The Boathouse (15 page)

The apartment was huge with an open-plan reception area that looked straight across the quay to Canary Wharf. The towering mirrored glass skyscrapers were more in keeping with Manhattan than London, but the views were formidable by any standard.

The layout was open and uncluttered, although not sparsely furnished. It had a minimalist art gallery feel to it with fine art pieces, sculptures and paintings positioned for maximum effect. A life-sized copy of the Venus de Milo in dull white marble greeted visitors upon entry.

Steel-tipped heels echoed on the polished mahogany floor as they walked towards the massive sofas near the window. The polished black grand piano with the lid down had centre stage in front of the window. Next to it was a large red baize and light oak pool table with a game unfinished, but no players in sight.

“Wait there,” Madeleine said harshly.

She walked to the kitchen area then out of sight around the corner. When she returned she was followed by a tall white-haired and suntanned man in his early sixties. He was informally dressed in a light linen jacket, pink polo shirt and beige chinos. Navy moccasins and no socks. The Glock in his right hand was aimed squarely between Archer's eyes.

“What the hell do you mean by threatening us with Peter Sinclair?”

“His wife's been kidnapped.”

“So bloody what.”

Hunter was a thin and gaunt-looking man. He had a red weathered face like a yachtsman, but there was something hard about his appearance. His nose was straight, but vertical like a boxer's. He looked like he'd been putting in the hours on the shooting range too. He wasn't going to miss at this quarter, no matter what. Archer calmly rolled his eyes at Forsyth.

“I know,” she said. “He looks so accustomed to it, doesn't he.”

“Shut up, Forsyth,” Hunter said. “I know who you are. How did you find me?”

“We're private investigators,” Archer said calmly. “It's what we do.”

An elegant looking silver-haired woman in a cream suit walked into the kitchen area and then headed straight towards Hunter. She nodded curtly at Forsyth before resting her hand gently on Hunter's shoulder.

“So, Sean Archer, what the hell do you want?”

“Put the gun down and I'll tell you.”

“Do you really think I'm that foolish? This gun is all I've got left between our life and nosy little busy-bodies like you two.”

“Pardon the pun but you've jumped the gun a bit, I'm afraid,” Forsyth said. “The fact is that we're all that's between your life and Sinclair. He thinks you've kidnapped his wife.”

“Then you're bigger damned fools than I already thought. Sinclair's probably behind the kidnapping himself.” He cocked his nose mockingly at his intruders. “It's what he does.”

Madeleine clipped across the room, extending one foot exaggeratedly in front of the other like a catwalk model emphasising her swagger for maximum effect and attention. She barely glanced at the gun in Hunter's hand, treating it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No one had asked her to, but she brought a freshly made cafetière of strong-smelling coffee on a tray with four bone china mugs. She poured, left the four mugs on the table then turned around and clipped back off towards the kitchen. The soles of her stilettos were as red as her lips. She might have been working as a simple housekeeper, but she was dressed more expensively than both of her employers.

“Tell us about Sinclair while we drink our coffee,” Archer said, ignoring the gun himself and sitting down. Forsyth followed suit.

“You two have got some balls, I'll give you that.”

Forsyth rolled her eyes back at Archer and faked a yawn. “I'll be on to my union rep in the morning. Sexual harassment in the workplace during my afternoon coffee break; erroneous gender-specific remarks about my private parts.”

“What is society coming to? Hosts just don't treat their guests politely any more.”

“But you're not my bloody guests though, are you?” Hunter said. “You're fast-talking intruders in a private home. Unwelcome hustlers bullying decent people like us around. I've got a good mind to shoot you both. I've a hermetically sealed room downstairs where I can dump your bodies for ever without any inconvenience to either me, my wife or the housekeeper. Do you understand?”

“Not really, no,” Archer said. “Is that where Becky is?”

“Who the hell is Becky?”

“Sinclair's wife.”

“For the love of God, why the hell would I want to kidnap Sinclair's wife and have every goon in the country after me, when all I want is to stay alive peacefully?”

Archer could sense that Hunter's façade was starting to crack.

“Then tell us everything you know about Sinclair.”

“What good will that do?”

“It might save your life. If we can find you then so can he.”

“How did you find us? We've been hiding in peace for years.” Hunter's voice had cracked and his eyes welled up. He went pale and began sobbing like a spoiled brat.

Samantha put her arm around her husband to console him. “Are you feeling all right, dear?” She rubbed his shoulder affectionately. He looked like a helpless child.

“No. I'm not all right. I can't do this any more.” Hunter started to tremble and the gun looked unsteady in his right hand. “Let me take that off you, dear.” He tugged it back.

