THE Kremlin looked like something from a fairy tale, with snow falling thickly around its floodlit roofs and towers. As the van with "Hibernian Telecom" on its side approached the main gate, Kit had a momentary fancy that he was the Black Knight riding up to besiege the place.
He felt relieved to get here. The storm was turning into a full-scale blizzard, contrary to the forecast, and the journey from the airfield had taken longer than expected. The delay made him fearful. Every minute that passed made it more likely that snags would threaten his elaborate plan.
The phone call from Toni Gallo worried him. He had put her through to Steve Tremlett, fearing that if he played her a fault message she might drive to the Kremlin to find out what was going on. But, having listened in to the conversation, Kit thought she might do that anyway. It was lousy bad luck that she was in Inverburn, instead of at a spa fifty miles away.
The first of the two barriers lifted, and Elton moved the van forward and drew level with the gatehouse. There were two guards in the booth, as Kit expected. Elton wound down the window. A guard leaned out and said, "We're glad to see you laddies."
Kit did not know the man but, recalling his conversation with Hamish, he realized it must be Willie Crawford. Looking past him, Kit saw Hamish himself.
Willie said, "It's good of you to come out at Christmas."
"All part of the job," Elton said.
"Three of you, is it?"
"Plus Goldilocks in the back."
A low snarl came from behind. "Watch your mouth, shitface."
Kit suppressed a groan. How could they squabble at such a crucial moment?
Nigel murmured, "Knock it off, you two."
Willie did not appear to have heard the exchange. He said, "I need to see identification for everyone, please."
They all took out their faked cards. Elton had based them on Kit's recollection of what the Hibernian Telecom pass looked like. The phone system rarely broke down, so Kit had figured no guard was likely to remember what a genuine pass looked like. Now, with a security guard scrutinizing the cards as if they were dubious fifty-pound notes, Kit held his breath.
Willie wrote down the name from each card. Then he handed them all back without comment. Kit looked away and allowed himself to breathe again.
"Drive to the main entrance," Willie said. "You'll be all right if you stay between the lampposts." The road ahead was invisible, covered with snow. "At reception you'll find a Mr. Tremlett who can tell you where to go."
The second barrier lifted, and Elton pulled forward.
They were inside.
Kit felt sick with fear. He had broken the law before, with the scam that got him fired, but that had not felt like crime, it was more like cheating at cards, something he had done since he was eleven years old. This was a straightforward burglary, and he could go to jail. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate. He thought of the enormous sum he owed Harry Mac. He remembered the blind terror he had felt this morning, when Daisy held his head under water and he thought he was dying. He had to go through with this.
Nigel said quietly to Elton, "Try not to aggravate Daisy."
"It was just a joke," Elton said defensivcly.
"She's got no sense of humor."
If Daisy heard, she did not respond.
Elton parked at the main entrance and they got out. Kit carried his laptop. Nigel and Daisy took tool boxes from the back of the van. Elton had an expensive-looking burgundy leather briefcase, very slim with a brass catch-typical of his taste, but a bit odd for a telephone repairman, Kit thought.
They passed between the stone lions of the porch and entered the Great Hall. Low security lights intensified the churchlike look of the Victorian architecture: the mullioned windows, the pointed arches, and the serried timbers of the roof. The dimness made no difference to the security cameras, which-Kit knew-worked by infrared light.
At the modern reception desk in the middle of the hall were two more guards. One was an attractive young woman Kit did not recognize, and the other was Steve Tremlett. Kit hung back, not wanting Steve to look at him too closely. "You'll want to access the central processing unit," Steve said.
Nigel answered. "That's the place to start."
Steve raised his eyebrows at the London accent, but made no comment. "Susan will show you the way-I need to stay by the phone."
Susan had short hair and a pierced eyebrow. She wore a shirt with epaulettes, a tie, dark serge uniform trousers, and black lace-up shoes. She gave them a friendly smile and led them along a corridor paneled in dark wood.
A weird calm seemed to descend on Kit. He was inside, being escorted by a security guard, about to rob the place. He felt fatalistic. The cards had been dealt, he had placed his bet, there was nothing to do now but play out his hånd, win or lose.
They entered the control room.
The place was cleaner and tidier than Kit remembered, with all cables neatly stowed and logbooks in a row on a shelf. He presumed that was loni's influence. Here also there were two guards instead of one. They sat at the long desk, watching the monitors. Susan introduced them as Don and Stu. Don was a dark-skinned south Indian with a thick Glasgow accent, and Stu was a freckled redhead. Kit did not recognize either one. An extra guard was no big deal, Kit told himself: just another pair of eyes to shield things from, another brain to be distracted, another person to be lulled into apathy.
Susan opened the door to the equipment room. "The CPU is in there."
A moment later Kit was inside the inner sanctum. Just like that! he thought, although it had taken weeks of preparation. Here were the computers and other devices that ran not just the phone system but also the lighting, the security cameras, and the alarms. Even to get this far was a triumph.
He said to Susan, "Thanks very much-well take it from here."
"If there's anything you need, come to reception," she said, and she left.
Kit put his laptop on a shelf and connected it to the security computer. He pulled over a chair and turned his laptop so that the screen could not be seen by someone standing in the doorway. He felt Daisy's eyes on him, suspicious and malevolent. "Go into the next room," he said to her. "Keep an eye on the guards,"
She glared resentfully at him for a moment, then did as he said.
Kit took a deep breath. He knew exactly what he had to do. He needed to work fast, but carefully.
First, he accessed the program that controlled the video feed from thirty-seven closed-circuit television cameras. He looked at the entrance to BSL4, which appeared normal. He checked the reception desk and saw Steve there, but not Susan. Scanning the input from other cameras, he located Susan patrolling elsewhere in the building. He noted the time.
The computers massive memory stored the camera images for four weeks before overwriting them. Kit knew his way around the program, for he had installed it. He located the video from the cameras in BSL4 this time last night. He checked the feed, random sampling footage, to make sure no crazy scientist had been working in the lab in the middle of the night; but all the images showed empty rooms. Good.
Nigel and Elton watched him in tense silence.
He then fed last night's images into the monitors the guards were currently watching.
Now someone could walk around BSL4 doing anything he liked without their knowing.
The monitors were fitted with biased switches that would detect equipment substitution, for example if the feed came from a separate videotape deck. However, this footage was not coming from an outside source, but direct from the computer's memory-so it did not trigger the alarm.
Kit stepped into the main control room. Daisy was slumped in a chair, wearing her leather jacket over the Hibernian Telecom overalls. Kit studied the bank of screens. All appeared normal. The dark-skinned guard, Don, looked at him with an inquiring expression. As a cover, Kit said, "Are any of the phones in here working?"
"None," said Don.
Along the bottom edge of each screen was a line of text giving the time and date. The time was the same on the screens that showed yesterday's footage-Kit had made sure of that. But yesterday's footage showed yesterday's date.
Kit was betting that no one ever looked at that date. The guards scanned the screens for activity; they did not read text that told them what they already knew.
He hoped he was right.
Don was wondering why the telephone repairman was so interested in the television monitors. "Something we can do for you?" he said in a challenging tone.
Daisy grunted and stirred in her chair, like a dog sensing tension among the humans.
Kit's mobile phone rang.
He stepped back into the equipment room. The message on the screen of his laptop said: "Kremlin calling Toni." He guessed that Steve wanted to let Toni know that the repair team had arrived. He decided to put the call through: it might reassure Toni and discourage her from coming here. He touched a key, then listened in on his mobile.
"This is Toni Gallo." She was in her car; Kit could hear the engine.
"Steve here, at the Kremlin. The maintenance team from Hibernian Telecom have arrived."
"Have they fixed the problem?"
"They've just started work. I hope I didn't wake you."
"No, I'm not in bed, I'm on my way to you."
Kit cursed. It was what he had been afraid of.
"There's really no need," Steve told Toni.
Kit thought: That's right!
"Probably not," she replied. "But I'll feel more comfbrtable."
Kit thought: When will you get here?
Steve had the same thought. "Where are you now?"
"I'm only a few miles away, but the roads are terrible, and I can't go faster than fifteen or twenty miles an hour."
"Are you in your Porsche?" Yes.
"This is Scotland, you should have bought a Land Rover."
"I should have bought a bloody tank."
Come on, Kit thought, how long?
Toni answered his question. "It's going to take me at least half an hour, maybe an hour."
They hung up, and Kit cursed under his breath.
He told himself that a visit by Toni would not be fatal. There would be nothing to warn her that a robbery was going on. Nothing should seem amiss for several days. It would appear only that there had been a problem with the phone system, and a repair team had fixed it. Not until the scientists returned to work would anyone realize that BSL4 had been burgled.
The main danger was that Toni might see through Kit's disguise. He looked completely different, he had removed his distinctive jewelry, and he could easily alter his voice, making it more Scots; but she was a sharp-nosed bitch and he could not afford to take any chances. If she showed up, he would keep out of her way as much as possible, and let Nigel do the talking. All the same, the risk of something going wrong would increase tenfold.
But there was nothing he could do about it, except hurry.
His next task was to get Nigel into the lab without any of the guards seeing. The main problem here was the patrols. Once an hour, a guard from reception made a tour of the building. The patrol followed a prescribed route, and took twenty minutes. Having passed the entrance to BSL4, the guard would not come back for an hour.
Kit had seen Susan patrolling a few minutes ago, when he connected his laptop to the surveillance program. Now he checked the feed from reception and saw her sitting with Steve at the desk, her circuit done. Kit checked his watch. He had a comfortable thirty minutes before she went on patrol again.
Kit had dealt with the cameras in the high-security lab, but there was still one outside the door, showing the entrance to BSL4. He called up yesterday's feed and ran the footage at double fast-forward. He needed a clear half hour, with no one passing across the screen. He stopped at the point where the patrolling guard appeared. Beginning when the guard left the picture, he fed yesterday's images into the monitor in the next room. Don and Stu should see nothing but an empty corridor for the next hour, or until Kit returned the system to normal. The screen would show the wrong time as well as the wrong date, but once again Kit was gambling that the guards would not notice.
He looked at Nigel. "Let's go."
Elton stayed in the equipment room to make sure no one interfered with the laptop.
Passing through the control room, Kit said to Daisy, "We're going to get the nanometer from the van. You stay here." There was no such thing as a nanometer, but Don and Stu would not know that.
Daisy grunted and looked away. She was not much good at acting the part. Kit hoped the guards would simply assume she was bad-tempered.
Kit and Nigel walked quickly to BSL4. Kit waved his father's smart card in front of the scanner then pressed the forefinger of his left hånd to the screen. He waited while the central computer compared the information from the screen with that on the card. He noticed that Nigel was carrying Elton's smart burgundy leather briefcase.
The light over the door remained stubbornly red. Nigel looked at Kit anxiously. Kit told himself this had to work. The chip contained the encoded details of his own fingerprint-he had checked. What could go wrong?
Then a woman's voice behind them said, "I'm afraid you can't go in there."
Kit and Nigel turned. Susan was standing behind them. She appeared friendly but anxious. She should have been at reception, Kit thought in a panic. She was not due to patrol for another thirty minutes…
Unless Toni Gallo had doubled the patrols as well as doubling the guard.
There was a chime like a doorbell. All three of them looked at the light over the door. It turned green, and the heavy door swung slowly open on motorized hinges.
Susan said, "How did you open the door?" Her voice betrayed fear now.
Involuntarily, Kit looked down at the stolen card in his hånd.
Susan followed his gaze. "You're not supposed to have a pass!" she said incredulously.
Nigel moved toward her.
She turned on her heel and ran.
Nigel went after her, but he was twice her age. He'll never catch her, Kit thought. He let out a shout of rage: how could everything go so wrong, so quickly?
Then Daisy emerged from the passage leading to the control room.
Kit would not have thought he would ever be glad to see her ugly face.
She seemed unsurprised at the scene that confronted her: the guard running toward her, Nigel following, Kit frozen to the spot. Kit realized that she must have been watching the monitors in the control room. She would have seen Susan leave the reception desk and walk toward BSL4. She had realized the danger and moved to deal with it.
Susan saw Daisy and hesitated, then ran on, apparently determined to push past.
The hint of a smile touched Daisy's lips. She drew back her arm and smashed her gloved fist into Susan's face. The blow made a sickening sound, like a melon dropped on a tiled floor. Susan collapsed as if she had run into a wall. Daisy rubbed her knuckles, looking pleased.
Susan got to her knees. Sobs bubbled through the blood covering her nose and mouth. Daisy took from the pocket of her jacket a flexible blackjack about nine inches long and made, Kit guessed, of steel ball bearings in a leather case. She raised her arm.
Kit shouted: "No!"
Daisy hit Susan over the head with the blackjack. The guard collapsed soundlessly.
Kit yelled: "Leave her!"
Daisy raised her arm to hit Susan again, but Nigel stepped forward and grabbed Daisy's wrist. "No need to kill her," he said.
Daisy stepped back reluctantly.
"You mad cow!" Kit cried. "We'll all be guilty of murder!"
Daisy looked at the light brown glove on her right hand. There was blood on the knuckles. She licked it off thoughtfully.
Kit stared at the unconscious woman on the floor. The sight of her crumpled body was sickening. "This wasn't supposed to happen!" he said in alarm. "Now what are we going to do with her?"
Daisy straightened her blond wig. "Tie her up and hide her somewhere."
Kit's brain began to come back on line after the shock of sudden violence. "Right," he said. "We'll put her inside BSL4. The guards aren't allowed in there."
Nigel said to Daisy, "Drag her inside. I'll find something to tie her up with." He stepped into a side office.
Kit's mobile phone rang. He ignored it.
Kit used his card to reopen the door, which had closed automatically. Daisy picked up a red fire extinguisher and used it to prop the door open. Kit said, "You can't do that, it will set off the alarm." He removed the extinguisher.
Daisy looked skeptical. "The alarm goes off if you prop a door open?"
"Yes!" Kit said impatiently. "There are air management systems here. I know, I put the alarms in myself. Now shut up and do as you're told!"
Daisy got her arms around Susan's chest and pulled her along the carpet. Nigel emerged from the office with a long power lead. They all passed into BSL4. The door closed behind them.
They were in a small lobby leading ro the changing rooms. Daisy propped Susan against the wall underneath a pass-through autoclave that permitted sterilized items to be removed from the lab. Nigel tied her hånds and feet with the electrical lead.
Kit's phone stopped ringing.
The three of them went outside. No pass was needed to exit: the door opened at the push of a green button set into the wall.
Kit was trying desperately to think ahead. His entire plan was ruined. There was no possibility now that the theft would remain undiscovered. "Susan will be missed quite soon," he said, making himself keep calm. "Don and Stuart will notice that she's disappeared off the monitors. And even if they don't, Steve will be alerted when she fails to return from her patrol. Either way, we don't have time to get into the laboratory and out again before they raise the alarm. Shit, it's all gone wrong!"
"Calrn down," Nigel said. "We can handle this, so long as you don't panic. We just have to deal with the other guards, like we dealt with her."
Kit's phone rang again. He could not tell who was calling without his computer. "It's probably Toni Gallo," he said. "What do we do if she shows up? We can't pretend nothing's wrong if all the guards are tied up!"
"We'll just deal with her as and when she arrives."
Kit's phone kept ringing.
TONI was driving at ten miles an hour, leaning forward over the steering wheel to peer into the blinding snowfall, trying to see the road. Her headlights did nothing but illuminate a cloud of big, soft snowflakes that seemed to fill the universe. She had been staring so long that her eyelids hurt, as if she had got soap in her eyes.
Her mobile became a hands-free car phone when slotted into a cradle on the dashboard of the Porsche. She had dialed the Kremlin, and now she listened as it rang out unanswered.
"I don't think anyone's there," Mother said.
The repairmen must have downed the entire system, Toni thought. Were the alarms working? What if something serious went wrong while the lines were down? Feeling troubled and frustrated, she touched a button to end the call.
"Where are we?" Mother asked.
"Good question." Toni was familiar with this road but she could hardly see it. She seemed to have been driving forever. She glanced to the side from time to time, looking for landmarks. She thought she recognized a stone cottage with a distinctive wrought-iron gate. It was only a couple of miles from the Kremlin, she recalled. That cheered her up. "Well be there in fifteen minutes, Mother," she said.
She looked in the rearview mirror and saw the headlights that had been with her since Inverburn: the pest Carl Osborne in his Jaguar, doggedly following her at the same sluggard pace. On another day she would have enjoyed losing him.
Was she wasting her time? Nothing would please her more than to reach the Kremlin and find everything calm: the phones repaired, the alarms working, the guards bored and sleepy. Then she could go home and go to bed and think about seeing Stanley tomorrow.
At least she would enjoy the look on Carl Osborne's face when he realized he had driven for hours in the snow, at Christmas, in the middle of the night, to cover the story of a telephone fault.
She seemed to be on a straight stretch, and she chanced speeding up. But it was not straight for long, and almost immediately she came to a right-hand bend. She could not use the brakes, for fear of skidding, so she changed down a gear to slow the car, then held her foot steady on the throttle as she turned. The tail of the Porsche wanted to break free, she could feel it, but the wide rear tires held their grip.
Headlights appeared coming toward her, and for a welcome change she could make out a hundred yards of road between the two cars. There was not much to see: snow eight or nine inches thick on the ground, a drystone wall on her left, a white hill on her right.
The oncoming car was traveling quite fast, she noted nervously.
She recalled this stretch of road. It was a long, wide bend that turned through ninety degrees around the foot of the hill. She held her line through the curve.
But the other car did not.
She saw it drift across the carriageway to the crown of the road, and she thought, Fool, you braked into the turn, and your back slipped away.
In the next instant, she realized with horror that the car was heading straight for her.
It crossed the middle of the road and came at her broadside. It was a hot hatch with four men in it. They were laughing and, in the split second for which she could see them, she divined that they were young merrymakers too drunk to realize the danger they were in. "Look out!" she screamed uselessly.
The front of the Porsche was about to smash into the side of the skidding hatchback. Toni acted reflexively. Without thinking about it, she jerked her steering wheel to the left. The nose of her car turned. Almost simultaneously, she pushed down the accelerator pedal. The car leaped forward and skidded. For an instant the hatchback was alongside her, inches away.
The Porsche was angled left and sliding forward. Toni swung the wheel right to correct the skid, and applied a featherlight touch to the throttle. The car straightened up and the tires gripped.
She thought the hatchback would hit her rear wing; then she thought it would miss by a hair; then there was a clang, loud but superficial-sounding, and she realized her bumper had been hit.
It was not much of a blow, but it destabilized the Porsche, and the rear swung left, out of control again. Toni desperately tugged the steering wheel to the left, turning into the skid; but, before her corrective action could take effect, the car hit the drystone wall at the side of the road. There was a terrific bang and the sound of breaking glass; then the car came to a stop.
Toni looked worriedly at her mother. She was staring ahead, mouth open, bewildered-but unharmed. Toni felt a moment of relief-then she thought of Osborne.
She looked fearfully in the rearview mirror, thinking the hatchback must smash into Osborne's Jaguar. She could see the red rear lights of the hatch and the white headlights of the Jag. The hatchback fishtailed; the [ag swung hard over to the side of the road; the hatchback straightened up and went by.
The Jaguar came to a stop, and the car full of drunk boys went on into the night. They were probably still laughing.
Mother said in a shaky voice, "I heard a bang-did that car hit us?"
"Yes," Toni said. "We had a lucky escape."
"I think you should drive more carefully," said Mother.
KIT was fighting down panic. His brilliant plan had collapsed in ruins. Now there was no way the robbery would go undetected until the staff returned to work after the holiday. At most, it might remain a secret until six o'clock this morning, when the next shift of security guards arrived. But if Toni Gallo were still on her way here, the time left was even shorter.
If his plan had worked, there would have been no violence. Even now, he thought with helpless frustration, it had not been strictly necessary. The guard Susan could have been captured and tied up without injury. Unfortunately, Daisy could not resist an opportunity for brutality. Kit hoped desperately that the other guards could be rounded up without further nauseating scenes of bloodshed.
Now, as they ran to the control room, both Nigel and Daisy drew guns.
Kit was horrified. "We agreed no weapons!" he protested.
"Good thing we ignored you," Nigel replied.
They came to the door. Kit stared aghast at the guns. They were small automatic pistols with fat grips. "This makes it armed robbery, you realize that."
"Only if we're caught." Nigel turned the handle and kicked the door open.
Daisy burst into the room, yelling at the top of her voice: "On the floor! Now! Both of you!"
There was only a moments hesitation, while the two security guards went from shock and bewilderment to fear; then they threw themselves down.
Kit felt powerless. He had intended to enter the room first and say, Please stay calm and do as you're told, then you won't get hurt. But he had lost control. There was nothing he could do now but string along and try to make sure nothing else went wrong.
Elton appeared in the doorway of the equipment room. He took in the scene in an instant.
Daisy screamed at the guards: "Face down, hånds behind your backs, eyes closed! Quick, quick, or I'll shoot you in the balls!"
They did as she said but, even so, she kicked Don in the face with a heavy boot. He cried out and flinched away, but remained prone.
Kit placed himself in front of Daisy. "Enough!" he shouted.
Elton shook his head in amazement. "She's loony fucking tunes."
The gleeful malevolence on Daisy's face frightened Kit, but he forced himself to stare at her. He had too much at stake to let her ruin every-thing. "Listen to me!" he shouted. "You're not in the lab yet, and you won't ever get there at this rate. If you want to be empty-handed when we meet the client at ten, just carry on the way you are." She turned away from his pointing finger, but he went after her. "No more brutality!"
Nigel backed him. "Ease up, Daisy," he said. "Do as he says. See if you can tie these two up without kicking their heads in."
Kit said, "We'll put them in the same place as the girl."
Daisy tied their hånds with electrical cable; then she and Nigel herded them out at gunpoint. Elton stayed behind, watching the monitors, keeping an eye on Steve in reception. Kit followed the prisoners to BSL4 and opened the door. They put Don and Stu on the floor next to Susan and tied their feet. Don was bleeding from a nasty cut on his forehead. Susan scemed conscious but groggy.
"One left," said Kit as they stepped outside. "Steve, in the Great Hall. And no unnecessary violence!"
Daisy gave a grunt of disgust.
Nigel said, "Kit, try not to say any more in front of the guards about the client and our ten o'clock rendezvous. If you tell them too much, we may have to kill them."
Kit realized, aghast, what he had done. He felt like a fool.
His phone rang.
"That might be Toni," he said. "Let me check." He ran back to the equipment room. His laptop screen said, "Toni calling Kremlin." He transferred the call to the phone on the desk at reception and listened in.
"Hi, Steve, this is Toni. Any news?"
"The repair crew are still here."
"Everything all right otherwise?"
With the phone to his ear, Kit stepped into the control room and stood behind Elton to watch Steve on the monitor. "Yeah, I think so. Susan Mackintosh should have finished her patrol by now, but maybe she went to the ladies' room."
Kit cursed.
Toni said anxiously, "How late is she?"
On the monitor, in black-and-white, Steve checked his wristwatch. "Five minutes."
"Give her another five minutes, then go and look for her."
"Okay. Where are you?"
"Not far away, but I've had an accident. A car full of drunks clipped the rear end of the Porsche."
Kit thought, I wish they'd killed you.
Steve said, "Are you okay?"
"Fine, but my car's damaged. Fortunately, another car was following me, and he's giving me a lift."
And who the hell was that? "Shit," Kit said aloud. "Her and some fellow."
"When will you be here?"
"Twenty minutes, maybe thirty."
Kit's knees went weak. He staggered and sat in one of the guards' chairs. Twenty minutes-thirty at the most! It took twenty minutes to get suited up for BSL4!
Toni said goodbyc and hung up the phone.
Kit ran across the control room and out into the corridor. "She'll be here in twenty or thirty minutes," he said. "And there's someone with her, I don't know who. We have to move fast."
They ran along the corridor. Daisy, going first, burst into the Great Hall and yelled: "On the floor-now!"
Kit and Nigel ran in after her and stopped abruptly. The room was empty. "Shit," said Kit.
Steve had been at the desk twenty seconds ago. He could not have gone far. Kit looked around the half-dark room, at the chairs for waiting visitors, the coffee table with science magazines, the rack of leaflets about Oxenford Medical's work, the display case with models of complex molecules. He stared up into the dimly lit skeleton of the hammer-beam roof, as if Steve might be hiding among the timber ribs.
Nigel and Daisy ran along radiating corridors, opening doors.
Kit's eye was caught by two stick figures, male and female, on a door: the toilets. He ran across the hall. There was a short corridor leading to separate men's and ladies' rooms. Kit went into the men's room.
It appeared empty. "Mr. Tremlett?" He pushed open all the cubicle doors. No one was there.
As he stepped out, he saw Steve returning to the reception desk. The guard must have been in the ladies' room-searching for Susan, Kit realized.
Steve turned around, hearing Kit. "Looking for me?"
"Yes." Kit realized he could not apprehend Steve without help. Kit was younger, and athletic, but Steve was a fit man in his thirties, and might not give up without a fight. "Something I need to ask you," Kit said, playing for time. He made his accent more Scots than was natural, ro make sure Steve did not find his voice familiar.
Steve lifted the flap and entered the oval of the desk. "And what would that be?"
"Just a minute." Kit turned away and shouted after Nigel and Daisy. "Hey! Back in here!"
Steve looked troubled. "What's going on? You lot aren't supposed to be wandering around the building."
"I'll explain in a minute."
Steve looked hard at him and frowned. "Have you been here before?"
Kit swallowed. "No, never."
"There's something familiar about you."
Kit's mouth went dry and he found it hard to speak. "I work with the emergency team." Where were the others?
"I dont like this." Steve picked up the phone on the desk.
Where were Nigel and Daisy? Kit shouted again: "Get back in here, you two!"
Steve dialed, and the mobile in Kit's pocket rang. Steve heard it. He frowned, thinking, then a look of shocked understanding came over his face. "You messed with the phones!"
Kit said, "Stay calm, and you won't get hurt." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized his mistake: he had confirmed Steve's suspicions.
Steve acted quickly. He leaped nimbly over the desk and ran for the door.
Kit yelled: "Stop!"
Steve stumbled, fell, and got up again.
Daisy came running into the hall, saw Steve, and turned toward the main door, heading him off.
Steve saw that he could not make it to the door and turned instead into the corridor leading to BSL4.
Daisy and Kit ran after him.
Steve sprinted down the long corridor. There was an exit toward the rear of the building, Kit recalled. If Steve made it outside, they might never catch him.
Daisy was well ahead of Kit, arms pumping like a sprinter, and Kit recalled her powerful shoulders in the swimming pool; but Steve was running like a hare, and pulling away from them. He was going to escape.
Then, as Steve drew level with the door leading to the control room, Elton stepped into the corridor in front of him. Steve was going too fast to take evasive action. Elton stuck out a foot and tripped Steve, who went flying.
As Steve hit the ground, face down, Elton fell on him, with both knees in the small of his back, and pushed the barrel of a pistol into his cheek. "Don't move, and you won't get shot in the face," he said. His voice was calm but convincing.
Steve lay still.
Elton stood, keeping the gun pointed at Steve. "That's the way to do it," he said to Daisy. "No blood."
She looked scornful.
Nigel came running up. "What happened?"
"Never mind!" Kit shouted. "We're out of time!"
"What about the two guards in the gatehouse?" Nigel said.
"Forget them! They don't know what's happened here, and they're not likely to find out-they stay out there all night." He pointed at Elton. "Get my laptop from the equipment room and wait for us in the van." He turned to Daisy. "Bring Steve, tie him up in BSL4, then get into the van. We have to go into the laboratory-now!"
IN the barn, Sophie had produced a bottle of vodka.
Craig's mother had ordered lights out at midnight, but she had not come back to check, so the youngsters were sitting in front of the television set, watching an old horror movie. Craig's dopey sister, Caroline, stroked a white rat and pretended she thought the film was silly. His little cousin Tom was pigging out on chocolates and trying to stay awake. Sexy Sophie smoked cigarettes and said nothing. Craig was alternately worrying about the dented Ferrari and watching for a chance to kiss Sophie. Somehow the setting was not romantic enough. But would it get any better?
The vodka surprised him. He had thought her talk of cocktails was just showing off. But she went up the ladder to the hayloft bedroom, where her bag was, and came back down with a half bottle of Smirnoff in her hand. "Who wants some?" she said.
They all did.
The only glasses they had were plastic tumblers decorated with pictures of Pooh and Tigger and Eeyore. There was a fridge with soft drinks and ice. Tom and Caroline mixed their vodka with Coca-Cola. Craig, not sure what to do, copied Sophie and drank it straight with ice. The taste was bitter, but he liked the warm glow as it went down his throat.
The movie was going through a dull patch. Craig said to Sophie, "Do you know what you're getting for Christmas?"
"Two decks and a mixer, so I can deejay. You?"
"Snowboarding holiday. Some guys I know are going to Val d'Isére at Easter, but it's expensive. I've asked for the money. So you want to be a deejay?"
"I think I'd be good at it."
"Is that, like, your career plan?"
"Dunno." Sophie looked scornful. "What's your 'career plan'?"
"Can't make up my mind. I'd love to play football professionally. But then you're finished before you're forty. And anyway, I might not be good enough. I'd really like to be a scientist like Grandpa."
"A bit boring."
"No! He discovers fantastic new drugs, he's his own boss, he makes piles of money, and he drives a Ferrari F50-what's boring?"
She shrugged. "I wouldn't mind the car." She giggled. "Except for the dent."
The thought of the damage he had done to his grandfather's car no longer depressed Craig. He was feeling pleasantly relaxed and carefree. He toyed with the idea of kissing Sophie right now, ignoring the others. What held him back was the thought that she might reject him in front of his sister, which would be humiliating.
He wished he understood girls. No one ever told you anything. His father probably knew all there was to know. Women seemed to take to Hugo instantly, but Craig could not figure out why, and when he asked, his father just laughed. In a rare moment of intimacy with his mother, he had asked her what attracted girls to a man. "Kindness," she had said. That was obviously rubbish. When waitresses and shop assistants responded to his father, grinning at him, blushing, walking away with a distinct wiggle, it was not because they thought he would be kind to them, for God's sake. But what was it? All Craig's friends had surefire theories about sex appeal, and they were all different. One believed that girls liked a guy to be masterful and tell them what to do; another said that if you ignored them they would flock around you; others claimed girls were interested only in an athletic physique, or good looks, or money. Craig was sure they were all wrong, but he had no hypothesis of his own.
Sophie drained her glass. "Another?"
They all had another.
Craig began to realize that the movie was, in fact, hilarious. "That castle is so obviously made of plywood," he said with a chuckle.
Sophie said, "And they all have sixties eye makeup and hairstyles, even though it's set in the Middle Ages."
Caroline suddenly said, "Oh, God, I'm so sleepy." She got to her feet, climbed the ladder with some difficulty, and disappeared.
Craig thought, One down, one to go. Maybe the scene could turn romantic after all.
The old witch in the story had to bathe in the blood of a virgin to make herself young again. The bathtub scene was a hilarious combination of titillation and gross-out, and both Craig and Sophie giggled helplessly.
"I'm going to be sick," said Tom.
"Oh, no!" Craig sprang to his feet. He felt dizzy for a second, then recovered. "Bathroom, quick," he said. He took Tom's arm and led him there.
Tom started to throw up a fatal second before he reached the toilet.
Craig ignored the mess on the floor and guided him to the bowl. Tom puked some more. Craig held the boy's shoulders and tried not to breathe. There goes the romantic atmosphere, he thought.
Sophie came to the door. "Is he all right?"
"Yeah." Craig put on the air of a snooty schoolteacher. "An injudicious combination of chocolates, vodka, and virgin's blood."
Sophie laughed. Then, to Craig's surprise, she grabbed a length of toilet roll, got down on her knees, and began to clean the tiled floor.
Tom straightened up.
"All done?" Craig asked him.
Tom nodded. Sure? bure.
Craig flushed the toilet. "Now clean your teeth."
