Sure Fire (8 page)

“It's worth a look,” Rich said. “If the coast is clear there's other stuff we might need too.”

“You mean like a change of clothes.”

“I mean like money. And passports.”

The lock on the front door to the building was broken. Rich hadn't noticed in their haste to leave. But the place seemed quiet, so maybe no one else had either. Rich couldn't remember seeing anyone else in the building at all. Perhaps Dad had the only occupied flat.

The bullet holes spattered across the wall close to the top of the stairs gave them pause for thought.

“You sure about this?” Rich asked apprehensively.

“No,” Jade told him. “But what else can we do?”

“Go to the police. They can't deny the bullet holes exist.”

“And if Magda is right and they're in on it? Maybe
we'd
disappear too.”

Rich couldn't think of an answer to that. So he followed Jade as she tiptoed to the shattered remains of the door to the flat and waited at the door. Together, they listened for the slightest sound. But there was nothing. Just cars from the street outside. Somewhere, a dog barked.

“Come on then,” Rich said. He just wanted to get it over with. Hanging around not knowing what was happening was the worst thing.

Inside the flat, the picture of the train was on the floor, glass smashed and picture torn. The upholstery had been ripped off the sofa. The curtains had been pulled down from over the shattered window – glass and wood strewn across the floor together with books and papers and magazines. The television was a wreck. And there was a dead body lying face down in the middle of the floor.

Rich tried not to look at Phillips's body and followed Jade quickly through to the bedroom. He glanced into the kitchen – and saw that too was a total mess, with everything emptied out over the floor and work surfaces.

The study door was open and Rich could see it was in an even worse state than the other rooms.
Only their bedroom didn't seem too bad, but even so the pillows and mattresses had been cut open and the stuffing pulled out.

“Pretty thorough,” Rich said.

“It's… awful,” Jade said, looking round.

“You think they found Dad's mobile?” Rich asked.

Jade went over to her bedside cabinet. The drawers were half open and stuff had been pulled out. She pulled the top drawer completely open. “I hid it in here,” she said.

Rich was amused, for what felt like the first time in ages. “In your knickers drawer.”

“Didn't think he'd look there. Those men didn't anyway – not properly.” She pulled out the phone and the packet of cigarettes.

“Bring those too,” Rich said.

“Why?”

“Because he'll need a smoke if we ever find him.” Jade glared at him, but said nothing. She grabbed a small rucksack from the mess on the floor and tipped it upside down. A book and some make-up fell out. She stuffed the phone and the cigarettes inside. “There are only a few cigarettes left,” she said. “But
his lighter is inside – he might want that back.” She pushed clothes into the rucksack.

Rich found his passport and tossed it over to her. “Stick that in too. I'll see if I can find any cash. Maybe a credit card – you never know.”

“You can't use Dad's credit card.”

“He won't mind. We're on expenses. Wonder whose name it'll be in – his or Lessiter's.” His smile froze as he heard a sound.

Jade had heard it too. Something moving. Footsteps. Rich put his finger to his lips and walked slowly and quietly to the door.

There was someone in the living room. A dark figure knelt beside the body on the floor. Rich crept as quietly as he could to the door, hoping to get a good look at the man and then duck out of sight without being spotted.

The man looked up – straight at Rich. “Hello, young man,” he said. “I'd suggest a cup of tea, but I'm afraid the kitchen is a bit of a mess.” He pulled a crisp white handkerchief out of his pocket.

Jade joined Rich in the doorway, rucksack looped over her shoulder. The man stood up and regarded them both with interest. He was a tall, lean man, with
short dark hair that was beginning to grow thin, and he wore a dark blue suit. His hand was stained with blood where he had examined Phillips's body, and he wiped it carefully on the crisp white handkerchief as he spoke.

“It probably sounds a bit inadequate,” the man said, “but I do apologise for the inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience?” Jade said. “He's dead.”

The man nodded. “It wasn't him to whom I was apologising actually.” He smiled, but there was no humour in it. “Bit late to apologise to poor Phillips.”

“You knew him?” Rich asked. “Do you work for an oil company then?”

“Oil company? Goodness me, no.” The suggestion seemed to amuse the man. “You think Phillips was in oil, as it were?”

“Wasn't he?” Rich said.

“He was working with our Dad,” Jade told the man.

The man nodded. “That much is true, certainly.”

