‘What hidden cameras? Why wasn’t I told about this?’ She managed to summon up her last reserves of outrage. ‘And how the hell did you know?’
‘The techs discovered them while I was still there. Didn’t Franklin tell you?’
‘Franklin tells me about as much as you do, as it turns out.’
Tony let it go. He’d never wanted to fight with her in the first place. ‘Anyway, I don’t think he knows about the boat. I haven’t been here in ages. Saul from the pub keeps an eye on her for me. And when I came down here last night, Alvin got one of the techs to sweep it for me. No cameras, no bugs. So I think it’s off Vance’s radar. It’s a safe house.’
‘He was watching them?’
‘He picked his moment. When they were least likely to notice him walking right up to them.’
‘Bastard,’ she said. She closed her eyes and dropped her head in her hands.
‘There’s a cabin up front,’ Tony said. ‘Nice bed. Arthur liked his comforts. You could catch a couple of hours’ kip before you actually fall over.’
She shook herself, stood up and promptly sat down again. ‘Whoa. Haven’t got my sea legs yet. Thanks but I need to—’
‘You don’t need to be anywhere. Your team in Bradfield know how to run an operation. Alvin Ambrose and Stuart Patterson need some space to prove themselves to you before you’re really their boss. If they do need you for anything, someone will call you.’ He’d never tried harder to make her trust him. Even if it was only until she was awake again, it was worth the effort.
Carol looked around, considering. ‘What about you? You look like shit. Did you sleep last night?’
‘I never sleep,’ he said. ‘Why would one more night make any difference?’ It wasn’t strictly true. The terrible sleep patterns of most of his adult life had succumbed to the calm of Arthur Blythe’s house. It was one of the reasons he’d loved it so much. But he’d never told anyone, and he couldn’t tell her now. It would feel too much like a desperate reach for pity. ‘Go and sleep, Carol. You can fall out with me all over again when you wake up.’
‘That’s true,’ she said. But she didn’t argue. He watched her walk the few feet to the fore cabin, his heart as heavy as it had ever been. He couldn’t escape the conviction that there was something very final going on between them.
44
You could hire anything in coalition Britain, Vance thought. It used to be that everything was for sale. Now, it seemed, everything was for rent. If you couldn’t afford to own it, you could at least pretend you could. And thanks to the Internet, you could find the person who wanted to meet your needs.
By late afternoon, he had a quad bike on a trailer attached to his SUV. From the same farm shop he’d bought a massive sack of specialist stud feed cubes. How ironic was that, a pair of lesbians running a racing stud? At least it made dressing the part easier. He’d also bought a quilted green gilet, a lambswool sweater, a tweed cap and a pair of riding boots. He was all set.
Two miles from Micky’s farm, he pulled off the minor road on to a track that led through a patch of woodland. Once he was out of sight of the road, he unloaded the quad bike then unhitched the trailer and turned the SUV round, ready for a quick getaway. He changed into his disguise, trimming his moustache into a narrow toothbrush and replacing his Patrick Gordon glasses with a pair of goggles. He loaded the sack of feed nuts on to the back of the quad bike, on top of his fire kit, and started it up.
He drove down the road for about a mile then, as he’d memorised from maps and Google Earth, he pulled into a farm gateway on the right. He bounced across a wide expanse of cropped grass, glad that there hadn’t been much rain lately. On the far side was another gate, which led to a field where half a dozen horses looked up uncuriously as he skirted the edge of their pasture. Now he could see Micky’s farm, the house just visible beyond the stable block and the hay barn.
Vance could feel his heart pounding as he approached. He was taking far more of a risk than he enjoyed. But he was determined to make Micky pay for what she’d done to him. He’d thought of leaving her alone for a while. Wait till the police got tired of keeping an eye on her. Let her fear and fret for months, never knowing when he’d come for her. There would be a certain satisfaction in that. But what he wanted more than that was to get away clean and free. He didn’t want to have to come back to the UK once he’d left. He wanted to be done with his retribution. Pay the bills and walk away.
So here he was, motoring towards Micky’s perfect bloody life. He hoped she was enjoying this last evening of peace.
As the shadows lengthened, he made his way through the final gate and drove towards the barn. One of the stable lads came round the end of the block as he approached and flagged him down. ‘Micky asked me to drop off these stud nuts,’ Vance said casually, his accent as upper crust as he could make it. ‘What’s going on? The place is bloody crawling with police.’
‘You know that bloke Vance that’s escaped from prison? Him that’s on the run?’ He sounded Irish, which was perfect. He couldn’t know all the neighbouring landowners the way a local would. ‘He’s Micky’s ex. He’s threatened her with all sorts, apparently.’
Vance gave a low whistle. ‘That’s hard luck. Tough on Micky. And on Betsy too, poor old thing. Anyway, I better stick these in the barn like I said I would.’
The lad frowned. ‘That’s not our usual brand.’
‘I know. I’ve been having awfully good results with them. Real improvements in condition. I said I’d drop them round so she could give them a try.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Promised to do it yesterday, but I’ve been running around like a headless chicken.’ The lad moved to one side and Vance put the bike in gear and moved forward.
The hay barn was an old-fashioned wooden barn that backed on to the stable block. On one side were bales of straw, on the other, sacks and bales of fodder. Vance couldn’t have been less interested. He motored down to the far end of the barn and turned the bike round before he dismounted. He pulled the feed off the bike, then started work.
Vance dragged one of the straw bales closer to the back of the barn so that it acted as a bridge between the wooden wall and the stack of bales. Then he propped it up on the wall so there was a wedge-shaped space underneath. He poured the petrol over the straw, then he packed the empty space with foam chips. Finally, he lit half a dozen cigarettes and stuck them into the foam. If the arsonist he’d cultivated in jail had told him the truth, the foam would smoulder for a while, then the petrol vapours would ignite the straw. The barn was a fire-trap, and the fire would spread into the roof of the stables, bringing the roof down on the terrified horses.
The only downside was that he wouldn’t be around to see it. Hiding in plain sight was a lot harder in rural Herefordshire than it was in a city like Worcester. Vance climbed back on the bike and headed back the way he’d come. This time, nobody stopped him. The stable lad he’d spoken to before actually waved.
People were so easy to fool. The quickness of the hand deceived the eye, every time. He hadn’t lost any of his magic. As Micky was about to find out.
45
Paula was sitting in Stacey’s seat, having been left in nominal charge of the MIT’s computer systems. Stacey had left her with dire injunctions about what not to interfere with. Paula might be willing to chance her arm by going round Carol Jordan, but she knew better than to try the same stunt with Stacey. So three of the six screens were off limits to her. They were processing information constantly but she had no idea what it was about or whether there were any results the team should know. Stacey had assured her that she would monitor the system remotely, which was fine by Paula.