He knew that Cristóbal would not walk the short distance from the Savoy to the Courtauld Gallery. It would be too much of a risk for him. One thing he did know was that Cristóbal would not miss his private tour of the gallery for anything. Knowing the gallery would close in half an hour, Jed searched for a place to hide and found an empty office on the second and top floor. He knew it would remain unoccupied as he had watched the previous occupant leave some minutes before. He watched them descend the vast, ornate, circular staircase all the way to the bottom. They had taken their coat and bag, making Jed pretty safe in the knowledge that they wouldn’t return on the same day. The door lock was easy pickings for Jed who was well versed in methods of entry. He waited patiently.
***
Cristóbal and his bodyguards were met at the door to the gallery by a woman of slight stature whose hair was tied up and combed back from her face. She wore a navy scarf around her neck and rimmed glasses that didn’t suit her. They made her look somewhat masculine.
“Good afternoon, Señor Vásquez Fuentes. It’s a pleasure for us to have you here. My name is Eileen Simms, and I’ll be your guide.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Simms, I trust that you are enlightened as to the works of art here in the gallery?”
Although the greeting was polite enough, there was a pointed question in his words.
“My dear Señor Vásquez Fuentes, I’ve been here in the gallery for sixteen years. I’ve overseen the purchase, loan and restoration of most of the art that you will see here on display. I think that I’m in a good position to be your guide. But there is, of course, the digital guide, should you wish to use that service or a combination of the two?”
Cristóbal considered her offer.
“I am happy with the original arrangement, thank you. You may call me Señor Fuentes.”
Conscious of the bodyguard’s presence, Eileen said, “Look, Señor Fuentes, you’re safe here. The doors are locked. Why don’t your staff rest here while you relax in the gallery? It’s your choice.”
Cristóbal thought for a moment, discussed the matter with his guards and turned to Eileen.
“One will stay down here and the other on the top floor.”
“As you wish, Señor Fuentes, as you wish. Where would you like to start?”
“I would like to start at the top floor, please.”
“Very well, we have a lift over here.”
As they walked to the lift, Eileen explained that the gallery has nine exhibiting rooms on the second floor and that these are dedicated to Impressionism and the twentieth century.
***
Jed waited with the door slightly ajar. He could see enough through the thin gap between door and frame. He heard the sound of lone footsteps ascending the stairs. They were coming his way. Jed taped some material over his mouth and, with the cord from the blinds that he’d cut, he deftly tied his ankles to the chair and placed his arms on the chair. He looped some cord over his wrists to make out that he was bound. Once he heard the footsteps arrive at the top of the staircase, he made a grunting sound as he tried to call out through his self-imposed gag. He made as much sound as he could through the gag for a minute, but there was no response. He decided to rock his chair so that the legs made a dull sound upon impact hoping that, along with the grunting, it would attract the attention that he desired. He decided to knock a stapler and wireless mouse off the desk. That worked. Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching and grunted louder, enticing his prey.
The door opened slowly. The bodyguard was cautious and rightly so. With the door half open and his hand still on the doorknob, the bodyguard’s eyes met Jed’s. Jed had widened his eyes and continued making efforts to speak. The bodyguard looked around the room and behind the door before advancing towards Jed. He spoke in broken English. “It’s okay, there’s no one here. I will untie you. Are you hurt?”
The bodyguard tore away the makeshift gag and repeated the question. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt. They just took my wallet, passport and camera. Then they tied me up in here. Thanks for helping me.”
“No problem. Let me untie your feet first.”
The slim short-haired bodyguard bent down on one knee to untie Jed’s ankles. After the second one was free, Jed let the loops of cord fall from his wrists and rained blows upon the bodyguard’s neck and back. He didn’t stand a chance and fell face down to the floor. He tried to regain himself but Jed expertly laid into him, rendering him unconscious in a matter of moments. Jed PlastiCuffed the unconscious body to the desk and gagged him for good measure. He then relieved him of his wallet, passport, radio and Beretta.
