Crash Course

by Derek Fee

  “Okay, Doc. You got two days max. Get inside and find me something. Anything that ties Barrett and Safardi to drugs and money. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Doc said. “I’m still not happy.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Tom pleaded.

  “I do. By Wednesday it’ll all be over. We’ll have Safardi and Barrett dead to rights. You’ll have what you wanted and Davenport can terminate the operation. All round it’s the best solution.”

  “Good luck,” Tom said and held out his hand.

  “Don’t worry.” Kane clasped Tom’s hand. “It’ll all go like clockwork.”

  “Take care, mate.” Doc slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Tell Morweena that I had to leave on some urgent business. I’ll try to stay in touch.”

  Kane closed the door behind him. With a bit of luck, it would all be over on Wednesday and maybe he could begin a new life. He wanted desperately to believe that he had a chance.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The Gulfstream began its descent after they passed Granada giving a spectacular view of the Sierra Gorda and the Serranía de Ronda rising high above the coastal plains.

  Kane had spent the relatively short flight from Nice airport sleeping in his comfortable chair. He had already decided that private jet was the only way to travel. Plied with every drink on the market and blessed with legroom that any executive would kill for Kane had found the trip to Malaga very much to his liking though Safardi hadn’t exactly been good company. He had spent the trip from the Majestic to the airport and virtually the entire flight on the phone speaking in what Kane took to be Arabic, French and Spanish. In fact, the only language that Safardi had studiously avoided was English. Kane was still completely in the dark as to what the sheikh had in mind and what his business might be. However, it was evident that the young Arab was a busy individual. The hostess acted more like a secretary bringing Safardi a seemingly unending stream of documents during the flight.

  Kane looked out the window as the tiny jet swooped between the breath-taking but barren mountain ranges of the Sierras and the coastal plain before descending further to run parallel to the sandy coast making a final approach to Malaga airport. The Gulfstream landed gently and taxied slowly along the runway before slotting neatly into a pre-arranged location in the private section of the airport. As the pilot cut the engines, a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud pulled away from the shade of a hangar and parked alongside the stationary jet.

  Safardi terminated a call as the jet came to a halt. He handed the phone to the hostess and unbuckled his seat belt. “We’re here.”

  The hostess released the door and pushed down the steps. A stream of warm sunlight immediately flooded the cabin.

  “I love the climate here,” Safardi said. “After so many years spent in the cold north, I’ve come to appreciate the south of Spain. In many ways, it is like my own country.”

  “Which is?” Kane asked. He had taken his carryall from the hostess at the top of the steps. Safardi didn’t appear to have his luggage.

  The Latin equivalent of the heavyweight champion of the world jumped out of the passenger seat of the car and held the door of the rear compartment open. He was dressed in white chino trousers and a Hawaiian shirt open to the waist. Three strings of gold chains hung from his neck and dangled above a thick matt of black hair on his chest.

  “Emirate of Hawat,” Safardi said handing his briefcase to the bulky individual holding the door and climbing inside. “Gracias, Jaime.”

  “Never heard of it,” Kane handed his bag to the muscle-bound retainer and climbed in after Safardi, taking a seat beside him. He looked at the man’s pug visage. It was the colour of dark mahogany. The nose was flattened against the face which had a faintly Polynesian look. As he examined the face a pair of coal-black eyes stared back at him.

  “I’m not surprised,” Safardi said as Jaime closed the door and retook his place in the passenger seat. “If Allah had blessed us with huge pools of oil you would undoubtedly have heard of my poor country. However, he ended one pool of oil at our northern border and began the next several kilometres outside our southern border. In between, he blessed us with thousands of acres of sand dunes and little else.”

  The Silver Cloud moved towards the exit from the airport. At the exit gate, the guard moved smartly to ensure that the progress of the car was not impeded.

  Kane looked out the window as the Roller left the precincts of the airport and headed west following a sign for Torremolinos. High-rise apartment buildings and hotels blotted out the view of the sea and climbed the steep slopes which would eventually culminate in the Serranía de Ronda.

