by Mark Arundel
‘There’s no one there.’ The voice, with a strong cockney accent, made me spin around instantly. I hadn’t heard anybody approach. The man was in his late seventies, wearing a vest and slippers, which explained why I hadn’t heard him.
‘Number eighteen is owned by a German couple from Frankfurt. They come out maybe four times a year. They’re not here at the moment,’ he explained helpfully. I got the impression the old boy didn’t talk to too many people. When I replied in English, he smiled.
‘Do they rent it out when they’re not using it themselves?’ I asked thinking I already knew the answer. I was surprised.
He shook his head and answered, ‘No, it just stays empty and unused like now.’
‘So nobody’s living here at the moment?’
‘No, it’s been empty for over a month.’ The old boy looked me up and down and asked with a smile, ‘Are you thinking of buying one of these apartments?’
I smiled back and nodded. I said, ‘Yes, yes I am. Do you live here?’
‘I’ve lived here for six years. The wife and I moved out from Catford when I retired from the railways. She passed away last year, God rest her, so now I’m on my own. My son and his family visit once a year. They’re coming in July, that’s only eight months away. I’m in number twelve. It’s a nice spot, nice and quiet, never any trouble, and, of course, the climate, we don’t have heating, don’t need it. It’s very different from Catford. Which apartment are you thinking of buying? I think number nine is up for sale. Are you married, kids? Would it be a holiday home?’
I looked at number eighteen while I listened to the old man and considered what he’d told me. If Geoffrey Button wasn’t living in number eighteen then where was he living? Was it just the wrong number?
I asked, ‘Which apartments are occupied at the moment?’
‘Well, a lot of them are holiday homes. There’s only four with people in at the minute. Number twelve that’s me, Frank Taylor. Then there’s number two, the Bickerstaff’s, a young couple, they’re always here, sit by the pool mostly. Number three, the Graff’s, retired Germans from Düsseldorf, don’t like them; and finally number eight, Jennifer Smithson, a lovely girl from Cambridge. It’s her parent’s place and she’s here on her own for a couple of weeks, on holiday. She’s a doctor, probably deserves the rest.’
I said, ‘No thirty-year-old guy on his own then?’
Frank looked confused and said, ‘No, why?’
I didn’t answer. I wondered whether Mr. Bickerstaff could actually be Geoffrey Button. I asked Frank, ‘Will you show me the pool?’
‘Yes, course, no problem. It’s over this way.’ He led me slowly across the complex to the big, landscaped pool area. Sitting beside it, just as I’d hoped, were a man and a woman. I studied the man’s face closely, and although he was wearing sunglasses, I could tell he wasn’t Geoffrey Button. After some small talk with Mr. and Mrs. Bickerstaff, Frank showed me to the arched doorway in the outside wall. I asked him, ‘Has anyone recently moved out, maybe in the last day or two?’
Frank looked confused again and answered, ‘No,’ then asked, ‘you looking for someone?’
I smiled and said, ‘Thanks, Frank, for showing me round. You’ve been really helpful.’ He looked disappointed I was leaving and told me, ‘I hope you buy it,’ and as an encouragement added, ‘it’s a nice place to live, really friendly.’
‘I’ll give it some serious thought,’ I promised.
Back on the pathway, I pulled shut the door behind me and began walking back down to the beach. This was an unwelcome development. For some reason, Charlotte had provided the wrong address. I’d have to report my findings and wait for new instructions.
Down at the small beach, I retrieved my belongings from behind the rock and then realised how hungry and thirsty I was. The seawater had left a salty taste in my mouth, which I was keen to wash away.
I put my t-shirt back on and walked across the sand to the café. It was lunchtime and all the tables outside, except one, already had diners. I sat down, and while I waited, checked the address again on my K106. Yes, it was definitely the right place. So, where was Geoffrey Button if he wasn’t there?
The young waiter appeared beside me. ‘Hola,’ she said.
I ordered a bottle of water and a pizza. She brought the water straight away and I drank half of it in one go.
