by John Gubert
“What about the Swiss banks?” she asked.
“I need to rearrange the money and fast. I don’t want anything in the De Roche name. The money in Switzerland is OK as that is all in the company name. The funds in France are in a joint account under De Roche. They will have to be moved.”
We went upstairs and packed. I left the television on as I did but the news had nothing on my parents. A quarter of an hour later we were out of the hotel. I had checked out and hoped that I was off the guest list. I did not know if the police would look for me but I knew, from my mother’s warning, that neither she nor my father would mention my existence.
I turned to Jacqui. “We have two options. We can either get out ourselves or we try to spring them from the police. That could be a bit difficult, as we haven’t any guns. With guns it would be easier. The UK police are unlikely to be armed although we cannot be certain of any local ones.”
Jacqui said, “We should spring them. The De Roche name is dead but you don’t need to use it anyway. You are going to have to use a passport to get out of Brazil but in the US I can get you an identity switch without difficulty. I suspect the police will have sealed off your mother’s bedroom. There may be things inside.”
“Could you dress up as a maid and get in without them noticing?” I asked.
“We could try,” she said “but it is going to be tough to brazen that one out. Let’s get rid of the cases first.”
We got into a cab and drove to the airport. Then, instead of heading to the planes, we took two adjoining rooms in one of the airport hotels. We rented a car and headed back into Rio.
“We need different clothes,” said Jacqui “and also stuff for your parents.”
In the shops we found all we wanted. We bought dark jeans, dark sweaters, sunglasses and caps for Jacqui and me. Similar outfits that we thought would fit my parents together with a wig for my mother. Jacqui also got hair dye from a pharmacy. “We may need that.”
We got a map of Brazil and worked out how we could drive from Rio and head to a provincial airport. That would be a safer point from which to leave.
“I could leave you all there and get false papers. Then I could pick you up,” said Jacqui.
“Yes, but first of all we need to spring my parents,” I said. “Otherwise we may as well just leave.”
We returned to the original hotel, carrying our new clothes. There is never any problem in getting into a hotel if you are smartly dressed. We had soon made our way to the twenty-fourth floor where my mother’s room was located. A maid was passing.
“I’ll grab her,” I said. “It’s the only way.”
I walked along the corridor behind her. I was lucky as she stopped and unlocked a door to a storeroom near the lifts. She smiled at me as I went past. The smile turned to fear. Her mouth opened to scream, but to no avail. My hand was firmly clamped around her mouth and my arms stopped her kicking and struggling from having any effect. I bundled her into the storeroom and Jacqui hurriedly joined me.
“She’s a bit smaller than me. Her clothes are going to be a bit tight,” she said.
“We can’t help it. You won’t wear them for long.”
I grabbed a hand towel from one of the shelves and fashioned it into a gag. As I put it over her mouth, I told the trembling girl, “Nothing will happen to you as long as you do all we say.”
Jacqui moved forward and stripped off the girl’s skirt, blouse, and pinafore. She was a slim girl. I looked at her closely and she blushed as she felt my eyes on her. I smiled. I wasn’t looking at her for that reason. It was just that her figure was slimmer than Jacqui’s. She was also smaller. I was wondering if the clothes would fit. I had to admit though the body was a rather pleasing one. Jacqui took her slacks and blouse off. And I knew that was an even more pleasing body. The waistband of the skirt fitted, but it was ridiculously tight around the hips. It was also a good inch or two shorter than it ought to have been. The same problem arose with the blouse, which was a size to small and strained over Jacqui’s full figure. The maid had been quite a small build, and, although Jacqui had a perfect figure, it was of the 34C variety on a five foot eight inch frame.
“You’ll have to do,” I said, as I tied up the maid with a sheet. She won’t be able to move for a bit. Let’s go.”
Jacqui opened the store door and picked up a pile of towels. “I can at least cover my boobs if this blouse rips,” she said. “Let’s hope the skirt is made of stronger material.”
I watched her walk down the corridor and then lost sight of her as she turned the corner. I followed at a distance. She was in front of my mother’s room and talking to the police guard. He was a local policeman and he was gazing at Jacqui’s tight outfit with undisguised lust.
She saw me waiting and winked. I realised immediately what she planned. Soon her hand was running down the policeman’s chest. She lent forward and whispered something in his ear, leaning against him and pulling his hand round her waist.
She took the master key she had taken from the maid and unlocked the door of my mother’s room. The policeman was too engrossed in her to notice me coming up behind him. As he entered the room, I came up behind and pushed him forward. He stumbled against Jacqui as I closed the door. At that moment her knee rose quickly and caught him squarely in the crotch. He collapsed in a heap, and, by the time he had recovered, looked at me in surprise as a large porcelain vase came crashing down on his head. He collapsed unconscious and bleeding from the wound in the head. We tied him up, but not before searching him.
“Bingo,” I said. “He was carrying a gun. At least we are armed. That will help. I’ll get the girl. I have an idea. They’ll find it hard to get anyone to fully believe their stories.”