"Why?"
"So you won't smell so bad."
Tom brushed his teeth.
Sophie threw a wad of paper into the toilet and took some more. Craig led Tom out of the bathroom to his camp bed on the floor. "Get undressed," he said. He opened Tom's small suitcase and found a pair of Spider-Man pajamas. Tom put them on and climbed into bed. Craig folded his clothes.
"I'm sorry I heaved," Tom said.
"It happens to the best of us," Craig said. "Forget it." He pulled the blanket up to Tom's chin. "Sweet dreams."
He returned to the bathroom. Sophie had cleaned up with surprising efficiency, and she was pouring disinfectant into the bowl. Craig washed his hands, and she stood beside him at the sink and did the same. It felt comradely.
In a low, amused voice, Sophie said, "When you told him to brush his teeth, he asked why."
Craig grinned at her in the mirror. "Like, he wasn't planning to kiss anyone tonight, so why bother?"
"Right."
She looked the most beautiful she had all day, Craig thought as she smiled at him in the mirror, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He took a towel and handed her one end. They both dried their hands. Craig pulled the towel, drawing her to him, and kissed her lips.
She kissed him back. He parted his lips a little, and let her feel the tip of his tongue. She seemed tentative, unsure how to respond. Could it be that, for all her talk, she had not done much kissing?
He murmured, "Shall we go back to the couch? I never like snogging in the bog."
She giggled and led the way out.
Craig thought, Fm not this witty when Fm sober.
He sat close to Sophie on the couch and put his arm around her. I hey watched the film for a minute, then he kissed her again.
AN airtight submarine door led from the changing room into the biohazard zone. Kit turned the four-spoked wheel and opened the door. He had been inside the laboratory before it was commissioned, when there were no dangerous viruses present, but he had never entered a live BSL4 facility-he was not trained. Feeling that he was taking his life in his hands, he stepped through the doorway into the shower room. Nigel followed him, carrying Eltons burgundy briefcase. Elton and Daisy were waiting outside in the van.
Kit closed the door behind them. The doors were electronically linked so that the next would not open until the last was shut. His ears popped. Air pressure was reduced in stages as you entered BSL4, so that any air leaks were inward, preventing the escape of dangerous agents.
They passed through another doorway, into a room where blue plastic space suits hung from hooks. Kit took off his shoes. "Find one your size and get into it," he said to Nigel. "We've got to shortcut the safety precautions."
"I don't like the sound of that."
Kit did not either, but they had no choice. "The normal procedure is too long," he said. "You have to take off all your clothes, including underwear, even your jewelry, then put on surgical scrubs, before you suit up." He took a suit off a hook and began to climb into it. "Corning out takes even longer. You have to shower in your suit, first with a decontamination solution, then with water, on a predetermined cycle that takes five minutes. Then you take off the suit and your scrubs and shower naked for five minutes. You clean your nails, blow your nose, clear your throat and spit. Then you get dressed. If we do all that, half the Inverburn police could be here by the time we get out. We'll skip the showers, take off our suits, and run."
Nigel was appalled. "How dangerous is it?"
"Like driving your car at a hundred and thirty miles an hour-it might kill you, but it probably won't, so long as you don't make a habit of it. Hurry up, get a damn suit on." Kit closed his helmet. The plastic faceplate gave slightly distorted vision. He closed the diagonal zip across the front of the suit, then helped Nigel.
He decided they could do without the usual surgical gloves. He used a roll of duct tape to attach the suit gauntlets to the rigid circular wrists of Nigel's suit, then got Nigel to do the same for him.
From the suit room they stepped into the decontamination shower, a cubicle with spray faucets on all sides as well as above. They felt a further drop in air pressure-twenty-five or fifty pascals from one room to the next, Kit recalled. From the shower they entered the lab proper.
Kit suffered a moment of pure fear. There was something in the air here that could kill him. All his glib talk about shortcutting safety precautions and driving at a hundred and thirty now seemed foolhardy. I could die, he thought. I could catch a disease and suffer a hemorrhage so bad the blood would come out of my ears and eyes and my penis. What am I doing here? How could I be so stupid?
He breathed slowly and made himself calm. You're not exposed to the atmosphere here in the lab; you'll be breathing pure air from outside, he told himself. No virus can penetrate this suit. You're a lot safer from infection than you would be in economy class on a packed 747 to Orlando. Get a grip.
Curly yellow air hoses dangled from the ceiling. Kit grabbed one and connected it to the inlet on Nigel's belt and saw Nigel's suit begin to inflate. He did the same for himself and heard the inward rush of air. His terror abated.
A row of rubber boots stood by the door, but Kit ignored them. Their main purpose was to protect the feet of the suits and prevent them wearing out.
He surveyed the lab, getting his bearings, trying to forget the danger and concentrate on what he had to do. The place had a shiny look due to the epoxy paint used to make the walls airtight. Microscopes and computer workstations stood on stainless-steel benches. There was a fax machine for sending your notes out-paper could not be taken into the showers or passed through the autoclaves. Kit noted fridges for storing samples, biosafety cabinets for handling hazardous materials, and a rack of rabbit cages under a clear plastic cover. The red light over the door would flash when the phone rang, as it was difficult to hear inside the suits. The blue light would warn of an emergency. Closed-circuit television cameras covered every corner of the room.
Kit pointed to a door. "I think the vault is through there." He crossed the room, his air hose extending as he moved. He opened the door on a room no bigger than a closet, containing an upright refrigerator with a keypad combination lock. The LED keys were scrambled, so that the order of numbers in the squares was different every time. This made it impossible to figure out the code by watching someone's fingers. But Kit had installed the lock, so he knew the combination-unless it had been changed.
He keyed the numbers and pulled the handle.
The door opened.
Nigel looked over his shoulder.
Measured doses of the precious antiviral drug were kept in disposable syringes, ready for use. The syringes were packaged in small cardboard boxes. Kit pointed to the shelf. He raised his voice so that Nigel could hear him through the suit. "This is the drug."
Nigel said, "I don't want the drug."
Kit wondered if he had misheard. "What?" he shouted.
"I don't want the drug."
Kit was astounded. "What are you talking about? Why are we here?"
Nigel did not respond.
On the second shelf were samples of various viruses ready to be used to infect laboratory animals. Nigel looked carefully at the labels, then selected a sample of Madoba-2.
Kit said, "What the hell do you want that for?"
Without answering, Nigel took all the remaining samples of the same virus from the shelf, twelve boxes altogether.
One was enough to kill someone. Twelve could start an epidemic. Kit would have been reluctant to touch the boxes, even wearing a biohazard suit. But what was Nigel up to?
Kit said, "I thought you were working for one of the pharmaceutical giants."
"I know."
Nigel could afford to pay Kit three hundred thousand pounds for tonight's work. Kit did not know what Elton and Daisy were getting but, even if it were a smaller fee, Nigel had to be spending something like half a million. To make that worth his while, he must be getting a million from the customer, maybe two. The drug was worth that, easily. But who would pay a million pounds for a sample of a deadly virus?
As soon as Kit asked himself the question, he knew the answer.
Nigel carried the sample boxes across the laboratory and placed them in a biosafety cabinet.
A biosafety cabinet was a glass case with a slot at the front through which the scientist could put his arms in order to perform experiments. A pump ensured that the flow of air ran from outside the cabinet to inside. A perfect seal was not considered necessary when the scientist was wearing a suit.
Next, Nigel opened the burgundy leather briefcase. The top was lined with blue plastic cooler packs. Virus samples needed to be kept at low temperatures, Kit knew. The bottom half of the briefcase was filled with white polystyrene chips of the kind used to package delicate objects. I.ying on the chips, like a precious jewel, was an ordinary perfume spray bottle, empty. Kit recognized the bottle. It was a brand called Diablerie. His sister Olga used it.
Nigel put the bottle in the cabinet. It misted over with condensation. "They told me to turn on the air extractor," he said. "Where's the switch?"
"Wait!" Kit said. "What are you doing? You have to tell me!"
Nigel found the switch and turned it on. "The customer wants the product in deliverable form," he said with an air of indulgent patience. "I'm transferring the samples to the bottle here, in the cabinet, because it's dangerous to do it anywhere else." He took the top off the perfume bottle, then opened a sample box. Inside was a clear Pyrex vial with graduation marks printed in white on its side. Working awkwardly with his gauntleted hånds, Nigel unscrewed the cap of the vial and poured the liquid into the Diablerie bottle. He recapped the vial and picked up another one.
Kit said, "The people you're selling this to-do you know what they want it for?"
"I can guess."
"It will kill people-hundreds, maybe thousands!"
"I know."
The perfume spray was the perfect delivery mechanism. It was a simple means of creating an aerosol. Filled with the colorless liquid that contained the virus, it looked completely innocent, and would pass unnoticed through all security checks. A woman could take it out of her handbag in any public place and look quite innocent as she filled the air with the vapor that would be fatal to everyone who inhaled it. She would kill herself, too-as terrorists often did. She would slaughter more people than any suicide bomber. Horrified, Kit said, "You're talking about mass murder!"
"Yes." Nigel turned to look at Kit. His blue eyes were intimidating even through two faceplates. "And you're in it, now, and as guilty as anyone, so shut your mouth and let me concentrate."
Kit groaned. Nigel was right. Kit had never thought to be involved in anything more than theft. He had been horrified when Daisy blackjacked Susan. This was a thousand times worse-and there was nothing Kit could do. If he tried to stop the heist now, Nigel would probably kill him-and if things went wrong, and the virus was not delivered to the customer, Harry McGarry would have him killed for not paying his debt. He had to follow it through to the end and pick up his payment. Otherwise he was dead.
He also had to make sure Nigel handled the virus properly; otherwise he was dead anyway.
With his arms inside the biosafety cabinet, Nigel emptied the contents of all the sample vials into the perfume bottle, then replaced the spray top. Kit knew that the outside of the bottle was now undoubtedly contaminated-but someone seemed to have told Nigel this, for he put the bottle into the pass-out tank, which was full of decontamination fluid, and removed it from the other side. He wiped the bottle dry then took two Ziploc food bags from the briefcase. He put the perfume bottle into one, sealed the bag, then put the bagged bottle into the second. Finally he put the double-bagged bottle back into the briefcase and closed the lid.
"We're done," he said.
They left the lab, Nigel carrying the briefcase. They passed through rhe decontamination shower without using it-there was no time. In the suit room they climbed out of the cumbersome plastic space suits and put their shoes back on. Kit kept well away from Nigel's suit-the gloves were sure to be contaminated with minute traces of the virus.
They moved through the normal shower, again without using it, through the changing room, and into the lobby. The four security guards were tied up and propped against the wall.
Kit checked his watch. It was thirty minutes since he had eavesdropped on Toni Gallo's conversation with Steve. "I hope Toni isn't liere."
"If she is, we'll neutralize her."
"She's an ex-cop-she won't be as easy to deal with as these guards. And she might recognize me, even in this disguise."
He pressed the green button that opened the door. He and Nigel ran down the corridor and into the Great Hall. To Kit's monumental relief, it was empty: Toni Gallo had not yet arrived. We made it, he thought. But she could get here at any second.
The van was outside the main door, its engine limning. Elton was at the wheel, Daisy in the back. Nigel jumped in, and Kit followed him, shouting: "Go! Go! Go!"
Elton roared off before Kit got the door shut.
The snow lay thick on the ground. The van immediately skidded and slewed sideways, but Elton got it back under control. They stopped at the gate.
Willie Crawford leaned out. "All fixed?" he said.
Elton wound down the window. "Not quite," he said. "We need some parts. We'll be back."
"It's going to take you a while, in this weather," the guard said conversationally.
Kit muffled a grunt of impatience. From the back, Daisy said in a low voice, "Shall I shoot the bastard?"
Elton said calmly, "We'll be as quick as we can." Then he closed the window.
After a moment the barrier lifted, and they pulled out.
As they did so, headlights flashed. A car was approaching from the south. Kit made it out to be a light-colored Jaguar sedan.
Elton turned north and roared away from the Kremlin.
Kit looked in the mirror and watched the headlights of the car. It turned into the gates of the Kremlin.
Toni Gallo, Kit thought. A minute too late.
TONI was in the passenger seat beside Carl Osborne when he braked to a halt alongside the gatehouse of the Kremlin. Her mother was in the back.
She handed Carl her pass and her mother's pension book. "Give these to the guard with your press card," she said. All visitors had to show identification.
Carl slid the window down and handed over the documents.
Looking across him, Toni saw Hamish McKinnon. "Hi, Hamish, it's me," she called. "I've got two visitors with me."
"Hello, Ms. Gallo," said the guard. "Is that lady in the back holding a dog?"
"Don't ask," she said.
Hamish copied the names and handed back the press card and the pension book. "You'll find Steve in reception."
"Are the phones working?"
"Not yet. The repair crew just left to fetch a spare part." He lifted the barrier, and Carl drove in.
Toni suppressed a wave of irritation at Hibernian Telecom. On a night such as this, they really should carry all the parts they might need. The weather was continuing to get worse, and the roads might soon be impassable. She doubted they would be back before morning.
This spoiled a little plan she had. She had been hoping to phone Stanley in the morning and tell him that there had been a minor problem at the Kremlin overnight but she had solved it-then make arrangements to meet him later in the day. Now it seemed her report might not be so satisfactory.
Carl pulled up at the main entrance. "Wait here," Toni said, and sprang out before he could argue. She did not want him in the building if she could avoid it. She ran up the steps between the stone lions and pushed through the door. She was surprised to see no one at the reception desk.
She hesitated. One of the guards might be on patrol, but they should not both have gone. They could be anywhere in the building-and the door was unguarded.
She headed for the control room. The monitors would show where the guards were.
She was astonished to find the control room empty.
Her heart seemed to go cold. This was very bad. Four guards missing-this was not just a divergence from procedure. Something was wrong.
She looked again at the monitors. They all showed empty rooms. If four guards were in the building, one of them should appear on a monitor within seconds. But there was no movement anywhere.
Then something caught her eye. She looked more closely at the feed from BSL4.
The dateline said December 24. She checked her watch. It was after one o'clock in the morning. Today was Christmas Day, December 25. She was looking at old pictures. Someone had tampered with the feed.
She sat at the workstation and accessed the program. In three minutes she established that all the monitors covering BSL4 were showing yesterday's footage. She corrected them and looked at the screens.
In the lobby outside the changing rooms, four people were sitting on the floor. She stared at the monitor, horrified. Please, God, she thought, don't let them be dead.
One moved.
She looked more closely. They were guards, all in dark uniforms; and their hands were behind their backs, as if they were tied up.
"No, no!" she said aloud.
But there was no escaping from the dismal conclusion that the Kremlin had been raided.
She felt doomed. First Michael Ross, now this. Where had she gone wrong? She had done all she could to make this place secure-and she had failed utterly. She had let Stanley down.
She turned for the door, her first instinct being to rush to BSL4 and untie the captives. Then her police training reasserted itself. Stop, assess the situation, plan the response. Whoever had done this could still be in the building, though her guess was that the villains were the Hibernian Telecom repairmen who had just left. What was her most important task? To make sure she was not the only person who knew about this.
She picked up the phone on the desk. It was dead, of course. The fault in the phone system was probably part of whatever was going on. She took her mobile from her pocket and called the police. "This is Toni Gallo, in charge of security at Oxenford Medical. There's been an incident here. Four of my security guards have been attacked."
"Are the perpetrators still on the premises?"
"I don't think so, but I can't be sure."
"Anyone injured?"
"I don't know. As soon as I get off the phone, I'll check-but I wanted to tell you first."
"We'll try to get a patrol car to you-though the roads are terrible." He sounded like an unsure young constable.
Toni tried to impress him with a sense of urgency. "This could be a biohazard incident. A young man died yesterday of a virus that escaped from here."
"We'll do our best."
"I believe Frank Hackett is on duty tonight. I don't suppose he's in the building?"
"He's on call."
"I strongly recommend you phone him at home and wake him up and tell him about this."
"I've made a note of your suggestion."
"We have a fault on the phones here, probably caused by the intruders. Please take my mobile number." She read it out. "Ask Frank to call right away."
"I've got the message."
"May I ask your name?"
"P.C. David Reid."
"Thank you, Constable Reid. We'll be waiting for your patrol car." Toni hung up. She felt sure the constable had not grasped the importance of her call, but he would surely pass the information to a superior. Anyway, she did not have time to argue. She hurried out of the control room and ran along the corridor to BSL4. She swiped her pass through the card reader, held her fingertip to the scanner, and went in.
There were Steve, Susan, Don, and Stu, in a row against the wall, bound hand and foot. Susan looked as if she had walked into a tree: her nose was swollen and there was blood on her chin and chest. Don had a nasty abrasion on his forehead.
Toni knelt down and began to untie them. "What the hell happened here?" she said.
THE Hibernian Telecom van was plowing through snow a foot deep. Elton drove at ten miles an hour in high gear to keep from skidding. Thick snowflakes bombarded the vehicle. They formed two wedges at the bottom of the windshield, and they grew steadily, so that the wipers described an ever smaller arc, until Elton could no longer see out and had to stop the van to clear the snow away.
Kit was distraught. He had thought himself involved in a heist that would do no real harm. His father would lose money, but on the other hand Kit would be enabled to repay Harry Mac, a debt that his father should have paid anyway, so there was no real injustice. But the reality was different. There could be only one reason for buying Madoba-2. Someone wanted to kill large numbers of people. Kit had never thought to be guilty of this.
He wondered who Nigel's customer represented: Japanese fanatics, Muslim fundamentalists, an IRA splinter group, suicidal Palestinians, or a group of paranoid Americans with high-powered rifles living in remote mountain cabins in Montana. It hardly mattered. Whoever got the virus would use it, and crowds of people would die bleeding from their eyes.
But what could he do? If he tried to abort the heist and take the virus samples back to the lab, Nigel would kill him, or let Daisy do it. He thought of opening the van door and jumping out. It was going slowly enough. He might disappear into the blizzard before they could catch him. But then they would still have the virus, and he would still owe Harry a quarter of a million pounds.
He had to see this through to the end. Maybe, when it was all over, he could send an anonymous message to the police, naming Nigel and Daisy, and hope that the virus could be traced before it was used. Or maybe he would be wiser to stick to his plan and vanish. No one would want to start a plague in Lucca.
Maybe the virus would be released on his plane to Italy, and he would pay the penalty himself. There would be justice.
Peering ahead through the snowstorm, he saw an illuminated sign that read "Motel." Elton turned off the road. There was a light over the door, and eight or nine cars in the car park. The place was open. Kit wondered who would spend Christmas at a motel. Hindus, perhaps, and stranded businessmen, and illicit lovers.
Elton pulled up next to a Vauxhall Astra station wagon. "The idea was to ditch the van here," he said. "It's too easily identifiable. We're supposed to go back to the airstrip in that Astra. But I don't know if we're going to make it."
From the back, Daisy said, "You stupid prick, why didn't you bring a Land Rover?"
"Because the Astra is one of the most popular and least noticeable cars in Britain, and the forecast said no snow, you ugly cow."
"Knock it off, you two," Nigel said calmly. He pulled off his wig and glasses. "Take off your disguises. We don't know how soon those guards will be giving descriptions to the police."
The others followed suit.
Elton said, "We could stay here, take rooms, wait it out."
"Dangerous," Nigel replied. "We're only a few miles from the lab."
"If we can't move, the police can't either. As soon as the weather eases, we take off."
"We have an appointment to meet our customer."
"He's not going to fly his helicopter in this muck."
"True."
Kit's mobile rang. He checked his laptop. It was a regular call, not one diverted from the Kremlin system. He picked it up. "Yeah?"
"It's me." Kit recognized the voice of Hamish McKinnon. "I'm on my mobile, I've got to be quick, while Willie's in the toilet."
"What's happening?"
"She arrived just after you left." 1 saw the car.
"She found the other guards tied up and called the police."
"Can they get there, in this weather?"
"They said they'd try. She just came up to the gatehouse and told us to expect them. When they'll get here- Sorry, gotta go." He hung up.
Kit pocketed his phone. "Toni Gallo has found the guards," he announced. "She's called the police, and they're on their way."
"That settles it," Nigel said. "Let's get in the Astra."
AS Craig slipped his hand under the hem of Sophie's sweater, he heard steps. He broke the clinch and looked around.
His sister was coming down from the hayloft in her nightdress. "I feel a bit strange," she said, and crossed the room to the bathroom.
Thwarted, Craig turned his attention to the film on TV. The old witch, transformed into a beautiful girl, was seducing a handsome knight.
Caroline emerged, saying, "That bathroom smells of puke." She climbed the ladder and went back to bed.
"No privacy here," Sophie said in a low voice.
"Like trying to make love in Glasgow Central Station," Craig said, but he kissed her again. This time, she opened her lips and her tongue met his. He was so pleased that he moaned with delight.
He put his hand all the way up inside her sweater and felt her breast. It was small and warm. She was wearing a thin cotton bra. He squeezed gently, and she gave an involuntary groan of pleasure.
Tom's voice piped: "Will you two stop grunting? I can't sleep!"
They stopped kissing. Craig took his hand out from under her sweater. He was ready to explode with frustration. "I'm sorry about this," he murmured.
Sophie said, "Why don't we go somewhere else?"
"Like, where?"
"How about that attic you showed me earlier?"
Craig was thrilled. They would be completely alone, and no one would disturb them. "Brilliant," he said, and he stood up.
They put on coats and boots, and Sophie pulled on a pink woolly hat with a bobble. It made her look cute and innocent. "A bundle of joy," Craig said.
"What is?"
"You are."
She smiled. Earlier, she would have called him "so boring" for saying something like that. Their relationship had changed. Maybe it was the vodka. But Craig thought the turning point had come in the bathroom, when they had dealt with Tom together. Perhaps Tom, by being a helpless child, had forced them to act like adults. After that, it was hard to revert to being sulky and cool.
Craig would never have guessed that the way to a girl's heart might be cleaning up puke.
He opened the barn door. A cold wind blew a flurry of snow over them like confetti. Craig stepped out quickly, held the door for Sophie, then closed it.
Steepfall looked impossibly romantic. Snow covered the steeply sloping roof, lay in great mounds on the windowsills, and filled the courtyard to the depth of a foot. The lanterns on the surrounding walls had halos of golden light filled with dancing snowflakes. Snow encrusted a wheelbarrow, a stack of firewood, and a garden hose, transforming them into ice sculptures.
Sophie's eyes were wide. "It's a Christmas card," she said.
Craig took her hand. They crossed the courtyard with high steps, like wading birds. They rounded the corner of the house and came to the back door. Craig brushed a layer of snow off the top of a trash can. He stood on it and heaved himself up onto the low roof of the boot lobby.
He looked back. Sophie was hesitating. "Here!" he hissed. He held out his hand.
She grasped it and pulled herself up onto the can. With his other hand, Craig grabbed the edge of the sloping roof, to steady himself, then helped her up beside him. For a moment they lay side by side in the snow, like lovers in bed. Then Craig got to his feet.
He stepped onto the ledge that ran below the loft door, kicked off most of the snow, and opened the big door. Then he returned to Sophie.
She got to her hands and knees but, when she tried to stand, her rubber boots slipped and she fell. She looked scared.
"Hold on to me," Craig said, and pulled her to her feet. What they were doing was not very dangerous, and she was making more of it than she should, but he did not mind, for it gave him a chance to be strong and protective.
Still holding her hand, Craig stood on the ledge. She stepped up beside him and grabbed him around the waist. He would have liked to linger there, with her clinging to him so hard; but he went on, walking sideways along the ledge to the open door, then helped her inside.
He closed the door behind them and turned on the light. This was perfect, Craig thought excitedly. They were alone, in the middle of the night, and nobody would come in to disturb them. They could do anything they liked.
He lay down and looked through the hole in the floor into the kitchen. A single light burned over the door to the boot room. Nellie lay in front of the Aga, head up, ears cocked, listening: she knew he was there. "Go back to sleep," he murmured. Whether she heard him or not, the dog put her head down and closed her eyes.
Sophie was sitting on the old couch, shivering. "My feet are freezing."
"You've got snow in your boots." He knelt in front of her and pulled her Wellingtons off. Her socks were soaked. He took those off, too. Her small white feet felt as if they had been in the fridge. He tried to warm them with his hands. Then, inspired, he unbuttoned his coat, lifted his sweater, and pressed the soles of her feet to his bare chest.
She said, "Oh, my God, that feels so good."
She had often said that to him in his fantasies, he reflected; but not in quite the same circumstances.
TONI sat in the control room, watching the monitors.
Steve and the guards had related everything that had happened, from when the "repair crew" entered the Great Hall up to the moment that two of them emerged from the BSL4 lab, passed through the little lobby, and vanished-one carrying a slim burgundy leather briefcase. Don had told her, while Steve gave him first aid, how one of the men had tried to stop the violence. The words he had shouted were burned into Toni's brain: If you want to be empty-handed when we meet the client at ten, just carry on the way you are.
Clearly, they had come here to steal something from the laboratory, and they had taken it away in that briefcase. Toni had a dreadful feeling she knew what it was.
She was running the BSL4 footage from 12:55 to 1:15. Although the monitors had not shown these images at the time, the computer had stored them. Now she was watching two men inside the lab, wearing biohazard suits.
She gasped when she saw one of them open the door to the little room that contained the vault. He tapped numbers into the keypad-he knew the code! He opened the fridge door, then the other man began to remove samples.
Toni froze the playback.
The camera was placed above the door, and looked over the man’s shoulder into the refrigerator. His hands were full of small white boxes. Toni's fingers played over the keyboard, and the black-and-white picture on the monitor was enlarged. She could see the international biohazard symbol on the boxes. He was stealing virus samples. She zoomed in further and ran the image-enhancement program. Slowly, the words on one of the boxes became clear: "Madoba-2."
It was what she had feared, but the confirmation hit her like the cold wind of death. She sat staring at the screen, frozen with dread, her heart sounding in her chest like a funeral bell. Madoba-2 was the most deadly virus imaginable, an infectious agent so terrible that it had to be guarded by multiple layers of security and touched only by highly trained staff in isolation clothing. And it was now in the hånds of a gang of thieves who were carrying it around in a damn briefcase.
Their car might crash; they could panic and throw the briefcase away; the virus might fall into the possession of people who did not know what it was-the risks were horrendous. And even if they did not release it by accident, their "client" would do so deliberately. Someone was planning to use the virus to murder people in hundreds and thousands, perhaps to cause a plague that might mow down entire populations.
And they had obtained the murder weapon from her.
In despair, she restarted the footage, and watched with horror while one of the intruders emptied the contents of the vials into a perfume spray marked "Diablerie." That was obviously the delivery mechanism. The ordinary-looking perfume bottle was now a weapon of mass destruction. She watched him carefully double-bag it and place it in the briefcase, bedded in polystyrene packing chips.
She had seen enough. She knew what needed to be done. The police had to gear up for a massive operation-and fast. If they moved quickly, they could still catch the thieves before the virus was handed over to the buyer.
She returned the monitors to their default position and left the control room.
The security guards were in the Great Hall, sitting on the couches normally reserved for visitors, drinking tea, thinking the crisis was over. Toni decided to take a few seconds to regain control. "We have important work to do," she said briskly. "Stu, go to the control room and resume your duties, please. Steve, get behind the desk. Don, stay where you are." Don had a makeshift dressing over the cut on his forehead.
Susan Mackintosh, who had been blackjacked, was lying on a couch used by waiting visitors. The blood had been washed from her face but she was severely bruised. Toni knelt beside her and kissed her forehead. "Poor you," she said. "How do you feel?"
"Pretty groggy."
"I'm so sorry this happened."
Susan smiled weakly. "It was worth it for the kiss."
Toni patted her shoulder. "You're recovering already."
Her mother was sitting next to Don. "That nice boy Steven made me a cup of tea," she said. The puppy sat on spread-out newspaper at her feet. She fed it a piece of biscuit.
"Thanks, Steve," Toni said.
Mother said, "He'd make a nice boyfriend for you."
"He's married," Toni replied.
"That doesn't seem to make much difference, nowadays."
"It does to me." Toni turned to Steve. "Where's Carl Osborne?"
"Men's room."
Toni nodded and took out her phone. It was time to call the police.
She recalled what Steve Tremlett had told her about the duty staff at Inverburn regional headquarters tonight: an inspector, two sergeants, and six constables, plus a superintendent on call. It was nowhere near enough to deal with a crisis of this magnitude. She knew what she would do, if she were in charge. She would call in twenty or thirty officers. She would commandeer snowplows, set up roadblocks, and ready a squad of armed officers to make the arrest. And she would do it fast.
She felt invigorated. The horror of what had happened began to fade from her mind as she concentrated on what had to be done. Action always bucked her up, and police work was the best sort of action.
She got David Reid again. When she identified herself, he said, "We sent you a car, but they turned back. The weather-"
She was horrified. She had thought a police car was on its way. "Are you serious?" she said, raising her voice.
"Have you looked at the roads? There are abandoned cars everywhere. No point in a patrol getting stuck in the snow."
"Christ! What kind of wimps are the police recruiting nowadays?"
"There's no need for that kind of talk, madam."
Toni got herself under control. "You're right, I'm sorry." She recalled, from her training, that when the police response to a crisis went badly amiss, it was often due to wrong identification of the hazard in the first few minutes, when someone inexperienced like P.C. Reid was dealing with the initial report. Her first task was to make sure he had the key information to pass to his superior. "Here's the situation. One: the thieves stole a significant quantity of a virus called Madoba-2 which is lethal to humans, so this is a biohazard emergency."
"Biohazard," he said, obviously writing it down.
"Two: the perpetrators are three men-two white and one black- and a white woman. They're driving a van marked 'Hibernian Telecom.'"
"Can you give me fuller descriptions?"
"I'll get the guard supervisor to call you with that information in a minute-he saw them, I didn't. Three: we have two injured people here, one who has been coshed and the other kicked in the head."
"How serious would you say the injuries are?"
She thought she had already told him that, but he seemed to be asking questions from a list. "The guard who has been coshed should see a doctor."
"Right."
"Four: the intruders were armed."
"What sort of weapons?"
Toni turned to Steve, who was a gun buff. "Did you get a look at their firearms?"
Steve nodded. "Nine-millimeter Browning automatic pistols, all three of them-the kind that take a thirteen-round magazine. They looked like ex-army stock to me." Toni repeated the description to Reid.
"Armed robbery, then," he said.
"Yes-but the important thing is that they can't be far away, and that van is easy to identify. If we move quickly, we can catch them."
"Nobody can move quickly tonight."
"Obviously you need snowplows."
"The police force doesn't have snowplows."
"There must be several in the area; we have to clear the roads most winters."
"Clearing snow from roads is not a police function; it's a local authority responsibility."
Toni was ready to scream with frustration, but she bit her tongue. "Is Frank Hackett there?"
"Superintendent Hackett is not available."
She knew that Frank was on call-Steve had told her. "If you won't wake him up, I will," she said. She broke the connection and dialed his home number. He was a conscientious officer; he would be sleeping by the phone.
He picked it up. "Hackett."
"Toni. Oxenford Medical has been robbed of a quantity of Madoba-2, the virus that killed Michael Ross."
"How did you let that happen?"
It was the question she was asking herself, but it stung when it came from him. She retorted, "If you're so smart, figure out how to catch the thieves before they get away."
"Didn't we send a car out to you an hour ago?"
"It never got here. Your tough coppers saw the snow and got scared."
"Well, if we're stuck, so are our suspects."
"You're not stuck, Frank. You can get here with a snowplow."
"I don't have a snowplow."
"The local council has several-phone them up."
There was a long pause. "I don't think so," he said at last.
Toni could have killed him. Frank enjoyed using his authority negatively. It made him feel powerful. He especially liked defying her-she had always been too assertive for him. How had she lived with him for so long? She curbed the retort that was on the tip of her tongue and said, "What's your thinking, Frank?"
