window like no other window in the world. Paul will, of course, be there, and I want you to be there with him. I have a house on the island and the beaches are spectacular. After the launch, you can stay for as long as you like.”
Alex said nothing. He wanted to go. He had never seen a rocket launch and it sounded like the sort of adventure he could actually enjoy—without anyone trying to kill him. And yet…
Drevin seemed to sense his uncertainty. “I’m sure Dr Hayward would agree that a bit of Caribbean sun would do you good,” he said. “Please! Don’t refuse me. I have to tell you, I’ve already made up my mind and I’m the sort of person who is used to getting his own way.”
Alex turned to Jack. He still wasn’t sure. And he was vaguely aware that something was bothering him. It was something Drevin had said. It didn’t add up. “What do you think?” he asked.
Jack’s eyes were gleaming. She had obviously been impressed by Drevin, the penthouse, the Crimean Star.
“I think it’s a great idea,” she said. “A couple of weeks in the sun are exactly what you need. And I’m sure Mr Drevin will look after you.”
“You have my word.”
Alex nodded. “OK then. Thank you.” He took a sandwich. “But I think I should warn you: I’m a Chelsea supporter.”
Drevin smiled. “That’s all right. Nobody’s perfect. I’ll send a driver to collect you—shall we say the day after tomorrow? He’ll drive you down to Neverglade—that’s my house in Oxfordshire. Paul is there now. I must call him and let him know you’re coming.” He glanced at his watch. “And now, if you’ll forgive me, I must leave you. I have a meeting at the Bank of England.”
“Is that where you have your account?” Jack asked.
“One of them.” He stood up. “Miss Knight will show you out when you have finished—and she’ll also arrange a car to take you home. Thank you again, Alex. I know you’re not going to regret this.”
Another twist of the ring. Alex had noticed that his hands were never still. Drevin left the way he had come in.
There was a long silence.
“Wow!” Jack exclaimed.
“Flamingo Bay…” Alex murmured.
“It’s exactly what the doctor ordered, Alex.” She helped herself to another sandwich. “It couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“Sure…”
But Alex wasn’t sure. What was it that was bothering him?
Yes. That was it.
Paul Drevin was a target. That was what Drevin had said. He was always in danger.
So why had he been on his own? That night at the hospital, four men had broken in to kidnap him. They had known he was there.
But there hadn’t been a single guard in sight.
THE LAP OF LUXURY
Welcome to Neverglade,“ Paul Drevin said.
Alex stepped out of the luxury car that had brought him here and looked around. He had seen wealth before. He had once gone undercover as the son of a supermarket magnate, which had meant spending a week in a mansion in Lancashire. But this place was something else again.
His first sight of Drevin’s country estate had been a pretty but very ordinary gatehouse on a country lane about twenty miles north of Oxford. But even here, Alex had noticed the high walls and woodland surrounding the estate, and the closed-circuit television cameras rotating discreetly between the trees. The driveway must have been a mile long, emerging from the woods into fields so perfectly mown it was hard to believe they were made of grass. On one side was a lake with two jet skis and a Lapwing wooden sailing boat moored beside a jetty. On the other, partly hidden in a slight dip, a miniature racing circuit twisted and turned, with its own grandstand for spectators. Four of the most beautiful horses Alex had ever seen were grazing in a paddock. The sun was shining. It was as if the summer had returned.
And there was Neverglade. It wasn’t a house but a fourteenth-century castle—with its own moat, battlements, towers and outlying church. It was built of
Alex said nothing. He wanted to go. He had never seen a rocket launch and it sounded like the sort of adventure he could actually enjoy—without anyone trying to kill him. And yet…
Drevin seemed to sense his uncertainty. “I’m sure Dr Hayward would agree that a bit of Caribbean sun would do you good,” he said. “Please! Don’t refuse me. I have to tell you, I’ve already made up my mind and I’m the sort of person who is used to getting his own way.”
Alex turned to Jack. He still wasn’t sure. And he was vaguely aware that something was bothering him. It was something Drevin had said. It didn’t add up. “What do you think?” he asked.
Jack’s eyes were gleaming. She had obviously been impressed by Drevin, the penthouse, the Crimean Star.
“I think it’s a great idea,” she said. “A couple of weeks in the sun are exactly what you need. And I’m sure Mr Drevin will look after you.”
“You have my word.”
Alex nodded. “OK then. Thank you.” He took a sandwich. “But I think I should warn you: I’m a Chelsea supporter.”
Drevin smiled. “That’s all right. Nobody’s perfect. I’ll send a driver to collect you—shall we say the day after tomorrow? He’ll drive you down to Neverglade—that’s my house in Oxfordshire. Paul is there now. I must call him and let him know you’re coming.” He glanced at his watch. “And now, if you’ll forgive me, I must leave you. I have a meeting at the Bank of England.”
“Is that where you have your account?” Jack asked.
“One of them.” He stood up. “Miss Knight will show you out when you have finished—and she’ll also arrange a car to take you home. Thank you again, Alex. I know you’re not going to regret this.”
Another twist of the ring. Alex had noticed that his hands were never still. Drevin left the way he had come in.
There was a long silence.
“Wow!” Jack exclaimed.
“Flamingo Bay…” Alex murmured.
“It’s exactly what the doctor ordered, Alex.” She helped herself to another sandwich. “It couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“Sure…”
But Alex wasn’t sure. What was it that was bothering him?
Yes. That was it.
Paul Drevin was a target. That was what Drevin had said. He was always in danger.
So why had he been on his own? That night at the hospital, four men had broken in to kidnap him. They had known he was there.
But there hadn’t been a single guard in sight.
THE LAP OF LUXURY
Welcome to Neverglade,“ Paul Drevin said.
Alex stepped out of the luxury car that had brought him here and looked around. He had seen wealth before. He had once gone undercover as the son of a supermarket magnate, which had meant spending a week in a mansion in Lancashire. But this place was something else again.
His first sight of Drevin’s country estate had been a pretty but very ordinary gatehouse on a country lane about twenty miles north of Oxford. But even here, Alex had noticed the high walls and woodland surrounding the estate, and the closed-circuit television cameras rotating discreetly between the trees. The driveway must have been a mile long, emerging from the woods into fields so perfectly mown it was hard to believe they were made of grass. On one side was a lake with two jet skis and a Lapwing wooden sailing boat moored beside a jetty. On the other, partly hidden in a slight dip, a miniature racing circuit twisted and turned, with its own grandstand for spectators. Four of the most beautiful horses Alex had ever seen were grazing in a paddock. The sun was shining. It was as if the summer had returned.
And there was Neverglade. It wasn’t a house but a fourteenth-century castle—with its own moat, battlements, towers and outlying church. It was built of
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