While I waited for my pizza to be cooked, I began keying a message to Charlotte. I was just starting on the second sentence when a question from a man standing behind made me stop.
‘Excuse me,’ he said politely, ‘but have you been sent from England to kill me?’
Chapter 9
Once someone has won the bidding, the player sitting to his or her left plays the first card.
It was strange hearing the words spoken. '…sent from England to kill me?’ They shocked me into action. I turned in my seat and raised my head. The man moved closer towards me. I realised I’d steeled myself ready to defend an attack. It was my instinctive reaction.
I focused and saw he was a weak man with an apologetic face. Intelligent eyes set in unusual features only a catholic priest could forgive. His bald head shone in the sunlight and his pale skin had red blotches like a strawberry cheesecake. His round, metal-rimmed glasses were slightly lopsided and he pushed them back and then squinted through them. He reminded me of an English version of Elmer Fudd, the cartoon character. He wore a buttoned shirt and baggy trousers with sandals, and he was carrying a satchel-style bag, which he held with both hands. I recognised him immediately. It was Geoffrey Button.
He stood and stared at me, unsure whether to sit down or speak again. He found his voice and by way of some explanation told me, ‘Charlotte Miller said you’d be sitting here. I recognised you straight away.’
‘Sit down,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’ He seemed relieved and sat quickly holding the satchel on his knees.
I was confused and more than ready to get angry. I wanted to know what the hell was going on. I took a long breath and said in a calm, quiet voice, ‘How do you know I’m here to kill you?’
He replied instantly, ‘Charlotte Miller told me.’
I took another breath. ‘Why did she tell you that?’
Again, there was an instant response. ‘She doesn’t really want you to kill me.’ Geoffrey, realising this conversation could go on like this for a long time offered the advice he’d been given. He told me, ‘Charlotte Miller said you’d ask lots of questions. She told me to tell you to call her and she would explain everything.’
‘Oh, did she?’ I picked up my K106 and searched for Charlotte’s number. Geoffrey watched me and timidly advised, ‘Charlotte Miller told me not to let you use your phone. She said you were to use a pay phone. She was most insistent.’
‘Oh, was she?’ I’d already found Charlotte’s number and had pushed the call button. I held the K106 to my ear and heard it ringing. Geoffrey looked at me with the face of someone not used to disobedience.
Charlotte answered and said, ‘I told Geoffrey not to let you use your K106. Hang-up immediately.’ Charlotte’s voice was disturbing. She was annoyed and worried at the same time. I felt a stab of concern. Something was very wrong.
I said quickly, ‘Charlotte, what the hell’s going on?’
‘Hang-up and call me back on a pay phone.’
‘Tell me, tell me now!’
‘You’re there to protect him, not to kill him, and you’re in real danger.’ Charlotte ended the call. Her voice sounded in my head. She was genuinely worried.
Someone was approaching. My reactions were on alert. I looked up and saw the girl bringing my pizza. She smiled and put it down on the table. She moved towards Geoffrey and raised her order pad in expectation of him wanting something. He stared at her and timidly asked, ‘Tea?’
I stared at Geoffrey Button and my mind raced while I tried to make sense of what was happening.
The sound of a car’s engine, followed by the squeal of rub
ber tyres stopping fast on dry concrete attracted my attention. I looked up and saw across the beach, on the steep narrow roadway, close to a hundred metres away, a silver saloon car. It had driven down fast and stopped quickly. The doors flew open and three men got out, searching for something. They focused on the café.
I knew instantly, they were searching for us and I didn’t need a soldier’s instinct to tell me we were in trouble. I was unarmed and unprepared. I didn’t have time to think. I took the reversal in circumstance as real and changed instantly from hired killer to hired protector. I would get Geoffrey safe first, then talk to Miss Miller and find out what the hell was going on.
I leant across the table and grabbed Geoffrey’s forearm forcefully so he understood it was real and said, ‘Three men have just go out of a car and are heading this way. They’re looking for you or for us. We have to move, now. We’ll walk into the café, straight through and out the back. Understand?’