"I can't send unarmed men chasing after a gang with guns. We'll need to assemble our firearms-trained officers, take them to the armory, and get them kitted out with Kevlar vests, guns, and ammunition. That's going to take a couple of hours."
"Meanwhile the thieves are getting away with a virus that could kill thousands!"
"I'll put out an alert for the van."
"They might switch cars. They could have an off-road Jeep parked somewhere."
"They still won't get far."
"What if they have a helicopter?"
"Toni, curb your imagination. There are no thieves with helicopters in Scotland."
These were not local hooligans running off with jewelry or banknotes-but Frank had never really understood biohazards. "Frank, use your imagination. These people want to start a plague!"
"Don't tell me how to do the job. You're not a cop anymore."
"Frank-" She stopped. He had broken the connection. "Frank, you're a dumb bastard," she said into the dead phone, then she hung up.
Had he always been this bad? It seemed to her that when they were living together he was more reasonable. Perhaps she had been a good influence on him. He had certainly been willing to learn from her. She recalled the case of Dick Buchan, a multiple rapist who had refused to tell Frank where the bodies were despite hours of intimidation, shouting, and threats of violence. Toni talked quietly to him about his mother and broke him in twenty minutes. After that, Frank had asked her advice about every major interrogation. But since they split up, he seemed to have regressed.
She frowned at her phone, racking her brains. How was she going to put a bomb under Frank? She had something over him-the Farmer Johnny Kirk story. If the worse came to the worst, she could use that to blackmail him. But first there was one more call she could try. She scrolled through the memory of her mobile and found the home number of Odette Cressy, her friend at Scotland Yard.
The phone was answered after a long wait. "This is Toni," she said. "I'm sorry to wake you."
Odette spoke to someone else. "Sorry, sweetheart, it's work."
Toni was surprised. "I didn't expect you to be with someone."
"It's just Santa Claus. What's new?"
Toni told her.
Odette said, "Jesus Christ, this is what we were afraid of."
"I can't believe I let it happen."
"Is there anything that might give us a hint about when and how they plan to use it?"
"Two things," Toni said. "One: they didn't just steal the stuff-they poured it into a perfume sprayer. It's ready to use. The virus can be released in any crowded place-at a cinema, on a plane, in Harrods. No one would know it was happening."
"A perfume spray?"
"Diablerie."
"Well done-at least we know what we're looking for. What else?"
"A guard heard them talk about meeting the client at ten."
"At ten. They're working fast."
"Exactly. If they deliver the stuff to their customer by ten o'clock this morning, it could be in London tonight. They could release it in the Albert Hall tomorrow."
"Good work, Toni. My God, I wish you'd never left the police."
Toni began to feel more cheerful. "Thanks."
"Anything else?"
"They turned north when they left here-I saw their van. But there's a blizzard, and the roads are becoming impassable. So they probably aren't far from where I'm standing."
"That means we have a chance of catching them before they deliver the goods."
"Yes-but I haven't been able to persuade the local police of the urgency."
"Leave that to me. Terrorism comes under the Cabinet Office. Your hometown boys are about to get a phone call from Number Ten Downing Street. What do you need-helicopters? HMS Gannet is an hour away from you."
"Put them on standby. I don't think helicopters can fly in this blizzard and, if they could, the crew wouldn't be able to see what's on the ground. What I need is a snowplow. They should clear the road from Inverburn to here, and the police should make this their base. Then they can start looking for the fugitives."
"I'll make sure it happens. Keep calling me, okay?"
"Thanks, Odette." Toni hung up.
She turned around. Carl Osborne stood immediately behind her, making notes.
ELTON drove the Vauxhall Astra station wagon slowly, plowing through more than a foot of soft, fresh snow. Nigel sat beside him, clutching the burgundy leather briefcase with its deadly contents. Kit was in the back with Daisy. He kept glancing over Nigel's shoulder at the briefcase, imagining a car crash in which the briefcase was crushed and the bottle smashed, and the liquid was sprayed into the air like poisoned champagne ro kill them all.
He was maddened with impatience as their speed dropped to bicycle pace. He wanted to get to the airfield as fast as possible and put the briefcase in a safe place. Every minute they spent on the open road was dangerous.
But he was not sure they would get there. After leaving the car park of the Dew Drop Inn, they had not seen another moving vehicle. Every mile or so, they passed an abandoned car or truck, some at the side of the road and some right in the middle. One was a police Range Rover on its side.
Suddenly a man stepped into the headlights, waving frantically. He wore a business suit and tie, and had no coat or hat. Elton glanced at Nigel, who murmured, "Don't even dream of stopping." Elton drove straight at the man, who dived out of the way at the last moment. As they swcpt by, Kit glimpsed a woman in a cocktail dress, hugging a thin shawl around her shoulders, standing beside a big Bentley, looking desperate.
They passed the turning for Steepfall, and Kit wished he were a boy again, lying in bed at his father's house, knowing nothing about viruses or computers or the odds at blackjack.
The snow became so heavy that little was visible through the windshieid but whiteness. Elton was almost blind, steering by guesswork, optimism, and glances out of the side windows. Their speed dropped to the pace of a run, then a brisk walk. Kit longed for a more suitable car. In his father's Toyota Land Cruiser Amazon, parked only a tantalizing couple of miles from where they were right now, they would have had a better chance.
On a hill, the tires began to slip in the snow. The car gradually lost forward momentum. It came to a stop and then, to Kit's horror, began to slide back. Elton tried braking, but that only made the skid faster. He turned the steering wheel. The back swerved left. Elton spun the wheel in the opposite direction, and the car came to rest slewed at an angle across the road.
Nigel cursed.
Daisy leaned forward and said to Elton, "What did you do that for, you pillock?"
Elton said, "Get out and push, Daisy."
"Screw you."
"I mean it," he said. "The brow of the hill is only a few yards away. I could make it, if someone would give the car a push."
Nigel said, "We'll all push."
Nigel, Daisy, and Kit got out. The cold was bitter, and the snowflakes stung Kit's eyes. They got behind the car and leaned on it. Only Daisy had gloves. The metal was bitingly cold on Kit's bare hands. Elton let the clutch out slowly, and they took the strain. Kit's feet were soaking wet in seconds. But the tires bit. Elton pulled away from them and drove to the top of the hill.
They trudged up the slope, slipping in the snow, panting with the effort, shivering. Were they going to do this on every hill for the next ten miles?
The same thought had occurred to Nigel. When they got back into the car, he said to Elton, "Is this car going to get us there?"
"We might be all right on this road," Elton said. "But there's three or four miles of country lane before you get to the airfield."
Kit made up his mind. He said, "I know where there's a sport-utility vehicle with four-wheel drive-a Toyota Land Cruiser."
Daisy said, "We could get stuck in that-remember the police Range Rover we passed?"
Nigel said, "It has to be better than an Astra. Where is this car?"
"At my father's house. To be exact, it's in his garage, the door to which is not quite visible from the house."
"How far?"
"A mile back along this road, then another mile down a side turning."
"What are you suggesting?"
"We park in the woods near the house, borrow the Land Cruiser, and drive to the airfield. Afterwards, Elton brings the Land Cruiser back and takes the Astra."
"By then it will be daylight. What if someone sees him putting the car back in your father's garage?"
"I don't know, I'll have to make up a story, but it can't be worse than getting stuck here."
Nigel said, "Has anyone got a better idea?"
No one did.
Elton turned the car around and went back down the hill in low gear. After a few minutes, Kit said, "Take that side road."
Elton pulled up. "No way," he said. "Look at the snow down that lane-it's eighteen inches thick, and there's been no traffic on it for hours. We won't get fifty yards."
Kit had the panicky feeling he got when losing at blackjack, that a higher power was dealing him all the wrong cards.
Nigel said, "How far are we from your father's house?"
"A bit-" Kit swallowed. "A bit less than a mile."
Daisy said, "It's a long way in this fucking weather."
"The alternative," Nigel said, "is to wait here until a vehicle comes along then hijack it."
"We'll wait a bloody long time," Elton said. "We haven't seen a moving car on this road since we left the laboratory."
Kit said, "You three could wait here while I go and get the Land Cruiser."
Nigel shook his head. "Something might happen to you. You could get stuck in the snow, and we wouldn't be able to find you. Better to stay together."
There was another reason, Kit guessed: Nigel did not trust Kit alone. He probably feared that Kit might have second thoughts and call the police. Nothing was further from Kit's mind-but Nigel might not feel sure of that.
There was a long silence. They sat still, reluctant to leave the warmth that blasted from the car's heater. Then Elton turned off the engine and they got out.
Nigel held on tightly to the briefcase. That was the reason they were all going through this. Kit was carrying his laptop. He might still need to intercept calls to and from the Kremlin. Elton found a flashlight in the glove compartment and gave it to Kit. "You're leading the way," he said.
Without further discussion, Kit headed off, plowing through snow up to his knees. He heard grunts and curses from the others, but he did not look back. They would keep up with him or get left behind.
It was painfully cold. None of them was dressed for this. They had expected to be indoors or in cars. Nigel had a sports jacket, Elton a raincoat, and Daisy a leather jacket. Kit was the most warmly dressed, in his Puffa jacket. Kit wore Timberlands and Daisy had motorcycle boots, but Nigel and Elton wore ordinary shoes.
Soon Kit was shivering. His hands hurt, though he tried to keep them stuffed in his coat pockets. The snow soaked his jeans up to the knees and melted into his boots. His ears and his nose seemed frozen.
The familiar lane, along which he had walked and bicycled a thousand times in his boyhood, was buried out of sight, and he quickly began to feel confused about where he was. This was Scottish moorland, and no hedge or wall marked the edge of the road, as it would have in other parts of Britain. The land on either side was uncultivated, and no one had ever seen any reason to fence it off.
He felt he might have veered from the road. He stopped, and with his bare hands dug down into the snow.
"What now?" Nigel said bad-temperedly.
"Just a minute." Kit found frozen turf. That meant he had strayed from the paved road. But which way? He blew on his icy hands, trying to warm them. The land to his right seemed to slope up. He guessed the road was that way. He trudged a few yards in that direction, then dug down again. This time he found tarmac. "This way," he said with more confidence than he felt.
In time, the melted snow that had soaked his jeans and socks began to freeze again, so that he had ice next to his skin. When they had been walking for half an hour, he had a feeling he was going around in a circle. His sense of direction failed. On a normal night, the lights outside the house should have been visible in the distance, but tonight nothing shone through the snowfall to give him a beacon. There was no sound or smell of the sea: it might have been fifty miles away. He realized that if they got lost they would die of exposure. He felt truly frightened.
The others followed him in exhausted silence. Even Daisy stopped bitching. They were breathless and shivering, and had no energy to complain.
At last Kit sensed a deeper darkness around him. The snow seemed to fall less heavily. He almost bumped into the thick trunk of a big tree. He had reached the woods near the house. He felt so relieved that he wanted to kneel down and give thanks. From this point on, he could find the way.
As he followed the winding track through the trees, he could hear someone's teeth chattering like a drumroll. He hoped it was Daisy.
He had lost all feeling in his fingers and toes, but he could still move his legs. The snow was not quite so thick on the ground, here in the shclter of the trees, and he was able to walk faster. A faint glow ahead told him he was approaching the lights of the house. At last he emerged from the woods. He headed for the light and came to the garage. I he big doors were closed, but there was a side door that was never locked. Kit found it and went inside. The other three followed. "Thank God," Elton said grimly. "I thought I was going to die in sodding Scotland."
Kit shone his flashlight. Here was his father's blue Ferrari, voluptuously curved, parked very close to the wall. Next to it was Luke's dirty white Ford Mondeo. That was surprising: Luke normally drove himself and Lori home in it at the end of the evening. Had they stayed the night, or…?
He shone his flashlight at the far end of the garage, where the Toyota Land Cruiser Amazon was usually parked.
The bay was empty.
Kit felt like crying.
He realized immediately what had happened. Luke and Lori lived in a cottage at the end of a rough road more than a mile away. Because of the weather, Stanley had let them take the four-wheel drive car. They had left behind the Ford, which was no better in the snow than the Astra.
"Oh, shit," said Kit.
Nigel said, "Where's the Toyota?"
"It's not here," Kit said. "Jesus Christ, now we're in trouble."
CARL OSBORNE was speaking into his mobile phone. "Is anyone on the news desk yet? Good-put me through."
Toni crossed the Great Hall to where Carl sat. "Wait, please."
He put his hand over the phone. "What?"
"Please hang up and listen to me. Just for a moment."
He said into the phone: "Get ready to do a voice record-I'll get back to you in a couple of minutes." He pressed the hang-up button and looked expectantly at Toni.
She felt desperate. Carl could do untold damage with a scaremongering report. She hated to plead, but she had to try to stop him. "This could finish me," she said. "I let Michael Ross steal a rabbit, and now I've allowed a gang to get away with samples of the virus itself."
"Sorry, Toni, but it's a tough old world."
"This could ruin the company, too," she persisted. She was being more candid than she liked, but she had to do it. "Bad publicity might frighten our… investors."
Carl did not miss a trick. "You mean the Americans."
"It doesn't matter who. The point is that the company could be destroyed." And so could Stanley, she thought, but she did not say it. She was trying to sound reasonable and unemotional, but her voice was close to cracking. "They don't deserve it!"
"You mean your beloved Professor Oxcnford doesn't deserve it."
"All he's doing is trying to find cures for human illnesses, for Christ's sake!"
"And make money at the same time."
"As you do, when you bring the truth to the Scottish television audience."
He stared at her, not sure if she was being sarcastic. Then he shook his head. "A story is a story. Besides, it's sure to come out. If I don't do it, someone else will."
"I know." She looked out of the windows of the Great Hall. The weather showed no sign of easing. At best, there might be some improvement with daylight. "Just give me three hours," she said. "File at seven."
"What difference will that make?"
Possibly none at all, she thought, but it was her only chance. "Maybe by then we'll be able to say that the police have caught the gang, or at least that they're on the trail and expect to arrest them at any moment." Perhaps the company, and Stanley, could survive the crisis if it were resolved quickly.
"No deal. Someone else could get the story in the meantime. As soon as the police know, it's out there. I can't take that risk." He dialed.
Toni stared at him. The truth was bad enough. Seen through the distorting lens of tabloid television, the story would be catastrophic.
"Record this," Carl said into his mobile. "You can run it with a still photo of me holding a phone. Ready?"
Toni wanted to kill him.
"I'm speaking from the premises of Oxenford Medical, where the second biosecurity incident in two days has hit this Scottish pharmaceutical company."
Could she stop him? She had to try. She looked around. Steve was behind the desk. Susan was lying down, looking pale, but Don was upright. Her mother was asleep. So was the puppy. She had two men to help her.
"Excuse me," she said to Carl.
He tried to ignore her. "Samples of a deadly virus, Madoba-2-"
Toni put her hand over his phone. "I'm sorry, you can't use that here."
He turned away and tried to continue. "Samples of a deadly-"
She crowded him and again put her hand between his phone and his mouth. "Steve! Don! Over here, now!"
Carl said into the phone, "They're trying to stop me filing a report, are you recording this?"
Toni spoke loud enough for the phone to pick up her words. "Mobile phones may interfere with delicate electronic equipment operating in the laboratories, so they may not be used here." It was untrue, but it would serve as a pretext. "Please turn it off."
He held it away from her and said loudly, "Get off me!"
Toni nodded at Steve, who snatched the phone from Carl's hand and turned it off.
"You can't do this!" Carl said.
"Of course I can. You're a visitor here, and I'm in charge of security."
"Bullshit-security has nothing to do with it."
"Say what you like, I make the rules."
"Then I'll go outside."
"You'll freeze to death."
"You can't stop me leaving."
Toni shrugged. "True. But I'm not giving you back your phone."
"You're stealing it."
"Confiscating it for security reasons. We'll mail it to you."
"I'll find a pay phone."
"Good luck." There was not a public phone within five miles.
Carl pulled on his coat and went out. Toni and Steve watched him through the windows. He got into his car and started the engine. He got out again and scraped several inches of snow off the windshield. The wipers began to operate. Carl got in and pulled away.
Steve said, "He left the dog behind."
The snowfall had eased a little. Toni cursed under her breath. Surely the weather was not going to improve just at the wrong moment?
A mound of snow grew in front of the Jaguar as it climbed the rise. A hundred yards from the gate, it stopped.
Steve smiled. "I didn't think he'd get far."
The car's interior light came on. Toni frowned, worried.
Steve said, "Maybe he's going to sulk out there, engine turning over, heater on full blast, until he runs out of petrol."
Toni peered through the snowstorm, trying to see better.
"What's he doing?" Steve said. "Looks like he's talking to himself."
Toni realized what was happening, and her heart sank. "Shit," she said. "He is talking-but not to himself."
"What?"
"He has another phone in the car. He's a reporter, he has backup equipment. Hell, I never thought of that."
"Shall I run out there and stop him?"
"Too late now. By the time you get there, he'll have said enough. Damn." Nothing was going right. She felt like giving up, walking away and finding a darkened room and lying down and closing her eyes. But instead she pulled herself together. "When he comes back in, just sneak outside and see whether he's left the keys in the ignition. If he has, take them-then at least he won't be able to phone again."
"Okay."
Her mobile rang and she picked up. "Toni Gallo."
"This is Odette." She sounded shaken.
"What's happened?"
"Fresh intelligence. A terrorist group called Scimitar has been actively shopping for Madoba-2."
"Scimitar? An Arab group?"
"Sounds like it, though we're not sure-the name might be intentionally misleading. But we think your thieves are working for them."
"My God. Do you know anything else?"
"They aim to release it tomorrow, Boxing Day, at a major public location somewhere in Britain."
Toni gasped. She and Odette had speculated that this might be so, but the confirmation was shocking. People stayed at home on Christmas Day then went out on Boxing Day. All over Britain, families would go to soccer matches, horse races, cinemas and theaters and bowling alleys. Many would catch flights to ski resorts and Caribbean beaches. The opportunities were endless. "But where?" Toni said. "What event?"
"We don't know. So we have to stop these thieves. The local police are on their way to you with a snowplow."
"That's great!" Toni's spirits lifted. If the thieves could be caught, everything would change. Not only would the virus be recaptured and the danger averted, but Oxenford Medical would not look so bad in the press, and Stanley would be saved.
Odette went on: "I've also alerted your neighboring police forces, plus Glasgow; but Inverburn is where the action will be, I think. The guy in charge there is called Frank Hackett. The name rang a bell-he's not your ex, is he?"
"Yes. That was part of the problem. He likes to say no to me."
"Well, you'll find him a chastened man. He's had a phone call from the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. Sounds comical, doesn't it, but he's in charge of the Cabinet Office briefing room, which we call COBRA. In other words, he's the antiterrorism supremo. Your ex must have jumped out of his bed as if it was on fire."
"Don't waste your sympathy, he doesn't deserve it."
"Since then, he's heard from my boss, another life-enhancing experience. The poor sod is on his way to you with a snowplow."
"I'd rather have the snowplow without Frank."
"He's had a hard time, be nice to him."
"Yeah, right," said Toni.
DAISY was shivering so much she could hardly hold the ladder. Elton climbed the rungs, grasping a pair of garden shears in one frozen hand. The exterior lamps shone through the filter of falling snow. Kit watched from the garage door, his teeth chattering. Nigel was in the garage, arms wrapped around the burgundy leather briefcase.
The ladder was propped up against the side of Steepfall. Telephone wires emerged at the corner of the house and ran at roof height to the garage. From there, Kit knew, they connected with an underground pipe that ran to the main road. Severing the cables here would cut off the entire property from telephone contact. It was just a precaution, but Nigel had insisted, and Kit had found ladder and shears in the garage.
Kit felt as if he were in a nightmare. He had known that tonight's work would be dangerous, but in his worst moments he had never anticipated that he would be standing outside his family home while a gangster cut the phone lines and a master thief clutched a case containing a virus that could kill them all.
Elton took his left hand off the ladder, balancing cautiously, and held the shears in both hands. He leaned forward, caught a cable between the blades, pressed the handles together, and dropped the shears.
They landed points-down in the snow six inches from Daisy, who let out a yell of shock.
"Hush!" Kit said in a stage whisper.
"He could have killed me!" Daisy protested.
"You'll wake everyone!"
Elton came down the ladder, retrieved the shears, and climbed up again.
They had to go to Luke and Lori's cottage and take the Toyota Land Cruiser, but Kit knew they could not go immediately. They were nearly falling down with exhaustion. Worse, Bat was not sure he could find Luke's place. He had almost lost his way looking for Steepfall. The snow was falling as hard as ever. If they tried to go on now, they would get lost or die of exposure or both. They had to wait until the blizzard eased, or until daylight gave them a better chance of finding their way. And, to make absolutely sure no one could find out that they were here, they were cutting off the phones.
This time, Elton succeeded in snipping the lines. As he came down the ladder, Kit picked up the loose cable ends, twisted them into a bundle, and draped them against the garage wall where they were less conspicuous.
Elton carried the ladder into the garage and dropped it. It clanged on the concrete floor. "Try not to make so much noise!" Kit said.
Nigel looked around the bare stone walls of the converted stable. "We can't stay here."
Kit said, "Better in here than out there."
"We're cold and wet and there's no heat. We could die."
Elton said, "Bloody right."
"We'll run the engines of the cars," Kit said. "That will warm the place."
"Don't be stupid," Elton said. "The fumes will kill us long before the heat warms us."
"We could drive the Ford outside and sit in it."
Daisy said, "Fuck that. I want a cup of tea and hot food and a dram. I'm going in the house."
"No!" The thought of these three in his family home filled Kit with horror. It would be like taking mad dogs home. And what about the briefcase with its virulent contents? How could he let them carry that into the kitchen?
Elton said, "I'm with her. Let's go into the house."
Kit wished bitterly that he had not told them how to cut off the phones. "But how would I explain you?"
"They'll all be asleep."
"And if it's still snowing when they get up?"
Nigel said, "Here's what you say. You don't know us. You met us on the road. Our car is stuck in a snowdrift a couple of miles away. You took pity on us and brought us back here."
"They aren't supposed to know I've left the house!"
"Say you went out for a drink."
Elton said, "Or to meet a girl."
Daisy said, "How old are you, anyway? You need to ask Daddy before you can go out at night?"
It infuriated Kit to be condescended to by a thug like Daisy. "It's a question of what they'll believe, you brain-dead gorgon. Who would be daft enough to go out in a snowstorm and drive miles for a drink, when there's plenty of booze in the house anyway?"
She retorted, "Someone daft enough to lose a quarter of a million pounds at blackjack."
"You'll think of a plausible story, Kit," said Nigel. "Let's get inside, before our fucking feet drop off."
"You left your disguises in the van. My family will see your real faces."
"It doesn't matter. We're just unfortunate stranded motorists. There'll be hundreds like us, it will be on the news. Your family won't connect us with the people who robbed the laboratory."
"I don't like it," Kit said. He was scared of defying these three criminals, but desperate enough to do it. "I'm not taking you into the house."
"We're not asking your permission," Nigel said contemptuously. "If you don't show us the way, we'll find it ourselves."
What they did not understand, Kit thought despairingly, was that his family were all very smart. Nigel, Elton, and Daisy would have difficulty fooling them. "You don't look like a group of innocent people who got stranded."
"What do you mean?" Nigel said.
"You're not the average Scots family," Kit told him. "You're a Londoner, Elton's black, and Daisy's a bloody psychopath. My sisters may notice that."
"We'll just be polite and not say much."
"Say nothing at all would be the best plan. Any rough stuff and the game will be up."
"Of course. We want them to think we're harmless."
"Especially Daisy." Kit turned to her. "You keep your hands to yourself."
Nigel backed Kit. "Yeah, Daisy, try not to give the bloody game away. Act like a girl, just for a couple of hours, okay?"
She said, "Yeah, yeah," and turned away.
Kit realized that at some point in the argument he had given in. "Shit," he said. "Just remember that you need me to show you where the Land Cruiser is. If any harm comes to my family, you can forget it."
With a fatalistic feeling that he was helpless to stop himself hurtling toward disaster, he led them around the house to the back door. It was unlocked, as always. As he opened it, he said, "All right, Nellie, it's me," so that the dog would not bark.
When he entered the boot lobby, warm air washed over him like a blessing. Behind him, he heard Elton say, "Oh, God, that's better."
Kit turned and hissed, "Keep your voices down, please!" He felt like a schoolteacher trying to quiet heedless children in a museum. "The longer they stay asleep, the easier it will be for us, don't you see that?" He led them through the lobby and into the kitchen. "Be nice, Nellie," he said quietly. "These are friends."
Nigel patted Nellie, and the dog wagged her tail. They took off their wet coats. Nigel stood the briefcase on the kitchen table and said, "Put the kettle on, Kit."
Kit put down his laptop and turned on the small TV set on the kitchen counter. He found a news channel, then filled the kettle.
A pretty newsreader said, "An unexpected change in the prevailing wind has brought a surprise blizzard to most of Scotland.'
Daisy said, "You can say that again."
The newsreader spoke in a seductive voice, as if inviting the viewer back to her place for a nightcap. "In some parts, more than twelve inches of snow fell in as many hours."
"I'll give you twelve inches in some parts," said Elton.
They were relaxing, Kit saw with trepidation. He felt even more tense than before.
The newsreader told of car accidents, blocked roads, and abandoned vehicles. "To hell with all that," Kit said irately. "When's it going to stop?"
"Make the tea, Kit," said Nigel.
Kit put out mugs, a sugar bowl, and a jug of milk. Nigel, Daisy, and Elton sat around the scrubbed-pine table, just like family. The kettle boiled. Kit made a pot of tea and a cafetiere of coffee.
The television picture changed, and a weather forecaster appeared in front of a chart. They all went quiet. "Tomorrow morning the blizzard will die away as quickly as it came," he said.
"Yes!" Nigel said triumphantly.
"The thaw will follow before midday."
"Be precise!" Nigel said in exasperation. "What time before midday?"
"We can still make it," Elton said. He poured tea and added milk and sugar.
Kit shared his optimism. "We should leave at first light," he said. Seeing the way ahead cheered him up.
"I hope we can," Nigel said.
Elton sipped his tea. "By the cringe, that's better. Lazarus must have felt like this when he was raised from the dead."
Daisy stood up. She opened the door to the dining room and peered into the gloom. "What room is this?"
Kit said, "Where do you think you're going?"
"I need a shot of booze in this tea." She turned on the light and went in. A moment later, she made a triumphant noise, and Kit heard her opening the cocktail cabinet.
Kit's father walked into the kitchen from the hall, wearing gray pajamas and a black cashmere dressing gown. "Good morning," he said. "What's all this?"
"Hello, Daddy," Kit said. "Let me explain."
Daisy came in from the dining room holding a full bottle of Glenmorangie in her gloved hand.
Stanley raised his eyebrows at her. "Do you want a glass of whisky?" he said.
"No, thanks," she replied. "I've got a whole bottle here."
TONI called Stanley at home as soon as she had a spare moment. There was nothing he could do, but he would want to know what was happening. And she did not want him to learn about the break-in from the news.
It was a conversation she dreaded. She had to tell him that she was responsible for a catastrophe that could ruin his life. How would he feel about her after that?
She dialed his number and got the "disconnected" tone. His phone must be out of order. Perhaps the snow had brought down the lines. She was relieved not to have to give him the dreadful news.
He did not carry a mobile, but there was a phone in his Ferrari. She dialed that and left a message. "Stanley, this is Toni. Bad news-a break-in at the lab. Please call my mobile as soon as you can." He might not get the message until it was too late, but at least she had tried.
She stared impatiently out of the windows of the Great Hall. Where were the police with their snowplow? They would be coming from the south, from Inverburn, on the main road. She guessed that the plow traveled at about fifteen miles per hour, depending on the depth of snow it had to clear. The trip should take twenty or thirty minutes. It should be here by now. Come on, come on!
She hoped it would leave here almost immediately, and get on the northward track of the Hibernian Telecom van. The van would be easy to spot, with the name in large white letters on a dark background.
But the thieves might have thought of that, she realized suddenly. They had probably planned to switch vehicles soon after leaving the Kremlin. That was how she would have done it. She would have picked a nondescript car, something like a Ford Fiesta that looked like a dozen other models, and left it in a car park, outside a supermarket or a railway station. The thieves would drive straight to the car park and be in a completely different vehicle a few minutes after leaving the scene of the crime.
The thought dismayed her. How then would the police identify the thieves? They would have to check every car and see whether the occupants were three men and a woman.
She wondered agitatedly whether there was anything she could do to hurry the process. Assuming the gang had switched vehicles somewhere near here, what were the possibilities? They needed a location where a vehicle might be parked for several hours without attracting attention. There were no railway stations or supermarkets in the vicinity. What was there? She went to the reception desk and got a notepad and ballpoint pen. She made a list:
Inverburn Golf Club
Dew Drop Inn ' Happy Eater
Greenfingers Garden Centre
Scottish Smoked Fish Products
Williams Press (Printing amp; Publishing)
She did not want Carl Osborne to know what she was doing. Carl had returned from his car to the warmth of the hall, and was listening to everything. Unknown to him, he could no longer phone from the car- Steve had sneaked out and taken the keys from the ignition-but all the same, Toni was taking no chances.
She spoke quietly to Steve. "We're going to do some detective work." She tore her sheet of paper into two and gave half to Steve. "Ring these places. Everything's closed, of course, but you should find a caretaker or security guard. Tell them we've had a robbery, but don't say what's missing. Say the getaway vehicle may have been abandoned on their premises. Ask if they can see a Hibernian Telecom van outside."
Steve nodded. "Smart thinking-maybe we can get on their trail and give the police a head start."
"Exactly. But don't use the desk phone, I don't want Carl to hear. Go to the far end of the hall, where he can't eavesdrop. Use the mobile you took from him."
Toni moved well away from Carl and took out her mobile. She called information and got the number for the golf club. She dialed and waited. The phone rang for more than a minute, then a sleepy voice answered: "Yes? Golf club. Hello?"
Toni introduced herself and told the story. "I'm trying to locate a van with 'Hibernian Telecom' on its side. Is it in your car park?"
"Oh, I get you, the getaway vehicle, aye."
Her heart missed a beat. "It's there?"
"No, at least it wasn't when I came on duty. There's a couple of cars here, mind you, left by gentlemen who found themselves reluctant to drive by the end of lunch yesterday, do you know what I mean?"
"When did you come on duty?"
"Seven o'clock in the evening."
"Could a van have parked there since then? Perhaps at about two o'clock this morning?"
"Well, maybe… I've no way of telling."
"Could you have a look?"
"Aye, I could look!" He spoke as if it were an idea of startling originality. "Hold the line, I'll just be a minute." There was a knock as he put the phone down.
Toni waited. Footsteps receded and returned.
"No, I don't think there's a van out there."
"Okay."
"The cars are all covered in snow, mind you, so you can't see them properly. I'm not even sure which is mine!"
"Yes, thank you."
"But a van, you see, would be higher than the rest, wouldn't it? So it would stand out. No, there's no van there."
"You've been very helpful. I appreciate it."
"What did they steal?"
Toni pretended not to hear the question, and hung up. Steve was talking and clearly had not yet struck gold. She dialed the Dew Drop Inn.
The phone was answered by a cheerful young man. "Vincent speaking, how may I help you?"
Toni thought he sounded like the kind of hotel employee who seems eager to please until you actually ask for something. She went through her routine again.
"There are lots of vehicles in our car park-we're open over Christmas," Vincent told her. "I'm looking at the closed-circuit television monitor, but I don't see a van. Unfortunately, the camera doesn't cover the entire car park."
"Would you mind going to the window and having a good look? It's really important."
"I'm quite busy, actually."
At this time of night? Toni did not voice the thought. She adopted a sweetly considerate tone and said, "It will save the police making a trip to interview you, you see."
That worked. He did not want his quiet night shift disrupted by squad cars and detectives. "Just hold on." He went away and came back.
"Yes, it's here," he said.
"Really?" Toni was incredulous. It seemed a long time since she had enjoyed a piece of luck.
