Terror's Reach (24 page)

The bedroom door blasted open as Joe slid back the glass doors that
led out to the balcony. From there it was about a six-foot drop to the
flat roof below. Joe vaulted the balcony and felt something whistle
past his head. A bullet, he realised, fired from a silenced gun.
He landed heavily on the roof and was instantly up and running
for the edge. There was no time to pause or look back. Not even time
to consider using the gun he’d taken from Manderson. His pursuer
would be on the balcony in a second or two. If Joe was still on the
roof he would be an easy target.
The next drop was a lot further: ten or twelve feet. The safest method
would have been to lower himself down, but that wasn’t an option.
Instead he leapt out, clearing the path that ran in front of the building,
and landed on grass, using the fall-and-roll technique he’d learned
from a couple of parachute jumps he’d done many years ago. Too long ago, he thought, as it caused a jolting pain through his ankles
and shins.
As he got up he spotted the gunman on the balcony, peering down
at the garden. Joe’s leap had triggered a security light, but he’d
managed to roll into a patch of shadow. The harsh halogen beam
worked in his favour, intensifying the contrast between light and
dark.
But he couldn’t stay here for long. The gunman was already calling
in reinforcements as he turned and went back inside.

Joe dashed across the garden. Fortunately it was mostly turf and
paved terraces, without too many obstacles. There was a low wall at
the end, which led on to the communal deck. Joe slowed as he
approached it, conscious that there might be more men out here.
He climbed over the wall, looking carefully in both directions. He
decided he couldn’t risk turning left towards the beach. The danger
was that he’d get caught in the relatively narrow gap between the deck
and the road, with no other escape route.
Instead he headed towards Valentin’s. If he could get onto the property
he was sure he could find a decent hiding place while he made
the vital phone call. After all, he reasoned, he only needed a minute
or two.
It was a challenge to run on the deck without making a lot of noise.
He was moving as fast as he dared, trying to stay light on his feet, at
the same time keeping alert for any sound or movement around him.
As a result he almost tripped over the obstacle in his path: a formless
black shape stretched across the deck.
Joe came to a stop just in time and instinctively dropped to his
knees. He brought his gun up, his finger already tight on the trigger.
Half fearing that a bullet might come winging at him out of
the blackness, he cast a quick look at the obstacle itself. He ended
up staring at it for a long time, trying to make sense of what he had
found.
A body.

Thirty-Eight

It was another member of the gang. Same black boiler suit, same
utility belt with the mask still tucked into it. No sign of his radio or
gun. He was lying on his side in a pool of blood. Joe could hear the
steady dripping as it seeped between the wooden planks and dropped
into the water.
He leaned over and saw a glistening shadow in the folds of the
man’s neck. A deep slash had opened his throat. It was essentially the
same wound that the estate agent had sustained, except this one was
deeper: a cleaner, more ruthless strike. The work of a professional.
Joe examined the man’s hands. Like his accomplices, he was wearing
thin latex gloves. There was no evidence of any defence injuries. Must
have been a surprise attack, probably from behind, and incredibly
swift. Either that or he’d been attacked by someone he knew. Someone
he trusted.
Out of habit, Joe lifted one of the wrists, rolled the glove up and
felt for a pulse. A voice in his head urged him to keep moving. He
couldn’t begin to comprehend what was going on, and right now
he shouldn’t even try.
But then he detected a pulse, weak and thready. Perhaps in response
to Joe’s touch, the man’s eyes opened briefly, but it was a dull, unseeing
gaze. He was beyond help, and yet Joe couldn’t bring himself to let
go of the man’s hand during his dying moments.
That decision cost him dearly. As he felt the pulse fading beneath
his finger, the timber behind him groaned. Joe started to rise, but
strong arms clamped down on his shoulders. He saw the flash of a
blade, and then there was a knife pressing at his neck. The same knife,
he felt sure, that had just cut the throat of the man lying before him.

