Dead Centre

1

The skids of the Bell 222 settled on the tarmac and the pilot killed the engines. The stainless steel and fibreglass rotors wound gradually to a standstill. I took off my headset and waited for the door to be opened.

The Bell could normally take eight passengers at a time on the shuttle between Geneva and Courchevel. Frank’s people had booked it exclusively for my use. The pilot said his instructions were to wait as long as I needed him to. Then, as soon as he’d worked out I wasn’t Russian, he started talking and didn’t stop until we landed. Better thirty minutes of that, I supposed, than two and a half hours up the mountain by car, duelling with kamikaze Peugeot drivers.

Apparently it had been a very strange season. Winter had started a month early, with heavy snowfalls in October. Spring had also arrived way ahead of time. The sun had shone almost continually and there had been weeks of bizarrely hot weather. Then December had had some of the best snow of the season.

‘But you know how I will remember this season most of all? As the one when the snow didn’t fall. We waited through January, February and now this month for the big dumps of snow that never came. That’s why we’re lucky we live in the Trois Vallées.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Wise leaders who invested heavily in snow cannons, reservoirs and piste groomers.’

‘Man-made snow doesn’t sound very eco-friendly.’

‘It’s economy-friendly. Without it, the Russians wouldn’t have brought their bling-bling.’

‘Good for business, are they?’

‘These days, they are the business.’

I stepped out into a landscape that looked white enough to me. The piste groomers must have been working their miracles.

I looked along just 525 metres of steeply rising runway. There was a vertical drop at the end. It was easy to see why Courchevel airport was rated one of the most dangerous in the world. There was no go-around procedure, the pilot had said. The hill was supposed to help to slow a landing aircraft.

‘Does it work?’

‘Not always.’

Add to that a hazardous approach through deep valleys that could only be performed by specially certified pilots, and often freezing conditions with black ice and heavy snow, and you had one of the most challenging landings on earth. Jets couldn’t use it. Larger propeller aircraft like the Twin Otter and Dash 7 could, but they had been phased out. Smaller Cessnas and helicopters had taken over.

A driver in his early twenties greeted me and led me to a car. He was smartly dressed in a black suit, shirt and tie. His gold-rimmed Ray-Ban Aviators glinted in the sun.

I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I climbed into the back. I’d listened to Talk Radio on my way to Bristol airport. The coalition’s austerity measures weren’t going down well. Prices at the petrol pumps were higher by the day. So was the number of unemployed. All in all, it had been another grey and gloomy day in Broken Britain. Yet in a parallel universe Frank’s plane had turned out to be a G6 Gulfstream, more airliner than private jet, and I was in a black Merc limo with darkened windows on the way from the ‘altiport’ at one of the world’s most upscale ski resorts to meet with one of the world’s richest men.

According to a brochure I found in the Gulfstream, Courchevel 1850 was the highest and most famous of the resort’s four centres, distinguished from each other by their height in metres. It was also the bit where the billionaires hung out. 1850 was in fact only 1747 metres above sea level, but the good burghers were keen to shaft arch-rivals Val d’Isère. Everyone wanted a slice of Russian action, and the Russians always flocked to the biggest, highest, priciest — anywhere, in fact, with est on the end. With five-star hotels charging $35,000 a night for a suite, chalets at $190,000 a week and restaurants that boasted more Michelin stars per head of population than anywhere else on the planet, they wouldn’t have been dis appointed. If there was snow, they were here — if they weren’t in Moscow making money, or in London spending it. And where the Russians go, the nouveaux riches from the emerging economies in Eastern Europe, Asia and South America follow.

I’d landed in Geneva and got straight on the Bell. The helicopter transfer company’s choice of aircraft gave me a big kick. It had starred in Airwolf, one of my favourite TV shows as a kid. It looked much the same: navy blue, sleek and menacing as it flew low between the mountains.

There had been property brochures in the Gulfstream, too. As I drove in the back seat of the air-conditioned, leather-upholstered luxury bubble, I knew I was passing ‘chalets’ that cost upwards of $5 million. We were a world away from the shabby, peeling shit-pits I’d left behind me in Easton. No clapped-out Ford Focuses, either. All the other vehicles on the road were Range Rovers or Cayenne 4×4s. It seemed you could have any colour you liked as long as it was black.