"Ford Transit van, blue, with 'Hibernian Telecom' in large white letters on the side. It can't have been there long, because it's not under as much snow as the rest of the cars-that's how come I can see the lettering."
"That's tremendously helpful, thank you. I don't suppose you noticed whether another car is missing-possibly the car they left in?"
"No, sorry."
"Okay-thanks again!" She hung up and looked across at Steve. "I've found the getaway vehicle!"
He nodded toward the window. "And the snowplow's here."
DAISY drained her cup of tea and filled it up again with whisky.
Kit felt unbearably tense. Nigel and Elton might be able to keep up the pretense of being innocent travelers accidentally stranded, but Daisy was hopeless. She looked like a gangster and acted like a hooligan.
When she put the bottle down on the kitchen table, Stanley picked it up. "Don't get drunk, there's a good girl," he said mildly. He stoppered the bottle.
Daisy was not used to people telling her what to do. Mostly they were too frightened. She looked at Stanley as if she was ready to kill him. He was elegantly vulnerable in his gray pajamas and black robe. Kit waited for the explosion.
"A little whisky makes you feel better, but a lot makes you feel worse," Stanley said. He put the bottle in a cupboard. "My father used to say that, and he was fond of whisky."
Daisy was suppressing her rage. The effort was visible to Kit. He feared what might happen if she should lose it. Then the tension was broken by his sister Miranda, who came in wearing a pink nightgown with a flower pattern.
Stanley said, "Hello, my dear, you're up early."
"I couldn't sleep. I've been on the sleepchair in Kit's old study. Don't ask why." She looked at the strangers. "It's early for Christmas visitors."
"This is my daughter Miranda," Stanley said. "Mandy, meet Nigel, Elton, and Daisy."
A few minutes ago, Kit had introduced them to his father and, before he realized his mistake, he had given their real names.
Miranda nodded to them. "Did Santa bring you?" she said brightly.
Kit explained. "Their car died on the main road near our turnoff. I picked them up, then my car gave out, too, and we walked the rest of the way here." Would she believe it? And would she ask about the burgundy leather briefcase that stood on the kitchen table like a bomb?
She questioned a different aspect of the story. "I didn't know you'd left the house-where on earth did you go, in the middle of the night, in this weather?"
"Oh, you know." Kit had thought about how he would respond to this question, and now he put on a sheepish grin. "Couldn't sleep, felt lonely, went to look up an old girlfriend in Inverburn."
"Which one? Most of the young women in Inverburn are old girlfriends of yours."
"I don't think you know her." He thought of a name quickly. "Lisa Fremont." He almost bit his tongue. She was a character in a Hitchcock movie.
Miranda did not react to the name. "Was she pleased to see you?"
"She wasn't in."
Miranda turned away and picked up the coffeepot.
Kit wondered whether she believed him. The story he had made up was not really good enough. However, Miranda could not possibly guess why he was lying. She would assume he was involved with a woman he didn't want people to know about-probably someone's wife.
While Miranda was pouring coffee, Stanley addressed Nigel. "Where are you from? You don't sound Scots." It seemed like small talk, but Kit knew his father was probing.
Nigel answered in the same relaxed tone. "I live in Surrey, work in London. My office is in Canary Wharf."
"You're in the financial world."
"I source high-tech systems for third-world countries, mainly the Middle East. A young oil sheik wants his own discotheque and doesn't know where to buy the gear, so he comes to me and I solve his problem." It sounded pat.
Miranda brought her coffee to the table and sat opposite Daisy. "What nice gloves," she said. Daisy was wearing expensive-looking light brown suede gloves that were soaking wet. "Why don't you dry them?"
Kit tensed. Any conversation with Daisy was hazardous.
Daisy gave a hostile look, but Miranda did not see it, and persisted. "You need to stuff them, so they'll keep their shape," she said. She took a roll of paper towel from the counter. "Here, use this."
"I'm fine," Daisy muttered angrily.
Miranda raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Have I said something to offend you?"
Kit thought, Oh, God, here it comes.
Nigel stepped in. "Don't be daft, Daisy, you don't want to spoil your gloves." There was an edge of insistence in his voice, making the words sound more like an order than a suggestion. He was as worried as Kit. "Do what the lady says, she's being nice to you."
Once again, Kit waited for the explosion. But, to his surprise, Daisy took off her gloves. Kit was astonished to see that she had small, neat hands. He had never noticed that. The rest of her was brutish: the black eye makeup, the broken nose, the zippered jacket, the boots. But her hands were beautiful, and she obviously knew it, for they were well manicured, with clean nails and a pale pink nail varnish. Kit was bemused. Somewhere inside that monster there was an ordinary girl, he realized. What had happened to her? She had been brought up by Harry Mac, that was what.
Miranda helped her stuff the wet gloves with paper towel. "How arc you three connected?" she asked Daisy. Her tone was conventionally polite, as if she were making conversation at a dinner party, but she was probing. Like Stanley, she had no idea how dangerous it was.
Daisy looked panicked. She made Kit think of a schoolgirl being questioned on homework she has forgotten to do. Kit wanted to fill the awkward silence, but it would look odd if he answered for her. After a moment, Nigel spoke. "Daisy's father is an old friend of mine."
That was fine, Kit thought, though Miranda would wonder why Daisy could not have said it herself.
Nigel added, "And Elton works for me."
Miranda smiled at Elton. "Right-hand man?"
"Driver," he replied brusquely. Kit reflected that it was a good thing Nigel was personable-he had to supply enough charm for the three of them.
Stanley said, "Well, I'm sorry the weather has turned out so poorly for your Christmas in Scotland."
Nigel smiled. "If I'd wanted to sunbathe, I would have gone to Barbados."
"You and Daisy's father must be good friends, to spend Christmas together."
Nigel nodded. "We go way back."
It seemed obvious to Kit that Nigel was lying. Was that because he knew the truth? Or was it apparent to Stanley and Miranda, too? Kit could not sit still any longer: the strain was unbearable. He jumped up. "I'm hungry," he said. "Dad, is it okay if I scramble some eggs for everyone?"
"Of course."
"I'll give you a hand," Miranda said. She put sliced bread in the toaster.
Stanley said, "Anyway, I hope the weather improves soon. When were you planning to return to London?"
Kit got a pack of bacon out of the fridge. Was his father suspicious, or merely curious?
"Heading back on Boxing Day," Nigel said.
"A short Christmas visit," Stanley commented, still gently challenging rhe story.
Nigel shrugged. "Work to do, you know."
"You may have to stay longer than you anticipated. I can't see them clearing the roads by tomorrow."
The thought seemed to make Nigel anxious. He pushed up the sleeve of his pink sweater and looked at his watch.
Kit realized he needed to do something to show he was not in league with Nigel and the other two. As he began to make breakfast, he resolved not to defend or excuse the strangers. On the contrary, he should question Nigel skeptically, as if he mistrusted the story. He might deflect suspicion from himself by pretending that he, too, was dubious about the strangers.
Before he could put his resolution into practice, Elton suddenly became talkative. "How about your Christmas, Professor?" he said. Kit had introduced his father as Professor Oxenford. "Got your family all around you, it seems. What, two children?"
"Three."
"With husbands and wives, of course."
"My daughters have partners. Kit's single."
"And grandchildren?"
"Yes."
"How many? If you don't mind me asking."
"I don't mind in the least. I have four grandchildren."
"Are all the grandkids here?"
"Yes."
"That's nice for you and Mrs. Oxenford."
"My wife died eighteen months ago, sadly."
"Sorry to hear that."
"Thank you."
What was this interrogation about? Kit asked himself. Elton was smiling and leaning forward, as if his questions were motivated by nothing more than friendly curiosity, but Kit could see that it was a charade, and he wondered anxiously whether that was just as obvious to his father.
Elton had not finished. "This must be a big house, to sleep, what, ten of you?"
"We have some outbuildings."
"Oh, handy." He looked out of the window, although the snow made it difficult to see anything. "Guest cottages, like."
"There's a cottage and a barn."
"Very useful. And staff quarters, I presume."
"Our staff have a cottage a mile or so away. I doubt if we'll see them today."
"Oh. Shame." Elton lapsed into silence again-having carefully established exactly how many people were on the property.
Kit wondered if anyone else had noticed that.
THE snowplow was a Mercedes truck with a blade hooked to its front attachment plate. It had "Inverburn Plant Hire" on its side and flashing orange lights on its roof, but to Toni it looked like a winged chariot from heaven.
The blade was angled to push the snow to the side of the road. The plow quickly cleared the drive from the gatehouse to the main entrance of the Kremlin, its blade lifting automatically to clear speed bumps. By the time it stopped at the main entrance, Toni had her coat on, ready to go. It was four hours since the thieves had left-but if they had got stuck in the snow, they could still be caught.
The plow was followed by three police cars and an ambulance. The ambulance crew came in first. They took Susan out on a stretcher, though she said she could walk. Don refused to go. "If a Scotsman went to hospital every time he got a kick in the head, the doctors could never cope," he said.
Frank came in wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a tie. He had even found time to shave, probably in the car. Toni saw the grim expression on his face and realized with dismay that he was spoiling for a fight. No doubt he resented being forced by his superiors to do what Toni wanted. She told herself to be patient and avoid a showdown.
Toni's mother looked up from petting the puppy and said, "Hello, Frank! This is a surprise. Are you and Toni getting back together?"
"Not today," he muttered.
"Shame."
Frank was followed by two detectives carrying large briefcases-a crime-scene team, Toni presumed. Frank nodded to Toni and shook hands with Carl Osborne, but spoke to Steve. "You're the guard supervisor?"
"Aye. Steve Tremlett. You're Frank Hackett, I've met you before."
"I gather four guards were assaulted."
"Me and three others, aye."
"Did all the assaults take place in the same location?"
What was Frank doing? Toni wondered impatiently. Why was he asking trivial questions when they needed to get going right away?
Steve answered, "Susan was attacked in the corridor. I was tripped up in about the same place. Don and Stu were held at gunpoint and tied up in the control room."
"Show me both places, please."
Toni was astonished. "We need to go after these people, Frank. Why don't you leave this to your team?"
"Don't tell me how to do the job," he replied. He looked pleased that she had given him an opportunity to put her down. She groaned inwardly. This was not the time to rerun their marital conflicts. He turned back to Steve and said, "Lead the way."
Toni suppressed a curse and followed along. So did Carl Osborne.
The detectives put crime-scene tape across the corridor where Steve had been tripped up and Susan had been blackjacked. Then they went to the control room, where Stu was watching the monitors. Frank taped the doorway.
Steve said, "All four of us were tied up and taken inside the BSL4 facility. Not the laboratory itself, just the lobby."
"Which is where I found them," Toni added. "But that was four hours ago-and the perpetrators are getting farther away every minute."
"We'll take a look at that location."
"No, you won't," Toni said. "It's a restricted area. You can see it on monitor nineteen."
"If it's not the actual laboratory, I presume there's no danger."
He was right, but Toni was not going to let him waste more time. "No one is allowed past the door without biohazard training. That's the protocol."
"Hell with your protocol, I'm in charge here."
Toni realized she had inadvertently done what she had vowed to avoid: gone head-to-head with Frank. She tried to sidestep the issue. "I'll take you to the door,"
They went to the entrance. Frank looked at the card reader, then said to Steve, "I'm ordering you to give me your pass."
Steve said, "I don't have a pass. Security guards aren't allowed in."
Frank turned to Toni. "Do you have a pass?"
"I've done biohazard training."
"Give me your pass."
She handed it over. Frank waved it at the scanner then pushed the door. It remained locked. He pointed at the small screen on the wall. "What's that?"
"A fingerprint reader. The pass won't work without the correct fingerprint. It's a system we installed to prevent foolish people getting in with stolen cards."
"It didn't stop the thieves tonight, did it?" Having scored a point, Frank turned on his heel.
Toni followed him. Back in the Great Hall there were two men in yellow high-visibility jackets and rubber boots, smoking. Toni thought at first that they were snowplow operators, but when Frank began to brief them she realized they were police officers. "You check every vehicle you pass," he said. "Radio in the registration number, and we'll find out whether it's stolen or rented. Tell us if there's anyone in the cars. You know what we're looking for-three men and a woman. Whatever you do, don't approach the occupants. These laddies have guns, and you don't, so you're strictly reconnaissance. There's an armed response unit on its way. If we can locate the perpetrators, we'll send them in. Is that clear?"
The two men nodded.
"Go north and take the first turnoff. I think they headed east."
Toni knew that was wrong. She was reluctant to confront Frank again, but she could not let the reconnaissance team go the wrong way. He would be furious, but she had to do it. She said, "The thieves didn't head east."
Frank ignored her. "That takes you to the main road for Glasgow."
Toni said again, "The perpetrators didn't go that way."
The two constables watched the exchange with interest, looking from Frank to Toni and back like spectators at a tennis match.
Frank reddened. "No one asked your opinion, Toni."
"They didn't take that route," she persisted. "They continued north."
"I suppose you reached that conclusion by feminine intuition?"
One of the constables laughed.
Why do you lead with your chin? Toni thought. She said calmly, "The getaway vehicle is in the car park of the Dew Drop Inn, on this road five miles north."
Frank turned redder, embarrassed because she knew something he did not. "And how did you acquire this information?"
"Detective work." I was a better cop than you, and I still am, she thought; but she kept the thought to herself. "I phoned around. Better than intuition." You asked for that, you bastard.
The constable laughed again, then smothered it when Frank glared at him.
Toni added, "The thieves might be at the motel, but more likely they switched cars there and drove on."
Frank suppressed his fury. "Go to the motel," he said to the two constables. "I'll give you further orders when you're on the road. On your way."
They hurried out. At last, Toni thought.
Frank summoned a plainclothes detective from one of the cars and told him to follow the snowplow to the motel, check out the van, and find out whether anyone there had seen anything.
Toni turned her mind to the next step. She wanted to stay in close touch with the police operation. But she had no car. And Mother was still here.
She saw Carl Osborne talking quietly to Frank. Carl pointed at his Jaguar, still stuck halfway up the drive. Frank nodded, and said something to a uniformed officer, who went outside and spoke to the snowplow driver. They were going to free Carl's car, Toni guessed.
Toni addressed Carl. "You're going with the snowplow."
He looked smug. "It's a free country."
"Don't forget to take the puppy."
"I was planning to leave him with you."
"I'm coming with you."
"You're out of your mind."
"I need to get to Stanley's house. It's on this road, five miles beyond the Dew Drop Inn. You can leave me and Mother there." After she had briefed Stanley, she could borrow a car from him, leave Mother at Steepfall, and follow the snowplow.
"You want me to take your mother, too?" Carl said incredulously.
"Yes."
"Forget it."
Toni nodded. "Let me know if you change your mind."
He frowned, suspicious of her ready acceptance of his refusal; but he said no more, and put on his coat.
Steve Tremlett opened his mouth to speak, but Toni discreetly flapped her hand at him in a "Keep quiet" gesture.
Carl went to the door.
Toni said, "Don't forget the puppy."
He picked up the dog and went out to his car.
Toni watched through the windows as the convoy moved off. The snowplow cleared the pile in front of Carl's Jaguar, then climbed the slope to the gatehouse. One police car followed. Carl sat in his car for a moment, then got out again and returned to the Great Hall.
"Where are my keys?" he said angrily.
Toni smiled sweetly. "Have you changed your mind about taking me?"
Steve jingled the bunch of keys in his pocket.
Carl made a sour face. "Get in the damn car," he said.
MIRANDA felt uneasy about the weird threesome of Nigel, Elton, and Daisy. Were they what they claimed to be? Something about them made her wish she were not wearing her nightdress.
She had had a bad night. Lying uncomfortably on the sleepchair in Kit's old study, she had drifted in and out of consciousness, dreaming of her stupid, shameful affair with Hugo, and waking to feel resentful of Ned for failing to stand up for her once again. He should have been angry with Kit for betraying the secret, but instead he just said that secrets always come out sooner or later. They had acted out a rerun of the quarrel in the car early that day. Miranda had hoped this holiday would be the occasion for her family to accept Ned, but she was beginning to think it might be the moment when she rejected him. He was just too weak.
When she heard voices downstairs, she had been relieved, for it meant she could get up. Now she felt perturbed. Did Nigel have no wife, family, or even girlfriend who wanted to see him at Christmas? What about Elton? She was pretty sure Nigel and Elton were not a gay couple: Nigel had looked at her nightdress with the speculative eyes of a man who would like to see underneath it.
Daisy would seem weird in any company. She was the right age to be Elton's girlfriend, but they seemed to dislike each other. So what was she doing with Nigel and his driver?
Nigel was not a friend of Daisy's family, Miranda decided. There was no warmth between them. They were more like people who had to work together even though they did not get on very well. But if they were colleagues, why lie about it?
Her father looked strained, too. She wondered if he was also having suspicious thoughts.
The kitchen filled with delicious smells: frying bacon, fresh coffee, and toast. Cooking was one of the things Kit did well, Miranda mused: his food was always attractively presented. He could make a dish of spaghetti look like a royal feast. Appearances were important to her brother. He could not hold down a job or keep his bank account in credit, but he was always well dressed and drove a cool car, no matter how hard up he was. In his father's eyes, he combined frivolous achievements with grave weaknesses. The only time Stanley had been happy about Kit was when he was in the Winter Olympics.
Now Kit handed each of them a plate with crisp bacon, slices of fresh tomato, scrambled eggs sprinkled with chopped herbs, and triangles of hot buttered toast. The tension in the room eased a little. Perhaps, Miranda thought, that was what Kit had been aiming at. She was not really hungry, but she took a forkful of eggs. He had flavored them with a little Parmesan cheese, and they tasted delightfully tangy.
Kit made conversation. "So, Daisy, what do you do for a living?" He gave her his winning smile. Miranda knew he was only being polite. Kit liked pretty girls, and Daisy was anything but that.
She took a long time to reply. "I work with my father," she said.
"And what's his line?"
"His line?"
"I mean, what type of business does he do?"
She seemed baffled by the question.
Nigel laughed and said, "My old friend Harry has so many things going, it's hard to say what he does."
Kit surprised Miranda by being insistent. In a challenging tone he said to Daisy, "Well, give us an example of one of the things he does, then."
She brightened and, as if struck by inspiration, said, "He's into property." She seemed to be repeating something she had heard.
"Sounds as if he likes owning things."
"Property development."
"I'm never sure what that means, 'property development.'"
It was not like Kit to question people aggressively, Miranda thought. Perhaps he, too, found the guests' account of themselves hard to believe. She felt relieved. This proved that they were strangers. Miranda had feared in the back of her mind that Kit was involved in some kind of shady business with them. You never knew, with him.
There was impatience in Nigel's voice as he said, "Harry buys an old tobacco warehouse, applies for planning permission to turn it into luxury flats, then sells it to a builder at a profit."
Once again, Miranda realized, Nigel was answering for Daisy. Kit seemed to have the same thought, for he said, "And how exactly do you help your father with this work, Daisy? I should think you'd be a good saleswoman."
Daisy looked as if she would be better at evicting sitting tenants.
She gave Kit a hostile glare. "I do different things," she said, then tilted up her chin, as if defying him to find fault with her answer.
"And I'm sure you do them with charm and efficiency," Kit said.
Kit's flattery was becoming sarcastic, Miranda thought anxiously. Daisy was not subtle, but she might know when she was being insulted.
The tension spoiled Miranda's breakfast. She had to talk to her father about this. She swallowed, coughed, and pretended to have something stuck in her throat. Coughing, she got up from the table. "Sorry," she spluttered.
Her father snatched up a glass and filled it at the tap.
Still coughing, Miranda left the room. As she intended, her father lollowed her into the hall. She closed the kitchen door and motioned him into his study. She coughed again, for effect, as they went in.
He offered her the glass, and she waved it away. "I was pretending," she said. "I wanted to talk to you. What do you think about our guests?"
He put the glass down on the green leather top of his desk. "A weird bunch. I wondered if they were shady friends of Kit's, until he started questioning the girl."
"Me, too. They're lying about something, though."
"But what? If they're planning to rob us, they're getting off to a slow start."
"I don't know, but I feel threatened."
"Do you want me to call the police?"
"That might be an overreaction. But I wish someone knew these people were in our house."
"Well, let's think-who can we phone?"
"How about Uncle Norman?" Her father's brother, a university librarian, lived in Edinburgh. They loved each other in a distant way, content to meet about once a year.
"Yes. Norman will understand. I'll tell him what's happened, and ask him to phone me in an hour and make sure we're all right."
"Perfect."
Stanley picked up the phone on his desk and put it to his ear. He frowned, replaced the handset, and picked it up again. "No dial tone," he said.
Miranda felt a stab of fear. "Now I really want us to call someone."
He tapped the keyboard of his computer. "No e-mail, either. It's probably the weather. Heavy snow sometimes brings down the lines."
"All the same…"
"Where's your mobile phone?"
"In the cottage. Don't you have one?"
"Only in the Ferrari."
"Olga must have one."
"No need to wake her." Stanley glanced out of the window. "I'll just throw on a coat over my pajamas and go to the garage."
"Where are the keys?"
"Key cupboard."
The key cupboard was on the wall in the boot lobby. "I'll fetch them for you."
They stepped into the hall. Stanley went to the front door and found his boots. Miranda put her hand on the knob of the kitchen door, then hesitated. She could hear Olga's voice coming from the kitchen. Miranda had not spoken to her sister since the moment last night when Kit had treacherously blurted out the secret. What would she say to Olga, or Olga to her?
She opened the door. Olga was leaning against the kitchen counter, wearing a black silk wrap that reminded Miranda of an advocate's gown. Nigel, Elton, and Daisy sat at the table like a panel. Kit stood behind them, hovering anxiously. Olga was in full courtroom mode, interrogating the strangers across the table. She said to Nigel, "What on earth were you doing out so late?" He might have been a delinquent teenager.
Miranda noticed a rectangular bulge in the pocket of the silk robe: Olga never went anywhere without her phone. Miranda was going to turn and tell her father not to bother to put his boots on, but she was arrested by Olga's performance.
Nigel frowned with disapproval, but answered all the same. "We were on our way to Glasgow."
"Where had you been? There's not much north of here."
"A big country house."
"We probably know the owners. Who are they?"
"Name of Robinson."
Miranda watched, waiting for an opportunity to quietly borrow Olga's phone.
"Robinson doesn't ring a bell. Almost as common as Smith and Brown. What was the occasion?"
A party.
Olga raised her dark eyebrows. "You come to Scotland to spend Christmas with your old friend, then you and his daughter go off to a party and leave the poor man alone?"
"He wasn't feeling too well."
Olga turned the spotlight on Daisy. "What sort of a daughter are you, to leave your sick father at home on Christmas Eve?"
Daisy stared back in mute anger. Miranda suddenly feared that Daisy could be violent. Kit seemed to have the same thought, for he said, "Take it easy, Olga."
Olga ignored him, "Well?" she said to Daisy. "Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?"
Daisy picked up her gloves. For some reason, Miranda found that ominous. Daisy put the gloves on then said, "I don't have to answer your questions."
"I think you do." Olga looked back at Nigel. "You're three complete strangers, sitting in my father's kitchen filling yourselves with his food, and the story you tell is highly implausible. I think you need to explain yourselves."
Kit said anxiously, "Olga, is this really necessary? They're just people who got stranded-"
"Are you sure?" she said. She turned her gaze back to Nigel.
Nigel had seemed relaxed, but now anger showed as he said, "I don't like being interrogated."
"If you don't like it, you can leave," Olga said. "But if you want to stay in my father's house, you need to tell a better story than this farrago."
"We can't leave," Elton said indignantly. "Look out the window, it's a fucking blizzard."
"Please don't use that word in this house. My mother always forbade obscenities, except in foreign languages, and we've kept her rule since her death." Olga reached for the coffeepot, then pointed to the burgundy briefcase on the table. "What's this?"
"It's mine," Nigel said.
"Well, we don't keep luggage on the table." She reached out and picked it up. "Not much in it-ow!" She yelled because Nigel had grabbed her arm. "That hurts!" she cried.
Nigel's mask of urbanity had gone. He spoke quietly but distinctly. "Put the case down. Now."
Stanley appeared beside Miranda in a coat, gloves, and boots. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he said to Nigel. "Take your hands off my daughter!"
Nellie barked loudly. With a quick movement, Elton reached down and grabbed the dog's collar.
Olga stubbornly kept hold of the briefcase.
Kit said, "Put the case down, Olga."
Daisy grabbed the case. Olga tried to keep hold of it, and somehow the case flew open. Polystyrene packing chips scattered all over the kitchen table. Kit gave a shout of fear, and Miranda wondered momentarily what he was so frightened of. Out of the case fell a perfume bottle in two Ziploc bags.
With her free hand, Olga slapped Nigel's face.
Nigel slapped her back. Everyone shouted at once. Stanley gave a grunt of rage, pushed past Miranda, and strode toward Nigel. Miranda shouted: "No-"
Daisy stood in Stanley's way. He tried to push her aside. There was a blur of movement, and Stanley cried out and fell back, bleeding from his mouth.
Then, suddenly, both Nigel and Daisy were holding guns.
Everyone went quiet except Nellie, who was barking frantically. Elton twisted her collar, throttling her, until she shut up. The room was silent.
Olga said, "Who the hell are you people?"
Stanley looked at the perfume spray on the table and said fearfully, "Why is that bottle double-bagged?"
Miranda slipped out through the door.
KIT stared in fear at the Diablerie bottle on the kitchen table. But the glass had not smashed; the top had not fallen off; the double plastic bags had stayed intact. The lethal fluid remained safely inside its fragile container.
But now that Nigel and Daisy had pulled guns, they could no longer pretend to be innocent victims of the storm. As soon as the news from the laboratory got out, they would be connected with the theft of the virus.
Nigel, Daisy, and Elton might escape, but Kit was in a different position. There was no doubt who he was. Even if he escaped today, he would be a fugitive from justice for the rest of his life.
He thought furiously, trying to devise a way out.
Then, as everyone stood frozen, staring at the vicious little dark gray pistols, Nigel moved his gun a fraction of an inch, mistrustfully pointing it at Kit, and Kit was seized by inspiration.
There was still no reason why the family should suspect him, he realized. He might have been deceived by the three fugitives. His story that they were total strangers still stood up.
But how could he make that clear?
Slowly, he raised his hands in the traditional gesture of surrender.
Everyone looked at him. There was a moment when he thought the gang themselves would betray him. A frown passed over Nigel's brow. Elton looked openly startled. Daisy sneered.
Kit said, "Dad, I'm so sorry I brought these people into the house. I had no idea…"
His father gave him a long look, then nodded. "Not your fault," he said. "You can't turn strangers away in a blizzard. There was no way you could have known"- he turned and gave Nigel a look of scorching contempt-"just what kind of people they are."
Nigel got it immediately and jumped in to back up Kit's pretense. "I'm sorry to return your hospitality this way… Kit, is it? Yes… You saved our lives in the snow, now we're pointing guns at you. This old world never was fair."
Elton's expression cleared as he grasped the deception.
Nigel went on: "If your bossy sister hadn't poked her nose in, we might have left peacefully, and you would never have found out what bad people we are. But she would insist."
Daisy finally understood, and turned away with a scornful expression.
It occurred to Kit that Nigel and the gang might just kill his family. They were willing to steal a virus that would slaughter thousands, why would they hesitate to gun down the Oxenfords? It was different, of course: the notion of killing thousands with a virus was a bit abstract, whereas shooting adults and children in cold blood would be more difficult. But they might do it if they had to. They might kill Kit, too, he realized with a shudder. Fortunately, they still needed him. He knew the way to Luke's cottage and the Toyota Land Cruiser. They would never find it without him. He resolved to remind Nigel of that at the first opportunity.
"What's in that bottle is worth a lot of money, you see," Nigel finished.
To reinforce the simulation, Kit said, "What is it?"
"Never you mind," said Nigel.
Kit's mobile phone rang.
He did not know what to do. The caller was probably Hamish. There must have been some development at the Kremlin that the inside man thought Kit needed to know about. But how could he speak to Hamish without betraying himself to his family? He stood paralyzed, while everyone listened to his ring tone playing Beethoven's ninth symphony.
Nigel solved the problem. "Give me that," he said.
Kit handed over his phone, and Nigel answered it. "Yes, this is Kit," he said, in a fair imitation of a Scots accent.
The person at the other end seemed to believe him, for there was a silence while Nigel listened.
"Got it," he said. "Thanks." He hung up and pocketed the phone. "Someone wanting to warn you about three dangerous desperadoes in the neighborhood," he said. "Apparently the police are coming after them with a snowplow."
CRAIG could not figure Sophie out. One minute she was painfully shy, the next bold to the point of embarrassment. She let him put his hands inside her sweater, and even unfastened her bra when he fumbled with the hooks; and he thought he would die of pleasure when he held both her breasts in his hands-but then she refused to let him look at them in the candlelight. He got even more excited when she unbuttoned his jeans, as if she had been doing this sort of thing for years; but she did not seem to know what to do next. Craig wondered whether there was some code of behavior that he did not know about. Or was she just as inexperienced as he? She was getting better at kissing, anyway. At first she had been hesitant, as if not really sure whether she really wanted to do it; but after a couple of hours' practice she was enthusiastic.
Craig felt like a sailor in a storm. All night he had ridden waves of hope and despair, desire and disappointment, anxiety and delight. At one moment she had whispered, "You're so nice. I'm not nice. I'm vile." And then, when he kissed her again, her face was wet with tears. What are you supposed to do, he wondered, when a girl starts crying while you've got your hand inside her panties? He had started to withdraw his hand, feeling that must be what she wanted, but she grabbed his wrist and held him there. "I think you're nice," he said, but that sounded feeble, so he added: "I think you're wonderful."
Although he felt bewildered, he was also intensely happy. He had never felt so close to a girl. He was bursting with love and tenderness and joy. When he heard the noise from the kitchen, they were talking about how far to go.
She said, "Do you want to go the whole way?" Do your
"I do if you do."
Craig nodded. "I really want to."
"Have you got condoms?"
"Yes." He fumbled in his jeans pocket and took out the little packet.
"So you planned this?"
"I didn't have a plan." It was half-true: he hadn't had much of a plan. "I was hoping, though. Ever since I met you I've been thinking about, well, seeing you again, and so on. And all day today…"
"You were so persistent."
"I just wanted to be with you like this."
It was not very eloquent, but it seemed to be what she wanted to hear. "All right, then. Let's do it."
Are you sure?
"Yes. Now. Quickly."
"Good."
"Oh, my God, what's that?"
Craig had been aware of people in the kitchen below. He had vaguely heard the murmur of voices, then someone had clattered a saucepan, and he had smelled bacon. He was not sure what the time was, but it seemed early for breakfast. However, he had taken no notice, confident that no one would interrupt them here in the attic. Now the sounds could not be ignored. First he heard Grandpa shout-an unusual event in itself. Nellie started barking like a fiend; there was a scream that sounded remarkably like Craig's mother; then several male voices yelled at once.
Sophie said in a frightened voice, "Is this normal?"
"No," he replied. "They have arguments, but not shouting matches."
"What's going on?"
He hesitated. Part of him wanted to forget the noise and act as if he and Sophie were in a universe of their own, lying on the old sofa under their coats. He could have ignored an earthquake to concentrate on her soft skin and hot breath and moist lips. But another part of him felt that the interruption was not entirely unwelcome. They had done almost everything: it might even be nice to postpone the ultimate, so that there was something else to look forward to, a further delight to anticipate.
Below them, the kitchen went quiet as suddenly as it had burst into sound.
"Strange," he said.
"It's spooky."
Sophie sounded frightened, and that made up Craig's mind. He kissed her lips once more, then stood up. He pulled up his jeans and stepped across the attic to the hole in the floor. He lay down and looked through the gap in the floorboards.
He saw his mother, standing up with her mouth open, looking shocked and frightened. Grandpa was wiping blood off his chin. Uncle Kit had his hands in the air. Three strangers were in the room. At first he thought they were all men, then he realized one was an ugly girl with a shaved head. The young black man was holding Nellie's collar, twisting it hard. The older man and the girl held guns.