Priya could have taken her revenge, but she didn’t move. They both
lay in silence for a long time. Then Liam pushed his fingers through
his hair and sighed. He risked a quick glance at her.
'Jesus, that was stupid of me. I’m sorry’
'And I’m disappointed,’ said Priya. 'I thought you might be different
from most men, but you’re not. Because you’re attractive, you find it
impossible to believe that a woman might not want you. Well, the
fact is that I don’t want you.’
He nodded, neither of them looking at each other as they spoke.
'Are you with someone?’ he asked.
'That’s irrelevant.’ After a moment, Priya added quietly: Yes, I am.’
Liam said nothing. He sensed the admission had cost her in some
way, but he didn’t know why.
He got up on his elbows, then twisted and rose to his knees. Facing
her, he offered his hand to help her up. Priya ignored him, turned
in the opposite direction and climbed to her feet. She kept her back
to him while she zipped up her boiler suit and put on a fresh pair of
gloves.
Ruefully, he said, 'Guess I’d better watch out for a knife in my ribs.’
'I have better things to think about,’ she said. 'And so do you.’
She kicked aside Felton’s suits to find her radio, which had been
lost in the melee. It buzzed as she picked it up. So did Liam’s.
It was Turner, breathing hard. Talking on the run.
'The intruder was at Dreamscape. We’re after him now.’ He paused,
and they heard his urgent footsteps. 'Thing is . . . he’s wearing
Manderson’s gear.’
Joe was trapped. The knife was digging into his skin, just below his
Adam’s apple. He felt a tickling sensation as a few drops of blood
bubbled up on his neck. A little more pressure and his skin would
split like an over-baked potato.
He wouldn’t have been so careless in his former life, he thought.
Focusing on the dying man at the expense of his surroundings had
been a clumsy mistake.
His assailant leaned closer, crouching over him to keep him on his
knees. Joe became aware of a revolting blend of smells: booze and
sweat and nicotine. It was a cocktail he’d encountered before.
A familiar voice growled: 'Not such a tough guy now, eh?’
Joe felt shock, then relief. Yuri?’
'Drop the gun.’
Confused, Joe did as he was told. The Ukrainian kicked it away,
then used his free hand to pat him down. He missed Joe’s boning
knife, but he did find the Leatherman and his mobile phone. As he
pocketed them there was a noise from further along the deck.
Yuri, it’s me. Let me go.’
A deep rumbling chuckle from Yuri. 'I know who it is. Tell me why
you came here.’
Clattering footsteps vibrated through the timbers, flashlights spearing
the darkness just yards away. Yuri had squandered their chance to
escape. Why would he do that?
Only one answer made sense. A robbery on this scale stood a far
greater chance of success if there was a man on the inside.
You’re a traitor,’ Joe said. Then he looked at the dead guard lying
in front of him. 'But why did you — ?’
He wasn’t allowed to complete the question. Yuri clubbed his fist
against Joe’s skull, sending him sprawling to the deck. As Joe lay
there, dazed and helpless, two men ran up to them. Neither wore
their masks, although in the dark it was hard to make out their faces.
One was the bridge guard who’d challenged Joe back at the house.
The other was about a decade older, perhaps early fifties, with grey
hair and a face as hard as Sussex flint. The way they nodded at Yuri
confirmed Joe’s suspicion.
'I caught him,’ Yuri declared. 'But not before . . .’ He gestured at
the dead man.
'Manderson?’ the bridge guard said. He peered at the body, then
gave a start. 'Fucking hell, it’s Allotti.’
Joe said, 'That wasn’t me, it was Yuri.’
Yeah, and I taught Elvis to sing,’ the older man said.
'Look at the knife he’s holding,’ Joe said. 'The same one he used
on your man.’
Yuri sneered at the accusation. He bent down and retrieved the
boning knife from Joe’s belt. Held it out for them to see.
'He has knife too.’
Joe didn’t respond. He’d underestimated the extent of Yuri’s sly
intelligence. The Ukrainian had left the boning knife there on purpose.
'How come he knows you?’ the older man asked Yuri. 'Who is he?’
'This is Joe Carter,’ said Yuri. 'He works for Valentin.’
The bridge guard directed his flashlight at Joe’s face, studying him
carefully. 'Hold on. We counted him out earlier. He had the wife
and kids with him.’ He sounded defensive, as if preparing to deflect
criticism.
'Well, it looks like he came back,’ the older man said. To Joe:
'Where’s Manderson? And don’t give us any bullshit. You’re wearing
his fucking clothes.’
Joe knew it would be hopeless to lie. 'He’s in the trees opposite
Dreamscape.’
'Dead?’
Joe nodded. The older man stared at him for a second, his eyes
cold and blank. Then he lashed out with a surprising agility, punching
Joe in the chest. At the last moment Joe read the blow and was able
to ride with it, but still he felt a searing pain in his ribs. A little higher,
a little harder, and it might have stopped his heart.

Thirty-Nine

Liam and Priya ran next door, too preoccupied even to speak. Liam
had no doubt that the tension between them would resurface, but for
now it had been rendered virtually immaterial.
In Dreamscape’s kitchen they stopped to put on their masks. Liam
was grateful that his would conceal the scratch on his forehead, but
he was aware that Priya’s boiler suit looked crumpled. The zip had
been damaged and wouldn’t go all the way to the top. Someone was
bound to comment on it before long.
'Wait here,’ he told her. “I’ll check on the prisoners.’
He found Eldon pacing the garage, his gun drawn. As Liam walked
in he spun round, nervously raising the weapon.
'Easy,’ said Liam. He pointed at the box file on the floor. You find
anything?’

'I’ve not had a chance to look at it yet. I’m here on my own,
aren’t I?’

