Page 1 of The Killer’s Mark

Prologue

When Vice Admiral Boyer, RN (retd) died without leaving a will, through the laws of intestacy his estranged daughter, Wendy, inherited his estate. It was not inconsiderable. The vice admiral was descended from money and he had invested it wisely, primarily in companies that had gone on to win lucrative defence contracts.

Wendy hadn’t seen her father for thirty years. Not since he’d attended her mother’s funeral with a woman half his age. Wendy had left the UK and made a life for herself in Japan, where she’d co-founded a high-tech vertical farming business.

When her father’s solicitor called to say the vice admiral had passed away from a pulmonary embolism, her response had been ‘Let that little tramp sort everything out.’ Her solicitor explained that the ‘little tramp’ hadn’t been on the scene for a decade, and as she was Vice Admiral Boyer, RN (retd)’s only living relative, if she didn’t claim the estate, the Crown would.

So Wendy took a flight from Fukushima airport, connected through Tokyo and landed at Heathrow twenty hours later. She hired a car and drove to her father’s estate in Shropshire, where his solicitor met her at the front door. He handed her the keys to the house she’d grown up in and told her that because the value of the estate exceeded £500,000, there would be inheritance tax to pay. When she asked how much tax she would have to pay, the solicitor said he couldn’t yet answer that. He explained that while he had valued her father’s investment portfolio and bank accounts, and had had the house and its contents appraised, there was one thing he hadn’t been able to access – the safe. He had no legal right to open it.

Only Wendy could do that.

So now she was in her father’s private study, which still looked like a shrine to Royal Naval exploits over the last five hundred years, with a safe technician called Matt Gresswell. Matt was from the company that had made and fitted the safe. He had checked his company’s bereavement process and confirmed he was authorised to unlock the safe. Which he did in seconds as he knew the serial number so had brought the correct key with him. When the safe was unlocked, he stepped back and allowed Wendy to open the door.

The safe was mostly empty. There were papers relating to investments that she handed over to her father’s solicitor, and a box of her mother’s jewellery that she would keep. There was a bundle of cash, not more than five thousand pounds, and a first-edition Emily Dickinson. The usual stuff.

There was also something she didn’t recognise.

A slim metal box.

It was the size of a hardback book and looked modern. A small shield was etched on what Wendy assumed was the top. Next to it was a keypad. One to nine. She stared at it in confusion, then passed it to the solicitor. He didn’t know what it was either.

But Matt Gresswell did.

‘It’s an AegisBox,’ he said. ‘A portable storage device. Extremely secure. They’re used to transport sensitive information.’

‘A safe within a safe,’ Wendy said. ‘How my father liked his secrets. I wonder if he left a will after all.’ The thought didn’t displease her. She found the idea of going through his belongings repulsive. ‘Can we get the code to open it? I have a flight out tonight.’

Matt shook his head. ‘You won’t get the code to open an AegisBox,’ he said. ‘They’re issued by the military. They won’t give the code to a civilian in case there are things inside that could compromise national security.’

‘My father was a vice admiral in the Royal Navy,’ Wendy said. ‘He sometimes worked from home. He must have been issued with it. Forgot to hand it back when he retired.’

‘Or he was gifted it as a leaving present,’ Matt suggested.

‘That would make sense,’ the solicitor said. ‘He was on the board of seventeen defence contractors. And given how closely the public and private sectors work on weapons development, the navy gifting him one of these was a shrewd move. Defence contractor secrets often become military secrets.’

‘That’s good news then,’ Wendy said. ‘The contents might be commercially sensitive, but we won’t be breaking the law if we force it open.’

‘You’ll still need the code,’ Matt said.

Wendy studied the AegisBox. It looked sturdy, but then so did piggy banks. ‘I’m sure you have a crowbar in your toolbox.’

‘I do,’ Matt agreed. ‘But you’re missing the point. These things are tamper-proof. If we force it, or if too many incorrect attempts are made to unlock it, it destroys the contents.’

‘How?’ the solicitor asked.

‘Acid, fire or shredding usually. This model uses acid.’

‘We have no way of finding out what’s inside, then?’ Wendy asked.

Instead of confirming this was the case, Matt picked up the AegisBox and looked at the back of it. ‘I have a friend who works for the company that makes this model. She might be able to provide an override code.’

‘How much?’ the solicitor asked. Help like that was never free.

‘Five thousand to her,’ Matt replied immediately. ‘Three to me.’

‘Pay him,’ Wendy said.

The money landed in Matt’s account an hour later, the same time that the AegisBox’s override code appeared on his mobile. He wrote it down on a slip of paper.