by Andy Lucas
At that moment, though, he wasn’t in the mood to sit with company. Instead, he ambled down some granite steps to his left and crunched his way across the wide, dark beach until water lapped the shore barely a foot in front of him.
Music wafted faintly across from the hotel behind him but the sound of the waves hitting the beach kept it in the background. The ocean was loud and predictable in motion, yet peaceful at the same time. The air smelled strongly of salt, and of adventure, as he sat down on the sand to look up; pondering the moon and the stars.
He sipped slowly at his drink while the fingers of his free hand dug aimless shapes in the sand. It was the perfect place and time to reflect and he quickly grew lost in thought.
Back in his own room, Hammond was worried. It wasn’t the telephone call that had agitated him – Sarah’s love life was her own affair. No, he was worried because the carefully laid plans designed to recover the missing cargo seemed to be unravelling before his eyes.
He’d heard James leave the suite an hour earlier, followed by Sarah about half an hour later. Now alone, he dug his mobile phone out of his pocket, flipped up the screen, and punched in a pre-set number. The call was recognised at the other end and a familiar voice sounded in his ear.
‘What’s the latest?’ Hammond asked quickly, forcing himself to relax and allow the tension to drain from his shoulders.
Doyle McEntire was used to having to alter plans on the flip of a coin, so he was less agitated than his company accountant; despite having more intimate knowledge of just how dangerous things were looking.
‘Sorry, Max. Wish I had better news but the other side are adamant. Our main contact claims to know nothing about the disappearance. According to him, the plane was left where it should have been and was in perfect working order. He has no idea why it never finished its run, or where it might be now. He suggested treachery at our end but I set him straight there. We both know Charlie was as honest as they come; she would never have double-crossed us.’
‘I agree,’ sighed Hammond wearily, and he meant it. Any treachery had come from an outside quarter, and they were both increasingly aware of who that meant. ‘What do we do about Cathera? I don’t think our man is lying. He’s been running the link with our Russian friends for several years. I trust him.’
‘I agree, but I had to push him a little just to see if he had any idea. As you said, that leaves Cathera and what we do about him.’
‘Do you think he’s found the plane, and Charlie’s body?’ Hammond knew it was almost certain that she was dead; the tracking unit built into her flying boots had been sending its signal ever since the plane vanished. The signal had not moved, even by so much as a metre in all that time. They knew exactly where the aircraft was; getting to it without raising suspicion was the thorn in their side. Hammond didn’t bother to mention the lethal cargo that had been snugly tucked up inside the Harrier’s nose section. Its loss was an enormous problem that didn’t need any discussion.
‘I don’t know,’ McEntire replied truthfully. ‘If he has got his hands on it, none of my sources inside the government are letting on. I pay them well for their ears, and the bonus for information is a good one. No, if he has got the cargo, he hasn’t let it slip to anyone. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t, mind. Just that it’s unlikely. He wants it though, that’s for sure.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My spies tell me that Cathera has acquired the services of a nuclear scientist recently. A stroppy, argumentative woman who’s blotted her copy book with the Ministry of Energy by all accounts. Seems he’s offering her an all-expenses paid trip to the Amazon. And he’s bought himself an abandoned gold mining facility deep within the Basin area.’
‘Now why would he need an expert in handling nuclear material?’ Hammond asked, feeling his heart sink a little deeper. ‘And what has any of this got to do with an old mine?’ It was getting a hell of a lot worse by the minute.
‘I haven’t got a clue at the moment,’ Doyle McEntire admitted slowly, ‘but I will find out, count on it. It doesn’t mean he’s got hold of the stuff yet but he knows it’s there and he obviously has some kind of plan, even if we don’t understand what it could be yet.’
‘You think he would use it? On who? Where?’ Hammond was incredulous at the thought. ‘He wouldn’t dare.’
‘Of course he would,’ countered McEntire sternly. ‘I don’t think he will, but he is just mad enough to use it if he feels cornered. No, he probably plans to sell it to a terrorist organisation with deep pockets; that’s more his style.’
‘We can’t let him do that either,’ argued Hammond, feeling his hackles rise with temper. ‘We’ve spent too long trying to get this shit out of circulation to allow it!’
‘And we won’t, even if we have to kill him. But all this might never happen if we can get the package out of the plane before he finds it. That is our priority.’
Hammond thought for a second, unsure of how to tackle the next subject. ‘Look, Doyle, you’ve left me babysitting this amateur, which is fine for the job in hand but this whole operation could turn really nasty. I think we might have to pull the plug. He’s going to be a liability.’
‘Out of the question,’ dismissed McEntire brusquely. ‘His involvement with Race Amazon is the whole reason we have so much publicity, and why the Brazilian authorities have stumped up such an increase in police and military presence around Manaus. We need the uniforms and guns on the ground to try and dissuade Cathera from making a move against the President, let alone trying to retrieve our package himself. We can’t afford to lose the influence we have down here; our activities must continue. A new leader might not be as sympathetic to our cause.’
‘But if he does make a move, he’s likely to use the race to do it. That could put all the runners at risk, including James.’ He paused, sucking in a slight breath to emphasise his next point. ‘He could be killed; they all could.’
