With a final look at Juliet Norton, Abbott left the main conference room, crossed the smaller reception area outside, went to the door and out onto the balcony beyond.

He stood at the rail, List and Wilson taking up position on either side of him, guns trained on him. His eyes went to the balcony on the opposite side of the quad where Tess stood stock-still, staring across the quad at him, her face impossible to read. It struck him how unusual that was. How normally she wore her emotions on her sleeve, written all over her face. Had the terror of her predicament forced her into herself, he wondered. Had the trauma shut her down?

Needing to speak to her, needing to reach out, he called across, ‘Tess . . .’

‘Watch it,’ said Wilson, the muzzle of the M-16 coming forward. ‘Nobody said anything about having a chinwag while you’re out here.’

Abbott didn’t take his eyes off Tess but said to Wilson, ‘Go ahead, put a round in me. Should be fun explaining that to the boss, eh?’ And he didn’t need to turn to look and see the thunder on Wilson’s face as he tried again, calling across to her, ‘Tess, I’m going to get us out of this.’

Her feet were shoeless, the result of a struggle perhaps, and she wore what was presumably the same suit she’d been wearing for work the day she was snatched – just yesterday, in fact. Dark circles beneath her eyes. Eyes that seemed flat to him. Lifeless. And yet he could have sworn that his words brought a little light to them, and although she said nothing in return, she slowly raised her arm, a clenched fist of strength and solidarity.

A second later, she was being bundled away, back into the room in which she was being kept, the door slamming behind her. ‘Guest Suite’ said a sign on the outside.

List motioned with the muzzle of his weapon for Abbott to return likewise, but Wilson stopped them, bringing his face close to Abbott. ‘Me and you are gonna have words this day, Abbott,’ he said.

Wilson pushed open the door and went back inside. To Abbott, List said, ‘The guy on the stairs you shot . . . He ended up bleeding out.’

Abbott looked at him. ‘You could have called him an ambulance.’

‘That guy was Wilson’s brother.’

‘Well, you could have ignored whatever orders you were given and called him an ambulance,’ repeated Abbott.

‘I don’t think Wilson sees it like that,’ said List. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

‘Are we happy?’ said Kilgore flatly when the three of them had returned to the conference room.

‘We’re happy,’ confirmed Abbott, eyes going to Lady Norton.

‘Then,’ said Kilgore, looking along the table to the lawyer, the uncomfortable lawyer, Coombs, for confirmation, ‘I do believe that it’s time for the game to begin.’

Chapter 52

CHAPTER 52