Craig murmured, "Bloody hell, what's happening down there?"
Sophie lay beside him. After a moment she gasped. "Are those things guns?" she whispered. Yes.
"Oh, my God, we're in trouble."
Craig thought. "We have to call the police. Where's your phone?"
"I left it in the barn."
"Damn."
"Oh, God, what can we do?"
"Think. Think. A phone. We need a phone." Craig hesitated.
He was frightened. He really wanted to lie still and shut his eyes tightly. He might have done that, were it not for the girl beside him. He did not know all the rules, but he knew that a man was supposed to show courage when a girl was frightened, especially when they were lovers, or nearly. And if he was not feeling brave, he had to pretend.
Where was the nearest phone? "There's an extension beside Grandpa's bed."
Sophie said, "I can't do anything, I'm too scared."
"You'd better stay here."
"Okay."
Craig stood up. He buttoned his jeans and buckled the belt, then went to the low door. He took a breath, then opened it. He crawled into Grandpas suit cupboard, pushed at the door, and emerged into the dressing room.
The lights were on. Grandpa's dark brown brogue-style shoes were side by side on the carpet, and the blue shirt he had been wearing yesterday lay on top of a pile of clothes in the linen basket. Craig stepped into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, as if Grandpa had just got out of it. On the bedside table was a copy of Scientific American magazine, open-and the phone.
Craig had never dialed 999 in his life. What were you supposed to say? He had seen people do it on television. You had to give your name and location, he thought. Then what? "There are men with guns in our kitchen." It sounded melodramatic-but probably all 999 calls were dramatic.
He picked up the phone. There was no dial tone.
He put his finger on the cradle and jiggled it, then listened again. Nothing.
He replaced the handset. Why were the phones out? Was it just a fault-or had the strangers cut the wires?
Did Grandpa have a mobile? Craig pulled open the bedside drawer. Inside he saw a flashlight and a book, but no phone. Then he remembered: Grandpa had a phone in his car, but did not carry a mobile.
He heard a sound from the dressing room. Sophie poked her head out of the suit cupboard, looking frightened. "Someone's coming!" she hissed. A moment later, Craig heard a heavy footstep on the landing.
He darted into the dressing room. Sophie ducked back into the attic. Craig fell on his knees and crawled through the suit cupboard just as he heard the bedroom door open. He had no time to close the cupboard door. He wriggled through the low door, then quickly turned and closed it softly behind him.
Sophie whispered, "The older man told the girl to search the house. He called her Daisy."
"I heard her boots on the landing."
"Did you get through to the police?"
He shook his head. "The phone's dead."
"No!"
He heard Daisy's heavy tread in the dressing room. She would see the open cupboard door. Would she spot the low door behind the suits? Only if she looked carefully.
Craig listened. Was she staring into the open cupboard at this minute? He felt shaky. Daisy was not big-an inch or two shorter than he was, he guessed-but she looked absolutely terrifying.
The silence dragged out. He thought he heard her step into the bathroom. After a shorter pause, her boots crossed the dressing room and faded away. The bedroom door slammed.
"Oh, God, I'm so scared," Sophie said.
"Me, too," said Craig.
MIRANDA was in Olga's bedroom with Hugo.
When she left the kitchen she had not known what to do. She could not go outside-she was in her nightdress and bare feet. She had raced up the stairs with the thought of locking herself in the bathroom, but realized almost at once that that would be useless. She stood on the landing, dithering. She was so frightened that she wanted to vomit. She had to call the police, that was the priority.
Olga had her mobile in the pocket of her negligee-but Hugo probably had his own.
Frightened though she was, Miranda had hesitated for a split second outside the door. The last thing she wanted was to be in a bedroom with Hugo. Then she heard someone step out of the kitchen into the hall. Quickly, she opened Hugo's door, slid inside, and closed it quietly.
Hugo was standing at the window, looking out. He was naked, and had his back to the door. "Would you look at this bloody weather?" he said, obviously thinking his wife had come back.
Miranda was momentarily arrested by his casual tone. Obviously Olga and Hugo had made up their quarrel, after yelling at each other half the night. Had Olga already forgiven her husband for having sex with her sister? It seemed quick-but perhaps they had had this row before, about other women. Miranda had often wondered about Olga's deal with her flirtatious husband, but Olga had never spoken of it. Maybe they had a script: infidelity, discovery, quarrel, reconciliation, then back to infidelity.
"It's me," Miranda said.
He spun around, startled, then smiled. "And in deshabille--what a lovely surprise! Let's get into bed, quick."
She heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and at the same time noticed that Hugo's belly was much bigger than when she had gone to bed with him-he looked like a little round gnome-and she wondered how she could have found him attractive. "You have to phone the police right now," she said. "Where's your mobile?"
"Just here," he said, pointing to the bedside table. "What on earth is wrong?"
"People with guns in the kitchen-dial 999, quickly!"
"Who are they?"
"Never bloody mind!" She heard heavy footsteps on the landing. She stood frozen, terrified that the door would burst open, but the steps went by. Her voice became a kind of low scream. "They're probably looking for me, get on with it!"
Hugo came out of shock. He snatched up his phone, dropped it on the floor, picked it up, and jabbed at the "On" button. "Damn thing takes forever!" he said in frustration. "Did you say guns?"
"Yes!"
"How did the people get in?"
"Said they were stranded-what is the matter with that phone?"
"Searching," he said. "Come on, come on!"
Miranda heard the footsteps outside again. This time she was ready. She flung herself on the floor and slid sideways under the double bed just as the door flew open.
She closed her eyes and tried to make herself small. Feeling foolish, she opened her eyes again. She saw Hugo's bare feet, with hairy ankles, and a pair of black motorcycle boots with steel-tipped toes. She heard Hugo say, "Hello, gorgeous, who are you?"
His charm did not work on Daisy. She said, "Give me that phone."
"I was just-"
"Now, you fat fool."
"Here, take it."
"Now come with me."
"Let me put something on."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to bite your little cock off."
Miranda saw Hugo's feet step away from Daisy. She moved quickly toward him, then there was the sound of a blow, and he let out a cry. Both pairs of feet moved toward the door together. They passed out of Miranda's sight, and a moment later she heard them going down the stairs.
Miranda said to herself, "Oh, God, what do I do now?"
CRAIG and Sophie lay side by side on the floorboards of the attic, looking down through the hole into the kitchen, as Craig's father was dragged naked into the room by Daisy.
Craig was shocked and disturbed. It was a scene from a nightmare, or an old painting of sinners being dragged down into hell. He could hardly grasp that this humiliated, helpless figure was his father, the master of the house, the only person with the nerve to stand up to his domineering mother, the man who had ruled Craig for all fifteen years of his life. He felt disoriented and weightless, as if gravity had been switched off and he did not know which way was down.
Sophie began to cry softly. "This is awful," she whispered. "We're all going to be murdered."
The need to comfort her gave Craig strength. He put his arm around her narrow shoulders. She was trembling. "It is awful, but we're not dead yet," he said. "We can get help."
"How?"
"Where is your phone, exactly?"
"I left it in the barn, upstairs by the bed. I think I dropped it into my suitcase when I changed."
"We have to go there and use it to call the police."
"What if those terrible people see us?"
"We'll stay away from the kitchen windows."
"We can't-the barn door is right opposite!"
She was right, Craig knew, but they had to take the risk. "They probably won't look out."
"But what if they do?"
"You can hardly see across the backyard anyway, in this snow."
"They're bound to spot us!"
He did not know what else to tell her. "We have to try."
"I can't do it. Let's just stay here."
It was tempting, but Craig knew that if he hid himself and did nothing to help his family, he would feel ashamed. "You can stay, if you like, while I go to the barn."
"No-don't leave me alone!"
He had guessed she might say that. "Then you'll have to come with me."
"I don't want to."
He squeezed her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "Come on. Be
Have.
She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I'll try."
He stood up and put on his boots and coat. Sophie sat motionless, watching him in the candlelight. Trying to walk softly, for fear of being heard below, he found her rubber boots, then knelt down and put them on her small feet. She cooperated passively, stunned by shock. He gently pulled her upright and helped her on with her anorak. He zipped it up at the front, pulled the hood over her head, then brushed her hair back with his hand. The hood gave her a gamine look, and for a fleeting moment he thought how pretty she was.
He opened the big loft door. A freezing wind blew a dense flurry of snow into the attic. The lamp over the back door spread a small half circle of light, showing the snow lying thicker than ever on the ground. The trash-can lid looked like Ali Baba's hat.
There were two windows at this end of the house, one from the pantry and the other from the boot lobby. The sinister strangers were in the kitchen. If he was very unlucky, one of them might step into the pantry or the boot lobby at just the wrong moment, and spot him-but he thought the odds were in his favor.
"Come on," he said.
Sophie stood beside him and looked down. "You go first."
He leaned out. There was a light in the boot lobby, but not in the pantry. Would anyone see him? On his own he might have been terrified, but Sophie's fear made him braver. He swept the snow off the ledge with his hand, then walked along it to the lean-to roof of the boot lobby. He swept a section of the roof clear, then stood upright and reached out to her. He held her hand as she inched along the edge. "You're doing fine," he said softly. It was not difficult-the ledge was a foot wide-but she was shaky. At last she stepped down to the lean-to roof. "Well done," Craig said.
Then she slipped.
Her feet skidded from under her. Craig still had hold of her hand, but he could not keep her upright, and she sat down with a thud that must have reverberated below. She landed awkwardly and tipped over backwards, sliding down the icy slates on her bottom.
Craig grabbed at her and grasped a handful of anorak. He tugged, trying to arrest her slide, but his feet were on the same slippery surface, and all that happened was that she drew him along with her. He skated down the roof after her, struggling to remain upright and trying to slow her down.
When her feet hit the gutter at the lip of the roof, she came to a halt; but her bottom was half off the sloping side edge. She tilted sideways. Craig tightened his grip on her coat and pulled, drawing her toward him and safety-then he slipped again. He let go of her coat, waving his arms to stay upright.
Sophie screamed and fell off the roof.
She dropped ten feet and landed in soft new snow behind the trash can.
Craig leaned over the edge. Little light fell in that dark corner, and he could hardly see her. "Are you all right?" he said. There was no reply. Had she been knocked unconscious? "Sophie!"
"I'm okay," she said miserably.
The back door opened.
Quickly, Craig lowered himself to a sitting position.
A man stepped out. Craig could just see a head of short dark hair. He glanced over the side. The extra light spilling from the open door made Sophie just visible. Her pink anorak disappeared into the snow, but her dark jeans showed. She lay still. He could not see her face.
A voice from inside called, "Elton! Who's out there?"
Elton waved a flashlight from side to side, but the beam showed nothing but snowflakes. Craig flattened himself on the roof.
Elton turned to the right, away from Sophie, and walked a few steps into the storm, shining his flashlight in front of him.
Craig pressed himself to the roof, hoping Elton would not glance up. Then he realized that the loft door was still wide open. If Elton happened to shine his flashlight that way, he could not fail to see it and investigate-which would be disastrous. Moving slowly, Craig crawled up the lean-to roof. As soon as he could reach, he got hold of the lower edge of the door and gently pushed it. It swung slowly through an arc. Craig gave it a final shove and released it, then quickly lay down again. The door closed with an audible click.
Elton turned. Craig lay still. He saw the beam of the flashlight play over the gable end of the house and the loft door.
The voice came from inside again. "Elton?"
The flashlight beam moved off. "I can't see nothing," Elton shouted back irritably.
Craig risked moving his head to look. Elton was walking the other way, toward Sophie. He stopped at the trash can. If he peeked around the angle of the lobby and shone his flashlight into the corner, he would see her. When that happened, Craig decided, he would dive off the roof onto Elton's head. He would probably get beaten up, but Sophie might escape.
After a long moment, Elton turned away. "Nothing out here but fucking snow," he called out, and he stepped back inside the house and slammed the door.
Craig groaned with relief. He found he was shaking. He tried to make himself calm. Thinking about Sophie helped. He jumped off the roof and landed beside her. Bending down, he said, "Did you hurt yourself?"
She sat up. "No, but I'm so scared."
"Okay. Can you stand up?"
"Are you sure he's gone?"
"I saw him go in and close the door. They must have heard your scream, or maybe the bump as you slipped on the roof-but in this storm they probably aren't sure it was anything."
"Oh, God, I hope so." She struggled to her feet.
Craig frowned, thinking. The gang were obviously alert. If he and Sophie went directly across the yard to the barn, they could be seen by someone looking out of the kitchen windows. They would do better to strike out into the garden, circle around the guest cottage, and approach the barn from behind. They would still risk being seen going in through the door, but the roundabout route would minimize their exposure. "This way," he said. He took her hand, and she followed him willingly enough.
They felt the wind blowing more fiercely. The storm was coming in off the sea. Away from the shelter of the house, the snow no longer fell in swirling flurries, but pelted down in hard, slanting lines, stinging their faces and getting into their eyes.
When Craig could no longer see the house, he turned at a right angle. Their progress was slow. The snow lay two feet deep, making it tiring to walk. He could not see the cottage. Measuring his steps, Craig walked what he guessed was the width of the yard. Now completely blind, he figured he must have drawn level with the barn, and he turned again. He counted the paces until he should have bumped up against its wooden end wall.
But there was nothing.
He felt sure he could not have gone wrong. He had been meticulous. He walked another five paces. He feared they might be lost, but he did nor want Sophie to know that. Suppressing a feeling of panic, he turned again, heading back toward the main house. The complete darkness meant that Sophie could not see his face so, fortunately, she did not know how scared he was.
They had been outside less than five minutes, but already his feet and hands were agonizingly cold. Craig realized they were in serious danger. If they could not find shelter, they would freeze to death.
Sophie was not stupid. "Where are we?"
Craig made himself sound more confident than he felt. "Just coming up to the barn. A few steps more."
He should not have made such a rash prediction. After ten more steps they were still in blackness.
He figured he must have walked farther away from the buildings than he had at first reckoned. Therefore his return leg had been too short. He swung right again. Now he had turned so many times that he was no longer sure of his angles. He trudged ten more strides and stopped.
"Are we lost?" Sophie said in a small voice.
"We can't be far from the barn!" Craig said angrily. "We only went a few steps into the garden."
She put her arms around him and hugged him. "It's not your fault."
He knew it was, but he was grateful to her anyway.
"We could shout," she suggested. "Caroline and Tom might hear us and shout back."
"Those people in the kitchen might hear us, too."
"That would be better than freezing."
She was right, but Craig did not want to admit it. How was it possible to get lost in just a few yards? He refused to believe it.
He hugged her, but felt despair. He had thought himself superior to Sophie, because she was more frightened than he, and he had felt very manly for a few moments, protecting her; but now he had got them both lost. Some man, he thought; some protector. Her boyfriend the law student would have done better, if he existed.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a light.
He turned in that direction, and it was gone. His eyes registered nothing but blackness. Wishful thinking?
Sophie sensed his tension. "What?"
"I thought I saw a light." When he turned his face to her, the light seemed to reappear in the corner of his eye. But when he looked up again it was gone.
He vaguely remembered something from biology about peripheral vision registering things invisible to direct sight. There was a reason for it, that had to do with the blind spot on the retina. He turned to Sophie again. The light reappeared. This time he did not turn toward it, but concentrated on what he could make out without moving his eyes. The light flickered, but it was there.
He turned toward it, and it was gone again; but he knew its direction. This way.
They plowed through the snow. The light did not immediately reappear, and Craig wondered if he had suffered a hallucination, like the mirage of an oasis seen in the desert. Then it flickered into sight and immediately disappeared again.
"I saw it!" Sophie cried.
They trudged on. Two seconds later, it came back into view, and this time it stayed. Craig felt a rush of relief, and realized that for a few moments back there he really had thought he was going to die and take Sophie with him.
When they came closer to the light, he saw that it was the one over the back door. They had walked around in a circle, and now they were back where they had started.
MIRANDA lay still for a long time. She was terrified that Daisy would return, but unable to do anything about it. In her mind, Daisy came stomping into the room in her motorcycle boots, knelt on the floor, and looked under the bed. Miranda could see Daisy's brutish face-the shaved skull and the broken nose and the dark eyes that looked bruised by the black eyeliner. The vision of that face was so scary that sometimes Miranda just squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, until she saw fireworks on the back of her eyelids.
In the end it was the thought of Tom that made her move. Somehow she had to protect her eleven-year-old son. But how? There was nothing she could do alone. She would be willing to put her body between the gang and the children, but it would be pointless: she would be thrown aside like a sack of potatoes. Civilized people were no good at violence, that was what made them civilized.
The answer was the same as before. She had to find a phone and get help.
That meant she had to go to the guest cottage. She had to crawl out from under the bed, leave the bedroom, and creep downstairs, hoping she would not be heard by the gang in the kitchen, praying that one of them would not step into the hall and see her. She needed to grab a coat and boots, for she was barefoot and naked but for a cotton nightdress, and she knew she could not go three yards, dressed as she was, in a blizzard with the snow two feet deep. Then she had to make her way around the house, staying well away from the windows, to the cottage, and get the phone she had left in her handbag on the floor by the door.
She tried to summon her nerve. What was she frightened of? The tension, she thought: the strain was petrifying. But it would not be for long. Half a minute to go down the stairs; a minute to put on coat and boots; two minutes, perhaps three, to tramp through the snow to the cottage. Less than five minutes, that was all.
She began to feel resentful. How dare they make her scared to walk around her own father's house? Indignation gave her courage.
Shaking, she slid out from under the bed. The bedroom door was open. She peeped out, saw that all was clear, and stepped onto the landing. She could hear voices from the kitchen. She looked down.
There was a hat stand at the foot of the stairs. Most of the family's coats and boots were kept in a walk-in closet in the boot lobby by the back door, but Daddy always left his in the hall, and she could see his old blue anorak hanging from the stand, and below it the leather-lined rubber boots that kept his feet warm while he walked Nellie. They should be enough to keep her from freezing to death while she plowed through the snow to the cottage. It would take her only a few seconds to slip them on and sneak out through the front door.
If she had the guts.
She started to tiptoe down the stairs.
The voices from the kitchen became louder. There was an argument going on. She heard Nigel say, "Well, bloody well look again, then!" Did that mean someone was going to search the house? She turned and ran back, going up the stairs two at a time. As she reached the landing, she heard heavy boots in the hall-Daisy.
It was no good hiding under the bed again. If Daisy was being sent back for a second search, she was bound to look harder this time. Miranda stepped into her father's bedroom. There was one place she could hide: the attic. When she was ten years old, she had made it her den. All the children had, at different times. The door of the suit cupboard stood open.
She heard Daisy's steps on the landing.
She fell to her knees, crawled inside, and opened the low door that led to the attic. Then she turned and closed the cupboard door behind her. She backed into the attic and closed the low door.
She realized immediately that she had made an error that might be fatal. Daisy had searched the house a quarter of an hour or so ago. She must have seen the door of the suit cupboard standing open. Would she now remember that, and realize that someone must have closed it subsequently? And would she be smart enough to guess why?
Miranda heard footsteps in the dressing room. She held her breath as Daisy walked to the bathroom and back. She heard the sound of cupboard doors being flung open. She bit her thumb to keep from screaming with fear. There was a brushing sound as Daisy rummaged among suits and shirts. The low door was hard to see, unless you got down on your knees and looked under the hanging clothes. Would Daisy be so thorough?
There was a long moment of quiet.
Then Daisy's footsteps receded through the bedroom.
Miranda felt so relieved that she wanted to cry. She stopped herself: she had to be brave. What was happening in the kitchen? She remembered the hole in the floor. She crawled slowly across to take a look.
HUGO looked so pathetic that Kit almost felt sorry for him. He was a short man, and pudgy. He had fatty breasts with hairy nipples and a belly that hung over his genitals. The thin legs below his round body made him look like an ill-designed doll. He seemed all the more tragic by contrast with his usual self. He was normally poised and self-assured, dressed in natty suits that flattered his figure, and he flirted with the confidence of a matinee idol. Now he looked foolish and mortified.
The family were crowded together at one end of the kitchen, by the pantry door, away from any exits: Kit himself, his sister Olga in her black silk wrap, their father with swollen lips where Daisy had punched him, and Olga's husband, the naked Hugo. Stanley was sitting down, holding Nellie, stroking her to keep her calm, afraid she would be shot if she attacked the strangers. Nigel and Elton stood on the other side of the table, and Daisy was searching the upstairs.
Hugo stepped forward. "There are towels and things in the laundry," he said. The laundry was off the kitchen, on the same side as the dining room. "Let me get something to wrap around me."
Daisy heard this as she returned from her search. She picked up a tea towel. "Try this," she said, and flicked it at his crotch. Kit remembered, from school shower-room horseplay, how that could sting. Hugo let out an involuntary yelp. He turned around, and she flicked it again, catching him on the backside. He skipped away, into the corner, and Daisy laughed. Hugo was completely humiliated.
It was unpleasant to see, and Kit felt slightly sick.
"Stop playing around," Nigel said angrily. "I want to know where the other sister is-Miranda. She must have slipped out. Where did she go?"
Daisy said, "I've looked all over the house twice. She's not in the building."
"She could be hiding."
"And she could be the invisible fucking woman, but I can't find her."
Kit knew where she was. A minute ago he had seen Nellie cock her head and lift one black ear. Someone had entered the attic, and it had to be Miranda. Kit wondered if his father had noticed Nellie's reaction. Miranda was no great threat, up there with no phone, wearing only a nightdress. Still Kit wondered if there was a way he could warn Nigel about her.
Elton said, "Maybe she went outside. That noise we heard was probably her."
Nigel's reply betrayed exasperation. "So how come you didn't see her when you went to look?"
"Because it's bloody dark!" Elton was becoming irritated by Nigel's hectoring tone.
Kit guessed the noise outside had been some of the kids, fooling around. There had been a thud, then a scream, as if a person or animal had hit the back door. A deer might have bumped into the door, but deer did not scream, they made a mooing sound like cattle. A large bird could conceivably have been blown against the door by the storm, and might have made a noise like a scream. However, Kit thought the likeliest culprit was Miranda's son, young Tom. He was eleven, just the right age for creeping around at night, playing commandos.
If Tom had looked through the window and seen the guns, what would he do? First he would search for his mother, but he would not find her. Then he would wake his sister, perhaps, or Ned. Either way, Nigel had little time to spare. He needed to capture the rest of the family before anyone made a phone call. But there was nothing Kit could do without blowing his cover, so he sat tight and kept his mouth shut.
"She was only wearing a nightdress," Nigel said. "She can't have gone far."
Elton said, "Well, I'll go and check the outbuildings, shall I?"
"Wait a minute." Nigel frowned, thinking. "We've searched every room in the house, yeah?"
Daisy said, "Aye, like I told you."
"We've taken mobile phones from three of them-Kit, the naked gnome, and the snotty sister. And we're sure there are no others in the house."
"Aye." Daisy had checked for phones when she was searching.
"Then we'd better check the other buildings."
"Right," Elton said. "There's a cottage, a barn, and a garage, the old man said."
"Check the garage first-there will be phones in the cars. Then the cottage and the barn. Round up the rest of the family and bring them here. Make sure you get all their phones. We'll just keep them all under guard here for an hour or two, then we'll run."
It was not a bad plan, Kit thought. When all the family was in one place, with no phones, there would be nothing they could do. No one was going to come to the door on Christmas morning-no milkman, no postman, no delivery van from Tesco or Majestic Wine-so there was no danger of any outsider becoming suspicious. The gang could sit tight and wait for daylight.
Elton put on his jacket and looked out of the window, peering into the snow. Following his gaze, Kit noticed that the cottage and barn across the courtyard were barely visible through the snow by the light of the outside lamps. There was still no letup.
Daisy said, "I'll check the garage if Elton goes to the cottage."
Elton said, "We'd better get on with it, someone might be calling the police right now."
Daisy pocketed her gun and zipped up her leather jacket.
Nigel said, "Before you go, let's shut this lot up someplace where they can't cause trouble."
That was when Hugo jumped Nigel.
Everyone was taken totally by surprise. Kit had written Hugo off, as had the gang. But he leaped forward with furious energy, punching Nigel in the face again and again with both fists. He had chosen his moment well, for Daisy had put her weapon away, and Elton had never drawn his, so Nigel was the only one with a gun in his hand, and he was so busy trying to dodge blows that he could not use it.
Nigel staggered back, bumping against the kitchen counter. Hugo went at him like a fiend, thumping his face and body, screaming something incomprehensible. In a few seconds he landed a lot of blows, but Nigel did not drop the gun.
Elton was the quickest to react. He grabbed Hugo and tried to pull him off. Being naked, Hugo was hard to grasp and, for a moment, Elton could not get a grip, his hands sliding off Hugo's moving shoulders.
Stanley released Nellie, who was barking furiously, and the dog flung herself on Elton, biting his legs. She was an old dog, and had a soft mouth, but she was a distraction.
Daisy reached for her gun. The barrel seemed to catch on her pocket lining as she tried to draw it out. Then Olga picked up a plate and threw it across the room at her. Daisy dodged, and the plate hit her glancingly on the shoulder.
Kit stepped forward to grab Hugo, then stopped himself.
The last thing he wanted was for the family to overwhelm the gang. Although he was shocked by the true purpose of the theft he had organized, his own survival was uppermost in his mind. It was less than twenty-four hours since Daisy had almost killed him in the swimming pool, and he knew that if he failed to repay her father, he faced an end every bit as painful as death from the virus in the perfume bottle. He would intervene on Nigel's side, against his own family, if he had to-but did he have to? He still wanted to maintain the fiction that he had never seen Nigel before tonight. So he stood helplessly looking on as contrary impulses clashed within him.
Elton put both arms around Hugo in a powerful bear hug. Hugo struggled gamely, but he was smaller and less fit, and could not shake Elton off. Elton lifted Hugo's feet off the ground and stepped back, pulling him away from Nigel.
Daisy kicked Nellie accurately in the ribs with a heavy boot, and the dog whimpered and fled to the corner of the room.
Nigel was bleeding from his nose and mouth, and there were angry red marks around his eyes. He glared malevolently at Hugo and raised his right hand, which still grasped the gun.
Olga took a step forward, shouting: "No!"
Instantly, Nigel swung his arm and pointed the gun at her.
Stanley grabbed her and held her back, saying at the same time, "Don't shoot, please don't shoot."
Nigel kept the gun pointed at Olga and said, "Daisy, have you still got that sap?" Looking pleased, Daisy took out her blackjack. Nigel nodded toward Hugo. "Hurt this bastard."
Seeing what was coming, Hugo began to struggle, but Elton tightened his hold.
Daisy drew back her right arm and smashed the blackjack into Hugo's face. It hit his cheekbone with a sickening crunch. He made a noise between a shout and a scream. Daisy hit him again, and blood spurted from his mouth and ran down his bare chest. With a spiteful grin, Daisy eyed his genitals, then kicked him in the groin. She hit him with the blackjack again, this time on the top of his head, and he fell unconscious. But that made no difference to Daisy. She hit him full on the nose, then kicked him again.
Olga let out a wail of grief and rage, broke free of her father's grasp, and threw herself at Daisy.
Daisy swung the blackjack at her, but Olga was too close, and the blow whistled behind her head.
Elton dropped Hugo, who slumped on the tiled floor, and made a grab for Olga.
Olga got her hands on Daisy's face and scratched.
Nigel had his gun pointed at Olga but he hesitated to shoot, no doubt fearing that he would hit Elton or Daisy, both of whom were struggling with Olga.
Stanley turned to the stovetop and picked up the heavy frying pan in which Kit had scrambled a dozen eggs. He raised it high in the air then brought it down on Nigel, aiming at the man's head. At the last instant Nigel saw it coming, and dodged. The pan hit his right shoulder. He cried out in pain, and the gun flew from his hand.
Stanley tried to catch the gun, but missed. It landed on the kitchen table, an inch from the perfume bottle. It bounced onto the seat of a pine chair, rolled over, and dropped to the floor at Kit's feet.
Kit bent down and picked it up.
Nigel and Stanley looked at him. Sensing the dramatic change, Olga, Daisy, and Elton stopped fighting and turned to look at Kit holding the gun.
Kit hesitated, torn in half by the agony of the decision.
They all stared at him for a long moment of stillness.
At last he turned the gun around, holding it by the barrel, and gave it back to Nigel.
CRAIG and Sophie found the barn at last.
They had waited a few minutes by the back door, hesitating, then realized they would freeze to death if they stayed there indefinitely. Screwing up their courage, they had crossed the yard directly, heads bent, praying that no one would look out of the kitchen windows. The twenty paces from one side to the other seemed to take forever through the thick snow. Then they followed the front wall of the barn, always in full view from the kitchen. Craig did not dare to look in that direction: he was too frightened of what he might see. When at last they reached the door, he took one swift glance. In the dark he could not see the building itself, just the lighted windows. The snow further obscured his view, and he could see only vague figures moving in the kitchen. There was no sign that anyone had glanced out at the wrong moment.
He pulled the big door open. They stepped inside, and he closed it gratefully. Warm air washed over him. He was shivering, and Sophie's teeth were chattering like castanets. She threw off her snow-covered anorak and sat on one of the big hospital-style radiators. Craig would have liked to take a minute to warm himself, but there was no time for that-he had to get help fast.
The place was dimly lit by a night-light next to the camp bed where Tom lay. Craig looked closely at the boy, wondering whether to wake him. He seemed to have recovered from Sophie's vodka, and was sleeping peacefully in his Spider-Man pajamas.
Craig's eye was caught by something on the floor beside the pillow. It was a photograph. Craig picked it up and held it in the light. It appeared to have been taken at his mother's birthday party, and showed Tom with Sophie, her arm around his shoulders. Craig smiled to himself. I'm not the only one who was captivated by her that afternoon, he thought. He put the picture back, saying nothing to Sophie.
There was no point in waking Tom, he decided. There was nothing the boy could do, and he would only be terrified. He was better off asleep.
Craig went quickly up the ladder that led to the hayloft bedroom. On one of the narrow beds he could make out the heap of blankets that covered his sister Caroline. She seemed fast asleep. Like Tom, she was better off that way. If she woke up and found out what was going on, she would have hysterics. He would try not to wake her.
The second bed had not been slept in. On the floor next to it he could see the shape of an open suitcase. Sophie said she had dropped her phone on top of her clothes. Craig crossed the room, moving cautiously in the near-dark. As he bent down, he heard, very near to him, the soft rustle and squeak of something alive, and he grunted a startled curse, his heart hammering in his chest; then he realized it was Caroline's damn rats moving in their cage. He pushed the cage aside and began to search Sophie's case.
Working by touch, he rummaged in the contents. On top was a plastic shopping bag containing a gift-wrapped parcel. Otherwise it was mostly clothes, neatly folded: someone had helped Sophie pack, he guessed, for he did not take her to be a tidy person. He was momentarily distracted by a silky bra, then his hand closed over the oblong shape of a mobile phone. He flipped its lid, but no lights came on. He could not see well enough to find the "On-Off" switch.
He hurried back down the ladder with the phone in his hand. There was a standard lamp by the bookshelf. He turned it on and held Sophie's phone under the light. He found the "Power" button and pressed it, but nothing happened. He could have cried with frustration. "I can't get the bloody thing to come on!" he whispered.
She held out her hand, still sitting on the radiator, and he gave her the phone. She pressed the same button, frowned, pressed it again, then jabbed at it repeatedly. At last she said, "The battery has run down."
"Shit! Where's the charger?"
"I don't know."
"In your suitcase?"
"I don't think so."
Craig became exasperated. "How can you possibly not know where your phone charger is?"
Sophie's voice went small. "I think I left it at home."
"Jesus Christ!" Craig controlled his temper with an effort. He wanted to tell her she was a stupid fool, but that would not help. He was silent for a moment. The memory of kissing her came back to him, and he could not be angry. His rage evaporated, and he put his arms around her. "All right," he said. "Never mind."
