Justin Richards - Death Run

JACK HIGGINS

WITH JUSTIN RICHARDS

Title Page JACK HIGGINS WITH JUSTIN RICHARDS Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty One Chapter Twenty Two Chapter Twenty Three Chapter Twenty Four Chapter Twenty Five About the Author Copyright About the Publisher

They arrived in Mont Passat just four hours before the alarms went off. Rich, Jade and their father had a suite of rooms above the main casino. They were spacious and plush, the whole place furnished like the nineteenth-century European palace it once was. Room service provided food that looked like it had been placed on the plate by an artist. Rich’s Coke seemed out of place in a cut-glass tumbler, but Jade’s mineral water and Dad’s champagne were entirely in keeping.

It was only a few months since Rich and Jade had first met John Chance. Until then they hadn’t even known they had a father. But after Mum was killed in a road accident, Dad had turned up at the funeral to look after them. The fifteen-year-old twins had resented it at first, but gradually, as they learned more about the man, they had come to respect and like – maybe even love – their dad. And beneath the bluff, hardened exterior Jade knew for sure he had come to respect and like – maybe even love – them.

“Can we play roulette and blackjack in the casino?” Rich asked as soon as he’d finished eating. “Will you teach us how to play poker?”

“No,” said Dad.

“Gambling’s addictive and you never win in the long run,” Jade told her twin brother.

“Then what are we doing here?” Rich asked. He was slim and tall, like his sister. Like their father they both had blond hair and blue eyes. “I mean,” Rich went on, “there’s nothing in this place except the casino, is there? So, if we’re going to Venice – why don’t we just go to Venice?”

“Simple,” Dad told them. Jade could tell from his tone he was making an effort to be patient. “I didn’t book the tickets, right? Ardman did.”

“Might have known,” Jade muttered. Ardman was Dad’s boss. He ran some secret group that worked for the British Prime Minister’s office and did ‘covert operations’.

“So Ardman is sending us to Venice the long way,” Rich said. “Why’s that then? Some secret job he wants you to do here in Mont Passat?”

“No,” said Dad quickly. “I think Ardman’s got some deal with the airline, to get the cheapest tickets or take up spare capacity or something. His budget’s under review by Sir Lionel Ffinch. We were lucky to get a holiday at all.”

Dad suggested they get an early night so they’d be refreshed for their early morning flight. Jade nodded in agreement and Rich struggled to suppress his disappointment.

“Can’t we at least check out the casino? Just look round? It’s famous.”

Dad shook his head. “You’re too young. Have to be over twenty-one to get in.” He grinned. “Tell you what, we can all come back in six years.”

Jade and Rich headed for their bedrooms. Rich looked back at Dad. “I suppose you’re going to be checking it out though. Propping up the bar?”

“Absolutely not,” Dad insisted. “I need my beauty sleep too, you know.”

Jade laughed. “You’re telling me.” Rich’s bedroom was bigger than Dad’s entire flat back in London. He didn’t realise until he flopped down on the enormous bed how tired he was. It was an effort to get undressed, and before long, he was under the covers and drifting off to sleep.

The hand on his shoulder woke him immediately.

“Are you awake?” Jade was asking.

“I am now.” Rich sat up. “What’s up?”

His sister sat down on the bed beside him. She was in her pyjamas and her hair was all over the place. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

Rich pulled his pillow over his head. “Your problem,” he mumbled. “Deal with it.”

“It’s the noise.”

“The casino?” Rich was obviously not going to be allowed to get to sleep either, so he emerged from the pillow. “I didn’t notice it.”

“Not the casino. Dad. His room’s next to mine. You’ve got the living room or whatever it is between you.”

“Dad? What’s he doing?”

“Snoring.” Jade got up from the bed. “Come and listen.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Rich protested. “We can swap rooms if you want.”

They paused before they got halfway across the living room. The rhythmic sound of snoring echoed off the walls.

“Maybe not,” Rich decided. “Still, at least we know he hasn’t sneaked off to the bar.”

“I suppose.” Jade slumped on to a small sofa. “It’s good to know he’s not just brought us here for the booze and the gambling.”

In their father’s room, the sound of loud snoring continued to emerge from the small digital recorder on the cabinet beside the empty bed. The windows out on to the balcony were open and the curtains fluttered in the breeze.

The building was old, and the stonework weathered enough to afford an easy grip. Chance had little difficulty climbing down from his room. He stood in the shadow of a large ornamental shrub to adjust his bow tie, straightened his dinner jacket and headed for the main entrance to the casino.

“Never again,” he muttered under his breath as he smiled at the broad-shouldered doorman. “I’m on holiday.” He silently cursed Ardman, made his way to the main bar and ordered a large whisky.

This late in the evening, the casino was busy with the rich and the beautiful from all round the world. Old men with young women; mature women with young men. Chance was interested in none of them. He was intent on the men in suits who stood just too stiffly, whose jackets bulged just too much, who watched but never played or drank. It took him ten minutes before he was sure he had registered all the security staff.

What he did not see was the woman studying him from the shadows on the other side of the bar. Tall and slim, she wore a pale blue evening gown with an expensive-looking diamond necklace and matching earrings. Her hair was a startling auburn and her eyes were bright blue.

Chance himself blended in well – an unremarkable man of about forty, with a rugged, experienced face. A businessman enjoying an expensive night out perhaps. No one special. No one memorable. It was an image that Chance cultivated. He liked not to be noticed. He finished his drink, left a tip that was just big enough to ensure the barman would not remember him and then went to the cloakroom.

“You’re holding a briefcase for me,” John Chance told the smartly dressed man at the desk. “The name is Enfield. Harrison Enfield.”

“Of course, Mr Enfield.” The man’s accent was French. He returned a moment later with a metal briefcase.

Chance opened the case and glanced inside – seeing exactly what he had expected. A wig, false beard and an expensive suit in a small size. There was one other thing, a small metal box with a switch on the side. Chance took it out and slipped it into his pocket. He snapped the case closed and smiled his thanks to the young man.