  “Where to now?” Kane asked.

  “My home,” Safardi said, before picking up the phone in the rear of the car and dialling a number.

  Kane settled himself back into the deep plush leather seats. He’d had his measure of conversation from Safardi.

  The whole area along the coast was one continuous line of buildings. Gaps between the apartment buildings and hotels had been filled with souvenir shops, restaurants, launderettes, supermarkets and every other imaginable kind of commerce. The barren countryside became apparent only on a small stretch of road between Benalmádena and Fuengirola. The developers had not yet reached this section of road and small, white, hilltop villages could still be seen nestling in the brown sea of sun-baked mountains. Towards the sea, rocky crags shot skywards. Giant stalagmites waiting for the crash of the developer’s iron ball to accomplish what erosion had failed to do in thousands of years. They passed through Fuengirola and continued towards Marbella. In the centre of Marbella, the Silver Cloud turned right up a winding hilly road. Kane looked out the window and saw a sign indicating Ojén. Several minutes later the Rolls turned off the narrow road and stopped before a large iron gate set into a two-metre-high continuous concrete wall.

  “Home sweet home?” Kane said as the Roller stopped before the gates.

  Safardi looked away from the phone but didn’t answer.

  Welcome to Strangeways, Kane thought, as the driver opened the electronic gates with a remote control.

  They wound their way along a short palm-lined driveway until they reached a huge two-storeyed hacienda-style white building.

  Safardi finished his conversation. “So much business and so little time,” he said, waiting for the retainer to open his door. “My humble abode.”

  Kane knew nothing about the value of real estate on the Costa del Sol but he knew that he had to be looking at many millions of pounds of bricks and mortar.

  Jaime slipped agilely from the passenger side and moved quickly to open his boss’s door.

  “When do I go to work?” Kane asked.

  “All in good time.” Safardi got out of the car. “All in good time. First, we should get to know one another.” He marched towards the door of the villa with Kane two steps behind him. “You have a mobile phone? Of course, you do. Give it to Jaime.”

  Jaime held out his hand. Kane knew if he didn’t produce his phone Jaime would grab him by his ankles and shake until it fell out. He put the phone into Jaime’s open hand.

  “You’ll get it back,” Safardi said.

  The entrance hall of the hacienda was enormous, heavy wooden Spanish chests lined the walls, and the white marble floor slabs were dotted here and there with Moroccan carpets. Oil paintings of stern-faced conquistadores hung from the white walls.

  Kane followed Safardi into a large living room furnished on the grand scale. Classic furniture by Sheraton and Chippendale littered the room whose main feature was a vast picture window which looked down over the hacienda’s swimming pool and beyond to the town of Marbella and the blue Mediterranean Sea.

  “It’s a beautiful view, is it not?” Safardi said staring out the window. “It’s no wonder the whole of Europe wants to live in this little corner of the Garden of Eden. It is a pity that you have only one day to enjoy it. Tomorrow you must be on your way but we can discuss that later. At d
inner perhaps.”

  Kane came to stand beside Safardi. The water in the swimming pool was deep blue and inviting. He looked beyond the pool and saw two men patrolling the perimeter of the villa’s grounds. They both cradled Uzis.

  “You’re a little top-heavy on security,” Kane said.

  “Spoken like a true Para officer. There wouldn’t be any security if I didn’t need it.”

  “How come you know about me and the Paras?” Kane asked.

  “You don’t honestly believe that I would bring you here to my home and offer you the possibility of earning large sums of money if I hadn’t already checked you out. I operate in a very delicate industry where one does not advertise for employees in the daily papers.”

  A tall, bearded servant in Arab dress, approached with a tray and laid it on a coffee table situated before the only couch in the room. He bowed to Safardi and then left.

  “Please, some refreshments. It is the Arab way.” Safardi sat on the couch. “I ordered you a beer.” He passed Kane a bottle of export Carlsberg and lifted a whisky and soda.

