The Doomsday Prophecy

‘You look a little different in that outfit,’ Ben said.

‘I didn’t think you’d come, sir. Glad you could make it. I’ve been calling you for days.’

‘I got your message,’ Ben said. ‘And it’s Ben, not sir.’

‘It’s good to see you, Ben.’

‘Good to see you too.’ Ben clapped Charlie affectionately on the shoulder.

‘So how’ve you been?’ Charlie asked. ‘How are things?’

‘It’s been a while,’ Ben replied, evading the question.

‘Five years, give or take.’

‘Congratulations on your marriage. I’m pleased for you.’

‘Thanks. We’re very happy.’

‘Nice place you’ve got here.’

‘This?’ Charlie swept his arm across the horizon, at the house and the neatly tended acres. ‘You must be kidding. This belongs to Rhonda’s folks. They’re the ones paying for this do. You know how it is – only daughter and all. A bit over the top, between us. All about flaunting their money. If it was up to Rhonda and me, it would have been the local registry office and then off to the nearest pub.’ He smiled warmly. ‘So what about you, Ben? Did you ever take the plunge?’

‘Plunge?’

‘You know – normal life, marriage, kids, all that kind of stuff.’

‘Oh.’ Ben hesitated. What the hell. There was no point pretending. ‘I did get married,’ he said quietly.

Charlie’s eyes lit up. ‘Great, man. Fantastic. When did that happen?’

Ben paused again. ‘January.’

Charlie looked around. ‘Have you brought her with you?’

‘She’s not here,’ Ben said.

‘That’s a real shame,’ Charlie said, disappointed. ‘I’d love to meet her.’

‘She’s gone,’ Ben said.

Charlie frowned, confused. ‘You mean she was here, but she left?’

‘No. I mean she’s dead.’ It came out more abruptly than Ben had meant. Still hard to say it.

Charlie blanched. He looked down at his feet and was quiet for a few seconds. ‘When?’ he breathed.

‘Five months ago. Not long after we married.’

‘Jesus. I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything.’

‘How are you?’ Charlie said awkwardly. ‘I mean, how are you handling it?’

Ben shrugged. ‘I have good days and bad days.’ The cold touch of the Browning’s muzzle against his brow was still a fresh memory.

‘What happened?’ Charlie asked after another long silence.

‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

Charlie looked pained. ‘Let me get you a drink. Shit, this is terrible. I was going to ask you something, but now I don’t –’

‘It’s fine. Ask. What is it?’

‘Let’s talk in private. See if we can find somewhere quiet.’

Ben followed him across the lawn to the marquee, through the crowds of people talking and sipping champagne. ‘A lot of guests,’ he commented.

‘Mostly Rhonda’s side,’ Charlie said. ‘I hardly know anybody, outside of the regiment. And Rhonda didn’t want army people here.’ He rolled his eyes.

‘That’s your brother over there, isn’t it?’

Charlie stared at him in amazement. ‘It must be seven years since you last saw Vince. And he doesn’t even look anything like me. How the hell did you recognise him?’

‘I never forget a face,’ Ben said with a smile.

‘You certainly don’t.’

By the marquee, a waiter was offering drinks from a silver tray on a table. He handed Ben and Charlie a glass of champagne each.

Ben shook his head and pointed. ‘The bottle.’

The waiter stared for a second, then set down the glasses, took a fresh bottle from the ice and passed it over. Ben grabbed it with one hand and scooped up a couple of crystal champagne flutes with the other. He and Charlie walked away from the throng and the chatter. He sensed that Charlie didn’t want anyone listening to what he had to say.

They sat on the steps of a gazebo, a little way from the reception. Ben popped open the bottle and poured them each a glass.

‘You’re sure you’re OK with this?’ Charlie said nervously. ‘I mean, under the circumstances –’

Ben handed him a glass and took a long drink from his own. ‘I’m listening,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’

Charlie nodded. He took a deep breath and then came straight out with it. ‘I’ve got some problems, Ben.’

‘What kind of problems?’

‘Nothing like that,’ Charlie said, catching his look. ‘Like I said, Rhonda and I are happy together, everything’s cool in that department.’

‘So is it money?’

In the distance, the band started up a version of String of Pearls.

Charlie made a resigned gesture. ‘What else? I’m out of work.’

‘You left the regiment?’

