Scott Mariani - The Shadow Project

‘How’s business?’

‘Business is great.’

She touched his arm. ‘Look, I know that you and I aren’t that close. But you’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?’

Adam forced a laugh. ‘Don’t be silly. You know I would. I’m just a little tired. I’ve been working late a lot the last couple of weeks. New project.’ He paused. ‘Speaking of which—’

She glanced up. ‘What?’

He hesitated. ‘I have to go away too.’

‘What? When?’

‘Tomorrow morning. Something really important just came up. There’s this conference in Edinburgh, and someone dropped out, and I’ve got to speak in their place, and, well…’

‘I just love your sense of timing.’

‘I know. But you’re more than welcome to stay here. As long as you like.’

‘All alone?’

‘You’ve got Cassini for company. And you don’t even have to worry about feeding him or letting him out. All automated. The house takes care of everything.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘You should have everything you need. But if you need to go out for anything, the password to open the front door is “Constantinople”.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Constantinople?’

‘Just say it into the sensor. It’ll recognise any voice. And if you want to lock the guest bedroom door, just tell the house “lock” and it’ll hear you. OK?’

‘Yeah, like I’d need to, out here.’

‘And if you lock it, I’ve set it up so you just say “Cassini” and it’ll unlock again. It’s the same password for all the bedrooms. Popular security feature. We never use it ourselves, though.’

She glared at him. ‘Fantastic, bro.’

‘Look, I’m really sorry. There’s nothing I can do about it. Just bad timing, like you said. Why don’t you call Nick? Maybe he could come over and join you.’

‘Nick and I aren’t together any more. Not since he started screwing the model I used in his last shoot.’

‘That’s a real shame,’ Adam said absently. He bit his lip. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go and get my things sorted out for this conference. Help yourself to more coffee. See you in a little while, OK?’

Sabrina watched him leave the room. He definitely seemed odd. She poured herself another cup and sat stroking Cassini. ‘Tennis camp,’ she muttered.

When Jeff walked into the office at Le Val, Ben was slamming down the phone. He sat down heavily in his desk chair, clapped his hands to his head and swore loudly.

‘Listen, Ben, I’ve got to tell you something. The doctor said—’

‘I already know what the doctor said,’ Ben replied without looking up.

‘You’ve spoken to him?’

‘I didn’t need to. Shannon’s lawyer’s just told me. Multiple contusions, possible lower back injury, out of action for at least three weeks.’

Jeff looked perplexed. ‘The bastard’s been talking to his lawyer? Already? From his hospital bed?’

Ben got up from the chair and went over to the window. ‘Not one to waste time. He’s threatening to press charges. Grievous bodily harm.’

‘Nothing that grievous about a bit of a twisted elbow and a couple of bruises. Shannon can take it.’

‘Tell that to the lawyer,’ Ben said. ‘But that’s not all.’

Jeff was quiet for a second as the meaning sank in. He swallowed. ‘He’s suing us, isn’t he?’

‘For loss of earnings,’ Ben said, still gazing out of the window. Over the roofs of the facility buildings he could see the trees beyond. He so much wanted to be there. Hidden deep within Le Val’s sprawl of woodland was the tumbledown ivy-covered ruin of an old church that for the last seven hundred and fifty or so years had been home to the wild creatures of the forest. It was a place Ben loved to go and spend time away from everything, just him and the stillness of the sun-dappled woods, the whisper of the trees and the sound of the doves nesting in the remains of the steeple. At this moment, all that seemed infinitely beyond his reach.

‘As in one point two million kind of earnings?’ Jeff asked quietly.

Ben nodded. He tore himself away from the window, went back to his desk and reclined in his chair. ‘The Swiss gig will have to be cancelled. Which basically leaves Shannon and the rest of the team out of a job. And I’m responsible for that.’

‘Can’t they manage without him?’

‘Apparently not. He insists they need a leader. It’s his contract, and he can do what he wants.’

‘Then we’re fucked,’ Jeff said.

They sat in silence for a long time. Three minutes passed, then four. Both men sat staring into space.

‘Why? Why?’ Ben muttered under his breath. ‘Why did I have to hit him?’

‘You didn’t exactly hit him, Ben. If you’d really hit him, you’d be up for manslaughter now.’

‘That’s a comforting thought, Jeff. Thanks for that.’ Ben took out his cigarettes and Zippo, and lit one up. Offered one to Jeff, and they sat smoking together.

‘There’s got to be a way out of this,’ Jeff said. ‘Is there no way we can just deny responsibility? Pretend it never happened?’

‘Nice idea, if you can forget the six witnesses who saw him go down. Seven, if you include Brooke.’

‘Brooke wouldn’t say anything.’

‘That’s not the point, Jeff. If it comes down to it, I won’t ask her to perjure herself for nothing.’

‘It was self-defence. He made the first move.’

‘But I overreacted. I didn’t have to cripple the guy.’

‘What about public liability insurance?’

‘I don’t think the policy underwriters would be happy about forking out a seven-figure sum because I beat up my client.’

‘It wasn’t your fault. The bastard had it coming.’

‘It is my fault. No excuses. I’ve put the customer in hospital, and that’s it. He has every right to sue for loss of earnings.’

Silence again for a few moments.

‘How about this?’ Jeff suggested suddenly. ‘We go back to the hospital, you and me, right now. We hang around and wait until Brooke and the doctor are out of the way. And then we slip into Shannon’s room and tell him that if he goes ahead with this, we’ll—’

‘Forget it. That’s not going to work either.’

‘Then we’re fucked,’ Jeff said again. ‘Completely screwed. Dead in the water.’

‘Maybe not,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve got another idea.’

The next morning

The rust-streaked prow of the ship cleaved through the waves at a steady ten knots, throwing up a bow wave of white spray. The tweendecker cargo vessel was more than forty years old, and every inch of her hundred-and-sixty-foot hull was crusted with salt and oily grime, but she was a fast and reliable ship. Her speed was one reason she’d been chosen for this assignment; the other was that her Icelandic captain and his crew of six were savvy enough to take the cash and ask no questions of the two men and the woman they were being hired to ferry eastwards across the northern tip of Scotland into Scandinavian waters. They wanted to know even less about the ‘cargo’ that their three passengers had stored down below.

The ship had sailed in the night from Clifden on the Irish west coast. A few hours into the voyage, the sun was shining but the salty sea wind was cool as they left the Outer Hebrides behind them, the Orkney Islands a few hours ahead. The diesels kept up their steady grind, the clouds drifted overhead and the sea foamed white in their wake as the vessel ploughed onwards towards Stavanger, Norway, where the plane would be waiting to deliver the package to its final destination.

The stocky guy was not feeling good. He hated this fucking pile of rust, the stink of oil and ocean, the nauseous pitch and yaw of the floor under his feet. He was ill all the time, and he’d have loved to shoot down one or two of those incessantly screeching fucking seabirds. Not the most rewarding job he’d been on. He couldn’t wait for it to be over.