A Perilous Pursuit

by Diane Gilmore

“It’s Steve.”

  Craig’s mind began to clear.

  “Yeah, Steve,” he said quietly. “Say, what’s the time?”

  “Almost nine.”

  “What?” Craig’s eyes flew open and he sat upright on the bed. “Already? Shit!”

  “What’s up?”

  Craig didn’t answer right away, for his mind was calculating. “Shaun will be over here any minute. If I get moving now, we can still make it on time,” he said, ripping off the covers as he thought out loud to himself.

  “Where are you going?” Steve asked. “Ah, must be your new girlfriend.”

  Craig’s eyes softened at the thought of Taylor Fairchild. “Yep, she’s the one.”

  “When do the rest of us get the honor of seeing her again?”

  “You will, very soon,” Craig replied. “She wants to get started on a demo for us right away to send back over the pond to her old man.”

  “Lucky us running into her, for all our sakes,” Steve said. “And if I would have known who she was, I wouldn’t have given her so much jip the other night. I hope she’s a good skin about it.”

  “She’s a lot more than that,” Craig said affectionately. “Anyway, I’m taking her sightseeing today. Shaun is coming along on a double with her mate.”

  Steve’s laugh boomed over the telephone line. “Shaun? I hope the girl’s taken a self-defense course!”

  “From what I’m told, the two are made for each other,” Craig said. “I wanted to be up and out by now, but I’m running a bit late.”

  “Who can blame us for sleeping late?” Steve said. “We had a bit of a night last night, didn’t we? We got pretty sloshed after that deal.”

  Craig’s expression tightened. “Do you believe Montagne had the nerve to follow me all the way to Bath yesterday for that? At least it’s done, and with a bit of luck, he won’t bother us for another week or two.”

  “He just called me, pal.”

  Craig moaned wearily. “What’s up now?”

  “Cabrera’s in town. Wants to talk.”

  “What about?”

  “Haven’t got a clue,” Steve replied. “Maybe they want us to get more involved in the Organization.”

  “I hope you said we weren’t interested,” Craig said darkly. “I told Montagne yesterday, in no uncertain terms, that we were getting pissed off being at their beck and call all the time. I never wanted this to be a career choice for me, breaking the law for some fucking drug kingpin.”

  “He wouldn’t tell me what Cabrera wanted,” Steve said. “If you can’t make it, I suppose I can see him on my own.”

  “Nah, I’ll go with you,” Craig offered. “I can cancel with Taylor. I can tell her a family problem’s come up. She hasn’t questioned anything I’ve told her so far, although I hate lying to her like that.”

  “Not even when the frog showed up yesterday?”

  “That was pretty close,” Craig said, “but I don’t think she suspects anything. Anyway, I can give her a bell now and cancel our date.”

  “No, you go ahead,” Steve said. “I’ll go see what’s going down and fill you in when you get home tonight.”

  Craig hung up and sat on the side of the bed a moment longer as he gathered his thoughts. Perhaps he should call Steve back and go with him to see Cabrera. After all, Steve would be walking alone into the lair of one of Europe’s major drug traffickers. He started to press the redial button, then slowly put the phone back down. No, Steve will be all right, he decided. It couldn’t be anything serious. They probably just want to go over future drops. Perhaps Montagne told Cabrera about their discussion in Bath. Maybe, if they were lucky, Cabrera was going to lighten their load.

  He made his way into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower and turned on the water full force, letting the warm jets pound down on him, pouring strength into his smooth, firm body while he thought about Taylor Fairchild.