McEntire knew that Hammond was right but there were bigger things at stake than a few lives. If he liked it or not, all the race competitors were expendable. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any problems. He liked James, and his celebrity status had been a godsend for the operation, but this was a dirty business and thousands of lives were at stake. He could not waver.
‘James stays. Keep him in the dark and get him out there racing. I will speak to you if I hear anything more.’
‘Any news about the fire at his flat? He’s bound to ask.’
‘The fire brigade are very good at tracing the root cause of fires nowadays, and they haven’t wasted any time finding out that the fire was set deliberately. An accelerant was used; probably petrol, but their investigators are still finalizing their report.’
McEntire didn’t bother to add that he had applied considerable political pressure to key brigade personnel in order to throw up a smokescreen around the truth. Until the race was over, everyone would be told it was an accident triggered by faulty wiring in the kitchen extractor fan.
‘So, I’m guessing we tell him the results show an accident?’ Hammond knew the way things had to be.
‘You know the score, Max. Just get the race going, make sure the publicity level remains high, and do your job. Just find that damned aeroplane before Cathera does.’
The call was abruptly terminated at McEntire’s end and Hammond tossed the phone dejectedly onto the huge, sumptuous bed that sat in one corner of his room.
‘Sorry, James,’ he apologised in his absence. ‘Orders are orders.’ Pouring himself a large scotch, he resolved himself to his task.
7
‘It’s a beautiful night.’ The cautious voice was the first thing that alerted him to her presence and it occurred to him that she would make a pretty good assassin. He had not heard her approach.
‘It beats London, that’s for sure.’ Half turning, he forced a smile as he took note of her bare feet and clinging black dress, cut just above the knee. Sitting down next to him on the sand, a heady scent of her perfume p
ervaded his senses. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘All for you, so I’m glad you noticed.’ Her smile was natural.
‘A nice thought,’ Pace said, his fingers biting more deeply into the sand. He didn’t trust himself to look at her and stared intently at his excavations instead.
‘Join me on the veranda for a few drinks?’ she asked, touching his arm. He hadn’t expected her touch and jumped slightly. ‘My treat.’
‘I like it here, by the ocean.’
‘Is that a no?’ A flicker of doubt edged onto her face and her stomach lurched at the glimmer of anger she caught lurking behind his eyes. Damn Hammond and damn Tom, she thought. ‘Are you okay?’ she ventured, knowing full well he wasn’t. She needed to fix things quickly, that much was clear.
‘I’m already a few ahead of you,’ Pace conceded, raising his half empty glass. He looked towards her and their eyes locked. He was completely at a loss for what else to say. He needed to stay in control.
‘I’d better catch you up then.’
‘Tall order.’
‘That sounds like a challenge.’
‘Are you game?’
‘Are you?’ she fired back.
‘I asked first,’ he said, suddenly feeling like a five-year old having a playground spat.
‘Now there’s a question,’ she laughed softly.
Suddenly the tension between them cracked, broke and dissolved. Her eyes glinted with reflected starlight and his heart began to race again. She stood up and offered him her hand.
Not sure whether to be angry or excited, Pace allowed her to help him up from the sand with good grace. She didn’t let go of his hand so he left it where it was as she turned and led the way back towards the bright tower of twinkling lights that was their hotel. The building looked magnificent against the starry backdrop of the tropical night.
They chose a small table in the far corner of the patio and Pace was contemplating what to do next when she leaned across the table and planted a kiss, very softly, on his mouth. Then again, this time kissing him harder; cradling his cheek in one hand. The kiss was emotional and lingering, with neither of them willing to break it. Sarah broke it eventually, sat back and regarded him whilst still firmly holding on to one of his hands.
She beckoned a waiter with her other hand, now vacated from his cheek, and ordered a bottle of well-chilled champagne. It arrived within a minute, along with two frosted, tall-stemmed crystal glasses. The waiter expertly popped the cork into a cloth in his hand and filled them both without spilling a single drop.
The liquid fizzed to the very rim of each glass before settling and being topped up. That done, the man discreetly withdrew.
‘My husband, as Max so delicately put it, is my soon to be ex-husband,’ she began slowly. It was the first time he’d heard Hammond called by his first name.
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me.’ Still, if she wanted to, who was he to argue?
‘I know that,’ she said.
She looked at him, sipping her champagne with eyes half closed. He had the slightly unpleasant feeling of being sized up, but for what he knew not. Another kiss and he didn’t really care. The feel of her soft lips, pressing wetly against his own, dulled any deeper thoughts.
‘Tom, that’s my husband, used to work for my father in our old London office. That’s where we met.’ For a second her eyes were covered by a wistful cloud but it quickly passed. ‘He was dynamic, big and strong. Intelligent and, well, just very sexy I suppose.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Already Pace felt irritated but kept his gaze politely interested, nothing more.
‘At thirty-five, he was five years older than me but that didn’t matter. We started going out after a few weeks and he proposed within three months.’
‘He didn’t hang about then?’
