Though they didn’t realize it, they halted the car in the same place Coran had done earlier that day. From where Fitch parked, the drive up to Hill House rose steeply, hiding the house from view but equally hiding them from the house.
‘Everyone know what to do?’ Stan asked. ‘Good. Well, here goes nothing.’ He grinned at Rina. ‘Nice meeting you, Mrs Martin.’
‘Likewise, Mr Holden.’
He and Fitch got out of the car and slipped into the grounds of Hill House. They would circle round, come up from the rear. George had given them a good idea of where the best cover was and the riskiest part would be reaching the conservatory. The lawn gave little opportunity for concealment.
George had told them that the doors were locked. There would be no way of entering without at least a little noise.
Rina and the others sat and waited at the foot of the drive. Give them five minutes, Stan had said, guessing at how long they might need. It seemed to stretch forever and Rina had rarely felt so exposed, sitting in a large black car on a side road that led nowhere. It was as though she could feel Coran’s eyes searching for them, Coran’s senses tingling, comic-book style.
She looked at her watch again, listened to see if it had stopped. It ticked as happily as ever, reminding her of simpler times. Still two minutes to go.
Inside the house, Coran tried the mobile again. The woman replied.
Coran was ready for her this time.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I know you’re not Mrs Goldman, so pass this on. I want the transfer codes. Goldman will know what I mean. I’ve got his kids and I’m ready to trade.’
He rang off, switched off the phone. He knew it was easier to trace a mobile these days but he wasn’t sure quite how easy. He chafed against the wasted time, feeling it running out. He should have spoken to the woman the first time she replied. Made his demands then. It would have all been done and dusted by now. He cursed himself for cocking up. Maybe Stan was right and he wasn’t the only one getting old and slow.
One of the kids whimpered. Coran silenced her with a look. She had pissed herself an hour or more ago and now wriggled uncomfortably on the wooden chair.
‘Serves you right,’ Coran said.
‘Coran’s been trying to reach Goldman,’ Mac was told. ‘He’s made several calls from the same number. He seems to have only just cottoned on that Goldman isn’t responding.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Confirmed he had the kids. Said he wanted some transfer codes?’
‘Bank transfer,’ Mac said. ‘He’s trying to take control of Haines’s accounts. Can we ring him back?’
‘Phone’s off. No doubt he’ll make contact again.’
‘They’ve had their five minutes,’ Rina said. ‘Right, Tim. Off we go.’
He started the engine, took a deep breath and accelerated up the drive. A distraction, Fitch had said. They just needed a distraction to give them time to get inside.
Well, Tim planned on being the best damned distraction ever. After all, he reasoned, wasn’t that what magic was all about?
Stan checked his watch. They were at the rear of Hill House, concealed by bushes, looking into the conservatory. Coran was inside. They could see him sitting at the dining-room table staring intently at something but could not make out what he was doing. They would be fully in his view if he did not move and Stan could see no way of crossing the lawn without breaking cover.
‘It’s up to the others now,’ he said.
‘But will he go for it?’ Fitch asked. ‘Or will he refuse to be distracted?’
Stan shrugged. He glanced at his watch again. ‘We should find out any moment now,’ he said.
They could hear the car engine as Tim gunned it up the drive. Coran heard it too, lifting his head, then getting up and going to the dining-room door and looking out through the second sitting room and into the hall.
‘Go,’ Stan breathed.
They ran, jinking across the open space to the conservatory door at the farthest end from the dining room. Coran was no longer in their view and they had no idea if they were in his. The roar of the engine increased and then came the sound of a car horn, held down and blaring loudly.
Stan took that moment to kick the door and shatter the old frame. An almighty crash sounded from the front of Hill House. What the hell was going on? Fitch dived past him into the second sitting room. Stan ran down the length of the conservatory and into the dining room. The kids were screaming behind the tea towel gags. On the floor the woman lay still in a pool of her own blood. Coran was halfway between dining room and hall. He was about to turn.
Stan dived for cover, came up ready to fire. He heard the explosive crack as someone beat him to it. Who? Fitch or Coran? He rolled beneath the table and came up, gun raised, on the other side.
From the front of the house an engine screamed and glass shattered as the car crashed through the double doors and into the hall.
Someone fired again and Stan saw Fitch go down. Coran rose to his feet as he turned. Stan saw his face just for an instant. It was enough. Coran fell heavily, crashing on to the hall floor.
Stan kicked the gun away from his outstretched hand, but Coran did not move.
‘Nicely parked,’ Fitch croaked as Tim shakily emerged from the battered car. Joy kicked open her door and then ran to Fitch.
‘The kids are in there,’ Stan told Rina. ‘The woman looks to be in a bad way.’
‘Tim!’
‘I know. Ambulance and police,’ Tim said as he surveyed the devastation he had wrought.