The Boathouse (16 page)

Archer and Forsyth crossed the road to a modern-looking Italian café full of polished chrome and black leather. They sat on high stools at the window bar looking out at Hunter's apartment building with the main entrance in good view. They ordered a black coffee and a cappuccino, which came in extra-large cups and saucers with small amaretti biscuits.

“We can take Sinclair down with enough evidence from Hunter,” Forsyth said.

Archer simply wanted to take him down with a gun. He still had Sinclair's Magnum Desert Eagle in his pocket. He could make it look like suicide. His heart rate increased.

“Hunter won't risk his life to get back at Sinclair. There's something not right about him. I don't know what it is exactly, but he's too shifty. He's just as bad as Sinclair.”

“I know what you mean. He creeps me out too – like Sinclair, only less successful. I don't trust him either, so where's that leave Becky?”

She sipped her cappuccino with both hands around the cup.

“We need Hunter's evidence, but he can't help us find Becky. I guess we need to move on and find her before Saturday night.”

“Carnell worked for Hunter and look what he did for a living.”

“Exactly, but I can't see his wife being involved in anything like that though.”

“No, she never had anything to do with his business when I investigated them.”

“Do you still think he's involved in the kidnapping?”

“No, but he definitely acted odd.”

“We have to find Becky now. We can't be everywhere at once. Perhaps it's time to split up and see if one of us can find another lead. You could go help Zoe.”

“Sean, look. That's Hunter leaving the building. What's he up to?”

Hunter wore a cream overcoat and hat. He had the collar up, the trilby pulled down and he wore large dark glasses. He looked conspicuous by his obvious attempt to disguise himself.

“Better tail him. Come on, let's go.” Archer left enough cash for the coffee plus tip and they let Hunter get a head start. They followed him in the autumn sunshine to Canary Wharf where he stopped off at a trendy-looking but completely empty bar for a stiff gin and tonic. He took a long swig and then made a phone call using the phone behind the bar. The barman walked away to give his only customer some privacy.

Forsyth took a small radio from her bag and extended the aerial.

“Hardly a good time to catch up on the cricket scores down under.”

“Watch this then, matey.” She placed a small earpiece in her left ear and offered Archer the second. He accepted the bud and placed it in his ear. She then pointed the aerial through the window towards Hunter and started to tune in the device.

“You should never talk in public, especially in pubs, as there are nosy people like me around who can listen in.” Archer smiled to himself. He had the newer model, but kept quiet.

They huddled together to listen, their faces almost touching. They could only hear Hunter's side of the conversation, but it was enough to get the gist of what he was up to. He was after a team of mercenaries to protect him. He asked for four men immediately and argued that tomorrow was too late. They were left unsure as to exactly what was agreed, but knew that two men would show up in the park near his apartment at six p.m. Hunter drank his gin dry and ordered another.

They left Hunter alone in the bar to wallow in his tall glass of Bombay Sapphire and walked back towards the car in the sunshine.

“I'll go back to the penthouse for a while. See if I can find something new to help us out from that angle.”

“Are you going to tell Sinclair about Hunter?”

“No way. We need to stay one step ahead of him. We need Hunter to tell us all he knows, and then we can take Sinclair down. He's used to playing people, but he's not in control of the situation. I need to make the most of that leverage.”

“I'll drive past the flat in Marylebone and check it out on the way to your office.”

Forsyth's car still had the top down as they headed back to Sinclair's penthouse in Mayfair. She drove fast, accelerating and breaking hard with the radio on, singing along to Coldplay. She was badly out of tune, but seemed to be enjoying herself.

She dropped Archer off outside the rear entrance of Sinclair's building and waved at him as she took a hands-free phone call.

Archer entered the lobby and texted Zoe:

We must have missed something. Dig deeper into Becky's sister Louise Palmer and the driver Steve Jones as the prime insider suspects and then the bodyguards Haywood, Adams, Best and Clarke.

