Sharp Shot (9 page)

But that didn't matter. What
did
matter was that
Jade had to get out of the bar and find somewhere to hide so she could
sleep off whatever the drug was.

She tried to put one foot in front of the other. Shuffling along.
Then came the crash of a falling chair.

Somewhere a hundred miles away a woman was singing
A Pirate's
Life for Me
, accompanied by an accordion. Jade almost laughed.
The fat lady was singing, and as the floor rushed towards her she knew it
was all over.

“It's all right, no worries. I'll get her.” McCain's
voice sounded as though it was filtered through soggy cotton wool. Jade
felt his hands on her shoulders, lifting her up.

“She's just dead on her feet.”

Then nothing.

Although few of the people who worked with Hilary Ardman knew it, he'd
been a good field agent once. But that was years ago. Now he was
responsible for a department that didn't officially exist and that
reported directly to the British Cabinet's emergency committee known as
COBRA.

If there was a security matter within the British Isles that the
police, Special Branch, or MI5 didn't want to handle—or for some reason
couldn't be seen to be involved with—then Ardman's group was called in.

If there was a ‘problem' overseas that the armed forces or MI6
couldn't handle, then it went to Ardman.

He had a small team of carefully chosen operatives, but the power to
call on help from any of the other
‘services' he needed. Some of those
services resented Ardman's power and remit. But most of them were only too
glad to help—the better Ardman did his job, the more likely he was to
keep it. And when all was said and done, the alternative didn't bear
thinking about—no one wanted such a powerful agency to be run by anyone
but Hilary Ardman.

No one apart from terrorists, organised criminals, smugglers and
warlords, anyway.

Over the years, Ardman had faced down trained gunmen, got the better
of bombers and madmen, argued vehemently with Prime Ministers and the
Joint Chiefs of Staff. He had calmly and efficiently got his own way in
meetings and situations where other senior staff had been looking pale and
feeling sick.

Now, as he stood in a small, unmarked room in Heathrow's Terminal 5,
Ardman reflected on some of those meetings and encounters. And he decided
that he had never been as apprehensive as he was at that moment. The
flight had landed, the passengers were disembarking. Shortly, the man
Ardman had sent to sort out a ‘problem' in South America would be walking
towards him. And Ardman had bad news for him.

The flight was late as most flights were. John Chance didn't care. He
had fallen asleep as soon as the wheels left the ground in Rio, and he
didn't really wake up until they touched the tarmac in London.

Occasionally, his eyes had flicked open, on a sort of autopilot of
their own. Whenever anyone brushed by or there was a sudden noise, or a
slight change in the air temperature or a bump of turbulence. Whenever the
slightest thing happened that might signify danger, John Chance opened his
eyes, scanned the plane for any problems, and then switched off totally
once more.

Before boarding the flight, he had been awake for seventy-two hours,
give or take a few minutes. But it had been worth it. He'd done his job,
earned the reluctant thanks of a local army officer, and made the world a
better, safer place. Probably. Now he was going home for a rest.

Even a couple of years ago, Chance wouldn't have thought of himself
as a homebody. He wouldn't have considered settling down, and any thoughts
of a family were right out. But just as circumstances changed quickly in
his professional life, so they'd changed quickly in his personal life too.
Suddenly he had found
himself a father of teenage twins. It had changed
his perspective. It earned his—initially—reluctant thanks. And it made
John Chance's world a better place. Definitely.

So far, it had to be said, his family world had not been a safer
place. His children seemed to have inherited Chance's own knack of getting
into trouble. Luckily they also seemed to have his knack of getting out of
it again. But maybe that was luck, and Chance knew that you only had to be
unlucky once. He was looking forward to going home, and seeing his
children, and forgetting all about how terrible and unsafe the world could
actually be…

He watched with tight-lipped amusement as people hurried to stand up
and grab their bags as soon as the plane stopped. For all their
impatience, they might gain a couple of minutes at most. Chance waited
till the people started to move before joining the crush. He only had a
small holdall. A scheduled flight was the quickest and cheapest way for
him to travel, and his other luggage would be sent back by a different,
more secure route.

