Coyle smiled sympathetically. “No. Probably not - just a long shot, that’s all. Thanks for your help - and sorry for your loss once more.”
With that, he and his boss left them in peace.
Sadly for Grainy, he now faced the unenviable task of informing the victims’ parents.
And it was not one that he relished.
***
As it turned out, Jeff Grainy did not get very far with his telephone call to Africa as he could not speak French, the national language of Niger. Claudette’s parents did not understand English either, at least not enough to fully grasp the terrible news he was trying to tell them.
However, Roper still remembered some schoolboy French - so, against his better judgement, took over the call and spoke to them on Grainy’s behalf.
His first ever day as a Detective Sergeant was going from bad to worse.
Claudette’s father, a government official, was Minister Of Interior to Niger and, before making the call, Coyle had discovered that the poor man had only just returned home from visiting his daughter in London. Indeed, his plane had touched down less than an hour earlier. Yet now he was having to hear the terrible news that she was dead.
For some reason, however, Roper got the impression that although dreadfully distressed by this information, he did not seem particularly shocked. In fact, he suddenly seemed to become extremely nervous - Coyle would almost say scared.
What is more, midway through Roper’s carefully edited explanation of what had happened to Claudette, Ekon Sekibo suddenly said, “Yes, thank you for letting me know - but now I’m afraid I must go.” At which point, he abruptly ended the call.
Both Coyle and Grainy thought this behaviour to be extremely odd but the man had just been told that his daughter was dead and, had they been in his place, they might well have acted strangely too.
Nevertheless, they would follow up in a couple of days as a matter of procedure.
However, Claudette’s father’s strange reaction to the news was completely overshadowed by what happened after Grainy telephoned Sam’s parents in New Hampshire and told them of the attack on their son.
***
Benedict Beresford and his wife Meredith were understandably distressed upon hearing the news of Sam’s ordeal and decided they had to get to England as soon as possible in order to be with him.
Without delay, they made arrangements for their private jet to be fuelled and readied for an immediate flight to London - their intention being to be with Sam by the following morning.
Foregoing his usual chauffeured limousine in favour of his much faster Maserati, Benedict opted to drive himself and his wife to the airfield just a few miles away.
If the traffic was favourable, they could be in the air within the hour and in London by first light.
However, Benedict’s thoughts were with his son, not on the road, and as he sped onto the freeway he neglected to check his mirrors.
Seeing the Maserati much too late, as it shot out like a rocket in front of him, the driver of the eighteen-wheeler slammed on the brakes to the deafening sound of screeching tyres and the smell of burnt rubber in a desperate bid to avoid a collision.
But it was to no avail.
The heavy truck ploughed headlong into the tiny sports car with devastating force, the terrific impact killing Benedict and Meredith Beresford instantly.
They would no longer be flying to London that night, indeed they would not be seeing their beloved son ever again.
Sam, meanwhile, lay unconscious in his hospital bed, unaware that in addition to losing his girlfriend and unborn child, he had now lost his parents too.
All because of what six men did on that once perfect day.
Chapter Four
Martinique, The Caribbean, two months earlier.
Quentin Faraday was a very wealthy South African of poor repute. Little was known of his background except that he was well educated, ex-military and had apparently made his fortune in mineral mining.
He was also famously ruthless with methods that were thought to be highly questionable but they had made him very rich nonetheless.
Faraday was the Chief Executive of Q-Core Global, a company that had sprung up seemingly from nowhere over the last ten years to become a minor player in the world’s mining industry.
Yet Faraday had big ambitions - both for himself and for Q-Core - and presently they relied heavily on the natural resources of Niger in West Africa - or, more accurately, on the cooperation of its Minister Of Interior, Ekon Sekibo.
Quentin had been chasing Ekon for several months, trying to secure the extremely lucrative rights to mine uranium in Niger, but he had been somewhat difficult to tie down.
Faraday’s initial approach had been strictly through legitimate channels; submitting the correct documentation, addressing the required criteria and setting out Q-Core’s proposals.
However, upon investigation, Ekon, whose role in government was to approve or deny such applications, had found Q-Core as a company and Faraday himself to be ethically ambiguous and their motives decidedly questionable.
What is more, Faraday was found to have links to the arms trade and, more worryingly, to extremist organisations who would undoubtedly pay a great deal for the nuclear properties of Niger’s uranium.
Suspecting this to be the true reason behind Q-Core’s application, Ekon flatly refused it.
Yet Faraday was not one to be easily put off and invited Ekon to his villa in Martinique for the weekend in a bid to reassure him of his company’s intentions.
Much against his better judgement, Ekon accepted.
At first, everything had been fine. Faraday was a gracious host and no mention was made of the mining contract as he showed his guest around his impressive home.
After a pleasant morning, the tour ended with lunch on the veranda overlooking the estate and the sparkling Caribbean ocean beyond; the views all around nothing short of spectacular.
Over the meal, the mood was casual and relaxed as the two men chatted about various issues, both political and personal. Yet it was in Ekon’s family that Faraday showed a particular interest.
