"Do you have children?"
"Neither have nor want. I'm not the maternal type Roy, too selfish really. Robert, my husband keeps trying to suggest it would make our relationship but with the demands of work I rarely see him now, he's hardly a husband so I can't really visualise him being all paternal. No, I'm happy as I am."
Roy lifted his hand and turned her face before planting a fuller kiss, this one on the lips. Instinctively she felt as though she must pull away and look hurt before continuing. She did and it had the result she had hoped for. She then returned his kiss. They stood on the balcony, his tongue touching her lips gently, exploring as if testing the ground. To his amazement she responded, penetrating deeply into his mouth. She felt him grow against the light cotton of her shorts. She pulled away.
"I'm sorry, Roy," she hung her head." Much as I'd love to, we shouldn't, I'm sorry. It was my fault."
Roy was flattered if not confused but the pleasure had left him unhurt. He took her hand and led her back through the house and to the garden. "Let's move into Girne. Are you ready to eat?"
Pippa nodded and smiled. "Thanks for understanding." The coquetry unseen, the thought of the Portia Spider came into her head. She knew she was doing her job well.
She linked Roy's arm as they walked to the car. The drive into Girne was straightforward, Pippa followed the signs. She pulled up on the front, the Dome Hotel to their left.
"I know just the place," muttered Roy as he climbed from the car.
They walked along the sea wall to the old harbour, it was growing dark and a chill had blown in from the sea. They rounded the corner and Roy directed her to a large busy restaurant and chose a small table for two in the corner. Roy ordered drinks and was surprised when Pippa insisted on driving home after he had offered; she wanted the alcohol in Roy not herself. The meal was good and so was the dancer who wiggled and strutted to cheers and applause. Surprisingly, Pippa enjoyed it and found it quite a turn on. She had never witnessed a real belly dance before.
It was 9.30 when they left and started the drive back. As they approached Famagusta Roy suggested she drop him at the monument.
"Will you come back to the hotel for coffee and drinks? The bar is lovely and it's too early for home."
She did not need to ask twice. She collected the key and left Roy in the bar whilst she went to her room for a sweater. On the bed was a book. She had not remembered leaving one there. She collected her sweater and picked up the book, "The Merchant of Venice". On the flyleaf Bob had written: To the Black Widow, much love and appreciation. She laughed out loud.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bob had entered Roy's apartment without difficulty and the shuttered windows afforded him the privacy he needed. His search started in the kitchen, he felt sure that the computer was somewhere there. He carefully checked all cupboards and drawers but without success; it was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated, particularly as his imagination kept returning to the moves being played out in the hotel.
***
"It’s been a lovely day, thanks. You'll never know just how much I've appreciated your company. You must be tired? I’ll be leaving."
"I'm sorry about earlier today Roy. I guess I was caught a little off guard."
"Don't worry about that. As I say it's been lovely."
"Will you see me to my room. We have some unfinished business?" Pippa took him by the hand and Roy made no protest. They took the lift and as the doors closed she stretched and kissed his lips tenderly. "If I could wind back the clock I would," she breathed.
Roy took the key from her and opened the door. They moved inside and locked it. Pippa switched on the bedside light and looked across at Roy and smiled. Slowly she unbuttoned her cotton blouse and slipped it from her shoulders.
***
Bob tapped the backs of all the cupboards until he found the one. He carefully moved the backing and slid his hand behind it. His fingers wiggled in the darkness for a touch and there it was. The fit was tight, giving little opportunity to get a firm grip, but he eventually moved it closer until it emerged into the light. The computer was his. He now had to ensure everything went back just as he had found it; that was the easy bit. One final check and he switched off the lights and left the building.
***
Pippa moved gently above Roy her breathing fast as a rivulet of saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth and fell on Roy's chest. The phone rang.