Jed made his way to Room 11b. It was at the end of the floor and the smallest connecting room of them all. His thoughts were that Cristóbal would be drawn into a false sense of security as he meandered through the first four exhibits, through the Impressionist landscapes and then on to the twentieth century French paintings. Of course, Jed knew that Cristóbal could divert rooms 9 to 13 but he also knew that this was highly unlikely. Cristóbal was a methodical man and would follow through the rooms in numerical order. This was the benefit of knowing your enemy.
Jed positioned himself on an Ottoman-type artefact adjacent to the entrance from Room 11a. He thought that Cristóbal would be in the moment and that his interest would be drawn to the painting in the centre of the wall on the right as he entered the room. He wasn’t disappointed.
Jed saw Eileen’s arm extend as she walked through the gap, closely followed by Cristóbal. He walked straight ahead with eyes fixed on a painting of what appeared to be a scene from heaven before them. Eileen was busy explaining its artistic traits and its history to a very attentive cartel leader absorbing every word.
“Would you both be so kind as to stay very still?”
The pair froze upon hearing the voice from behind them.
“Now, slowly raise your hands.”
After a short while, Eileen started to raise her hands while Pérez Díaz didn’t move.
“You heard me, Cristóbal. Raise your hands slowly, and no tricks.”
Cristóbal withdrew his hands from his blazer and slowly started to raise them. He then quickly positioned himself behind Eileen and produced a knife to her throat.
“I don’t know who you are. But would you risk the life of this innocent woman?”
Jed raised his pistol with silencer attached.
“I have no qualms with her; I’m here for you, and if that means she’s in the way, so be it.”
Jed aimed at the pair. Eileen’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets. She was desperately trying to take in what was going on and, even more so, what was being said. It was too much for her, and she fainted. As she slumped to the floor, her limp neck slewed its way across Cristóbal’s knife, opening her skin like meat on a butcher’s slab.
Her body hit the ground with a thud, and a pool of vibrant red blood appeared. Cristóbal looked at the woman, and Jed drew his attention.
“And now, Cristóbal, what are you going to do? I wouldn’t come at me with that knife if I were you because I’ll shoot you down before you take a step. Or are you going to drop the knife and raise your hands, like I asked? The choice is yours, and I’m waiting. I’m not a patient man.”
Cristóbal instinctively dropped the knife and raised his hands. Jed threw him some PlastiCuffs.
“Put them on and tie them tight with your teeth.”
Cristóbal did as instructed.
“On your knees, arms outstretched.”
Cristóbal complied. Jed walked behind him and started searching him, removing a radio, a passport and a wad of cash. Jed checked to see if Cristóbal was wearing a microphone or an earpiece. He had half expected it, but there was nothing.
“Lie with your face down on the ground.”
Cristóbal hesitated, which was a mistake. The next thing he felt was Jed’s boot in the middle of his back pushing him to the ground. Cristóbal expelled air forcefully as his body
plunged to the floor and the impact of his face hitting the ground caused his mouth and nose to bleed profusely.
“You see, I know you understand me. If your English is good enough to be educated here in England at Imperial College, it’s good enough to understand my simple instructions.”
Jed searched Cristóbal’s legs beneath his trousers, finding a pistol strapped to his lower right ankle and a knife housed inside his left boot.
“Come on, get on your feet,” instructed Jed as he grabbed Cristóbal by his jacket between the shoulder blades and helped him to his feet.
Blood poured from Cristóbal’s nose and mouth all over the front of his clothing. Jed bent down to remove the scarf from Eileen who was lying motionless in a pool of her own blood.
“She won’t be needing this now, but you will.”
Cristóbal looked at Jed with open eyes as if to question, but it was quickly answered by Jed as he thrust the scarf into his mouth.
“Now, leave that there until I say it can be removed. Nod if you understand?”
Cristóbal nodded in affirmation and Jed motioned for Cristóbal to walk forward through the rooms. They walked the length of the upper floor rooms 12 to 15 and found themselves at the top of the staircase.