She rested her head on his chest. "I'm sorry."
"Let's think of something else."
"There must be more phones, or a charger we can use."
He shook his head. "Caroline and I don't carry mobiles-my mother won't let us have them. She doesn't go to the toilet without hers, but she says we don't need them."
"Tom hasn't got one. Miranda thinks he's too young."
"Hell."
"Wait!" She pulled away from him. "Wasn't there one in your grandfather's car?"
Craig snapped his fingers. "The Ferrari-right! And I left the keys in. All we have to do is get to the garage, and we can phone the police."
"You mean we have to go outside again?"
"You can stay here."
"No. I want to come."
"You wouldn't be alone-Tom and Caroline are here."
"I want to be with you."
Craig tried not to show how pleased he was. "You'd better get your coat on again, then."
Sophie came off the radiator. Craig picked her coat up from the floor and helped her into it. She looked up at him, and he tried an encouraging smile. "Ready?"
A trace of her old spirit came back. "Yeah. Like, what can happen? We could be murdered, that's all. Let's go."
They went outside. It was still pitch-dark, and the snowfall was heavy, bursts of stinging pellets rather than clouds of butterflies. Once again, Craig looked nervously across the yard to the house, but he could see no more than before, which meant the strangers in the kitchen were unlikely to see him. He took Sophie's hand. Steering by the courtyard lights, he led her to the end of the barn, away from the house, then crossed the yard to the garage.
The side door was unlocked, as always. It was as cold inside as out. There were no windows, so Craig risked switching on the lights.
Grandpas Ferrari was where Craig had left it, parked close to the wall to hide the dent. Like a flash, he remembered the shame and fear he had felt twelve hours ago, after he had crashed into the tree. It seemed strange now that he had been so anxious and afraid about something as trivial as a dent in a car. He recalled how eager he had been to impress Sophie and get her to like him. It was not long ago, but it seemed far in the past.
Also in the garage was Luke's Ford Mondeo. The Toyota Land Cruiser had gone: Luke must have borrowed it last night.
He went to the Ferrari and pulled the door handle. It would not open. He tried again, but the door was locked. "Fuck," he said feelingly.
"What's the matter?" Sophie said.
"The car's locked."
"Oh, no!"
He looked inside. "And the keys have gone."
"How did that happen?"
Craig banged his fist on the car roof in frustration. "Luke must have noticed that the car was unlocked last night, when he was leaving. He must have removed the keys from the ignition, locked the car, and taken the keys back to the house for Grandpa."
"What about the other car?"
Craig opened the door of the Ford and looked inside. "No phone."
"Can we get the Ferrari keys back?"
Craig made a face. "Maybe."
"Where are they kept?"
"In the key box, on the wall of the boot lobby."
"At the back of the kitchen?"
Craig nodded grimly. "Just about two yards from those people with guns."
THE snowplow moved slowly along the two-lane road in the dark. Carl Osborne's Jaguar followed it. Toni was at the wheel of the Jag, peering ahead as the wipers struggled to clear away the thickly falling snow. The view through the windshield did not change. Straight ahead were the flashing lights of the snowplow; on her near side was the bank of snow freshly shoveled up by the blade; on the off side, virgin snow across the road and over the moors as far as the car's headlights reached.
Mother was asleep in the back with the puppy on her lap. Beside Toni, Carl was quiet, dozing or sulking. He had told Toni that he hated other people driving his car, but she had insisted, and he had been forced to yield, as she had the keys.
"You just never give an inch, do you?" he had muttered before sinking into silence.
"That's why I was such a good cop," she replied.
From the back, Mother said, "It's why you haven't got a husband."
That was more than an hour ago. Now Toni was struggling to stay awake, fighting the hypnotic sway of the wipers, the warmth from the heater, and the monotony of the view. She almost wished she had let Carl drive. But she needed to stay in control.
They had found the getaway vehicle at the Dew Drop Inn. It contained wigs, false mustaches, and plain-lensed spectacles, obviously disguise materials; but no clues as to where the gang might be headed. The police car had stayed there while the officers questioned Vincent, the young hotel employee Toni had spoken to on the phone. The snowplow continued north, on Frank's instructions.
For once, Toni agreed with Frank. It made sense for the gang to switch cars at a location that was on their route, rather than delay their getaway with a diversion. Of course, there was always the possibility that they had foreseen how the police would think and deliberately chosen a location that would mislead pursuers. But in Toni's experience villains were not that subtle. Once they had the swag in their hands, they wanted to get away as fast as they could.
The snowplow did not stop when it passed stationary vehicles. There were two police officers in the cab with the driver, but they were under strict instructions to observe only, for they were not armed, and the gang were. Some of the cars were abandoned, others had one or two people inside, but so far none contained three men and a woman. Most of the occupied cars started up and fell in behind the snowplow, following the track it cleared. There was now a small convoy behind the Jaguar.
Toni was beginning to feel pessimistic. She had hoped by now to have spotted the gang. After all, by the time the thieves had left the Dew Drop Inn, the roads had been all but impassable. How far could they have got?
Could they have some kind of hideout nearby? It seemed improbable. Thieves did not like to go to earth close to the scene of the crime-quite the opposite. As the convoy moved north, Toni worried more and more that her guess was wrong, and the thieves might have driven south.
She spotted a familiar direction sign saying "Beach," and realized they must be near Steepfall. Now she had to put the second part of her plan into operation. She had to go to the house and brief Stanley.
She was dreading it. Her job was to prevent this kind of thing happening. She had done several things right: her vigilance had ensured that the theft was discovered sooner rather than later; she had forced the police to take the biohazard seriously and give chase; and Stanley had to be impressed by the way she had reached him in a blizzard. But she wanted to be able to tell him that the perpetrators had been caught and the emergency was over. Instead, she was going to report her own failure. It would not be the joyous reunion she had anticipated.
Frank was at the Kremlin. Using Osborne's car phone, Toni dialed his mobile.
Frank's voice came out of the Jaguar's speakers. "Detective-Superintendent Hackett."
"Toni here. The snowplow is approaching the turnoff for Stanley Oxenford's house. I'd like to brief him on what's happened."
"You don't need my permission."
"I can't get him on the phone, but the house is only a mile down a side road-"
"Forget it. I've got an armed response team here now, bristling with firepower and itching to go. I'm not going to delay finding the gang."
"It will take the snowplow five or six minutes to clear the lane-and you'll get me out of your hair. And my mother."
"Tempting though that is, I'm not willing to hold up the search for five minutes."
"Stanley may be able to assist the investigation in some way. After all, he is the victim."
"The answer's no," Frank said, and he hung up.
Osborne had heard both sides of the conversation. "This is my car," he said. "I'm not going to Steepfall-I want to stay with the snowplow. I might miss something."
"You can stay with it. You'll leave me and my mother at the house and follow the plow back to the main road. When I've briefed Stanley, I'll borrow a car and catch you up."
"Well, Frank has nixed that scheme."
"I haven't played my ace yet." She dialed Frank again.
This time, his answer was abrupt. "What?"
"Remember Farmer Johnny."
"Go to hell."
"I'm using a hands-free phone, and Carl Osborne is beside me, listening to us both. Where did you tell me to go, again?"
"Pick up the fucking phone."
Toni detached the handset from its cradle and put it to her ear, so that Carl could not hear Frank. "Call the snowplow driver, Frank, please."
"You bitch, you've always held the Farmer Johnny case over my head. You know he was guilty."
"Everyone knows that. But only you and I know what you did to get a conviction."
"You wouldn't tell Carl."
"He's listening to everything I say."
Frank's voice took on a sanctimonious note. "I suppose there's no point in talking to you about loyalty."
"Not since the moment you told Carl about Fluffy the hamster."
That shot went home. Frank began to sound defensive. "Carl wouldn't do the Farmer Johnny story. He's a mate."
"Your trust is deeply touching-him being a journalist, and all."
There was a long silence.
Toni said, "Make up your mind, Frank-the turning is just ahead. Either the snowplow diverts, or I spend the next hour briefing Carl on Farmer Johnny."
There was a click and a hum as Frank hung up.
Toni cradled the phone.
Carl said, "What was that all about?"
"If we drive past the next left turn, I'll tell you."
A few moments later, the snowplow turned onto the side road leading to Steepfall.
HUGO lay bleeding on the tiled floor, unconscious but breathing.
Olga was weeping. Her chest heaved as she was wracked with uncontrollable sobbing. She was close to hysterics.
Stanley Oxenford was gray with shock. He looked like a man who has been told he is dying. He stared at Kit, his face showing despair and bewilderment and suppressed rage. His expression said, How could you do this to us? Kit tried not to look at him.
Kit was in a rage. Everything was going wrong. His family now knew he was in league with the thieves, and there was no way they would lie about it, which meant the police would eventually know the whole story. He was doomed to a life on the run from the law. He could hardly contain his anger.
He was also afraid. The virus sample in its perfume bottle lay on the kitchen table, protected only by two transparent plastic bags. Kit's fear heated his wrath.
Nigel ordered Stanley and Olga to lie face down beside Hugo, threatening them with his gun. He was so angry at the beating he had taken from Hugo that he might have welcomed an excuse to pull the trigger. Kit would not have tried to stop him. The way he felt, he could have killed someone himself.
Elton searched out improvised ropes-appliance cords, a length of clothesline, and a ball of twine.
Daisy tied up Olga, the unconscious Hugo, and Stanley, binding their feet together and their hands behind their backs. She pulled the cords tight, so that they cut into the flesh, and yanked at the knots to make sure there was no looseness. Her face wore the ugly little smile she showed when she was hurting people.
Kit said to Nigel, "I need my phone."
Nigel said, "Why?"
Kit said, "In case there's a call to the Kremlin that I need to intercept."
Nigel hesitated.
Kit said, "For Christ's sake, I gave you your gun!"
Nigel shrugged and handed over the phone.
"How can you do this, Kit?" Olga said, as Daisy knelt on their father's back. "How can you watch your family being treated this way?"
"It's not my fault!" he rejoined angrily. "If you'd behaved decently to me, none of this would have happened."
"Not your fault?" his father said in bewilderment.
"First you fired me, then you refused to help me financially, so I ended up owing money to gangsters."
"I fired you because you stole!"
"I'm your son-you should have forgiven me!"
"I did forgive you."
"Too late."
"Oh, God."
"I was forced into this!"
Stanley spoke in a voice of authoritative contempt that was familiar to Kit from childhood: "No one is forced into something like this."
Kit hated that tone: it used to be a sign that he had done something particularly stupid. "You don't understand."
"I fear I understand all too well."
That was just typical of him, Kit thought. He always thought he knew best. Well, he looked pretty stupid now, with Daisy tying his hands behind his back.
"What is this about, anyway?" Stanley said.
"Shut your gob," Daisy said.
He ignored her. "What in God's name are you up to with these people, Kit? And what's in the perfume bottle?"
"I said shut up!" Daisy kicked Stanley in the face.
He grunted with pain, and blood came out of his mouth.
That will teach you, Kit thought with savage satisfaction.
Nigel said, "Turn on the TV, Kit. Let's see when this bloody snow is going to stop."
They watched advertisements: January sales, summer holidays, cheap loans. Elton took Nellie by the collar and shut her in the dining room. Hugo stirred and appeared to be coming round, and Olga spoke to him in a low voice. A newscaster appeared wearing a Santa hat. Kit thought bitterly of other families waking up to normal Christmas celebrations. "A freak blizzard hit Scotland last night, bringing a surprise white Christmas to most of the country this morning," the newscaster said.
"Shit," Nigel said with feeling. "How long are we going to be stuck here?"
"The storm, which left dozens of drivers stranded overnight, is expected to ease around daybreak, and the thaw should set in by mid-morning."
Kit was cheered. They could still make it to the rendezvous.
Nigel had the same thought. "How far away is that four-wheel drive, Kit?"
"A mile."
"We'll leave here at first light. Have you got yesterday's paper?"
"There must be one somewhere-why?"
"Check what time sunrise is."
Kit went into his father's study and found The Scotsman in a magazine rack. He brought it into the kitchen. "Four minutes past eight," he said.
Nigel checked his watch. "Less than an hour." He looked worried. "But then we have to walk a mile in the snow, and drive another ten. We're going to be cutting it fine." He took a phone out of his pocket. He began to dial, then stopped. "Dead battery," he said. "Elton, give me your phone." He took Elton's phone and dialed. "Yeah, it's me, what about this weather, then?" Kit guessed he was speaking to the customer's pilot. "Yeah, should ease up in an hour or so… I can get there, but can you?" Nigel was pretending to be more confident than he really felt. Once the snow stopped, a helicopter could take off and go anywhere, but it was not so easy for the gang, traveling by road. "Good. So I'll see you at the appointed time." He pocketed the phone.
The newscaster said, "At the height of the blizzard, thieves raided the laboratories of Oxenford Medical, near Inverburn."
The kitchen went silent. That's it, Kit thought; the truth is out.
"They got away with samples of a dangerous virus."
Stanley spoke through smashed lips. "So that's what's in the perfume bottle… Are you people mad?"
"Carl Osborne reports from the scene."
The screen showed a photo of Osborne with a phone to his ear, and his voice was heard over a phone line. "The deadly virus that killed laboratory technician Michael Ross only yesterday is now in the hands of gangsters."
Stanley was incredulous. "But why? Do you imagine you can sell the stuff?"
Nigel said, "I know I can."
On television, Osborne was saying, "In a meticulously planned Christmas caper, three men and a woman defeated the laboratory's state-of-the-art security and penetrated to BioSafety Level Four, where the company keeps stocks of incurable viruses in a locked refrigerator."
Stanley said, "But, Kit, you didn't help them do this, did you?"
Olga spoke up. "Of course he did," she said disgustedly.
"The armed gang overcame security guards, injuring two, one seriously. But many more will die if the Madoba-2 virus is released into the population."
Stanley rolled over with an effort and sat upright. His face was bruised, one eye was closing, and there was blood down the front of his pajamas; yet he still seemed the most authoritative person in the room. "Listen to that fellow on TV," he said.
Daisy moved toward Stanley, but Nigel stopped her with a raised hand.
"You're going to kill yourselves," Stanley said. "If you really have Madoba- 2 in that bottle on the table, there's no antidote. If you drop it and the bottle smashes and the fluid leaks out, you're dead. Even if you sell it to someone else and they release it after you've left, it spreads so fast that you could easily catch it and die."
On the screen, Osborne said, "Madoba-2 is believed to be more dangerous than the Black Death that devastated Britain in… ancient times."
Stanley raised his voice over the commentary. "He's right, even if he doesn't know what century he's talking about. In Britain in 1348 the Black Death killed one person in three. This could be worse. Surely no amount of money is worth that risk?"
Nigel said, "I won't be in Britain when it's released."
Kit was shocked. Nigel had not previously mentioned this. Had Elton also made plans to go abroad? What about Daisy and Harry Mac? Kit himself intended to be in Italy-but now he wondered if that was far enough away.
Stanley turned to Kit. "You can't possibly think this makes sense."
He was right, Kit thought. The whole thing bordered on insane. But then, the world was crazy. "I'm going to be dead anyway if I don't pay my debts."
"Come on, they're not going to kill you for a debt."
Daisy said, "Oh, yes, we are."
"How much do you owe?"
"A quarter of a million pounds."
"Good God!"
"I told you I was desperate, three months ago, but you wouldn't listen, you bastard."
"How the hell did you manage to run up a debt- No, never mind, forget I asked."
"Gambling on credit. My system is good-I just had a very long run of bad luck."
Olga spoke up. "Luck? Kit, wake up-you've been had! These people lent you the money then made sure you lost, because they needed you to help them rob the laboratory!"
Kit did not believe that. He said scornfully, "How would you know a thing like that?"
"I'm a lawyer, I meet these people, I hear their pathetic excuses when they're caught. I know more about them than I care to."
Stanley spoke again. "Look, Kit, surely we can find a way out of this without killing innocent people?"
"Too late now. I made my decision, and I've got to see this through."
"But think about it, lad. How many people are you going to kill? Dozens? Thousands? Millions?"
"I see you're willing for me to be killed. You'd protect a crowd of strangers, but you wouldn't rescue me."
Stanley groaned. "God knows I love you, and I don't want you to die, but are you sure you want to save your own life at that price?"
As Kit opened his mouth to reply, his phone rang.
Taking it out of his pocket, he wondered whether Nigel would trust him to answer it. But no one moved, and he held the phone to his ear. He heard the voice of Hamish McKinnon. "Toni's following the snowplow, and she's persuaded them to divert to your place. She'll be there any minute. And there are two police officers in the cab."
Kit ended the call and looked at Nigel. "The police are coming here-now."
CRAIG opened the side door of the garage and peeped out. Three windows were lit in the gable end of the house, but the curtains were drawn, so no casual observer could see him.
He glanced back to where Sophie sat. He had turned out the lights in the garage, but he knew she was in the front passenger seat of Luke's Ford, her pink anorak pulled close around her against the cold. He waved in her direction, then stepped outside.
Moving as quickly as he could, lifting his feet high as he stepped in the deep snow, he went along the blind wall of the garage until he came level with the front of the house.
He was going to get the Ferrari keys. He would have to sneak into the lobby at the back of the kitchen and take them from the key box. Sophie had wanted to go with him, but he had persuaded her that it was more dangerous for two people than for one.
He was more frightened without her. For her sake, he had to pretend to be brave, and that had made him braver. But now he had a bad attack of nerves. As he hesitated at the corner of the house, his hands were shaking and his legs felt strangely weak. He could easily be caught by the strangers, and then he did not know what he would do. He had never been in a real fight, not since he was about eight years old. He knew boys of his own age who fought-outside a pub, usually, on a Saturday night and all of them, without exception, were stupid. The three strangers in the kitchen were none of them much bigger than Craig, but all the same he was frightened of them. It seemed to him that they would know what to do in a fight, and he had no idea. Anyway, they had guns. They might shoot him. How much would that hurt?
He looked along the front of the house. He was going to have to pass the windows of the living room and the dining room, where the curtains were not drawn. The snowfall was not as thick as before, and he could easily be seen by someone glancing out.
He forced himself to move forward.
He stopped at the first window and looked into the living room. Fairy lights flashed on the Christmas tree, dimly outlining the familiar couches and tables, the television set, and four oversize children's stockings on the floor in front of the fireplace, stuffed with boxes and packages.
There was no one in the room.
He walked on. The snow seemed deeper here, blown into a drift by the wind off the sea. Wading through it was surprisingly tiring. He almost felt like lying down. He realized he had been without sleep for twenty-four hours. He shook himself and pressed on. Passing the front door, he half-expected that it would suddenly fly open, and the Londoner in the pink sweater would leap out and grab him. But nothing happened.
As he drew level with the dark dining-room windows, he was startled by a soft bark. For a moment his heart seemed to bang against his chest, then he realized it was only Nellie. They must have shut her in there. The dog recognized Craig's silhouette and gave a low let-me-out-of-here whine. "Quiet, Nellie, for God's sake," he murmured. He doubted whether the dog could hear him, but she fell silent anyway.
He passed the parked cars, Miranda's Toyota Previa and Hugo's Mercedes-Benz station wagon. Their sides as well as their tops were all white, so that they looked as if they might be snow all the way through, snow cars for snowmen. He rounded the corner of the house. There was a light in the window of the boot lobby. Cautiously, he peeped around the edge of the window frame. He could see the big walk-in cupboard where anoraks and boots were kept. There was a watercolor of Steepfall that must have been painted by Aunt Miranda, a yard brush leaning in a corner-and the steel key box, screwed to the wall.
The door from the lobby to the kitchen was closed. That was lucky.
He listened, but he could not hear anything from inside the house.
What happened when you punched someone? In the cinema they just fell down, but he was pretty sure that would not happen in real life. More important, what happened when someone punched you? How much did it hurt? What if they did it again and again? And what was it like to be shot? He had heard somewhere that the most painful thing in the world was a bullet in the stomach. He was absolutely terrified, but he forced himself to move.
He grasped the handle of the back door, turned it as gently as he could, and pushed. The door swung open and he stepped inside. The lobby was a small room, six feet long, narrowed by the brickwork of the massive old chimney and the deep cupboard beside it. The key box hung on the chimney wall. Craig reached to open it. There were twenty numbered hooks, some with single keys and some with bunches, but he instantly recognized the Ferrari keys. He grasped them and lifted, but the fob snagged on the hook. He jiggled it, fighting down panic. Then someone rattled the handle of the kitchen door.
Craig's heart leaped in his chest. The person was trying to open the door between the kitchen and the lobby. He or she had turned the handle, but was obviously unfamiliar with the house and was pushing instead of pulling. In the moment of delay, Craig stepped into the coat cupboard and closed the door behind him.
He had done it without thought, abandoning the keys. As soon as he was inside, he realized it would have been almost as quick to go out of the back door into the garden. He tried to remember whether he had closed the back door. He thought not. And had fresh snow fallen from his boots onto the floor? That would reveal that someone had been there in the last minute or so, for otherwise it would have melted. And he had left the key box open.
An observant person would see the clues and guess the truth in an instant.
He held his breath and listened.
NIGEL rattled the handle until he realized that the door opened inward, not out. He pulled it wide and looked into the boot lobby. "No good," he said. "Door and a window." He crossed the kitchen and flung open the door to the pantry. "This will do. No other doors and only one window, overlooking the courtyard. Elton, put them in here."
"It's cold in there," Olga protested. There was an air-conditioning unit in the pantry.
"Oh, stop it, you'll make me cry," Nigel said sarcastically.
"My husband needs a doctor."
"After punching me, he's lucky he doesn't need a fucking undertaker." Nigel turned back to Elton. "Stuff something in their mouths so they can't make a noise. Quick, we may not have much time!"
Elton found a drawer full of clean tea towels. He gagged Stanley, Olga, and Hugo, who was now conscious, though dazed. Then he got the bound prisoners to their feet and pushed them into the pantry.
"Listen to me," Nigel said to Kit. Nigel was superficially calm, planning ahead and giving orders, but he was pale, and the expression on his narrow, cynical face was grim. Beneath the surface, Kit saw, he was wound as tight as a guitar string. "When the police get here, you're going to the door," Nigel went on. "Speak to them nicely, look relaxed, the law-abiding citizen. Say that nothing's wrong here, and everyone in the house is still asleep except you."
Kit did not know how he was going to appear relaxed when he felt as if he were facing a firing squad. He gripped the back of a kitchen chair to stop himself shaking. "What if they want to come in?"
"Discourage them. If they insist, bring them into the kitchen. We'll be in that little back room." He pointed to the boot lobby. "Just get rid of them as fast as you can."
"Toni Gallo is coming along with the police," Kit said. "She's head of security at the lab."
"Well, tell her to go away."
"She'll want to see my father."
"Say she can't."
"She may not take no for an answer-"
Nigel raised his voice. "For crying out loud, what is she going to do-knock you down and walk in over your unconscious body? Just tell her to fuck off."
"All right," Kit said. "But we need to keep my sister Miranda quiet. She's hiding in the attic."
"Attic? Where?"
"Directly above this room. Look inside the first cupboard in the dressing room. Behind the suits is a low door leading into the roof space."
Nigel did not ask how Kit knew Miranda was there. He looked at Daisy. "Take care of it."
MIRANDA saw her brother speaking to Nigel and heard his words as he betrayed her.
She crossed the attic in a moment and crawled through the door into Daddy's suit cupboard. She was panting hard, her heart was racing, and she felt flushed, but she was not in a panic, not yet. She jumped out of the cupboard into the dressing room.
She had heard Kit say the police were coming and, for a joyful moment, she had thought they were saved. All she had to do was sit tight until men in blue uniforms walked in through the front door and arrested the thieves. Then she had listened with horror as Nigel rapidly devised a way of getting rid of the police. What was she to do if the police seemed about to leave without arresting anyone? She had decided she would open a bedroom window and start screaming.
Now Kit had spoiled that plan.
She was terrified of meeting Daisy again, but she held on to her reason, just.
She could hide in Kit's bedroom, on the other side of the landing, while Daisy searched the attic. That would not fool Daisy for more than a few seconds, but it might give Miranda just long enough to open a window and yell for help.
She ran through the bedroom. As she put her hand on the doorknob, she heard heavy boots on the stairs. She was too late.
The door flew open. Miranda hid behind it. Daisy stormed through the bedroom and into the dressing room without looking back.
Miranda slipped out of the door. She crossed the landing and stepped into Kit's room. She ran to the window and pulled back the curtains, hoping to see police cars with flashing lights.
There was no one outside.
She peered in the direction of the lane. It was getting light, and she could see the trees laden with snow at the edge of the wood, but no cars. She almost despaired. Daisy would take only a few seconds to look around the attic and make sure no one was there. Then she would check the rest of the upstairs rooms. Miranda needed more time. How far away could the police be?
Was there any way she could shut Daisy in the attic?
She did not give herself a second to worry about risks. She ran back to her father's room. She could see the door of the suit cupboard standing open. Daisy must be in the attic right now, staring around with those bruised-looking eyes, wondering if there were any hiding places big enough to conceal a grown woman, somewhat overweight.
Without forethought, Miranda closed the cupboard door.
There was no lock, but it was made of solid wood. If she could jam it shut, Daisy would have trouble busting it open, especially as she would have little room to maneuver inside the cupboard.
There was a narrow gap at the bottom of the door. If she could wedge something into it, the door would stick, at least for a few seconds. What could she use? She needed a piece of wood, or cardboard, or even a sheaf of paper. She pulled open her father's bedside drawer and found a volume of Proust.
She started ripping pages out.
KIT heard the dog bark in the next room.
It was a loud, aggressive bark, the kind she gave when a stranger was at the door. Someone was coming. Kit pushed through the swing door that led to the dining room. The dog was standing with her forepaws on the windowsill.
Kit went to the window. The snow had eased to a light scatter of flakes. He looked toward the woods and saw, emerging from the trees, a big truck with a flashing orange light on top and a snowplow blade in front.
"They're here!" he called out.
Nigel came in. The dog growled, and Kit said, "Shut up." Nellie retreated to a corner. Nigel flattened himself against the wall beside the window and peered out.
The snowplow cleared a path eight or ten feet wide. It passed the front door and came as close as it could to the parked cars. At the last moment it turned, sweeping away the snow in front of Hugo's Mercedes and Miranda's Previa. Then it reversed to the garage block, turned off the drive, and cleared a swath of the concrete apron in front of the garage doors. As it did so, a light-colored Jaguar S-type came past it, using the track it had made in the snow, and pulled up at the front door.
A figure got out of the car: a tall, slim woman with bobbed hair, wearing a leather flying jacket with a sheepskin lining. In the reflected light from the headlamps, Kit recognized Toni Gallo.
"Get rid of her," said Nigel.
"What's happened to Daisy? She's taking a long time-"
"She'll deal with your sister."
"She'd better."
"I trust Daisy more than I trust you. Now go to the door." Nigel retreated into the boot lobby with Elton.
Kit went to the front door and opened it.
Toni was helping someone out of the back of the car. Kit frowned. It was an old lady in a long wool coat and a fur hat. He said aloud, "What the hell…?"
Toni took the old lady's arm and they turned around. Toni's face darkened with disappointment when she saw who had come to the door. "Hello, Kit," she said. She walked the old woman toward the house.
Kit said, "What do you want?"
"I've come to see your father. There's an emergency at the laboratory."
"Daddy's asleep."
"He'll want to wake up for this, trust me."
"Who's the old woman?"
"This lady is my mother, Mrs. Kathleen Gallo."
"And I'm not an old woman," said the old woman. "I'm seventy-one, and as fit as a butcher's dog, so mind your manners."
"All right, Mother, he didn't mean to be rude."
Kit ignored that. "What's she doing here?"
"I'll explain to your father."
The snowplow had turned around in front of the garage, and now it returned along the track it had cleared, heading back through the woods toward the main road. The Jaguar followed.
Kit felt panicked. What should he do? The cars were leaving, but Toni was still here.
The Jaguar stopped suddenly. Kit hoped the driver had not seen something suspicious. The car reversed back to the house. The driver's door opened, and a small bundle fell out into the snow. It looked, Kit thought, almost like a puppy.
The door slammed, and the car pulled away.
Toni went back and picked up the bundle. It was a puppy, a black-and-white English sheepdog about eight weeks old.
Kit was bewildered, but he decided not to ask questions. "You can't come in," he said to Toni.
"Don't be stupid," she replied. "This is not your house, it's your father's, and he'll want to see me." She continued walking slowly toward him with her mother on one arm and the puppy cradled in the other.
Kit was stymied. He had expected Toni to be in her own car, and his plan had been to tell her she should come back later. For a moment, he considered running after the Jaguar and telling the driver to come back. But the driver would surely ask why. And the police in the snowplow might ask what the fuss was about. It was too dangerous. Kit did nothing.
Toni stood in front of Kit, who was blocking the doorway. "Is something wrong?" she said.
He was stuck, he realized. If he persisted in trying to obey Nigel's orders, he might bring the police back. Toni on her own was more manageable. "You'd better come in," he said.
"Thanks. By the way, the puppy's name is Osborne." Toni and her mother stepped into the hall. "Do you need the bathroom, Mother?" Toni asked. "It's just here."
Kit watched the lights of the snowplow and the Jaguar disappear into the woods. He relaxed slightly. He was saddled with Toni, but he had got rid of the police. He closed the front door.
There was a loud bang from upstairs, like a hammer hitting a wall.
"What the heck was that?" said Toni.
MIRANDA had taken a thick sheaf of pages from the book and folded them into a wedge which she had shoved into the gap under the cupboard door. That would not hold Daisy for long. She needed a more solid barrier. Beside the bed was an antique commode chest used as a bedside table. With a huge effort, she dragged the heavy mahogany chest across the carpet, tilted it at a forty-five-degree angle, and jammed it against the door. Almost immediately, she heard Daisy pushing at the other side of the door. When pushing failed, she banged.
Miranda guessed Daisy was lying with her head in the attic and her feet in the cupboard, kicking the door with the soles of her boots. The door shuddered but did not fly open. However, Daisy was tough, and she would find a way. Nevertheless, Miranda had won a few precious seconds.
She flew to the window. To her dismay, she saw two vehicles-a truck and a sedan-driving away from the house. "Oh, no!" she said aloud. The vehicles were already too far for the people inside them to hear her scream. Was she too late? She ran out of the bedroom.
She stopped at the top of the stairs. Down in the hall, there was an old woman she had never seen before, going into the bathroom.
What was happening?
Next she recognized Toni Gallo, taking off a flying jacket and hanging it on the hat stand.
A small black-and-white puppy was sniffing the umbrellas.
Kit came into view. There was another bang from the dressing room, and Kit said to Toni, "The children must be awake."
Miranda was bewildered. How could this be? Kit was acting as if there was nothing wrong…
He must be fooling Toni, Miranda realized. He was hoping to make her think that all was well. Then he would either persuade her to leave, or overpower her and tie her up with the others.
Meanwhile, the police were driving away.
Toni closed the bathroom door on her mother. No one had yet noticed Miranda.
Kit said to Toni, "You'd better come into the kitchen."
That was where they would jump her, Miranda guessed. Nigel and Elton would be waiting, and they would take her by surprise.
There was a crash from within the bedroom: Daisy had broken out of the cupboard.
Miranda acted without thinking. "Toni!" she screamed.
Toni looked up the stairs and saw her.
Kit said, "Shit, no-"
Miranda yelled, "The thieves, they're here, they've tied Daddy up, they've got guns-"
Daisy burst out of the bedroom and crashed into Miranda, sending her tumbling down the stairs.
FOR an instant, Toni froze.
Kit stood beside her, an expression of rage on his face, looking up the stairs. With a twisted mouth he said, "Get her, Daisy!"
Miranda was falling down the stairs, her pink nightdress billowing up to reveal plump white thighs.
Running after her was an ugly young woman with a shaved head and Gothic eye makeup, dressed in leather.
And Mother was in the bathroom.
