The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET

by Scott Mariani

  Aragon nodded. ‘I know who Leigh Llewellyn is.’

  Ben went on. He told the whole thing in detail. It took a long time. Aragon listened carefully. ‘They killed her?’ he said quietly.

  Ben nodded.

  ‘I haven’t heard anything in the news.’

  ‘You will,’ Ben said. ‘There’ll be another staged accident, or a disappearance.’

  Aragon thought for a few moments. ‘If what you’re saying is true,’ he said, ‘I’m very sorry to hear it. But you haven’t given me a shred of proof, and you still haven’t told me about Roger.’

  ‘I was coming to that. It was your friend’s murder that Oliver witnessed.’

  ‘You mentioned evidence.’

  Ben nodded. ‘Oliver filmed the whole thing. It was recorded on a disc.’

  ‘And where is the disc?’

  ‘Destroyed,’ Ben said.

  ‘So you can’t show it to me? That’s very convenient.’

  Ben pointed at the study door. ‘Can I use your computer?’

  ‘What for, if you’ve nothing to show me?’

  Ben led Aragon into the dark study. The laptop on the desk fired up in seconds. ‘What are you doing?’ Aragon asked.

  ‘Checking my email,’ Ben said.

  ‘Your email. This is ridiculous.’

  Ben ignored him. There was just one message in his webmail inbox. He didn’t have to read it-it was a message he’d sent to himself from Christa Flaig’s cyber-café.

  At the time, it had been an afterthought, an insurance policy. He almost hadn’t bothered. Now he knew he couldn’t have done a better thing.

  There was an attachment with the message. A big one. He clicked on it. The laptop was brand-new, fast and powerful, and it downloaded the file in under five seconds.

  ‘What’s this?’ Aragon asked.

  ‘Just watch.’

  Aragon sat. Ben nudged the glass of brandy across the desk towards him. ‘Drink this. You’re going to need it.’ He moved away from the desk and sat on a chair in the corner, sipping his Scotch.

  By the time the clip was over, Aragon’s glass was dry and his head was on the desk. Suddenly he lurched to his feet. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ he muttered. He staggered out of the study into a bathroom. Ben heard him retching into the toilet.

  A minute later, Philippe Aragon emerged from the bathroom. His face was grey and his hair was plastered across his forehead. He wiped his chin with his sleeve. His fingers were trembling. ‘They killed him,’ he murmured. ‘They killed him, and then they rigged the car accident.’ His voice sounded weak and shaky.

  ‘I didn’t know who he was until today,’ Ben said. ‘I didn’t recognize him before. I don’t follow politics. It’s bullshit.’ He paused. ‘But like I said, I always research my targets.’

  ‘You kidnap a lot of people, then?’

  Ben smiled. ‘I’m on the other team. But the reconnaissance is the same whatever side you’re on. With you, it was easy. You’re all over the media. Before I left Vienna I paid a visit to the university library. There’s enough material on you in their political science section to write ten books. There was a picture of you with your family on a tennis court. Bazin was there. That’s when I recognized his face from the video-clip. There was a caption saying who he was.’

  ‘That was taken two years ago at Roger’s place in Geneva,’ Aragon said sadly.

  ‘Then there was another photo of you at his funeral,’ Ben said. ‘Europolitician pays last respects to his political mentor’

  ‘He was like a father to me,’ Aragon said. He sat heavily in a chair. ‘He tried to warn me that time.’

  ‘Cortina?’

  Aragon nodded. ‘He phoned me just before it happened. I don’t know how he knew about it. I don’t know what he was mixed up in. I just know that if it hadn’t been for him, my family would be dead.’

  Ben remembered what Kroll had said. Men who cannot keep their tongues from wagging have them removed.

  ‘He was my best friend,’ Aragon continued. ‘And they murdered him as punishment for warning me.’

  ‘Join the club,’ Ben said. ‘They murdered mine the same day, because he saw them do it.’

  Aragon looked up at him. ‘And now his sister,’ he said. He could see the expression on Ben’s face. ‘You loved her?’

