Chapter Thirty-One

An image of Jenna flashed across his mind as Luke climbed out of his vehicle in the car park of the Flexley research headquarters.

The image was so strong that he paused, his hand on the car door. He closed his eyes, trying to capture the picture, but it was gone. He shook his head and slammed the door.

The building was in one of the industrial parks on the outskirts of London. It appeared prosperous; the gardens surrounding the area were well maintained. The car park almost full.

Gordon Haughton, the CEO of Flexley, came from old money. He had inherited the company thirty years ago after his father died in a boating accident—a rather convenient boating accident—that had handed the family fortune and companies over to Haughton at the age of twenty-eight.

He’d prospered suspiciously well since, which was one of the first things Luke’s team looked for when profiling companies for possible Conclave involvement. Luke had no doubt Haughton was involved with the organization; the doubt was whether or not he would talk.

The secret was finding something the person cared about more than their own life and wealth. Haughton had a wife and a six-year-old daughter. Rumor had it he doted on them. Luke hoped the information was true.

The reception area was huge, obviously set up to impress customers and potential investors. Luke knew the company was doing well despite the current state of the economy, again, another good indicator of the Conclave’s backing.

He approached the young man at the reception desk, who glanced up at Luke with a professional smile. “Can I help you?”

“I’d like to see Gordon Haughton.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Haughton will not be able to see you. Could I ask the nature of your business? Perhaps one of our managers could help you.”

Luke stepped in closer. “Phone Haughton and tell him there is someone to see him relating to his recent business endeavors in Ivory Coast.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any connections with Ivory Coast.”

“Do it,” Luke growled.

The young man glanced toward the doors where a security officer loitered.

“Call security, and I’ll find another way to contact Haughton, and you will lose your job.”

His hand hovered over the telephone, and then he picked it up, punched in a number, and held a murmured conversation Luke didn’t even try to pay attention to. He was certain the mention of Ivory Coast would get him the interview he needed.

“That was his assistant. She’ll give Mr. Haughton the message and get back to us. If you’d like to take a seat.”

“No.”

He leaned on the counter and waited. His cell phone rang. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID. Callum.

“It’s done,” Callum said, and Luke ended the call.

Across the room, a set of elevator doors opened, and a smartly dressed woman emerged. Somewhere in her forties, slim, beautiful, and he’d bet super-efficient.

She came to a halt in from of Luke and held out her hand. “I’m Juliana Wade, Mr. Haughton’s assistant, Mr.?”

“Hockley, Luke Hockley.”

“Well Mr. Hockley, if you could tell me what this is about, I could perhaps schedule you an appointment, but I’m afraid Mr. Haughton is very busy. So it would probably not be until next week.”

“You came down here just to tell me that?” He gave her a slight smile. “Look, we both know Haughton will see me. Could we take that as a given and move on?”

She raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Follow me.”

He could feel her giving him sidelong glances in the elevator as they rose to the top floor, but she didn’t speak again.

Once out of the elevator, she led him through an outer office, knocked on a set of double oak doors, and opened them without waiting for an answer. A man was seated behind a desk, and he rose to his feet as Luke entered the room. The woman left, the door clicking shut behind her. The man was tall and lean, with a thin face and dark hair streaked with gray. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t hold out a hand, just gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk and sat back down.

Luke took the seat indicated and waited for Haughton to speak. He needed the man off guard, and the best way to do that was to keep him guessing.

Obviously, Haughton had the same idea. For a minute, they sat in silence. Luke stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows and stifled his impatience while he waited for Haughton to break.

Haughton cleared his throat.

“Luke Hockley?” Finally, Haughton broke the silence. “I’m afraid I don’t know the name.”

“You wouldn’t,” he replied. “It’s not one I use these days.”

Luke had decided to use his own name; it felt strange hearing it after so long, but the time of hiding was almost done. It was likely someone in the Conclave had identified him by now, probably from surveillance feeds on Merrick.

If this thing worked out, the Conclave would fall, and as far as Luke was concerned, all those involved in it would also fall. It wouldn’t matter who knew his real identity.

And if the Conclave didn’t fall, the chances were Luke would be dead anyway.