The penthouse door did not open automatically and Archer pressed the small silver button next to it. After a two-minute wait the door opened and an expressionless Clarke waited at the console desk to close it behind him. Clarke measured Archer up and down like a warrior.

“Everyone's out. I'm manning the phone.”

“Where's Sinclair?”

“He had to go back to the office.”

“What about the others?”

“They had to go out as well.”

Archer thought this was strange. The kidnapping was the priority. Wasn't it?

“I thought you were Sinclair's most trusted bodyguard?”

“I am. That's why he trusts me enough to man the phone alone.”

Clarke walked back to the phone and sat quietly. Archer walked around the living room in silence, waiting to see if Clarke offered any additional information about Sinclair or his men. He didn't. He just sat vacantly by the phone like a robot on standby.

After several minutes Archer walked up to the desk and looked him straight in the eye.

“Where did they go?”

“Docklands,” Clarke said matter-of-factly, looking bored.

“Why?”

“We have a lead on Stuart Hunter.”

“What? Where is he?” Archer tried to hide his surprise.

“He made a call to someone he shouldn't have trusted. He thought he was being clever, but dialling 1-4-7-1 was all it took to find out that he was calling from a bar in Docklands. We've been waiting for him to make that call for some time. Something must have prompted it – probably because he's behind the kidnapping,” Clarke sneered and made a fist as if he'd won some game.

“Which bar?”

“This one.” He picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Archer. He read it and handed it back. “They're showing people his photo down there right now. They should find out where he's hiding in no time. He must be close by.”

“Excellent. That's exactly what we needed. I'm going to help find him.”

“They don't need your help, Archer. You've been worse than useless so far.”

“Thanks for the pep talk. Unlike you I can't sit around all day doing nothing.”

“Anytime you feel up for it, Archer. I'll be ready for you. Anytime you want.”

“No point, you grunts are far too slow. You wouldn't even see me coming.”

Archer left the penthouse in a hurry, not sure if he could make it back to Docklands in time to save Hunter. He'd wondered all along if Sinclair was surreptitiously using other resources to find people. Now he had confirmation that he was. He called Forsyth from the lift, but her phone was engaged.

Archer exited the lift on the ground floor and tried to call Forsyth again, but her phone was still engaged. As he left the building he could see that she was still parked right outside the rear entrance and was still on the phone talking about one of her cases.

Archer got back in the car and interrupted her call by pressing the red button.

“Call them back. We have to go. NOW.”

Forsyth started the engine.

“Where?”

“Back to the Hunter's. Sinclair's men are on their way to get him.”

“What?”

She floored the accelerator and raced up Park Street into a long gap in traffic that had been created between red lights.

“What's happening?”

“Whoever Hunter just called told Sinclair. The goon squad are on their way to that bar to ask around. We need to get him out of there before they find him.”

Archer tried to call Hunter en route, but the phone was engaged.

Forsyth drove as fast as the heavy traffic would allow. Archer grabbed the door and seat at one point as they accelerated around a sharp corner.

“Don't worry, I'm an advanced driver. I've got a racetrack licence. The works.”

“Good for you,” he said, bracing himself and exhaling after another near miss.

They came to an abrupt halt outside the entrance to Hunter's building. None of Sinclair's cars were there and none of his goons were anywhere in sight.

They took the lift straight back up to the top floor. As they exited the lift to get to apartment 12A Archer looked down at the car park and saw Sinclair's men arriving in a shiny black Land Rover Discovery, stopping right next to Forsyth's pale blue Merc.

Forsyth knocked sharply on the door and shouted for Samantha to open up. A shocked-looking Stuart Hunter opened the door. Archer and Forsyth walked in and sailed straight past him without being asked and he shut the door with his mouth still open. He turned around and followed them into the living area where his wife sat talking to a friend on the phone.

“What's going on?” Hunter asked angrily.

“Sinclair's men are coming for you.”

“What? I hope you're bloody well joking.”

“I'm not bloody well joking. They're right outside.”

The blood drained instantly from his face.

“How is that possible?”

