“To throw him off, we stay the night in Fort William, check out of the hotel first thing, then drive to a different car rental firm—not the one where we got the Landrover. That’s just to be on the safe side. Meg rents a nondescript, regular car. We transfer what luggage she and I have, and pile Dougal’s bags and the knapsack on the seats we were occupying in the rover. That will make it look as though there are still passengers, at least to a distant helicopter pilot. After that, Dougal drives the rover to Glasgow, hopefully picking up the shadow outside Fort William. Meg and I collect Bobbie and drive northeast, in the opposite direction. That will take us to Aberdeen via Inverness. Once there, we get a flight to London. There are direct flights to London, aren’t there, Dougal?”
“Aye. They stop at Edinburgh, but you can’t leave the plane if you’re traveling on.”
“Well there you are. I’ll trail Meg and Bobbie until they meet up with the Judge at Heathrow, and Dougal, you can go from Glasgow to Gatwick, and then to Frankfurt. You should be able to spot a tail and shake him off.”
“I think I could manage that.”
“And you can check in the Landrover at the airport.”
“Very convoluted, Kurt,” said Meg smiling. “It shows the kind of mind you have.”
Kurt laughed.
Monday, October 29, Heathrow Airport, London
Meg, Bobbie and the Judge had been lucky to get on an afternoon flight to Jamaica. They had just stowed their hand baggage and were getting settled in their seats, when a stewardess offered newspapers. The Judge’s eyes opened wide when he saw the headline.
GERMAN CHANCELLOR DIES OF UNKNOWN VIRUS
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Monday, October 29, Bermuda
Jon Moresby stretched and looked at his watch. It was five o’clock, and the beach was almost devoid of sunbathers. At this time of year the Bermuda evenings could be comparatively cool, and today was no exception. A chilly breeze caused goose bumps under his modest suntan. It was time to leave.
For the first time since he had arrived on the island, he felt more or less relaxed and began to remember a little of what happened immediately after finding out about Josie and Crispin. Anger, sadness, a feeling of betrayal and other intense emotions had clouded his mind. He recalled finding a taxi going to Logan Airport, his one thought being to leave Boston immediately and get as far away as possible. When the driver dropped him at a convenient terminal, Jon did no more than glance at the departure monitor before booking on the first available flight. This happened to be the last one to Bermuda, a short hop of about an hour and a quarter. On arrival, he had no difficulty getting accommodation at a pleasant cottage colony called the Sandy Bay Club.
The weekend had rapidly deteriorated into a blur of alcoholic haze as Jon strove to drive away his depression with several bottles of different spirits. Finally, on Monday morning he awoke with such a bad hangover that he decided to try and stay on the wagon for the whole day. He spent most of it on the beach, and found himself staring at the prettier girls in bathing suits who were staying at the establishment. Jon wondered whether his feelings for Josie had been purely sexual, and was surprised he wasn’t missing her as much as he had expected.
The walk back to his cottage unit took him down a path flanked with ornamental shrubs. Jon was thinking about what to do next, when he turned a corner and stopped in his tracks. Walking toward him was the most exquisite girl. She was a heart-stopper, at least he thought so. Perhaps it was the daringly brief skin-tight bikini that made him stare at her body, which was the epitome of female perfection. Her hair was blonde and straight, tied into a pony tail with an elastic band, and her legs were long and slender. As she approached, Jon realized he could almost see through the thin material of the bikini bra. She was paying more attention to the flowers and the late-feeding hummingbirds than to him. When they were a few feet apart, she turned her head and glared.
“Do you mind? Haven’t you seen a girl in a bathing suit before?” Her accent was very English.
There was no way they could pass each other on the narrow path without physical contact unless one of them stood to one side. Jon did so, but the girl seemed to take it the wrong way. She stopped as well.
“Would you mind letting me pass?” she said.