I went to the storeroom. Jacqui was meanwhile carefully searching the room. I checked that the corridor was empty and carried the girl into the room. It was a risk. But we had been taking risks all along.
“Strip him,” I said to Jacqui. “But watch out, he’s coming round.”
She completed her task and I retied him with some sheets. I then put him on the bed. Jacqui did the same to the girl. The poor things were facing each other. Their bodies weren’t touching but they were quite close to each other. Anyone coming in would be confused about how they got tied up but would immediately jump to their own conclusions about what they had planned to do. They would not be credible as witnesses!
“Did you find anything?” I asked Jacqui. “That was stupid of them,” she said as she produced a handgun from a briefcase. They must have had that on the plane. I wonder how they got through security with it.”
“Give it to me” I said and I tied it to my leg. I had to use a piece of sheet that I tore off from the one on the bed. But it was as effective as tape.
“False papers,” said Jacqui as she looked through the contents of the case. I think we need these. I can’t see anything else. I think its time to go.”
I went back to the store and grabbed Jacqui’s clothes. She pulled them on and we made sure the maid got a good look at us. On the way out we stopped off in the storeroom and changed into our newly acquired outfits. I shoved our old clothes and those I had brought from the bedroom into a bag. This, in turn, I stuffed behind a pile of sheets at the back of the storeroom.
“No, I am hoping the girl will describe the clothes we were wearing and so it’s better that they don’t find them too soon. They could also trace the labels perhaps. Mine are all designer stuff and not sold in that many places,” said Jacqui. “Let’s get them back and let’s take them with us.”
I did and we exited the hotel as calmly as we had entered.
“I wonder if they’ll manage to untie themselves or if someone will find them,” said Jacqui.
“I have no idea. He’s going to have to explain why he was in the room in the first place. And the poor girl’s story doesn’t look too credible. I suspect that they are going to be under suspicion. I feel sorry for them, but there was no other way.”
“No” said Jacqui. “We had to do it. Poor sods! Now we need to find out where your parents are and how to free them.”
We went into a café and saw that the news was on. Sure enough an item about my parents was shown.
“They already have an extradition warrant. They will be flown out this evening. They are being held in a prison in the centre. Let’s check the flight times. We are going to have to get them as they are moved to the airport.”
We checked these out and realised that they were likely to be moved in about an hour or two.
“We need to be there early,” said Jacqui. “I need a phone though,” I said. I found a public one that took credit cards and called Fucquet. I established that the De Roche name as a signature on the account would not lead to its disclosure. I told Pierre that I gathered a relative had been involved in embezzlement but the fund was nothing to do with him and I did not want them to be the subject of any publicity.
It was obvious that he believed the money related to the Di Maglio clan. He was going to keep quiet. Of that there was no doubt.
I called Hochzeit. I had little concerns about them. Although they were the Swiss subsidiary of one of the biggest European banks, they had a powerful reputation for shadiness. They made it clear that they did not care if the money came from Attila the Hun or Adolf Hitler. Bank secrecy was more important than any minor law.
I finally called United and asked them to remit the balance of the funds in their Monte Carlo account to their branch in Geneva. The money would be there the next day.
“I think the cash is OK,” I said. “I’m a bit nervous about United, because they are honest. But the risk is only on a few million. The seed money is secure.”
I then drove the car to a side street near the prison. We looked at the area.
Jacqui pointed out, “This is a fast road and there are a whole series of side streets that lead to the boulevard on the other side of this block. That gives us the best chance of avoiding being followed.”
I added, “With a bit of luck they will not be accompanied. They are hardly categorised as violent. But the police will get their clothes and things before they leave. There will be concern at the break into their room at some point. We just have to hope that it is after their departure from the station.”
“If the British police act to form,” said Jacqui, “they will leave early and that plays into our hands.”
“OK, you sit in the car at that side street. You can park at the meter there. I’ll watch the station. As far as I can see they must come out of the front. There appears no rear exit. They have got to turn right, as it’s one way. I hit them a block up before they gather speed. As you see me move, pull into the main road and be ready to pick me up and hopefully my parents. If anything goes wrong, you don’t know me.”
Jacqui nodded and we got the car and parked at the meter, which luckily had remained empty. I walked down the street opposite the station. I had been hanging around for just under an hour when the car pulled out of the station. My parents were in the back. In the front was one of the men I had seen in the hotel. Next to him was a man I failed to recognise. They were not followed and the police appeared totally relaxed. I suspect they thought they had a harmless, if high profile, case of white-collar crime.
As they drew up, I pulled the cap over my face, pulled my gun and calmly shot out the tyres of their car. Before they could even get out, I had the gun inside the window.
“I want your passengers, not you,” I said in a heavily accented English. I glanced at my parents. They had been put in handcuffs but were not joined together. “The car keys,” I said to the driver. He passed them over and I dropped them down the drain by my feet.
