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155 pages

English

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Harry Stone is a self-made man and has come a long way from his humble upbringing in the East End of London. He is cold and ruthless and the only thing that truly arouses him is the making of money by whatever means he sees fit. He believes it must also be the motivation of those around him - his employees and his enemies alike. Harry Stone does not have friends.When a lucrative property deal in St Lucia goes disastrously wrong Harry finds himself on the back foot, targeted by a vicious Caribbean drug cartel and in fear for his life. Desperate to compensate for his losses, he throws himself into a fresh acquisition with wild abandon. But as he manipulates his PA Claire, who is young and resourceful but out of her depth and never born to be a spy, she severs her vital loyalty with an affair, which leads Harry's deal into deadly results.To make money the way Harry makes it, you need good judgement, and Harry's judgement has been challenged and he is afraid. When does the price of success become too high? Lost loyalty? Extortion? Murder?The bottom line for Harry Stone makes compelling reading

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Publié par	eBookPartnership.com
Date de parution	19 septembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783015221
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0048€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE PRICE
THE PRICE
Ron Welling
Book Guild Publishing Sussex, England
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by The Book Guild Ltd Pavilion View 19 New Road Brighton, BN1 1UF
Copyright Ron Welling 2012
The right of Ron Welling to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.
Typesetting in Baskerville by Keyboard Services, Luton, Bedfordshire
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
A catalogue record for this book is available from The British Library.
ISBN 978 1 84624 798 9 eBook ISBN 978 1 78301 522 1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
1
You built this flash place, man? They tell it s gonna be a hotel. There was no warning as a blur of black that was a face, hard to see in the early evening darkness, appeared at Harry Stone s side on the warm Caribbean beach.
He turned so fast his right foot shot a jet of ink-black water from the sea, soaking his trouser knee. The water was not cold but for a fleeting second Stone felt a jolt.
The voice continued in a low monotone.
This new building needs protection. Hurricanes hit St Lucia. Blow things down, man. But there s worse can do damage than hurricanes.
The tone, threatening and contemptuous, brought hot words to Stone s dry lips.
Who the hell are you? he rasped, peering for features that might identify the person beside him.
Call me Columbus or Drake, the voice said loudly.
Don t play games with me, Stone said, his natural aggression edging his voice with rage.
Me? I don t play games, man. You ll find me dead serious. And if you don t listen you get done. You ll know what that means.
Stone s thoughts flashed to the bloody beatings he had ordered, and once or twice suffered, in a life not always on the right side of right.
This hotel s ready to open for business. And nothing ll stop it. Instinctively Stone turned sharply. He wanted away. But a vice-like grip seized his right arm and spun him round, holding as firmly as if he had been chained to a wall. A long blade glinted and Stone felt a sting at his throat.
He froze, his mind went blank and he found himself speechless. The shadowy face whispered coarsely again as a rain-laden cloud swam low overhead, intensifying Stone s sense of exposure and isolation.
You need to know more, Drake sneered.
What do you want for God s sake? Stone forced through clenched teeth, furious at this insolent assault, the small movement of his throat shooting needles of pain into his neck.
Let s see. Two hundred fifty grand ll buy the protection this showy place needs.
You crazy ? Stone said furiously. I don t have money like that.
What re you on, man? Only the rich could build a place like this. How many million dollars it cost you?
The knifepoint pushed a millimetre into Stone s flesh and he felt the grip on his arm pull him back as if about to slice his throat.
That s none of your nasty business, Stone croaked, determined to keep his nerve and not give way to this brazen bum.
Jus you wait and see, man. I know you people. Millions of dollars swill in your pockets. You drive swish cars. Me and me mates we talk. We know you people got plenty dollars to lose.
Stone thought he could see a second figure crouched under the wide banana leaves fringing the beach and felt a new twinge of fear. He could no longer doubt the danger he was in.
You won t get a cent if you kill me, Stone hissed desperately. You ll get life.
You fraid, man? Drake asked mockingly, close to Stone s ear.
Stone did not answer but winced as he felt the knife prick again.
Leave the bucks in ten-dollar bills sealed in plastic bags near Soufriere two nights from tonight. You ll need the road that goes to the sulphur springs near the volcano. At the slope half a mile from Terre Blanche there s the sign to Martha s Cabin. Put the bags in the long grass where the sign hits the ground. And not before seven. It s dark then. Don be fraid neither, man, the volcano s extinct, don t rupt no more. The taunt maddened Stone as Drake glared boldly at him.
