51 Blackdown Hills

51 Blackdown Hills

It was 11:17 p.m. when the wooden door of the shelter finally trundled open and two men entered Gabriel's makeshift prison

cell. Bound and hooded, he was unaware of the time, but the number of visitors was easily discernible by the scrape of their

shoes over the concrete floor. They seized him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Instantly his darkened world began

to spin out of control.

They sawed away the duct tape from his ankles and prodded him to walk, but his legs were unresponsive and he feared he was

about to be sick. At last the spinning subsided and he was able to place one foot in front of the other, hesitantly, like

a patient walking the halls of a surgical ward. His first steps were on the concrete floor of the shelter, then the gravel

of the drive. A gentle rain was falling, and the air smelled of freshly turned earth. There was not a sound to be heard other

than the crunch of footfalls. Gabriel's were arrhythmic and faltering, the stagger of a wounded man.

"Where is she?" he tried to ask through the duct-tape gag, but his two handlers only laughed in response. It was his considered opinion, having resided in the United Kingdom for a number of years, that it was the laughter of two Englishmen of working-class upbringing, perhaps thirty to thirty-five years of age. They were both several inches taller than Gabriel, and the hands holding him upright were large and powerful. He wondered whether one of the men was responsible for the dent in the left side of his skull. He only hoped he was presented with an opportunity to return the favor.

Eventually the loose gravel was replaced by the firmer footing of a paved walkway. Then, after a laborious climb up a flight

of steps, there was a roof over Gabriel's head and carpet beneath his feet. The two men helped him into a straight-backed

chair and removed the hood. Gabriel closed his eyes. The photophobia brought about by the injury to his head made the light

painful in its intensity.

He opened one eye slowly, then the other, and surveyed the room around him. It took a moment to appreciate the scale of the

place; it was the size of a tennis court. The overstuffed chairs and couches were covered in silk and chintz and brocade,

and there was a pervasive smell of newness in the air. The leather-bound books lining the shelves appeared unread. The gilt-framed

Old Master paintings looked as though they had been executed earlier that evening.

The two men who had delivered Gabriel to this place were now standing like pillars beside him. Two more men were seated in

a pair of matching wing chairs, and Trevor Robinson, in a dark suit and tie, was pouring himself a whisky at the drinks trolley.

He waved the crystal decanter in Gabriel's direction. "You, Allon?"

Gabriel, his mouth covered by duct tape, made no attempt to reply. Robinson, smiling, returned the decanter to the trolley and carried his glass over to an ornate credenza. It was strewn with the wreckage of two laptop computers, two external eight-terabyte hard drives, and a mobile phone. By all appearances it was Ingrid's Android device. Gabriel's Solaris phone had been in his coat pocket when he entered the car park in Garrick Street. He reckoned it was now in the signal-blocking Faraday pouch that Robinson held in his free hand.

He nodded in Gabriel's general direction, and one of the men ripped the duct tape from his mouth. The pain was like a hard

slap in the face. For the moment, at least, it made him forget the incessant pounding in his head.

"How about that drink now?" asked Robinson. "You look as though you could use one."

Gabriel glanced around the room. "You've done very well for yourself, Trevor. Taking early retirement from MI5 was obviously

the right career move."

"The property belongs to a client of the firm. He allows us to borrow it for special occasions."

"Is that what this is?"

"Most definitely." Robinson tossed the Faraday pouch onto an oversize coffee table. It landed with a thud. "After all, it's

not often that one gets to entertain a legend."

"Your hospitality leaves something to be desired."

"The bump on your head, you mean? Sorry, Allon, but I'm afraid there was no other way." Robinson indicated one of the two

men seated silently in the wing chairs. "It was Sam who did it, if you must know. Sometimes he doesn't know his own strength."

"Why don't you cut the duct tape from my wrists so I can thank him properly?"

"I wouldn't, if I were you. Sam is a veteran of the Regiment. So are the two men standing next to you. They now work for a

private security firm based in London. The firm's clients are all extremely wealthy and demand nothing but the best."

Gabriel looked at the fourth man. "And him?"

"Three Para. He spent a great deal of time in Afghanistan."

"That leaves Ingrid," said Gabriel.

"Ms. Johansen is resting at the moment and can't be disturbed."

"You didn't do something stupid, did you, Trevor?"

"Not me," replied Robinson. "But I'm afraid Sam was forced to apply a bit of pressure to loosen her tongue. After that she

was very cooperative. In fact, with her help, I was able to recover the documents you stole from our office in Monaco and

BVI Bank in Road Town. You now have no evidence to support any claim of financial misconduct by Harris Weber someone was

lying next to him. The faint aroma of female scent and fear told him it was Ingrid.

"Did they hit you?" she asked.

"I can't remember. You?"

"Once or twice. And then I made a deal with them."

"Good girl. What were the terms?"

"I promised to tell them everything if they would agree to let a doctor examine you."

"In case you were wondering, they didn't live up to their end of the bargain. In fact, they gave me quite a going-over in

there."

"The passcode for your phone?"

"Yes."

"I had a feeling."

"Do you really not know it?"

She sighed and then recited it perfectly.

"I could have used your help earlier," said Gabriel. "I had a devil of a time remembering the damn thing."

"How long was the phone out of the Faraday bag?"

"Long enough."