Chapter Forty-Five
‘I have your girls.’
The words made Rees Smith freeze in fear. He closed his eyes in despair. This was one of those telephone calls that every father dreaded. How was it possible? What had happened to the Special Branch team that was supposed to be guarding them along with his wife? ‘What do you want?’
‘To talk. We have unfinished business.’
‘About what may I ask?’
‘Mal, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Rees Smith repeated, as though it would make sense. It didn’t to him. ‘Where, when?’
‘Right now. Let’s get it over with.’
Rees Smith sighed deeply. ‘We need to talk about this.’
‘We do indeed. Save it for six o’clock this afternoon, Shoreham Airport.’
‘How do I know my girls are safe?’
‘You don’t. Come alone or they’ll die, same way as Mal did.’
The telephone line went dead. Rees Smith stared at the receiver in his hand for a few moments before replacing it. ‘Now, who the hell was that?’ he murmured. He leant back in his chair to contemplate matters.
An hour later, Rees Smith stood in front of his dressing room mirror looking pleased at the image. Dressed up in army camouflage outfit, it reminded him of his time in Bangkok in his younger days. He struck a pose with a revolver.
He laughed loud. ‘Oh, yes! I like it!’ He placed the revolver and a handful of cartridge cases into his jacket pocket and casually made his way downstairs as if there was nothing untoward. He opened his front door and smiled at the two guards posted there by Brigadier Armstrong.
‘Fancy dress party! Good costume, don't you think? I should just be able to make it on time if I rush. The wife's there already, I expect. Must dash, see you later.’ And with that, he left the two guards standing, totally confounded.
He covered the distance from his house to Shoreham Airport within twenty minutes, pulled into the Airport’s car park, turned off the engine and sat pondering what to do next.
As if in answer to his question, a young Thai man walked over to his Range Rover, inclined his head and motioned for Rees Smith to follow. His body shaking badly, pumped full of adrenalin, a nervous cramp knotting his stomach, he nevertheless did as instructed. It had been years since he had felt such a buzz.
Three minutes later, Rees Smith was beckoned to climb into a small, old airplane that looked horribly familiar. He shook his head, declining the offer. His escort jumped on board and Rees Smith’s jaw dropped as his two young daughters, bound and gagged, were dragged into view. He climbed the short flight of steps without further ado. The escort slammed the door shut and the airplane rolled forward for take off.
A man, sitting crouched in front of another armed escort, looked up and smiled in Rees Smith’s direction. ‘Glad you could make it, Geoff.’
Rees Smith looked over at Nick Price. Seated beside him were Nittaya, Somsuk and Paul Mansell. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised to see you lot here. I knew you’d be behind this charade somewhere.’
The Fourth Cart Page 45