“We’re taking the lift,” directed Jed purposefully.
They entered the lift with Cristóbal in front. Once inside, Jed moved Cristóbal into position so he would be the first person to exit the lift, with Jed behind him. Upon reaching the ground floor, the lift door opened. Jed held onto Cristóbal’s jacket, holding him back, waiting to see if there was a response. Cristóbal tried to walk.
“Wait, not so fast.”
They waited a few seconds, and Jed listened intently for any clues. He didn’t want any surprises from the other bodyguard who may have been warned by any other means of communication. All seemed normal.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Jed guided Cristóbal out of the lift, turning left at the foot of the staircase. They were opposite the gallery entrance and ticket area. There was no sign of the bodyguard. Jed thought he must be in Room 1 and led Cristóbal to the narrow doorway towards that room. He paused, with Cristóbal to his front at the open door, and thrust his captive forward onto the floor.
A voice came from the left, and the bodyguard came into view, running to help his boss. As he reached Cristóbal, his eyes levelled at Jed and, as he reached for his shoulder holster, Jed shot him twice in quick succession. The man lurched violently backwards. Jed strode over and stood over the bodyguard who was still conscious and desperately trying to reach his gun. Jed fired a single shot to the head and blood splattered across the shiny tiled floor. Cristóbal was still prone but able to witness the cold-blooded execution of his cousin, Alvaro. Jed searched Alvaro’s pockets and found the car keys that he was looking for. He quickly turned to Cristóbal.
“Come on, we’re going.”
Cristóbal tried to speak through the gag and Jed removed it, temporarily allowing him to splutter out, “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?”
“Trust me. I have thought about that, many times. But I have a much better fate for you.”
He thrust the gag back into Cristóbal’s bloodied mouth, turned around and pushed him towards the exit. A man appeared. He was tall and suited, about fifty years of age. He was wearing the gallery’s identity badge.
“Have you got the keys to get out of this place?” asked Jed.
The man saw Jed’s pistol and spluttered, “Err, yes … yes I have the keys to get out. Take them, please take them, but don’t kill me.”
“Geoffrey, open the door and walk away.”
“But, but, how do you my name is Geoffrey?”
“You’re wearing an identity badge, Geoffrey, aren’t you? Now, as you move away, call an ambulance because you have an injured colleague on the top floor. After you’ve called the ambulance, go and give her first aid. You understand that?”
Geoffrey stared in amazement. The stress of the situation had made him fixate his eyes on Jed.
Jed shouted, “Geoffrey! Snap out of it and go and help your colleague, and don’t forget to call the ambulance first. She has a knife wound from this man here.”
“Now, go!”
Geoffrey ran to the back office and Jed could hear him fumbling with the phone. Jed pushed Cristóbal through the exit doors and towards the parked Mercedes. He opened the boot.
“Get in.”
Not having any choice, Cristóbal obeyed. As he lay inside the boot, Jed cut the PlastiCuffs and reapplied a new one with Cristóbal’s hands behind his back. He then applied another PlastiCuffs to his ankles.
Jed then sped off into the evening traffic.
Chapter 24 – Theories and Lives
Jed had driven for about thirty minutes across the centre of London before he arrived outside a pharmacy. He left the car and, once inside, gathered dressings, bandages, iodine and alcohol pads. He drove another quarter of an hour before arriving at an old 1970s style, run-down car park. Metal barriers surrounded the structure and bore a sign that read, ‘Due for Demolition - Keep Clear’ on every possible entrance. It had been out of use for years, apart from the odd skateboarder and some homeless people. But even they had left now as the demolition was due any day. Jed removed a fence panel, giving him access to the main entrance. The barrier was long gone, and Jed sped up the ramps to the top floor in the open-night air. The far right of the car park was in darkness; the old halogen lamps had failed a long time ago, and no other lights illuminated that spot. He parked awkwardly, leaving enough space to open the boot and get Cristóbal out. He got Cristóbal to his feet and waited. He looked him in the eye and said nothing. He was staring intently at him as if to look deep inside the man. Unnerved, Cristóbal desperately tried to say something through his gag, but all that could be heard was the traffic of the night and the odd siren leaving a shrill echo in its wake.
