by Dan Latus
‘He could do that in London.’
‘Until we caught up with him.’
They reached the car, opened the doors and climbed inside. Hendrik paused a moment, thinking about Nicci.
Fogarty motioned impatiently. ‘Come on! Let’s get moving before the cops arrive. Costa’s courage will have returned now we’ve left.’
Hendrik chuckled and started the engine.
Crete, Fogarty thought. Went there once, a long time ago. Who was it with? Angie? Yeah.
Angie. Can’t remember much about it, though. Holidays were always spent in an alcoholic daze back then. Sex daze, as well, with Angie!
The only thing he’d always avoided was the drugs. Fool’s holiday, that game. Eat ’em, smoke ’em, sniff ’em – it always came to the same thing in the end. He should know. He’d seen plenty of it. Too many old pals had succumbed. Quite a few people he’d known who weren’t old pals, as well.
Maybe he should have stuck with Angie, he thought moodily. In many ways, she was the best of them – the women he’d had, the wives, the girlfriends. None of them had lasted. Couldn’t stand the life, or else he’d got so he couldn’t stand them. But Angie had lasted longer than most. She’d been just about the best looking, too.
Ah, well! Such was life. In the end, you were better off with cash and good pals. Mike, for instance. That was the real winning combination. Never mind the women. You could always buy them.
‘Do we know anybody with links out there, Mike?’
‘Crete?’ Hendrik shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. But I can check around.’
‘Might be worth it. Meanwhile, let’s find one of the other traitors. Fat Freddie, for instance. Is he in London still?’
‘Oh, yes! I would think so. Fat Freddie won’t be far away.’
‘If we find him living in style, we’ll know we don’t need to go to Crete.’
Hendrik chuckled. ‘Freddie living in style? That would be a first!’
‘Who else is there?’
‘Well,’ Hendrik said, considering, ‘there’s Penrose in Yorkshire, and Gregory somewhere in Scotland.’
Fogarty thought for a moment and then shook his head. ‘Neither of them had the brains to get the money. They still need sorting, though. Find them. Once you know where they are, send those two lads from Tenerife.’
‘Right. I’ll get on it.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Apart from Freddie?’ Hendrik shook his head slowly. ‘Just Nicci, really.’
Fogarty nodded and adopted a judicious expression. ‘Crete, eh? I suppose it always was going to be Nicci. Someone smart, quick on his feet and good with money.’
‘Well,’ Hendrik said thoughtfully, ‘either him or the guy he hired at the last minute to drive one of the vans. He’s in the Algarve.’
‘Oh, yes! I was forgetting about him. They brought him in as a witness as well, didn’t they? The Algarve?’
Hendrik nodded. ‘So I’m told. He’s been there a while now. A small town in the hills.’
Fogarty wiped condensation off the side window and peered out into what was becoming a wet night. He listened to the wipers click-clacking across the windscreen. One of them needed replacing. Every now and then it stuck a bit and squeaked.
‘Quite a night,’ Hendrik ventured, peering ahead through the gloom. ‘And getting even wetter.’
‘Yeah. What did you say his name was?’
‘Who?’
‘That guy in the Algarve.’
‘Ord, Jake Ord.’
‘Jake Ord,’ Fogarty repeated, trying to recall what the guy had looked like in the witness box. He shook his head, giving it up.
‘Him next, maybe?’ Hendrik suggested.
‘Why not?’
Hendrik nodded and switched the wipers on to a higher speed, thinking maybe they would get better weather in the Algarve. Better than this, anyway.
‘Then we’ll come back for Fat Freddie,’ Fogarty said.
‘And after that we could go to Crete, and wrap it up.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Fogarty said complacently, stretching and yawning.
Chapter 13
Jake stopped the truck well short of the villa, hesitated a few moments and then set off to walk the last few hundred yards. Was it caution, or precaution? Paranoia even? He didn’t know. He didn’t know the difference, or even if there was one.
All he knew was that it was time to trust no-one, and to be very, very careful. The news about the woman in London, Anna, was proof enough of that. But he’d known anyway. The meeting with Bob had only served to underline the danger he faced.
Although it was dark, he knew the area well enough to use a local path that ran through the olive groves surrounding the villa. Underfoot it was hard earth, dust and dead grass. No twigs or branches to trip him up, or for him to step on noisily.
It was a quiet evening. An owl passed by overhead. He heard the beat of its wings as it gave itself a little extra power in order to hover. There were bats, too. Plenty of them. He could hear them squeaking as they whipped through the night air and went about their foraging. Cicadas, as well. He could hear them all around as he made his way between the olive trees.
The warm, humid air was heavy with the scent of late summer. He could smell the dry, dead grass and the patches of bare earth, where the season had taken its toll. There was a heady fragrance coming from a nearby orchard and from the jasmine bush close to the front door of the villa. The scent of the earth, and all its fruits.
And something else. He froze.
At the first whiff of cigarette smoke he stopped dead, all his senses on high alert. Close to the trunk of an ancient olive tree, heart beating fast, he stood absolutely rigid. He listened hard for minutes on end, but heard nothing out of the ordinary at all. The cigarette smoke faded.