We passed people out and about. They were walking little rat dogs wrapped up in Prada Puffas the same colour as their owner’s. This was Bling Central, on ice.

Even my young driver looked too cool to need to breathe. His Aviators didn’t have fingermarks; he never needed to adjust his short, wet-gelled hair. My own hair was greasy and my eyes felt so knackered they probably looked like they belonged to Vlad the Impaler. Fuck knows what he made of me in the back, contaminating his leather.

‘Are you here for the party, sir?’

His English was clear and crisp.

‘No, mate, just a quick visit. Whose party?’

‘I’m not sure, but they say it’s costing five million euros. Cirque de Soleil are being flown in all the way from Canada.’

‘That’s some party. Keeping you busy?’

I found myself doing the cabbie chat I normally saved for London.

‘Three hundred people are coming, or so they say.’

‘Not for the skiing, that’s for sure.’

There was snow around the chocolate-box village, but it was dribbling down the mountain with every passing minute. Now we were lower, I could see large expanses of rock fighting their way into view.

He checked his sat-nav for the hundredth time. ‘Not far now, sir.’

2

We stopped outside a massive, classic Swiss chalet that looked as if it had been carved out of the granite high ground behind it. Snow covered the gently sloping roof and wide eaves. The pathway had been freshly cleared.

‘Are you the new owner, sir?’

I checked out the three-storey slice of paradise like I was trying to remember if I’d bought this one or the next, and dreamt a little before coming back to the real world. ‘No, mate, not me. How much did it go for?’

‘Twenty-two million dollars. Just last week. They say it has a pool.’

For that amount of money, I’d have demanded a bigger driveway as well. It only just fitted the gleaming black Range Rover with French plates and darkened windows.

‘I’ll tell you if it has when you take me back. You’re waiting, yeah?’

‘Yes, sir. I am booked until you want to leave. Same as the helicopter.’

I opened the door. The cold, crisp air attacked my face. I liked it. It woke me up a little. ‘What’s your name, mate?’

He swivelled in his seat, smiling under his sun-gigs. ‘Jacques.’

I leant down. ‘You new at this, Jacques?’

He nodded like a puppy. ‘My third day.’

‘Try not to speak to the guests, Jacques. These people don’t like that.’

He flapped. ‘Sir, I’m so sorry, I—’

I put up a hand. ‘It’s no drama with me, Jacques. You seem a good guy and it would be a nightmare to lose a job like this. Best to have fun using your eyes and ears. You might find out exactly what’s going on around here, yeah?’

He let it sink in.

‘The guy in that house, Jacques? He can buy that shit because he knows that knowledge is power. He told me so himself. So, if you listen, look and learn while you drive you won’t have to depend on “them” to tell you what’s what. They’ll depend on you. Get it?’

He nodded.

‘See you in a bit, then, Jacques.’

The huge wooden door was a few centimetres ajar. I pushed it wider. The hallway was empty. No one lived here. But it was far from a rustic ski lodge. The interior looked as if it had been ripped out of a Manhattan penthouse. Sleek, modern lines. A symphony of glass, steel and dark grey marble. The front of the house was all that was left of the original.

I could see now that the hall wasn’t entirely empty. Mr Lover Man and his mate Genghis were hovering. They didn’t look fazed to see me. There was no reaction at all. Frank must have been giving them tutorials.

I nodded a greeting. ‘Afternoon, lads.’

I didn’t get as much as a blink in return. Genghis just pointed upstairs. I walked across the marble floor to the grand glass and steel staircase.

As I climbed, I began to hear the echo of excited, high-pitched voices. They spoke English with heavy French accents. They were enthusing about how beautiful the new colours would look. I reached the first floor and walked towards the oohs and aahs. I went through large double doors into a high-ceilinged room that could have doubled as a wedding venue. The tall panelled windows overlooked the dog-walkers up on the mountain path.