‘Just over a year ago. Fourteen months. Rhonda wanted me out. She was scared I’d get myself killed in Afghanistan or somewhere.’

‘That’s fairly understandable.’

‘Well, it nearly did happen. More than once. So, what the hell, it’s civvy street for me now. Problem is, I’m no damn use in it. I can’t hold down a job. I’ve had four since I left.’

‘It’s a common problem,’ Ben said. ‘Hard to adapt, after the things we’ve seen and done.’

Charlie took a long drink of champagne. Ben reached for the bottle and topped up his glass. ‘We bought a house a while ago,’ Charlie went on. ‘Just a small place, but you know what property prices are, and this is hardly the cheapest part of the country. Even a bloody cottage is worth half a mil these days. Rhonda’s folks put up a deposit for us as an engagement gift, but we still can hardly keep up with the mortgage payments. It’s killing me. I’m just drowning. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

‘What about Rhonda? Does she work?’

‘For an aid charity. It doesn’t pay much.’

‘Plenty of desk jobs in the army. Why don’t you apply?’

Charlie shook his head. ‘They’d go crazy if I went anywhere near that again. Scared I’d be tempted back into active service. God knows I probably would be, too. Rhonda’s dad made his money selling mobile ringtones. Wants me to go and work for him. He’s putting a lot of pressure on me. The whole family is. I mean, fucking ringtones. Can you imagine?’

Ben smiled. ‘Maybe you should go for it. Sounds cushy – and lucrative. And safer than getting shot at.’

‘I wouldn’t last long,’ Charlie said. ‘It would put a strain on the marriage.’ He took another long gulp of champagne.

‘I didn’t bring you a wedding present,’ Ben said. ‘If it’ll help, I can give you some money instead. I could write you a cheque today.’

‘No way. That’s not what I want.’

‘Then you could consider it a loan. Until you get on your feet.’

‘No. I wanted to ask you something else.’

Ben nodded. ‘I think I know what. You want to ask me about working together.’

Charlie let out a long sigh. ‘OK, I’ll be frank with you. How is the kidnap and ransom business doing these days?’

‘Better than ever,’ Ben said. ‘Snatching people and holding them for ransom is a growth industry.’

‘I was talking about your end of the business.’

‘There’s always call for people like me,’ Ben said. ‘Involving the police is nearly always a bad move. K and R insurance agents and most of the official negotiators are just nerds in suits. People in trouble need an extra option.’

‘And you’re it.’

‘And you want to be part of it?’

‘You know I’d be good,’ Charlie said. ‘But I can’t just set up on my own. I don’t know anything about it. I’d need some training. You’re the best teacher I ever had. If I was going into something like that, I’d want to work for you.’

‘From what you tell me, I don’t think your new family would approve.’

‘I’d tell them I was a security consultant. It can’t be as dangerous as what we’ve seen in the regiment, can it?’

Ben said nothing. Both their glasses were empty, and the sun was beating down. He poured out the last of the champagne and set the bottle down with a heavy clunk of glass on concrete. ‘Problem is, I can’t help you,’ he said. ‘If I could, I would. But I’m out. Retired. I’m sorry.’

‘Retired? Really?’

Ben nodded. It had been his promise to her, the day she’d said she would marry him. ‘Since the end of last year. It’s all over for me.’

Charlie sank back against the steps of the gazebo, deflating. ‘You have any contacts?’

Ben shook his head. ‘I never did. I always worked alone. Everything was strictly word of mouth.’ He finished his drink. ‘Like I said. If it’s money I can help.’

‘I can’t take money from you,’ Charlie said. ‘Rhonda can ask her folks to bail us out any time, and they probably would. But we see this as our responsibility. Our problem. We need to deal with it ourselves. I was just hoping –’

‘I’m sorry. There’s really no way.’

Charlie grimaced with disappointment. ‘But if you hear of anything going, you’ll let me know?’

‘I would, but it won’t happen. I told you, I’m out of it.’

Charlie sighed again. ‘I’m sorry I brought this up.’ He paused a long time, watching the people dancing and having fun in the distance. ‘So what are you going to do next?’

‘I’m going back to Oxford. I’m heading there right after this. I’ve already rented a flat there.’

‘What’s in Oxford?’

‘The University,’ Ben said. ‘I’m going there to study.’

‘You, a student? To do what?’

‘To finish what I started before I went crazy and joined the army almost twenty years ago. Theology.’