'All right. We’ll get you some backup.’
Liam returned to the kitchen. Priya was standing by a set of glass
doors that led out to the garden. He joined her and saw the flashlights
approaching.
Turner was first inside, pulling on his mask as he stepped into the
light. Pendry and Yuri followed, bringing the prisoner with them. Liam
recognised him at once: it was the man he’d seen this afternoon.
Cassie Nasenko’s bodyguard. His hands were cuffed behind his back,
but his strength and defiance were almost palpable.
Liam cursed. Of all the possible intruders, why did it have to be
someone who worked for Valentin?
Turner had even more bad news. 'He killed two of our lads.
Manderson and Allotti.’
'Allotti as well?’ Liam glared at Joe, who shook his head but said
nothing.
'Cut his throat, down on the deck.’ Turner produced three metal
rods from his pocket and showed them to Liam. 'And he’s knackered
the phone jammer.’
'He made no call,’ Yuri added quickly. 'I stopped him in time.’

'But not in time to save Allotti.’ Liam turned to Pendry. 'Put him
with the others. And bring Nasenko out here. I want to see if he knew
about this.’
'He had nothing to do with it,’ Joe called out as he was led away.
Liam waited till both Joe and Pendry were out of earshot, then
glared at Yuri.
'This could blow everything apart. He’ll tell Travers that you’re
working with us.’
Yuri seemed unconcerned. 'All that matters is that he does not
suspect Valentin.’
Liam reflected for a moment, before conceding the point. 'I guess
it could help to convince Travers. One bodyguard betrays Valentin,
while the other risks his life to come here and save him . . .’
Yuri nodded. 'Best that I stay away from them. You want me to
help patrol?’
'No. We need to get things back on track. Start clearing Valentin’s
place. I’ll send Pendry along with the van.’
Yuri went out the way he’d come in. Turner looked from Liam to
Priya, zeroing in on the damage to her clothing.

'What happened to you?’
'Accident.’

'You look like you got mauled by a dog.’
Priya started to answer, but Liam broke in.
'Come on. We’ll speak to Valentin in the lounge.’

Joe was hauled into the garage and put with the other prisoners. He
ended up taking Valentin’s place, sitting between Maria and Angela
Weaver. Both women greeted his appearance with delight, which
promptly gave way to sorrow when it sank in that he was now every
bit as helpless as they were.
Valentin’s reaction was very different. He gaped at Joe and made a
choking noise in his throat. For a second Joe thought the Ukrainian
was having a heart attack. The guard had to hold him steady.
Regaining the ability to speak, he said, 'Where’s my daughter?’
'She’s safe,’ said Joe. 'No thanks to you.’
Valentin’s expression darkened. He wasn’t used to his employees
addressing him in such a tone. But he also looked anxious and bewildered.
Joe wondered what kind of punishment awaited him. As Joe’s
employer, the gang could very well hold Valentin responsible for what
Joe had done.
While brooding on that, and on the many unpleasant forms that
their retaliation might take, it was an image from earlier that kept
nagging at him. Valentin emerging from his home with one of the
gang. Probably the man who’d just spoken to Joe in the kitchen: a
subtle Irish accent and a conspicuous air of authority. Was that 'Liam’,
the name he’d overheard at the bridge?
Angela Weaver leaned towards Joe, brushing her arm against his in
a gesture of affection.
'Try not to worry. They took him out once before, but brought him
back a few minutes later.’
Joe nodded. Perceptive as ever, Angela had read his mind.
'But not your colleague Yuri,’ she added in a low voice. 'He’s been
gone a while.’
'That’s because he’s working with them. It was Yuri who caught me.’
Angela gasped, and a rumbling of anger and disgust spread around
the group. Joe realised he could have been slightly more diplomatic.
But then she said: 'I can’t say I’m surprised, actually. He’s a despicable
man.’
'I wouldn’t disagree with that.’
'They murdered your other colleague, Mr McWhirter.’ Angela
paused. And my husband.’
Joe turned towards her, aghast. “I’m very sorry.’
And he was. He’d failed these people. He had been their best hope
of survival and he’d blown it.
Maria caught his eye and gave him a comforting smile. He returned
it in kind, but felt like a fraud for doing so.
The bald American had been watching him closely the whole time.
He had the cunning look of a man who always has his eye out for
the main chance, filing away every interaction for future profit.
Of all the prisoners, only Oliver Felton seemed detached from the
situation. He was leaning back, staring intently at the ceiling as if
there was another world playing out up there.
In a way, there was. Joe assumed that none of them knew about
the propane, and he certainly didn’t intend to enlighten them.
What he’d seen already convinced him that the operation was in
disarray. Just how badly it had gone wrong, even the gang themselves
didn’t appreciate. They all believed that Joe had killed the man on
the deck: Allotti. But he hadn’t.
Right now that worried him more than anything. If things got
any messier, the temptation to make a clean break would become
irresistible. And there was no better way to sterilise Terror’s Reach
than blowing the place apart.