Swatches of material and big wallpaper folders covered the parquet floor. Frank was wearing jeans that had creases ironed into them, and a white open-necked shirt under a yellow golfer’s sweater. He was staring down at the collections of colours and patterns strewn around his feet. Either this was about taking his mind off his troubles, or he was back in Terminator mode.

The high-pitched voices turned out to belong to a man and woman who looked like they should have been on one of those makeover shows. They were talking to each other as if they were the only ones there, and Frank was the film crew.

‘Everything looks so wonderful in this light.’

Frank glanced up as I headed towards him. His face said he definitely wasn’t as jacked-up about it as they were. Besides, the light was shit: the cloud made sure of that.

He was doing some serious weight training with that platinum Zenith Class Traveller on his wrist. I’d fancied one myself in the Moscow watch shop until I’d seen the price tag. It had no jewels, no glitter; it was just a practical-looking lump of metal with loads of little dials on. I wasn’t sure how they justified it being £475K. For that price, it should be making the tea.

Frank followed my gaze. ‘You know your timepieces. I have a passion for them.’

He twisted it to and fro on his wrist. ‘But, you know, they’re easy to come by. Unlike decent houses under thirty million dollars in this place.’ He looked around him. I couldn’t tell if he liked it or not.

‘You here for the birthday party, Frank? Or is it yours?’

He rested £475,000 worth of watch on my shoulder.

‘If so, they say it’s costing you five million euros. They also say Cirque de Soleil are being flown all the way from Canada to spin about on a couple of ropes.’

He nodded slowly. I still couldn’t work out what was going on in that head of his.

‘I’m just a guest. I’m part of the ten per cent of the population who own eighty per cent of the planet. You’d think we’d operate as individuals, but sadly we’re just a herd.’

His hand left my shoulder and pointed at nothing in par ticular in the cavernous room. ‘This? I eventually had to get one. We all do.’

He got big smiles from the two as they held squares of wallpaper against the wall to ooh and aah at. They must have been interior designers.

This was getting us nowhere. I couldn’t tell if Frank was putting on a brave face or was simply in denial. Either way, I had to shake him out of it. I needed answers.

I pointed to a door.

3

I led him out into a wide corridor with yet more marble beneath our feet.

‘Where’s the other Brit from Moscow?’

Frank looked around. He wasn’t happy to talk here. To our right were ceiling-high doors that would open into rooms with views of the mountains, trees and snow. He hesitated.

‘Does this place have a pool?’

He nodded and started to walk along the corridor. As I followed, my iPhone vibrated in my jeans, but the squeak of my Timberlands on the marble was louder.

At the far end of it we got into a glass and steel lift. He finally spoke. ‘The other Brit has gone.’ He pressed a button. ‘I did not need him any more. He should not have got himself into such a position. Both of them were no good.’

We moved smoothly downwards.

‘Why? You sent them to test me. They did.’

Frank stared at the glass wall as we passed the ground floor. ‘But not well enough. If they’d been any good, you would have been picked up more easily.’

‘But that would have meant I wasn’t the man for the job.’

‘Correct. But they should have killed you as soon as you put them in danger. Somebody has to lose. Somebody always has to lose.’

The lift stopped. Frank gestured for me to leave first. ‘Just be happy it wasn’t you.’

The door closed automatically behind him.

‘Italian design, German hydraulics. Precision-built houses and Swiss watches, they are very nice things to have, Nick. But there are always better examples. There is always someone in more control than you are. Everyone has a superior.’

His jaw tightened, like he couldn’t stomach the thought. Apart from that, his face was impossible to read. Talking about watches, lifts, even his HR concerns — it was like he knew what I’d come to confront him with and was doing everything he could to avoid it.

We walked along a short corridor. Our footsteps began to echo.

‘So who’s your superior?’

‘Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, prime minister of the Russian Federation, chairman of both United Russia and the Council of Ministers of the Union of Russia and Belarus. A truly powerful man.’

‘And who’s his?’

‘People like me who buy chalets in this village. If he wants to be elected president again.’