  Ben didn’t reply.

  ‘You know who did it?’

  Ben nodded. ‘Who they are and where they are.’

  ‘I’ll have them arrested. One call.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘There isn’t enough proof.’ He pointed at the computer. ‘You can’t make out the faces. And I want to get them all together in one place, round them up and catch them in the act. There’s only one way to do that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘That’s where you come in,’ Ben said. ‘You’re going to have to trust me. You’ll have to do everything I say.’

  Aragon paused, wavering, then let out a sigh. ‘I must be crazy. But all right. I trust you. What do you need me to do?’

  ‘There isn’t much time,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll have to make some long-distance calls.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘We’ll need to move immediately. You’ll have to drop everything you’re doing, right this moment.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Aragon said.

  ‘And it’s going to cost money. Maybe quite a bit.’

  ‘That’s easy,’ Aragon said. ‘Whatever it takes.’

  ‘How fast can you scramble a private jet?’

  ‘Fast,’ Aragon said.

  ‘It’s going to be dangerous,’ Ben said. ‘Very high risk. I can’t guarantee your safety.’

  ‘He was my friend,’ Aragon replied without hesitation.

  ‘Good,’ Ben said. ‘Then let’s get on with it.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to kidnap you.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Outside Vienna

  The next morning

  He wondered if Glass’s choice of a meeting point was his idea of a joke.

  A thick icy blanket of mist had descended over the lake. He could barely make out the frozen surface from here. He wiped an arc in the condensation on the window, his fingertips squeaking on the cold glass. He leaned back in the seat. There was no sign of them yet. Behind him, on the other side of the plywood partition, his cargo was silent and would be for a few more hours, until the effect of the dope wore off.

  Ben didn’t have to wait long. He saw them coming from far away, the headlights of two big cars slicing through the mist. They turned off the road and bumped slowly across the mud and slush and patchy reeds towards where he was parked. As they emerged from the mist he could see them more clearly. Two Mercedes, black, identical. The cars pulled up either side of his van, blocking it in. The doors opened. Glass and five others stepped out, their breath billowing in the cold.

  Ben narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t see Clara in either car. He hadn’t fully expected to. He jerked the handle of the van door and went out to meet them. He tossed his cigarette in the snow, and it hissed. Glass stood with his arms folded, watching him. His face was flushed from the chill. ‘Well?’ he said. His voice sounded flat in the mist.

  ‘Well?’ Ben echoed.

  Glass scowled. ‘You got him?’

  ‘I did what I agreed to do. Where’s Clara Kinski?’

  Glass glanced over his shoulder and nodded at his men. For an instant Ben thought they were going to pop open the boot of one of the cars and bring her out. Instead, they stepped forward and grabbed his arms. He let them. They spun him round and slammed him against the side of the van. Hands frisked him, lifting his pistol. ‘Where is she?’ he repeated, keeping his voice calm and low.

  One man held a gun to his head while two others opened up the back doors of the van. Glass peered inside.

  Aragon was covered with a blanket. His wrists and ankles were bound with plastic cable-ties and there was a length of duct tape over his
mouth. He was unconscious.

  One of the men pulled a photo from his pocket. He studied the prisoner’s face long and hard, then nodded to Glass. ‘It’s him.’

  A fourth man reached inside one of the cars and brought out a leather case. He carried it to the van, unzipped it and took out a stethoscope. He listened to Aragon’s heartbeat and looked satisfied. ‘No problems.’

  ‘Good work,’ Glass said.

  ‘The girl,’ Ben said again, keeping his eyes on the side of the van.

  Glass grinned. ‘You’ll get her when we decide.’

  ‘That wasn’t the arrangement,’ Ben said.

  ‘Fuck the arrangement. You don’t make the rules, you cocky bastard.’

  ‘So what next?’

  Glass reached inside his coat and his fist came out clutching a 9mm. He stepped up to Ben and stuck the muzzle of the gun roughly under his chin. ‘If it was up to me,’ he said.

  ‘Except it’s not,’ Ben replied. ‘Is it?’

