Taylor smiled.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “My guys will sit you in the bath, first. Your blood will just trickle away down the drain like watered-down cranberry juice. No one will know. Except you, obviously. If you force us down that road.”
I didn’t reply.
“We don’t have to go that way,” he said. “You could be sensible.”
I took a moment to glance up at Taylor. I could feel the time slipping away from me. I wanted to move on him. Find out what he knew. But I could see it was too soon. He wasn’t ready for the close. I only had one chance. I couldn’t afford to blow it. And I still needed a way to free myself from the chair.
“I never really did well with sensible,” I said.
“Maybe I can change you mind.”
“You can try. But I have to warn you. It wouldn’t be the first time. And it’s never worked before.”
Taylor put the syringe down on the dressing table. Then he stretched across, picked up my gun, checked it was loaded, and placed it carefully on the other side of the vial.
“There,” he said. “Have a look at your choices.”
He reached down to my left wrist and unfastened my watch.
“He can’t escape?” he said.
“No,” the rabbit guy said.
“The ties. They’re tight enough?”
“They are.”
“The chair. He can’t break it?”
“No.”
Taylor added the watch to the collection of items in front of me, laying it down so that one of the straps was touching the syringe and the other was nestling against the barrel of the gun.
“We’re going next door, now,” he said, picking up his bag. “There’s something we need to do. It’ll take us ten minutes. That’ll give you time, on your own. To think. Then you can tell me how you’d like your life to end.”
FORTY
One thing really annoyed me about our training regime, at first.
It was to do with the instructors. They never gave us accurate information. If they told us to run twenty miles, they’d change it to twenty-five. And then thirty. If they sent us to steal five people’s credit card numbers, they’d really want ten. Or probably fifteen. For a while I thought they were just disorganized. That, or plain sadistic. But then it dawned on me. There was a message hidden in the chaos.
Don’t count on anything being over. Ever.
No matter how good or bad it’s looking.
The rabbit guy was right about two things. The cable ties were tight enough. And the chair was too strong to break. But when it came to me not escaping, there was another factor he’d completely overlooked.
The length of my legs.
As soon as the connecting door slammed shut behind Taylor I tipped the chair back and held it balanced on the toes of my right foot. I shifted my left leg to the side until my thigh was clear of the cushion, pushed down hard, and wriggled the cable tie over the tip of the shiny metal leg. The same thing worked for my right ankle. Then I levered myself to my feet, suspending the chair behind me like some kind of cumbersome backpack.
I folded my arms up until my wrists were level with my shoulder blades and leaned forward to transfer some of the chair’s weight onto my back. I held tight with my right hand and slid my left about nine inches down the leg. Then I shifted my grip to my left hand and brought my right down until it was roughly level. I heaved the chair back up as high as I could and took hold with my right hand again. This time I straightened my left arm out all the way. I felt the cable tie slide smoothly down the metal. It reached the very end of the leg. Then it snagged on something. A kind of rubber foot, presumably designed to stop the chair from slipping on the floor. I snapped my wrist around in a sharp circle once, twice, three times until finally the tie worked itself clear. The chair spun around to the side, suddenly supported in only a single place, but I grabbed hold again before it hit the floor. Then I wrestled my right hand free and silently lowered it down.
I checked my watch. Two minutes twenty had ticked away. I picked up the gun, removed the magazine and emptied it onto the bed. I ejected the final round from the chamber, slotted the parts back together, and returned it to the exact same spot on the dressing table. Then I scooped up the bullets, dropped them inside one of the pillowcases at the head of the bed, smoothed out the duvet, and came back for the syringe.
The needle was broad. It was a tight fit, but I managed to force it into the catch on the cable tie around my left wrist. I kept pushing until the little plastic tongue was bent back, safely out of the way. I did the same for the ties on my right wrist and both ankles. Then I replaced the syringe and got ready for the hard part. Reversing the process I’d just gone through. I had to reattach myself to the chair before anyone caught me.
Taylor came back a minute early and found me sitting with my chin on my chest, snoring gently.
“Wake up,” he said. “It’s decision time.”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Well, I was thinking we should do it in the Caribbean. On a beach. With a cold beer in my hand. Something like that.”
“Not ready to be sensible?”
“No.”
“I thought you might say that. So. I’ve got something new to put on the table. The chance to see your friend, one last time.”
“Tanya?”
“You have other friends who’ve been kidnapped recently?”
“Is she here?”
“No. But if you cooperate, I’ll take you to her.”
“I want to see her first. Then we’ll talk.”
“No. Something here needs my attention. You tell me what I want to know. I’ll finish my work. Then we’ll go.”
“How do I know she’s still alive?”
“You know who’s holding her?”
“Lesley.”
“Correct. And what are the odds, would you say, of Lesley missing the chance to kill you while your friend watches? As long as you’re breathing, nothing will happen to her. Nothing terminal, anyway.”
“I want to talk to her.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I only just thought of it.”
“But you knew Lesley had her.”
“True. But I wasn’t expecting you to fall into my lap. And when you did, for you to need extra persuasion. You’re an unusually stubborn man, Mr. Trevellyan. The syringe has more of an effect on most people.”
“But how do you and Lesley even know each other?”
“We’re old friends.”
“Rubbish. The FBI’s been buzzing around Lesley for years. They keep tabs on all her friends.”
“And yet they hadn’t heard of me.”
“No one had heard of you till your guy left those bodies by the train tracks.”
“I’ve been out of the country.”
“And then you only hit the limelight when Lesley’s guy accidentally killed the agent who was working the case.”
“The fickle hand of fate. How can you plan for something like that?”
“Level with me. We were certain there was no connection between you. Were we wrong?”
“No. You were bang on the money. Truth is, I’d never heard of Lesley, either, until yesterday. Then she
