Conspiracy Thriller 4 E-Book Bundle

Penrose stared at him. ‘Cheap? You call what I’ve been paying you cheap?’

‘How much more?’ O’Neill asked.

‘A grand a day. That’s the new price for all of us.’

‘Fine, fine,’ Penrose said, waving his arms. ‘Whatever it takes.’

But O’Neill was stony-faced. ‘I feel we’re drifting off target here,’ he ventured after a moment’s silence. ‘In my opinion it’s time to re-evaluate the whole plan. This is not in line with our objective. Which I thought had been made clear to you.’

Penrose’s face paled white. He bared his teeth. There was a fleck of foam at the corner of his mouth as he tore himself away from the desk, paced across the room towards O’Neill and stabbed the air with a trembling finger. ‘Are you questioning my orders?’

As well as your rational judgement, O’Neill wanted to reply. But he could see the fire burning in Penrose’s bulging eyes and was watching the hand that might at any second dart inside the folds of the satin gown and come out shooting. He thought of his wife back home in London, and said nothing.

Penrose glared at him in disgust, then whipped back around to face Cutter. ‘You tell your contacts I’ll pay twelve hundred a day, damn it. And I’m offering a million bounty to whoever brings me Ben Hope’s head on a plate.’

Chapter Thirty-One

Three and a half hours later, with the fuel gauge deep into the red and Jude slumped fast asleep in the passenger seat, Ben pulled up at a frosty truck stop off the M4 motorway before London to grab some rest. He’d slept in a lot more uncomfortable places than the dank interior of a half-decrepit Vauxhall on a freezing December morning, but his mind was too agitated to let him drift off. Dawn was still some way away when he finally gave up on the idea of sleep, and drove to the nearby Murco filling station.

While Ben attended to the fuel pump, Jude let Scruffy out of the car and wandered around the forecourt, stretching his legs and flapping his arms to stay warm, and then went inside the filling station shop to stand in the blast of the fan heater.

Ben had just finishing fuelling up and was about to go to pay when he heard the commotion from inside the shop. He hurried over to find Jude in an argument with the fat guy manning the counter, under the eye of the CCTV cameras. A newspaper stand had been knocked over and there were crumpled tabloids scattered on the floor. The fat guy yelled as Jude kicked over another one. ‘Fucking lies!’ Jude was shouting. There were tears in his eyes.

‘What is it?’ Ben said, bewildered, and Jude thrust one of the crumpled newspapers into his hands. ‘Look at this shit.’ It was that morning’s paper, dated December 20th.

‘Is he with you?’ the shopkeeper raged at Ben. ‘You’re going to pay for this damage, mate.’

‘Step back, pork chop, or I’ll do some more,’ Jude growled. The guy flushed purple and made a grab for him. Ben gently nudged the shopkeeper back a step and gave him a look that quietened him for a moment. ‘Now what’s this about?’ he said to Jude. Then he looked at the headline Jude was showing him, and his heart skipped two beats.

JOYRIDING VICAR IN LOTUS DEATH PLUNGE.

The colour photo underneath the huge bold print showed the crumpled car being winched out of the river. The partially demolished bridge was clearly visible in the background.

‘What the—?’ The pages crumpled in Ben’s fists as he scanned the text below. Jude had snatched another copy off the floor and began to read out loud, barely able to speak for fury. ‘Reverend Arundel was well known locally for being a playboy and a reckless driver. According to a witness at the scene of the crash, “Thank God there was nobody else on the road, the speed he was going at. They wouldn’t have stood a chance.”’ Jude’s face contorted in anger. He screwed the newspaper into a tight ball, hurled it down and started stamping on it.

‘That’s it. I’m calling the police,’ the fat guy said, hovering warily a few yards away.

‘Listen, Ben told him. ‘The article’s about somebody close. He’s just upset.’ Shelling out a fifty and a twenty from his wallet, he handed them over. ‘The twenty’s for the fuel. The rest is for you. Take it easy, my friend.’

The fat guy’s mouth twisted. He wasn’t convinced.

‘Come on,’ Ben said. ‘It’s Christmas.’

The fat guy was breathing heavily and clutching his money as Ben picked up the fallen stands and tidied up the mess. Jude had stormed outside. Ben found him pacing furiously near the car. ‘Let’s go.’

‘How can they print that stuff?’ Jude raged as they drove away. ‘How can they say those things?’

‘You know it’s not true,’ Ben said quietly. ‘That’s what matters.’

‘It does matter. It matters a lot. They said there was a witness. What witness?’

‘There was no witness,’ Ben said. ‘I told you. I was the first on the scene.’

‘These people can fabricate a witness and write a load of lies in the press?’ Jude punched the dashboard with such force that it cracked the plastic and left a smear of blood.

‘They can do whatever they want,’ Ben said. Like plant paedophile filth on an innocent man’s computer before hurling him off the world’s tallest bridge, he thought. He said nothing more. Jude raged on a while longer and finally flung himself back in his seat and lapsed into a simmering trance, nursing his torn knuckles. The dog hopped up onto Jude’s lap, sniffed at his hand and gave it a lick.

A gloomy dawn was beginning to break over the London skyline as Ben pulled up in the familiar quiet street in Richmond. ‘What is this place?’ Jude asked. ‘Hey. Where are you taking Scruffy?’

‘He’ll be fine. You stay here.’ Ben scooped the dog off Jude’s lap and got out of the car. He felt stupid and embarrassed as he walked up to the familiar red-brick Victorian house clutching the dog under his arm. Quarter to seven in the morning. He hoped Amal was an early riser. Ben barely knew the guy, and here he was about to lumber him with an unwanted temporary pet. ‘I should have left you on the moors,’ he muttered.

Scruffy looked at him and wagged his tail.

‘Just kidding,’ Ben said.

He was about to ring the bell when the door abruptly jerked open. He blinked as he found himself suddenly face to face with Brooke.

She stood rooted in the doorway, her tartan dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. Her unsmiling gaze pierced right through him. ‘I saw you out of the window. What are you doing here, Ben?’

‘I thought you weren’t here,’ he replied lamely.

Brooke crossed her arms. She gave a little snort. ‘Is that why you came?’ she asked. ‘Because you thought I wasn’t here?’

‘No,’ he said, flustered. ‘I came about this dog.’

Brooke stared at Scruffy. Her expression didn’t change. ‘What are you doing with that dog?’

‘He’s not mine.’

‘I know that, Ben. So you’re picking up strays now?’

‘I think I’ve kind of inherited him.’ Ben paused. ‘You look good, Brooke.’ In fact she looked spectacular. Her auburn hair was longer than it had been, and she was wearing it loose over her shoulders.

‘Thanks,’ she sniffed. ‘You look like someone who’s spent the night in a car.’ She glanced down at the dried spatters of Cornish mud that flecked the bottoms of his jeans. ‘Have you been wading in a mire or something?’

‘Or something,’ Ben said. This didn’t seem to be going too well.

‘What’s with the banger?’ she said, peering over his shoulder at the Vauxhall. ‘And who’s the guy with you?’

‘It’s a long story,’ he said.

‘It always is with you, isn’t it?’

‘So what about the dog?’ he asked.

‘What about him?’

‘I was going to ask Amal if he’d take him.’