“No, leave me alone.” Hunter threw the gun away. It crashed to the wooden floor without going off and slid along until it hit the skirting board. Luckily the safety catch was on. Hunter cried like a coward and buried his head into his wife's shoulder.

“If we don't find Becky Sinclair while she's still alive,” Forsyth said, unperturbed by Hunter's melodramatic performance, “Sinclair will probably go on a spree and kill everyone he doesn't like. And you're top of the list.”

“Talk to them, Stuart,” Samantha Hunter said. “It may help us.”

Samantha continued to console her husband by stroking his shoulder. His shivering eventually stopped and he dried his eyes with the backs of his hands, but still looked tense.

“Sinclair's an insane megalomaniac. He cheated me and other people I know out of vast sums of money. He has people killed. He wants me dead.”

“How do you know he has people killed?”

“How did you find me?”

“My partner is good at doing things like that. She uncovered your wife's fake identity as the widow Samantha Knight.”

“But there's no link between the Knights and the Hunters. Not on any database.”

“She's very resourceful. We've found you, and Sinclair's still looking for you, so I think you should show us a bit more respect.”

Madeleine returned with a tray of finger snacks and pastries. She placed it on the coffee table without saying a word. Passed around four small plates and napkins and then walked back to the kitchen with an accentuated sway of the hips. She left the gun lying where it was, up against the skirting board.

Hunter was nervously tapping the floor with his foot. His face was flushed. He was shaking and looked like he needed something stronger than a mug of black coffee.

“I haven't got the will or the energy to change identities again. Sinclair has a contract out on me. He'll have one out on you by now. Just because you work for him.”

“Look, pull yourself together, man,” Archer said. “He doesn't know where you are. He won't get anything from us. We're only interested in finding Becky, and then getting enough evidence to put Sinclair away.”

“He killed Jane and her husband and Christina before her. He won't care about Becky – he's probably behind it all anyway. It's probably just another one of his smoke and mirror tactics to get rid of her. Then he'll find another one, a similar but younger model obviously and then carry on regardless. It's the way he's operated for years.”

“What makes you so certain he killed them?”

“I know because I know who did it.”

“Who?”

“Nick Carnell.”

“Who's he?”

“Who was he, you mean.”

“All right, who was he then?”

“He used to work for me.”

“What happened?”

“Sinclair had him killed because he knew too much. He became a liability. The problem was Carnell told me everything before he was killed and Sinclair knows he told me. That's why Sinclair put a contract out on me.”

This backed up what Sarah and Cavendish had said. If it was true then Becky would be bumped off if she survived. The contract hits might even stretch to annoying investigators.

“Who's after you, his bodyguards?”

“No. They're just stupid overpaid grunts that look after him. He's so paranoid about being killed that he protects himself with a number of highly trained, highly paid goons. But his dirty work is done by teams of hired professionals. Again, all highly paid. You get the picture, I'm sure. He has friends who own private armies.”

“So if he trusted Carnell to do his dirtiest work, why would he then turn on him and kill him? What else did he know that was so important?”

“Good question.”

“I'm listening.”

Hunter was regaining his composure. Samantha gave him a small pill, which he took without question. The tension rapidly evaporated from his face and the stiffness was instantly removed from his body. Gone was the hysterical anger, as he continued to drone in an upper-class monotone, far more subdued.

“Carnell worked for me. I had absolutely no idea that he was moonlighting for Sinclair until it was too late to stop him. If he'd told anyone what he had done for Sinclair it would have put them both away for life. Sinclair didn't trust him, but I never found out why.”

“What was Carnell's official role in your company?”

“Weapons and tactics expert. Faultless at planning and cautious about the execution. He did excellent work for the government and for several private companies. He was a highly sought-after individual.”

“You must have used him as well though. He did work for you after all?”

“Obviously. Clients paid well for his work.”

“What happened to your company?”

“Sinclair's associates damaged the company by blackmailing some of my employees to spy for him. Industrial espionage is rampant these days, as I'm sure you're both aware. They then devalued it with leaks and lies, creating highly compromising misinformation. His American allies bought the company and cheated me out of tens of millions of pounds. I was forced to sell it in order to pay short-term debts that were being pulled by the banks. My clients were walking away in droves. I was lucky to have personal savings, otherwise we would have been left destitute.”

“Do you still have a grudge against him?” Archer asked.

“Yes of course. He ruined me and now he's taken my liberty by forcing me to hide. But he's a powerful man and I have no plans for revenge. I'm simply trying to enjoy my retirement without getting myself killed. We enjoy the arts. We go to the theatre, concerts, museums, galleries and the like. Elegant and cultured behaviour. While his associates get away with murder and daylight robbery.”

“Have you got anything at all to do with Becky's abduction?”

“Don't be absurd.”

“You have motive.”

