Terror's Reach by Tom Bale Read Free Book Online Page A

as soup. Although it was
large enough for four or five cars, the interior was clad in timber;
there was no natural light and not much ventilation. It was like
stepping into a sauna.
At least Liam didn’t have to grope for a light switch. The system
operated on movement sensors, and a bank of fluorescent tubes
fired up as he crossed the threshold. The ceiling was built low to
accommodate a strengthened floor for the games room overhead, the
centrepiece of which was a full-sized snooker table.
Years since I played snooker, he thought, grinning slyly as he reflected
on some of the other things you could do on a snooker table.
That brought him back to the estate agent, and the man’s secret
assignation. This woman he was screwing could turn up at any moment.
Two extra hostages before they’d even got set up. Not exactly the best
of starts.
'Well, bollocks to that,’ Liam said, his voice resonating in the large
empty space. At least he had the experience to know that things like this
always happened. There was even a motto for it, for Christ’s sake: Expect
the unexpected. What mattered was how you dealt with it.
Reaching the big double doors, he paused, thinking he’d heard a
noise back in the house. A muffled cry, maybe?
He waited a second, wondering how Priya would react if the man
made a grab for her. Whether she could fight him off.
But there was no time to go and check. The last thing Liam wanted
was the estate agent’s lover rolling up just as he got into the Renault.
So hurry . . .
    Valentin Nasenko had a permanent staff of more than twenty people:
personal assistants, maids and housekeepers, gardeners and bodyguards.
Some were based on site at Valentin’s various homes around the world,
while others travelled with the man himself. At Terror’s Reach there
were usually two or three live-in staff, including Joe.
Their quarters were in the basement: four bedrooms which opened
onto a communal open-plan living area and kitchenette. Joe’s room
was about ten feet by eight, decorated in neutral colours, with a single
built-in wardrobe and an ensuite shower room. The only window was
a narrow skylight that ran along the side of the house and poured a
little daylight into each of the rooms.
It was an arrangement similar, in Joe’s opinion, to a prison cell.
Certainly Yuri seemed to think so. He took any opportunity to help
himself to one of the guest bedrooms on the second floor, rather than
languish down here.
The room could be locked, but since it seemed likely that Valentin
had access to master keys, Joe kept his personal possessions in a metal
strongbox stashed beneath a spare blanket in the bottom of his
    wardrobe. As well as nearly ten thousand pounds in cash and a couple
of cheap pay-as-you-go mobile phones, the box contained credit cards,
passports and birth certificates in two different names, including the
one by which his current employers knew him: Joe Carter. There
were also half a dozen photos, growing increasingly dog-eared but still
without question the most valuable items in the box.
After taking a cool shower and dressing in jeans and a short-sleeved
shirt, Joe packed a small rucksack with toiletries and a change of
clothes. He debated for a second, then added his Leatherman multi
tool to the rucksack and put one of the mobile phones in his pocket.
Before closing the box, he allowed himself a few moments to look
at the photos. He’d considered framing a couple and keeping them on
his bedside table, but the same cautious instinct advised against it.
He knew the other staff viewed him as an oddity because of his
reluctance to reveal anything about himself. It wasn’t always pleasant,
deceiving people on matters both trivial and profound, but he’d long
since learned to live with it. He didn’t have any choice.
And on that bum note, he locked the box and put it back in the
wardrobe. Picked up the rucksack and left the room, his heart beating
faster at the thought of making the call – and the question