‘Neither of us did. I hate to say it now, but it was all incredibly romantic.’
‘Sounds like love.’
‘It was love,’ she agreed. ‘Our only thorn was my father. He was pretty mad when we told him. He figured Tom had abused his position to get to me, and my money.’ She paused, glancing momentarily out over the dark ocean. ‘I didn’t care though. I was madly in love and my father finally had to get used to the idea.’
‘I hope you signed a pre-nuptial agreement,’ Pace smiled, instantly regretting it and mentally kicking himself for obviously saying the wrong thing. Her face hardened and her eyes flashed with temper.
‘That’s just what he said.’
‘A sensible precaution.’ He was committed now and felt a certain curiosity as to the anger he’d seen manifest itself, however briefly. ‘Even if Tom’s motives were totally honourable, your father probably wanted to make sure you were protected.’
‘He was protecting himself more like,’ she retorted, ‘and I’m very pleased about that now. He was mainly just protecting his precious company, and my shares in it.’
‘Shares? In the McEntire Corporation?’
‘Yes. My father gave them to me on my twenty-first birthday. It was his only present. A twenty percent stake for his only child.’
‘That’s quite some gift,’ Pace said. He tried to imagine what kind of monetary value twenty percent of such a vast company would amount to, aside from the power inherent in being a major shareholder. He didn’t know where to start so quickly gave up trying. ‘So you became a director?’
‘No. Well, yes, I suppose. Technically I am a director but the money was enough of a nightmare on its own, if that makes any sense. I’m not a lover of business really, although I’ve become very good at it over the years. I help my father because he’s my father.’
‘All the money in the world and no time to enjoy it?’
‘Something like that, so I became more of a sleeping partner. It’s what suits me. I still work long hours, frequently six days a week, but it tends to be work close to my father, like scheduling, organising and overseeing his personal workload. I leave the politics of big business to him and his management team.’
The people around them had gradually thinned out, disappearing inside in dribs and drabs until very soon they had the moonlit veranda practically to themselves.
‘Everyone has to have a private life though,’ he ventured. ‘Sometimes work can be a way of coping with life so you don’t have to really live it, of avoiding it.’
He was thinking of his own preoccupation with work now. He’d always been there, either working his hours, doing overtime, or sometimes just visiting on his days off. A private life, for years, just hadn’t existed. His only hobby was renting a helicopter once a month and blowing off the cobwebs, cruising up and down the south coast. No women either; none who’d lasted more than a night anyway.
‘Maybe for some people but not me,’ she replied firmly.
‘Look at me, I nearly lost my life a few weeks ago. I was given a second chance and I knew my life had to change, and it has changed. Work must be just one part of my life from now on.’
‘It must have been frightening, thinking you were going to die.’
‘I was dying,’ he nodded, ‘and on the floor of a subway of all places. When I was in the RAF, in some pretty scary places let me tell you, death was all par for the course. I was prepared to be shot down in the service of Queen and Country but the older I get, the less inclined I am to peg out. But now I’m here, with you, in Brazil. It’s absurd.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Sarah countered lightly.
‘You don’t?’ It wasn’t really a question. ‘Okay, so what am I doing? I’m preparing to go into the darkest jungle to play the daredevil cameraman. There isn’t much logic to any of it except the money gives me a future I can control.’ He swallowed some champagne. ‘And, of course,’ he added, ‘I did get to meet you.’
She cocked a questioning eye at him. ‘Is that a good thing or bad? No, don’t answer that. So, you can’t see yourself as an adventurer yet and the race is almost here.’
‘Not really, no. You’ve got to
admit, I hardly fit the bill.’
‘I think you make a surprisingly dashing hero.’
Slightly embarrassed, unsure if she was serious or just playing with him, he pressed her to carry on with her story.
‘Well, where was I? Oh, I know, Tom. Well he’s a director of my father’s company too.’
‘Sorry?’ Had he heard her correctly?
‘It probably sounds stupid but my father gave him a three percent share and a seat on the board when we married. In return, Tom signed away all rights to my fortune if the marriage failed.’
‘That was your father’s idea of a prenuptial agreement?’
‘Carrot and stick.’
‘If he didn’t trust him enough to stay married to you, why give him such a big lump of the company? Isn’t that dangerous?’ Pace knew very little about business but it seemed like an over-payment.
‘Not really,’ explained Sarah, a weak smile forced onto her face. ‘My father retains seventy-one percent ownership all by himself. I have another twenty percent stake, leaving nine percent shared equally between Tom and two other directors. Tom is very good at what he does.’ Her tone was matter-of-fact. ‘The company needs his skills.’
So he’d have money for life, power and prestige, but all within carefully controlled parameters.
‘So?’ Pace steered the conversation back on track with his usual lack of tact. ‘How long were you together?’
Across the table, face softly lit, she flicked her hair behind her ear in a very sensual way. ‘I married at thirty-one and became separated a little over a year later.’ She rammed home her point. ‘We’ve been separated for about the same time again, with a rubber stamp on the divorce due sometime next month. Two years from start to finish.’ That made her thirty-three years old he thought, for no particular reason.