  “You drink alcohol?“

  “Doesn’t everybody. That non-alcohol bullshit is only for peasant consumption. Every educated Arab indulges in a little drinking now and then. Some individuals in high places in exceptionally strict Moslem countries have been known to indulge themselves very often indeed. The religious police are only for the lower classes and, of course, the foreigners.”

  “You had me checked out. Satisfied?”

  “So far, yes. But I still must see how you perform in my service. Normally people come on personal recommendations.” He called sharply. “Jaime, Pedro.”

  The words were barely out of Safardi’s mouth when two men blocked the doorway. The second man, Pedro, was thinner and smaller than Jaime but there was a look in his narrow copper-coloured face which Kane recognised as being infinitely more menacing than the bland look of his friend. Pedro’s black eyes were as dead as any that Kane had seen. He wore a white silk shirt and blue jeans. The obligatory gold chains covered his scrawny hairless chest. His face was less Asian than his companion’s and bore a greater measure of the blood of the conquistadores. He didn’t particularly like the look of either man.

  “Meet Jaime and Pedro.” Safardi smiled. “Although you may think that my employees are Spanish, they are not. They hail from Colombia and were recommended to me by a good friend in Medellín who is now unfortunately deceased. You have heard of Pablo Escobar no doubt.”

  “You’ve got me there,” Kane lied.

  “I forgot that you have spent the last ten years in a sort of hibernation. Escobar was the drug king of Medellín. At one time he had a turnover several times the GNP of the country in which he lived. Jaime and Pedro were the best of the best. They had been in the employ of the cartel since the age of six. People with such a developed pedigree are difficult to find. But once located they must be nurtured.”

  Kane looked at the two men in the doorway and for the first time, he felt a pang of doubt that things would go to plan. He could well believe Safardi’s assertion that they were the best among the best. He had no intention of tangling with them.

  “You can go,” Safardi said to the two Colombians. “Now you must forgive me. I have business to attend to but we will talk at dinner. Hassan.”

  The tall Arab in the dishdasha reappeared.

  “Show Mr Kane to his room,” Safardi said. “You are free to use the pool and wander the grounds as you please but do not try to go beyond the perimeter. The guards have orders to stop anyone trying to enter or leave the estate.”

  “I think I’ll crash out. What time is dinner?”

  “We’ll meet here at seven. Happy dreams.”

  Chapter Forty

  “I don’t believe this is happening,” Morweena said looking around Kane’s empty room. “He disappears after every race without a single word to anyone. I wonder, does he have a secret life, maybe even a wife and family.” She looked accusingly at Tom and Doc who seemed to be standing a little too close to each other.

  “Honestly, lass,” Tom blustered. “This time we haven’t a clue where he’s got to. You know the way it is. He was all hyped up for the race and now there’s a let-down. He’s probably wandered off somewhere to sleep off last night’s hangover. And, as his uncle, I assure you there is no wife and family.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that I’m being lied to. I’m a big girl so if there’s something that I should know, I’d prefer to hear it now and not later. There’s been something beneath the surface ever since Mark and Doc joined the team. Nothing obvious, mind you, but something not quite right. Will someone let me in on your little secret?”

  “Morweena, Morweena, Morweena, we’re being honest. We don’t know where Mark is. The lad is a little unstable.”

  She nodded.

  “Well there it is then,” Tom said in his most fatherly tone. “Excitement of the race. Too much drink. It was probably too much for the lad.”

  “Morweena, darling, so this is where you’ve got to.” Amanda strode through the open door.

  “Mother. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “That stupid man I happen to be married to insisted that I come here and monitor you. I’m fed up telling him that now that you’re of age there’s no point in involving himself in your affairs.”

  “Oh, Mother…” Morweena collapsed into her mother’s arms.

  “Out you two,” Amanda said over her shoulder.

  Tom and Doc beat a swift retreat.

  “I hope he’s worth it,” Amanda said stroking her daughter’s hair. Morweena was a strange mixture of sensitivity and strength. She had inherited much from both of her parents.

  “He is,” Morweena whimpered. “I know he is. But he exasperates the hell out of me.”

