They walked on by. Rory let his breath out very slowly, waited until they were around a corner and out of sight. Then he darted out from behind the girder and made for the lifeboats up ahead. He dropped down on his hands and knees and crawled under their rusty mountings, where a tattered piece of tarpaulin dangled down to offer some cover. Crammed as deep into the space as he could get, he reached into his jeans and took out the phone he’d stolen from the man. It was switched on, and there was a tiny flicker of reception.
Rory hesitated. Police or home? Home first. He suddenly wanted to hear his father’s voice so badly. He quickly punched out the number.
Sabrina was sitting outside on the patio finishing a breakfast of coffee and croissants and gazing out across the lake with Cassini on her lap when she heard the phone ring from inside the house. She twisted her head towards the open sliding glass door. Two rings, three. Adam didn’t come to pick up.
Of course not, she thought. Her dear brother was too busy bustling about in a panic getting ready for his stupid last-minute conference to think of such things as attending to his visitor or answering his phone. What the hell was wrong with him? He was definitely acting jumpy. He hadn’t wanted breakfast, either, and looked like he hadn’t slept a wink all night.
She shooed the cat away irritably, jumped up from the deck chair and trotted over to the house. Maybe her big bro wasn’t cut out to be a businessman after all.
She picked up the phone on the seventh ring. ‘Hello, Slaves ‘R’ Us. How may I help you?’
‘Sabrina?’
‘Rory?’ She brightened momentarily. But then the tone of her nephew’s voice made her frown. He sounded scared. No, he didn’t. He sounded utterly terrorised. ‘What’s wrong, honey?’
‘Is Dad there?’
‘He’s not around. You sound upset. What is it?’
‘I’m in trouble. I mean really bad trouble. I’ve been kidnapped.’
Sabrina froze. ‘What?’ ‘I said—’
‘Where are you?’
‘I don’t know. I’m on a boat. No, a ship, in the sea. There are islands.’
‘Rory—’
‘I’m scared. I’m scared.’ He started sobbing. ‘Where’s my dad?’
Sabrina gripped the phone in horror. ‘Tell me where you are.’
‘Oh, shit. They’re coming. I—’
There were scraping and scuffling sounds, and then the phone went dead.
‘Rory? Rory?’
He was gone. Sabrina wanted to scream for Adam, but her throat was so dry and constricted no sound came out. Still clutching the phone, she went running through the house to find her brother. He was in the hallway, carrying a travel bag and a briefcase out to the car.
‘There you are. Oh my God, Adam.’
He stopped and stared at her. His face was pale, dark rings around his eyes.
‘Something’s happened to Rory,’ she blurted. ‘He’s been kidnapped.’
‘What? Say that again.’
‘I’ve just had a call from him. He’s been taken, Adam. Said he was on board a ship or something.’ Tears prickled her eyes. ‘What’s happening?’
He stared at her a second longer, then broke into a twisted grin. ‘Sabrina, that’s not possible. I talked to him just a few minutes ago.’
Sabrina looked at him incredulously.
‘This is something he’s been doing lately. Playing practical jokes. You’re not the first person he’s tricked this way. Last time it was he’d been taken up into an alien spacecraft.’
‘But … it sounded real. He was terrified.’
Adam’s grin widened an inch. ‘He could be an actor one day, that one. Anyway, he called on his mobile to say hi to you and that he’s sorry he missed you. He’s having a great time at tennis camp.’
She scanned his face carefully, trying to read his expression. The smile was steady, but there was something in his eyes that made her wonder. ‘What the hell’s going on, Adam?’
He shrugged. ‘Like I said. Consider yourself Rory’s latest victim.’
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t sound right.’
‘Anyway, listen, I’m all ready to go.’
‘You’re leaving? Now?’
‘I did say I had to go.’
‘But the call—’
‘Don’t worry about it. Trust me.’
She sighed loudly. ‘I still can’t believe you’re leaving me here alone like this.’
‘I’ll make it up to you next time, I promise.’ He put down his bags and hugged her tightly the way he’d done when she’d arrived, and she could feel the tension in his body. It was almost as if he thought he was never going to see her again.
Within twenty-four hours of Rupert Shannon’s admission to hospital, Ben’s idea had become a detailed plan, and the plan had quickly developed into a reality. The two-day training course had been cancelled, and Shannon’s close protection team had returned to London to gather their equipment and be picked up at Heathrow by a private jet belonging to Maximilian Steiner. Meanwhile, Ben was making his own way to Switzerland. He didn’t know when he’d be back.
He hated the idea, but it was the only way to resolve the situation. After his conversation with Jeff, he’d called Shannon’s lawyer in London to suggest the only course of action he could see: to take the injured man’s place as team leader, unpaid, until the damaged arm was healed and Shannon was able to resume his role.
After letting Ben stew a little, the lawyer had called back to say that his client had agreed to the deal, and that the new arrangement had been squared with Steiner’s people. In practice, it meant that the team would arrive in Switzerland a day earlier than planned, giving them time to settle in before meeting their billionaire employer.
So it was done. Ben was on his way to a new job. Jeff had been ready to drive him to the airport at Cherbourg, but he’d wanted to take the Mini Cooper. Sitting on a plane with nothing to do except stare out of the window and brood over his situation wasn’t his idea of a good time. Driving to Switzerland to do a job he didn’t want to do wasn’t much better, but at least it would give him something to occupy his mind.
It was a long drive across France. He left early and stuck to the fast roads, cutting eastwards as directly as he could. By the time he bypassed Paris the traffic was building up, and it stayed busy until he hit the countryside beyond the city. He let the CD player loop the same Stefano Bollani jazz piano album round and round at high volume and kept his foot down at a steady eighty, stopping only for fuel and tolls. The concentration of driving helped, but it didn’t completely silence the voices in his head that asked him over and over again: Why? Why?
When the voices reached a fever pitch he just gritted his teeth, gripped the wheel tightly in his fists and stared fixedly ahead as the white lines in the road zipped towards him and waited for his mind to go numb. It never really did.
Sometime in the afternoon he started seeing the first signs for Switzerland, and a little while after that he passed over the border. Most of the traffic was bound for Bern and Lausanne, and thinned out as he followed the