Adrenalin Rush

by Steve Reeder

  As I stepped around an old Renault van I came face to face with three youngsters, all in their late teens.

  “Simon Roberts,” the girl screamed excitedly. “It’s Simon Roberts.” She grabbed my arm. “Simon, I’m your biggest fan,” she said, jumping up and down. Her blouse jiggled delightfully, distracting me briefly.

  “That’s true,” one of the boys said, “my sister has pictures of you all over her bedroom wall.”

  The second boy seemed annoyed to hear this and put his arm around her in a possessive manner.

  She shrugged him off and asked me.

  “Can I have your autograph, Simon? Please?”

  I glanced nervously around. The heavies were not in sight yet, but they could not have failed to hear her excitement.

  “Er – yeah, sure,” I replied. “Have you got a pen and paper?” Both boys shook their heads, but the girl pulled a felt-tipped pen out of her bag and smiled.

  “I don’t have any paper, but you can sign your name on my boobs.” She blushed prettily and handing me the pen she pulled her top up.

  “Kat,” her brother said sharply. “Behave yourself.” She reluctantly lowered the top half way.

  “On my belly then,” she said sulkily.

  I had no time to argue. I scrawled my name across her belly and handed the pen back to her. Her possessive friend scowled at me and taking her by the elbow he steered her onwards towards the grandstands. Kat was tying her top under her breasts so that her belly was on display. I hoped Michele wouldn’t get to see it.

  I turned to go again but Frank Brown stood in my way with one of the heavies. I looked behind me. The suit and the other heavy moved to block my retreat.

  “Hello, Mr Roberts,” Brown said, stepping closer.

  I nodded cautiously. “Frank.” I could feel the other two right behind me now. “How’s MI5 treating you?”

  Brown smiled an evil smile. “Mr Roberts, I think we can dispense with the games now. We both know I have nothing to do with MI5.”

  “Oh. Right then, how’s the Sultan?” He ignored the question.

  “We need to have a chat, Mr Roberts. In private, I think. Yes, privately, that would do nicely.”

  He stood back and waved for me to go ahead of him. I stood still.

  “I’m sure we can talk right here, Frank. In fact I think I’ll wait here for one of your goons to go and fetch Hussein.”

  “I thought we were going to stop playing games,” he snarled. Anger and hatred clouded his face.

  Where the hell was Monty? It was going to get violent any second now and any one of these guys would outnumber me.

  “Look, Frank, we’re in a public car park. You can’t get away with mugging people here,” I said, more optimistically than I felt.

  “Don’t be foolish, Roberts. These men are professionals. They can hurt you in ways you would never dream of, and no one would see a thing.”

  The suit gave me a nudge and when I still didn’t move he shoved me forwards. Somewhat reluctantly, I followed Brown away from where I guessed Hussein’s maroon Mercedes would be.

  Brown stopped eventually by a large truck with “Wilcock Furniture Removals” painted across the body. The side door was half closed but one of the heavies slid it open and climbed in. Brown indicated I should follow. I looked around desperately for Monty or anyone else that could prove to be friendly. No one was in sight. The suit and the remaining heavy picked me up and tossed me into the van. They all clambered in and slid the door shut. The interior was dark and somewhat scary, although that may have had more to do with the large gentlemen with me.

  “Now then, Mr Roberts.” Brown smiled. “Please, take a seat.” He indicated a high-back wooden chair placed in the middle of the floor. It looked suspiciously like the chair I had last seen in Algeria. Trying not to antagonise them too much, I sat down.

  “So, Frank. What’s up?” I asked, trying not to sound too worried.

  “The designs, Mr Roberts. The designs. Where are they?”

  “The designs are safe. The Rodber family is willing to part with both the designs and the patent rights for a paltry sum of five million. Sterling, of course.” I smiled at Brown. He smiled back unconvincingly. He didn’t look happy.

  “I have a counter offer, Mr Roberts,” he said. “If you were to give me the designs, I would undertake not to cause you, or any of your friends, any harm. How does that sound?”

