“Oh, very well.”
I heard the chain being removed. As soon as the door opened, I brushed past him. By the time he’d closed it again, I had the muzzle of the Glock against the back of his head.
“If that feels like a semiautomatic pistol,” I said softly, “it’s because it is one.” I glanced around. There seemed to be no one else in the vicinity.
Burdett was swaying slightly, but was otherwise motionless.
“Right, then, Gavin,” I said, dispensing with the accent, “let’s be having you.”
I grabbed him under the arm and threw him across the black-and-white tiled floor of the elegant hallway. He cannoned into the wall, shock on his face.
“You…you know my name,” he said, kicking his legs as he tried to get up.
“Oh, yes. Don’t you recognize me?” I took off my hat and smiled, but kept the gun on him.
“Wells,” he said, clearly puzzled. “Matt Wells. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He sounded like the archetypal Brit abroad, appalled at the way he was being treated-except I was a Brit, too, and he hadn’t seen anything yet.
“Empty your pockets,” I said.
“You’re joking, aren’t you?”
I went over and kicked him on the knee.
His face twisted in agony. “Bastard! What was that for?”
“Your pockets,” I repeated, glaring at him. It wasn’t just that he was an arrogant piece of shit-I was sure he knew things about Karen.
Keeping one hand on his knee, he started pulling things from his jacket and trousers. I took his BlackBerry to examine later and glanced through the rest-keys, small change, wallet with several platinum cards, a gold fountain pen and so on. Changing hands, he emptied the remaining pockets-cigarettes, an expensive-looking lighter, chewing gum and an open packet of condoms. I remembered from the files that Burdett was married. Unless his wife was hiding upstairs, I had the feeling he was once again planning on sampling what D.C. had to offer in the underage flesh department.
“Up,” I ordered, then pushed him roughly into a sitting room full of antique furniture. Whoever owned the place wasn’t short of money or taste. There was an escritoire in the far corner with a wooden chair in front of it. I glanced at the windows. White net curtains obscured us from prying eyes. The main curtains, of an excessive floral design, were tied back with golden ropes. I wrenched the latter free and used them to tie my captive to the chair, then flipped him onto his back, making sure the telephone was well out of his range.
“Don’t bother shouting. You’ll no doubt have noticed that the windows are double glazed.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve stayed here,” Gavin Burdett said contemptuously.
“Congratulations. I’m going for a look around. If I hear even a squeak out of you, I’ll take my boot to your other knee.”
He stared at me with barely contained anger and then nodded curtly.
I checked the other rooms on the ground floor. There was a superbly appointed kitchen, with a heavy door that I guessed led to the backyard. There was also a dining room that would have done an English stately home proud. Upstairs there were three bedrooms, furnished in degrees of opulence that ranged from regal to imperial, each with its own bathroom. I checked the wardrobes and cupboards: no one.
Back downstairs, Burdett was coming nicely to the boil.
“Look here, Wells. You can’t just assault me and tie me up like this.”
“Is that right?” I asked, stepping closer to his undamaged knee. That shut him up. I looked at the painting above the fireplace. I reckoned it could have been a genuine Corot, but my memory was having a blank about nineteenth-century art. It was doing okay on Burdett, though.
“Is this your place?”
“None of your business,” he replied, then watched my foot draw back from his knee. “No, it isn’t. Associates of mine let me use it when I’m in town.”
“Very decent of them,” I said, wondering how close these associates were. Close enough to be listening to our conversation? I hadn’t noticed any microphones, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. It was time to hurry things up.
“Where is she?” I swung the muzzle of the Glock round so it was trained on the banker’s face.
“Where is who?”
If he’d managed to keep his eyes on me when he spoke, I might have considered believing he was ignorant. As it was, he’d condemned himself as a poor liar-hard to believe for someone who was in international finance.
I kicked his good knee. That produced a gratifyingly high-pitched yelp.
“You know who I’m talking about, Burdett,” I said, pressing the muzzle of the Glock into his temple. “Stop pissing about. You also know what happened to me, don’t you?”
He tried to twitch his head to the side, but that was even less convincing.
“You piece of shit,” I hissed. “Karen was getting close to you and your criminal friends, so you had her grabbed. Me, too, when I wouldn’t let the dust settle. Where is she?”
“I…I don’t…” Gavin Burdett broke off when I raised my foot over his groin. “I…they said-”
The sound of the key in the front door was almost inaudible. Curiously, despite thousands of hours listening to loud music, my hearing was still acute. I went out to the hall at speed and saw the door open slightly. I lowered my shoulder and charged into it, then slid on the heavy-duty chain. I’d made a mistake by omitting to do that earlier, but this was no time to court-martial myself.
“What the fuck…” came a deep voice from outside. “Hey, Mr. Burdett, you okay?”
I headed for the kitchen and unbolted the back door. Ahead was a stretch of paving stones surrounded by low bushes; beyond that was the wall I’d seen from the other side. I looked over my shoulder and saw a pair of bolt- cutters gripping the chain. Burdett’s friends had certainly come fully equipped.
I sprinted down the yard and hit the wall. It must have been eight-feet high. I managed to get the toe of my boot into a gap in the mortar and drive myself up until my hands reached the top of the wall. Mistake. What I hadn’t noticed from outside was a single strand of barbed wire alongside the touch pads of the alarm system. A loud honking started from the house. I gritted my teeth and hauled myself upward, feeling blood on my hands. Looking round, I saw two men in black suits spill from the back door. Both were carrying silenced pistols and raised them at me. I propelled myself over the wall and crashed onto the lane beyond. My knees took the brunt of the fall. They weren’t in as bad a state as Burdett’s, but they still hurt like hell. I ran down the lane and made it to the street. No one tried to stop me. I turned right.
And there was a screech of tires behind me. I dropped down between two large sedans. I had a few seconds to make a decision about how to play this. “Always attack,” Dave used to say. That was easy to do when you were surrounded by your SAS comrades in full-destroy mode, but the advice had been good in the past. I stuck the Glock under my belt and took out the combat knife. The black car had slowed down and was keeping pace with the men on foot, whose steps I could hear approaching. I let the first one go past, then rose up quickly to grab the second round his neck, the point of the knife breaking the skin lower down his back. That was another of Dave’s catchphrases-always shed blood if you want to gain control. I felt thick drops daub my hand.
“Tell them,” I said to the man, who was standing stock-still in my grip.
“He’s cutting me with a knife,” he said. The unwavering nature of his voice told me he was a pro.
“Put the gun down,” I said to the man in front. I watched as he complied, relieving my man of his weapon at the same time. A silenced pistol was much more use in a city street. I looked to my left. The large black limousine was a few feet away, the window at the front passenger’s seat lowered. I saw two guys inside, both in suits. They looked like the president’s detail, moonlighting.
“Out,” I said. “Both of you. If you want your friend to keep his kidney, don’t let me see any weapons.”
They came out slowly, glancing at each other. I had a feeling they weren’t meant to pay much attention to each other’s safety, so I needed to get moving. I dragged my captive to the car and bundled him inside after I’d tossed another silenced pistol onto the floor. There was enough space for me to clamber over him before he could react. I dropped into the spacious driver’s seat, engaged Drive and hit the gas. I heard a series of dull noises before we’d gone fifty yards-they must have had back up weapons under their jackets. The man next to me slumped forward. The car’s glass was obviously armored, as the rear windscreen was hardly marked, but my captive had
