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Chapter 72
DouglasSalt’s house was the strangest Poe had ever seen. In Hemel Hempstead, it was unapologetically modern. It was one storey high, but had three subterranean levels. There were no bricks and mortar above ground, just steel and fortified glass. All rectangles and squares and other shapes not found in nature. The computer-controlled solar panels on the flat roof tracked the sun’s progress throughout the day. An eight-foot wall ringed the house. It was topped with wicked-looking razor wire. The gardens were landscaped and extensive. A blue Jaguar I-PACE and a green Porsche Taycan were parked in the drive. A small, eave-mounted camera followed their progress. Poe winked at it.
‘He might be a greedy bastard, Tilly,’ he said, pointing at the cars, ‘but at least he cares for the environment. Both of these are electric. Probably why he keeps them outside. Needs the good publicity.’
After Poe had explained his plan, Flynn had met with their boss, Director of Intelligence Edward van Zyl, to discuss the resources he’d requested. In the meantime, she had asked Poe to make contact with Douglas Salt. He had taken Bradshaw and no one else. Working on the assumption Flynn would persuade Van Zyl, he had already made the required calls. Everyone had said yes.
Salt’s front door was polished steel, more like the entrance to a vault than a home. It had a keypad and a biometric scanner. Poe pressed the discreet intercom button. He wasn’t surprised to get an immediate answer.
‘Identification, please,’ a man’s voice said. ‘There’s a camera built into the door. Hold them up.’
They did.
‘Well, thisiscurious. Why would the National Crime Agency be bothering a private citizen? Please wait while I validate your identities. I have already photographed your faces; if you’re not who you say you are, youwillbe arrested for impersonating police officers.’
‘Dickhead,’ Poe muttered.
‘This intercom is incredibly sensitive and records all conversations, Sergeant Poe. I do not appreciate being called a “dickhead”.’
‘Whoops,’ Poe said. ‘Please accept my apology.’
‘Iwouldaccept your apology, Sergeant Poe, if I wasn’t watching you doing the masturbating gesture.’
Poe reddened. ‘Who is this clown?’ he whispered to Bradshaw.
‘My name is Douglas Salt,’ the voice said through the intercom.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Poe said.
After five minutes Salt said, ‘Your IDs have checked out. Now, please tell me what you want? I assure you I have broken no laws.’
‘We’re here to save your life, Mr Salt. Can we come in?’
‘I arrange my own security, thank you. Death threats are an occupational hazard in my line of work. Now, please, if you don’t mind leaving—’
‘Have you heard of a man called the Botanist?’
‘No.’
‘Well, he’s heard of you.’
The door opened a fraction. Douglas Salt peered through the crack. He was frowning. He clearlyhadheard of the Botanist.
‘You’d better come in,’ he said.