  “I’m sure I could convince Julia and her sister to accept four million,” I said.

  “I think not. My offer stands, Mr Roberts. I will give you precisely seven days, and then I will call you with details on where to deliver them. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Come, Frankie. You’re not playing fair here. The girls have to come out of this with something.”

  “Mr Roberts, I am not playing at all. Fair or otherwise. Mr Daniels here will explain my position more clearly. I leave you in his capable hands.”

  He motioned the other two away. One slid the door open and they climbed out, leaving me alone with the suit. He studied me for a second. I tensed myself, waiting for some sort of onslaught. When it came he was just too good for me. I was face first against the metal wall, my arm twisted behind my back before I knew what was happening. I’m not sure how he did it but I felt a thud on my forearm and I knew it was broken. He stepped back and surveyed the damage he had inflicted. I cradled my arm against my chest. The radius bone was very obviously broken and the flesh around it was swelling fast. Daniels grunted with satisfaction at a job well done and turned to leave. He leapt out of the van and strode away leaving the door wide open. I cursed him softly, my arm held tight against my chest, and sat waiting for Monty.

  “Simon? You there?” Monty peered cautiously into the darkened interior.

  “Right here, Monty. Please tell me you’ve got something worth having.”

  “Actually, yes. I rather think I have. What’s wrong with your arm?”

  “The big geezer broke it. Didn’t you get that on tape?”

  “Disc.”

  “What?”

  “Disc. We don’t use tape any more, Simon. And yes, I got him hitting you. I don’t think we can actually see the blow that, umm, you know, er - did the damage.”

  “No matter, it’ll be enough, I suspect, Monty. Help me out, will you?” I said. “I think I need to see a doctor.” Monty helped me out of the van, while making sympathetic sounds that just annoyed me. “Have you any way of making a copy of the tape, or disc, here at the track?” I asked him.

  “Absolutely, Simon. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll have one for you.”

  “That’s nice, Monty.” The arm was beginning to hurt something awful now. “Meet me back at the Rodber pits. I’m just off to see the medics.”

  Pete looked at me strangely when I reached the pit lane entry gate.

  “Pete, did a smarmy-looking shit with three oversized bastards come back in here?”

  Pete shook his dubiously. “Naa, mate. They got in a new red Jag and tore out of here - nearly knocked down some old biddy what walks wiv a walking stick. Right rude, they were.”

  “Thanks, Pete. Keep an eye open for that bloke in the Merc for me. I’ll be back in half an hour or so, and I’d like it if he were still here, OK?”

  “No problem, Gov. Especially if you were to bring me a cold Coke. Dying of fooking thirst, I am.”

  The medics didn’t actually say they disbelieved my story of falling off the pit bike, but straightened the arm and put it in a splint anyway. I was advised to go to a hospital as soon as I could. I agreed that it would be wise, thanked them for their time and left taking a small plastic bottle of painkillers with me.

  I detoured past the burger stand and arrived back at the gate with three Cokes. I gave one to Pete, handed the second to Monty who arrived just behind me and drank the third one myself. The advert was right: it did seem to add Life.

  Monty had the copy loaded in the digital video cam. I had a quick look. It would do.
/>   “You sure the Merc is still here, Pete?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “You can’t actually see it from here, can you?”

  “No, but it’s still in the lot. I asked Wally on the main gate to call me if he left.” Pete said, holding his two-way radio up for me to see.

  “OK then. Monty, you wait here with Pete. I’ll bring your camcorder back in a moment.”

  Monty wanted to argue the point but in the end he stayed. I strolled towards the main gate as casually as a guy can with one arm in a sling. As I neared the entrance I could see the maroon car parked right up against the fence. There was someone lounging in the back reading a newspaper.

  I opened the back right-hand door and slid in. Hussein looked up, seemingly unsurprised to see me.

  “You took your time, Roberts. Where is Hammil?” he asked casually.

  “How should I know?” I asked. “I’ve had a chat to your boy Brown though.”