Charlie’s eyes opened wide. ‘Theology? You want to be a priest?’

Ben smiled. ‘Reverend. Once upon a time, that’s all I wanted to be. Seemed like the perfect life.’

‘So you went off to war instead. Makes sense.’

‘Sometimes things don’t work out the way you think,’ Ben said. ‘It just happened that way. Now I’ve come full circle. The time is right for me. They let me back in to finish my course. One year to go, then I can start thinking about entering the Church, just like I’d planned years ago.’ He slapped his hands on his knees. ‘So that’s it.’

Charlie was staring at him in disbelief. ‘You’re kidding me. You’re winding me up.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘This just doesn’t seem like you. I still have this image of you – that time with the tank, in the desert? We were pinned under fire, you only had three rounds left. I’ve never seen anything like it. Guys in the regiment, guys who never met you, still talk about it –’

‘Well, I don’t want to talk about it,’ Ben said, cutting him off. ‘Whatever I did in the past, whatever I was or wanted to be, that’s finished. I’m tired, Charlie. I’m thirty-eight years old and all I’ve ever known is violence and killing. I want a life of peace.’

‘A dog collar and a little cottage, with a Bible in your hand.’

Ben nodded. ‘That’s it. About as far away from the past as I can get.’

‘I can’t see it.’

‘Maybe I’ll surprise you.’

‘I should have waited a while,’ Charlie said. He laughed. ‘You could have married us.’

They hadn’t noticed Rhonda striding across the lawn towards them. They stood up as she approached. She was tall and slender, with reddish hair that looked as though she’d coloured it with henna. She had a stud in her nose. A bohemian kind of look that contrasted with the high heels and the expensive dress she was wearing. She was pretty, but Ben thought he could see a hardened look behind the eyes. There was suspicion in them as Charlie introduced her to him.

‘Heard all about you,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘Major Benedict Hope. The wild one. I know all the stories. Really impressed.’

‘I’m not Major Hope. I’m just Ben. Forget the stories.’

‘Well, Ben, I suppose you’re here to talk my husband into joining you on some –’

‘I invited him here,’ Charlie said. ‘Remember?’

She looked up hotly at Ben. ‘I don’t want him getting mixed up in anything dangerous.’

‘I’m the last person who would get him into any kind of danger,’ Ben said. ‘You can trust me on that.’

She snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Now, can I have my husband back, please? And someone over there wants to meet you.’

Ben followed the direction of her pointing finger and his gaze landed on a stunningly attractive woman standing over by the marquee. She was waving coyly, smiling in their direction.

‘That’s Mandy Latham,’ Rhonda said. ‘Her parents own half of Shropshire. Deliciously nouveau riche – even worse than my lot. Winters at Verbier, drives a Lambo. She’s been asking me who the gorgeous, tall, blond, blue-eyed guy with Charlie is.’

‘He’s going to be a priest,’ Charlie said.

‘Why don’t you go and ask her to dance?’ Rhonda snapped at Ben.

‘Rhonda –,’ Charlie started.

‘I don’t dance,’ Ben said. He smiled at Charlie. ‘Nice party. See you around.’ He walked away.

‘You’ll phone me, then?’ Charlie called after him.

Ben didn’t answer him. He made his way back across the lawn, placed his empty glass on the table at the marquee. He looked at his watch. Mandy Latham approached him, slinky in a shimmering blue silk dress that matched her shining eyes. ‘Hi,’ she said tentatively. ‘I’m Mandy. Were you really Charlie’s commanding officer in the SAS?’

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,’ Ben said. ‘Great to meet you, Mandy. I have to go now.’

He left her staring after him as he walked away.

Chapter Five

Summertown, Oxford That afternoon

Professor Tom Bradbury shut the front door behind him, put down his old briefcase and laid his car keys on the oak stand in the hall next to the vase of flowers.

The house was quiet. He hadn’t expected it to be. Zoë should be home today, and her presence was always made noticeable by the hard rock soundtrack that she insisted on blaring at full volume from the living-room hi-fi.

Bradbury wandered through to the airy kitchen. The patio windows were open, and the scents of the garden were wafting through the room. Remembering the half-finished bottle of Pinot Grigio from the night before, he opened the fridge. Inside was a freshly prepared dish of chocolate mousse, Zoë’s favourite pudding, which her mother always prepared for her visits home.

