‘They don’t learn to do that in my army.’

‘In my army, my regiment, they did.’

The Marine sniper had laid down his rifle. ‘I can’t equal that,’ he said. ‘I’m not even going to try.’ He put out his hand, and Ben shook it.

It was over. Ben quietly packed Carl’s Winchester into its case and gave it back to him. The young guy took it in his good hand, still grinning through his pain.

Back at the cordon, Miss Vale embraced Ben warmly. ‘I thought I was going to faint with tension,’ she whispered in his ear.

‘Someone had better drive Carl to the hospital now,’ Ben said. He felt a presence beside him and looked down to see the petite figure of Maggie, gazing at him admiringly. ‘I’ll take him,’ she volunteered. ‘I think Andy already left. He felt bad about what happened.’

Ben nodded. ‘Thanks. Good to have met you, Maggie.’ He turned to Carl. ‘You take care.’

‘Man, I still can’t believe what I just saw,’ Carl said as Maggie took his elbow. As she led the young guy away towards the parking field, she smiled back over her shoulder at Ben.

Miss Vale was hanging onto his arm, gushing praise. Ben just smiled graciously. Then the ref stepped up. ‘You have to come and collect your award,’ he said to Ben. ‘The press are waiting for you.’

‘Later,’ Ben replied. He was searching the crowd. The space where Cleaver had been standing before was empty. ‘Where’s Clayton?’ he asked Miss Vale.

‘He had a phone call to make. Some pressing matter he just remembered. He’s gone back to the house.’

‘I’ll see you afterwards,’ Ben said.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Clayton and I have some business to discuss.’

Up close, the Cleaver house was impressively grand, with a neo-classical façade and tall white stone columns. Ben marched up the steps to the front entrance, walked straight in and found himself in a hallway. It could have been as opulent as Augusta Vale’s, but it had the look of a place that had seen better times.

A woman darted out of a doorway. She looked like staff, maybe a housekeeper or a PA. She saw him and her eyes widened.

‘Where’s Cleaver?’ he demanded.

‘Who are you?’

‘Where is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. But the nervous glance up the winding staircase behind her told him what he wanted to know. He shouldered past her and went striding up the stairs, two at a time, ignoring her protests. Finding himself on a long galleried landing he started throwing open every door he came to.

The fourth door he opened revealed Cleaver at the far end of a room sitting at his desk. Ben slammed the door behind him and walked inside. He glanced around him and saw he was in a study. There wasn’t much furniture in the place, and blank spaces on the walls where paintings had once hung. The room had a sad look about it. Obviously Cleaver had yet to collect his share of the Vale fortune.

Cleaver stood up, a little shaky. There was a bottle of bourbon and a glass in front of him.

‘Time for our little talk,’ Ben said. ‘Had you forgotten?’

Cleaver sank back down into the leather desk chair. Ben sat on the edge of the desk, two feet away from him.

The door burst open, and two big guys in suits came rushing in. They saw Ben and tensed, ready for trouble. ‘Everything OK, sir?’

‘Send them away,’ Ben said. ‘Or be responsible for what happens to them.’

Cleaver waved his hand at them. ‘It’s all right. Everything’s under control.’

The men shot lingering looks at Ben as they filed out and shut the door behind them.

‘You’re no theology student,’ Cleaver said.

‘I am. But I wasn’t always. We all have our secrets, Clayton. And you’re going to tell me yours.’

‘Or?’

Ben reached into the canvas bag and drew out the.475 Linebaugh. He pointed it at Cleaver’s chest. ‘You just watched me take out the centre of the target at a thousand yards. I’m not going to miss you from here.’

‘All right,’ Cleaver said. ‘Let’s talk.’

‘Where’s Zoë Bradbury?’

‘I really couldn’t answer that.’

‘Think hard. You can still talk with no legs.’

‘I mean what I said. I don’t know where she is.’

‘Don’t test me,’ Ben said. ‘Not wise.’

‘What is it you think I’ve done?’

‘She was blackmailing you. You decided you didn’t want to pay.’

‘I did pay,’ Cleaver protested. ‘I paid the money without hesitation. And I’ll pay the rest, when I get it. Just like I said I would. I’m a man of my word.’

Ben raised the pistol to the level of Cleaver’s head and cocked it. The metallic clunk filled the silence of the room.

Cleaver’s brow beaded with sweat as he stared down the muzzle of the revolver. ‘She’s in trouble, right? Something’s happened to her?’

‘You’re asking me that?’

‘I never laid a finger on her,’ Cleaver insisted. Panic was edging into his voice. ‘All I did was get some of my guys to follow her.’

‘All the way to Greece. I know the rest.’

Cleaver frowned. ‘Pardon me?’

‘I’m tired of games.’

‘You said Greece. What’s Greece got to do with anything?’

‘Greece is where you planted the bomb to kill Charlie Palmer,’ Ben said. ‘Where you had your agents murder Nikos Karapiperis and snatch Zoë. Let me tell you something. Kaplan and Hudson are dead.’

There was a look of blank incomprehension on Cleaver’s face.

‘And I saw what your people did to Skid McClusky’s legs,’ Ben added.

Cleaver held up his hands. ‘Hold on. You are making one big mistake here. I never heard of any Kaplan and Hudson, or Charlie Palmer or Nikos whatever. I don’t know anything about Skid McClusky’s legs. The only place I sent my guys was round to Augusta’s to spy on that little brat screwing around.’

Ben hesitated. When you pointed a gun at someone who wasn’t used to it, and you showed you were serious about firing it, what generally came out was the truth. Cleaver had the look of a man who was genuinely frightened and sincerely spilling out his heart to save his life. Yet what he was saying seemed impossible. ‘What are you talking about, Cleaver?’

‘Look, can you just take that gun away,’ Cleaver said. ‘I can’t talk with a goddamn gun in my face.’

Ben uncocked the revolver and lowered it a little.

Cleaver cleared his throat and took a long sip of his bourbon. He paused to wipe the sweat off his brow.

‘Tell me exactly what’s been happening,’ Ben said.

Cleaver gave a deep sigh. ‘You know about the money I’m getting from Augusta. I don’t know how you know, and I won’t ask.’

Ben nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Augusta has an awful lot of money,’ Cleaver said. ‘She’s a billionaire. Now, she’s a fine Christian lady and she offered me that hundred million out of the kindness of her heart. But she doesn’t just give it away. She can’t. Most of it’s tied up in holdings and trusts and real estate. It isn’t like there’s some bottomless pit of dollar bills that she can dip into whenever she wants.’

‘And so, when Zoë Bradbury turned up again, you were scared she might change her mind.’

‘Damn right I was scared,’ Cleaver said angrily. ‘That girl is the most cunning and manipulative little bitch I’ve ever had the misfortune to know. One minute I’m about to get all this money, the next here’s this spoiled brat from England dropping hints about funding she needs for this project and that dig and that research trip. And here’s Augusta, with no kids of her own, talking about her like she was the daughter she never had, and how special and wonderful she was, and all that crap. You do the math. I really thought I was going to lose out in a big way.’ Cleaver knocked back another slug of bourbon. ‘Then when I finally met the brat, I could see that all she was after was Augusta’s dough. That big talk was all lies. She just wanted it for booze and good times. She’s nothing but a gold-digger.’