“Hmm, Hockley.” The man’s brows furrowed in concentration. “There was a company we did some business with, must be fifteen years ago.”

“That would have been my father. He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Haughton was more at ease now. He sat back in his seat. “So, how can I help you?”

Luke allowed a small smile to curve his lips. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. She’s gone missing.”

Haughton frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. My assistant mentioned you had information regarding a business deal in Ivory Coast.”

“Not a business deal.” He studied the other man’s face to see if there was a reaction to his next words. “More in the way of a massacre, a whole village reduced to ashes. Does that sound like something your company might be involved in?”

If the shock was there, Haughton hid it well. His expression hardened. “I think you’re wasting my time, Mr. Hockley.”

“I hope not. As I said, I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

The change of subject seemed to throw Haughton. He shook his head slightly, and his frown deepened. “How could I possibly help you find this friend?”

“Let’s go back to the massacre.”

Haughton rose to his feet again and shoved his hands in his pockets. He turned to stare out of the window for a moment before turning back to Luke.

“I agreed to meet with you because—”

“You agreed to talk with me because I mentioned Ivory Coast. You don’t believe I know anything, but you can’t afford to let it pass. The Conclave doesn’t react well to stupidity in its members.”

Haughton swallowed—a telltale sign of nerves—and satisfaction washed through Luke. He realized deep down there had been a small niggle of doubt that they were wrong. That Haughton’s seeming involvement was nothing more than coincidence. Now he was certain Haughton was in this up to his neck.

He had to play him right, and maybe he would lead them to Jenna. Hopefully she had held out and they hadn’t broken her yet. She had to be alive, and while she might not know it, she had the answers.

But he needed more time. He would break Haughton and get Jenna back. They would uncover the secrets of Descartes and stop the terrorist attack. And then he would tear the Conclave apart.

Haughton was staring at him, shock stamped on his features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But for the first time, Luke heard a tremor in his voice.

“The Conclave.”

Haughton sank down into his chair.

“To get back to my friend,” Luke said. “I know the Conclave has her, and I want her back.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I think you can.”

Haughton shook his head. “You can’t have any proof about my company’s involvement in any massacre.”

“Not yet, but we’ll get it.”

Haughton ignored the comment. “I know nothing of any Conclave.”

“You don’t know much, apparently. Tell me, do you know what it’s like to lose someone you love?” Luke’s tone was gentle.

Haughton’s gaze shot to his, but he didn’t answer.

“To know they might be in pain? Terrified?”

Haughton glanced away. When he turned back, his face was hard. “I’m sorry you’ve lost your friend, but I can’t help you.”

“Oh, you will be sorry. And you can help me. You won’t want to, but I’m hoping you’ll find the alternative harder.”

“The alternative? Are you threatening me?” His voice held a faint tinge of anger. The man was an arrogant fool. Maybe he thought he was beyond the things that affected normal people, but he’d soon find he was wrong.

“Yes.”

“I’d like you to leave.”

“Not just yet. You see, I’m going to give you a glimpse of how it feels.”

“How what feels?”

“I’m going to give you a glimpse of what it’s like to lose someone you love. To worry that at this moment someone could be hurting them. Of course, that is presuming you love your wife and daughter.”

“What?”

Luke allowed a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Haughton had to believe he would go through with this. The truth was Luke wasn’t sure what he’d do. He’d done some hard things over the past ten years. He’d killed, and he’d condoned the torture of men, but they had always been who he considered the bad guys. Most of them had been murderers or worse. Haughton’s wife and daughter were innocents.

But so was Jenna.

Forcing the concern aside, he faced Haughton. “A colleague of mine is holding your wife and daughter. If you do not cooperate fully with me, he will cause them pain. Now the question you need to ask yourself is, are you willing to sacrifice them? Because, if you don’t cooperate, it will come to that.”

The color drained from Haughton’s skin, leaving him pale. “I don’t believe you.” But his voice lacked conviction.

Luke pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in Callum’s number. “He needs convincing.”

He handed the phone to Haughton, who raised it to his ears with a trembling hand.

From across the desk, Luke heard the scream that shrilled down the phone. Haughton’s hand tightened until his fingers looked like claws.

“Rachel?”

