terrorists. Pressure of the business. Family problems.’ She looked out of the window, across the golf course to where Otto had been a few minutes earlier, and Ben thought he could see a look of sadness pass over her face. ‘Max isn’t normally difficult to deal with,’ she went on. ‘He’s really a wonderful man.’
Ben found that hard to believe. ‘I understand that Herr Steiner is under a lot of stress. It’s perfectly normal, in these circumstances.’
‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ she said. ‘You seem like a very kind, decent person.’
Ben didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He glanced down at his feet.
‘I believe you live in France?’ she asked.
‘Normandy.’
‘But you’re English.’
‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘Half English, half Irish. Before I moved to France I had a place in Galway, by the sea.’
‘How beautiful. You must miss it.’
‘I do, sometimes. But life moves on.’
‘It certainly does.’ She sighed. For an instant she seemed far away, then caught herself. ‘Are you sure we’ve never met?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Quite sure?’
‘Pretty sure. Why?’
She shook her head slowly, as if trying to place him. Her eyes seemed to search his. ‘It’s strange. Somehow I feel that I know you. You seem terribly familiar to me.’
‘I have a good memory for faces,’ he said. ‘If we’d ever met, I would remember.’ He smiled. ‘Now I’d better leave you to your music. I have to get back to my work.’
After he’d finished his rounds of the estate and made all the mental notes he needed, Ben went back to the security team’s quarters. He got there just as lunch was being served. Once he’d checked that Neville had sorted out the Flash-Balls as instructed, he grabbed a ham salad baguette and a bottle of mineral water and went back to his room to eat alone once again.
As he ate, he could hear the laughter of the others over the blare of the TV. He shut the noise out of his thoughts, still angry with himself. When he’d finished eating, he picked up his phone and dialled the number for Le Val. Jeff answered.
‘How are things going?’
‘Not much to report,’ Jeff said. ‘Brooke’s still here, getting ready for her lecture. She thought she might as well hang around.’
‘I ought to be there,’ Ben said glumly. ‘I should be taking care of things.’
‘It’s just a bunch of insurance brokers wanting to be taught about hostage psychology and ransom negotiation techniques,’ Jeff said. ‘Nothing we can’t cope with ourselves. You sit tight and we’ll see you when we see you.’
‘Any word on His Nibs?’
‘Still in hospital. I reckon the bastard’s malingering there. Getting paid for doing fuck all. Private room at our expense, probably ordering champagne round the clock. I tell you, he’s having a whale of a time with this.’
It wasn’t what Ben wanted to hear.
Just after one, the team filed back outside, carrying their clumsy weapons. There was no conversation between them as they made the ten-minute walk to the circular concrete helipad at the west side of the estate.
Ben and the team didn’t have long to wait before the beat of rotor blades crept up in the distance and the two choppers appeared over the tree line. The helicopters drew quickly nearer, until they were hovering right overhead and settling down to land, their downdraught flattening out a wide circle in the lawn surrounding the helipad. Both craft were immaculate, the bright sun gleaming off identical red paintwork and the crisp white graphics of the Steiner company logo on their flanks. With his clothes and hair fluttering in the windstorm, Ben could see the men inside – a pilot and co-pilot for each chopper, all wearing matching red uniforms.
The helicopters touched down, skids flexing gently as they took the weight. The screech of the turbines dropped down to a roar and the rotors gradually slowed to an idle. The copilots jumped down and opened the rear hatches. Ben could see how much plusher Steiner’s personal helicopter was inside. Max Steiner was clearly a man who liked to make a statement.
Only when the noise and the wind had diminished a minute later did their employer make his appearance. The golf buggy zipped across the lawns towards them, the billionaire in the front passenger seat and Dorenkamp riding shotgun, clutching a black leather attache case on his lap. Ben checked his watch. It was exactly quarter past one.
Steiner climbed down from the buggy, straightened his suit and, with Dorenkamp following behind him, walked purposefully towards the lead chopper. Climbing into the rear, he turned and shot Ben a look that said, ‘What are you waiting for?’
Ben waved the team towards the second craft, paused while Dorenkamp climbed on board, then hauled himself up through the hatch carrying his Flash-Ball. The seats were deep and comfortable. Ben slipped the rubber bullet gun into a space beneath his. Then the co-pilots closed the hatches of the two aircraft, like chauffeurs shutting limo doors. They ran round to take their places and put on their headsets as the shriek of the turbines started up again and the rotors began to spin faster.
In less than a minute, the ground was dropping away from them and Ben watched the chateau and surrounding estate shrink to the size of a model. The chopper climbed straight up to four hundred feet, then dipped its nose and accelerated hard towards the horizon. The cabin was well insulated against the noise. Ben barely had to raise his voice to ask Dorenkamp where the aircraft were usually kept. The PA turned and replied that they were stored at a private hangar a few miles from the estate.
Ben nodded and said no more. Out of the window, hills and forests rolled by far below.
Steiner nudged Dorenkamp and pointed at the back of the co-pilot’s head. Ben wondered what he was doing, then saw that he was pointing at the ring the man was wearing in his left ear. Steiner leaned towards Dorenkamp and Ben heard him say in German, ‘If that young man wants to continue working for me, he’ll have to dispense with the decorations.’
‘Must be new on the staff,’ Dorenkamp replied. ‘I’ll have a word with Rolf.’
The two men went on to discussing the agenda for the upcoming conference, while Ben watched the alpine scenery. Twisting round in his seat, he could see the second chopper keeping pace behind them, the shapes of his team just visible through the side window.
Just as he was about to turn and face forward again, he saw the other aircraft suddenly give a violent judder, bank and peel off to starboard. Over the noise he heard the unmistakable crack of a rifle shot, and from somewhere down in the rolling fields below the yellow-white flame of a muzzle flash caught his eye as more shots were fired. Then another. Two shooters, using high-velocity semi-auto rifles.
It was happening already.
The rear helicopter veered away sharply, rapidly shrinking into the distance. Steiner’s pilot banked the lead craft hard in the opposite direction, dropping altitude and heading for a thick patch of woodland on the port side.
Ben knew immediately what was happening. The shooters on the ground weren’t trying to bring the choppers down, but to divert their course and isolate Steiner’s helicopter from its escort. It was a crude form of hijack. The question was, how did their attackers plan on forcing the chopper to the ground without shooting it down?
The question was answered a second later when the co-pilot swung round to face them, holding a gun. Not a big clumsy riot stun gun, but a purposeful 9mm Beretta semi-auto pistol. And it was pointed straight at them.