Geoffrey’s face turned paler still, but he held my stare and nodded, ‘Yes, I understand.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
Still holding Geoffrey’s arm, we stood up together and walked past the waitress, who watched us leave, and went calmly into the café. I glanced back and saw the three men hurrying towards the table and chairs.
Inside, my eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. It was a single storey building with the kitchen in the rear. I pulled Geoffrey and we went straight through the open kitchen door. I glanced around. The chef looked up, a little surprised, but he didn’t speak. The back door was open and we hurried over. Outside, I realised the café had been built at the foot of a steep rise, without any space for easy access. Luckily, there were steps leading up to the top and our only possible escape route. I pushed Geoffrey and told him, ‘Climb the steps, fast.’ Still grasping his satchel with both hands, he started the ascent and I followed him closely behind. At around two thirds of the way Geoffrey stopped and turned to me and, out of breath and showing discomfort on his face, complained, ‘My legs are aching.’
I growled, ‘Keep moving, go!’ and pushed him. He began climbing again. I encouraged him the rest of the way and we managed a reasonable speed. At the top, I glanced back down to the bottom. All three men were standing there, looking up at us. One of them spoke but they were too far away for me to make out the words. The voice, though, I thought, sounded Russian. Two of the men followed us and began climbing the steps. The third went back into the café. I guessed he was returning to their car and would drive back onto the road and come around. We didn’t have much time to get away.
The top of the steps brought us out onto the main town road and I thought and searched with controlled haste.
A taxi drove towards us. It was a white Mercedes estate. They seemed to be the favoured choice among the local cabbies, probably due to the amount of luggage and number of holidaymakers they mostly transported. I attempted to wave him down but he ignored me and drove on by. Time was running out.
I searched and thought again. About fifty metres further up the road on the opposite side, pointing away from us was a local green bus.
I pulled Geoffrey, pointed and shouted, ‘There, the bus. We can make it. Come on, run!’ I sprinted away, across the road. Geoffrey couldn’t keep up. I glanced back at him and then at the bus. I was worried it would leave before we reached it, so I sprinted on and arrived in a burst at the open door. The bored looking driver turned to me. Another passenger would delay him further and it put him out. I checked back on Geoffrey who was now on the pavement but still some distance away and barely running at all. The bus driver spoke to me in Spanish. I said aggressively, ‘Wait!’ He shrugged and complained in Spanish about British tourists. As I looked back again, Geoffrey had slowed to a walk. Behind him, I saw the two men arrive at the top of the steps and begin a rapid search. At the same time, their car appeared on the road, driving fast up the hill. The driver slowed when he saw his two colleagues. One of them had spotted Geoffrey and he pointed and shouted. The driver accelerated past the men and I watched him lower his window and lean his arm out. In his hand, he held a gun.
I shouted with clear and genuine alarm, ‘Geoffrey run, now! Come on, hurry.’ I didn’t need to explain further. He was an intelligent man and could tell from the sound of my voice he was in danger. He put his head down and ran as fast as he could. The car got closer and the driver raised his arm. I thought he was going to fire. It was a difficult shot from a moving vehicle at a moving target. He hesitated. A gunshot would have sounded like a sudden clap of thunder and several people were on the pavement near enough to see. The gunman delayed, perhaps deciding not to shoot. This gave Geoffrey the seconds he needed to reach the cover of the bus. I grabbed him by the arms and pushed him in, throwing a five-euro note at the driver. I shouted, ‘Vayamos.’ The driver muttered more disparaging remarks about the British and then pocketed the money.
The green bus pulled away, not waiting for any traffic behind and the diesel engine revved and clattered as the driver changed gear. About a third of the seats had passengers and I pushed Geoffrey down, onto one in the middle, next to a large woman, away from the windows. He was sweating and breathing heavily. He grasped his satchel to his chest.
I stayed low and made my way to the back window. I looked out and saw the car had stopped and the two men were hurrying towards it from the top of the steps. We were still in trouble. They would be able to follow the bus and have another go at us when we got off. I had to think fast. These guys were carrying handguns and it was obvious they intended to kill Geoffrey Button and me too, if I got in the way, or maybe, even if I didn’t. My only thought at that moment was to evade them safely—I would worry about my next move later—but how to get away from them?