She must have spoken. Luke couldn’t hear the words, but Haughton went from white to a sickly shade of green. He pressed the phone against his ear. “Rachel, just be strong. I’ll get you out of there.” He glared at Luke. “I don’t believe you. They’re innocents. You’re bluffing.”

The bastard was willing to risk his loved ones. Either he didn’t love them enough, or he was too scared. Or he didn’t believe Luke was serious. He grabbed the phone from Haughton.

“He needs a little more convincing.” He held the phone out to Haughton’s face.

This time the scream lasted for long seconds. Afterward, the room was silent except for Haughton’s labored breathing.

“Next time it will be your daughter,” Luke said. “What is she, six? Seems a pity she should pay for your mistakes.”

Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead; his eyes darted around the room as though he could find a way out. “You’re animals. You have to let them go.”

Unexpected fury whipped through Luke. “Animals? Yesterday I stood on the remains of an African village. All that was left of over two hundred people was ash. How did they die? Was it quick? Painless? Do you care?” He ran a hand through his hair. For ten years he’d pursued this, but he’d always felt so cold, emotionless. Now red-hot rage burned through him. “Do you even fucking know?”

Emotions always got in the way, and he swallowed the anger. He waited as Haughton also brought himself under control.

“I can’t tell you anything. They’ll kill me.”

“And if you don’t tell me everything, I will kill your wife and daughter and make you watch. So you have a dilemma. Your death, perhaps at some unknown time in the future. Or your wife and daughter’s death very, very soon.”

“My daughter’s only a child. I don’t believe you’d do it.”

Luke considered the other man for a moment. “Perhaps I could tell you a little history, Mr. Haughton, to convince you of my sincerity in this matter.” He sat back in his chair. “This is a matter of public record, so you can check I’m telling the truth. Ten years ago, I, too, had a wife and daughter. My daughter was a baby, only three months old. A few years earlier, my father had died under suspicious circumstances. I started asking the wrong questions of the wrong people, and they decided to get me out of the way. So they blew up my car. Obviously, I survived; my wife and baby didn’t. They were torn to bloody little pieces. I came around with bits of them plastered to my skin.” He allowed the hatred to fill his eyes. “Now, you’re the one thing standing between me and getting the people who did that to them. Look at me and tell me you really believe I’m not sincere.”

Haughton was silent for a minute. Luke raised the phone. “Callum—”

“No, wait,” Haughton held out a trembling hand, and the tension inside Luke relaxed.

He kept his face expressionless as he lowered the phone. “Yes?”

Haughton sagged as though his bones crumbled. Then he nodded, a quick jerk of his head. “I’ll tell you what I can, but I don’t know much—none of us do. It’s the way things work.”

Luke smiled. “Let’s hope you know enough.” He thought about what to ask. There were two strands of information he needed to pull together. The first was the terrorist attack, the when and the where. The second was Jenna. There was one thing that tied them together.

“Tell me about Descartes.”

Haughton’s eyes widened at the name. “How—” He broke off and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Luke knew he had won. “Descartes is the name of an ongoing project.”

“Its purpose?”

He shrugged. “As far as I can tell the purpose is twofold. The technology used is new; they’re still testing it.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, and I’m telling the truth. Some sort of bioagent, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You haven’t tested it here?”

“It wasn’t in my remit.”

“So Ivory Coast was a test?”

“Yes. We needed to know how effective the chemical would be when used out in the open. Whether it would travel. Whether it could be contained. And the tests went perfectly. The chemical was one hundred percent lethal. No survivors, and it cleared from the atmosphere in under twenty-four hours, leaving no trace.”

“And they plan to use this chemical in some sort of terrorist attack over here?”

“I’m not sure where. I don’t get told the details, but from the quantity involved, it’s something big.”

“Why?” Luke said. “What can they gain from it?”

“Do you understand anything about the Conclave, Mr. Hockley? Do you know why the Conclave exists? Power. That’s what we want. What’s the most powerful struggle in the world? Life and death. My bet is the Conclave is proving to the world they have that power and are willing to use it.” He smiled. “It sort of puts us on par with God, don’t you think?”

“You’re insane.”

“Perhaps.”

A shrill ringing sounded in the room.

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

“The fire alarm.”