Page 76 of Savage Reckoning

Megan is instantly leaping to the boy’s defence. “He’s only a kid. A confused, lonely kid. He wants to stay, make a go of it here, with us. And he did come straight to us when he stumbled on that contract. You can’t kill him now.”

Ethan’s features are like granite, and his gaze is nothing less than arctic. “Just to be clear, I can do what the fuck I want. But I’ll hear what the rest of you think before deciding.”

Jack is first to declare. “I was ready to give him a chance. We could start his education with a good battering, to point out the trouble he’s put us to and discourage him from fucking up again.”

Rome agrees, but he’s less keen on kicking the shit out of the lad. “I think he’s learned his lesson.”

Tony just shrugs. “I quite like him. He’s a bit weird, but who isn’t?”

“He could make us a lot of money,” Aaron points out, always with an eye to business.

“What do you think, Mr Sawyer?” Ethan regards me with interest.

I haven’t given the matter much thought before now, but the answer seems fairly obvious to me.

“I don’t think he’ll ever make a soldier, however much you train him. Teach him to handle a gun, obviously, and to look out for himself. But his place is at a desk, with a laptop. He reminds me of your sister. If she’d agree to work with him, they could make a formidable duo. And Aaron’s right. Young Freddie will rake in a fortune for you, if you let him.” I could go on to wax lyrical about boundaries and role models, but I think I can safely leave that to Megan.

“Jed?” Ethan turns to his brother-in-law.

The Irish mob boss pours himself a glass of water before offering his opinion. “I have a vested interest. If you have your own tech wizard here, you won’t be constantly calling on mine.”

“Don’t rely on it,” Ethan mumbles.

“For what it’s worth, Casey rates him. He wouldn’t be with her now if she didn’t. She’s no bleeding heart, and she won’t suffer fools.”

Ethan strokes his chin. “True enough. Okay. It’s decided. He can stay. And we can leave his pretty face intact, for now. Jack, can you work something out around his training? I’ll talk to Casey about taking on an apprentice.”

It’s only a little over seven hours since the war conference concluded, and the helicopter is making its second drop-off on the island, crammed with the remaining women and children from Caernbro Ghyll. I watch proceedings from the window of Megan’s cottage.

“Who are they all?” I ask.

She comes to stand beside me and peers around my shoulder. “That’s Jenna, Tony’s girlfriend. And the boy is young Robbie. They foster him.”

I recognise the blonde as Ruth, Jack Morgan’s wife. I briefly met her baby daughter on the memorable occasion of my one and only visit to the nursery. I also recognise the three trafficked women, though they look rather better now than they did a couple of weeks ago. Decently dressed, well fed, bruises all but entirely faded. I gather they’re the ones with nowhere and no one, really, to go back to. I daresay they face an uncertain future, but at least they’ll have some say in it.

“That’s Janey, another of Ethan’s waifs and strays. Obviously, you know my aunt Jacqueline. The rest are the women and children who normally stay here on Caraksay.”

In all I count five children of various ages, a toddler, and two babies. There are six women, too. There is much hugging and kissing on the wooden jetty as they clamber on board the shuttle boat. The only females remaining are Casey and Megan, the rest are packed off on the luxury yacht bound for Eastern Europe.

The operation is smooth and efficient. I can’t help wishing we’d been half as competent when Kabul fell to the Taliban. The evacuees are ferried across to the yacht, which sets sail within the hour. I can still hear the distant shriek of the horn, even after the mast has finally disappeared over the horizon.

By common consent, those of us remaining congregate in the kitchen at the castle. We help ourselves to whatever’s in the fridge and keep a pot of coffee constantly bubbling. Most of the men are pretty much glued to their phones, presumably texting their wives and children. It’s the lull before the storm and is shattered when Casey clatters in, her new protégée at her heels.

“We did it,” she announces to the room in general.

Ethan uses his elbow to clear a space on the huge oak table for her to deposit her ever-present laptop. “Tell us.”

She doesn’t sugar-coat it. “The purchaser is—was—Jerome Archer.”

Aaron lets out an expletive. “Not possible. He’s dead. I shot him myself.”

“Yes. My guess would be you walked in on him just as he was trying to finalise the deal.”

“But we—”

Tony interrupts. “He was on his computer. Do you remember? We found him in his study. It was open in front of him.”

“I don’t suppose any of you thought to check what the fuck he was doing?” Ethan growls.

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