The man holstered his gun and undid his trouser belt. ‘Untie the girl,’ he said.
At that moment, a lifetime too late, the door to the loft was smashed off its hinges.
As the gunman turned, a high-velocity bullet punched through his forehead, knocking him off his heels. His head exploded.
The sound of the shot still rang deafeningly in the air as his dead body slid down the wall.
The other kidnapper took a step towards his partner before three shots from the semi-automatic weapon cut him down. He crashed to his knees, tumbled sideways, dead before he hit the floor.
A fine mist of red seemed to hang in the air for a moment and then a tall man stepped through it, lowering the gun that he was holding in a two-handed grip.
He looked down at the girl with desperately sad, apologetic eyes.
‘You’re safe now, Hannah,’ said Jack Morgan.
Chapter 2
Seven years later. Somewhere over the Atlantic.
My name is Dan Carter. I run the London office of Private International.
At that moment I was sitting in first class on my way to New York to meet with my boss. I’m ex-military – ex-Royal Military Police, to be specific. Late thirties. Shade over six foot, dirty blond hair, blue eyes; 185 pounds in weight. I can run the mile in under five minutes and bench-press 240. I could build up to more but I like the way my suits fit me just fine. In my line of work it’s not all about brute strength. I don’t scare easily.
But I don’t like flying.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said would you like another drink, sir?’ asked the air hostess. She had a smile that could have lit the pitch at Wembley Stadium but I wasn’t even registering it. Like I said, I’m not a good flyer. The man I was on my way to meet was. But then, he was an ex-military pilot. Served his time in Afghanistan. Jack Morgan who owned Private worldwide. Hell – Jack Morgan was Private!