Finally, inches away from Cristóbal’s face, Jed broke the silence between them. “I bet you’re wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?”
Cristóbal frantically nodded his head — an action that was accompanied by more muffled sounds.
“Oh, you want to say something, do you? Okay, let me take out that gag.”
He removed the gag and dropped it onto the oil-stained concrete floor.
Cristóbal sucked in the air.
“You’re right, I am wondering what I’m doing here. Who’s paying you? I mean, you’re not MI5 or MI6, otherwise I’d be somewhere warmer and drier by now. And you’re not any counterterrorism nor anti-drugs agency for the same reason. And you’re certainly not part of any hit squad, otherwise we wouldn’t still be talking. So who are you? And more importantly, what do you want with me?”
“My dear Cristóbal, you are a little bit paranoid if I may say so. No, I’m none of those. I’m here for a higher purpose. I’m here to seek vengeance. You had a friend of mine killed … slowly. He died a prolonged and painful death because of you. And now it’s your turn.”
Cristóbal stared at Jed in horror. He’d heard the words, but it was the way in which he conveyed them that gave him the profound feeling of fear. This man before him would relish in killing him.
Jed removed a pistol from his jacket pocket. “But you know what, Cristóbal, death would be too good for you, even if it was a slow and painful one. So, I’ve had a better idea. This pistol that I took from you earlier, it’s nice. It’s a Beretta PX4 Storm Sub Compact if I’m not mistaken, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, it is. My cousin, Alvaro, gave it to me.”
Jed examined the pistol. “Have you tried it out yet? I don’t mean on the shooting range or anything, I mean the real thing. Have you shot anybody with it yet?”
“No, no, I haven’t,” came the nervous response.
“So, you don’t know how it will perform then, do you? I mean, you never really know until you use it for real, do you?”
Cristóbal was sweating profusely. He d
idn’t like where this line of questioning was going.
“No, you’re right. You can’t be sure until you use it for real. I’ve always prayed that I will never need to use it.”
“Tut, tut, tut, Cristóbal. You’ve killed and ordered the killing of many, many people and today’s your lucky day. You’re not going to use it, you’re going to be on the receiving end of it. That way you can see how it performs.”
Jed pushed Cristóbal against car park’s dark, pebble-dashed wall.
“Now, don’t you go moving, otherwise I might shoot something that I’m not aiming for.”
Cristóbal remained still, his eyes bulging as he followed Jed’s back. Jed stepped away a couple of metres before turning to face Cristóbal. He cocked the pistol and raised it, aiming high at Cristóbal’s head. He dropped the magazine latch for better grip, then removed the safety, moved slightly to the left and fired a round. Cristóbal squealed in pain as a bullet plunged into his left shoulder, puncturing the flesh and deltoid muscles. He slumped to the floor, his hands still tied behind him. Jed applied the safety, tucked the pistol in his waistband and, in a composed manner, walked over to Cristóbal.
“You see, that was from only a couple of metres away and, for a small toy like this, it packs quite a punch, doesn’t it? And don’t worry about the wound, I’ve got plenty of iodine and dressings. I’ll fix you up in no time. I had to pull a little to the left because I didn’t want to nick that artery in there, did I? That would be no good. I need to keep you alive … for the moment at least.”
Jed produced a knife, cut the clothes away from Cristóbal’s shoulder and dressed the wound. He tied the dressing and sat Cristóbal upright. He looked at him in the eye and asked, “Do you think that you can stand if I help you up?”
“Yes, yes, I think so. Are we going somewhere? A hospital?”
“No, no, we’re not going anywhere just yet. Come on, I’ll help you up.”
Shades of Loyalty Page 19