The Shadow Project

Ben ignored that. ‘He is what he is, but he’s paying a lot of money for this course.’

‘I get it. You want me to be nice to the bastard.’

‘Too much to ask?’

Jeff kept his eyes on Shannon as he chewed it over. ‘It just might be, yeah.’

‘Remember what we agreed, Jeff,’ Ben said. ‘At Le Val we always respect our clients, no matter what. OK?’ But he didn’t like the lecturing way it came out.

‘Even the arseholes.’

‘Especially the arseholes.’ Ben walked over to the door, opened it and stepped out just as Shannon reached the building. Jeff followed him outside, muttering something that Ben didn’t catch.

Shannon’s grin broadened as he greeted them. He was a big guy. At six-three he was four inches taller than Ben, probably fifty pounds heavier, about five years younger. He raised his hand to his face and whipped off the shades.

‘Ciao, Jeff, ciao, Benjamin,’ he brayed at them. ‘How’s it going, boys?’

‘It’s Benedict, not Benjamin. And you can call me Ben.’ Not a great start, he thought.

Shannon grunted with a dismissive gesture. ‘Whatever. Benedict, Benjamin, Ben, it’s all the same to me.’

Ben could feel Jeff bristling beside him. He threw him a quick warning glance. Respect the client, no matter what.

Brooke came up behind Shannon. ‘Hello, Ben,’ she said softly, and smiled.

‘Hi, Brooke.’ Ben patted her arm affectionately, like he always did. Shannon noticed it, and cleared his throat.

‘The rest of the guys should be arriving soon,’ he said.

‘Fine. The accommodation’s ready for you all.’ Ben pointed over at the trainees’ block, across the yard from the main farmhouse.

‘I won’t be kipping here,’ Shannon said. He put a big arm around Brooke’s shoulders and pulled her tightly against his side. ‘Us two are booked into the Cour du Château. This little lady deserves a bit more luxury than this old place has to offer.’

‘That’s miles away,’ Ben said.

Shannon grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be here bright and early in the morning. Always punctual.’

‘Nice wheels, Rupert,’ Jeff said dryly, motioning towards the Porsche.

Shannon’s eyes twinkled. ‘Oh yes. I’ve hit the fucking jackpot this time.’

‘So this would be the contract you were telling me about,’ Ben said.

Shannon nodded. ‘You don’t know the half of it, Benjamin. Steiner Industries. Protecting the head honcho himself, Maximilian Steiner.’

‘Kidnap threat?’

‘One attempt so far,’ Shannon said. ‘Failed, but only just. What d’you expect? The guy’s a billionaire, for Christ’s sakes. Have I hit paydirt, or what? He’s paying one point two million for this gig. And there’s a shitload more to come. You should see the place we’re going.’

‘Congratulations, Rupert,’ Ben said. ‘Looks like this new business venture of yours is really taking off.’

‘You bet your arse it is. And this is just the beginning, pal. I’ve been looking at new offices. Docklands, right on the river, three floors. PA, receptionists, you name it, the works.’

‘Here’s my advice, though,’ Ben said. ‘I know you’re flush from getting this Steiner contract. That’s great. I’m pleased for you. But take it easy. Don’t go mad with it. This is a tough business, and you never know what’s round the corner.’

Shannon reddened. ‘Listen to this guy. Are you for real, Hope?’

‘I just meant, be careful, that’s all. Don’t go spending it all at once, before you’ve even earned it.’

Shannon laughed and slapped him on the arm. ‘You sound like my fucking nanny. You know what your problem is? You’re getting old and slow.’

‘Forty next birthday,’ Ben said. ‘Be dead soon.’

‘Fucking forty,’ Shannon guffawed. ‘Five years from now you’ll be just another flabby-arsed, ulcer-ridden businessman sitting behind a desk.’

‘You might be right,’ Ben said. Now he could sense indignation radiating from Jeff in waves. Couldn’t say he blamed him.

Shannon grinned down at Brooke and squeezed her to his side. ‘Now why don’t we see about heading back to the hotel and grab some nosh?’

‘Any plans for tomorrow?’ Ben asked her.

She shrugged. ‘Not really.’

‘We’ll be doing kidnap simulation exercises in the morning. How d’you feel about coming along and playing the principal?’

‘Sounds fun,’ she smiled. ‘Looking forward to it.’

Chapter Three (#u2e3c221c-95c3-5f3d-ae25-f0909ea55eb0)

The Sheldon Hotel, Dublin The next morning, 10.15

The audience broke into enthusiastic applause as the speaker brought his presentation to an end. Up on the low stage, Dr Adam O’Connor smiled from the podium, thanked them all for listening and started gathering up his notes. People rose from their seats and started filtering out towards the exit. Adam folded up his laptop, walked over to the projector and turned it off.

He was pleased with himself. The last fifteen minutes of the talk had been a Q and A session and, judging by the level of interest, he was pretty sure he’d get back home to find some new orders coming in. ‘The smart house is the home of the future’ had been his closing line. It looked as though his audience felt that way too.

As he wound up the cable from the laptop to the projector, Adam cast his mind back, thinking about the last eighteen months and how well things were going. His academic colleagues at City University NY had all thought he was crazy, giving up a plum academic position to go off and start up a new business from the ground up. Back to the old country, they’d joked. But Adam was serious about his Irish roots – virtually the first thing he’d done on hitting these shores was to change his surname from Connor and reinstate the missing ‘O’ that the English had forcibly removed from the names of his ancestors. Adam O’Connor. He liked the way it sounded. New name, new life.

As for the business side, what he didn’t like to boast about to his former colleagues was that selling smart house technology installations was able to bring him in ten times his old academic salary, and rising fast every month. Not bad for a physics geek. He should have done this ages ago. Everything was better here – the air was cleaner, the countryside was lush and beautiful, the people were open and friendly. He felt he’d come home at last. The new environment in the Wicklow Hills was wonderful for his thirteen-year-old son, Rory, and the house itself was fantastic. Seven months of sweating over architect’s plans, but it had been worth it. Stunning lakeside view, a dozen large open-plan rooms, beautiful wood and acres of glass, incorporating many of his own patented designs. Teach na Loch was the Gaelic name he’d chosen. He could pronounce it pretty well now, getting his tongue round the guttural consonants. Tee-ach na Loch: the Lake House.

For a fleeting moment he thought about Amy and wondered where she was now. Last seen heading off towards southern California on the pillion of a chopped Harley with her arms around some large, hairy guy in denim and leather. Never a thought for her kid, let alone her husband.

That’s what you get for being a nerd, Adam thought to himself.

The last time they’d spoken was over a year ago. Seemed like a different life now. And Rory seldom asked about his mom any more.

The last of the delegates were filtering out of the entrance as Adam zipped up his bags, looked at his watch, picked up the copy of the Irish Times he’d bought that morning and thought about heading for home.

Just then, he heard a little cough behind him, and turned to see who was there. Stepping furtively out from behind one of the curtains that flanked the entrance was a figure he recognised. Someone he hadn’t heard from in quite a while.