The bus rumbled on, chugging and climbing slowly. I wondered where it was going. Whether back down towards the ocean and the sea front or away from the coast, across the hills and into the centre of the island. We could jump off when it made one of its stops and make a dash for it. Choose a busy stop with plenty of available cover. It might work. It might be our only option.
I looked again and the silver saloon was close behind. I went back to Geoffrey and told him, ‘They’re following the bus in their car.’ He nodded as if this didn’t surprise him. I looked into his eyes. He was worried but not frightened. This was a good sign. He’d be much easier to handle this way. Fear makes a man behave irrationally. Don’t panic, don’t panic! Fear can get a man killed. I’d seen it happen.
I told him, ‘We’re going to get out of this safely.’ I fixed him with my eyes and said, ‘Do what I tell you and don’t, whatever happens, panic. Okay?’ He nodded and confirmed his agreement with a flash of his eyes from behind his glasses. I patted his shoulder and said, ‘Good.’
I looked through the big windscreen and saw the bus was nearing the first roundabout. There was a row of shops, an apartment building and a sign for a hotel on the right. Gathered near the stop, a group of people wanted the bus and it began to slow. I had to make a decision.
Passengers were moving and some stood up. It seemed at least six were getting off. I spotted a covered walkway between the buildings with shops inside and a hotel at the end. The bus came to a stop and people were heading for the door. I pulled Geoffrey’s arm and he stood up. I told him, ‘We’re getting off.’
He breathed deeply and nodded. I pointed through the window and said to him, ‘There’s a covered walkway directly behind the bus stop. As soon as we step off, we’re going to run down it as fast as we can. Don’t collide with any people on the way. At the end is a hotel. Go straight in.’
We were edging towards the door with people in front and behind. I asked him, ‘Okay?’
He said, ‘Yes, I understand.’
‘Good. Once we’re in the hotel keep moving. They’ll be another entrance on the other side of the building. We need to find it and fast. I’m going to stay behind you the whole way. Don’t worry about me. Just keep moving and get through to the othe
r side of the hotel. If I’m not with you then, either get in a taxi and leave or hide in a group of people and keep moving.’
We were at the door. Geoffrey looked at me and said, ‘Thank you.’ He stepped down and the moment his feet touched the pavement he took off running like a mad march hare, zigzagging with sudden bursts of acceleration. I followed, doing a backwards turn to glance the silver saloon. It had stopped behind the bus and as I looked, the doors opened. I turned and sprinted up behind Geoffrey who was still weaving wildly between the shoppers and sightseers. He was running as fast as he could, too fast and accidentally collided with a young woman, knocking her shoulder bag into the air. Luckily he didn’t fall. I heard him shout, ‘Sorry.’ I stayed tight behind him.
We reached the end of the covered walkway without any more mishaps and the hotel came into view. There was a circular fountain to navigate and Geoffrey wobbled hazardously as he ran around it, and then we were at the double glass doors. I turned again and saw two men running towards us. They were fifty metres back, negotiating the shoppers. One of the three had obviously stayed with the car.
Geoffrey pushed open the swing doors with more force than he appeared capable of, and we both ran through. We entered into a large reception area with a long desk against the sidewall, and an array of low tables and chairs. I searched but couldn’t see an obvious exit. Geoffrey slowed as he too searched unsuccessfully. There were shining, double lift doors in the far wall. He ran towards them, still seeking an outside exit. The reception area opened on one side into a wide corridor, which appeared to lead into a dining room with a partial glass roof. The sunshine was streaming in, lighting the room like a stage. It didn’t appear there was another exit. The lift pinged and the shiny doors slid open. Geoffrey made a snap decision. I would have continued through into the dining room but Geoffrey entered the lift. I didn’t hesitate and followed him in. The doors closed as our two pursuers burst into reception through the glass doors with one of them focusing on the closing lift doors.