"Roy, Roy!" gasped Pippa as she moved with greater force almost in time with the ringing phone. Her body convulsed and stiffened in orgasm as the phone fell silent. They both lay there. Roy's eyes were closed. Pippa was awake, staring at the ceiling. She felt dirty, Bob's words rang through her mind, ‘You're going to screw the poor bastard and then bugger off.’ She turned to look at Roy, his body relaxed. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry, Roy. I'm sorry."
***
The sun splashed yellow throughout the room and the fine white curtains blew like wisps. It was the sound of the door closing that made Pippa wake. Roy had gone. Next to her was a note. "Thank you for a lovely day. If you’re free tonight I'd like to see you. Have a good rest. Give me a ring 54391. Roy."
She slipped her legs out of bed and the musky smell of sex surrounded her. She had to shower, to cleanse herself of the act. The phone rang again, this time she answered it.
"Hello."
"Bingo, Pippa, Bingo! We've got it!"
"Good," was all that Pippa said and replaced the receiver. She tore up the note.
Within half an hour they had arranged the pick-up point and time and by lunch they would be on the Greek side of the island. Mr and Mrs Mason would not be seen in the hotel again, they would check out, drive towards Salamis and make contact with the convoy. Both hire cars would simply be left outside the hotel and payment made to Reception. A taxi would drop them at the desired location. The computer would be safely stored and its secrets soon known to all.
***
Jim Bentley had made the most of his time in Cyprus but was now beginning to feel restless. He had not received any communication. His consolation was the weather, which was kinder than that of home, and he was paid very well. However, he would not have much longer to wait.
The palmtop retrieved from the kitchen was handed to the main computer experts based at RAF Akrotiri and with their skill it took little over twenty-four hours to hack into the system, break the passwords and extract the information. The detail found was staggering as it gave a clear indication of the devices, their nature and those with anti-handling mechanisms. The information was sent along a secure line to GCHQ and from there to ACPO where it was immediately acted upon. Bomb disposal sections of both military and police responded and the careful process of making the devices safe began.
Sam Phelps and his team were allocated three intended targets and were issued with the relevant details. At pre-determined times, the motorways would be closed late at night to cause the minimum disruption. He personally was relieved that the GULF’s bombs were about to be terminated. The successful retrieval of the information, he believed, had been through Joan's co-operation. He thought of the last time he had seen her, the distress she had gone through and the smile as he left. It made him stop what he was doing. He would call round to see her, to thank her personally.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Roy woke late and felt excited. He lay, still dressed, looking at the ceiling and whistled to himself. He tossed in his mind the culmination of what had been a perfect day, eager to re-live every sound and every feeling He went for the telephone directory, found the number of the hotel and dialled. It was answered in Turkish.
"Please connect me with Mrs Mason, room 225."
"I'm sorry, sir. Mr and Mrs Mason checked out today, this morning in fact."
"Mr and Mrs Mason, did you say?"
Roy's body stiffened as he crashed the phone down and he ran into the kitchen. He tore off the back of the cupboard scattering glasses that fell
and shattered to every corner of the room. He groped eagerly into the cavity behind the cupboard, the force tearing the skin on his hand.
"Empty! You fucking whore!" He crashed his head against the door in pure frustration and anger as he withdrew his hand, oblivious to the pain and the blood that trickled through his fingers before splashing a pattern on the floor. He could feel the bile rise in his throat and he vomited onto the tiles. It mixed with the droplets of blood as he too slumped to the floor. He had been used; he had not seen through the masquerade, he had been drawn hook, line and sinker. She had flattered him and he should have known, should have suspected something. He could clearly see the coincidences now, but it was too late.
***
Jim Bentley answered the phone in his room. He had just finished his swim and run. He listened and chatted freely as if to a business colleague.
"You will be glad to hear, Jim, we have finalised the business and we only need your signature when you can. I thought you'd be pleased to hear."