As if on cue, Frank threw open another set of doors to reveal a wall-to-wall swimming-pool. It filled the entire footprint of the house. It had been carved out of the mountainside and finished to look like a South Pacific rock-pool. The water was crystal clear. The only evidence of humans ever being near it was a small table. On it lay a colouring book and a set of pencils, and a half-filled-in picture of a pink and yellow fairy.

Frank looked at it and then at me. ‘For all that, I’m still being held to ransom by African fishermen. You have news for me, something you want to say.’

It wasn’t a question.

‘They could still be alive. I heard a recording of Tracy. It wasn’t made for me. It was a generic message. “Help us, we’re in trouble.” This is good news. I could hear vehicles. It means they made it to land safely. But things have gone wrong.’

‘How so?’

‘The two guys who’ve been following me since Moscow. The two I thought were yours.’

I told him.

4

His face was stone as he took the information on board. Not even a flicker as I told him Tracy’s sister was dead.

‘What are you going to do about them, Nick? They are your problem. Mine is Stefan.’

‘They Georgians?’

‘Possibly. You have been working very hard to find that out about me. Enemies, they breed like rats.’

‘So it’s also your problem. They must know Tracy and Stefan have been lifted. They must be wondering if they can get to them before you do. Then they become their captives, to be used as leverage against you. No more supporting the south?’

Frank the machine stood still and listened, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the granite wall.

‘They must be following me because they don’t know which clan have them. They must be hoping I’ll lead them to Tracy and Stefan — then they can jump in and grab them from me. That’s what I’d do.’

He nodded very slowly.

‘But that’s not the important thing, Frank.’

He turned his head. His eyes narrowed.

‘The important thing is, how do they know? Like I said, that’s your problem. Was it the crew? The two lads you got rid of?’

He shook his head. ‘The crew have been with me for years. They know their lives depend on their loyalty. The other two knew nothing.’

‘What about the lads upstairs?’

‘They are the only people I trust. They are also godfathers to Stefan. No, that knowledge has come from elsewhere.’ He jabbed a finger at me. ‘But that can wait. How much do they want?’

‘Three million US.’

He jabbed his finger again. His voice boomed around the granite walls. ‘Give them what they want. I want Stefan back here, and safe. I want this ended before anyone else gets to them.’

‘No, Frank. That’s not how it works.’

His eyes burnt into mine. I wondered when he’d last heard the words ‘No, Frank.’ I had to get past this alpha-male shit.

He jabbed a third time, his face taut, a natural reaction when people are preparing to fight or just plain scared.

‘Do what I say!’

He shouted again, this time so angrily he almost lost it. The sound reverberated like thunder round the pool-room. ‘Do what I say! You will pay what they—’

Mr Lover Man and Genghis pushed their way in, pistols drawn. Frank obviously never raised his voice unless there was a problem.

I stood stock still, arms out, presenting no threat. Frank waved his hands at them. Everything was OK.

They gently closed the doors behind them.

‘Frank, I want them back too. Tracy was my best mate’s wife. Her sister was my friend. I told you she’s dead, but I didn’t tell you how she died.’

I reached down and grabbed two of the colouring pencils off the table. I held them either side of his head. ‘She had been tortured, Frank. Fuck knows why, because she didn’t know anything. Maybe they did it for fun. But they took a pencil just like this and they rammed it into her ear. Right through her fucking eardrum. Can you imagine the pain? Can you imagine how loud she must have screamed? And then they did the same the other side. And when she didn’t talk, because she had nothing to tell them, or maybe because they’d had enough fun for one morning, they hammered both pencils right into her brain. She must have died in agony, Frank. You wouldn’t wish that on your worst enemy — let alone your son. But fuck this up, and that’s what could happen.’

I didn’t need to say more. All of a sudden, his imagination had joined the dots. His eye twitched. Well, it was something, I supposed.

He fought to find the words. ‘Tell them … if they hurt my son, I will declare war on them. Tell them that.’

It was messages like that that would get his son killed.

‘No, Frank. This ain’t no Swiss watch. All the pieces aren’t going to work perfectly. It’s not just another deal. And, Frank …’

I let it hang as he fixed his eyes on his own reflection in the water.