A child in front of Chance slipped and fell as someone jostled her.
Chance caught her arm with his
free hand—automatically, without
thinking. He pulled her back to her feet and smiled at her. The girl's
mother muttered a thank you, her surprise at the speed of his reaction
evident in her eyes. Yes, Chance was looking forward to seeing the twins
again. They'd be in school now of course, but he'd ring and leave a
message at the cottage as soon as he was off the plane.

When everyone else headed for passport control, Chance stopped at an
unmarked door, and knocked. The window in the door was opaque, but he knew
that someone was watching from the other side of the one-way glass.

Sure enough the door opened, and Chance handed the uniformed official
his passport.

The man barely glanced at it. “Welcome home, sir,” he
said. “Mr Ardman is waiting for you.”

Chance frowned. His mission had not been
that
important, and there were no problems. He hadn't expected to see Ardman
until after the weekend for a routine debriefing. But he could see a tall,
lean man with thinning dark hair standing at the back of the room. Chance
felt his stomach tighten as the official closed and locked the door, and
then left the room by a side exit.

“I'm sorry,” said Ardman.

Chance stared back at him through cold, blue, unblinking eyes. His
voice was every bit as cold and flint-hard. “Just tell me.”

Ardman nodded. “Mark Darrow has your daughter.”

The world was white. There was a breeze. Even before she opened her
eyes, Jade could tell there was something odd about the quality of the
light. Like when you know it's snowed even before you open the curtains.
But it was too warm for that—despite the cool of the breeze, it was hot.

She opened her eyes. Thin, silk curtains hid the outside world from
her. They rippled and shimmered round the bed. The sheets were also white
silk. The pillow was the softest she'd ever rested her head on.

Jade snuggled down into the luxurious softness of it all, and closed
her eyes again.

Then, suddenly, she was awake. Where was she? What was going on? She
remembered the bar, the pirate waiter. McCain and the drugged drink—
falling…Was she in another room in the hotel? Not Space Zone,
obviously, but maybe Luxury Land?

Pushing the sheets aside, Jade saw she was still dressed in the same
jogging bottoms and sweatshirt. She fought her way through the billowing
silk curtains, and saw that someone had laid out a white silk dressing
gown over the back of an ornate wooden chair. On the chair was a change of
clothes—thin shirt, trousers, a headscarf…All white. All silk.

She ignored the clothes and walked slowly round the bedroom.
Everything was pale. The walls were painted white; the floor was pale
marble and warm under her bare feet. The furniture was light wood with
gilt handles and trimmings. The breeze was coming from vents close to the
floor.

Through an archway was a small bathroom, almost filled by a large
sunken bath. It was already full of foaming water. Jade dipped her toe in,
and found it was pleasantly cool. She was tempted to take a bath in it
straight away, but she wanted to know where she was first. Once—if—she
found she was safe, then she'd allow herself to relax and have a bath. But
not before.

Her trainers were under the chair, and Jade pulled them on to her
bare feet.

There was a large wooden door with a gold handle.
There was no keyhole, but she expected the door to be bolted. In fact,
it opened easily.

Outside was a wide corridor. The walls and floor matched the bedroom.
There were other doors, but Jade followed the passageway. She didn't see
anyone or hear any signs of life.

The passage ended in a flight of steps—leading both up and down.
Jade could feel the heat coming up from below, so she decided to try
upstairs first. The steps were rough stone and the walls seemed to be
textured with sand.

Jade walked carefully and quietly. The stairs turned sharply, and she
could feel the warmth, could see the sunlight filtering down from above.
The steps emerged on to a vast, flat roof. The sky above was azure blue
and the sun beat down so hard that Jade had to screw up her eyes against
the glare.

As she gradually got used to the light, she made out tall palm trees
in large earthenware pots. Moving closer, she could see that the trees
were swaying gently over the edge of a massive swimming pool. The water
was as blue and clear as the sky.

Beyond the pool, there were steps up to a raised area of the roof. A
low wall round the section where Jade
was standing meant she could see
nothing but the sky. They must be high up. There was no wall round the
upper level, so Jade climbed the steps.