Maybe nothing? Someone passing by on the road, perhaps. Or one of his neighbours out for a stroll around his property. He couldn’t recall seeing any of them smoking, but no doubt some of them had the habit still.
If it was cigarette smoke? It was. He was sure of that, at least. What he wanted was an explanation.
Slowly, he raised an arm and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. It was hot. God, so hot! He was dripping, the sweat running down his face, the sodden shirt clinging to his back.
He tried to ignore the discomfort and concentrate. It was difficult. This was the wrong place to be on a night like this. He should be in the house, behind the fly screens, safe from the mosquitoes. This was purgatory.
He was almost ready to move, about to tell himself he probably hadn’t really smelled cigarette smoke, when he heard someone, a man, not very far away clear his throat.
He stiffened at the sound and focused hard again. Stealthily, he began to move sideways, circling around the location where the noise had come from. He knew now where the smoker, the throat clearer, was. He was on the terrace outside the villa.
Who was it, though? He was so intent on trying to assess who was there that he tripped and almost fell when he heard a voice, a male English voice, coming from a different direction altogether.
‘How much longer do we have to wait?’
‘It could be a while yet. Now shut up! Keep quiet, and be patient. Listen to the mosquitoes, and marvel at their intricate fucking lifestyle.’
‘Fuck ’em! Fuck you, as well.’
‘Nice.’
Jake had heard enough.
They were waiting for him. Men sent by Fogarty were here, and no doubt ready to put a bullet in his head once they had satisfied themselves that he really didn’t know where the missing £20 million was.
He edged back the way he had come, heart still thumping but in control. Bad as the situation was, at least the danger was tangible now. He no longer had to worry he was just fantasizing. The threat was real. He could do something about that.
By the time he reached the truck, he had worked out what he was going to do. He started the engine, turned and headed for the car park
where he had left the Honda. It was time to get out. It was also time he talked to Magda again.
Chapter 14
She was startled to see him when she opened the door to her single room, bedsit apartment, but she quickly recovered her poise.
‘Jake! Everything is all right?’
He shook his head. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Of course. Something has happened?’
‘I’ve got to get out of here. You, as well, Magda. There were men waiting for me at the villa. They will kill me, if they can.’
‘Oh!’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Me, too?’
‘I’m sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘But if they know where I live, they will also know about you. They will use you to get at me.’
‘I understand.’
‘You don’t!’ he snapped, impatient with her apparent calmness. ‘You can’t possibly. But we’ve got to leave tonight – now, in fact!’
‘Now? Where will we go, Jake?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘That doesn’t matter. Just collect your stuff. Not everything – just what you need, and what you don’t want to leave behind. That is...’ He hesitated before adding, ‘If you want to come with me?’
‘I am your woman,’ she said, touching his face tenderly with her finger tips. ‘And you are my man. I will come.’
They were out of the apartment a quarter of an hour later. It wasn’t a minute too soon so far as Jake was concerned.
He took a couple of the bags Magda had hurriedly packed, hoping she had included only things that would be useful.
He had very little himself. Just what was in his pockets and the emergency bag that he had transferred from the truck to the car. The important stuff. Nothing else really mattered. It could all be replaced. There had been a time when he was used to travelling light. He could do it again.
As Magda closed and locked the door to her apartment, he wondered if she would see it again. For that matter, he wondered if he would ever return to the villa. Fuck it, he thought. It’s a house. That’s all. And this is just a room in an apartment block made of concrete. Nothing to get sentimental about.
‘Ready?’ he asked, as she turned to face him.
She nodded. Then they left.
Magda waited until they were in the Honda, the engine started, before asking again, ‘Where will we go, Jake?’
‘I’m not sure. Let’s just get moving.’
She placed her hand on his arm as he put the car in gear. ‘I have an idea, in that case,’ she said calmly.
‘Oh?’
He pulled out into the street and headed towards the roundabout at the top of the Avenida.
‘I know somewhere we can go,’ she said quietly.
He took a moment, thinking about it.
‘How far is it?’
‘Maybe one hour.’
He had nothing to suggest. So he just nodded. All that mattered was getting out of here.
‘OK. How do we get there?’
‘Go to the next roundabout, and then take the turning to Alportel. I will navigate.’
He glanced sideways and forced a smile for her. ‘I knew there was a good reason I invited you along!’
Now they were moving, now they were out of town, he began to feel slightly easier. Not relaxed. Far from it. Disaster could be around any corner, or could come up fast from behind at any moment, headlights blazing. Running away wasn’t much of an answer, but it was better than the alternative.
They drove up into the hills, staying on the EN2 as far as Barranco do Velho. Jake drove as fast as he could sensibly manage on the intricately winding road, taking the corkscrew bends first one way and then the other, keeping an eye on the rear view mirror. Pursuit began to seem unlikely but he was past worrying about whether or not he was being paranoid.
‘Nothing?’ Magda said, seeing him glance at the mirror yet again.
He shook his head. ‘Unless they were watching your place, as well as mine, there’s no reason for them to be following us.’
She nodded.
At Barranco they turned west, heading towards Salir on a road that was even more tortuous as it wound down into the valley bottom.