  “Really?” He looked surprised at that, which should have meant something to me then but I missed it. “And what did you talk about?”

  “Money. He seems to think what you want is worth less to you than it should be.” Bugger it, now I’m starting to talk in riddles. “Listen, the Rodber women have no objection to selling you the plan, or designs or whatever, but they want a fair price for it,” I said. “But before we go any further, I must tell you that I have a video of Brown and your henchmen kidnapping me, threatening me and breaking my arm.” I gave him the disc. “This is just a copy. Any more threats or violence and a copy goes to the police. Get it?” Hussein raised his eyebrows and nodded.

  “So what is the price then?” he asked.

  “Five million. Sterling.”

  “Too much, Roberts. Two million.”

  “Not a chance, my friend. Four and a half or I’ll take it elsewhere.”

  “Two million five hundred thousand. My last offer.” I opened the door and was half way out when he grabbed my good arm. “Let’s not be hasty, Roberts.” He waited while I settled back. “Let’s cut the bullshit. Four million in cash.”

  I smiled. “Done. Have the money ready in two weeks’ time. Then call me at the farmhouse and we’ll set up a meeting. OK?”

  “Mr Roberts, I can give you the cash tomorrow. Tonight even. Why wait?”

  “One week is the best I can do, mate. The plans are in a safe place and it will take me some time to retrieve them.”

  He did not look happy about it but finally agreed.

  “One week, Roberts. Don’t double-cross me. Here, you can keep the disc. You may still need it.” He said it like a threat, which I chose to ignore, but I should really have been listening more closely. Things are often not what they seem. I closed the door behind me and he went back to reading his paper. I looked at the newspaper more carefully. It wasn’t printed in English but it didn’t look to be Arabic either.

  The broken arm took some explaining and in the end I told only Julia and Michele the whole truth while trying not to let it sound like I had been beaten up. It’s a male ego thing.

  Julia was happy that the whole Hussein saga was coming to an end, but seemed unconvinced that I could produce the missing plans on time. I wasn’t planning to bet my last penny on it either.

  The day’s practice had gone well, with both the riders and the race engineers pronouncing themselves satisfied. Bud suggested optimistically that we could expect two top ten finishers. Even Russell looked a bit dubious at that statement. Brett ignored the whole discussion and went running. I went for a beer to wash down the painkillers.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning I woke early. My arm was proving painful so I popped another two pills. As I lay under the thick duvet, watching Michele sleep, it suddenly occurred to me that I had had enough of racing for the moment. No matter how much you love something, it can get to you sometimes. Perhaps I’d just been getting irritated watching other guys riding the bikes. Maybe I had retired too young. The racing bug that had bitten me all those years ago had not let go just yet. Maybe I just didn’t want to risk running into Brown today.

  Bud was running the team, as well he should be, and I decided I was going to have a day off. I woke Michele to give her the good news. She opened one beautiful blue eye and said quietly.

  “What? No more sex, leave me alone. It’s still midnight.”

  “No, it’s not, sweetheart. It is six a.m., or very nearly anyway. Listen, we’re not going to the track today.”

  “We aren’t?” she mumbled sleepily.

  “No. It’s day off time, and I’m taking you to Edinburgh.”

  “You are?” she muttered, closing the eye again.

  “Yeah. It’s a stunningly pretty town, you’ll love it.”

  “Okay.” She whispered. “Tell me again in the morning.” And she was asleep again.

  Across the hall I heard Julia’s door open and close again quietly. Brett heading off for his run. The kid tired me out just watching him. I picked up the phone and ordered two large coffees from room service.

  Two cups of coffee and a hot shower had my favourite blonde up and ready to go. She still wasn’t too sure about missing the day’s practice at the track, but went along with my plans anyway.

  By ten-thirty we were twenty miles down the A823 on our way to the Scottish capital via North Lethans. Michele was clearly delighted with the scenery; enthralled even at the sight of patches of snow steadfastly refusing to admit summer’s arrival.

