A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [79]
“You’ve heard of the Gideon Bank? Well, she is the Gideon Bank. What would you suggest for ransom? Fifty million, one hundred million? And why stop there?”
“So you wouldn’t kill her?”
“Don’t be stupid. She’s far too valuable.”
Owen nodded. “He’s right, she is.”
“So that’s it, then,” Henri said. “We’ll do it.”
“Nobody asked me. I don’t agree,” Kelly said. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Don’t worry,” Henri said, “I’ll sort him. When do you want us to do this?”
“As soon as you can. Their plane must have landed by now. If she goes home to Highfield Court, she’ll be on her own. Both the housekeeper and her grandfather are away.”
“But she could also be staying at the Dorchester with Holley.”
“That’s your problem. I’d advise grabbing her as soon as possible. No more failures. If so, it’ll be your last one. And no funny business. Osama may be gone, but Al Qaeda is everywhere, particularly in London. Put a foot wrong and I’ll know about it. There’s nowhere to run, gentlemen.”
Jack Kelly had the bar cupboard open and poured whiskey with a shaking hand. “God damn him to hell,” he said. “He’ll be the death of us.”
He slopped more whiskey into his glass, and Henri took it from him and tossed the contents into the living-room fire. He shook Kelly hard.
“Pull yourself together. What’s done is done. There is only one way out of this mess, and that’s to do as he says. Go and have a shower. You look terrible.”
Kelly went out, and Owen said, “A hell of a mess, but I don’t see any choice for us except to play along.”
Henri said, “Would we really be able to just load her into a jet at Frensham?”
“Yes, it’s a circus for the rich there. Talbot International uses it. It’s where Kelly landed when he flew over. Security really is slack. Their motto is: You mustn’t offend the rich. Even with a wheelchair, we’ll be waved through.”
“As it happens, I’ve got a very nice one in the stockroom,” Henri said. “Antique, of course. Will weaponry be a problem at the airfield?”
“Not for me. I’ve never been checked,” Owen said. “Give me what’s suitable in a bag, and I’ll see it gets on board. Now I’ll leave you to get on with it, and take a run down to Frensham to make sure the Learjet will be ready to go. At this hour of the morning, I can get there in forty minutes, so I’ll be back in no time. I suggest you come with me now, and I’ll give you this Seconal stuff while Jack’s at his ablutions. But wait for me before you attempt anything.”
“Kelly will be all right,” Henri said. “A nervous touch, is all. I’ll look after him.”
They went out. It was suddenly very quiet, and then Kelly came in, stripped to the waist, took the whiskey bottle from the cupboard, poured a huge one, and drank it down.
“Mother Mary, what am I going to do?” he murmured, and went back upstairs, a very unhappy man indeed.
At Rosedene, Ferguson, Holley, and Sara sat in the reception lounge with the matron, drinking coffee, waiting for news of Harry Miller, who had been in the operating room for an hour.
“He’s been wounded before, I believe,” Sara said.
“I think this must be the fourth time,” Ferguson said. “Harry was supposed to be a Whitehall Warrior for many years, a deskman in the Intelligence Corps. The truth is he was involved very much with one of the execution squads that brought the IRA to its knees and led directly to the peace process.”
Professor Charles Bellamy appeared at that moment in green scrubs, a mask hanging down from his neck, revealing his face. He looked a little weary, sat down, and accepted coffee gratefully from Maggie Duncan.
“Everything okay, Charles?” Ferguson asked.
“Not really.”
Sara said, “I treated him first. My impression was that there was an exit wound.”
“True. But when I got there, I discovered bullet fragmentation. It wasn’t immediately obvious.”
“It wasn’t hollow point, I hope?” Holley said.
“No, not as bad as that, but similar. I’ve removed all the detritus, but I really must say in my report that Harry Miller has taken the pitcher to the well too often. It’s got to stop.”
“And the Prime Minister