Carver - By Tom Cain Page 0,104

security camera footage: shadowy figures in black combat fatigues and helmets placing something on a wall. There was a sudden flare of white light and then the picture disappeared in a snowy blizzard of interference.

‘They’re coming after you now,’ said Ahmad Razzaq.

Modern explosive devices combine violence and precision. The tamped detonator cord generated a combination of noise, blast and total surprise that delivered all the shock and awe any attacking force could desire. And it left a hole as neat as a laser-beam through steel. The SAS troops poured through with their guns raised and ready to fire. They took just seconds to race from their entry points to Zorn’s study, and when they got there they blew out the lock and kicked open the door so fast that they barely had to break stride.

Eight heavily-armed members of the special forces, faceless behind their balaclavas, goggles and helmets, shouting at the tops of their voices and ready to respond in an instant to any threat burst into Malachi Zorn’s study …

… and found the property’s gardener and his assistant cowering behind a leather sofa, while the latest action from Wimbledon played on a massive flatscreen placed on the opposite wall.

‘Mr Zorn said we could be here,’ the gardener pleaded, raising his hands in surrender.

‘Honest,’ said his assistant.

Zorn had watched the attack play out. ‘So now we know,’ he said. ‘They’re on to me. But Jesus, don’t these jerks know how much money I’ve made? And can’t they figure out what that means? Anyone who’s got billions in the bank, there’s a good chance they’re smart enough to see things coming. And it’s a friggin’ certainty they can afford more than one damn house.’

79

* * *

Parkview Hospital

THE MAN WITH Malachi Zorn’s face looked blearily around the room, trying to summon up the focus to make head or tail of the surroundings and the men looking down at him from the far end of the bed. One of the men, who had an olive-skinned, Middle Eastern appearance, detached himself from the group and came closer. ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘my name is Dr Assim. Don’t worry, you’re in hospital and you’re quite safe. Now, can you tell us who you are?’

The man frowned and screwed up his eyes as he gathered his wits and then replied, ‘My name is Malachi Zorn.’

Assim smiled. ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to do that any more. We know you aren’t Mr Zorn. Who are you, really?’ A look of fear entered the man’s eyes, a shock so palpable that Assim placed his hand on his wrist and assured him again, ‘It’s all right. You’re in no danger.’

The man looked at Assim for a moment, then his lips twisted into a bitter laugh as he said, ‘Sure I’m in danger. I’m a dead man. That’s the whole point …’

‘What do you mean?’ Assim asked. ‘The whole point of what?’

‘Wait.’ The man grimaced as he struggled into a sitting position. ‘I’ll answer your questions … maybe. But first you answer mine.’

‘What would you like to ask?’

‘Well, for a start, how come I’m still alive? I … I can remember an explosion at the front of the car. Then glass smashing right by me, and a gun coming through the window …’ He looked down at his own body and began patting at his chest and stomach. ‘And my clothes … they’re all covered in blood, but I can’t feel any wounds. How did the blood get there?’

Dr Assim took a step back. ‘Mr Carver, perhaps you could help here?’ he said.

‘Sure. I was the guy who fired that gun at you. Sorry about that. It must have been a shock.’

‘Not really … I’d been expecting worse,’ the man replied.

Carver gave a wry smile. ‘Yeah, that makes sense. You were set up to take a bullet. What I actually fired at you was a tranquillizer dart, like the ones they use on wild animals on nature programmes. Then I threw a special effects grenade into the car. Made a lot of noise and splashed a load of pig’s blood all over you and the interior of that Bentley, but it looked a lot worse than it really was.’

‘And you didn’t want to kill me?’

‘Have you ever done me any harm?’ Carver asked.

‘Not as far as I know.’

‘Do you plan to do me any?’

‘Er … no.’

‘Then why would I want to kill you?’

‘Because—’

‘Because a man called Ahmad Razzaq paid me a lot of money to kill Malachi Zorn. That’s true.