“Of course. I apologize.” Jon was beginning to feel embarrassed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes you did! I saw it in your eyes. You were as good as undressing me.” She stepped past him carefully, and glanced back.
“I’m sorry,” Jon answered.
She turned her head away again and stalked off toward the beach. Jon couldn’t resist a glance at her disappearing backside.
“Whew,” he said as he unlocked his cottage and went over to the mini bar in the corner of the room, his resolution about booze forgotten. She really was gorgeous. As he sat on the bed sipping his drink, he remembered Josie, and the time they’d made love at the reservoir on St. Barbe’s. But images of the dead body, and memories of all the awful things that had happened, flooded into his mind. So he poured another drink, but only a small one because he felt really hungry, and didn’t want to ruin his dinner by getting too drunk beforehand.
Jon couldn’t sleep that night. Everything was going round and round in his head, and he was disturbed that he was so attracted to the girl in the bikini. He told himself it didn’t matter. After all, Josie had cheated on him and he had every right to look at other girls, or even sleep with them if it came to that. He was still awake at 2 am and the only answer seemed to be a large drink, large enough to knock him out. He propped himself up against the pillows after lining up three miniatures of Scotch beside a glass with some ice in it. As he finished the first, his thoughts turned to Meg. It was hard to believe how much Peter’s loss had changed her. She seemed so strong after the ordeal, while he himself felt somewhat diminished. Jon realized that he too missed Peter very much. They had become quite close since his parents’ death, and remembering how those bastards had murdered his godfather made him angry. Eventually the third miniature did its work and he fell into a fitful sleep with the light still on.
Tuesday, October 30, Bermuda
It was lunchtime and it was hot, so Jon took a cold shower. He put on some new shorts and a shirt, and sought the beach bar that was open for light midday meals. It had a small concrete dining area with shaded patio tables. The girl was at one of them, alone. The last thing he wanted was another confrontation, which seemed unavoidable since all the other tables were empty. He therefore resolved to eat at the bar, and looked straight ahead as he made his way purposefully in that direction.
“Won’t you join me? I think I owe you an apology.”
She had stopped eating, and spoke as Jon drew level with her table, even though he made sure to maintain a safe distance. He paused in mid-stride. She was wearing clothes this time, a sundress. It seemed to accentuate her good looks.
“Well I . . .” he said uncertainly.
“Bring your lunch over. I won’t bite.” She smiled at him, and that did it.
Jon got a hamburger and beer and sat opposite.
“I’m sorry I was so rude yesterday,” she said. “My name’s Cindy Taylor. Can we call a truce?”
“I shouldn’t have stared,” replied Jon.
“I shouldn’t have worn that swimsuit, at least not without a beach-robe.”
Jon introduced himself. He said he was on his own, having a break from Tuft’s University. Cindy explained how her parents had separated a few months back, and how she had persuaded her mother to take a couple of weeks holiday in the sun. They lived in London.
“It’s very upsetting when your parents break up,” she said. “That’s probably why I was in a bad mood yesterday.”
Jon figured she wasn’t a day older than seventeen, but when she told him about her job as a legal secretary, he decided she was nearer his age. After that they made small talk, about the island, about the hotel, about everything except themselves. Jon found himself
drawn to Cindy. She was bright, bubbly, and made him forget his problems. Then, when they had finished eating, the blow fell.
“Tomorrow’s my last day,” she explained. “We go back Thursday. I have to be at work before the end of the week.”
Jon turned away. His disappointment was obvious.
“Let’s go for a swim,” she continued. “Tell you what, I’ll make up for yesterday. I’ll wear the same bikini and you can look at me all you want.”
Cindy knocked on his cottage door twenty minutes later, clad only in the promised swimsuit.
“I’m sorry, Cindy. I’m staring again,” Jon said. “But you did say I could.”
“Yes, I did.”
