The Montague Portrait

by Matt Drabble

  The roads grew busier as she headed onto the main roads. Her mind was racing with unusual self-congratulations. She had the Goode woman in the boot of the car and the painting still wrapped on the backseat. She had done a good day’s work and surely she was about to receive her reward. She had surely surpassed Vargas’s hopes and expectations for her assignment. His gratitude would be immense and she intended to take full advantage.

  She had followed Parker and the Goode woman for two days straight. She witnessed them talking to the estate agent and in the tearooms of the small village of Ballytona. Her quick and efficient research told her that they were looking at a property in the village. The property had burned down in what now seemed to be a familiar chain of events on their collective journeys. She trailed them to the auction house and watched through a window as the Goode woman assaulted an auctioneer. With her usual lightning reactions she secured herself in the boot of their rental car and endured the bumpy journey out into the countryside. She slit the throat of the auctioneer woman and incapacitated Charlotte Goode. Part of her wished to test her mettle against her quarry, but her ambitions were only matched by her pragmatism. She took the woman quickly and quietly and also took the painting that had so transfixed her.

  Despite the lack of information from Vargas, Sage picked up enough on her own to get a handle on what she was mixed up in. Her assignment was simply to keep a watchful eye on her targets. Parker and Goode were on their own quest and it was her job to make sure they succeeded. She knew she was currently going off script by snatching the woman and her treasure, but she believed that fortune favoured the brave. She was going to hand Vargas the girl and the painting and take what was coming.

  Putting her foot down, she headed out towards a small private airfield. One of the benefits of working for Vargas was that the resources were seemingly bottomless. One quick call had secured a small plane and a pilot to transport them back to what she hoped would be Vargas’s welcoming embrace. She hadn’t called in yet and for once wanted to surprise the great man.

  Vargas was in residence at his country estate. Sage had been in the mansion a number of times when he hosted important but potentially dangerous guests. She ran the security detail for the mansion and on more than one occasion had dreamed of being the lady of the manor. She knew from some discreet enquires that he was there this weekend and it seemed like the perfect setting.

  Sage had worked for Vargas for almost ten years ever since her honourable discharge from the army; apparently her zeal for the job was not acknowledged by her superiors and it was a mutual parting of the ways. She was trained to the very pinnacle of sharpness, but her supervising officers had wanted her blunted. Fortunately she had gathered enough dirt on enough of her superiors to ensure that the disciplinary black marks on her record were expunged and she received the highest of ratings when she left the service.

  A career bouncing around the globe with private armies had not fulfilled her. The carnage was never organised and it was like the Wild West out there. She soon found that she wasn’t burned out like many of her peers. Her ambitions still rang hard and true and private security had seemed like the ticket. That’s when she was recruited by Vargas’s organisation. It was a profitable and enjoyable decade. But her life clock was ticking and it was time to settle down and retire. She was thirty-four and getting too old to be crawling through the mud. She wanted to taste some of the good life she had seen in Vargas’s world and this was her chance to take what she was owed.

  She drove the rental car into the airfield. This was a private affair and while there was tight security, there were no questions asked of her unconscious cargo. The plane was waiting and the pilot was silent. She hefted the woman into the plane and took the wrapped painting from the car boot. She noticed that the pilot gave a small shudder as she placed the canvas alongside her. It was undeniable that whatever the painting was, it had a power all its own. Within the confines of the small plane she could taste its power and it was intoxicating.

  As she’d requested, there was a small bag on the seat next to her. She took the syringe from the bag and injected the now waking Charlotte Goode with enough sedative to ensure her compliance for the rest of the journey. As the plane took off and rose into the dying light, she felt the onrush of destiny, and embraced it.

  ----------

  Travis stared at Dr Lochay across the kitchen. His face was alive with mirth and his deep blue eyes sparkled.

  He tensed himself to launch against the doctor, but even as he did two large and looming shadows entered the kitchen as if by magic. The hulking brutes wore identical blank expressions. Their faces were as hard set as their bodies.

  ‘Easy now, Mr Parker,’ Lochay said jovially. ‘I would hate my friends here to have to make a mess.’

  Travis looked at the imposing bodyguards and held his ground. As much as he wanted to wipe the smug infuriating grin from Lochay’s face, he would achieve little by ending up in a box.