Everybody around the car dived for cover or made himself or herself scarce. It did not look as if there were going to be any heroes on the streets of Rio that day. And luckily there was no heavy traffic. There was no car between the corner where Jacqui was now and the immobilised car carrying my parents to their home country and trial.
Jacqui drew up and my parents read the situation immediately. They jumped into the car. I shot out the remaining tyres. A motor bike cop was now roaring to the scene, his radio blaring. I shot at his bike. I missed but he swerved and went flying across the street.
“The handcuff keys,” I snarled. They hesitated. I fired a shot into the floor of the rear seat. That jerked them into action. They handed it to me.
“Adios,” I said. And I waved cheerfully to them as they sat in shocked silence in their seats in the now immobilised vehicle.
Jumping into the car, I shouted, “Drive” to Jacqui. Her foot jammed down on the accelerator and the car roared away. At the same time I emptied the gun in the air. Behind me in the one way street, I had caused maximum chaos. The shots had startled motorists and there were a series of minor pile-ups. Passers-by had thrown themselves down on the pavement, fearful of more direct gunfire. Even if the police wanted to get out of the station car park, they would be delayed for precious minutes that would help us get away.
“Left,” I yelled and Jacqui swerved into a side street. The left wheels hit the curb but she regained control as she rebounded into the centre of the street.
“Left again,” I called. We were on an open freeway already and we tore down it. We turned off the freeway into a side street and went through several more.
“Dump the car here,” I called. “Everybody get out.”
There was nobody around. I passed the clothes to my parents, keeping watch for danger. “Change here and put your old stuff into the bag.”
My mother queried, “In the open?”
I responded sharply, “Do it and do it now. Your clothes are known and these are anonymous.”
I unlocked their handcuffs and threw them into the car with the key. They changed. It hardly took a moment. “Walk,” I said, “I’m going to destroy the car. That will gain us a bit more time. Nobody will be surprised at a bit of vandalism in this area. There are matches in the car. The previous rental must have been a smoker.”
They headed up the street. I opened the petrol tank. I grabbed Jacqui’s blouse from the bag and stuffed it loosely down the pipe to the tank. I pulled it out. It was damp with petrol. I eased it in again. Then I threw the bag of clothes into the back of the car and, taking a match from the box that I had seen in the car, I lit the end of the blouse. As I ran away, it was blazing merrily with the flames moving up towards the mouth of the tank.
I joined the others and we ran up the street and then turned left into a side street. “Slow down to a stroll, or we’ll attract attention,” I said as a huge explosion shook the houses with a deafening roar. “There must have been more petrol in the tank than I thought. It’s going to take them a time to identify who rented it. Well, that’ll be another De Roche who needs to change his identity.”
We went through the maze of streets until once again we came to a main road. There we grabbed the first taxi we could find and told him to take us to the airport.
From the airport to our rooms took hardly a moment. We shut the doors and joined each other via the communicating one. My mother threw her arms round Jacqui. My father hugged me. I kissed Jacqui.
“We did it,” I called. “Now we have to get out of Rio.”
“I am the least known,” said Jacqui. “Moreover, my name is not on any hotel register. I’ll hire a car. In the meantime you two should arrange your hair. Mr De Roche should take the grey dye and Charles take the blond. Do your eyebrows as well.”
“OK but once you have the car, we move. I don’t like the ideas of staying in Rio.”
My parents nodded. We went about the tasks with the television on. It carried news of the shooting and the dramatic escape. I switched over to CNN. They were not covering the story as yet.
Then there was a sudden shift on CNN. They had picked up the story. The picture of my parents came onto the screen. It was an old photo that must have been provided by the police in England.
“Did they
take a new photo?” I asked. My parents shook their heads.
“Excellent, it will make it more difficult to identify you.”
“How did they catch you? Have you any idea?”
“They must have been tipped off by someone. I can’t work out by whom though,” my father said.
“Think carefully, it’s important that we know. It reduces the risks to us all,” I said.
My father shook his head. “I really don’t know. I’m sure we did everything right.”
I noticed that CNN had switched stories and a picture of the car, its tyres deflated, appeared. Then there was another one of two embarrassed looking policemen with no answer when questioned about the lax security.
The CNN reporter said that the police believed that a gang who would seek to find the stolen cash had kidnapped the couple. Police were worried that they would be killed once the gang had accessed their money.
The CNN reporter said that two men in dark clothes and caps had led the raid. One was described as tall and well built, while the other was said to be medium height and slim build. They were described as speaking with a strong Colombian accent. The implication was that the drug cartels could have been involved. The description of the car was much clearer. Obviously it had not yet been found. I was amused that they thought Jacqui was a man, but then she had only been seen behind the wheel of her car.
There was no mention of the policeman and maid at the hotel. I assumed they had not yet been found, or the connection had not yet been made.
Then the CNN reporter started to look at the background of the story. He commented:
“The couple travelled from Madrid to Rio over the last week. They were travelling under a false name. They had changed their identity and were called De Roche. The name was used because it is a quite common French name meaning a rock. It is also known that the husband had sought plastic surgery in Rio and had already had one operation.