Dead Centre - Andy McNab [67]
The machine was a long time processing. I waited till his hand came down.
‘Yes, of course. Now, you and I, we both have business to do. Different business.’
The £475K wrist rested on my shoulder again as we made our way to the lift. German hydraulics and Italian design carried us smoothly to the ground floor. His two shadows were waiting. He started leading me to the front door.
‘The number you have for me – it will be exclusively for your use. I will always answer.’
We got to the threshold and shook. He turned away. I was to let myself out. He headed for the stairs with Mr Lover Man and Genghis.
I pulled out the mobile. The missed call was from the estate agent I’d bought my Docklands flat from a couple of years ago.
I opened voicemail. ‘Mr Stone, it’s Henry. Got the message you left mega early about us selling a small apartment of yours. That would be a pleasure. Could you please call me back to discuss?’
By the time I’d finished listening, I’d opened the door. I stepped outside. It was colder. And Jacques was waiting.
5
I JUMPED INTO the warmth of the Merc. Jacques was facing the front, being very professional. Mouth shut, both hands on the wheel.
‘Tell you what, mate. Drive me down the hill to the town and I’ll tell you if the place has got a pool or not. Might as well have a quick look round before I leave – might see something I fancy.’
He nodded. We headed down towards the centre. There was high ground around us; nothing but snow-capped Alps as far as the eye could see. No fast-food joints. No hire shops offering gloves included. The retail names were all the same as in GUM: Prada, Gucci, Versace.
We passed parking areas with coin-operated telescopes on steel stands. In days gone by, the tourists would have looked at the distant peaks or skiers on the pistes. These days they probably gawped at the multi-million-dollar houses and the Russians who stayed in them. That was what I was going to do, anyway.
‘Park up here a minute, Jacques. I’ll get one last look at the place.’
He pulled into one of the lay-bys and I spilt out. I checked the coin slot. It was two euros for two minutes.
‘You got any cash, mate? I’ll pay you back when I’ve been to a bank.’
He pulled out a large plastic bag from a side compartment. ‘The parking’s very expensive here.’
He passed me the whole thing. Now I knew what the Royal Family felt like when they went walkabout. I threw in ten minutes’ worth.
That pink and yellow fairy picture couldn’t have belonged to a boy. And if it did, Stefan needed to start playing with Action Man or some shit like that. So there was probably a little girl. And if there was a little girl, there was a mother.
I cast about in the general direction of the chalet. He’d looked bored with the designers. He’d be on the move before long. I moved up the road to the high ground. Chances were, he wasn’t down here in the village. This area was for the rich. The super-rich, like everywhere else on the planet, took the high ground – and on the side of the valley where the sun liked to come and stay.
I moved it about until I hit the chalet we’d just left. The Range Rover had gone. Eyes away from the optic, I checked the road left and right. The black blob was heading towards the altiport, contouring one of the higher roads. I shoved in more cash to make sure and followed the road upwards until the Range Rover came back into view.
It disappeared intermittently behind chalets, rocks and trees this side of the road.
It passed a row of four large chalets and this time it didn’t reappear. The chalets were monolithic. Their roof overhangs almost came down to the ground. Their gardens sloped downhill towards me.
There were three bodies in the white expanse of garden at the second chalet from the right. Two small figures in pink all-in-one ski suits. I couldn’t make out their faces. They jumped on a sledge near the