  If I seemed a little preoccupied it was because I realised that I had come to one of those crossroads in life. Was my motor-racing career truly over and done with? If so, what now? I had some two hundred and ninety-three thousand in the bank; I’d been spending heavily of late, but no clear way of earning any more. And I dearly wanted to spend the rest of my life with the beautiful girl next to me, and that took money. Especially as I liked to enjoy myself.

  I put aside these thoughts as Michele laid her hand on my thigh and smiled a wonderful smile at me. Enjoy today, I thought, and let tomorrow take care of itself. After all, there was still money to be made with the whole Rodber designs episode, and then perhaps I would let Andrew Shaw write the biography and who knows, maybe it would become a film. I wonder if I could convince Brad Pitt to play me. No, I guess not. Nobody would believe it.

  The sun came out again, warming the air as we walked hand in hand down the hill back into the town centre along Edinburgh High Street. I glanced over my shoulder for the third time as we crossed George IV Bridge Street. That feeling was with me again, as if we were being followed.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Michele asked looking behind us and seeing nothing to warrant my apparent paranoia.

  “I don’t know, Babe. I just keep getting this strange feeling in the back of my neck. And that used to mean that someone is watching us.”

  “What do you mean ‘used to’?” she asked, cranking her head around several times.

  “Back in my army days in the bush, I developed this knack of knowing when I was being watched. It kept the lads and me alive a couple of times. We would have walked into an ambush twice but for this itchy feeling.”

  “I don’t see anyone,” she said. We stopped outside St. Giles Cathedral.

  “No, me neither,” I said looking back again.

  There. Something caught my attention, a flash of something. A colour, a shape, something. I searched the thinning crowds of tourists behind us but whatever it was had vanished. Perhaps I was just getting jumpy. The feeling got stronger though, something was not right.

  “Let’s stop somewhere and get a sandwich and tea?” Michele suggested. “Not a pub this time either. A tea shop or somewhere that we can sit and enjoy the sunshine before it disappears again.”

  “In a minute, honey. Let’s check out the cathedral first, shall we?”

  “I never took you for a cathedral type of man.” She smiled, but changed direction and headed over the road into the cathedral grounds. The main door was around the ba
ck, almost on Cowgate Street. I watched to see if anyone showed signs of following us. Apart from a group of five earnest-looking Canadians with a snotty-nosed kid, no one showed any interest in us.

  Michele had her Samsung mobile out, using it as a digital camera. I agreed that the building was beautiful, spectacular even, but found it hard to pay attention as Michele read aloud from a pamphlet. Somebody was hunting us. I was sure of it. That old feeling had never let me down before.

  “Over there, Simon,” Michele whispered urgently.

  “What?”

  “That man, he just ducked behind the pillars, near the altar, he was at the race track yesterday.”

  I glanced admiringly at my girl. She was sharp, I thought.

  “There,” She said as a tall skinny man in his early twenties stepped back into view. I didn’t recognise him. He hadn’t been with Brown yesterday. At least, not with him when we had had our unfriendly chat.

  He was wearing a dark purple shirt with long sleeves. He wore it buttoned right up to his throat. I tried to work out if this was what had caught my attention outside. Maybe, but maybe not. Could there be others? And what was their game? There did not seem any point to trailing us around, not if they were with either Hussein or Brown. Perhaps he was with Hammil? No, I thought Hammil was more than likely still linked to Hussein.

  We exited the cathedral and I turned right immediately and came back to stand just out of sight next to the doors. After a moment, purple shirt came out. Looking around and not spotting us he set off for the High Street again. He made no sign to anyone else, nor did he reach for a mobile. I concluded that he was alone. Perhaps he just had orders to watch us and report on what we did that day.

  We watched him disappear from view, and then set off in the opposite direction.

  “The Royal Museum of Scotland is just around the corner in Chambers Street,” I told Michele. “Let’s go have a look.”

  An hour later we were back on South Bridge Street heading for the High Street again.