Terror's Reach

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Terror's Reach Page 6

by Tom Bale


  mentioning the errand at the jeweller’s, when the toilet flushed and

  Jaden came bowling along the hall. Ignoring his mother, he ploughed

  into Joe, grabbing his legs and roaring like a lion. It was a game they

  often played, but this time it took Joe by surprise, causing him to stumble.

  You got me!’ he said, setting the buggy down and sweeping Jaden

  high into the air. The boy squealed with laughter and swiped at Joe’s

  face, narrowly missing his nose. Jaden loved physical play, the rougher

  the better, and Joe was the only member of the household willing to

  indulge him.

  For Cassie it was just another source of tension, emphasising as it

  did all that was missing from the relationship between Jaden and his

  stepfather. Mindful of her discomfort, Joe lowered the boy to the

  ground and pointed out through the door.

  'Time to go,’ he said.

  Liam moved first, circling round the body to avoid the pool of blood.

  'Leave it,’ Priya said.

  'Can’t. It’s probably his girlfriend.’

  'So?’

  'We don’t know where she’s calling from.’

  Crouching down, he slipped his hand into the agent’s pocket and

  retrieved the phone. Priya was climbing the stairs towards the big

  picture window that flooded the hall with light. She looked out.

  'She’s parked on the road.’ Then, more urgently: 'Coming this way.’

  Liam felt a rush of giddy confidence. He loved this, he realised.

  Loved the danger. Loved winging it.

  You answer,’ he said.

  Priya gaped at him. She trotted down the stairs as Liam made to

  throw the phone. Cupping her hands like a cricketer, she caught it

  deftly and retreated to the back of the hall. 'What do I say?’

  'Pretend he’s cheating on her.’

  Still unsure, she slid the fascia up and answered, her voice suddenly

  deeper and slightly breathless. Yes?’

  Liam took in the confused silence at the other end. Delighted, he

  hurried over to Priya. She started to pull away, obviously fearing the

  caller might pick up on his presence. Then it clicked: that was part

  of the deception.

  She said: 'He, ah, he can’t speak to you right now.’ She moved the

  phone a couple of inches from her cheek, far enough for Liam to

  hear the other side of the conversation.

  'Who are you, then?’ a shrill voice demanded. 'Do you work with

  him?’

  'Not work, no.’

  Another troubled pause. Liam moved closer and Priya stood her

  ground, allowing him into her personal space. They maintained eye

  contact, Liam smiling, Priya’s expression giving nothing away. But

  he could sense her enjoyment of the charade, just as he sensed her

  physicality; was aware of her thudding heart only inches from his and

  the subtle intoxicating scent that rose from her skin.

  There was a groan, like static in the tiny speaker, as the penny

  dropped.

  'Oh, I don’t believe this… the two-timing bastard.’

  Priya didn’t respond, but made sure the woman could hear her

  breathing. She could probably hear Liam breathing as well.

  'I came all this way . . .’ the woman muttered to herself. Then, after

  a big decisive sigh: 'D’you know, you’re bloody welcome to him, love.

  He’s a wanker, and you can tell him that from me.’

  The call ended, accompanied by a half-hearted slap on the front

  door. Priya closed the phone, crept past the estate agent’s body and

  back up to the window.

  'She’s getting in her car. Not a happy bunny.’

  Liam, delighted, said: 'She doesn’t know how lucky she is.’

  Ten

  Oliver Felton saw the woman arrive. He watched her walk up to the

  house, a mobile phone at her ear. He watched her grow increasingly

  frustrated, then return to her car and drive away. He watched and he

  was intrigued.

  Because he knew who she was, and he knew the house wasn’t empty.

  Oliver had a voyeur’s instinct. He’d known for several weeks that

  someone was using Dreamscape for secret liaisons with a cheap-looking

  blonde. He worked out that it was an estate agent from the firm his

  father had engaged, yet again, to try to offload the monstrosity on

  someone.

  He’d seen the couple sneaking in and out, and more than once

  he’d watched them having sex in one of the bedrooms. He knew their

  routine, and Friday afternoon was a favourite time.

  But what he’d witnessed today made very little sense. A car, which

  he recognised as the philanderer’s, driving into the garage. A moment

  later another man, a man he’d never seen before and didn’t like the look

  of at all, trotted out and got into a builder’s van parked on the road. He

  drove the van into the garage and shut the doors behind him.

  And now the cheap blonde had called, found no one in, and

  departed angrily. It was perplexing, but Oliver didn’t mind that. There

  were far worse things to be than perplexed.

  With any number of possible explanations, he naturally latched on

  to the most salacious. Perhaps the estate agent was bisexual: two-timing

  the woman with another man. Or perhaps he’d invited the woman as

  well, intending on a threesome, and then decided the woman was

  superfluous.

  But moving the cars into the garage? That seemed like excessive

  caution. Normally the estate agent was content to leave his car on the

  driveway, doubtless aware that his client spent most weekends in the

  south of France. On the one occasion that Robert Felton had noticed

  the car, he’d accepted Oliver’s story that the agent was just checking

  the place over.