The floor of the upper area was covered in dark asphalt. The area was
square, with a large circle painted in white and marked off round the
edge. It was, Jade realised, a helicopter landing pad.

But that was not what made her gasp with astonishment. From up here,
she could see out over the surrounding area.

She stood and stared, the warm breeze catching her hair and tugging
at her sweatshirt. She was not as high up as she had thought. The reason
she could see nothing was because there
was
nothing to
see. There were no buildings and no trees, as far as Jade could see.

Just sand. Rolling, golden sand stretched to the horizon in every
direction. Jade was standing alone on the roof of the only building in a
vast, empty desert.

The helicopter flew Rich and Halford down to London. The American
agents Chuck White and Kate Hunter left in a fast car, together with two
other dark-suited Americans.

As the helicopter lifted from the car park, Rich looked down on the
huge
Boscombe Heights Adventure Park
. The rides were like
toys, the people tiny as ants. He could see uniformed local police working
their way through the crowds and knew they were showing photographs of
Jade and McCain—
Darrow
—to everyone.

The picture of Jade was one that Ardman's people had sent through—
goodness knew how they'd got it, but it looked like her passport photo.
The picture
of Darrow was a scanned and enhanced copy of the photo Rich
had brought with him, carefully cropped so it showed only Darrow and not
his SAS colleagues.

He hated to leave, but Rich knew that by now Darrow was probably
miles away, and Jade with him. If they were still at the theme park, then
the police had more chance of finding them than Rich and Halford.

Even so, he was in a sullen mood all the way down to London. Halford
soon gave up trying to make conversation, which was difficult enough
anyway in the noisy cabin. It wasn't until the helicopter touched down in
the grounds of a country house, just outside the M25 on the very outskirts
of London, that Rich began to feel better.

The helicopter had barely touched down, and was still bouncing
slightly on its wheels when the door was hauled open and a man leaned into
the cabin.

“Dad!” exclaimed Rich.

His father smiled. But Rich could see the concern and anger in John
Chance's eyes. “What the hell have you and Jade got yourselves into
this time?” he demanded.

“Sorry about the location,” said Ardman. “Speed is
of the essence and there was room to land a helicopter on the lawn.
Algernon's away for the week, so we have the place to ourselves.”

He did not explain who Algernon was—or even if he knew he had
unexpected guests. No one asked.

They were in a large library in the west wing of the stately home.
Dark wooden bookcases lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes.
Almost all the furniture had been removed or pushed to the sides of the
room, and replaced with a modern horseshoe-shaped desk made up of
sections. One side of the horseshoe was covered with computer and
monitoring equipment, while the other looked like a communications
exchange with radios, telephones, a fax machine and a video-conferencing
set-up.

The end of the horseshoe was piled with papers and documents. A
flipchart stood to one side, with a list on it: “Ports, Airports,
Harbours, Chunnel, Rail, Motorway network cameras, Radar intercept,
Sat-intel…” Each and every item had a tick against it.

Inside the middle of the horseshoe, two men wheeled rapidly about on
office chairs. They moved
swiftly and efficiently between computers and
phones, monitors and keyboards.

“The big question is
why
?” Ardman went
on. “Once we know that, everything else will fall into
place.”

“The big question is where's Jade?” said Rich.

“With respect, that's not the big question.”

“But—”

Rich felt his dad's hand on his shoulder. “Ardman's right.
Knowing where Jade is won't tell us what's going on or what Darrow wants.
But if we work out what he's after, that will tell us where he's
gone.”

“Probably,” Halford growled.

Ardman sighed. “Actually, Rich is probably right,” he
admitted. “The answers to any questions at all right now would be
helpful.”

“So what do we know?” Chance demanded.

“Not a lot.” Ardman counted the points off on his
fingers as he spoke. “We know that Darrow went to your cottage
looking for you. He claimed he was being chased and in trouble, and that
does appear to be born out by events.” He looked at Rich for
confirmation.