  She had occupied his thoughts since he first saw her at the Sword & Stone three nights ago. He knew at once that she was different from the pub’s usual female patrons or the Yankee tourists who inevitably wandered into the area pubs. He couldn’t get over how his eyes had instantly gravitated to the girl in their audience that night. His mind was accustomed to looking through the same faceless females he scanned during their gigs like panes of glass. But this girl, Taylor, was different. She had a clean, fresh look to her that attracted him right away. He initially thought she was shy, unlike their boisterous audience. But then she boldly approached them after their set, and he soon realized that instead of being the silly, wide-eyed groupie type he was used to encountering, she was a vibrant, intelligent woman, giving off an inner strength about her that he found increasingly fascinating. Her wholesome looks and charm were like springtime breezes after a dreary English winter.

  She was already affecting his life in a way no woman before ever had. He was used to having his choice of the bold and willing women that flocked around the band, never giving serious thought about his sexual escapades before. His normal routine was to spend most evenings partying with the band and any followers that came along until the effects of the free-flowing beer and whiskey overcame them all. Then, as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, he would wake up in his bed, burned out. Many times, he would find his arm slung lazily over the bare back of some Maggie, Jackie, or Linda who had fallen into his lap the night before, not quite remembering her name or how either of them got there.

  That was all pleasant and convenient to be sure, but now, for the first time, he felt confused about his feelings where a woman, and more particularly, this woman, was concerned. Normally he could get away with telling a woman anything, whatever she wanted to hear, to get his way. He was good with words. He could literally talk his way out of, or into, anything.

  Emotional attachments were never his style, but everything had changed now. He suddenly found himself checking his behavior at every turn, watching his speech, pulling out the old English charm, making himself almost courtly, and all for an American girl at that! What a switch, he thought. Taking the risk on her felt good, though, and so did the chemistry. What would she think if she knew about his obligations to the Organization?

  The Organization. He winced at the thought of avoiding Taylor’s questions, even lying to her outright about the clandestine side of his life with that story about being a concert pianist. She’ll know the truth, he decided, but not yet. When his relationship with Robert Cabrera was permanently broken off, then she’d know. He couldn’t risk giving her the wrong impression and losing her now.

  He had already learned plenty about Taylor Fairchild from their trip to Bath. She had to be handled differently. She wasn’t like any other female he had ever met. She was strong, but graceful. This one had to be taken slowly, to be courted in an old-fashioned manner to gain her trust and respect. When that goal was achieved, he would explain to her about the other side of his life, when he was sure she’d understand.

  As he dressed, he thought about how he and Steve became involved in the bloody mess in the first place. They were working just as hard then, making the rounds of London’s pubs in an endless circle, playing gigs in houses large and small. Although the perks of plenty of women and whiskey were a bonus, they got into the habit of working grueling hours for that infamous big break while making barely enough money to meet expenses and pay the rent.

  About a year ago, Craig noticed a man in the audience where they were performing who introduced himself as Pierre Montagne. The Frenchman befriended them easily and seemed to be likeable and truly interested in seeing the band make good. One night, Pierre appeared as usual before the band went on, except a stranger accompanied him this time. He was an American. Robert Cabrera. The stranger was a considerable figure of a man, and he had an air of authority that demanded instant obedience. He had a ru
gged complexion, with intense black eyes that had a piercing penetration whenever he looked at someone. A chill ran down Craig’s spine when their eyes met. His stare was almost hypnotic, Craig remembered thinking at the time.

  After their session, Craig and Steve sat down with the two men at a table as Cabrera continued to scrutinize them. He didn’t say a word at first, but simply watched them, noting every detail as if he weighed some important decision in his mind.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “My people have been watching you two very carefully,” he said, his voice laden with firm authority. “I believe we can trust you.”

  “Trust us?” Craig remembered asking nervously. He had seen this kind of character lurking around Soho before. He knew instinctively that Cabrera was most likely involved in something questionable. Steve remained silent.

  Cabrera sat back in his chair, puffing on a slim panatela, while his eyes continued their appraisal of them. “I have a proposition for you, Phillips,” he said.

  Craig’s brows raised. “What kind of proposition?”

  “A good way for you to make some extra money,” Cabrera answered, his eyes narrowing. “I am in business. I help people feel good, although it isn’t exactly legit. Get the picture?”