‘I need to know everything. I need to know if there is anything that might affect the negotiation, and so affect Stefan and Tracy. I need to know everything you know, Frank.’

He looked up slowly. Our eyes locked.

‘The crew have told you about the two of them together?’

‘No. Are they?’

‘In all the houses. Even the boat. My shadows, they plant the cameras and collect the recordings for me. No doubt there will still be one on the boat. Knowledge, Nick, is power. Like you, I need to know everything that affects me.’

The chink in his armour was widening, and it wasn’t Tracy.

‘I want my son back. You do it your way. If it goes wrong, I will do it my way. I will have my son back. I will have my son … here … with me.’

‘And Tracy? Where will she be, when Stefan’s here? Does she still have a life if she comes back?’

He pursed his lips. ‘I am not an animal, Nick. If I was … well, I wouldn’t have a problem. Of course she will have a life. She is my son’s mother. He has been her saviour.’

His hand came up, pointing back the way Mr Lover Man and Genghis had gone. ‘Those two I trust with my life. Others, I pay for their time, nothing else. And you — I believe I can trust you with what you now know. Am I right to trust you, Nick?’

That didn’t deserve an answer. ‘We start with a decent sum. Then we move at a slower rate, reducing the amount each time, until we get to around ten per cent of their demand. Say three hundred thousand dollars. No more than four hundred. Less than you paid for that watch. But it’s not about the money. It’s what they’ll expect. If we go big-timing, the three of them are dead.’

I gave him another second. ‘Do you have that property for me?’

His eyes were distant again. The machine in his head was telling him what I was saying was right. It just didn’t feel right. He turned back to me. ‘Yes. Today. You will have the details later.’

‘I also need some money. USD.’

He nodded.

‘I don’t want it in my hand, I just want it available.’

‘Whatever you need. When will you inform me what’s happening?’

‘When I’ve got something to inform you about.’

I was silent for a moment. ‘Where does that leave Justin?’

Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. ‘I don’t even think about him. He’s no good, just like the other two Brits that have worked for me.’

‘No — this one’s good at his job. He’s doing the right thing. He’s keeping you out of it and so keeping those two alive. If the Somalis knew who Tracy and Stefan were, it would be a whole different ball game. And if they do find out, they’re going to be in even more danger than they are now — because if the Georgians get to hear, we’re all in the shit. For now, Justin is keeping them as just another three quick paydays. So he should be paid up and fucked off when he gets back, yeah?’

The machine was a long time processing. I waited till his hand came down.

‘Yes, of course. Now, you and I, we both have business to do. Different business.’

The £475K wrist rested on my shoulder again as we made our way to the lift. German hydraulics and Italian design carried us smoothly to the ground floor. His two shadows were waiting. He started leading me to the front door.

‘The number you have for me — it will be exclusively for your use. I will always answer.’

We got to the threshold and shook. He turned away. I was to let myself out. He headed for the stairs with Mr Lover Man and Genghis.

I pulled out the mobile. The missed call was from the estate agent I’d bought my Docklands flat from a couple of years ago.

I opened voicemail. ‘Mr Stone, it’s Henry. Got the message you left mega early about us selling a small apartment of yours. That would be a pleasure. Could you please call me back to discuss?’

By the time I’d finished listening, I’d opened the door. I stepped outside. It was colder. And Jacques was waiting.

5

I jumped into the warmth of the Merc. Jacques was facing the front, being very professional. Mouth shut, both hands on the wheel.

‘Tell you what, mate. Drive me down the hill to the town and I’ll tell you if the place has got a pool or not. Might as well have a quick look round before I leave — might see something I fancy.’

He nodded. We headed down towards the centre. There was high ground around us; nothing but snow-capped Alps as far as the eye could see. No fast-food joints. No hire shops offering gloves included. The retail names were all the same as in GUM: Prada, Gucci, Versace.

We passed parking areas with coin-operated telescopes on steel stands. In days gone by, the tourists would have looked at the distant peaks or skiers on the pistes. These days they probably gawped at the multi-million-dollar houses and the Russians who stayed in them. That was what I was going to do, anyway.