  The last thing Oliver wanted was his father putting a stop to these

  assignations. He enjoyed them too much.

  Joe picked up the overnight bags and followed Cassie outside. Jaden

  was already at the Shogun, wrestling the back door open. While Joe

  stashed the bags in the boot, Cassie manoeuvred the baby into the

  child seat. Sofia immediately began to scream and thrash about. Joe

  hovered at Cassie’s shoulder, pulling silly faces, but even this normally

  reliable distraction technique had little effect.

  'She’s shattered, that’s the problem,’ Cassie said. 'She knows the

  journey will put her to sleep.’

  Joe was returning for the buggy when Valentin Nasenko appeared

  in the doorway. He seemed to recoil at the sight of Cassie’s tussle with

  Sofia and hesitated, pretending to let his vision adjust to the bright

  sunshine.

  Valentin was fifty-four, an unfortunate mix of flabby and thin: bony

  limbs and a football-sized paunch. His face was long and narrow, with

  bags under his eyes and a loose turkey neck, but his nose was thick

  and fleshy. His hair was grey, combed back in a high widow’s peak,

  and his eyes were a filmy pale blue. Despite the heat, he was wearing

  tailored trousers and a striped purple shirt. A nest of wiry silver hairs

  protruded from the open neck.

  He looked like a minor civil servant, or perhaps a head teacher at

  a failing school. Joe still found it hard to reconcile such a mild appearance

 
with the knowledge that this grey, anonymous man had tumbled

  through the Soviet Union’s chaotic transition to a market economy

  and emerged with interests worth hundreds of millions.

  Only when Sofia was subdued did Valentin approach the car. Cassie

  looked up and saw him, and Joe caught a flash of panic on her face.

  Then, with a nervous smile, she opened her arms and received a

  quick, clumsy embrace from her husband.

  Joe turned away. Gary McWhirter was walking towards him, holding

  the baby’s buggy. Valentin’s adviser was in his late forties, a slender

  South African with wispy reddish-blond hair and a handsome windburned

  face, marred by slightly bulbous eyes.

  'Forgot this?’

  'I was coming back for it,’ Joe said, taking the buggy.

  McWhirter yawned expansively and stretched, throwing his arms

  out wide. There were sweat stains on his shirt.

  'Days like this, I envy you. Where is it you’re staying tonight? The

  Blue Anchor?’

  Joe nodded. The Anchor was a boutique hotel on Brighton’s seafront

  in which Valentin had a substantial financial interest.

  'Perfect summer’s evening, you’ll be out on the terrace, knocking

  back Cokes without a care in the world.’ He smirked. 'Eyeing up

  Cassie’s friends, too, you lucky bastard.’

  'Beats working,’ said Joe, electing to play along.

  You bet it does. I tell you, man, you ought to be paying me commission.

  Must be the cushiest job you’ve ever had.’

  Joe didn’t respond. He carried the buggy over to the Shogun.

  Valentin was speaking in a low voice, forcing Cassie to lean close, her

  face earnest and dutiful. She looked like a child being addressed by

  a parent. Joe rebuked himself every time he made the analogy, but

  sometimes it couldn’t be avoided.

  After saying his farewell, Valentin leaned into the back of the car

  and kissed Sofia, who promptly started wailing again. As Cassie scurried

  round to the front passenger seat, Valentin slammed the rear door

  shut without so much as a word or a glance for Jaden.

  He turned to Joe. 'Take care of them.’

  'I will.’

  Valentin gazed at the Shogun, nodding absently to himself. 'Make

  sure Cassie enjoys tonight. She deserves it.’

  Today Oliver Felton had been late coming to his post. His sister had

  called again, for the third time that afternoon. This after a barrage of

  emails and texts, until finally he’d relented and picked up the phone.

  'What are you doing?’ she’d demanded.

  'Preparing to be lectured by you.’

  'Hilarious. I mean, why are you skulking down there on your own?

  You’re supposed to be at Ginny’s.’

  'I didn’t go.’

  His sister groaned. 'Dad spent ages setting that up.’

  'Best reason to stay away.’

  'Christ, Ol. Don’t tell me you haven’t got the hots for that girl,

  because I know you have. You can’t walk straight when you see her.’

  'I’ve never denied that. But she thinks I’m a freak.’

  'And this was the perfect opportunity to correct that impression.

  You agreed, Oliver. I heard you promising Dad. Honestly, I despair

  of you when you act like this.’

  A peevish silence followed. Oliver could picture her expression in

  every detail. With just a year’s difference in their ages their mannerisms

  were virtually identical, except that Rachel had a habit of pushing

  her bottom lip out to emphasise her displeasure. Allegedly this was

  the look that made so many men want to sleep with her, but all it

  inspired in Oliver was an urge to slap her until she bled.