  Craig nodded slowly. He got the picture quite clearly. Drugs. The business of flying high and good times. And he also knew that Cabrera couldn’t have picked a better place. England’s drug trade was booming. Although Craig’s meager earnings contrasted with those that could be made from the sale of narcotics, he always resisted the temptation to get in on the action. The penalties in England for the most minor drug offenses were strict. He didn’t want to find himself spending half his life in prison for a measly pot buy, and the idea of interacting with hardened smugglers made him uneasy, to say the least. But this stranger seated across from him made it all seem so easy, his fears unfounded.

  “I’m looking for a couple of guys to handle business around the city for me occasionally,” Cabrera continued. “Mainly someone to take goods and cash from one place to another for prearranged transactions and not look suspicious.”

  “What makes you think we’d want to get involved?” Craig asked, becoming curious.

  “Oh, I think I’m a good judge of character,” Cabrera replied with confidence. He paused while he took another puff from the thin cigar. “I assure you, your salary will be more than adequate.”

  “Sounds tempting,” Craig said, “but we don’t want to end up minus our arms and legs in a bloody ditch, or in jail by getting involved in this sort of thing. Why not use your own people to make your drops?”

  “No one in this territory would accept a stranger,” Cabrera replied. “You’re established in these parts. You would provide the perfect cover for me.”

  Craig looked at Steve. They communicated silently while they contemplated Cabrera’s offer. There was no question they desperately needed the cash, both to survive and to further the band’s career, and the stranger seated across from him made it all seem so easy. Finally, they both realized what the ultimate answer was.

  “I think we can handle an occasional run for you. When do you want us to start?” Craig asked.

  Having heard an affirmative response, the two men rose, Cabrera towering over Craig and Steve like a tall spruce. He well exceeded six feet.

  “We’ll be in touch,” he said simply. Then, moving with easy grace, he walked out of the pub.

  Pierre pulled an envelope out of his breast pocket and tossed it onto the table. His emerald ring flashed in the pub’s yellow light. “Something for your time tonight, mon ami,” he said. He turned and followed Cabrera through the pub’s front door and into the night.

  Craig picked up the envelope. With trembling fingers, he opened it. A small stack of fifty-pound notes lay neatly inside, more cash than he’d ever seen at one time in his life.

  Two weeks later, Craig and Steve made their first drop. Half of their take went to the band’s expenses, and the remaining half they divided equally. After that, they made a score, delivering either drugs or cash, a couple of times a month and soon earned enough money to provide the band with the best of musical and sound mixing equipment. The transactions were easy and always went off like clockwork, lasting a few minutes at most.

  Occasionally, Craig thought bitterly as he ran a brush through his thick hair. What began as a sporadic delivery for a small-time neighborhood dealer was now a regular obligation for a powerful drug mogul as Cabrera extended his influence to encompass all the western European market with a tightly-knit federation of drug suppliers, labs, and traffickers. During this time, Craig learned the finer points of the drug trade. He became one of the best and most well-paid transporters in Cabrera’s hierarchy of henchmen, only it had come back to haunt him. The jobs were now coming every few days, and he, as well as Steve, was falling deeper and deeper under Cabrera’s control, somewhere he never wanted to be in the first place.

  He threw the brush down in frustration. They had to get out, and soon. If not, Robert Cabrera would take over his life like a poisonous weed and the band would fall apart. Simply doing his job poorly in the hopes of being fired, like in a traditional job, was not an option. In this business, those who underperformed or became a risk to the Organization would be killed outright. There was nothing useful he could offer Cabrera to get him off his back for good. His only option was that Cabrera would understand his goals of becoming a musician, not a career drug runner, and let him go voluntarily. He quickly gulped some tea and a piece of burned toast while he waited for Shaun. He would talk to Pierre Montagne tonight, if he could reach him.