‘Park up here a minute, Jacques. I’ll get one last look at the place.’

He pulled into one of the lay-bys and I spilt out. I checked the coin slot. It was two euros for two minutes.

‘You got any cash, mate? I’ll pay you back when I’ve been to a bank.’

He pulled out a large plastic bag from a side compartment. ‘The parking’s very expensive here.’

He passed me the whole thing. Now I knew what the Royal Family felt like when they went walkabout. I threw in ten minutes’ worth.

That pink and yellow fairy picture couldn’t have belonged to a boy. And if it did, Stefan needed to start playing with Action Man or some shit like that. So there was probably a little girl. And if there was a little girl, there was a mother.

I cast about in the general direction of the chalet. He’d looked bored with the designers. He’d be on the move before long. I moved up the road to the high ground. Chances were, he wasn’t down here in the village. This area was for the rich. The super-rich, like everywhere else on the planet, took the high ground — and on the side of the valley where the sun liked to come and stay.

I moved it about until I hit the chalet we’d just left. The Range Rover had gone. Eyes away from the optic, I checked the road left and right. The black blob was heading towards the altiport, contouring one of the higher roads. I shoved in more cash to make sure and followed the road upwards until the Range Rover came back into view.

It disappeared intermittently behind chalets, rocks and trees this side of the road.

It passed a row of four large chalets and this time it didn’t reappear. The chalets were monolithic. Their roof overhangs almost came down to the ground. Their gardens sloped downhill towards me.

There were three bodies in the white expanse of garden at the second chalet from the right. Two small figures in pink all-in-one ski suits. I couldn’t make out their faces. They jumped on a sledge near the top of the slope. Waiting for them at the bottom was an adult in a white all-in-one. She had long dark hair.

I scanned the four chalets and back along the road to the left. Still no black blob.

The sledge reached the bottom of the hill. The woman started dragging it back up. The kids scrambled behind her in the snow. She stopped in her tracks. I focused on her. She was looking up the hill. She waved. I swung the telescope to follow her gaze. A man in jeans and a red jacket was waving back to her from the veranda.

The kids came into view. They scampered past the woman and up towards the man.

I refocused on him. It was Frank.

The two pink all-in-ones were soon running onto the veranda. Big hugs and kisses followed. The white suit climbed onto the veranda and approached him. She kissed him on the mouth.

The two kids bomb-burst past them. I moved the telescope. Mr Lover Man and Genghis moved into the frame. Genghis pretended to box with them as they jumped up at him.

I now knew the other reason Frank didn’t want anyone to know about Tracy and Stefan — including his wife. I’d traipsed around enough galleries and checked out enough Russian family portraits during my culture fest to know about male primogeniture.

The State Tretyakov Gallery was the first place Anna had dragged me to. Sixty-two rooms, 150,000 works of art. That was a week I’d never get back. Most of it was a blur, but it was impossible not to notice that it was all about the boy. The first-born male was top dog, the only one that mattered. The girls could only inherit if there were no males in the way.

Stefan’s job would be to continue Frank’s newly founded dynasty. He’d be the first of a new generation of Russian billionaires who wouldn’t know a lot about the journey their dads had taken out of old Russia, just as the old American robber barons, like the Rockefellers and Vanderbilts, had drawn a veil over what they’d done to trouser their fortunes.

I watched as they disappeared into the chalet, then waited a couple of minutes, but nobody came out again. I jumped back into the Merc and pointed towards the high ground. ‘Those chalets up there — are they the rented ones?’

Jacques turned in his seat. ‘Yes. For the party. Every hotel in Courchevel is full.’

‘Let’s get back to the helicopter. But not the way we came. Through the town. Does that work for you?’

‘Yes, of course.’

He drove further into the resort.

‘By the way, Jacques, aren’t you going to ask me?’

‘I have a new rule, sir. I only speak when I’m spoken to.’

‘Go on. Just this once.’

‘Thank you, sir. So, does it have a pool?’