Джеймс Паттерсон - Revenge

Drake spluttered, “What the fuck do you mean, you need me ? Why are you even here? Your fucking wife didn’t help Susie—”

In the next second Shelley had Drake’s shirt bunched in his fist and was shoving him backward, the older man’s heels skidding on the kitchen floor before he thumped heavily into the refrigerator, the kind with huge double doors in brushed steel, one of which was now dented.

“Don’t you dare,” hissed Shelley, “don’t you fucking dare. Lucy— my fucking wife —almost died trying to keep Susie out of their hands. She winged one of them. Got descriptions of the rest. It’s because of her that we know exactly who we’re dealing with here. And you can count yourself lucky that I need you in one piece to keep Susie alive, or God help me I’d knock your block off right now.”

“The problem being that I wouldn’t let you do that, Shelley,” came a voice from behind.

It was Bennett, voice calm with the kind of authority you get when you’re holding a gun on someone.

Shelley relaxed his hands on Drake’s shirt. “Did you hear what he said?”

“It wouldn’t make any difference, my friend. I’m paid to provide security, and I’m pretty sure that not allowing my boss to get beaten up falls within my remit. Are you all right, sir?” he added, directing his question to Drake.

Drake pulled himself out of the dent in his fridge, shrugging off Shelley, who stepped away. “I’m all right.”

“Would you like me to ask Mr. Shelley to leave?”

“No, Mr. Shelley can stay for the time being,” said Drake, glaring at Shelley.

“Then perhaps we should all relax,” said Bennett.

Shelley turned as Bennett holstered his weapon. “The kidnapper’s been in touch,” he told Bennett, which was what he’d planned to tell Drake in the first place.

“ What? ” blasted Drake. “You never told me that—”

“You never gave me the chance,” Shelley clapped back. “But that’s why I need you calm. He’s ringing back with his demands later.”

Bennett nodded thoughtfully. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “And I take it you want to keep this between us?”

“There’s no way they could have bugged this place, is there?” asked Shelley.

“They haven’t had the chance,” Bennett assured him.

“Well, look, ultimately the decision about whether or not we tell the cops lies with Guy. It’s his wife whose life is in danger; it’s his money the kidnappers will be asking for. Guy, do you think you’re in any fit state to make that decision?”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Shelley.”

“Grow up, Guy,” Shelley shot back.

They glowered at one another. For a second, Shelley thought Drake might blow, but perhaps there was a semblance of the old Guy beneath all that scar tissue, for he seemed to take stock for a second. And perhaps he realized how childish he’d sounded.

“I am,” he said, chastened. “Of course I am.”

Shelley breathed an inner sigh of relief. “Well, in that case it’s a decision you need to make sooner rather than later,” he explained. “I’ve been involved in hostage situations, and so has Bennett here,” he looked across and received an affirmative nod in return, “and I expect he’s going to agree with me that things very quickly go tits up when the police get involved. You get the cops on board and they’ll tell you that their main priority is to keep the victim safe, and it is—kind of—but only if it doesn’t conflict with their next priority, which is to capture the kidnappers.

“On the other hand, if you decide not to tell the cops, then you’re also agreeing to giving in to the ransom demands. And it may well be that they choose not to play by the book.”

Drake nodded as he processed the information. “What are your impressions of this guy Kraviz?” he asked.

“First of all, he’s a Chechen, not a Russian. You need to get your head around that. Second, he’s pissed off with us. He thinks that we’ve damaged his business and insulted him, and we’ve got every right to expect him to want some pretty brutal payback. If you were ordinary Joe Public then that’s what you’d get.

“The advantage you’ve got is that you’re rich, so he’s got the chance to make a lot of money quickly. He’s tasted blood, thanks to poor old Johnson. But from the way he’s conducted himself after that, I’d say he’s going down the route of wanting the cash in lieu of any more reprisals.”

“So what now?” asked Drake.

“Now? Now we wait.”

“Sir,” said Bennett, “not long ago you were telling us about your kidnapper money. Is that still available?”

Shelley gave a start. “Wait a second. What’s this? What ‘kidnapper money’?”

Bennett deferred to Drake to explain, and Drake shot Shelley a look of distaste, still harboring a grudge, before he said, “A year or so ago, when I suspected Emma was in trouble, I put some money aside in case something like this happened. Money in an offshore account, that can be transferred quickly and without alerting my bank or the authorities.”

“The rich-man equivalent of mugger money?”

“Something like that.”

“How much?”

“Twenty million,” said Drake.

Shelley looked from Bennett to Drake. “That’s why he asked for twenty million earlier. This conversation, when you told Bennett about it. Was Johnson involved?”

Drake nodded.

“Figures.”

CHAPTER 52

CLARIDGE HAD LEFT. In charge was DI Phillips, who still didn’t seem to know how to handle Guy Drake and his men. Were they suspects or victims?

In the end, Phillips decided to hedge his bets and treat them like a mixture of both, which meant he was stuck playing good cop one minute, bad cop the next, so every now and then he’d ask them politely whether they’d heard from the kidnappers. No, they’d say, each man playing his part to perfection. Of course not. After which he’d accuse them of hiding something. And they’d say no we’re not.

By now Gurney had been clued in, but he stayed on the sidelines, and thank God for that, as far as Shelley was concerned. A couple of hours passed. Shelley and Bennett kept themselves away from the cops on the pretext of making tea or checking on Drake. All four of them were shooting each other anxious glances, waiting, waiting.

And then suddenly Drake sped past and flashed Shelley a significant look, Bennett not far behind. Shelley checked the cops were oblivious to the exodus and then followed them into the kitchen, gently closing the door and moving to stand with the others.

For a moment or so Drake merely held the vibrating phone, and Shelley wondered if he was even going to answer it, when abruptly he raised the handset to his ear. “Hello,” he said simply, and Shelley was relieved at the lack of needle in his voice. Thankfully he’d remembered that a kidnapping situation was all about negotiation. Then, “Yes, this is Guy Drake speaking. Is this Dmitry?” He held the phone away from his ear, putting it on speaker.

“Yes, it is I, Dmitry,” they heard. “The last time we spoke you were discourteous and disrespectful, but I think you will not make that mistake again, am I right?”

Drake reddened but remembered himself, cleared his throat, swallowed his pride, and spoke: “No, I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Good, and I trust your colleague Captain Shelley has kept you abreast of all the latest developments?”

“He has.”

“Good. A go-between is very useful, I think.”

“I would like to talk to my wife,” said Drake, and once again Shelley found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Drake was getting past Dmitry’s jibes, moving on to deal with the important matter impressed on him by Shelley: demanding proof of life.