  When his apology failed to materialise, Rachel pressed on. You

  know what Dad’ll say? Turning your back on something you want,

  just because he wants it for you as well — '

  '“Cutting off your nose to spite your face”,’ Oliver intoned in a

  passable imitation of his father’s reedy drawl. 'Well, so what? I’ll chop

  my whole fucking head off before I let him control my destiny. He

  seems to think marriages are just another form of strategic alliance.

  That’s partly why Mum was eliminated, remember? Once she’d served

  her purpose.’

  'Oliver, don’t start. I won’t speak to you about Mummy.’

  You can tell him that I have no intention of moving out, and the

  more it irritates him, the longer I’ll stay. And if I don’t outlive the old

  Satanist then I want to be buried in the garden, with a fucking great

  headstone.’ He laughed. 'Better still, build me a monument of jagged

  shrapnel, dripping with blood. Dad’s great gift to the world. Here lies

  Oliver Felton, laid to rest on a bed of bullets.’

  From upstate New York, Rachel let out a sigh that might have crossed

  the Atlantic under its own power. She started to say something, thought

  better of it mid-way through the word 'regret’, and ended the call.

  Replacing the phone in its cradle, Oliver was surprised to see the

  handset flecked with spittle. Perhaps he had argued his case rather

  too vehemently.

  Afterwards, in need of a pleasant distraction, he’d made his way

  to a landing between two of the guest suites. A hidden switch

  opened a hatch in the ceiling, concealed by a decorative coving,

  and a lightweight aluminium ladder slid down, powered by an

  almost silent electric motor.

  This led up to a tiny room, about six feet square, slotted into a

  peculiar corner of the arched faux-Gothic roof. His father, who had

  designed both this house and its neighbour, Dreamscape, had wanted

  lots of unusual nooks and crannies. As a result the library had a

  bookcase that opened to a secret music room, and the gymnasium

  could be reached via a fireman’s pole from the floor above.

  The eyrie, quickly forgotten, became Oliver’s hideaway. All it

  contained were a couple of beanbags and a fine Swarovski telescope,

  mounted on a tripod and stationed at the small window. The room

  was on the north-east corner of the house, on the landward side, and

  the shape of the roof obscured all but a sliver of sea. But the elevation

  gave him an interesting vantage point from which to observe

  Dreamscape, and a little of the house beyond it.

  To his father and his sister, the room was his observatory, and it

  was true that for a time he had developed an interest in astronomy.

  The box of Kleenex he kept up here told a slightly different story, but

  Oliver didn’t much care what they thought. He never had.

  Now he mulled over the developments at Dreamscape. As far as

  he was aware, his father hadn’t commissioned any building or maintenance

  work. So why would the van need to go into the garage?

  'Unloading something?’ he murmured to himself.

  Plausible. But why close the doors?

  'Unloading something . . . fragile? Private?’ The philanderer must

  have some sort of scam going, and Oliver wanted to know what it was.

  Of course, there was one easy way to find out. Dreamscape still

  belonged to his father, after all. There was a set of keys downstairs.

  He could simply go next door and let himself in.

  Potentially thrilling,
and not a little dangerous. But would it be as

  much fun as watching, he wondered. So often in life the real pleasure

  was to be found in anticipation, in allowing the marvellous fertility

  of his imagination to be unleashed, free from the constraints of grim reality.

  For now, Oliver decided, it was better to wait.

  And watch.

  Joe climbed into the driver’s seat, searching for the phrase that summed

  up his predicament. Between a rock and a hard place probably said it

  best.

  He started the engine. Glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw

  Valentin and McWhirter retreat inside the house.

  'What did he say?’ Cassie asked.

  'Nothing much.’

  'He must have said something.’

  'Just told me to look after you.’

  Cassie didn’t push it, but there was a strained quality to the silence

  that followed. Joe eased the Shogun through the open gates and turned

  onto the road. There was no one in sight in either direction. With

  just a single row of houses along the shore, the opposite side of the

  road was bordered by Smugglers’ Copse: several acres of boggy woodland,

  intersected by a network of overgrown paths. Protected from

  development by a covenant, these woods formed a barrier between

  the residential area and the training camp.

  It was half a mile or so to the bridge, and Joe kept his speed low.

  Checking his mirror again, he saw Sofia’s head beginning to droop,

  her eyes heavy. Cassie was staring out of her window, perhaps to avoid

  conversation.

  Just before the bridgehead they passed the entrance to the Ministry

  of Defence land: a set of high double gates, plastered with stern warning

  signs. Joe checked to his right out of habit, but he hadn’t seen any

  activity at the camp for months.

  Next up, on the left, was the big dilapidated shed that had once

  housed the chain ferry. The bridge was built alongside the route that

  the ferry had taken. Barely wide enough for two cars, the bridge was

  about a hundred and fifty feet long and elevated above the causeway

  by fifteen feet.

  Today, unusually, Joe had to pull in and wait for an oncoming car.

  It was a black Cadillac limousine, straddling the road as it crossed the

  bridge. The driver wore a dark suit and sunglasses. He seemed to be

  staring straight ahead, as though no one else on the road mattered a

  damn.

  It was only when the car drew alongside that Joe caught a glimpse

 

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