hold of him now, they wouldn’t bother looking for other explanations, they’d arrest him and charge him and lock him away, giving those three men all the time in the world to cover their tracks. He was screwed. He was completely screwed.
It was only then that he remembered the email Penelope Martyn had sent her niece. Not much, but something; a piece of evidence that would corroborate his account. And it had freaked those men out, that was for sure. But maybe it had freaked them out badly enough to do something about it. Cambridge was just forty minutes drive away, after all.
The phone took cards, not coins. He had just enough change to buy one from a dispenser. He called Directory Enquiries, had them put him through to Caius College. ‘Rachel Parkes, please,’ he said.
‘She’s not here,’ said a man. ‘May I take a message?’
‘I need to speak to her now. Do you have a mobile number for her?’
‘I couldn’t possibly give out that kind of information.’
‘Then can you at least get a message to her?’
Hesitancy in his voice. Anxiety that this might actually be serious. ‘I’m afraid Ms Parkes is out of Cambridge this afternoon, and she doesn’t have a mobile. I could ask her to contact you if she calls in.’
Luke hesitated. He could hardly wait here all day on the off chance. ‘I’ll try again later,’ he said. He put the phone down, stood there in thought. What he really needed was someone to look for Rachel on his behalf, someone who knew Cambridge and who trusted him enough to do it without asking awkward questions.
Pelham, then.
He called Directory Enquiries again, asked for his friend’s home number. It just rang and rang. Probably out with one of his women, though maybe he’d be at his lab, even on a Sunday afternoon. For all his protestations, the man was a workaholic. And why not? His company paid him a fortune to do the kinds of R amp;D he’d gladly done for free at his old college. But, for the life of him, Luke couldn’t remember what his company was called. They’d moved into purpose-built laboratories at a Cambridge science park a couple of years back. Luke had taken Maria to the opening. But what the hell were they-
The pub doors suddenly slammed open. He span around to see policemen flooding in from the main bar and the car park, truncheons in their hands.
‘
II
‘Twenty million,’ said Grant, when finally he rang back. ‘That’s the highest I can go.’
‘One hundred,’ replied Croke. ‘That’s the lowest I can go.’
‘Seriously, my friend. You don’t know the people I work with. They think you’re trying to take advantage of them. They hate people taking advantage. There’s no chance whatsoever that they’d go for forty, let alone a hundred.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Croke. He looked out his window at the French Riviera thirty thousand feet beneath, the distinctive shapes of its marinas, the white specks of the cocaine super-yachts. It wasn’t just how much they cost in themselves; it was their berthing fees and running costs. It was the salaries for their crews.
‘So we’re agreed, then? Twenty million.’
‘I’m not risking my life for twenty mill.’
A beat of silence. Two beats. ‘Thirty, then. I can probably go as high as thirty.’
‘Ninety,’ said Croke. ‘For what your friends will be getting, ninety’s a steal.’
‘You know nothing about my friends.’
‘I know they’ll be getting a steal at ninety.’
‘Fine,’ sighed Grant. ‘Call it fifty. But success-only, understood? No crying about near misses.’
They settled on seventy. Less than Croke had hoped; more than he’d expected. Now for the next stage. He called Avram in Jerusalem. ‘I need you to speak to Thaddeus for me,’ he told him.
‘Why me?’
‘Because I don’t speak his language.’
‘You don’t speak American?’ asked Avram, puzzled.
‘I don’t speak
Avram grunted. ‘And what do you want me to say to him?’
‘Everything you told me before. Why you’re so confident about finding it. Why this is the time. Why it has to be tomorrow night. I need him to do something he won’t want to do. I need him excited. I need him
‘Leave it to me.’
‘Good. And when he’s ready, have him give me a call.’
III
The police raid was surely meant for Luke; but the bikers didn’t realize that. And they evidently had something to hide. A moment of stillness, as though neither side could quite believe the presence of the other. Then a pool-cue blurred and a policeman’s cheek burst red. War cries of pain, anger, fear and defiance. The two bikers near Luke stood up and sent their table toppling, pint glasses, wallets and keys crashing to the floor. A wash of foamy ale swept a keychain to Luke’s feet. He crouched and picked it up without even thinking, walked briskly into the washroom. The sash window was half up and he rolled beneath it, out onto the gravelled car park. He clicked the remote on the key-fob. The lights of a black-and-chrome Harley flashed. He straddled it, kicked it off its stand and started it up. Two bikers had escaped from the washroom after him. They yelled and tried to grab him. He twisted the throttle and squirted between them.
A police car screeched across the car park exit. Luke slithered to a halt, pulled a sharp turn, roared up a grassy bank into the beer garden, weaving between tables as men grabbed their pints and women grabbed their kids. He tore through a tangle of white and red roses, bumped down a bank onto a lane, raced away up a hill. He hadn’t ridden a bike in years, not since his student days, and that bike had been nothing like this beast. Yet the skills returned quickly. He leaned into corners, trusting the bike a little more with every moment. But the spike of adrenalin soon began to ebb, allowing dismay to take its place. He was a fugitive now. The police would take it for granted he’d fled because he’d killed Penelope. Even more than before, he’d become his own only hope of proving himself innocent.
He came up fast behind a green Volvo as it slowed for a blind corner, overtook it in a blur. At a junction, he glimpsed motorcyclists approaching from his right. They accelerated when they saw him, fell in behind, caught up fast. Of all the days to nick a Harley, he’d chosen
The line of traffic had balked the bikers behind him, earning him maybe thirty seconds grace. He hurtled past fields of mustard and barley, took a slip road down onto dual carriageway and swung straight out into the overtaking lane. A glance around, no sign of pursuit. He breathed a little easier. Sheer speed made him feel almost euphoric, stirring his spirits like a battle-cry. Wind buffeted his body, forcing him to hunker down and squint. He lost track of time and distance, simply putting in the miles. He overtook an accidental convoy of lorries, belatedly saw a sign for a place called Cherry Hinton. Cherry Hinton was the name of Pelham’s science park, he was sure of it. He braked and cut across traffic, missing the slip road itself but managing to bump across a narrow strip of grass onto it. Then it was up through the gears and away.