Ekon was always pleased for an opportunity to boast about his loving wife and four beautiful daughters - especially his eldest and took great pride in telling Faraday about her studies at Cambridge, flattered by his host’s obvious curiosity.
The South African was happy to let his guest talk, seemingly enthralled by every word.
He was deeply tanned with steel grey hair and a strong, chiselled face which was handsome in a cruel way. As he relaxed in his comfortable chair on the veranda, dressed in polo shirt and chinos, his six foot frame and powerful, broad shoulders were somewhat disguised. Yet he was clearly at ease in the self-made affluence of his surroundings and exuded a casual air of supreme confidence which Ekon could not help but be impressed by.
As the afternoon wore on, Quentin eventually raised the issue of mining rights and asked what he must do in order to secure them.
However Ekon, although somewhat apologetic, was unwavering in his stance, stating that the decision had already been made and there was nothing more he could do.
“But surely there must be something,” Faraday had insisted, “after all, everything has a price, does it not?”
The question hung there for a moment, the suggestion of a bribe, although not spoken, clearly unmistakable and Ekon was slightly taken aback by the brazenness of it.
However, he kept his composure and remained firm. “Not everything, Mr. Faraday,” he replied. “Nor everyone.”
Undaunted by this, Faraday continued as if no such suggestion had been made and went on to present his case once more, re-stating the reasons why Q-Core should be granted the rights to mine uranium in Niger - as if the contract was still very much in contention.
Indeed, even when Ekon flatly refused to
discuss the matter further, Faraday would still not accept it.
“Don’t worry my, friend,” was all he had said, “I have the whole weekend - and I think you will find me a very persuasive man.”
That evening, Quentin threw a black-tie dinner party in Ekon’s honour. The guest list was predominantly male and comprised mostly of Faraday’s business associates as well as a few political types he had in his pocket. However, a number of very attractive women had also been invited for purposes of decoration and distraction.
As he dressed for dinner, Ekon bitterly regretted accepting Faraday’s weekend invitation. However, there was little he could do now but make the best of it and as he went down to join the party, he hoped to avoid any more conversations about the virtues of Q-Core Global.
Throughout the evening Ekon was presented to one rich guest after another, all extolling the virtues of Quentin Faraday without exception, having clearly been primed to paint a favourable picture of the man to whom they all apparently owed so much.
Faraday himself was charm personified and made no mention of uranium or mining whatsoever. He did, however, ensure that Ekon was seated at the dinner table between two exceptionally beautiful women, whose sole purpose was to keep him entertained.
Over dinner, he became ever more flattered by their attentions; they laughed at his jokes, stroked his ego and hung on his every word, all the while ensuring that his glass was never empty.
After the meal, when the dancing began, Niger’s Minister Of Interior started to feel decidedly woozy but the two nubile young ladies kept him occupied enough so that he barely noticed.
Indeed, he felt young again, virile, like a man in his prime - the alcohol making him carefree and uninhibited.
In his heart Ekon suspected this all to be part of Faraday’s plan, hoping that it might in some way persuade him to reverse his position on awarding the mining contract, but at that moment he did not care.
Furthermore, the more time Ekon spent with his female companions meant less time being badgered by Faraday and that was most definitely a bonus.
The hours passed by in a blissful haze until some time after midnight, when an inebriated Ekon was escorted back to his room by the two young women; each of them with an arm linked through his as they assisted him up the stairs.
So close together, Ekon found their perfume utterly intoxicating; the thin material of their evening gowns leaving very little to the imagination as their bodies brushed so enticingly against his.
The three of them fell into his bedroom and he drunkenly snapped on the light before staggering off to the bathroom to pee - leaving the girls alone to make them all some more drinks.
However, upon his return, he found them kissing on his bed, both completely naked; their evening gowns and lacy underwear hastily discarded on the thick rug.
He was immediately aroused by the glorious sight of them; both slim, lithe and beautiful with large breasts and long legs.
They stopped kissing when they saw him emerge from the bathroom. One of them then stood, walked over to him and handed him a crystal tumbler of warm, dark liquid.
“Drink it,” she said huskily, before guiding him back to the bed to join her friend.
Ekon quickly gulped down the whiskey and carelessly dropped the empty glass on the rug as the women began to undress him.
His head was swimming as they stripped off his clothes.
Suddenly, however, he was aware of how foolish he was being. He was a happily married, God-fearing man with a strict moral code - not a philanderer or a whore monger - yet the drink and the attentions of the two desirable women had temporarily caused him to forget his principles and disregard everything he held dear.
But not any longer. He thought of his wife, of his children and the shame he was so close to bringing down upon them and he felt instantly disgusted with himself.
Moreover, through his drunken blur, it occurred to him that this was surely all a set up; a ruse conjured up by Faraday as a way to coerce him into approving the mining rights.
As the thought crossed his mind, Ekon noticed a large mirror hanging on the wall.