  Glass flushed. ‘You’ll be contacted. There’ll be more jobs for you.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Ben said.

  ‘No? You’re working for us now.’ Glass pointed at the frozen lake. ‘Or maybe you’d rather take a swim?’ He chuckled. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. Lie low and wait for our call. Any funny business and the girl dies. Don’t forget.’

  Ben looked him in the eye. ‘I never forget anything,’ he said.

  Glass’s grin wavered. He holstered his pistol with a grunt and motioned to his men. They slammed the van doors. One of them climbed in the driver’s seat and started the engine. The rest of them walked back to the cars. The two Mercedes threw up mud and slush as they accelerated away. The van followed, taking Philippe Aragon with them.

  Ben stood and watched their taillights disappear into the mist. Silence fell over the lake again. He started walking, then took out a phone. He dialled a number. A voice answered.

  ‘We’re on,’ Ben said.

  He turned off the phone and walked faster.

  No going back now. But what if he was wrong?

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  The von Adler mansion

  That night

  Light poured from the windows of the mansion and floodlights illuminated its façade and the snowy grounds for a hundred yards. A steady stream of guests were arriving. The cars were opulent, the curves of Ferraris and the coachwork of stately Bentleys glittering under the floods. Doormen in uniforms greeted the guests and ushered them inside, while the chauffeurs parked their vehicles along the side of the enormous house.

  Inside the mansion, the huge marble-floored entrance hall was milling with people. Waiters in white tuxedos circulated carrying silver trays of champagne glasses or poured cocktails and dry martinis at the bar. Long tables were covered with selections of canapés and gourmet finger-food.

  The guests were dressed for the occasion, the men in sober evening wear while the expensively decked women on their arms took the opportunity to show off their jewels. Diamond necklaces glittered like wet ice. The sounds of popping corks, laughter and music rang up to the high ornate ceiling. Through the tall double doors to the magnificent ballroom, the string quartet for the evening was into its first set of waltzes and a few couples were out on the dance floor.

  Far from the house, the guards at the gate were strolling up and down in the snow, kicking their heels and clapping their gloved hands to keep warm. One laid down his radio handset as the lights of another car lit up the icy road. The black Jaguar stopped at the gate. The guard stepped forward as the driver’s window whirred down. He bent and looked inside the car. There were four men inside, all looking appropriately dressed under their overcoats. They were a little younger than most of the male guests, all in their late thirties or early forties.

  ‘Guten Abend, meine Herren,’ the guard said, waiting for them to produce their invitations.

  Hands reached inside pockets. The guard collected the four invites and moved away from the car, closer to the light from the gatehouse so he could inspect them. He shook his head. There was a problem. These were wrong.

  He turned back towards the Jaguar.

  That was the last thing he knew.

  Ben caught his limp body before it could leave any marks in the snow. There was a muffled shout from the side of the gatehouse. The second guard was reaching for his radio when the Jaguar’s rear door opened. The passenger stepped out and fired two double-taps from the suppressed H&K pistol. The second guard crumpled without a sound and fell back inside the open doorway of the gatehouse.

  The rear passenger’s name was Randall. He was an ex-regiment man, quick-witted and built like a fox. Ben had trained him years before, and trusted him completely. His accentless German had come from his mother’s side and made him the perfect choice to take over the gatehouse and wave through any straggling guests. Bryant, the lean dark ex-para from Lancashire, had been chosen to back him up.

  Working fast, they laid the guards out on the floor of the hut. Ben nodded. Randall and Bryant quickly removed their overcoats and tuxedo jackets and started pulling on the guards’ clothes.

  Ben walked briskly back to the Jaguar and slipped in behind the wheel. In the passenger seat was Jean Gardier, one of Louis Moreau’s former GIGN guys, the youngest of the team they’d hastily but carefully assembled in Aragon’s office. Gardier was smooth and handsome, with a head of thick black curly hair and a broad white smile that he flashed freely. He’d mix well with the party crowd. From what Aragon’s head of security had told him, Ben knew enough to know Gardier would be excellent at his job.

