The Boathouse by R. J. Harries Page A

come no one knows where he is?”
    â€œJesus, you’re relentless. I told you the guy went into hiding.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe was afraid.”
    â€œOf what?”
    There was a sudden chill as a lone cloud passed in front of the sun like a giant ball of cotton wool, casting a wide shadow over the lake.
    â€œI heard one of his associates was killed and that put the wind up him.”
    â€œWho was killed?”
    â€œNick Carnell.”
    â€œWho was he?”
    â€œThis conversation is over. It has nothing to do with finding Mrs Sinclair.” He glared at Archer. “This conversation never happened.” Even Sinclair’s bodyguards seemed afraid of him.
    As they approached a fork in the path near the small green cafeteria between Rotten Row and the Serpentine, Archer’s mobile phone rang. They stopped walking and Archer turned his back on Best. The north wind picked up into a sudden gust that shook the trees around them like a chorus of paper tambourines.
    It was Julian Cavendish.
    Archer agreed to an urgent meeting, then turned back to face Best.
    â€œI need to go back into the City for an hour. Where’s the nearest tube?” He looked across the park at Wellington Arch. “That’ll do it. I can take the Piccadilly Line to Holborn. I’ll see you back at the penthouse later.”
    â€œOh right, okay then, I’ll tell Mr Sinclair.” Best’s tone was dejected. He stopped walking and watched Archer, unable to disguise a scornful gaze.
    Archer took the gravel path that forked off to the right. He walked with long strides towards Rotten Row. Best started to amble slowly along the parallel path nearer the Serpentine and played with his phone.
    Archer knew Best was uncomfortable about their conversation and that he would probably follow him. He also knew Best didn’t like him. None of the guards trusted him. As far as the guards were concerned, Archer was just a temporary meddling outsider. Clarke and Haywood looked like they wanted to kill him. But he had an instinct that Best was psychologically the weakest and therefore the easiest to pump for information.
    Hunter was a good lead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

    Archer walked through the park to Hyde Park Corner tube station. He’d spotted Best, who was hopping behind trees, by pretending to look up at a passing police helicopter, using his peripheral vision to confirm that he was being tailed. His private field training never failed him in situations like this. Always head off in the opposite direction first. Everyone knows it and it sounds simple, but he hadn’t had much practice lately.
    Archer used his Oyster card to get through the turnstile without missing a beat. Best would probably need to buy a ticket and then go east instead of west. Job done.
    Archer felt the warm wind rush down the platform and heard the rumble of an approaching train from inside the tunnel. The rails sang like an old Space Invaders game and then snapped like steel whips being cracked by an invisible tunnel monster in a low budget horror movie. The rumble grew louder, and he felt the vibration rise up through him from the platform as the air whooshed past and the train entered the station.
    Archer often had to control dark thoughts at times like this. He wasn’t really suicidal; it was only in certain situations he felt an urge from deep inside that he did not fully understand. He put it down to the trauma of his past. He had learned over time to control his demons, but he was still wary of them. He told his legs not to move. His feet were planted firmly on the platform six feet from the edge. Heights and approaching trains sometimes made him feel an urge to jump and end it all right there and then. No more past. Game over. He’d stopped base jumping and walking close to cliffs when he was twenty.
    With his legs cast in concrete, forbidden to move, his mind played tricks on him. Would the electric shock from the rails