He tutted and poured himself a glass of the chilled wine. Sipping it, he stepped out into the garden and saw his wife Jane kneeling at the flower-beds, a tray of brightly coloured annuals beside her.

‘You’re back early,’ she said, looking up and smiling.

‘Where is she?’

‘Not here yet.’

‘I thought it was quiet. Expected she’d have got in by now.’

Jane Bradbury stabbed her trowel in the ground, stood up with a grunt and dusted the earth off her hands. ‘That looks good,’ she said, noticing his glass. He passed it to her and she took a sip and smacked her lips. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘You know what she’s like. She probably stopped off to stay with some friend in London.’

‘Why couldn’t she just come straight here? She’s always with some friend or other. We hardly ever see her.’

‘She’s not a child any more, Tom. She’s twenty-six years old.’

‘Then why does she act like one?’

‘She’ll call. Probably turn up tomorrow like the bad penny.’

‘You indulge her too much,’ he said irritably. ‘You’ve even prepared her favourite pudding.’

His wife smiled. ‘You indulge her as much as I do.’

Bradbury turned towards the house. ‘The least she could do is bloody well let us know where she is.’

Chapter Six

The Island of Paxos, Greece The third day

Zoë Bradbury woke up with a gasp. The first thing she was aware of was the strong sunlight in her face, making her blink. She tried to focus, but her vision was hazy. Where was she?

After a minute the cloudiness melted away and things were clearer. She was in a bedroom. Was it hers? She couldn’t remember, and that was the strangest realisation.

She was lying on a bare mattress, a rumpled sheet draped over her. She sat up in the bed and suddenly felt the sharp pain cutting through her side. She winced and clutched at her ribs. It felt as though one was cracked. Her head was on fire and her mouth was dry. She looked down at her palms. They were scuffed and tender, as though she’d landed heavily and put her hands out to protect herself.

Flashes. Bright lights. Sounds. Places and people. It was all there in her mind, but jumbled and obscure, all shadows and echoes. She vaguely remembered the sensation of falling. Then the impact to the head. She rubbed it and felt the bruise. Struggled to clear her mind. Nothing would come. She blinked and shook her head. Still nothing.

Panic began to grip her. She couldn’t remember anything. Didn’t know anything about what she was doing here, or, she realised with horror, even who she was. Something had happened to her. A bad fall. Some kind of damage inside her head. She prayed it was only temporary.

All she knew was that she was in danger. It was the instinctive knowledge of a trapped animal in the presence of a predator.

That instinct helped her focus. Get out of here first. Worry about the rest later.

There was nobody in the room with her. But as the breeze ruffled the drapes she saw the man in the chair on the balcony outside.

The first thing she noticed about him was the gun. It was clasped loosely in his hand, a big boxy thing, pointing right at her. He was sitting facing her, leaning right back in a deck chair in the sunshine, and at first she thought he was staring at her through his wraparound shades. But his chest was heaving slowly, and from the way he didn’t respond to her waking up she guessed he was asleep. At his feet were a bottle of Ouzo and an empty glass. His fair hair blew lightly in the sea breeze.

Zoë struggled out of the bed, clenching her teeth against the tearing pain in her side. She planted one foot on the tiled floor, then the other. The tiles were cool against her soles.

The man didn’t move.

She slowly stood up and stepped away from the bed. Her head was spinning wildly and she reached out to steady herself. She saw that she was fully dressed, in white trousers and a yellow top. The clothes felt grubby on her skin, as though she’d been sleeping in them for a couple of days. The right knee of the trousers was ripped, and there was a smear of dirt up her right side where the pain was. From the fall, she guessed.

Wobbly on her feet, she reached for the pair of heeled sandals by the bed. They matched the yellow top. Were they hers? She didn’t know. She carried them by their straps as she crept towards the door, praying the man in the chair wouldn’t wake up.

When she grasped the door handle and felt its initial resistance, she was sure the door would be locked. But then it turned and her heart surged with excitement. The door opened without a sound. There was a hallway outside, and a flight of stairs leading down. She tiptoed across the hall and peered down over the metal rail into the stairwell. Voices, far away somewhere in the house. She heard a woman talking, and a man laugh.

Her heart was hammering now. She started down the stairs, wincing at every step, her bare feet padding silently on the ceramic tiling. The fear sharpened her mind. She had no idea where she was, but she knew she had to get away from this place.

