The Boathouse

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paused briefly to calm himself before answering.
    â€œHello, Peter, where’s my sister?”
    â€œOh Louise, it’s you.”
    â€œBecky’s not answering her phone – is she all right?”
    â€œShe’s gone to the spa, she needed some space and alone time.”
    â€œBut is she all right? You sound upset, is everything okay?”
    â€œYes, don’t worry about her, she’s fine. I’m just busy, that’s all. Look, I haven’t got time to stop and chat. I’ll get her to call you when she comes back – could be a couple more days as the spa has a no-phone policy.”
    â€œSounds a bit odd. Can I call the spa?”
    â€œNo, she’s fine, Louise, she just needed a rest, that’s all.”
    â€œTell her I called from my hotel, and ask her to call me. I’m still due back Monday, there’s a new seven star hotel opening in—”
    Sinclair hit the phone off with a clenched fist. He was trembling with anger and leaning onto the desk to prop himself up.
    â€œThat stupid fucking skank of a woman. Why didn’t they take her instead? I’d give them ten flasks of fucking diamonds to kill her.”
    The phone rang in front of him, but Sinclair just stared down at it like a zombie.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

    The phone rang seven times before Sinclair finally pressed the speaker button.
    â€œSinclair,” he said, still staring straight ahead, slightly breathless.
    â€œDo as we say and she won’t get hurt.” The mechanical voice boomed.
    â€œOkay, so what do you want this time?” Straining, unable to hide his anger.
    â€œTen million Euros in various unmarked denominations in two waterproof canvas bags. Start driving around the park like before at exactly two p.m. and we’ll call you on the mobile with more instructions. Keep the police away and we won’t hurt her. Do anything stupid and she gets a bullet through the head.”
    The caller hung up. The dial tone purred loudly over the speaker.
    Sinclair stood still like a dummy in a wax-works.
    He looked stunned. No one spoke.
    He sighed loudly, turned the speaker off and put his dark blazer on.
    â€œI’ll get the money in two hours. Clarke, come with me,” he said, then looked at Jones. “Be ready with the car by two.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Jones said, obediently, as if addressing a general.
    â€œI think we should get a speed boat on standby just in case,” Haywood said.
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œThey asked for two waterproof canvas bags? I’ll get them from Selfridges. They may be planning to use the river to get away.”
    â€œGet a boat from that charter company we used for last year’s booze cruise.” Sinclair flinched. In a rare moment of confession, he surprised Archer by saying: “They’re not going to dump her body at sea, are they? Drowning gives me nightmares.”
    â€œWhat about placing trackers in the bags this time?” Haywood said.
    â€œNo trackers. If they find them they’ll kill her.”
    â€œWe need a car following us this time, tracking us. This will probably be the last ransom drop-off,” Archer said.
    â€œIt’s too risky – if they spot it, they might kill her.” Sinclair’s voice started to rise.
    â€œWhat if they don’t? What if they kill her anyway?”
    Sinclair glared at Archer. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. He was simmering, a volcano close to eruption. He walked slowly up to Archer. His body stiff.
    â€œI don’t want any cock-ups, young man.” Sinclair prodded him several times in the shoulder with his left index finger.
    â€œThere won’t be any, trust me.” Archer struggled to keep his cool but somehow managed. The prods were firm. They didn’t hurt as much as they emphasised disrespect. He gritted his teeth, but kept his tongue in check.
    â€œIf anything happens to Becky because of this, I’ll hold you

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