‘So where are we going?’ he asked at last.
‘Pena – near Pena.’
He pictured the map in his mind’s eye. Pena. Maybe twenty miles. Not far for the crow, but in this hill country another world.
‘What have you got in mind?’
‘There is a small house there that once was a farm, but now is not. The people, they moved away. Abandoned it.’
‘So it’s empty now, unoccupied?’
‘Not all the time. Someone goes there occasionally.’
‘Do we need a key?’
‘I know where there is a key.’
He nodded and felt relieved. It sounded like somewhere they could stop, rest and take stock, which they badly needed to do. The speed of events back there had almost overwhelmed him.
Chapter 15
The road became increasingly narrow, and ever more twisty. Past Salir they turned onto an even smaller road that took them to Alcaria. There, they took a single track road leading to Rocha da Pena, and after several slow miles they approached a small cluster of buildings straddling the road.
‘Where now?’ Jake asked, slowing down almost to a halt. He hadn’t a clue where they were. This was all new to him.
‘Just a little further.’ Magda leant forward and peered intently through the dust-covered windscreen, and the darkness beyond. ‘Where the little café is, turn to the right.’
He did, and their headlights showed a narrow and rising rough track that could only have been made by something like a bulldozer.
‘Up here?’ he asked, peering ahead uncertainly.
‘A little way, yes.’
In first and second gear, they jolted and bumped their way a couple of hundred yards up the steep track, spewing a fan of loose stones and clouds of dust behind them. Jake was thankful they had all-wheel drive. The Honda was equal to the task, but he doubted his old truck would have made it.
‘Here!’ Magda pointed to their left.
He slowed almost to a stop and turned the car through a narrow gap in a wall of dense vegetation. They slowly climbed an even steeper track that led after a short distance up to a small, single-storey house surrounded by palms and olive trees.
‘We are here,’ Magda announced with satisfaction.
‘Good thing it’s painted white.’ Jake chuckled. ‘We would never have seen it otherwise.’
He drew to a halt, pulled on the parking brake and switched off the engine. He left the lights on for a few more moments while he studied the house. Then he turned them off and opened the door to get out.
‘Let’s take a look.’
‘I will get the key,’ Magda said, heading for the small terrace outside the front door of the house.
Jake watched her disappear into the shadows. Briefly, he wondered how she knew this place, and how she knew where there was a key. Yet another little mystery, he thought with a smile. Magda was full of them.
His eyes wandered over what he could see of the house. It looked to be a typical small, rural dwelling, a simple, traditional farmhouse essentially. He thought that until not so very long ago – before Portugal entered the EU, say, in the mid eighties – a family would have lived here on what they could produce from their own little patch of land: olives, carobs, pine nuts, vegetables, chickens, and a pig or two each year.
All that would have been supplemented by earnings from occasional, seasonal or part-time work elsewhere. A typical Algarve hill farm, then. Providing hard work and a hard life, without many luxuries, but in its way a good, steady life, and a safe one. A lot of people around the world would still settle happily for that, if they could have it.
Like a lot of others in the Algarve, though, this family farm had long been abandoned. The livestock were gone, the fruit trees left un-pruned, and the vegetable garden was overgrown and returned to
wilderness. Entry into the EU, and the global market economy, had been the catalyst for change. That, and tourism. There were easier ways now to make a better living, and the old ways never had suited everyone anyway.
He moved behind the car to the edge of the drive to gaze down the hillside into the darkness of the valley below. Not a light to be seen down there. But on the opposite hillside, a couple of miles away, there were several clusters of lights: the village of Pena, and smaller places strung along the main road.
It looked fine to him. This was good, lonely country. They would be OK here. For a time. Until he had worked out what to do.
‘I have the key,’ Magda called softly.
He turned to join her as she opened the front door.
Inside, too, it was a simple cottage, a little white-washed stone box of a building, with window and door frames that had once been proudly painted the traditional blue but now were mostly flaked and bare. There was the room where a family had once lived, cooked and ate, and there was the bedroom. Water was drawn from the pump outside the back door. The white sink in the kitchen area was as close as the cottage got to having a bathroom. A smelly earth closet in the back garden, Jake guessed, would be the other principal facility.
Magda struck a match she took from a box on the kitchen table. That enabled them to locate a couple of candles. Jake lit one, and with the aid of that found an oil lamp. The lamp looked new, and thankfully had oil in it.
‘That’s better,’ he said with a smile when the wick caught alight.
‘The house is not much,’ Magda said apologetically. She glanced around and shrugged.
‘It’s fine,’ Jake assured her. ‘Perfect. We won’t be here long anyway.’
‘No?’
He shook his head. ‘All we needed was somewhere safe, while we work out what we’re going to do.’
‘Yes,’ she said dubiously. ‘Now I will heat some water for coffee.’
‘With what?’
‘There is a camping gas stove and kettle, and also tins and jars of food.’
He nodded, wondered again how she knew so much about the cottage, and let her get on with it. He was grateful. Who the cottage belonged to was a question that occupied him only briefly. It was too far down his list of priorities to detain him for long.
