Private Games by James Patterson Read Free Book Online Page B

only completely entwined, we were both of us drunk on the sort of intoxicating liquor that ferments and distils among members of elite military units after each mission, the addictive drink of superior beings who wield the power over life and death.
    Leaving the forger’s building, however, I was acutely aware that more than two days had passed since the bomb had hurled me from the Land Cruiser. People were hunting for the Furies. The forger had said so.
    And someone had to have found the blown-up and burned vehicle I’d been thrown from. Someone had to have counted and examined the charred bodies and figured out that I was missing.
    Which meant that people were hunting for me.
    Maybe, I decided, they should find me sooner rather than later.

Chapter 18
    AT THREE-TWENTY THAT Thursday afternoon, Karen Pope and Peter Knight crossed the courtyard and climbed the granite front steps of the venerable British Museum in central London. As they entered the museum, Knight was grinding his teeth. He liked to work alone because it gave him enough silence to think things through during the course of an investigation.
    Pope, however, had been talking almost non-stop since they’d left Private London, feeding him all sorts of trivial information he really had no need to know, including her career highlights, the creep Lester she’d dated in Manchester, and the travails of being the only woman currently working on the
Sun
’s sports desk.
    ‘Got to be tough,’ he said, wondering if he could somehow ditch her without adding to Jack’s problems.
    Instead, Knight led them to an older woman at the information desk, where he produced his identification and said that someone from Private had called ahead to arrange a brief interview with Dr James Daring.
    The woman had sniffed something about the curator being very busy, what with his exhibit about to open that very evening, but then she gave them directions.
    They climbed to an upper floor and walked towards the rear of the massive building. At last they came to an archway above which hung a large banner that read
The Ancient Olympic Games: Relics & Radical Retrospective
.
    Two guards stood in front of a purple curtain stretched across the archway. Caterers were setting up for a reception to celebrate the opening, with tables for food and a bar in the hallway. Knight showed his Private badge and asked for Daring.
    The guard replied, ‘Dr Daring has gone to take a—’
    ‘Late lunch, but I’m back, Carl,’ called a harried male voice from back down the hallway. ‘What’s going on? Who are these people? I clearly said no one inside before seven!’
    Knight pivoted to see hurrying towards them a familiar handsome, ruggedly built man wearing khaki cargo shorts, sandals and a safari-style shirt. His ponytail bounced on his shoulders. He carried an iPad. His gaze jumped everywhere.
    Knight had seen James Daring on television several times, of course. For reasons Knight did not quite understand, his son Luke, almost three years old, loved to watch
Secrets of the Past
, though Knight suspected that the appeal lay in the melodramatic music that accompanied the man in virtually every programme.
    ‘My kids are big fans,’ Knight said, extending his hand. ‘Peter Knight, with Private. My office called.’
    ‘And Karen Pope. I’m with the
Sun
.’
    Daring glanced at her and said, ‘I’ve already invited someone from the
Sun
to view the exhibit along with everyone else – at seven. What can I do for Private, Mr Knight?’
    ‘Actually, Miss Pope and I are working together,’ Knight said. ‘Sir Denton Marshall has been murdered.’
    The television star’s face blanched and he blinked several times before saying, ‘Murdered? Oh, my God. What a tragedy. He …’
    Daring gestured at the purple curtains blocking the way into his new exhibit. ‘Without Denton’s financial support, this exhibit would not have been possible. He was a generous and kind man.’
    Tears welled in Daring’s