In a flash of comprehension, Toni understood what was happening. Thieves with guns were here, Miranda had said. There could not be two such gangs operating in this remote area on the same night. These must be the people who had robbed the Kremlin. The bald woman at the top of the stairs would be the blonde Toni had seen on the security video- her wig had been found in the getaway van. Toni's mind raced ahead: Kit seemed to be in league with them-which would explain how they had defeated the security system-
As that thought struck her, Kit hooked his arm around her neck and pulled, trying to yank her off her feet. At the same time, he yelled: "Nigel!"
She elbowed him forcefully in the ribs, and had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt with pain. His grip on her neck eased, and she was able to turn and hit him again, this time a punch in the midriff with her left fist. He lashed out at her, but she easily dodged the blow.
She drew back her right arm for a real knockout punch but, before she could strike, Miranda reached the foot of the stairs and crashed into the back of Toni's legs. Because Toni was leaning back, ready to hit Kit, she fell backwards. A moment later, the woman in leather tripped over Miranda and Toni and collided with Kit, and all four of them ended up in a heap on the flagstone floor.
Toni realized she could not win this fight. She was up against Kit and the woman he had called Daisy, and soon she might have others to contend with. She had to get away from these people, catch her breath, and figure out what to do.
She wriggled out of the scrum and rolled over.
Kit was flat on his back. Miranda was curled up in a ball, appearing bruised and winded but not seriously injured. As Toni looked, Daisy got to her knees and, apparently in a fury, punched Miranda, striking her on the arm with a fist encased, peculiarly, in ladylike tan suede gloves.
Toni leaped to her feet. She jumped over Kit, reached the front door, and threw it open. Kit grabbed her ankle with one hand, holding her back. She twisted, and kicked at his arm with the other foot. She connected with his elbow. He cried out in pain and released his grip. Toni jumped out through the doorway and slammed the door behind her.
She turned right and dashed along the track made by the snowplow. She heard a gunshot, and a crash as a pane of glass shattered in a window near her. Someone was shooting at her from inside the house. But the bullet missed.
She ran to the garage and turned onto the concrete apron in front of the doors, where the snowplow had cleared a space. Now the garage block was between her and the person with the gun.
The snowplow, with its two police officers in the cab, had departed at normal speed along the cleared road with its blade raised. That meant that by now the truck was too far away for her to catch it on foot. What was she going to do? While she was on the cleared path, she could easily be followed by someone from the house. But where could she hide? She glanced over to the woods. Plenty of cover there, but she had no coat- she had taken off her flying jacket just before Miranda yelled her warning-so she would not last long in the open. The garage itself would be almost as cold.
She ran to the other end of the building and looked around the corner. A few yards away, she could see the door to the barn. Did she dare to risk crossing the courtyard, in view of the house? She had no other choice.
As she was about to set off, the barn door opened.
She hesitated. What now?
A small boy emerged wearing a coat over Spider-Man pajamas and a pair of rubber boots too big for his feet. Toni recognized Tom, the son of Miranda. He did not look around, but turned left and trudged through the deep snow. Toni assumed he was heading for the house, and asked herself whether she should stop him; but after a moment she realized that her assumption was wrong. Instead of crossing the courtyard to the main house, he went to the guest cottage. Toni willed him to hurry, to get out of the way before trouble started. She imagined he was looking for his mother to ask if he could open his presents. In fact, his mother was in the main house, being punched by a woman gangster in tan suede gloves. But perhaps the stepfather was in the cottage. Toni thought it wiser to leave the boy to find out. The cottage door was not locked, and Tom disappeared inside.
Still Toni hesitated. Was there someone behind one of the house windows, covering the courtyard with a nine-millimeter Browning automatic pistol? She was about to find out.
She set off at a run but, as soon as she hit the deep snow, she fell. She lay there for a second, waiting for a gunshot, but none came. She struggled to her feet, cold snow chilling her through her jeans and sweater, and pressed on, walking more carefully but more slowly. She looked fearfully at the house. She could see no one at any of the windows, It could not take more than a minute to cross the courtyard, but each big step took painfully long. At last she reached the barn, stepped inside, and swung the door closed behind her, shaking with relief that she was still alive.
A small lamp revealed a billiard table, an assortment of elderly couches, a large-screen television set, and two camp beds, both empty. There appeared to be no one else in the room, though a ladder led to a loft. Toni made herself stop shaking and climbed the ladder. When she was halfway up, she peeped over the top. She was startled by several pairs of small red eyes staring at her: Caroline's rats. She climbed the rest of the way. There were two more beds here. The somnolent lump in one was Caroline. The other had not been slept in.
It would not be long before the gang in the house came looking for Toni. She had to get help fast. She reached for her mobile phone.
Then she realized she did not have it.
She shook her clenched fists at the ceiling in frustration. Her phone was in the pocket of the flying jacket, which she had hung up in the hall.
What was she going to do now?
"WE'VE got to get after her," Nigel said. "She could be on the phone to the police already."
"Wait," Kit said. He stepped across the hall to the hat stand. He was rubbing his left elbow where Toni had kicked him, but he stopped in order to search her jacket. Triumphantly, he produced a phone from one of her pockets. "She can't call the police."
"Thank God for that." Nigel looked around the hall. Daisy had Miranda face down on the floor with her arm bent behind her back. Elton stood in the kitchen doorway. Nigel said, "Elton, get some more rope so Daisy can tie up this fat cow." He turned back to Kit. "Your sisters are a right bloody pair."
"Never mind that," Kit said. "We can get away now, can't we? We don't have to wait for daylight or fetch the four-wheel drive. We can use any car, and take the path cleared by the snowplow."
"Your man said there were coppers in that snowplow."
"The one place they won't look for us is right behind them."
Nigel nodded. "Clever. But the snowplow's not going all the way to… where we need to be. What do we do when it turns off our route?"
Kit suppressed his impatience. They had to get away from Steepfall at any cost, but Nigel had not yet figured that out. "Look out of the window," he said. "The snow has stopped. It will start to thaw soon, the forecast said."
"We could still get stuck."
"We're in worse danger here, now that the road has been cleared. Toni Gallo might not be the only visitor to show up."
Elton returned with a length of electric cable. "Kit's right," he said. "We can easily get there by ten o'clock, barring accidents." He handed the cable to Daisy, who tied Miranda's hands behind her back.
"Okay," Nigel said. "But first we have to round everyone up, including kids, and make sure they can't call for help for the next few hours."
Daisy dragged Miranda through the kitchen and shoved her into the pantry.
Kit said, "Miranda's phone must be in the cottage, otherwise she would have used it by now. Her boyfriend, Ned, is there."
Nigel said, "Elton, go to the cottage."
Kit went on: "There's a phone in the Ferrari. I suggest Daisy goes to the garage to make sure no one is trying to use it."
"What about the barn?"
"Leave it till last. Caroline, Craig, and Tom don't have phones. I'm not sure about Sophie, but she's only fourteen."
"All right," Nigel said. "Let's get it done as fast as possible."
The bathroom door opened and Toni Gallo's mother came out, still wearing her hat.
Kit and Nigel stared at her for a moment. Kit had forgotten she was in there.
Then Nigel said, "Stick her in the pantry with the others."
"Oh, no," the old woman said. "I think I'd rather sit by the Christmas tree." She crossed the hall and went into the living room.
Kit looked at Nigel, who shrugged.
CRAIG opened the door of the boot cupboard a crack. Peeping out, he saw that the lobby was empty. He was about to step out when one of the gangsters, Elton, came in from the kitchen. Craig pulled the door an inch toward himself and held his breath.
It had been like this for a quarter of an hour.
One of the gang was always in view. The cupboard smelled mustily of damp anoraks and old boots. He worried about Sophie, sitting in Luke's Ford in the garage, getting cold. He tried to wait patiently. His chance would surely come soon.
A few minutes ago Nellie had barked, which must have meant someone at the door. Craig's heart had lifted in hope; but Nigel and Elton had stood inches away from Craig, talking in whispers that he could not quite make out. They must have been hiding from the visitor, Craig decided. He wanted to burst out of the cupboard and run to the door yelling for help, but he knew he would be seized and silenced the instant he revealed himself. It was maddeningly frustrating.
There was a banging from upstairs, as if someone was trying to bash a door down. Then there was a different bang, more like a firework-or a gun going off. It was followed instantly by the sound of breaking glass. Craig was dismayed and frightened. Until this moment, the gang had used guns only to threaten. Now that they had started shooting, where would it end? The family was in terrible danger.
At the gunshot, Nigel and Elton went, but left the door open, and Elton remained in sight at the far end of the kitchen, talking urgently to someone in the hall. Then he returned, but went out the back way, leaving the door wide open.
At last Craig could move without being seen. The others were in the hall. This was his chance. He stepped out of the cupboard.
He flipped open the key box and snatched the Ferrari keys. This time they came off the hook without snagging.
In two strides he was out of the door.
The snow had stopped. Somewhere beyond the clouds dawn was breaking, and he could see in black-and-white. To his left was Elton, trudging through the snow, heading for the guest cottage. Elton's back was turned and he did not see Craig. Craig went the other way and turned the corner, so that the house hid him from Elton.
He was shocked to see Daisy only yards away.
Fortunately she, too, had her back to him. She had obviously come out of the front door and was walking away from him. There was a cleared path, and he realized that a snowplow had been here while he was hiding in the boot cupboard. Daisy was heading for the garage-and Sophie.
He ducked behind his father's Mercedes. Peeping around the wing, he saw Daisy reach the end of the building, leave the cleared path, and turn the corner of the house, disappearing from view.
He went after her. Moving as fast as he could, he went along the front of the house. He passed the dining room, where Nellie stood with her forepaws on the windowsill; then the front door, which was shut; then the living room with its flashing Christmas tree. He was astonished to see an old lady sitting by the tree with a puppy in her lap. He did not pause to wonder who she was.
He reached the corner and looked around. Daisy was heading straight for the side door of the garage. If she went in there, she would find Sophie sitting in Luke's Ford.
She reached into the pocket of her black leather jacket and took out her gun.
Craig watched, helpless, as she opened the door.
THE pantry was cold.
The Christmas turkey, too large to fit into the kitchen refrigerator, stood in a baking tray on a marble shelf, stuffed and seasoned by Olga, ready for roasting. Miranda wondered dismally if she would live to eat it.
She stood with her father, her sister, and Hugo, the four of them trussed like the turkey and crammed into a space three feet square, surrounded by food: vegetables in racks, a shelf of pasta in jars, boxes of breakfast cereals, cans of tuna and plum tomatoes and baked beans.
Hugo was in the worst state. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. He was leaning against the wall and Olga was pressing herself to his naked body, trying to keep him warm. Stanley's face looked as if he had been hit by a truck, but he was standing erect and his expression was alert.
Miranda felt helpless and miserable. It was heartbreaking to see her father, such a strong character, wounded and tied up. Hugo was a rotter but he hardly deserved this: he looked as if he might have suffered permanent damage. And Olga was a hero, trying so hard to comfort the husband who had betrayed her.
The others had tea towels stuffed into their mouths, but Daisy had not bothered to gag Miranda, presumably because there was no point in anyone shouting now that the police had gone. Miranda realized, with a spurt of hope, that she might be able to remove the gags. "Daddy, lean down," she said. He bent his tall figure over her obediently, the end of the gag trailing from his mouth. She tilted her head as if to kiss him. She was able to catch a corner of the tea towel between her teeth. She tugged, pulling part of it out; then, frustratingly, it slipped.
Miranda let out an exclamation of exasperation. Her father bent down, encouraging her to try again. They repeated the process, and this time the whole thing came out and fell to the floor.
"Thank you," he said. "By God, that was ghastly."
Miranda did the same for Olga, who said, "I kept wanting to puke, but I was afraid I would choke myself."
Olga removed Hugo's gag by the same method. "Try to stay awake, Hugo," she said urgently. "Come on, keep your eyes open."
Stanley asked Miranda, "What's going on out there?"
"Toni Gallo came here with a snowplow and some policemen," she explained. "Kit went to the door as if everything was all right, and the police left, but Toni insisted on staying."
"That woman is incredible."
"I was hiding in the attic. I managed to warn Toni."
"Well done!"
"That frightful Daisy pushed me down the stairs, but Toni got away. I don't know where she is now."
"She can phone the police."
Miranda shook her head. "She left her phone in her coat pocket, and Kit's got it."
"She'll think of something-she's remarkably resourceful. Anyway, she's our only hope. No one else is free, except the children, and Ned, of course."
"I'm afraid Ned won't be much use," Miranda said gloomily. "In a situation like this, the last thing you need is a Shakespeare scholar." She was thinking how feeble he had been yesterday with his ex, Jennifer, when she threw Miranda out of the house. What hope was there that such a man would stand up to three professional thugs?
She looked out of the pantry window. Dawn had broken and the snow had stopped, so she could see the cottage where Ned lay sleeping and the barn where the children were. She was horrified to see Elton crossing the courtyard. "Oh, God," she said. "He's heading for the cottage."
Her father looked out. "They're rounding people up," he said. "They'll tie everyone before they leave. We can't let them get away with that virus-but how can we stop them?"
Elton went into the cottage.
"I hope Ned's all right." Miranda was suddenly glad Ned was not the belligerent type. Elton was tough, ruthless, and armed. Ned's only hope was to come quietly.
"It could be worse," Stanley said. "That lad's a villain, but he's not a complete psychopath. The woman is."
"She makes mistakes because she's insane," Miranda said. "In the hall, a few minutes ago, she was punching me when she should have been catching Toni. That's why Toni got away."
"Why did Daisy want to punch you?"
"I locked her in the attic."
"You locked her in the attic?"
"She went there looking for me, and I closed the cupboard door behind her and jammed it shut. That's what made her so angry."
Her father seemed choked up. "Brave girl," he whispered.
"I'm not brave," Miranda said. The idea was absurd. "I was just so terrified that I was willing to do anything."
"I think you're brave." Tears came to his eyes, and he turned away.
Ned emerged from the cottage. Elton was close behind, holding a gun to the back of Ned's head. With his left hand, Elton held Tom by the arm.
Miranda gasped with shock. She had thought Tom was in the barn. He must have woken up and gone looking for his mother. He was wearing his Spider-Man pajamas. Miranda fought back tears.
The three of them were heading for the house, but then there was a shout, and they stopped. A moment later Daisy came into view, dragging Sophie by the hair. Sophie was bent double, stumbling in the snow, crying with pain.
Daisy said something to Elton that Miranda could not hear. Then
Tom screamed at Daisy: "Leave her alone! You're hurting her!" His voice was a childish treble, made more high pitched by fear and rage.
Miranda recalled that Tom had a preadolescent passion for Sophie. "Be quiet, Tommy," she murmured fearfully, although he could not hear her. "It doesn't matter if she gets her hair pulled."
Elton laughed. Daisy grinned and yanked more viciously at Sophie's hair.
It was probably being laughed at that drove Tom over the edge. He suddenly went berserk. He jerked his arm out of Elton's grasp and threw himself at Daisy.
Miranda shouted: "No!"
Daisy was so surprised that when Tom crashed into her, she fell backwards, letting go of Sophie's hair, and sat down in the snow. Tom dived on top of her, pummeling her with his small fists.
Miranda found herself shouting uselessly: "Stop! Stop!"
Daisy pushed Tom away and got to her feet. Tom jumped up, but Daisy hit him with her gloved fist on the side of the head, and he fell down again. She heaved him up off the ground and, in a fury, held him upright with her left hand while she punched him with her right, hitting his face and body.
Miranda screamed.
Suddenly Ned moved.
Ignoring the gun that Elton was pointing at him, he stepped between Daisy and Tom. He said something that Miranda could not hear and put a restraining hand on Daisy's arm. Miranda was astonished: weak Ned standing up to thugs!
Without letting go of Tom, Daisy punched Ned in the stomach.
He doubled over, his face screwed up in a grimace of agony. But when Daisy drew back her arm to punch Tom again, Ned straightened up and stood in her way. Changing her mind at the last instant, she punched Ned instead of Tom, hitting him in the mouth. Ned cried out, and his hands flew to his face, but he did not move.
Miranda was profoundly grateful that Ned had distracted Daisy from Tom-but how long could he stand this bearing?
He continued to remonstrate with Daisy. When he took his hands away from his face, blood poured out of his mouth. As Miranda watched, Daisy punched him a third time.
Miranda was awestruck. Ned was like a wall. He simply stood there and took the blows. And he was doing it, not for his own child, but for Tom. Miranda felt ashamed of thinking he was weak.
At that moment Ned's own child, Sophie, acted. She had been standing still, watching in a stunned way, since Daisy let go of her hair. Now she turned around and moved away.
Elton made a grab for her, but she slipped through his grasp. For a moment, he lost balance, and Sophie broke into a run, crossing the deep snow with balletic leaps.
Hastily, Elton righted himself, but Sophie had disappeared.
Elton grabbed Tom and shouted at Daisy: "Don't let that girl get away!" Daisy looked disposed to argue. Elton yelled: "I've got these two. Go, go!"
With a malevolent look at Ned and Tom, Daisy turned and went after Sophie.
CRAIG turned the key in the ignition of the Ferrari. Behind him, the huge rear-mounted VI2 engine started, then died.
Craig closed his eyes. "Not now," he said aloud. "Don't let me down now."
He turned the key again. The engine fired, faltered, then roared like an angry bull. Craig pumped the throttle, just to be sure, and the roar turned into a howl.
He looked at the phone. It said: "Searching…" He jabbed at the number pad, dialing 999, even though he knew it was useless before the phone had connected to the network. "Come on," he urged. "I don't have much time-"
The side door of the garage flew open, and Sophie stumbled in.
Craig was taken by surprise. He thought Sophie was in the hands of the dreadful Daisy. He had watched as Daisy dragged her out of the garage. He had wanted desperately to rescue her, but he did not think he could beat Daisy in a fight even if she had not had a gun. He had struggled to remain calm as he watched Daisy maliciously dragging Sophie along by the hair. He kept telling himself that the best thing he could do for Sophie was to stay free and phone the police.
Now she seemed to have escaped unaided. She was sobbing and panicky, and he guessed that Daisy must be on her tail.
The passenger side of the car was so close to the wall that the door could not be opened. Craig threw open the driver's door and said, "Get in quick-climb over me!"
She staggered over to the car and fell in.
Craig slammed the door.
He did not know how to lock it, and he was too rushed to find out. Daisy could not be more than a few seconds away, he figured, as Sophie scrambled over him. There was no time to phone-they had to get out of there. As Sophie collapsed into the passenger seat, he fumbled under the dashboard and found the remote control device that opened the garage door. He pressed it, and heard behind him a squeak of unlubricated metal as the mechanism operated. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the up-and-over door begin to move slowly.
Then Daisy came in.
Her face was red with exertion and her eyes were wide with rage. There was snow in the creases of her black leather clothes. She hesitated in the doorway, peering into the gloom of the garage; then her staring eyes locked on to Craig in the driving seat of the car.
He depressed the clutch and shoved the gearshift into reverse. It was never easy, with the Ferrari's six-speed box. The stick resisted his push, and there was a grinding of cogs; then something slipped into place.
Daisy ran across the front of the car and came to the driver's side. Her tan glove closed on the door handle.
The garage door was not yet fully open, but Craig could wait no longer. Just as Daisy opened the car door, he released the clutch and trod on the accelerator pedal.
The car leaped backwards as if fired from a catapult. Its roof struck the lower edge of the aluminum garage door with a clang. Sophie gave a yell of fear.
The car flew out of the garage like a champagne cork. Craig stamped on the brake. The snowplow had cleared the thick overnight layer of snow from in front of the garage, but more had fallen since, and the concrete apron was slippery. The Ferrari went into a backwards skid and stopped with a bump against a bank of snow.
Daisy came out of the garage. Craig could see her clearly in the gray dawn light. She hesitated.
The car phone suddenly spoke in a female voice. "You have one new message."
Craig pushed the gearshift into what he hoped was first. He eased the clutch out and, to his relief, the tires found purchase and the car moved forward. He turned the wheel, heading for the way out. If only he could make it onto the drive, he could get away from here with Sophie and summon help.
Daisy must have had the same thought, for she fumbled in the pocket of her jacket and brought out a gun.
"Get down!" Craig yelled at Sophie. "She's going to shoot!"
As Daisy leveled the gun, he stamped on the accelerator and swung the steering wheel, desperate to get away.
The car went into a skid, slipping across the icy concrete. Alongside his fear and panic, Craig had the feeling of deja vu: he had skidded this car, in this place, only yesterday, a lifetime ago. Now he struggled to control the vehicle, but the ground was even more slippery after a night of steady snow and freezing temperatures.
He turned into the skid, and for a moment the tires gripped again, but he overdid it, and the car skidded in the opposite direction and spun around in a half circle. Sophie was flung from side to side in the passenger seat. He kept waiting for the bang of a gunshot, but none came yet. The only good thing, a part of Craig's terrified mind told him, was that it was impossible for Daisy to take steady aim at a vehicle that was being driven so erratically.
The car stopped, with great good luck, in the middle of the drive, facing directly away from the house and toward the lane. The path in front of Craig had obviously been swept by the snowplow. He had a clear road to freedom.
He pressed on the accelerator pedal, but nothing happened. The engine had stalled.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daisy raise the gun and take careful aim at him.
He turned the key, and the car jerked forward: he had forgotten to take it out of gear. The mistake saved his life for, in the same instant, he heard the unmistakable firecracker bang of a gun, only slightly deadened by the soft snow covering everything; then the side window of the car shattered. Sophie screamed.
Craig knocked the stick into neutral and turned the key again. The throaty roar filled his ears. He could see Daisy taking aim again as he pressed the clutch and found first gear. He ducked involuntarily as he pulled away, and it was lucky that he did, for this time his side window smashed.
The bullet also went through the windshield, making a small round hole and causing the entire pane of glass to craze over. Now he could see nothing ahead but blurred shapes of darkness and light. Nevertheless he kept the accelerator depressed, doing his best to stay on the driveway, knowing he would die if he did not get away from Daisy and her gun. Beside him, Sophie was curled up in a ball on the passenger seat, hands covering her head.
On the periphery of his vision, he saw Daisy running after the car. Another shot banged. The car phone said: "Stanley, this is Toni. Bad news-a break-in at the lab. Please call my mobile as soon as you can."
Craig guessed that the people with guns must be connected to the break-in, but he could not think about that now. He tried to steer by what he could see out of the smashed side window, but it was no good. After a few seconds, the car went off the cleared path, and he felt the sudden drag as it slowed. The shape of a tree appeared in the crazed glass of the windshield, and Craig slammed on the brakes, but he was too late, and the car hit the tree with a terrific crash.
Craig was thrown forward. His head hit the broken windshield, knocking out shards of glass, cutting the skin of his forehead. The steering wheel bruised his chest. Sophie was flung against the dashboard and fell with her bottom on the floor and her feet up on the seat, but she swore and tried to right herself, so he knew she was all right.
The engine had stalled again.
Craig looked in the rearview mirror. Daisy was ten yards behind him, walking steadily across the snow toward the car, holding the gun in her suede-gloved hand. He knew instinctively that she was coming closer just to get a clear shot. She was going to kill him and Sophie.
He had only one chance left. He had to kill her.
He started the engine again. Daisy, five yards away now and directly behind the car, raised her gun arm. Craig put the gearshift into reverse and closed his eyes.
He heard a bang just as he stamped on the throttle. The rear window shattered. The car leaped backwards, straight at Daisy. There was a heavy thump, as though someone had dropped a sack of potatoes on the boot.
Craig took his foot off the throttle, and the car rolled to a stop. Where was Daisy? He pushed broken glass out of the windshield and saw her. She had been thrown sideways by the impact and was lying on the ground with one leg at an odd angle. He stared, horrified at what he had done.
Then she moved.
"Oh, no!" he cried. "Why won't you die?"
She reached out with one arm and picked up her gun, lying on the snow nearby.
Craig put the car into first gear.
The car phone said: "To erase this message, press three."
Daisy looked into his eyes and pointed the gun at him.
He let out the clutch and stamped on the throttle.
He heard the bang of the gun over the bellow of the Ferrari engine, but the shot went wild. He kept his foot down. Daisy tried to drag herself out of the way, and Craig deliberately turned the wheel in her direction. An instant before the impact he saw her face, staring in terror, her mouth open in an inaudible scream. Then the car hit her with a thud. She disappeared beneath its curved front. The low-slung chassis scraped over something lumpy. Craig saw that he was headed straight for the tree he had hit before. He braked, but too late. Once again, the car crashed into the tree.
The car phone, which had been telling him how to save messages, stopped in mid-sentence. He tried to start the engine, but nothing happened. There was not even the click of a broken starter motor. He saw that none of the dials was working, and there were no lights on the dashboard. The electrical system had failed. It was hardly surprising, after the number of times he had crashed the car.
But that meant he could not use the phone.
And where was Daisy?
He got out of the car.
In the driveway behind him was a pile of ripped black leather, white flesh, and gleaming red blood.
She was not moving.
Sophie got out and stood beside him. "Oh, God, is that her?"
Craig felt sick. He could not speak, so he nodded.
Sophie whispered, "Do you think she's dead?"
Craig nodded again, then nausea overwhelmed him. He turned aside and vomited into the snow.
KIT had a terrifying feeling that everything was coming unglued.
It should have been a simple thing for three tough crims such as Nigel, Elton, and Daisy to round up stray members of a law-abiding family. Yet things kept going wrong. Little Tom had made a suicide attack on Daisy; Ned had stunned everyone by protecting Tom from Daisy's revenge; and Sophie had escaped in the confusion. And Toni Gallo was nowhere to be seen.
Elton brought Ned and Tom into the kitchen at gunpoint. Ned was bleeding from several places on his face, and Tom was bruised and crying, but they were walking steadily, Ned holding Tom's hand.
Kit reckoned up who was still at large. Sophie had run away, and Craig would not be far from her. Caroline was probably still asleep in the barn. Then there was Toni Gallo. Four people, three of them children- surely it could not take long to capture them? But time was running out. Kit and the gang had less than two hours to get to the airfield with the virus. Their customer would not wait very long, Kit guessed. If something seemed wrong he would fear a trap and leave.
Elton threw Miranda's phone onto the kitchen table. "Found it in a handbag in the cottage," he said. "The guy doesn't seem to have one." The phone landed beside the perfume spray. Kit longed for the moment when the bottle would be handed over, never to be seen again, and he would get his money.
He was hoping that the major roads would be cleared of snow by the end of today. He planned to drive to London and check into a small hotel, paying cash. He would lie low for a couple of weeks, then catch a train to Paris with fifty thousand pounds in his pocket. From there he would make his leisurely way across Europe, changing small amounts of money as he needed it, and end up in Lucca.
But first, they had to account for everyone here at Steepfall, in order to delay pursuit. And it was proving absurdly difficult.
Elton made Ned lie on the floor, then tied him up. Ned was quiet but watchful. Nigel tied Tom, who was still sniveling. When Elton opened the pantry door to put them inside, Kit saw to his surprise that the prisoners had managed to remove their gags.
Olga spoke first. "Please, let Hugo out of here," she said. "He's badly injured and he's so cold. I'm afraid he'll die. Just let him lie on the floor in the kitchen, where it's warm."
Kit shook his head in amazement. Olga's loyalty to her unfaithful husband was incomprehensible.
Nigel said, "He shouldn't have punched me in the face."
Elton pushed Ned and Tom into the pantry with the others.
Olga said, "Please, I'm begging you!"
Elton closed the door.
Kit put Hugo out of his mind. "We've got to find Toni Gallo, she's the dangerous one."
Nigel said, "Where do you think she is?"
"Well, she's not in the house, not in the cottage because Elton's just searched it, and not in the garage because Daisy's just been there. So either she's out of doors, where she won't last long without a coat, or she's in the barn."
"All right," Elton said. "I'll go to the barn."
TONI was looking out of the barn window.
She had now identified three of the four people who had raided the Kremlin. One was Kit, of course. He would have been the planner, the one who told them how to defeat the security system. There was the woman whom Kit had called Daisy-an ironic nickname, presumably, for someone whose appearance would give a vampire a fright. A few minutes ago, in the prelude to the fracas in the courtyard, Daisy had addressed the young black man as Elton, which might be a first name or a surname. Toni had not yet seen the fourth, but she knew that his name was Nigel, for Kit had shouted to him in the hall.
She was half-scared and half-thrilled. Scared, because they were clearly tough professional criminals who would kill her if necessary, and because they had the virus. Thrilled, because she was tough, too, and she had a chance to redeem herself by catching them.
But how? The best plan would be to get help, but she had no phone and no car. The house phones had been cut off, presumably by the gang. No doubt they had also grabbed any mobile phones lying around. What about cars? Toni had seen two parked in front of the house, and there must be at least one more in the garage, but she had no idea where the keys were.
That meant she had to capture the thieves on her own.
She thought about the scene she had witnessed in the courtyard. Daisy and Elton were rounding up the family. But Sophie, the tarty kid, had escaped, and Daisy had gone after her. Toni had heard distant noises from beyond the garage-a car engine, breaking glass, and gunfire-but she could not see what was going on, and she hesitated to expose herself by going to investigate. If she let herself get captured, all hope was lost.
She wondered if anyone else was at liberty. The gang must be in a hurry to get going, for their rendezvous was at ten o'clock, but they would want to account for everyone before leaving, so that no one could call the police. Perhaps they would begin to panic and make mistakes.
Toni fervently hoped so. The odds against her were fearsome. She could not cope with all four villains at once. Three of them were armed-with thirteen-shot Browning automatic pistols, according to Steve. Her only chance would be to pick them off one by one.
Where should she start? At some point she had to enter the main house. At least she knew the layout-fortuitously, she had been shown around yesterday. But she did not know where in the house everyone was, and she was reluctant to jump into the dark. She was desperate for more information.
As she was racking her brains, she lost the initiative. Elton emerged from the house and came across the courtyard toward the barn.
He was younger than Toni, probably twenty-five. He was tall and looked fit. In his right hand he carried a pistol, pointed down at the ground. Although Toni was trained in combat, she knew he would be a formidable adversary even without the gun. If possible, she had to avoid getting into a hand-to-hand fight with him.
She wondered fearfully if she could hide. She looked around the barn. No hiding place suggested itself. Besides, there was no point. She had to confront the gang, she thought grimly, and the sooner the better. This one was coming for her on his own, apparently confident he would not need help dealing with a mere woman. Perhaps that would turn out to be his crucial mistake.
Unfortunately, Toni had no weapons.
She had a few seconds to find some. She looked hurriedly at the things around her. She considered a billiard cue, but it was too light. A blow from one would hurt like hell, but would not render a man unconscious, or even knock him down.
Billiard balls were much more dangerous: heavy, solid, and hard. She stuffed two into her jeans pockets.
She wished she had a gun.
She glanced up at the hayloft. Height was always an advantage. She scrambled up the ladder. Caroline was fast asleep. On the floor between the two beds was an open suitcase. On top of the clothes was a plastic shopping bag. Next to the case was a cage of white rats.
The barn door opened, and Toni dropped to the floor and lay flat. There was a fumbling sound, then the main lights came on. Toni could not see the ground floor from her prone position, so she did not know exactly where Elton was; but he could not see her, either, and she had the advantage of knowing he was there.
She listened hard, trying to hear his footsteps over the thunder of her heart. There was an odd noise that she interpreted, after a few moments' puzzlement, as Elton overturning the camp beds in case a child was hiding underneath. Then he opened the bathroom door. There was no one inside-Toni had already checked.
There was nowhere left to look but the hayloft. He would be coming up the ladder any second now. What could she do?
Toni heard the unpleasant squeak of rats, and was struck by inspiration. Still lying flat, she took the shopping bag from the open suitcase and removed its contents, a gift-wrapped package labeled "To Daddy, Happy Xmas from Sophie with love." She dropped the package back in the suitcase. Then she opened the rats' cage.
Gently, she picked the rats up one by one and put them in the plastic bag. There were five.
She felt an ominous vibration in the floor that told her Elton had started to climb the ladder.