“So you know who we are,” Rich asked.

“Of course. And I'm delighted to meet you both. Did I say that already? Sorry if I didn't. And sorry about your mother too, by the way. Oh, and your father of course.”

“Sorry doesn't help,” Jade said.

“No,” Ardman agreed. “Sorry.”

If he meant this as a joke, he gave no sign of it. He glanced towards the kitchen. “I wonder if the kettle is still serviceable. I really could do with a cup of tea. It's been a very long night – and not a terribly productive one at that.”

“Who are you?” Rich said, trying to sound calm and in control.

“Oh, I am so sorry.” The man extended his hand and approached them. Then he realised that he was still holding the bloodstained handkerchief, and he stopped and let his hand drop. “My name is Ardman. My friends call me…” He frowned. “Actually, they call me Ardman too. Though I don't seem to have very many friends these days.”

“All got shot, did they?” Jade said.

Ardman turned away, looking back at the dead body on the floor. “Yes, actually. A fair few of them anyway.” When he turned back he was smiling again. “Those men won't be back,” he reassured them. “They've finished here. Now, why don't you make us some tea?” he said to Jade.

“Because I don't want any tea,” Jade told him.

“Oh, that's a shame.”

“And what do you want?” Rich demanded. “Apart from tea? Wouldn't be a sample of fuel oil, would it?”

Ardman's eyes narrowed. “Well, now you mention it… I did think Phillips might have it on him, in the absence of your father. But sadly not.”

“Look,” Rich said, “we don't mean to be unfriendly, but who are you? What are you doing here?”

“As I said, my name is Ardman.” He rubbed again at his hand with the handkerchief. “I work for what you might call the Security Services.”

“MI5?” Jade said, looking at Rich. He was reminded again of Magda's words of warning.

“That sort of thing. But not exactly. Actually, I run a small and rather secret department that reports directly to a committee called COBRA. Maybe you've heard of that?”

“No,” Rich said.

“Never mind, never mind. It's a committee chaired by the Prime Minister, or his appointed and anointed. The name sounds very exciting, but it's actually named after the place the committee meets – the Cabinet Office Briefing Rooms Annexe.”

“A committee?” Rich said in surprise.

“…that meets in an annexe,” Jade said. “A cupboard.”

“Well, it's a little more grand than that,” Ardman said with a sniff. “And COBRA only meets in emergencies. Anything from hijackings to bombings to a shortage of water in the South East. My group tends not to be called in for the water shortages.”

“And you've taken Dad,” Jade said.

“Good gracious, no. But talking of water, I think I'll just run this under the tap, if you don't mind.” He held up the handkerchief. “Don't want to stain my clothes.”

“Don't want his blood on your hands,” Rich said.

Ardman was already on his way to the kitchen. “Too late for that, I fear,” he said sadly.

Rich grabbed Jade's hand and led her quickly across the room to the hall. He tried to move quietly, but their feet crunched on broken glass from the window.

Ardman turned and called after them from the kitchen door. “I'd like to talk to you, if I may.”

“You may not,” Jade told him. “You've taken Dad; you're not getting us.”

“We didn't take your father,” Ardman said, his voice suddenly hard-edged. The amiable banter was
gone and he was staring at them intently. “Why would we do that? Think about it.”

“We have,” Rich said. He'd heard enough. There was nothing the man had said that made him want to trust Ardman – assuming that really was his name.

“We're not staying here to listen to your lies,” Jade added. “Come on.”

“You're in danger,” Ardman's voice came after them. “You really should listen to what I have to say.”

“We really should go,” Jade hissed as Rich hesitated in the hallway.

Ardman was standing in the door to the living room, but he made no effort to follow them any further.

“We can look after ourselves,” Rich called to him.

“Maybe you can,” Ardman agreed. “But whatever you do,” he shouted after them as they left, “don't even think about going after Viktor Vishinsky on your own. That really would be dangerous.”

The internet café up the road had opened now. Jade and Rich found a table at the back where they could not be overheard by the other early morning customers.

“What was that name again?” Jade asked.

“Viktor Vishinsky,” Rich said. He had a good memory for facts and details. Something he had perhaps inherited from his father, he realised, remembering the way Dad had immediately memorised their mobile phone numbers.