A dreadful premonition popped into his brain of a video camera filming them from behind the glass - he had seen two-way mirrors in movies and would certainly not put such methods beyond someone so morally corrupt as Faraday who would undoubtedly be capable of blackmail to get what he wanted.
“Stop!” Ekon slurred, pushing away the girls hands as they stroked his body. “Please - don’t. Leave me alone - I don’t want you to—” However, at that moment, his head began to spin wildly and his slurred voice was barely audible as the narcotic his drink was spiked with took effect.
“Please, stop—” he protested weakly.
But then, just a moment later, his head dropped and everything went black.
Behind the glass, in the small, darkened room beyond, Quentin Faraday smiled. He then placed a hand on the man’s shoulder who was operating the camera. “Keep it running. The girls know what to do. Then when they’ve have had their fun, bring the tape to me.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” the underling said as Faraday turned to leave, heading back to the party downstairs which was still in full swing.
***
Next morning Ekon woke up in bed alone. He was wearing his pyjamas and there was absolutely no evidence anywhere of the two women who had accompanied him to his room the night before.
His memory of things was a little blurry but what he did remember he found acutely embarrassing, although fortunately it seemed there was no harm done.
Indeed, there was nothing to show that he had done anything to be too ashamed of - aside from drinking too much and demonstrating a complete lack of good judgement.
He breathed a sigh of relief, content in the assumption that the girls had respected his wishes and left him alone to sleep.
As he climbed out of bed and headed for the shower, Ekon glanced at the mirror on the wall once more. It looked so innocuous now in the sober light of day and he laughed at his drunken paranoia of a few hours earlier. What on earth had he been thinking?
***
Faraday was nowhere to be seen when Ekon went down for breakfast a short time later. According to an aide, his host was apparently busy making calls, which suited Ekon just fine.
In fact, it was perfect and allowed him to enjoy a leisurely, undisturbed breakfast from the large spread that had been laid out especially for him.
Afterwards, he took a long stroll around the grounds, delighting in the morning sun on his face and the peaceful tranquillity of his environment - simple pleasures which had become something of a rarity since becoming Niger’s Minister Of Interior.
Upon arriving back at the house an hour or so later, Ekon noticed a gleaming new Bentley sitting on the driveway which had not been there earlier.
The car was a deep midnight blue, polished to a high sheen, with cream leather seats and a walnut veneer dash. Sophisticated style coupled with classic elegance and Ekon could not help but be impressed by it.
Indeed, he was still admiring its smooth lines when Faraday appeared by his side, taking him quite by surprise.
“You like it, my friend?” The South African asked in excellent French.
“Of course, yes. It’s beautiful,” replied Ekon. “How could I not.”
“In that case I’m very pleased,” said Faraday.
“It’s yours then?” Ekon asked.
Faraday chuckled, the sound deep and gravelly. “No, my friend,” he smiled, “It is yours.”
“I’m sorry?” Ekon was not quite sure he had heard correctly.
“This beautiful car is yours, Minister,” replied Faraday grandly - purposely using Ekon’s official title. “It is my gift to you - along with the attaché case in the trunk. Both will be delivered to your personal residence in Niger within the week.”
“Attaché case?” Ekon asked, somewhat taken aback.
“Another little gift,” nodded the South African. “A sweetener, shall we say? I think you will find it more than generous.”
By now Ekon was reeling, gobsmacked by his host’s brazen audacity and temporarily unable to speak.
“Once contracts are signed,” Faraday continued, “You will receive further ‘gifts’ on a monthly basis - either in cash or paid into an account of your choosing. Personally, however, I would recommend cash as it is eminently more pleasing.”
“You’re bribing me?” Ekon said at last, still struggling to believe it.
“Please, Minister, that is such an ugly expression,” Faraday’s voice was calm, steady, as if he was discussing something as inconsequential as the weather. “Let us just say we are doing each other a favour and leave it at that. You help me, I help you - it’s that simple.”
But to Ekon it was far from simple and he could feel his anger rising, in fact he was trying hard not to let it boil over.
However, it was proving difficult and as he spoke it was through gritted teeth.
“I’m afraid, Mr. Faraday, that the answer is no. No to the car, no to the money and most definitely no to the mining contract,” he seethed. “I am not a man who can be bought - not someone you can merely pay off or manipulate at will.
“I am an honest man, Mr. Faraday. I realise that may be an alien concept to you but I can assure you that it is a fact - so please, take your car and your money and go to hell - because I am leaving!”
With that, Ekon stomped off back into the house and up the stairs to his room where he immediately phoned for a cab before throwing his belongings into his suitcase.
Quentin Faraday, meanwhile, remained outside, unruffled and undaunted by the Minister’s outburst.
As he surveyed the grounds of his luxurious property, he smiled with resignation. He had hoped to persuade Sekibo in a civilised way - as businessmen engaging in a straightforward transaction. Yet it had not been possible and his generosity had been refused.
But it made no odds as in the long run the Minister would see things his way and he would come around.
Perfect Day Page 4