It was now or never. She reached forward with both arms and emptied the bag of rats over the top of the ladder.
She heard Elton give a roar of shock and disgust as five live rats dropped on his head.
His shout woke Caroline, who let out a squeal and sat upright.
There was a crash as Elton lost his footing on the ladder and fell to the floor.
Toni sprang to her feet and looked down. Elton had fallen on his back. He did not seem seriously hurt, but he was yelling in panic and frantically trying to brush rats off his clothing. They were as frightened as he, and trying desperately to cling to something.
Toni could not see his gun.
She hesitated only a fraction of a second, then jumped off the loft.
She came down with both feet on Elton's chest. He gave an agonized grunt as the air was knocked out of him. Toni landed like a gymnast, rolling forward, but still the impact hurt her legs.
From above, she heard a scream: "My babies!" Looking up, she saw Caroline at the top of the ladder, wearing lavender pajamas with a pattern of yellow teddy bears. Toni felt sure she must have squashed one or two of Caroline's pets as she landed, but the rats scattered, apparently unhurt.
Desperate to keep the upper hand, Toni struggled to her feet. One ankle gave her a stab of pain, but she ignored it.
Where was the gun? He must have dropped it.
Elton was hurt, but perhaps not immobilized. She fumbled in her jeans for a billiard ball, but it slipped through her fingers as she tried to pull it out of her pocket. She suffered a moment of pure terror, a feeling that her body would not obey her brain and she was completely helpless. Then she used both hands, one to push from outside her pocket and the other to grasp the ball as it emerged.
But the momentary delay had allowed Elton to recover from the shock of the rats. As Toni raised her right hand above her head, he rolled away from her. Instead of bringing the heavy ball down on his head in the hope of knocking him senseless, she was forced to change her mind at the last instant and throw it at him.
It was not a forceful throw, and in some part of her brain she heard her ex, Frank, say scornfully, You couldn't throw a ball if your life depended on it. Now her life did depend on it, and Frank was right-the throw was too weak. She hit the target, and there was an audible thud as the billiard ball connected with Elton's skull, causing him to roar in pain; but he did not slump unconscious. Instead he got to his knees, holding his bruised head with one hand, then struggled to his feet.
Toni took out the second ball.
Elton looked at the floor all around him, searching in a dazed way for his gun.
Caroline had climbed halfway down the ladder, and now she leaped to the floor. She stooped and grabbed one of the rats that was hiding behind a leg of the billiard table. Turning to pick up another, she collided with Elton. He mistook her for his adversary, and punched her. It was a powerful blow that connected with the side of her head, and she fell to the floor. But it hurt him, too, for Toni saw him grimace in agony and wrap his arms around his chest, and she guessed she had broken some ribs when she jumped on him.
Something had caught Toni's eye as Caroline had reached under the billiard table for a rat. Toni looked again and saw the gun, dull gray against the dark wood of the floor.
Elton saw it at the same time. He dropped to his knees.
As Elton reached under the table, she raised her arm high above her head and brought the ball down with all her might, squarely on the back of his head. He slumped unconscious.
Toni fell to her knees, physically exhausted and emotionally drained. She closed her eyes for a moment, but there was too much to do for her to rest long. She picked up the gun. Steve had been right, it was a Browning automatic pistol of the kind issued by the British army to special forces for clandestine work. The safety catch was on the left side, behind the grip. She turned it to the locked position, then stuffed the gun in the waist of her jeans.
She unplugged the television and ripped the cable out of the back of the set, then used it to tie Elton's hands behind his back.
Then she searched him, looking for a phone; but, to her intense disappointment, he did not have one.
IT took Craig a long time to work up the courage to look again at the motionless form of Daisy.
The sight of her mangled body, even viewed from a distance, had made him throw up. When there was nothing left in him to come out, he had tried to clean his mouth with handfuls of fresh snow. Then Sophie came to him and put her arms around his waist, and he hugged her, keeping his back to Daisy. They had stood like that until at last the nausea passed and he felt able to turn and see what he had done.
Sophie said, "What are we going to do now?"
Craig swallowed. It was not over yet. Daisy was only one of three thugs-and then there was Uncle Kit. "We'd better take her gun," he said.
Her expression told him she hated that idea. She said, "Do you know how to use it?"
"How hard can it be?"
She looked unhappy, but just said, "Whatever."
Craig hesitated a moment longer; then he took her hand and they walked toward the body.
Daisy was lying face down, her arms beneath her. Although she had tried to kill Craig, he still found it horrible to look at a human being so mangled. The legs were the worst. Her leather trousers had been ripped to shreds. One leg was twisted unnaturally and the other was gashed and bloody. The leather jacket seemed to have protected her arms and body, but her shaved head was covered with blood. Her face was hidden, buried in the snow.
They stopped six feet away. "I can't see the gun," Craig said. "It must be underneath her."
They stepped closer. Sophie said, "I've never seen a dead person."
"I saw Mamma Marta in the funeral parlor."
"I want to see her face." Letting go of Craig's hand, Sophie went down on one knee and reached out to the bloodstained body.
Quick as a snake, Daisy lifted her head, grabbed Sophie's wrist, and brought her right hand out from under her with the gun in it.
Sophie screamed in terror.
Craig felt as if he had been struck by lightning. He shouted: "Christ!" and jumped back.
Daisy jammed the snout of the little gray pistol into the soft skin of Sophie's throat. "Stand still, laddie!" she yelled.
Craig froze.
Daisy wore a cap of blood. One ear was almost completely ripped from her head and hung grotesquely by a narrow strip of skin. But her face was unmarked, and now showed an expression of pure hatred. "For what you've done to me, I should shoot her in the belly and let you watch her bleed to death, screaming in agony."
Craig shook with horror.
"But I need your help," Daisy went on. "If you want to save your little girlfriend's life, just do everything I tell you, instantly. Hesitate, and she dies."
Craig felt she really meant it.
"Get over here," she said.
He had no choice. He stepped closer.
"Kneel down."
Craig knelt beside her.
She turned her hateful eyes on Sophie. "Now, you little whore, I'm going to let go of your arm, but don't you try to move away, or I'll shoot you, and enjoy it." She took her left hand off Sophie's arm, but kept the gun pushed into the flesh of Sophie's neck. Then she put her left arm around Craig's shoulders. "Hold my wrist, lad," she said.
Craig grasped Daisy's wrist as it dangled over his shoulder.
"You, lassie, get under my right arm."
Sophie changed her position slowly, and Daisy put her right arm over Sophie's shoulders, managing all the time to keep the gun pointed at Sophie's head.
"Now, you're going to lift me up and carry me to the house. But do it gently. I think I've got a broken leg. If you jog me it might hurt, and if I flinch I might accidentally pull the trigger. So, easy does it… and lift."
Craig tightened his grip on Daisy's wrist and raised himself from the kneeling position. To ease the burden on Sophie, he put his right arm around Daisy's waist and took some of her weight. The three of them slowly stood upright.
Daisy was gasping with pain, and as pale as the snow on the ground all around them; but, when Craig looked sideways and caught her eye, he saw that she was watching him intently.
When they were upright, Daisy said, "Forward, slowly."
They walked forward, Daisy dragging her legs.
"I bet you two were hidden away somewhere all night," she said. "What were you up to, eh?"
Craig said nothing. He could hardly believe that she had enough breath and malice left to rail at them.
"Tell me, laddie," she jeered. "Did you put your finger in her little pussy, eh? You dirty little bastard, I bet you did."
Craig felt dirty when she talked like that. She was able to sully an experience that had been carefree. He hated her for spoiling his memory. He longed to drop her on the ground, but he felt sure she would pull the trigger.
"Wait," she said. "Stop." They halted, and she put some of her weight on her left leg, the one that was not twisted.
Craig looked at her terrible face. Her black-lined eyes were closed in pain. She said, "We'll just rest here for a minute, then we'll go on."
TONI stepped out of the barn. Now she could be seen. By her calculations, there were two of the gang in the house-Nigel and Kit- and either of them might look out of a window at any moment. But she had to take the risk. Listening for the shot that would kill her, she walked as fast as she could, pushing through the snow, to the guest cottage. She reached it without incident and dodged around the corner of the building, out of sight.
She had left Caroline searching tearfully for her pet rats. Elton was trussed up under the billiard table, blindfolded and gagged to make sure that when he came round he could not talk dopey Caroline into untying him.
Toni circled the cottage and approached the main house from the side. The back door stood open, but she did not go in. She needed to reconnoiter. She crept along the back of the building and peeped in at the first window.
She was looking into the pantry. Six people were crammed in there, bound hand and foot but standing: Olga; Hugo, who seemed to be naked; Miranda; her son Tom; Ned; and Stanley. A wave of happiness washed over Toni when she saw Stanley. She realized she had feared, in the back of her mind, that he might be dead. She caught her breath when she saw his bruised and bloody face. Then he spotted her, and his eyes widened with surprise and pleasure. He did not appear to be seriously wounded, she saw with relief. He opened his mouth to speak. Quickly, Toni raised a finger to her lips for silence. Stanley closed his mouth and nodded understanding.
Toni moved to the next window and looked into the kitchen. Two men sat with their backs to the window. One was Kit. Toni felt a surge of pity for Stanley, having a son who would do something like this to his family. The other man wore a pink sweater. He must be the one Kit had called Nigel. They were looking at a small television set, watching the news. The screen showed a snowplow clearing a motorway in the light of early morning.
Toni chewed her lip, thinking. She had a gun now but, even so, it could be difficult to control the two of them. But she had no choice.
As she hesitated, Kit stood up, and she quickly ducked back out of sight.
NIGEL said, "That's it. They're clearing the roads. We have to go now."
"I'm worried about Toni Gallo," Kit said.
"Too bad. If we wait any longer, we'll miss the rendezvous."
Kit looked at his watch. Nigel was right. "Shit," he said.
"We'll take that Mercedes outside. Go and find the keys."
Kit left the kitchen and ran upstairs. In Olga's bedroom, he pulled out the drawers of both bedside tables without finding any keys. He picked up Hugo's suitcase and emptied the contents onto the floor, but nothing jingled. Breathing hard, he did the same with Olga's case. Then he spotted Hugo's blazer draped over the back of a chair. He found the Mercedes keys in the pocket.
He ran down to the kitchen. Nigel was looking out of the window. "Why is Elton taking so long?" Kit said. He could hear a note of hysteria in his own voice.
"I don't know," said Nigel. "Try to stay calm."
"And what the hell's happened to Daisy?"
"Go and start the engine," Nigel said. "Brush the snow off the windshield."
"Right."
As Kit turned away, his eye was caught by the perfume spray, in its double bag, lying on the kitchen table. On impulse, he picked it up and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
Then he went out.
TONI peeped around the corner of the house and saw Kit emerge from the back door. He went in the opposite direction, to the front of the building. She followed him and saw him unlock the green Mercedes station wagon.
This was her chance.
She took Elton's pistol from the waist of her jeans and moved the safety catch to the unlocked position. There was a full magazine in the grip-she had checked. She held the gun pointing skyward, in accordance with her training.
She breathed slowly and calmly. She knew how to do this kind of thing. Her heart was pounding like a bass drum, but her hands were steady. She ran into the house.
The back door gave onto a small lobby. A second door led to the kitchen proper. She threw it open and ran in. Nigel was at the window, looking out. "Freeze!" she screamed.
He spun around.
She leveled the gun at him. "Hands in the air!"
He hesitated.
His pistol was in the pocket of his trousers-she could see the lumpy bulge it made, the right size and shape for an automatic just like the one she was holding. "Don't even think about reaching for your gun," she said.
Slowly, he raised his hands.
"On the floor! Face down! Now!"
He went down on his knees, hands still held high. Then he lay down, his arms spread.
Toni had to get his gun. She stood over him, transferred her pistol to her left hand, and thrust its nose into the back of his neck. "The safety catch is off, and I'm feeling jumpy," she said. She went down on one knee and reached into his trousers pocket.
He moved very fast.
He rolled over, swinging his right arm at her. For a split second she hesitated to pull the trigger, then it was too late. He knocked her off balance and she fell sideways. To break her fall, she put her left hand flat on the floor-dropping her gun.
He kicked out at her wildly, his shoe connecting with her hip. She regained her balance and scrambled to her feet, coming upright before he did. As he got to his knees, she kicked him in the face. He fell back, his hand flying to his cheek, but he recovered fast. He looked at her with an expression of fury and hatred, as if outraged that she should fight back.
She snatched up the gun and pointed it at him, and he froze.
"Let's try again," she said. "This time, you take the gun out. Slowly."
He reached into his pocket.
Toni stretched her arm out in front of her. "And please-give me an excuse to blow your head off."
He took the gun out.
"Drop it on the floor."
He smiled. "Have you ever actually shot a man?"
"Drop it-now."
"I don't think you have."
He had guessed right. She had been trained to use firearms, and she had carried a gun on operations, but she had never shot at anything other than a target. The idea of actually making a hole in another human being revolted her.
"You're not going to shoot me," he said.
"You're a second away from finding out."
Her mother walked in, carrying the puppy. She said, "This poor dog hasn't had any breakfast."
Nigel raised his gun.
Toni shot him in the right shoulder.
She was only six feet away, and she was a good shot, so it was not difficult to wound him in exactly the right place. She pulled the trigger twice, as she had been taught. The double bang was deafening in the kitchen. Two round holes appeared in the pink sweater, side by side where the arm met the shoulder. The gun fell from Nigel's hand. He cried out in pain and staggered back against the refrigerator.
Toni felt shocked. She had not really believed she could do it. The act was repellent. She was a monster. She felt sick.
Nigel screamed: "You fucking bitch!"
Like magic, his words restored her nerve. "Be glad I didn't shoot you in the belly," she said. "Now lie down."
He slumped to the floor and rolled over on his face, still clutching his wound.
Mother said, "I'll put the kettle on."
Toni picked up Nigel's dropped gun and locked the safety catch. She stuffed both guns into her jeans and opened the pantry door.
Stanley said, "What happened? Was someone shot?"
"Nigel," she said calmly. She took a pair of kitchen scissors from the knife block and cut the washing line that bound Stanley's hands and feet. When he was free, he put his arms around her and squeezed her hard. "Thank you," he murmured in her ear.
She closed her eyes. The nightmare of the last few hours had not changed his feelings. She hugged him hard for a precious second, wishing the moment could last longer; then she broke the clinch. Handing him the scissors, she said, "You free the rest." She drew one of the pistols from her waistband. "Kit's not far away. He must have heard the shots. Does he have a gun?"
"I don't think so," Stanley replied.
Toni was relieved. That would make it easier.
Olga said, "Get us out of this cold room, please!"
Stanley turned to cut her bonds.
Kit's voice rang out: "Nobody move!"
Toni spun around, leveling the gun. Kit stood in the doorway. He had no gun, but he was holding a simple glass perfume spray in his hand as if it were a weapon. Toni recognized the bottle that she had seen, on the security video, being filled with Madoba-2.
Kit said, "This contains the virus. One squirt will kill you."
Everyone stood still.
KIT stared at Toni. She was pointing the gun at him, and he was pointing the spray at her. He said, "If you shoot me, I'll drop the bottle, and the glass will break on these tiles."
She said, "If you spray us with that stuff, you'll kill yourself as well."
"I'll die, then," he said. "I don't care. I've put everything into this. I made the plan, I betrayed my family, and I became a party to a conspiracy to murder hundreds of people, maybe thousands. After all that, how can I fail? I'd rather die." As he said it, he realized it was true. Even the money had diminished in importance now. All he really wanted was to win.
Stanley said, "How did we come to this, Kit?"
Kit met his father's gaze. He saw anger there, as he expected, but also grief. Stanley looked the way he had when Mamma Marta died. Too bad, Kit thought angrily; he brought this on himself. "Too late now for apologies," he said harshly.
"I wasn't going to apologize," Stanley said sadly.
Kit looked at Nigel, sitting on the floor, holding his bleeding right shoulder with his left hand. That explained the two gunshots that had caused Kit to arm himself with the spray before coming back into the kitchen.
Nigel struggled to his feet. "Ah, bollocks, it hurts," he said.
Kit said, "Hand over the guns, Toni. Quick, or I'll press this nozzle."
Toni hesitated.
Stanley said, "I think Kit means what he says."
"On the table," Kit said.
She put the guns on the kitchen table, beside the briefcase that had contained the perfume bottle.
Kit said, "Nigel, pick them up."
With his left hand, Nigel picked up a gun and stuffed it into his pocket. He took the second, hefted it, then, with sudden speed, smashed it across Toni's face. She cried out and fell back.
Kit was furious with him. "What do you think you're doing?" he cried. "There's no time for that! We have to get going."
"Don't you give me orders," Nigel said harshly. "This cow shot me."
Kit could tell from Toni's face that she thought she was about to die. But there was no time to enjoy revenge. "That cow ruined my life, but I'm not hanging around to punish her," Kit said. "Knock it off!"
Nigel hesitated, staring malevolently at Toni.
Kit said, "Let's go!"
At last Nigel turned away from Toni. "What about Elton and Daisy?"
"To hell with them."
"We should tie up your old man and his tart."
"You stupid fool, don't you realize we're out of time?"
The stare Nigel gave Kit was sulfuric. "What did you call me?" Nigel wanted to kill someone, Kit realized, and right now he was thinking of shooting Kit. It was a terrifying moment. Kit raised the perfume spray high in the air and stared back, waiting for his life to end.
Then Nigel looked away and said, "All right, let's get out of here."
KIT ran outside. The engine of the Mercedes was throbbing low, and the snow on its hood was already melting from the heat. The windshield and side windows were partly clear where he had hastily swept them with his hands. He jumped in, stuffing the perfume spray into his jacket pocket. Nigel clambered into the passenger seat, grunting with the pain of his gunshot wound.
Kit put the automatic gearshift into drive and touched the accelerator pedal. The car seemed to strain forward, but did not move. The plow had stopped a couple of feet away, and snow was piled two feet high in front of the bumper. Kit increased pressure on the pedal as the car labored to move the snow out of the way. "Come on!" Kit said. "This is a Mercedes, it ought to be able to shift a few pounds of snow! How big is the damn engine, anyway?" He pressed a little harder, but he did not want the wheels to lose traction and begin to spin. The car eased forward a few inches, and the piled-up snow seemed to crack and shift. Kit looked back. His father and Toni stood outside the house, watching. They would come no closer, Kit guessed, because they knew Nigel had the guns.
The car suddenly sprang forward as the snow gave way.
Kit felt a soaring elation as he accelerated along the cleared driveway. Steepfall had seemed like a jail from which he would never escape-but he had. He passed the garage-and saw Daisy.
He braked reflexively.
Nigel said, "What the hell?"
Daisy was walking toward them, supported by Craig on one side and by Ned's sulky daughter, Sophie, on the other. Daisy's legs dragged uselessly behind her, and her head was a mass of blood. Beyond them was Stanley's Ferrari, its sensuous curves battered and deformed, its gleaming blue paintwork scraped and scratched. What the hell had happened there?
"Stop and pick her up!" Nigel said.
Kit remembered how Daisy had humiliated him and almost drowned him in her father's pool only yesterday. "Fuck her," he said. He was at the wheel, and he was not going to delay his escape for her. He put his foot down.
THE long green hood of the Mercedes seemed to lift like the head of an eager horse, and it leaped forward. Craig had only a second to act. He grabbed the hood of Sophie's anorak with his right hand and pulled her to the side of the drive, moving the same way himself. Because they were tangled up with Daisy, she moved with them, and all three fell into the soft snow beside the track, Daisy screaming in pain and rage.
The car shot past, missing them by inches, and Craig glimpsed his Uncle Kit at the wheel. He was flabbergasted. Kit had nearly killed him. Was it intentional, or had Kit known that Craig had time to get out of the way?
"You bastard!" Daisy screamed after the car, and she leveled her pistol.
Kit accelerated past the crashed Ferrari and along the curving driveway that ran beside the cliff top. Craig watched, frozen, as Daisy took aim. Her hand was steady, despite the pain she was in. She squeezed off a shot, and Craig saw a rear side window shatter.
Daisy tracked the speeding car with her arm and fired repeatedly, cartridge cases spewing from the ejection slot of the gun. A line of bullet holes appeared in the car's side, then there was a different kind of bang. A front tire blew out and a strip of rubber flew through the air.
The car continued in a straight line for a second. Then it slewed sideways, its hood plowing into the piled snow at the side of the drive, sending up a fantail of white. The back swung out and crashed into the low wall that ran along the cliff edge. Craig heard the metallic scream of tortured steel.
The car skidded sideways. Daisy kept firing, and the windshield shattered. The car went into a slow roll, tilting sideways, seeming to hesitate, then toppling over onto its roof. It slid a few feet upside down then came to a stop.
Daisy stopped shooting and fell backwards, her eyes closed.
Craig stared at her. The gun fell from her hand. Sophie started to cry.
Craig reached across Daisy. He watched her eyes, terrified that they would open at any moment. His hand closed over the warm gun. He picked it up.
He held it in his right hand and put his finger into the trigger guard. He pointed it at a spot exactly between Daisy's eyes. All he cared about was that this monster should never threaten him and Sophie and their family ever again. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger.
The gun clicked on an empty magazine.
KIT was lying flat on the inside roof of the overturned car. He felt bruised all over, and his neck hurt as if he had twisted it, but he could move all his limbs. He managed to right himself. Nigel lay beside him, unconscious, possibly dead.
Kit tried to get out. He pulled the handle and pushed at the door, but it would not move. Something had jammed in the crash. He hammered madly at it with his fists, with no result. He jabbed at the button of the electric window, but nothing happened. He thought frantically that he might be imprisoned until the fire brigade arrived to cut him out, and he suffered a moment of panic and despair. Then he saw that the windshield was crazed. He shoved at it with his hand and easily pushed out a big section of broken glass.
He crawled through the windshield. He was careless of the broken glass, and a shard cut the palm of his hand painfully. He cried out and sucked the wound, but he could not pause. He slithered out from under the hood of the car and scrambled to his feet. The wind off the sea blew madly in his face. He looked around.
His father and Toni Gallo were running along the drive toward him.
TONI stopped to look at Daisy. She seemed to be out cold. Craig and Sophie appeared scared but unhurt. "What happened?" Toni said.
"She was shooting at us," Craig replied. "I ran over her."
Toni followed Craig's gaze and saw Stanley's Ferrari, dented at both ends and with all its windows smashed.
Stanley said, "Good God!"
Toni felt for a pulse in Daisy's neck. It was there, but weak. "She's still alive-just."
Craig said, "I've got her gun. It's empty, anyway."
They were all right, Toni decided. She looked ahead to the crashed Mercedes. Kit had climbed out. She ran toward him. Stanley followed close behind.
Kit started to run away, along the drive, heading for the woods; but he was battered and shaken by the crash, and he ran erratically. He was never going to make it, Toni could see. After a few paces he staggered and fell.
He seemed to realize that he could not escape that way. Scrambling to his feet, he changed direction and turned toward the cliff.
Toni glanced into the Mercedes as she passed it. Nigel lay in a crumpled heap, eyes open with the blank stare of the dead. That accounted for the three thugs, Toni thought: one tied up, one unconscious, and one dead. Only Kit was left.
Kit slipped on the icy drive, staggered, regained his balance, and turned around. He took the perfume spray from his pocket and held it out like a gun. "Stop, or I'll kill us all," he said.
Toni and Stanley stopped.
Kit's face was all pain and rage. Toni saw a man who had lost his soul. He might do anything: kill his family, kill himself, destroy the world.
Stanley said, "It won't work out here, Kit."
Toni wondered if that were true. Kit had the same thought, and said, "Why not?"
"Feel this wind," Stanley said. "The droplets will disperse before they can do any harm."
"To hell with it all," Kit said, and he threw the bottle high in the air. Then he turned around, jumped over the low wall, and ran full tilt at the cliff edge a few feet away.
Stanley jumped after him.
Toni caught the perfume bottle before it hit the ground.
Stanley leaped through the air, hands stretched out in front of him. He almost got Kit by the shoulders, but his hands slipped. He hit the ground, but managed to grab one leg and grip it tight. Kit fell to the ground with his head and shoulders jutting out over the edge of the cliff. Stanley jumped on top of him, holding him down with his weight.
Toni looked over the edge, down a hundred-foot drop to where the sea boiled among jagged rocks.
Kit struggled, but his father held him down, and eventually he became still.
Stanley got slowly to his feet and pulled Kit up. Kit's eyes were shut. He was shaking with emotion, like someone in a fit. "It's over," Stanley said. He put his arms around his son and held him. "It's all over now." They stood like that on the edge, with the wind blowing their hair, until Kit stopped shaking. Then, gently, Stanley turned him around and led him back toward the house.
THE family was in the living room, stunned and silent, still not sure that the nightmare was over. Stanley was talking to the Inverburn ambulance service on Kit's mobile phone while Nellie tried to lick his hands. Hugo lay on the couch, covered in blankets, while Olga bathed his wounds. Miranda was doing the same for Tom and Ned. Kit lay on his back on the floor, eyes closed. Craig and Sophie talked in low voices in a corner. Caroline had found all her rats and sat with their cage on her knees. Toni's mother sat next to Caroline with the puppy in her lap. The Christmas tree twinkled in the corner.
Toni called Odette. "How far away did you say those helicopters were?"
"An hour," Odette replied. "But that was then. As soon as the snow stopped, I moved them. Now they're at Inverburn, waiting for instructions. Why?"
"I've caught the gang and I've got the virus back, but-"
"What, on your own?" Odette was amazed.
"Never mind that. The important man is the customer, the one who's trying to buy this stuff and use it to kill people. We need to find him."
"I wish we could."
"I think we can, if we act fast. Could you send a helicopter to me?"
"Where are you?"
"At Stanley Oxenford's house, Steepfall. It's right on the cliff exactly fifteen miles north of Inverburn. There are four buildings in a square, and the pilot will see two crashed cars in the garden."
"My God, you have been busy."
"I need the chopper to bring me a bug, a miniature radio beacon, the kind you plant on someone you need to follow. It has to be small enough to fit into a bottle cap."
"How long does the transmitter need to operate?"
"Forty-eight hours."
"No problem. They should have that at police headquarters in Inverburn."
"One more thing. I need a bottle of perfume-Diablerie."
"They won't have that at police headquarters. They'll have to break into Boots in the High Street."
"We don't have much time- Wait." Olga was saying something. Toni looked at her and said, "What is it?"
"I can give you a bottle of Diablerie, just like the one that was on the table. It's the perfume I use."
"Thanks." Toni spoke into the phone. "Forget the perfume, I've got a bottle. How soon can you get the chopper here?"
"Ten minutes."
Toni looked at her watch. "That might not be fast enough."
"Where's the helicopter going after it picks you up?"
"I'll get back to you on that," Toni said, and she ended the call.
She knelt on the floor beside Kit. He was pale. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep: his breathing was shallow and he trembled intermittently. "Kit," she said. He did not respond. "Kit, I need to ask you a question. It's very important."
He opened his eyes.
"You were going to meet the customer at ten o'clock, weren't you?"
A tense hush fell on the room as the others turned and listened.
Kit looked at Toni but said nothing.
She said, "I need to know where you were going to meet them."
He looked away.
"Kit, please."
His lips parted. Toni leaned closer. He whispered, "No."
"Think about it," she urged. "You might earn forgiveness, in time."
"Never."
"On the contrary. Little harm has been done, though much was intended. The virus has been recovered."
His eyes moved from side to side as he looked from one family member to the next.
Reading his mind, Toni said, "You've done a great wrong to them, but they don't yet seem ready to abandon you. They're all around you."
He closed his eyes.
Toni leaned closer. "You could begin to redeem yourself right now."
Stanley opened his mouth to speak, but Miranda stopped him with a raised hand. She spoke instead. "Kit, please," she said. "Do one good thing, after all this rottenness. Do it for yourself, so that you'll know you're not all bad. Tell her what she needs to know."
Kit closed his eyelids tight, and tears appeared. At last he said, "Inverburn Flying School."
"Thank you," Toni whispered.
TONI sat in the control tower at the flying school. With her in the little room were Frank Hackett, Kit Oxenford, and a local police detective. In the hangar, parked out of sight, was the military helicopter that had brought them here. It had been close, but they had made it with a minute to spare.
Kit clutched the burgundy briefcase. He was pale, his face expressionless. He obeyed instructions like an automaton.
They all watched through the big windows. The clouds were breaking up, and the sun shone over the snow-covered airstrip. There was no sign of a helicopter.
Toni held Nigel Buchanan's mobile phone, waiting for it to ring. The batteries had run out at some point during the night, but it was the same kind as Hugo's, so she had borrowed his charger, which was now plugged into the wall.
"The pilot should have called by now," she said anxiously.
Frank said, "He may be a few minutes late."
She pressed buttons and discovered the last number Nigel had dialed. It looked like a mobile number, and it was timed at 11:45 p.m. yesterday. "Kit," she said. "Did Nigel call the customer just before midnight?"
"His pilot."
She turned to Frank. "This will be the number. I think we should call it."
"Okay."
She pressed "Send," and handed the mobile to the local police detective. He put it to his ear. After a few moments, he said, "Yeah, this is me, where are you?" He spoke with a London accent similar to Nigel's, which was why Frank had brought him along. "That close?" he said, looking through the window up at the sky. "We can't see you-"
As he spoke, a helicopter came down through the clouds.
Toni tensed.
The police officer hung up. Toni took out her own mobile and called Odette, who was now in the operations room at Scotland Yard. "Customer in sight."
Odette could not repress the excitement in her voice. "Give me the tail number."
"Just a minute…" Toni peered at the helicopter until she could make out the registration mark, then read the letters and numbers to Odette. Odette read them back then hung up.
The helicopter descended. Its rotors blew the snow on the ground into a storm. It landed a hundred yards from the control tower.
Frank looked at Kit and nodded. "Off you go."
Kit hesitated.
Toni said, "Just do everything as planned. Say, 'We had some problems with the weather, but everything worked out okay in the end.' You'll be fine."
Kit went down the stairs, carrying the briefcase.
Toni had no idea whether he would perform as instructed. He had been up for more than twenty-four hours, he had been in a car crash, and he was emotionally wrecked. He might do anything.
There were two men in the front seats of the helicopter. One of them, presumably the copilot, opened a door and got out, carrying a large suitcase. He was a stocky man of medium height, wearing sunglasses. Ducking his head, he moved away from the aircraft.
A moment later, Kit appeared outside the tower and walked across the snow toward the helicopter.
"Stay calm, Kit," Toni said aloud. Frank grunted.
The two men met halfway. There was some conversation. Was the copilot asking where Nigel was? Kit pointed to the control tower. What was he saying? Nigel sent me to make the delivery, perhaps. But it could just as easily be The police are up there in the control tower. There were more questions, and Kit shrugged.
Toni's mobile rang. It was Odette. "The helicopter is registered to Adam Hallan, a London banker," she said. "But he's not on board."
"Shame."
"Don't worry, I wasn't expecting him. The pilot and copilot are employees of his. They filed a flight plan to Battersea Heliport-just across the river from Mr. Hallan's house in Cheyne Walk."
"He's Mister Big, then?"
"Trust me. We've been after him for a long time."
The copilot pointed at the burgundy briefcase. Kit opened it and showed him a Diablerie bottle in a nest of polystyrene packing chips. The copilot put his suitcase on the ground and opened it to reveal stacks of banded fifty-pound notes, closely packed together; at least a million pounds, Toni thought, perhaps two million. As he had been instructed, Kit took out one of the stacks and riffled it.
Toni told Odette, "They've made the exchange. Kit's checking the money."
The two men on the airfield looked at each other, nodded, and shook hands. Kit handed over the burgundy briefcase, then picked up the suitcase. It seemed heavy. The copilot walked back to the helicopter, and Kit returned to the control tower.
As soon as the copilot got back into the aircraft, it took off.
Toni was still on the line to Odette. "Are you picking up the signal from the transmitter in the bottle?"
"Loud and clear," Odette said. "We've got the bastards."