She made it downstairs without anyone hearing. Nobody had come running from the bedroom. She was safe – so far.

At the bottom of the stairs was another door. It was open, and bright light was shining in from outside. She hobbled out, clutching the shoes and her ribs, and found herself standing on a little terrace with potted plants and flowers. Down three steps was the white pebbled beach. The stones were sharp against her feet, and burning hot. She pulled on the shoes. They fitted her perfectly, even though they seemed like a stranger’s.

She crept down the beach and looked back at the house. It was a pitted white stone block with shuttered windows and a red tile roof. Through the railings of the first-floor balcony she could see the back of the man’s deck chair. Behind the house, a wooded incline rose up steeply to the cliff above. There was no way she could climb it. She looked around her in desperation. The beach was empty. There was a long ramshackle wooden jetty with a small motor boat moored up to it, bobbing gently on the swell.

She headed for it, her steps quickening. She stumbled in the slim three-inch heels. Kept glancing back at the house. Nobody. She was getting away.

She made it to the jetty. The boards were solid and she could run better than on the loose stones and sand. She hurried on, the pain in her side forgotten now.

That was when she heard the yell. It came from the house. A man’s voice, loud and full of rage. She gasped and spun round. Her heart jumped. It was him – the fair-haired man from the balcony. The gun was in his hand. He bounded down the steps to the beach and sprinted towards her, screaming.

Then more of them came from the house. A woman and two more men. The woman pointed at her. They all started running. More yells.

She was halfway across the jetty. She could make it to the boat. Could she get the outboard motor started? Would they shoot her? What did these people want from her? Her legs were shaking as she stumbled along.

Then she fell. She sprawled across the rough wood and felt her ankle twist. Her heel was caught in a gap in the planking. She jerked and struggled. It was jammed tight. She reached down and tried to tear the shoe off.

They were coming. Footsteps thundered on the jetty, and then there was a gun pressing hard into the back of her neck, heavy breathing in her ear. She looked up to see the man’s face contorted in anger, teeth bared.

The others caught up.

‘What the hell happened?’ one voice said.

‘The bitch came round,’ the man with the gun snapped back over his shoulder.

‘And what the fuck were you doing?’ the woman’s voice demanded. ‘Sleeping?’

He ignored her and yanked Zoë to her feet. The four of them marched her roughly back along the jetty. She was kicking and screaming hysterically. They said nothing to her. Dragged her limping back to the house, back up to her room, and shoved her down on the bed. Her ankles and knees were roughly bound together with duct tape. The fair-haired man thrust the pistol into the back of his belt and grabbed her right wrist. His grip was crushing. He jerked her arm up and there was a rattle of metal as he cuffed it to the bed frame. Then the left arm.

She fought them wildly. ‘What do you want with me? Let go of me! What do you want with me?’

Then they pressed a length of the tape across her mouth, stifling her screams. Tears poured uncontrollably down her face.

The man took the gun out of his belt and pressed the muzzle to the side of her head. She tried to shrink away from the cold steel, screwing her eyes shut.

Then he smiled and took the gun away. They all stood back and watched her. She was too exhausted to fight any more. Her breath came in gasps and she felt she was going to faint.

The woman had her hands on her hips, head cocked to one side, a thin smile on her lips. ‘Leave her a while,’ she said. ‘I have to make a call. Then we can go to work on her.’

‘What do you want?’ Zoë tried to scream again through the gag.

Nobody answered as they filtered out one by one.

The fair-haired man was the last to leave the room. ‘I can hardly wait to get started,’ he said, grinning down at her.

Chapter Seven

Oxford The same day

Ben surfaced slowly from a murky sleep filled with threatening dreams, and his mind drifted back into focus. He remembered now. He was in his new flat. Oxford was hardly a strange city to him, but it felt weird actually to be living here again after so many years. He wouldn’t be home in Ireland until December.

Fighting away the numbing torpor that made him want to crawl back deep under the covers, he kicked his legs out of the bed. He shrugged on a tracksuit top, walked through to the living room, stepped over the mess of half-unpacked luggage that was in there and headed for the kitchen. The flat was tucked into a secluded block of apartments in the quiet northern end of the city. It felt modern and compact, so different from the rambling old seaside house in Ireland, with its stone floors and draughty fireplaces.