Rich nodded. “The Americans were after him, and us, but not
until later according to Chuck. There was someone after him right from the
start, at the cottage.
They had guns, cars…” He shrugged. “I didn't really see
who they were though. And Darrow wasn't really happy talking about
it.”

“So we know he's in trouble and he comes to
you
.” Ardman pointed at Chance. “But we also
know that before he came looking for you, he called on Ferdy McCain—the
real McCain.”

“And murdered him,” said Halford quietly.

“With respect, we cannot know that for sure. It may be that
these mysterious pursuers killed McCain after Darrow saw him, or maybe
Darrow was never there. Although Goddard tells me the local police did get
a description that matches our friend Mr Darrow from one of the
neighbours. He was asking after McCain the day before.”

“Either way,” Chance cut in, “Darrow came looking
for me. And when I wasn't there, he pretended to be McCain, presumably
because if Rich and Jade contacted me I'd be more likely to talk to McCain
than to Darrow. Which is certainly true. Ferdy was a good bloke,”
he added quietly.

“But they can't contact you, so Darrow takes them with him.
Probably as leverage to get you to meet him later.”

“But he still has Jade,” said Chance. “And he
wants something from me. But what?”

“I'm afraid there may be only one way to find out,” said
Ardman. “Are you all set up for the cottage, Pete?” he called
across to one of the two technicians.

“Phone will divert here, sir,” Pete confirmed. He ran a
hand over his very short hair. “Alan's hacked into the traffic
camera on the routes in and out of the village, and Goddard's coordinating
with the local coppers so they'll keep a low profile.”

“We've got satellite coverage coming up in a few minutes. The
French security services were kind enough to lend us one of their birds
that has a pretty good angle at the moment.” Alan added.

“That was unusually kind of them,” said Chance.

“Oh, they don't know about it,” said Alan, grinning.
“They think it's over Dinard keeping an eye on the nuclear power
station there. But actually they're watching footage from last month.
Let's just hope the weather is roughly the same for a bit, otherwise they
might realise they've got a bit of a technical fault.”

“Too much information, thank you,” said Ardman. “I
don't need or want to know the details.”

“Can't the Americans help?” asked Rich. “They
must
have satellites you could use, and the CIA want Darrow.”

Ardman spoke slowly and carefully. “There are a few
misconceptions in your statement, young man. First, the Americans would
tell us that they don't have satellites looking down on Britain, as we are
their favourite allies.”

Behind him Pete cleared his throat, and Alan shuffled his feet.

Ardman glared at them. “That is what they would
tell
us,” he said sternly. “And second, I
doubt very much if the CIA know that there are American agents looking for
Mark Darrow. Mr White and Miss Hunter and their colleagues are with a
different American security service.”

“The FBI?” asked Rich.

“They don't operate outside the US,” Halford told him.

Before Rich could say anything else, Ardman went on: “The
important thing is that we have your cottage fully covered, John. Darrow
wants something, and he knows you'll talk to him if he's got Jade. So when
he makes contact, we'll be ready and waiting. And then, once we have more
information, we can decide what action to take.”

“The most important thing is that we get Jade back safe and
sound,” said Chance.

“I agree that is currently the way it looks,” said
Ardman.

“What do you mean,
currently
?” demanded
Rich. “What could change that? Jade's always going to be the most
important thing. Isn't she, Dad?” He turned to his father,
expecting him to agree immediately.

But instead, John Chance looked to Ardman.

“However much we want to get your sister back,” Ardman
said, “our priorities may have to change when we find out what it is
that Darrow wants in return.”

As she walked slowly back down the stairs, Jade felt numb. She was in
the middle of nowhere. There wasn't even a road that she could see through
the desert. The building she was in—a villa or whatever it was—looked
very big from the size of the roof, and it was several storeys high. There
were large parts she had still not explored.

But what—and who—would she find? So far there was no sign of
life. Nothing to indicate there was anyone else here at all. Yet someone
had brought Jade here, someone had taken her shoes off and put her to
bed,
leaving fresh clothes and a bath full of water that was still warm…

Without really thinking about it, Jade kept going down the stairs. It
took her a moment to realise she'd passed the floor where her room was,
but she decided to keep going and see what was on the floor below.