  They were going to get out.

  Chapter 6

  Taylor was seated at the walnut desk working on her laptop when she heard a loud, determined rap at the door of her suite.

  “Sorry I’m late, luv,” Craig said when she answered the door. “This is my kid brother, Shaun. Shaun, you remember Taylor Fairchild.”

  Shaun Phillips looked her up and down, as if sizing her up in his mind. Then he gave Taylor a sly grin that she instinctively knew was his stamp of approval. She couldn’t help but smile back at him for, unlike Craig, he had a look of wild mischief and excitement in his piercing blue eyes. His hair was dark like his brother’s but splashed with a few brash, punk-style fuchsia streaks, as if to defy the confines of established society. A small hoop pierced his left eyebrow.

  “How could I forget such a pretty lady?” Shaun said mischievously with a twitch of his brows.

  “Shaun!” Craig scolded him while she blushed at his brother’s compliment. “You make a horrendous first impression. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m actually related to you.”

  Taylor decided she liked Shaun, very much. He had an elfin-like appeal she found different and entertaining. Despite his prankish manner, Taylor detected a warmth and depth to him far beyond the impression he presented.

  They met Susan in the hotel lobby, and after she and Shaun were introduced, they set off.

  They first pulled up to the British Museum, one of the world’s largest, located in central London. Designed in Greek Revival style, the limestone and granite behemoth of a building featured 44 massive columns spanning four main wings that covered several city blocks. It was one of the biggest buildings Taylor had ever seen.

  They entered the Great Court, where a museum employee stood at a counter offering audio devices containing curator commentaries that explained each area of the museum.

  “We don’t need those,” Craig said as he led them past the desk to a flight of stairs. “Come on. Let’s go up to see the Elgin Marbles first.”

  “Elgin Marbles?” Taylor asked.

  Craig grasped her hand and winked at her. “You’ll see.”

  They reached the top of the steps and entered the gallery that housed the Classical Greek ma
rble statues. Taylor gasped at the display before her. Huge stone frieze panels depicting ancient Greek battles and heroes lined the walls on each side of the massive corridor before her. Several ancient statues and sculptures that once adorned the Parthenon were placed strategically around the area for visitors to view close-up as they strolled down the gleaming hallway. It was a sizeable, stunning collection.

  “A bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” Craig said, looking around.

  “Come on, luv, let’s check it out,” Shaun said, taking Susan’s hand. “There’s a lot to look at.” Within seconds, they were off, exploring the hall like teenagers ditching their parents.

  “Where did these pieces come from?” Taylor asked as she and Craig examined the statues in the gallery.

  “The name of the exhibit comes from Thomas Bruce, the 7th Earl of Elgin,” Craig informed her. “In the early 1800s, he and his group removed all these artifacts from the Acropolis in Athens. The British government purchased them from him and gave them a permanent home here. Some archeologists now call them simply the Parthenon sculptures.”

  “The Greeks just gave them to Britain?” Taylor asked incredulously.

  Craig laughed. “Well, that depends on who you ask. The Greeks claim Elgin stole them outright using phony documentation to access the Acropolis, but he swore at the time his permit to take them was legit, and he claimed he was saving them from being neglected. The Greeks have demanded them back for a while now, but the government refuses to give them up, as you can imagine.”

  “That’s kind of a harsh position for Britain to take.”

  “Perhaps, but I suppose we look at it like possession being nine tenths of the law. Isn’t that what you Americans say?”

  Taylor laughed. “Touché!”

  They spent several hours at the museum, visiting other galleries and exhibits. Taylor loved the numerous displays of antiquities that covered human history and culture, but she enjoyed being with Craig more. The distinctive features of his face, the way he tossed his hair off his forehead, the soft line of his lips, all made an imprint on her mind like a photographic negative. His fingers entwining with hers sent an exquisite sensation coursing through her body like a powerful stream, and she was finding it harder and harder to resist.