“Yes. To a casino we uncovered as a major money-laundering front. So there’s no doubt Farrell’s part of the bigger picture.”
“What do you want to do next?” she asked.
“I don’t think he’ll come back, but we don’t have any other leads at the moment and it would be worth seeing what else we can learn about Lawrence Finch. We should stake out his place,” I suggested.
“I was thinking the same,” Andi revealed. “We might get lucky. Farrell might not come back, but at the very least we’ll see if we can trust Private’s most recent client.”
Chapter 39
Andi had come prepared. She didn’t have a full surveillance kit but had brought a basic set of gear with her from London. Two fly-silent drones, each equipped with high-resolution optical, night-vision and infra-red cameras. After driving back to the house in Fitzwilliam Square to collect the gear and change into dark comfortable clothes — I opted for black jeans, a matching T-shirt and a lightweight jacket — we returned to the edge of Lawrence Finch’s estate where Andi dropped me off. We agreed I’d take the first shift and she’d relieve me just before dawn the following day.
“You got everything you need?” she asked as I hauled the gear bag out of the trunk and slung it over my shoulders.
“I’m good,” I replied.
She nodded. “Okay. Mind how you go then,” she said. “I’ll see you at five.”
She got in the car, and I watched the Ford vanish around a distant bend in the road. I shifted the gear bag to get it to settle better on my back and started toward the high wall that marked the outer perimeter of the grounds of Ballagh House.
Concealed behind a tree, I slung the bag off my back and found an electromagnetic field radiation detector, which I used to check my immediate area for any electrical signals. There were none, so I grabbed the bag and climbed the wall, dropping to the other side. I used the EMF detector to check my surroundings for signals, and its small digital display showed something on the other side of a bush at the start of a forest that stretched as far as I could see in the darkness. I took a flight case from the gear bag and opened it to reveal a fly-silent drone and remote control.
Activating the tiny battery-powered aircraft, I flew it toward the edge of the forest and used it to identify the electrical signal picked up by the EMF detector. It was a security camera attached to a metal post, and it was sweeping the ground between the wall and the forest, giving a 270-degree view of the perimeter of the estate.
I moved left, hugging the line of the wall, using the drone and EMF detector to identify the area with the largest interval between cameras. The estate was well secured, but there was a gap where the going became very uneven as the ground fell away into a ravine, forested on the far side. I packed away my gear, slung the bag over my shoulders and started my descent, following a track created by deer. With rocks either side of me and trees looming high above, I made slow progress, picking my way over the treacherous ground in darkness, but finally reached the bottom of the ravine and began to climb the tree-covered slope on the other side.
I fought my way through the overhanging branches, stopping every so often to use the EMF detector to sweep my surroundings for more cameras or other sensors, but found none. I was able to use the tree cover to come within visual range of Ballagh House.
I tracked the edge of the forest then ran across open pasture to reach the converted stable block. I climbed onto the roof of a new extension at the rear of Sam Farrell’s home, which I knew from my earlier visit housed his kitchen, and forced open the picture window at the rear of the gallery bedroom. I figured there was nowhere better to be. If Sam returned, I’d be waiting for him, and the property afforded me a view of the homes of other staff, so I could build a picture of the comings and goings of the people working for Lawrence Finch.
I left the gear bag by the forced window in case I needed to make a swift escape and took the night-vision and optical cameras with me as I went downstairs into the main living area.
I settled into a chair by the window, which gave me a good view of the central courtyard. I sent messages to Justine, checking in on her, and another to Andi, telling her I would meet her where she’d dropped me off and show her the safe route to the stakeout location. She replied with a thumbs-up.
As the night wore on, I took photos of three men returning to the neighboring house. I recognized two of them from Finch’s security detail at the racetrack, and the third had the same military bearing as the others. Posture and stance often gave away ex-service personnel, and if he wasn’t a veteran, he moved in a way that suggested martial arts training.
I transferred the photos to my phone and sent them to Mo-bot, asking her to see if she could identify the men. I received a reply almost immediately telling me she was on it.
The block settled into a period of stillness and silence, so I took the opportunity to have another look around Sam Farrell’s house, to see if there was anything we’d missed, but found nothing.
Shortly after 1 a.m. I heard movement at the back of the property, a scraping sound that might have been a wild animal nosing around the stables. I rose, crossed the living room into the kitchen and peered through the window above the sink. I couldn’t see anything, but turned round with a start when I heard the front door open abruptly. As I ran toward the stairs, three masked men invaded the house. I tried to fight but was overwhelmed by the surge of bodies pressing forward. They forced me to the floor and one of them struck me on the head with a baton, which sent me crashing into blackness.
Chapter 40
There were no dreams or nightmares, just dark oblivion, and I can’t pinpoint exactly when I returned from that void to the real world. I gradually grew more aware of sound, the hum of machinery, indistinct words spoken quietly some distance away, the smell of sweat, the taste of blood, the feel of a fabric hood against my head, obscuring my vision.
I was sitting on a chair. My hands were securely cuffed; I could feel metal chafing my skin when I tried to move my wrists.
“He’s awake,” a man said, alerted by my futile attempts to move.
I heard footsteps and sensed someone approach.
“Let him see,” another voice said. This one had a strong French accent.
My hood was removed and I squinted at the sudden glare of light. Strip bulbs blazed white in the ceiling, and as my eyes adjusted, I made out shapes: crates, pillars, walls, a large sliding metal door. I was in some kind of warehouse. The man who’d removed my hood was tanned, bearded, and wore jeans and heavy work boots. A Led Zeppelin T-shirt completed the seventies rock band roadie look. I didn’t recognize him, but his companion was familiar to me.
In stark contrast to the roadie wielding the gun, the man approaching me was immaculately dressed in a cream linen suit. He had chiseled good looks, thick blond hair meticulously styled, and an air of superiority, even in this grubby place while on the run from the law. I recognized him as Raymond Chalmont, owner of the Chalmont Casino, who had fled Monaco after we’d thwarted Propaganda Tre’s plans there. Chalmont had been a leading member of the group that had wanted to disrupt a European peace initiative by attempting to assassinate US Defense Secretary Eli Carver, a man I count as my personal friend. Chalmont had been the group’s money launderer. When the conspiracy had been smashed, he’d left his business and family, fleeing multigenerational wealth and privilege for life on the run.
“You took everything from me,” he said, punctuating his words with several blows to my face.
I glared at him. “You took it all from yourself when you got involved in a conspiracy to commit murder.”