  The tall gates glided open with a dull mechanical whirr and the car purred on through and down the driveway towards the incandescent mansion in the distance.

  The house towered into the night sky as they drew up outside. Every leaf of ivy on its massive façade was lit up like daylight. Ben opened up a slim case and took out a pair of oval wire-framed glasses with plain lenses. He slipped them on.

  He did a last check of his subvocal earpiece before he stepped out and handed the keys to a valet. Gardier followed him towards the house. The doormen greeted them at the entrance. Ben let one of them take his long black coat. They walked inside and instantly split up without a glance at each other, mingling with the crowd.

  It was warm inside the reception hall, and the air was filled with music and bright chatter. A waiter came wafting by, carrying a tray of glasses. Ben snatched one without stopping and brought it to his lips, sipping the ice-chilled champagne. He stood in the corner of the huge entrance hall, catching a glimpse of himself in one of the tall gilt-framed mirrors that lined the walls. The black tuxedo fitted him well, and he barely recognized himself with the spectacles and this darker brown hair tint. Subtle changes were enough to alter a man’s appearance very effectively and naturally. Kroll and Glass would know him if they got close, but if he was careful he’d go unnoticed. For the moment, at least. He still had to get deep inside the place.

  He chewed on a canapé from a side-table and wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin. ‘Check,’ he said quietly behind the napkin. Gardier’s voice responded instantly in his ear.

  He looked casual as he scanned his surroundings. The hallway alone was large enough to accommodate a small jet aircraft. From its centre the broad red-carpeted marble staircase swept up to a landing with a high domed ceiling, satin drapes and a huge dramatic painting that he thought he recognized as a Delacroix.

  Beyond the landing, the staircase split into two, climbing in a majestic double curve to the first floor. The landing was cordoned off with a length of silky gold rope. There were two guards hanging around at the foot of the stairs, very discreet with their weapons and radios well out of sight.

  He circulated, strolling calmly through into the ballroom and pausing to hear the string quartet. He’d lost sight of Gardier.

  He looked around him at the guests. Most of them were high society, wealthy businessmen and their wives just here for the party
. They had no idea of the real reason for the gathering, the bloodthirsty ritual murder due to take place right under their noses as they sipped their champagne and nibbled their canapés.

  A waiter came by with a loaded tray and he turned to pick up another glass of champagne. Just then he saw Kroll walking quickly his way. For an instant he thought he could feel the old man’s dark eyes on him. Ben turned slowly away, controlling the surge of adrenaline, sipping his drink and feeling completely naked as Kroll came close. As he pretended to be admiring the artwork on the wall he felt Kroll pass within a foot of him. Ben breathed again as the old man’s narrow back disappeared among the crowd.

  As he watched Kroll go, Ben had another sudden uncomfortable sensation that he was being watched. He turned. A woman was standing by herself across the dance floor, drink in hand. Their eyes met for an instant through the throng of waltzing couples. She seemed to frown, as though scrutinizing him uncertainly.

  Her long blonde hair was piled up with a diamond clasp and a shimmering backless ball-gown clung to her figure. But there was no doubt who she was under the makeup and the wig.

  Eve turned away and he lost sight of her. He wondered if that had been a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Whether he could trust her. Whether he could do anything about it either way.

  He glanced back through the double doors into the hallway. The guards had moved away from the foot of the stairs. He checked his watch. It was 8.51. He coughed lightly into his palm as he headed from the ballroom. ‘Diversion,’ he said softly into his cupped hand.

  Two seconds later there was a loud crash from the back of the ballroom. A waiter had tripped and a whole tray of glasses lay broken and spilled on the floor. One of the guests, a young man with thick dark curly hair, was apologizing for his clumsiness as two more waiters came running with a broom and wads of kitchen roll. There was a buzz of conversation around the scene. The waiters got to work cleaning up the mess, and then it was over. But it had given Ben the time he needed. He smiled at Gardier’s act as he headed quickly for the stairs and trotted up to the first landing. He glanced over his shoulder. Slipped under the rope cordon. Nobody saw him. He took off the spectacles and slid them into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket.