He snatched the single sheet of paper from the machine, read the contents and exhaled loudly.
It was a copy of the latest edition of the Moscow Times. Uli Petrov had been found dead in his Krylatskoe mansion, the victim of a burglary gone wrong, the police said. The Kremlin had undertaken to seize control of his oil and gas assets immediately, to secure production over the European winter, and was not expected to relinquish control of the business for the foreseeable future.
Delaney tore up the sheet of paper and threw it in the wastepaper basket in disgust. He picked up his phone and dialled the number for Charles. He eased himself into his chair, breathing heavily.
No answer. Delaney held out the phone at arm’s length and stared at it in disbelief. Where the hell was he?
Delaney reached down and pulled out one of the desk drawers. Tipping the contents out over the Chinese silk rug under his chair, he turned over the empty drawer. A thin manila envelope was stuck to the base of it. Delaney carefully peeled it away and threw the drawer on the floor.
He opened the envelope, looked at the carefully planned schedule, and then at his watch. It still might work. The freighter would have docked at Tilbury on the Thames. Terry would have unloaded the car and be on his way.
Delaney paused. What if Terry and Charles had been apprehended? Was he next?
He crouched down and began to gather the documents on the floor. He placed them in the wastepaper basket and pulled out his lighter. Holding the flame to the edge of the page, he noticed his hand was shaking. Rage, fear, frustration, anger – it boiled up through his veins and consumed him.
He growled – a long, low primeval sound, and then the paper caught fire. He stood up, grabbed the manila envelope and its contents and dropped them into the flames. Spinning round, he walked over to the opposite corner of the office where two filing cabinets stood. He pulled open the drawers, tearing out anything that could be used against him. He glanced over his shoulder at the wastepaper basket, then turned and began to feed the files in his arms to the flames.
He looked at the pages as he fed them one by one into the inferno – the plans, test results, land acquisitions, the covering up of accidents and fatalities as Terry had perfected the weapon.
Delaney stopped and looked at the next file in his hand. Inside was a list of all the politicians and business associates he’d ever bribed through lobbying for his coal enterprises. He smiled to himself, and held onto the file tightly. If his empire was going to be destroyed, then he’d take down a few people with him.
He looked up as he heard a sharp crack and saw the wastepaper basket fall over. The flames began to lick at the rug at his feet. He stepped backwards, alarmed at the speed at which the flames spread across the office, sweeping across his desk. He raised his eyebrows in alarm as he saw the fire burn effortlessly towards the decanter and spirit bottles behind his desk.
Time to leave.
He strode across the room and slid a bookcase to the right. It revealed the entry to a small private elevator. Delaney held the file of lobbying activity tight to his chest and stepped into the elevator. He turned and pulled the small concertina gate across and hit the button for the underground car park. As he descended, the spirit bottles exploded, sending shards of glass down the elevator shaft.
Delaney ducked, holding the file over his head to shield himself. He snarled as a glass shard embedded itself in the back of his hand. Cursing, he lowered his arm and looked at the damage. Blood poured over the back of his hand and began to drip on the floor of the elevator. He pulled out the glass and flicked it onto the floor, crunching it under the heel of his shoe.
The elevator ground to a halt just as fire alarms began to sound throughout the building. Delaney grabbed the gate and pulled it open. As he stepped out of the elevator, he glanced to his left towards the car park exit. People were walking away from the building but then stopped and pointed upwards at the thick smoke emanating from the remains of Delaney’s office.
He turned and jogged towards his car. He felt in his pockets for the keys and slowed to a brisk walk while he looked through them, selecting the right one. He held it between his teeth, then took the key between his finger and thumb and aimed it at the vehicle.
Nothing happened. He frowned. The alarm system wasn’t on.
He hurried over to the car. As long as he could still get into it, he’d be fine. He’d still be able to get away.
As he approached the vehicle, he could hear sirens in the background. He smiled. The trucks would create enough of a diversion for him to slip away, drive to the house and organise a council of war with the lawyers. Damage limitation.
Delaney pulled open the car door, threw the file on the passenger seat and lowered his bulk behind the wheel. He pulled the door shut and held the key to the ignition.
‘Hold it right there.’
Delaney jumped and looked in the rear view mirror at the face peering over the back of his seat at him.
‘You broke into my house!’ spat Delaney.
Mitch grinned back. ‘No – we had an invite, remember?’
Delaney reached for the door handle, kicked the door open, and then ran. A loud, short burst of gunfire broke the silence. Delaney sank to the floor, clutching his leg and growling through gritted teeth.
Mitch got out of the car and walked over to Delaney, his gun in his hand at his side. He crouched down and lowered his face to the other man’s. Delaney glared at him, his skin pale from the pain.
‘You bastard!’
‘That was for Hayley,’ said Mitch. He stood up. ‘And this is for Pete.’
He kicked Delaney hard where the bullet had penetrated.
Delaney screeched, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the car park.