His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of the Cessna coming in to land. Theyre here, he said to Penrose, who sprawled up out of his seat with a jerk, threw open the car door and clambered eagerly out.
The Cessna came down over the trees. It touched down with a yelp of tyres and taxied to a halt a few metres from the waiting vehicles. Beaming, Penrose marched across the runway to meet its occupants. The hatch opened and Steve Cutter emerged, followed by Dave Mills.
Penroses face fell when he saw the state of them. Cutter had a thick wad of dressing taped to his forehead and an ugly split and swollen lip. Millss cheek was bruised and scuffed from jaw to eye and he was moving stiffly. Neither displayed the body language of men returning victorious from a successful operation. Cutters expression confirmed it.
Penroses happiness evaporated instantly. A drumming pulse started up in his left temple that he knew would quickly grow into a painful migraine. What happened? he blurted in the short moments of numb surprise before the fury took him.
We didnt get the gear, Cutter said miserably.
So I gathered, Penrose growled. The first pang of the headache made his left eye twitch. Where are all the others? The plan had been specific. Two men to raid the vicarage, the rest of them to stand guard nearby.
Still in position, Cutter said.
The Cessna pilot was turning the aircraft round for takeoff, and the rising engine note lanced through Penroses head. Well talk back at the villa, he barked, then turned on his heel and marched back to his limousine, white-faced with anger, as Cutter and Mills climbed painfully into the Audi.
One man? Penrose screamed when Cutter had explained what had happened at the Little Denton vicarage. The two mercenaries were standing by the desk, looking sullen. Rex ONeill was by the window, hands clasped behind his back and remaining silent. Penrose paced dementedly. The migraine was in full force now and the painkillers werent working. He needed something stronger.
Just what I said, Cutter repeated. One man.
Penrose stopped pacing and glowered at him. So it wasnt the A-Team who stopped you carrying out your job, he bellowed, waving his arms. It wasnt the U.S. bloody Marines.
No.
How could you possibly screw this up? What was he doing there?
He just appeared. Like he was staying in the place.
A visitor?
We were told the house would be empty, Cutter said.
ONeill listened quietly in the background. Whoever had foiled the robbery had also been there to take the phone call from Wesley Holland some time later. Who was this person?
Penroses shouts dropped to a hoarse rasp as he went on harrying Steve Cutter. Maybe Im the only one around here who can see straight. Maybe its time for a little refresher session. Remind me. Are you and I in business together?
Cutter sighed. Yes.
And in this business relationship, what role would you say I play?
Youre the boss, Cutter said.
Meaning what?
Youre in charge. You tell us what to do.
Thats right! Penrose shouted. Im in charge. Why? Because Im the one with the ideas. Im the one whos worked out this whole plan. This very, very important plan. And Im the one with all the money.
Cutter made no reply.
But Penrose was far from finished. Now, remind me: who exactly in this business relationship are you?
Cutter shifted from foot to foot, starting to get restless. He needed to remind himself of the perks of this job. More cash than he and his team had ever pulled in before. The poshest quarters theyd ever been put up in, by far. All the whisky and beer and wine they could guzzle, and all the whores from the mainland they could sate themselves with. If it hadnt been for those minor benefits, hed have smashed this little upstarts teeth down his throat right where he stood. The guy you hired, he said tersely.
And why did I do that, and pay you all this money?
Because my team are the best, Cutter said, looking him in the eye.
The best in the business, Penrose yelled. Your very words. So what am I to think when my cherry-picked elite team fail not once, but twice in a row to get me what I want? First you tell me that your cretin Grinnall let Holland get away-
Terry Grinnall will find him, Cutter said.
And now, when all you had to do was walk into an unoccupied house in some sleepy village and pick up a few simple items, you come back empty-handed and all beaten up, telling me you screwed up because of- he searched for the right words -because of some vicarage guest? What did he do, throw a prayer book at you?
Cutter shook his head. He wasnt an ordinary vicarage guest. Somebody skilled. Somebody trained.
But you just told me you were the best! Penrose screeched. What the hell was stopping you going back there after him and finishing him?
My orders were to carry out a quick, clean job, not create a war zone, Cutter said.
What I want, Penrose exploded, is every last one of my enemies stamped out and crushed. Do you understand?
Rex ONeill felt like saying something, but he held back and kept his mouth shut.