Jade typed into the search field on the computer:
victor vishinski
. It came back a few moments later with a list of web pages. Most of them were about someone called Victor but with a different
surname. One was for a comic called
The Victor
. Some were about victors of sporting events. Not hopeful. The Victor.

But at the top of the page there was a line of text:

Did you mean: Viktor Vishinsky?

“Maybe we do,” Rich said. “Try it.”

The results this time were very different. There was a lot of information about Viktor Vishinsky.

“Look,” Rich said, pointing to one of the first items in the list. “That's the KOS website. KOS was the oil company Magda mentioned.” He clicked on it and they waited for the page to load.

“Maybe we should have stayed and talked,” Rich said. “To Ardman, I mean.”

“He was lying,” Jade said. “They're all lying. Except maybe Magda. No one else has told us the truth since Mum died. Not even our own dad.”

They examined the page. It was a company profile. KOS, it seemed, stood for Krejikistan Oil Subsidiaries, and Viktor Vishinsky owned and ran the company. There was a picture of him – a confident-looking man with hair that was almost white. He could be in his sixties or his late forties, it was difficult to tell.

“So what's he got to do with anything?” Jade wondered.

“If Magda's right, he's the guy that Dad was spying on,” Rich said. “Here, look at this…” He had scrolled down and was now reading more about the company and the country where it was based.

“What?”

“Interesting, that's all. I've never heard of Krejikistan but it looks like it was part of the Soviet Union before everything broke apart there. Now it's got its own government, but the economy is dominated by this one oil company – KOS.”

“Do they have much oil there?” Jade wondered.

“None at all from the look of it,” Rich said, scrolling down the screen to a map of the country. The map showed a long thin country running down the western side of Russia. “Looks like it's the position that's important rather than what they actually have there.” He read quickly through the text. “Yes, look at this. KOS makes almost all of its money by leasing pipelines so that oil can flow through the country.”

“So everything has to come through Krejikistan.”

Rich had finished skimming through the text. “Yep,” he said. “If the Ukraine wants oil or gas from
Russia, it has to pay for use of the pipeline it comes through. The same for any of Russia's customers – basically, the whole of western Europe. They pay by the barrel. Must cost a fortune.”

“Bet they don't like that,” Jade said.

“Bet they don't. But Krejikistan – or rather this KOS company – controls the whole thing. Pay through the nose, or ship everything miles and miles out of your way.”

“Right,” Jade agreed. “But that doesn't help us find Dad. Or help us understand why this Ardman bloke warned us not to mess with Vishinsky.”

“I'll tell you something else I don't understand,” Rich said.

“Yeah?”

“Why would the Ministry of Defence be doing business with a company that is owned and based in the former Soviet Union? And what does this KOS company have that they'd want anyway? OK, look,” he pointed at a list of KOS sites around the world, “they've got some sort of research facility and storage depot just outside London. But even so.”

Jade looked where Rich was pointing. “Isn't that the place there was a big fire or something last week?
I saw a headline, I'm sure.” She leaned back in the hard café seat. “So what now? Phone a friend?” She pulled Dad's mobile from her rucksack.

They leaned close over the phone. It was switched on but key-locked. Rich managed to work out how to unlock it, and they checked the address book. There were no numbers in it.

“Big help,” Jade said.

Rich sighed. “He really is Johnny No-Mates. Hang on, there should be a list of calls made and received somewhere.” He fiddled with the phone until he found the call register. “Here we are. Look – he's made a fair few calls. Received a load too, but all from ‘Number Withheld'. Another big help.”

The phone vibrated in Rich's hand.

“What did you do that for?” Jade asked.

“I didn't.”

“Someone calling?”

The phone had stopped. Rich showed Jade the screen. “One Text Message Received.”

“Let's have a look then,” she said.

The message read:

”Is sample safe? Do you have it? Where?? Urgent you reply. Dad.“

“At least he's safe,” Rich said.

“Is he?”

“What do you mean? He sent us a text.”

Jade took the phone from Rich and read the text message again. “But we've got his phone. And why did he send it to himself?” Jade pulled her own mobile from her pocket. “Did you get the message too? I didn't. Easy enough to send all the phones the same text.”

“Are you saying this didn't come from Dad? Then who did send it?”

“Someone who wants this sample everyone keeps going on about. Whatever it is. But who?”

