Damian’s Story (cont.)
‘Dugdale!’
‘Sorry, Mr Gross. You looked like you were going to shoot.’ The head of security handed the Wilson Combat Supergrade Classic back to his boss. ‘I noticed the safety’s off.’
‘It’s not a lot of good when it’s on!’
‘Depends which side of the barrel you’re standing, sir.’
‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘I noticed a recurring error in the security pano, sir. I think it’s what caused the alarm to go off, but I told the lads to sweep the house and grounds, just to be on the safe side. Is that OK with you, sir?’
Gross normally forbade his guards from entering his home, but on this occasion he was prepared to let the preclusion slide.
‘Of course! I want everywhere double-checked.’ He looked down at the reception area and spotted one of his guards had entered via the front door. He murmured, ‘That little shit scared the fuck out of me.’ And louder, ‘What kind of error, Dugdale?’
‘Just a gremlin in the works. The network got an upgrade the other day. It’s possibly something that needs a patch. That’s all.’
Gross nodded. Both men heard a vehicle tearing across the gravelled driveway and seconds later it skidded to halt with a long sliding crunch. ‘Christ!’ Gross exclaimed. ‘What now?’
*
The Red Fort van drew to a halt a few yards from the front door and a woman emerged. She wore her company’s uniform – a navy blue jumpsuit with military-style epaulettes and her photo ID card affixed to the outer chest pocket.
Gross groaned when he spotted her. As she approached the house, he shouted, ‘It was just a bug in the system! You can toddle off! Everything’s taken care of!’
‘Damian Gross?’
‘Yes. I’m your client, so—’
‘Our analysts came up with the same finding. Just a glitch.’
Gross shrugged. ‘Brilliant. What are you doing here, then?’
‘I spoke to your man Dugdale on my way over. He said phone reception dipped. Men off ill. Then this so-called glitch. I’d like to take a look around.’
‘Not necessary. I’ve got an army vet in charge of security here. He’s spent most of his life serving on the front line. You’ve spent most of your life serving in Côte. Do fuck off, luv.’
She unclipped her ID card and, raising it slightly, said, ‘I’m Maggie Roberts. The alarm was tripped. I’ve got to talk to you and assess your property. Contractual obligation and I really think you ought to be taking this more seriously.’
‘I’ll give you ninety seconds. Come in, then!’
She followed Gross inside his home, asking, ‘Do you have anything of value in this property, sir?’
‘Anything of value? Seriously?’ He stopped in the doorway leading to his sitting room and glared at her. ‘Look around! Everything in this place cost more than you’ll make before you retire to fucking Bridlington.’
‘I’m not talking about furnishings and artwork, sir. You should be safe there. Professional thieves tend to go after more exclusive targets. Nouveau riche stuff like this isn’t highly sought after.’
Gross wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by nouveau riche, but he lashed out anyway. ‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘Do you have anything unique? Maybe in a vault or a hidden safe? That could be what the thieves are after.’
‘There are no thieves! You’ve spoken to me and seen inside my house. Contractual obligations observed.’ Dugdale reached the woman’s side. ‘Take this girl back to her van.’
Maggie looked to be in her late fifties. Black hair. Grey roots. Big, serious spectacles. ‘One, I don’t appreciate the word girl in that context, sir.’ She took a step forward. ‘And two, I think your home is under attack.’
‘And I think, if you don’t leave now, Red Fort will have one fewer client in the morning.’
She paused. ‘Your call, sir.’
‘As you say, my call, sir.’
Gross turned away, but the woman’s belief that something was awry had rattled him. And, as always, he knew exactly what he had to do.