“You made a call to a contractor from a bar and whoever you called told Sinclair where to find you.”

“But I didn't tell him my location. I was just about to wire him some money.”

“Never mind all that, they figured that part out for themselves. They're outside right now. We need you and your wife to hide and your housekeeper will have to act as a cover. I'll try and fob them off.”

“Shit, we're like sitting bloody ducks.”

Hunter's orange tan had gone pale.

“Quick, go, take Sarah, I'll prep the housekeeper.” He turned to Madeleine. “You need to pretend the Hunters have just gone away for the winter season.”

The knock on the door startled everyone inside the flat. Archer looked through the peephole and saw Haywood.

“They're here, go and hide, now,” Archer whispered.

“Like where, under the bed?” Forsyth replied.

“Just go downstairs.”

“Follow me,” Hunter said, as he led the way down.

Archer gave the terrified-looking housekeeper some last words of encouragement. He told her to breathe deeply, relax her tense body and leave all the talking to him. She stared at him silently and looked like she was on the verge of tears.

“If they ask you a direct question, just respond in French. Make out you don't understand English very well.” She nodded silently, clearly petrified.

The knock at the door was much harder this time and Haywood shouted aggressively.

“Hunter, answer the door before we bash it down. We know you're in there.”

Archer opened the door.

Haywood, Best and Adams stared back at him, with perplexed and angry expressions.

“What are you doing here, Archer?” Haywood snarled aggressively and pushed Archer backwards.

“Clarke told me what happened. Looks like I'm just better at finding people than you are.”

“Where's Hunter?”

“He's not here. They've just gone travelling and won't be back before Easter. The housekeeper's here alone. She doesn't know where they've gone.”

“Who are you?”

“She only speaks French.”

“Stay out of our way, Archer.”

“They're not here, dipshit.”

“Back off, motherfucker, we're going to tear this place apart.”

“I've just looked. There's nobody here.”

“Yeah, well perhaps we're better at searching apartments than you are.”

“You're wasting time. Typical grunts.”

“We need to take her with us. Make sure she doesn't warn Hunter.”

“No point. He has cameras everywhere, look.” He pointed the cameras out. “So he'll know already. He won't come back here again, so don't do anything stupid. You'll just get the police and media involved when her boyfriend calls her later from Paris. That won't go down well with your boss or the kidnappers, now will it?”

“Stay out of our way, Archer. We'll take great pleasure in restraining you.”

“Be my guest. I'm fascinated to see what shit-for-brains looks like in action.”

The goons ignored him and started to search the apartment roughly, leaving a trail of devastation like a tornado had just blown through it. Haywood went downstairs first, followed by Best. Adams wasn't satisfied until all the contents of all the cupboards upstairs were smashed and emptied out onto the floor.

Archer heard Haywood shout to Best. He went down to see what they were doing. Haywood had found a cupboard with a padlock on the outside. They prised it off with an old Cavalry sword that was hanging on the wall. The cupboard was full of old dusty files which Haywood threw onto the floor in a fit of rage.

“I told you. They've gone away for the winter.”

After checking every room and cupboard, under every bed, and turning the apartment completely upside down, Haywood, Best and Adams left. Annoyed and irritated, they looked sheepishly worried about reporting the bad news back to Sinclair.

Archer watched them all get in the Land Rover with their heads down, but waited for them to drive away before he went down the stairs and shouted.

“Okay, they've gone.”

As in many high-end apartments there was a compact space that had been planned as a panic room. The hidden door was in the dressing room, behind Stuart Hunter's conservative suits. These now lay strewn over the floor. The door looked like every other panel in the dressing room.

“You need to move,” Archer said.

“No way, I'm staying put this time. I've got an arsenal down here and a team of mercenaries on their way.”

“Suit yourself. We're out of here.”

“Let me give you a lift home,” Forsyth said with a cheeky smile.

“A simple lift, or another episode of
Top Gear
?”

“Speed limit and stopping at red lights. How does that sound?”

“Appetising. Let's go to my place and get something to eat.”