They walked down to the beach. The warm sun was flashing off the almost calm water in the small bay below the cottage colony. A few people were sunbathing on the sand. They dumped their towels and ran straight into the sea, splashing each other like kids as they started to wade out. In a short time Cindy was covered in goose-bumps, and Jon saw her nipples pushing against the thin material of the bikini bra. The swimsuit became almost transparent when it got wet, and Jon thought she might as well have worn nothing at all. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as they paused to catch their breath, the sea still only a little above their knees.
Cindy smiled. “You like?” She struck a mock pose, pulling her shoulders back so that the bikini stretched even tighter.
Jon didn’t know what to say, but he saw her glance slide down over his own body. He began to wonder if she was just teasing him.
“You certainly do!” She laughed, then turned and continued out to sea.
After that, in deeper water, there wasn’t much scope for conversation. They played together for a while, touching often, sometimes accidentally but mostly on purpose. Then they made their way a bit nearer to the beach, and Cindy floated on her back in calmer water where it was waist deep. She closed her eyes, and her long blonde hair rose and fell in the slight swell. Jon looked down at her breasts. The sea was washing gently over them, and he wanted her.
Later they lay side by side on the sand to dry off, hardly speaking.
After a few minutes, Cindy sat up. “Let’s go to your cottage,” she said in a quiet voice.
Jon didn’t answer, but he took her hand and they made their way through the gardens.
“It’s not fair,” she went on. “We only have a day together. One day for everything.”
“How do you mean?” Jon realized he sounded stupid.
By this time they were at the point on the pathway through the shrubs where they had first met, and Cindy stopped, pulling Jon round to face her. “You know what I mean. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Jon opened the cottage door and she went in ahead of him. By the time he’d shut it, she was standing with her back against the wall, the bikini bra on the floor beside her. Jon’s expectations were exceeded beyond anything his imagination had conjured up while they were swimming.
“Now it’s your turn.” She stepped forward, and slowly pulled down his swimming trunks. “And now it’s mine again, but you do it.”
Jon did, and buried his face in the softness he uncovered, then he raised her arms, saying nothing, but kissing her body on the most sensitive places. During the next hour he completely forgot about Josie. It crossed his mind for a second that Cindy had been unduly forthcoming, but their extended lovemaking totally overwhelmed him, and by the look of it, Cindy as well.
The next morning, Cindy phoned early to tell Jon she had to spend the day with her mother, whom he had never seen. It was a big disappointment, so he did some shopping in Hamilton to head off his boredom. When it finally got dark and it was time for dinner, he went to the restaurant expecting to see her there. He dawdled over his food, but after an hour, there was still no Cindy. Feeling rather let down, Jon wandered round the gardens with their carefully placed path lights, just in case she had gone for a stroll, but he didn’t even know her cottage number so had no idea which direction to take. By the time ten o’clock came, he was considering giving up and getting a nightcap before the bar closed. Then something made him go back to the straight section of footpath where they had first met, and there she was, walking from the direction of the beach.
Cindy took both his hands in hers. “Jon Moresby, I missed you, I had a miserable day.”
“So did I,” said Jon.
“And I have to go back to London tomorrow. It’s not fair.”
“Well maybe . . . maybe I could follow you?”
Cindy ignored the idea and turned her back on him. Jon was puzzled until she took both his hands again, but this time she slid them up beneath her loose blouse to her bare breasts.
“Oh, God!” she whispered.
Suddenly Cindy glanced at her watch and whirled round. She held his face and kissed him, her tongue searching for his and her body quivering. Then she was running swiftly down the path into the darkness.
Thursday, November 1, Bermuda
Jon got up early for breakfast, hoping to say goodbye to Cindy in the restaurant. He paused in the doorway, then stiffened when he saw her just two tables to his right. A middle-aged woman was at the same table with her back to him. Cindy was sitting opposite. She glanced up. Their eyes locked for a second and then hers dropped. As she picked up a coffee pot with her left hand, Jon saw what was definitely an engagement ring. It hadn’t been there before. He turned to leave—by the time Cindy looked up he would be gone.