  “Learn to live with it, darling. They’re all a bit like that. What exactly is the current problem which your esteemed team manager couldn’t solve?”

  “Mark has disappeared.” Morweena had pulled herself together. “Not for the first time I might add. He did a runner right after the race at Sorrento and now he’s done one again. The last time Tom went with him but this time he’s gone solo.”

  “And?” Amanda sat in the room’s easy chair.

  “There’s something I’m not being told. I can sense it.”

  “Come now, darling. You can’t honestly expect to know everything about a man after only knowing him for a few weeks.”

  “I already know quite a lot.” Morweena filled her mother in on her conversations with Kane.

  “Interesting. But don’t you think that you’re over-reacting. I heard about Graham’s accident and I’m ashamed to say it but I wasn’t sorry. He treated you shamefully but I don’t think that Mark is cut from the same cloth.”.

  “It’s too bloody weird this disappearing act. Having a wife or girlfriend fits the pattern perfectly. A week away with the Penhalions, then back to base for a bit of a kiss and a cuddle. Damn it, I hate the bastard.”

  “Jumping to conclusions a bit, aren’t we? There’s probably a perfectly logical explanation Have a bit of faith for God’s sake.” Amanda stood and hugged her daughter. “In a few days, you’ll think back on this and think what a silly fool you were for upsetting yourself like this.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m bloody angry and I’m going to keep an eye on Tom and Doc. If they’re up to something then I want to know about it.”

  “That’s my girl.” Amanda led her towards the open door. “I’ll pump David and maybe together we can get to the bottom of this disappearance business. In the meantime, I could murder a glass of cold white wine.”

  “Make that a bottle and I’ll join you.” Morweena linked her mother’s arm.

  “Done.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Kane entered the large living room of the villa at seven o’clock exactly. He felt completely refreshed. The booze had worked its way out of his system and he was his old self. Except he wasn’t qui
te sure whether his old self would be standing in the living room of a villa in Marbella, a virtual prisoner and weaponless. He had a complete memory of the events of the day from the moment he had woken up but he still could not explain fully to himself why he had rushed to accept Safardi’s offer. He was miles away from Tom and Doc and any assistance they might offer. Davenport would be fit to be tied when he heard that he had gone with Safardi without checking with the hierarchy. Going rogue wasn’t appreciated at the Met. Doc was right, there were established protocols and he had broken them all. Where did that leave him? He was alone. He had no weapon and was surrounded by armed guards including two Colombians who looked like they ate human remains for breakfast. He had dealt himself a shitty hand and now he would have to ante up and play the cards as they fell.

  “Ah, Mark.” Safardi looked up from a desk in the corner of the room. He was dressed in a white dishdasha and could have stepped straight out of reel one of the ‘Sheik of Araby’. “Please come in.”

  “All work and no play.” Kane nodded towards the papers on the desk.

  “Something like that.” Safardi moved to the coffee table in the centre of the room and poured two generous whisky and sodas. “And I owe it all to the British.” He handed one of the drinks to Mark. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” Kane tipped the Arab’s glass. “How come?”

  “The British came to my poor country after the Second World War.” Safardi motioned him towards the sofa and both men sat down. “You see they did not know that Allah played a cruel joke on my country. They were sure that if there was oil to the north and oil to the south there had to be an enormous pool in the middle. My father was a nomad. He prized camels, money, and women, in that order. The British oil company bought the rights to drill on our soil for a pittance. In order to cement this ‘special relationship’ with my country, they agreed to educate the second son, myself. I was packed off to Eton and then Winchester and finally Oxford. They made a perfect English gentleman of me. And all the time the holes they drilled hit nothing but dust. Then they sent me to the London Business School to study British management techniques. While I was there, the oil companies finally gave up on Hawat. When I graduated at the top of my MBA class, I had to seek employment. Returning to Hawat to start a rent-a-camel business didn’t appear inviting, so I set to making money in the way my ancestors had. I became a trader. And like so many before me I am an enthusiast for the trading game.”