With a grating laugh the knife was removed from Stone s throat as quickly as it had been put there. Drake waved it close to Stone s face making him stumble backwards and the gust of sweat and tobacco from Drake s body made Stone retch.
This point ll cut your throat out next time if you don t do just as I say. Got it, man?
Stone shook with tension. The grip on his arm loosened and Drake stepped back as if about to free him. With his left hand Stone gingerly felt his bleeding Adam s apple, unsure whether to grab Drake or get away himself. He was still lean and tall at sixty, with the heartbeat of an athlete. Yet shoeless on soft sand, and sensing Drake had at least one other thug with him crouched ready among the palm trees, he knew running would get him nowhere. Stone s impulse was to fight. Yanking his arm free he squared to his shadowy attacker.
You better hear this. I don t respond to demands from screwballs like you, he said, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
We ll see bout that. You got two days to get the bucks. If not, you ve problems, man. Big problems. Me and me friends destroy if we don t get what we want. Expect more than a tickle to your throat next time. Drake drew a long forefinger slowly across his throat with a hideous leer. It left Stone in no doubt about his meaning.
Don t be dumb. Banks don t dish out $250,000 just like that. So get real.
Drake pretended not to hear, turned his back and started to walk away. Over his shoulder he said viciously, You ain t seen nothing yet, what we can do on a dark night. And all nights are dark in St Lucia. People like you always get money when you want. And I tell you, you want it now. Real bad. You d better get it and get it quick, man, or you ve had it.
You won t get away with that gangster crap, beach bum. Scum like you never do, Stone called back heatedly. It s a small island and you ll get caught and put in the slammer for a long, long time.
Stone only just caught the soft-spoken reply as Drake walked away.
We know our way around, no problem, Mr Stone. Got friends in London and where we need em here in the islands. So do yourself a favour an don t threaten us. Forget the police, man. They re a joke, and I can buy em anyway.
It was time for Stone to clear out but he was halted by the use of his name. The voice sounded closer again.
An you ll need this, it said.
Something thudded on the sand at Stone s feet.
It s the instructions about Soufriere, where to drop the stash. Get a map and find it. Quick! I said, quick, man!
Stone unwound the paper from the rock and looking up saw the silver glint of a blade trace a bright arc deep in the shadows next to the hotel. He heard a throaty laugh, then there was total silence, or so it seemed to Stone in his jumpy state, before his hearing filled with cicadas soothing, timeless chorus. The rain clouds passed and the moon silvered the beach with calm light as if nothing untoward had happened or ever would.
Stone peered into the palms around the hotel and, seeing no one, allowed a wave of nervous exhaustion to shake him from head to toe in the humid air.
Less than fifteen minutes before, the Caribbean beach had attracted Harry Stone like a magnet. He came to gloat over his triumph, a five-star deluxe hotel built with $3 million of carefully laundered money and soon to be sold on to make the money whiter than Swiss snow. The stylish low-rise structure easily dominated the few banana and palm trees in the newly landscaped garden and was interrupted only by the stately tower that overlooked the beach. It was as if he had built the place with his bare hands and in his mind s eye it was as valuable as some eastern temple covered in a rich tapestry and crusted with gold and jewels. It was not a building, it was money , the only commodity Stone traded in.
Touching the drip of blood at his throat, Stone felt anxious, bruised, alone, oppressed by a mere shadow that had threatened violence. He was amazed at himself. Why was he so easily frightened by a chancer who could menace but had no means to do harm? But the thought detained him barely a second. The dark empty beach was no place to be. He turned away from the hotel and, without a backward glance, stumbled over the uneven sand to the rented silver Mercedes coup he had left on an unmade track. He gasped with pain and frustration as he stubbed a toe and cut his leg on a jutting piece of driftwood. Oddball and loutish Drake might be, but the fear he had so easily and quickly instilled had without warning eroded Stone s steely nerves to snapping point.
Headlights ablaze, Stone wrenched the car into drive and powered erratically at high speed along the empty road to the rented villa in Castries outskirts. Deep potholes jarred his back as the car sped over them. Stone swore and gunned the engine the more, making no attempt to steer clear. It was now a mixture of fear and high octane rage fuelling him.
Fourteen minutes later the iron security gates with spiky tops clicked closed behind him and only then did he feel calm return. He barged