Dead Centre - Andy McNab [63]
We passed people out and about. They were walking little rat dogs wrapped up in Prada Puffas the same colour as their owner’s. This was Bling Central, on ice.
Even my young driver looked too cool to need to breathe. His Aviators didn’t have fingermarks; he never needed to adjust his short, wet-gelled hair. My own hair was greasy and my eyes felt so knackered they probably looked like they belonged to Vlad the Impaler. Fuck knows what he made of me in the back, contaminating his leather.
‘Are you here for the party, sir?’
His English was clear and crisp.
‘No, mate, just a quick visit. Whose party?’
‘I’m not sure, but they say it’s costing five million euros. Cirque de Soleil are being flown in all the way from Canada.’
‘That’s some party. Keeping you busy?’
I found myself doing the cabbie chat I normally saved for London.
‘Three hundred people are coming, or so they say.’
‘Not for the skiing, that’s for sure.’
There was snow around the chocolate-box village, but it was dribbling down the mountain with every passing minute. Now we were lower, I could see large expanses of rock fighting their way into view.
He checked his sat-nav for the hundredth time. ‘Not far now, sir.’
2
WE STOPPED OUTSIDE a massive, classic Swiss chalet that looked as if it had been carved out of the granite high ground behind it. Snow covered the gently sloping roof and wide eaves. The pathway had been freshly cleared.
‘Are you the new owner, sir?’
I checked out the three-storey slice of paradise like I was trying to remember if I’d bought this one or the next, and dreamt a little before coming back to the real world. ‘No, mate, not me. How much did it go for?’
‘Twenty-two million dollars. Just last week. They say it has a pool.’
For that amount of money, I’d have demanded a bigger driveway as well. It only just fitted the gleaming black Range Rover with French plates and darkened windows.
‘I’ll tell you if it has when you take me back. You’re waiting, yeah?’
‘Yes, sir. I am booked until you want to leave. Same as the helicopter.’
I opened the door. The cold, crisp air attacked my face. I liked it. It woke me up a little. ‘What’s your name, mate?’
He swivelled in his seat, smiling under his sun-gigs. ‘Jacques.’
I leant down. ‘You new at this, Jacques?’
He nodded like a puppy. ‘My third day.’
‘Try not to speak to the guests, Jacques. These people don’t like that.’
He flapped. ‘Sir, I’m so sorry, I—’
I put up a hand. ‘It’s no drama with me, Jacques. You seem a good guy and it would be a nightmare to lose a job like this. Best to have fun using your eyes and ears. You might find out exactly what’s going on around here, yeah?’
He let it sink in.
‘The guy in that house, Jacques? He can buy that shit because he knows that knowledge is power. He told me so himself. So, if you listen, look and learn while you drive you won’t have to depend on “them” to tell you what’s what. They’ll depend on you. Get it?’
He nodded.
‘See you in a bit, then, Jacques.’
The huge wooden door was a few centimetres ajar. I pushed it wider. The hallway was empty. No one lived here. But it was far from a rustic ski lodge. The interior looked as if it had been ripped out of a Manhattan penthouse. Sleek, modern lines. A symphony of glass, steel and dark grey marble. The front of the house was all that was left of the original.
I could see now that the hall wasn’t entirely empty. Mr Lover Man and his mate Genghis were hovering. They didn’t look fazed to see me. There was no reaction at all. Frank must have been giving them tutorials.
I nodded a greeting. ‘Afternoon, lads.’
I didn’t get as much as a blink in return. Genghis just pointed upstairs. I walked across the marble floor to the grand glass and steel staircase.
As I climbed, I began to hear the echo of excited, high-pitched voices. They spoke English with heavy French accents. They were enthusing about how beautiful the new colours would look. I reached