . . .
'Where will he go?’ Valentin demanded.
'Why would I tell you that, even if I knew? He’s soft in the head.
Impossible to predict.’ Enjoying Valentin’s frustration, Felton added,
You know, do you, that this young lady is quite happy to let your
family perish?’
'That’s not true,’ said Priya.
'I beg your pardon. You want me to spare the daughter, but Cassie
and her son can die, paving the way for your own . . . liaison. Will
you marry her?’ Felton snapped the question at Valentin, who baulked.
'Enough of this. Give me my daughter, and the gold, and we will
spare your life.’
Felton ignored him. 'I wish Yuri had told me she was your Achilles
heel.’
Yuri did not know about us,’ Valentin said. 'No one knew.’
'She’s a hell of a catch, Valentin. In fact, we were just saying, she’s
really a bit too good for you. I can’t see it lasting, to be honest.’
For a second Priya thought Valentin was going to snatch the gun
from her and shoot Felton on the spot. She knew all about Valentin’s
short temper; his eagerness to take offence and bear a grudge. She’d
told herself that it wouldn’t matter once they were together; that his
negative qualities would be outweighed by security and wealth.
Besides, Valentin had rescued her, like a knight in a fairy story. If
not for him, she’d have sunk into a morass of drug addiction and prostitution.
She
owed him. Didn’t she?
'One last chance,’ Valentin said slowly. 'Tell me where my daughter
is, or Priya will shoot. We start with kneecaps. Very painful.’
Felton looked unfazed, and Priya knew why. Valentin couldn’t
afford to hurt him too badly, in case something went wrong and his
daughter was lost for ever.
That was the key moment. The moment when Priya saw with
absolute clarity that Felton was right. He did hold all the cards. He
had the gold, and he had Sofia, and they had nothing comparable;
just empty threats and guns that might as well have been toys for all
the use they were.
And Valentin was to blame. It was his arrogance and poor judgement
that had allowed Yuri to deceive him. His sloppy planning that
had allowed his family to be kidnapped.
All signs of the fundamental weakness of character that Robert
Felton had described.
And Felton, watching with that wise, crafty, penetrating gaze of his,
followed every tiny stage of Priya’s realignment, took note of every
single calculation and waited for the inevitable conclusion.
When it came, his eyes widened and warmed a little, and Priya
thought he was going to ruin it all by offering his congratulations
prematurely. But he didn’t get the chance. Because that was also the
moment his phone rang.

Fifty-Nine

In the context of this night, the everyday trilling of a phone seemed
banal and nonsensical. Joe didn’t know what it meant, that someone
should call, but he was glad of the interruption.
He’d followed the conversation between Felton and Priya and saw
how she might be tempted to jump ship. Soon Liam would reach
the same conclusion. Felton’s taunt about playing gooseberry had
struck a nerve: since then Liam had been restlessly shifting his weight
from foot to foot, keeping his gun hand up and ready. Not trusting
anyone.
And this is how it falls apart.
In the gallery, Priya allowed Felton to ease the phone from his
pocket. He looked at the screen and did a double take.
'Oliver?’
As he listened, Felton made eye contact with Priya. He shrugged,
then frowned, pressing the phone against his ear as if striving to hear
or understand.
Oliver’s impulse would be to gloat, Joe thought. He’d phone to tell
his father he was safely off the island, and that he’d called the police.
Joe prayed that he’d also thought to release the other prisoners.
Then Felton made a stuttering sound, and said, 'Wh-what do you
mean? Matches?’
'I kept some,’ Oliver told him. 'I’ve had them for years. Hidden in my
bedroom, as a test of will.’

A test. . . ?’ His father seemed incapable of anything but dumb
repetition.

'That’s right. But I don’t need to do that any more. I can face up
to what I am.’

'Oliver, I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, as usual.
They said you escaped. Where are you?’
'Next door. It may be an ugly house, but the view from up here is
incredible. The sea is shining like a vast oil slick—’
'Oliver . . .’ Felton gave a sigh that seemed intended for his other
audience. 'That’s not really the wisest location, is it? But since you’re
there you could save me a lot of trouble by coming back with a gun
and shooting these bastards.’
Oliver moved the phone away from his ear, correctly anticipating
the big, ingratiating laugh that followed.
When it faded away to a flat silence, Oliver said, 'I’m not interested
in guns. I was pleased to get my phone back, though. They had
a room full of them downstairs. And then I wasn’t sure if Priya would
let you answer it.’