Conspiracy Thriller 4 E-Book Bundle

‘Strictly speaking, only that one is,’ Penrose had said, pointing at the picture of Fabrice Lalique. ‘The other is a Church of England vicar.’ You had to know your enemy.

‘And what about this old fart here?’

‘He’s an American. A very rich American.’

‘Rich as in bodyguards with fucking Uzis?’

‘He shouldn’t be too hard to get to. I’ll leave that part to you.’

Cutter had carefully scrutinised the three targets. ‘What are we talking about here? Money? Drugs?’

‘Neither.’

‘Then what? Something they took from you?’ Cutter fired questions like bullets.

‘Not exactly. Let’s just say I don’t want these people to have it in their possession.’

‘Cut the bullshit. What is it?’

They’ll have to know sooner or later, Penrose had thought. ‘All right. It’s a sword.’

Grinnall and Mills had looked tickled. Cutter hadn’t. ‘A sword.’

‘That’s right.’

‘You can buy all the fucking swords you want off the internet, mate.’

‘Not this one.’

‘So what’s so special about it?’

‘Not your concern.’

‘What does it look like?’

Penrose had had to admit his ignorance on that score. ‘I’ve never seen it,’ he said irritably. What he had done, however, was hire a very expensive and discreet expert consultant to draft up a computer-generated impression of its possible appearance, based on its historical period and provenance. He showed the colour print to Cutter.

‘If you’ve never seen it, how can you be so sure these blokes have it?’

‘Surveillance. Wiretaps. The usual,’ Penrose had replied with brilliantly feigned nonchalance. He felt a rush of empowerment at the words. In truth, he had no idea how the phone taps were done. That was Rex O’Neill’s department, together with the nameless background figures feeding back the information from some invisible source. All Penrose had done was point them in the right direction, and the rest happened by magic.

‘Fair enough. So we’re looking at three men in three different countries. Only one of them can have it. Which, the Yank or one of the priests?’

‘Either him or him,’ Penrose had replied, pointing at the pictures of Arundel and the American. From the tapped phone conversations he was certain the Frenchman was playing second fiddle to the others. ‘But we start with him,’ he’d added, pointing at the photo of Lalique. ‘He goes first. It’s all in the plan.’

For several silent minutes, Cutter examined the plan of action Penrose had brought to show him. It was like no other job he and his boys had ever been hired for before. His face remained completely impassive as he took in the details, but Penrose knew that nobody could fail to be impressed with the thoroughness of his preparation.

There was no mention anywhere of Penrose’s deeper reasons for wanting things carried out the way he did. It was a simple set of instructions. The rest was above Cutter’s pay grade.

And pay grades were the next item to discuss. ‘This is going to cost you a great deal of money,’ Cutter said when he’d surveyed the plan.

‘Money’s the easy part,’ Penrose had said. It was a line he’d taken from a movie. He’d nudged the briefcase towards Cutter under the table. Now he was feeling like a real gangster. The power was rushing to his head and making him feel giddy.

Cutter had opened the case. Not a flicker of expression as his grey eyes scanned the contents. He shut the lid, laid the case beside him on the seat, and thirty grand had changed hands just like that. ‘Call it a retainer,’ Cutter said.

No complaints from Penrose. ‘Mick says you work for six hundred a day.’

‘Six-fifty. In cash. For each man.’

Penrose hadn’t tried to haggle over the cost. ‘I’ll need at least a dozen men, all personally vouched for by you. I assume you can provide the necessary hardware.’

‘For that price we come fully tooled up. Transportation is your responsibility.’

‘Not an issue. You’ll have the use of a long-range private jet, as well as any vehicles you require.’

‘That sounds acceptable. What about accommodation?’

‘Luxurious. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Or in the additional, ah, benefits that will be available.’ Penrose had already given some thought to the benefits. He wanted his personal army to be loyally devoted to him. ‘If things work out, I’ll be in a position to offer you a longer-term contract. This job is just the beginning.’

A flicker of reaction in Cutter’s eyes. Even he couldn’t stay completely deadpan in the face of a deal like this.

‘One more thing. This has to be in motion as soon as possible. Would your outfit be available to start immediately?’

‘I think we just became available,’ Cutter had said.

Chapter Twenty-One

On the drive back from Petra Norrington’s place to the vicarage, Ben pulled into a lay-by, fished out his phone and punched in the number of Sophie Norrington’s mobile. When she didn’t pick up, he left her a brief message, stressing the need for her to call him back.

The next number he dialled got an instant response. He should have known Darcey Kane’s phone would never be switched off. It wasn’t in her character.

‘Hello, Commander Kane,’ he said.

‘Ben Hope,’ she chuckled, purring with pleasure. ‘I knew you’d finally cave in to temptation and call me.’

‘It’s been the struggle of my life,’ he said.

‘You’re only human.’

‘So how are things, Darcey? Have they thrown you out of SOCA yet?’ As he spoke, he ripped open the envelope he’d taken from Petra Norrington’s desk and pulled out the letter she’d written to the motor insurance company. He nodded to himself. It had all the details he needed.

‘I’m right here at my desk,’ Darcey said. ‘Thinking of you.’

‘I can just picture you sitting there.’

She laughed. ‘Like what you see?’

‘The shoulder holster really matches the colour of your eyes.’