Cutter gave a shrug. Sure.
Penrose stormed across to his desk, ripped open a drawer and took out a large pistol. Cutter, Mills and Rex ONeill all stared at the gun. Penrose walked back over to Cutter, gnashing his teeth, and pointed the weapon at his chest. He loved the cool steel of the pistol in his hand. So many years hed longed for a real gun. Now he could have all the real guns he wanted. This one was a Coonan. 357 Magnum automatic. Rare and beautiful, smooth stainless steel with gleaming walnut grips and an eight-shot capacity. He played with it constantly. No. I mean, do you really, really understand? he screamed. Because if not Ill put a bullet in you right now and hire someone who can do a better job of this for me. In fact, he added, perhaps I ought to just shoot you anyway, as a punishment. Shall I? Shall I? He raised the pistol to Cutters face.
Cutter gazed calmly into the mans eyes. He could easily rip the gun out of Penroses hand, and the arm out of the socket with it. You are crazy, he thought. I understand, he said quietly.
Cutter gazed calmly into the mans eyes. He could easily rip the gun out of Penroses hand, and the arm out of the socket with it. You are crazy, he thought. I understand, he said quietly.
Penrose glowered at him, breathing hard. A vein was popping in his forehead. His carefully coiffured hair was sprawling in all directions. After twenty long, silent seconds, he lowered the gun. Pleased to hear it. I want this man dead, whoever he is. I dont care if you have to raze half of England to the ground to get him. I just want you to get him. Nobody is going to stop me. Nobody!
ONeill had kept his mouth shut until now, but couldnt hold back any longer. If I could remind you, Mr Lucas, my employers have been quite clear that they want this kept as quiet as possible. I thought that was understood.
Penrose balked in horror at his words, then turned on him. Your employers also recruited me to run this operation, yes? Me, not you. That was also understood.
A number of possible replies occurred to ONeill. Most of them centred on the theme of Yes, but the Trimble Group never realised they were taking on a raving bloody maniac. But considering the circumstances and the Coonan. 357 that was still clutched tightly in Penroses fist, he wisely chose not to voice them. Shortly afterwards, he left the room and returned to his own office within the villa complex while Cutter and Mills were dismissed back to their quarters to lick their wounds and await further instructions.
Penrose Lucas spent quite a few minutes pacing and seething alone. He pulled out a large holdall from under the desk, unzipped it and lifted out the stacks of banknotes he kept in there. Counting the money sometimes soothed him but not this time, and as the migraine just kept worsening he was compelled to retreat to the bedroom to lie down.
After an hour in the blacked-out room with a mask over his face and five codeine tablets washing through his bloodstream, he emerged and turned on his computer, intent on finding out all he could about Simeon Arundels mysterious and peculiarly talented guest.
Thanks to Rex ONeill and the team behind the scenes whose names and faces Penrose neither knew nor wanted to know, he had unlimited access to police reports and a host of other data, some of it official, some of it not, concerning his victims before and after their deaths. Hed scanned through them already, but as he perused the files again now he paid much more attention to detail.
Ben Hope, he said out loud. The name came up twice. Once as the witness at the scene of the fatal car crash, and again as a speaker at the musical event, a concert at the Leigh Llewellyn Foundation, which Simeon Arundel and his wife had attended shadowed, unknown to them, by Dave Mills.
What was a man like this doing hanging around a supposedly empty vicarage in the middle of the night, and getting in the way of his carefully laid plans? Penrose had always been a keen researcher, and nothing motivated him like utter hatred. Digging a little deeper, he quickly unearthed the connection between this Ben Hope and the deceased opera star Leigh Llewellyn. The old news item announcing their marriage was still viewable online and provided Penrose with his new enemys full name and title: Major Benedict Hope, British Army, retired.
From there it was just a short skip to Hopes business website. He ran something called a tactical training facility in northern France. Penrose had little idea of what a tactical training facility was, but he understood enough to know what it suggested about the kind of skills this Hope possessed. He opened the page titled About the Team and read, then re-read, the two short paragraphs describing Hopes background. The mans military experience was extensive, that much was patently obvious, but the information seemed carefully pruned, as though much of his past history couldnt be revealed. Even to someone with Penroses limited understanding of military matters, that in itself was revealing enough. As for the connection between Hope and Arundel, that remained a mystery.