Rich took the phone back from her and worked the buttons. “Probably number withheld again,” he muttered. “Woah! Here we go. They have to give us the number so we can reply.” The number that came up in the text message details was so long it wrapped on to a second line of the screen. “Is that a mobile number?” he wondered out loud.

“You going to call back?” Jade wondered.

“Not till I know more about it. And not from this phone.” He turned back to the computer keyboard and typed the first digits of the number into the internet search page.

“Here you are, look. It's an international dialling code.”

“Don't tell me,” Jade said as Rich scrolled to it.

“Krejikistan,” they both said in unison.

“Right. Doesn't mean the phone is there though,” Rich said. “But that's where they got the phone and that's where they pay the bills.”

“You going to call the number?”

Rich considered. “You're right; I don't think it was Dad.”

“No harm in calling.”

“Except then they'll know we have the phone, and we got the message. I don't know about you, Jade, but I think the more we keep to ourselves the better. I mean, it's not like we're going to Krejikistan, is it?”

A group of armed soldiers took John Chance at gunpoint from the plane, his hands still tied. A car was waiting – a big black limo with tinted windows. But they put Chance in a jeep driven by a soldier. Two more soldiers got in the back. One of them grinned and aimed his rifle at Chance. The soldier had a tooth missing and the ones he had left were going grey.

“It's amazing what money can buy,” Chance said cheerily. “Limousines, private jets, the services of your country's armed forces. Good dental work.”

The soldier jabbed Chance with the rifle and shouted at him in Russian to be quiet.

Chance pretended not to understand and got shouted at again before the driver said: “No speak.”

“Why didn't you say?” Chance told him and settled himself down for a long journey.

It seemed to be a military airfield, with a high perimeter fence and soldiers on patrol. The barrier at the main gate was opened for the limo ahead of them, and it didn't even slow down. But the jeep had to stop to allow the driver to shout at the gate guards.

“So where are we going?” Chance asked as they turned on to a narrow road and headed away from the airbase.

“No speak,” the driver said again.

“Is that far?”

The driver glared. Chance smiled back. They continued in silence. Once they reached the main roads, there were signs. They were in Russian, but Chance could read them well enough and he had a good idea where they were headed. Sure enough, after
less than an hour, they turned off the main road on to a service road that led to a massive industrial complex on the horizon.

“Krejikistan Oil Subsidiaries,” Chance said out loud. “Do they fly a flag when Vishinsky is in residence or does he live somewhere else?”

“No speak,” the driver shouted above the sound of the engine. He pointed through the windscreen at the complex ahead as if there might be some doubt where they were heading.

Once he was through the gates and into Vishinsky's complex, Chance thought, there would be very little hope he'd ever get out again. At least, not alive. So he smiled at the driver and nodded to show he had understood. Then he hurled himself sideways.

Chance's shoulder slammed into the driver, knocking him into the side of the jeep. The man's hands came off the steering wheel and the jeep lurched off the narrow strip of road on to the dry mud of the verge. The jeep bumped and jolted and the two soldiers in the back seats struggled to bring their rifles to bear.

But Chance had been expecting it. He braced
himself against the steering wheel so that the driver couldn't get control back. His hands were lashed together at the wrist, so he laced his fingers together and using both hands as a single fist thumped the driver hard in the face. The jeep's door burst open and the driver tumbled out.

One of the soldiers behind Chance had recovered enough to bring his rifle up. Chance propelled himself upwards, pushing hard on the jeep's floor with his feet. He twisted and shouldered into the rifle as it went off. Then he head-butted the soldier, who collapsed back into the rear seat. The jeep lurched as the bullet tore into the engine. There was a grating of tortured metal and the vehicle began to slow as it careered across the uneven ground and lurched to a stop.

The second soldier was young, probably not yet out of his teens. He sat frozen as Chance turned towards him. His rifle was hanging from his shaking hands. Chance thrust his fists at the boy.

“Untie me!” he said in Russian.

His words seemed to bring the soldier back to reality, and he struggled out of the jeep and ran. His rifle fell forgotten to the ground.

Chance watched the figure receding into the distance, passing the driver lying motionless beside the road. Chance knew he didn't have long before the lad raised the alarm. And he was stuck in the middle of nowhere with his hands tied and with a wrecked jeep.

The soldier in the back seat, the one Chance had head-butted, groaned and muttered something. Chance bunched his fists together again and swung hard. The soldier slumped back, unconscious.

“No speak,” Chance said.