The Prisoner(46)

The journey was interminable. My mind was all over the place. The gunman had been coming for me, I would have been shot like Hunter if Ned hadn’t driven off, and Ned would have been shot too. I wished we had been, it would have been a way out from this horror. I tried to focus on what I would do when I got to the house—as soon as Ned released the doors, I’d jump from the car, run toward the gates, if I couldn’t get through them before they closed, I’d scream for help. Someone would hear me, someone had to hear me.

At last, the car slowed; we had arrived at the house. Ned pulled to a stop at the front door. I pushed myself up from the floor and onto the seat, my hand on the door, my eyes fixed on the gates, which were already closing. I waited for the clunk of the doors unlocking as Ned got out of the car. But it didn’t come. I turned to look at him and saw him watching the gates, his face gray with fear. It was only when they juddered shut that he began to relax. He thought he was safe, behind his closed doors. But he wasn’t safe because I was seething with rage.

He got out of the car, slammed his door shut, and began to walk off. I tried to open my door but the latch clicked uselessly as I moved it back and forth. He was leaving me locked in the car.

“Let me out!” I yelled, thumping on the window. “Let me out!”

He continued walking toward the house, so I leaned over the seat, found the horn, and jammed my hand down on it. The noise was deafening. It brought him running back.

He pulled open my door and I leapt out, lunged at him.

“Get off!” he yelled, raising his arms to protect himself. “Get off me!”

But I didn’t stop, I kept on attacking him, hitting him with my fists, clawing at his face. He stumbled under the force of my anger, and I aimed a kick at him. He grabbed my leg.

“Let me go!” I yelled, hanging onto the door. “Help! Help!”

“Shut your mouth!” He had managed to stand. Blood oozed from his gouged cheeks and there was fury in his eyes as he yanked me away from the car, up the steps, and in through the front door. His strength was overwhelming; each time I managed to grab onto something, he wrenched me away.

“Let me go!” I yelled again.

I swung my arm and my fist connected with his face. He gave a howl of pain, grabbed my shoulders, and slammed me against the wall, pinning me there with his body. He was panting, cursing, squashing the breath from me. His hand came over my mouth, and he raised his other hand, pinching my nose with his fingers. I couldn’t breathe; my eyes bulged. I thought of Lina and my body went limp.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE


PRESENT

Ned’s abductor is back in the basement room.

“So, what have you got for me?” I hear him ask.

“Around a million on day twenty-one, so probably ten million if he paid today, exactly like I said.” Ned sounds pleased with himself. “But don’t worry, my father can pay it.”

“You’re right about the million on day twenty-one but I’m afraid he owes us a lot more than ten million today. Let’s work it out, shall we? What would he have owed if he’d paid us on day twenty-two?”

“Two million.”

“Day twenty-three?”

“Four million.”

“Day twenty-four?”

“Eight million.”

“Day twenty-five?”

“Sixteen million. Look, do we really have to do this?”

“Humor me, Ned, humor me. Today, day twenty-six?”

“Thirty-two million.” Then it hits him. “Wow, that’s a lot of money. Are you really asking him for thirty-two million pounds?”

“No, Ned, we’re not.”

“Thank God for that. I mean, my father’s rich but—”

“You misunderstand me. He’s not paying us today, so he’ll have to pay us more.”

“But—”

“Let’s carry on. And by the way, because you’ve been rounding down, the actual figure your father would owe us today is around—”

“Thirty-three million,” I whisper.

“Thirty-three million. In fact, the exact figure is thirty-three million, five hundred and fifty-four thousand, four hundred and thirty-two pounds. So, let’s carry on. What will your father owe us if he pays us tomorrow?” A pause. “You can just double the millions, if you like.”

“Sixty-six million.” Ned’s voice is sullen now.

“And the next day?”

“A hundred and thirty-two million.”

“The next day, day twenty-nine?”

“Two hundred and sixty-four million.”

“And day thirty?”

“Five hundred and twenty-eight million.”

“The thing is, Ned, we’ve asked your dad to pay us on Monday, which will be day thirty-one of your captivity.” Another pause. “So, how much is your father paying us for your life?”

“I—I don’t know.”

There’s a crack, followed by a cry from Ned.

“DON’T BULLSHIT ME! HOW MUCH IS YOUR FATHER PAYING US FOR YOUR LOUSY LIFE?”

“Um—over a billion pounds?”

“That’s right, Ned, over a billion pounds.” The man is no longer shouting, his voice is quiet, I have to strain my ears to hear him. “Except that it’s not for your life. Your life is worth nothing. We know who you are, we know what you did. The billion isn’t for your life. It’s for Lina’s.”