"That's joy to the ears, my friend. I should be home soon and we can sort everything out. I'll ring in a day or two." Jim put the phone down and moved to the window, looking at the area where he had placed the target. "We only need your signature," he repeated. He looked up at the case on the wardrobe.
***
The knock at the door made Joan jump, she had finished reading the paper and was about to clear away the breakfast things. The sight of Sam Phelps shocked her. She smiled suddenly.
"How lovely to see you, please ..." She opened the door and Sam entered. He sat in the same chair and she asked the same question.
"No, I've just had a coffee. It's been a long night but I wanted to let you know that we’re in the process of sorting out all of the bombs. The information we received has done the trick. I just wanted to say thanks for your help."
Joan looked across at Sam. The puzzled expression triggered Sam’s response.
"You’ve no idea what I'm talking about have you?"
"Yes, I imagine the computer has been found."
Sam nodded. "And right at this minute the bombs are being stripped and disposed of. I just thought ..." Sam stopped himself as he noticed the look on Joan's face. It was he who put his hand on hers. "It's over and that's the main thing. There should be no more casualties until the next nutter who comes along."
Joan looked up and smiled. "Thank you for letting me know."
Sam stood and moved to the door. Joan opened it and he stepped onto the street.
"I think you've been a very brave woman, Joan, and we have a lot to thank you for." He looked at her and the smile that he had seen on the first occasion returned. He stopped and walked back to the door. "If it's possible, I'd love to see you again, maybe a meal?" Sam took a card from his jacket and handed it to her. "When the time is right and you feel like company it would be my pleasure." He walked back to the car, waved and drove away. Joan looked at the card and moved it to her chest. She knew it would be sooner rather than later.
***
Roy did not know how long he had been sitting in his own vomit but the blood had congealed on his hand and the lights were on in the street; the room was in darkness apart from the dim glow of orange from outside. He stood and cleared up the mess before showering. He dressed casually and checked the flat before locking the doors. The Vitara was parked outside and he walked past it. Tonight, he would get horribly drunk, he would see his real friends.
In his anger he failed to notice the figure who walked behind, stopping to give a clear distance. Even as he trudged through the narrow, ancient streets his pursuer hugged the shadows. Roy crossed the narrow bridge that forded the now dry floor of the moat eight metres below and vanished into the darkness of the ancient gate. The archway, although small, allowed the passage of cars and vans into the old city walls. Jim watched the silhouetted figure move again into the light and he continued to follow after taking a good look over the bridge wall. The music and light from the bar spilled onto the pavement, giving a warm welcome as Roy approached. Soon he was in.
He drank Efes from the bottle followed by cheap whiskey. He laughed with his friends and as he was paying, they drank with him until late; his circle of friends grew as the evening went on. Jim sat at a small, round, metal table, sipping at his beer; he ate pistachio nuts and watched Roy slowly drink away his troubles until he could hardly stand. He paid by dumping money onto the counter, shouted his goodnights and laughed before staggering out. His meandering path took him close to Jim's table which he missed before entering the toilet. Jim followed. Roy stood at the urinal, his head against the dirty wall. His shoes shone as urine splashed the dusty surfaces. Roy turned slowly to look who had followed him in and a yellow stream of piss followed before he corrected it. He uttered some indistinct sound and then placed his head against the wall. Jim said nothing; he entered the cubicle and bolted the door.
Roy staggered from the toilet and out onto the street. Black, wet patches marked his trousers. He tried to focus and balance but did neither well. Jim followed, passed and walked ahead taking the route he had walked earlier in the evening, only this time he stopped in the darkness of the gatehouse arch and waited. His wait was long but he was patient.
The pathetic figure of Roy staggered up the quiet, narrow street. He stopped and vomited occasionally before continuing. His real friends were still back in the bar, he was still alone. He was too drunk to care. Traffic was light; one or two cars passed but paid little attention to the drunk. He tried to whistle to himself but found it too difficult to find a tune and concentrate on his path at the same time. Jim watched; he was nearly there. He moved further into the darkness and settled his backside onto the low parapet wall of the bridge and waited. Roy continued to make progress until he too arrived at the wall which he used to guide himself, keeping safe from the road.