After returning to the cottage he sat on the bed, his head in his hands. For a while he felt sorry for himself, terribly let down for the second time in a few short days. But somewhere deep inside, he had guessed all along that she was too good to be true. He supposed that she wanted a last fling before getting married, and he happened to be convenient. Still, something had emerged from the encounter; he knew for sure that he no longer cared about Josie and Crispin. And when it came down to it, making love with Josie was tame compared with Cindy, and he was certain he would never forget her.
The realization was like a weight being lifted from his shoulders, and all at once he knew what he wanted to do. He would go back to St. Barbe’s. It didn’t occur to him until later that he couldn’t just get off a plane as if nothing had happened. He’d be arrested and undoubtedly shot. A disguise and forged passport were needed, and the only place he could think of to get them was London. Whether or not he would look for Cindy at the same time, could be decided when he arrived. Once he had the passport, he would fly to St. Barbe’s as soon as possible. He should have thought of it days ago. The only problem was he hadn’t the faintest idea what he’d do when he got there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Thursday, November 1, St. Barbe’s
Anna Andersson stared through the barred window of her cell. It was the first time she had seen the outside world since arriving in this place, and she wasn’t sure how long ago that was. Until now the bars had been covered by a sheet of plywood. She heard the sound of the door being unlocked behind her, and turned to see a well-dressed black man. Fuming with anger, she stepped forward to confront him.
“How long do you think you’re going to get away with this, you cretin? And where’s Hans Wetzlar?”
“Never you mind,” the man replied. “He’s otherwise occupied.”
So Hans was here too. Anna gloated inwardly when she realized how easily she had extracted this information. “You touch him and you’re dead!” Anna practically spat the words out, but they still sounded banal. “I shall personally rip off your balls!” she added for good measure.
Unfazed, the man leaned forward and glared into her face. “Fuck off!” he grunted, and walked out.
“Two to me and one to you,” Anna whispered, turning her attention to the window again. There was a vague familiarity about the concrete runway in the distance, and she watched idly as a LIAT Dash 8 passenger aircraft throttled up prior to takeoff. Then everything fell into place. She knew exactly where she was, and was almost certain who her captor
was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Thursday, November 1, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica
The afternoon sun was blazing down with unbridled ferocity, at least that’s what it felt like to Meg. Two days after arriving back at the villa with Bobbie, Meg and the Judge were inspecting the garden.
“It will take a while to get acclimatized after Germany and Scotland,” said the Judge. “Mind you, it’s nice to be back, and as far as I can see I won’t be needed in Heidelberg any more, especially with the highly efficient Kurt Gruber on the job. Come on, Meg, let’s find somewhere cool and relax.”
The Judge led the way across the well-manicured lawn to the inviting shade of a palm tree.
Meg sank into a lawn chair. “When we were on the plane and you told me about Jon and Josie splitting up, I was only half conscious, and this morning it sort of hit me. Did Josie say anything about what happened?”
The Judge sat beside her, and took her hand.
“Nothing. She didn’t give the slightest clue. It’s probably none of my business, but I’m going to ask about it when I talk to her again.”
“Perhaps they’ll get back together. But what really bothers me is that Jon hasn’t contacted us, and it’s a whole week since he left.”
“I must admit I’m a bit concerned as well. He’s picked a bad time to be out of touch, what with so many folks just disappearing. Unfortunately there isn’t a darn thing we can do about it, or anything else for that matter. As we’ve said before, we can’t possibly take on The Organization by ourselves. I’ve just had another thought. The German Chancellor’s death suggests that they’re in the process of taking over his country. If we’re to stop them, we’ll have to convince German Security. To do so, we need concrete proof that the Chancellor died of the same virus that killed Hedi—and probably the Prime Minister of New Zealand. And if they swallow that, do you think they’ll believe any of the other things we’ve found out? I surely doubt it.”
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