The answer was: nothing. The stairs ended in a small, empty,
whitewashed room. There was a thin layer of sand on the floor. Maybe it
was a storage area, except there was nothing stored down here. A single,
bare, electric bulb cast a harsh light over the walls and floor. Jade
turned to go back up the stairs.

Then she stopped. The sand by one wall was scuffed about, as if
someone had walked through it. But it was so close to the wall that no one
could have done. If it really was a wall…

Jade ran her hand over the rough stonework. She couldn't feel
anything out of the ordinary. She pushed, and the wall was unforgiving.
She moved along, pressing at another point. Was it her imagination, or did
the surface move under her hand, just the tiniest amount? She put her
shoulder to the wall and leaned—and while it didn't appear to move, she
did hear a rough scraping sound of stone rubbing on sand…

It took her several minutes of experimentation to find exactly the
right point to apply pressure. Then the mechanism activated, and the whole
wall hinged open like a door. Cautiously, Jade stepped through. She didn't
dare close the door behind her—she might need to retreat in a hurry, and
she didn't want to have to spend forever finding the release mechanism on
the other side.

At first she thought the hidden door led nowhere. She was just in
another room—long and narrow, but still quite small. Then she saw her
reflection looking back at her from the other end, and realised the whole
of the far wall was actually a window.

She approached slowly and warily, in case there was anyone on the
other side, but all she could see was a vaulted stone roof. Until she got
closer, and realised that the window was high above the enormous chamber
below. She was in some sort of observation gallery. Jade looked down into
the chamber.

She could hear nothing; the glass must be incredibly thick. There
were several people in the chamber—they looked like scientists and
technicians in white lab coats, which contrasted with their dark skin. One
was working at a table almost directly below Jade, putting
test tubes into
a centrifuge. Another was at a computer. He turned and gestured to one of
his colleagues.

Further into the chamber, a woman pushed her arms into thick plastic
sheaths and gloves that reached into a sealed glass cabinet. Whatever was
inside, she didn't want to handle it directly.

The chamber must stretch right under the building. Jade could just
make out more white-coated figures in the distance. Whatever they were
doing, there was a seriousness and professionalism that frightened Jade.
She was witnessing something she wasn't supposed to see. The situation she
was in didn't offer her many advantages, but maybe this was one. So long
as they didn't find out what she knew, Jade thought, that gave her an
edge.

Except that she didn't know who ‘they' were, and she had no idea what
it was that she was looking at. The scientists and technicians could be
testing a satellite, synthesising drugs, or baking a cake. She guessed
that baking a cake was pretty unlikely, but the options were still too
numerous to be helpful.

Jade backed slowly out of the observation gallery, pushed the secret
door closed, and started back up the stairs.

There was a lot more of the building still to explore. But she needed
to think. If she went the other way down the passage from her room, she
was confident she would find people—maybe a kitchen, possibly guards.
But for the moment no one knew she was out of her room, or even awake. She
had spotted no cameras, and was sure no one had seen or heard her.

Since she obviously wasn't going anywhere, Jade decided she might as
well have that bath and consider what to do next.

Soaking in the luxuriously cool water, Jade decided on her plan of
action. She needed to know as much as possible about the place, and she
needed to keep the extent of her knowledge secret. Eventually someone
would come to find her, and the more she knew by then the more she might
glean from them.

And you never knew. If there was a secret underground laboratory,
then maybe there was transport of some sort, or a telephone that she could
use to call Ardman or Halford.

She was glad of the bath, and felt a lot better for it. But she
didn't want to waste any more time. Whoever had left her here—McCain, or
the man with the scar,
or someone else—might think it was safe enough to
leave her unattended in a building in the middle of the desert, but Jade
was determined to prove them wrong.

She dried herself quickly, and slipped on the white silk dressing
gown. She was rubbing at her hair with the towel as she walked briskly
back into the bedroom. But the clothes that had been left on the chair
were no longer there. They were lying neatly on the dressing table nearby.