He approached Jim and stopped. He moved his head backwards and forwards as if trying to focus on the object that appeared to block his way. He swayed gently. Jim stood away from the wall and Roy began to move.
"Excuse me, but am I correct in thinking that you are an expert on the destruction of bridges?" Jim's sarcastic tone was wasted on Roy's swamped mind but he did pick out the word bridges and stopped to look at Jim. Roy's face was creased in confusion as his thoughts tried to swim in his soaked mind. He desperately tried to pull himself together, to understand what had been said for he knew it was important. There was a threat, he was not too drunk to ignore that instinct and he felt a sudden chill of fear.
"I believe I’m talking to GULF.” He let the words linger. “You bastard!"
Roy felt Jim's strong arms hit his chest and his head spin as he began to bend backwards out of balance. The bridge wall at his buttocks formed a perfect fulcrum as Jim moved sideways, still applying pressure, and kicked Roy's legs out from the wall with all the strength of his right foot. His arms pushed again and Roy lashed out in a desperate attempt to grasp anything solid but there was only the warm evening air. A shallow scream started to erupt in his throat but this was soon stopped as the acid taste of vomit was forced into his mouth. The streetlights flipped uncontrollably downwards as he fell backwards his arms flailing and feet kicking.
"Goodnight, GULF, goodnight," were the last words he heard but it was doubtful whether his brain unscrambled their meaning. He plunged into the darkness until his head hit the sandy ground, forcing it forward with terrific force. Jim would have heard the neck snap had he been closer but the impact of the body hitting the ground drowned the subtle sound of the break. He saw neither the body twitch nor the trickle of vomit soil the ground around the body. He assumed death had arrived instantly.
Roy's spinal cord had snapped between C1 and C2. He could not feel his body; his arms and legs would not respond and he found his breathing laboured but his eyes still focused on the arch and the outline of the figure leaning over. His mind was suddenly clear as he gasped for air against a paralysed diaphragm. Sweat was the only thing that would run fre
ely and his face grew wet. He tried to scream but he had no control of his voice and he began to choke on the vomit that now flushed into his mouth. The arch of the bridge and the artificial yellow of the street-lit sky grew more dim as the panic swelled in his head. If he could have screamed out loud, the word ‘Joan’ would have been audible throughout the quiet town; he put a final effort into it but a gurgling rattle was all that emerged. Roy's now sightless eyes stared at the span of the bridge; he twitched once more.
Jim walked through the town and back out towards his hotel. He would have liked to have used his rifle but this was cleaner and certainly would be easier to deal with, after all, accidents happen all the time!
***
Roy's body was found in the early morning and it was clear that he had fallen over the bridge. The vomit stained clothing and urine-soaked shoes gave all the clues as to the reason. It would be only later when the pathology report detailed the bruising to the chest cavity and severe grazing to the Achilles' tendons, that they would suspect any kind of foul play.
Jim waited, as his two colleagues had previously, on the main road. Two white UN vehicles approached and pulled up. He handed the case to the passenger, who slid it into a small compartment behind the seats and then climbed into the back. There were a number of boxes and he settled down. He had particularly enjoyed his final run and swim that morning but was ready for home.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Joan stared at the ceiling and felt fully contented. The light wind clashed the blinds against the Venetian bowl on the window ledge; its crystal ring chimed intermittently, unobtrusively. The body next to her oozed warmth and slept. She was fully awake and slipped out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown before walking downstairs. It was 7.14 and the wintry morning was dark and misty. A drizzle fell and coated the cobwebs that draped the few shrubs in the garden with opaque droplets. She marvelled at their structure before moving into the kitchen.
Bridging the Gulf (Aka Engulfed) Page 21