“I'm hiding from him, not going after him. We're in a terrible predicament.”

“Seems like you still have a high-quality lifestyle to me, Hunter.” Archer already disliked the man as much as he disliked Sinclair. As far as he was concerned they were from the same mould, but Sinclair had got the upper hand in their pathetic relationship.

“Quality compared to your life maybe. So what. It's still only a flat, even if it is superior to your crummy little bedsit in Acton or wherever the hell you're from. But he forced us to change our names, have cosmetic surgery and fear people like you knocking on the door. If you tell him where we are he'll send a contractor straight over here to kill us. You don't stand a chance against him.”

“You were a shit judge of character with Carnell, and you're an even worse lifestyle critic. I'd rather hear about Sinclair, if you don't mind,” Archer snapped.

“Watch it, Archer. I've got a room full of loaded guns downstairs. Anyway, if he comes for me I'll take him down with me. Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because you don't want a shootout with him and we know where you live.”

Forsyth casually walked across the room, picked up the gun, sat down, checked it was loaded, clicked off the safety catch and aimed it at Hunter's head.

“Don't threaten me, woman,” Hunter said, visibly shaken.

“I'm not. You've forgotten your lines and I'm the prompt.”

“Oh help them, Stuart, for Christ's sake!” Samantha screeched. “You got us into this goddamned mess and the minute someone wants to help get you out of it you throw one of your pathetic little hissy fits, pretending to have morals. You were happy enough to change your identity in some ways. Now you tell everyone you went to Eton whereas you really went to a grammar school in Swindon.”

Hunter looked as if he'd have gladly shot her if Forsyth hadn't held the gun, but he was beaten. He'd reinvented himself once already. Now it was obvious that he had no energy to do it again. The thought of Sinclair coming for him was more than enough leverage.

“Very well, Archer. I'll tell you, then you leave us alone afterwards.”

“Start talking Hunter. She's trigger happy.”

“Sinclair helped his American associates take over several security companies and merged them into existing defence contractors. They employ all sorts of people including lobbyists, surveillance experts, spies and assassins. He's a very dangerous man. Way above your league. You'll just get sucked in by his fake charms and then one day you'll get a bullet in the back of the head for thanks.”

“I didn't ask you to read my tea leaves. What sort of companies did they buy?”

“Oakland Security to look legitimate, but behind the façade he was covering up this terrible place he'd built. I don't know exactly where it is, not many people do, but it's an underground facility where they torture and kill people – you know, like insurgents or terrorist suspects or anyone they want and then dump their bodies out at sea. It enables MI6 and the CIA to have deniable access to a privately operated Guantanamo-style facility on UK soil.”

Archer was stunned by this candid revelation. A shock of electricity jolted through his body, causing him to stiffen awkwardly. The rumours and suspicions were true. There was a facility called the Boathouse. And Sinclair was definitely connected to it.

“We can put Sinclair away. But we're going to need help putting together the evidence. More specifically, we'll need your help, Hunter.”

“You mean you want me to testify against him as a witness?”

“No. That would be the very last resort. We need to get enough evidence together, then we can spare you the inconvenience of ever leaving your silver spoon existence.”

“You want us to risk our lives, even more than now?”

“We can put Sinclair away for life. Why wouldn't you want to help us do that?”

“Why should we risk our lives?”

“You know very well why. He has to be stopped, put away. Until then you're risking your lives every second of every day. Talk it over with your wife. We'll sit here and admire your opulent emptiness while you do.”

The Hunters looked at each other then got up and huddled together at the window overlooking the O2 Arena. For a minute they were engrossed in intense discussion.

“All right, Archer. Guarantee our anonymity and we'll help you, but remember, Sinclair has people everywhere. Eyes and ears in all sorts of places. People in his pocket in the corridors of power in London and Washington, D.C. I just can't see how you could pull it off. Sinclair and his partners are too powerful. He's untouchable.”

“There must be records of what goes on in these secret facilities.”

“The records used to be kept on an encrypted laptop.”

“I want you to write everything down. Use this Hotmail account and password.” Archer started to write on the back of a business card. “Save it as a draft.”

Hunter nodded.

Archer walked up to him.

“Okay. Here's my card. I want it all, every detail. Names, dates, numbers. You got that?” Hunter nodded silently and looked at his wife for approval.

“Well done, dear. Perhaps we can use our real names again one day.”

Archer was disturbed. Hunter was the kind of man already planning his own way out. He didn't trust him and decided it was time to leave and find a fresh lead on Becky. At least he wasn't wasting his time investigating Sinclair. Hunter had confirmed that Sinclair was linked to a facility like the Boathouse. It had to be the same one. So once he found Becky he could spend more time investigating Sinclair.