  Looking for an escape route he edged his way backwards towards the lounge. Lochay and his animals were blocking the rear door that led to the garden and safety.

  ‘Relax, Mr Parker,’ Lochay said, holding out his hands for calm. ‘If I held any nefarious intentions towards you, then you would already be in the ground.’

  ‘And you expect me to believe that?’ Travis said.

  Lochay smiled. ‘Why Travis, you hurt my feelings.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me that your people haven’t been trying to kill us this whole time?’ Travis asked, backing away another inch.

  ‘Not in the slightest,’ Lochay said, continuing to smile. ‘I wanted you dead and like the cockroach that you are, you just kept kicking. But circumstances have changed of late and now I need you alive.’

  ‘You really suppose that I’m going to believe you?’

  ‘It makes no difference to me either way, you silly little man,’ Lochay answered agreeably. ‘You really have no choice in the matter. Now why don’t you put the kettle on and make some tea. We have much to discuss.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  A PERFECT SETTING

  Sage Adderley was not surprised to find the car waiting for them when they landed at the small private airfield Vargas owned; the man’s knowledge was second to none and nothing seemed to escape his ever watchful eye.

  Her heart was beating fast with nervous excitement. The chauffeur was silent and emotionless as he held open the car door for her. He registered little interest when she dragged Charlotte Goode from the plane and into the car and then placed the accompanying cargo in the boot.

  Sage enjoyed the pleasant green scenery that flashed past the car window. The limousine was plush and luxurious and she felt right at home. Despite the lack of conversation she knew they were heading towards the Vargas country retreat. The stately home should not have been purchasable by anyone; it was a protected building and held in trust. But there was seemingly nothing that Vargas’s power and influence could not obtain when he set his mind to it.

  Her mind clicked over the potential outcomes ahead. She was delivering exactly what Vargas wanted, but it was not in the manner in which he had demanded it. She would either be praised for her efforts, and raised to his side, or else she would find herself in a none too shallow grave within the vast grounds of the mansion. Before this, she had never done anything except follow his instructions to the letter. Those who didn’t, did not last long. In fact she had been tasked with disposing of several employees who disappointed their collective master.

  She checked Charlotte’s pulse for the umpteenth time since they landed. The rhythm was steady and strong and she relaxed a little. She wanted to deliver the girl alive and in rude health along with the painting.

  Her mind drifted back to the precious bounty in the boot. When she took the wrapped rectangle from the plane she was struck by an almost overwhelming urge to look beneath the cloth. She knew from its shape and the touch of the corners that it was a painting. She had no idea why
Vargas would be so desperate to get his hands on a simple canvas, and the thought intrigued her. Despite not knowing the subject of the painting, she could feel its power radiating even now as it sat in the darkness behind her seat. But in the end she had held firm. This was for Vargas – her master and her future. She firmly believed that her destiny was to sit at his right hand, and at this moment she held the two keys to unlock that possibility.

  The limousine slowed at the imposing gates that marked the boundary of his private retreat. The huge metallic fences ran in both directions for as far as the eye could see and the gate was unmanned. On every previous occasion that she had been here, she had never quite understood why there were not multiple armed guards on patrol. But Vargas had smiled and told her that on his own turf he was always safe. For some reason she had believed him implicitly.

  With barely a whisper the huge gates swung open on their own accord. She could see no security cameras on display and had no idea who operated the gates or how they knew who was approaching.

  The car passed through and began the long winding journey to the house. Several times along the way she imagined she caught glimpses of dark fleeting shadows darting through woodland that lined the private road. Not for the first time she wondered if the land was populated by dogs. Perhaps Vargas had an army of guard dogs at his disposal. But the shadows of her glimpses looked too small to be dogs.

  The private sweeping driveway was about a mile long and the darkness always seemed thicker than the night sky suggested. A thick fog appeared to roll in out of nowhere and shrouded the approaching house in a blanket of secrecy.

  The stately home itself was almost four hundred years old and set with nine hundred acres of woodland riverside gardens. The mansion along with its servant’s quarters, farm, and mill had all been meticulously restored at a cost Sage knew would make her blush. The whole estate had once been open to the public, before Vargas purchased the property and made it private again. What had once been a major tourist attraction in the UK had now become a rich man’s plaything, much to the consternation of the public. But no matter how much public and media outcry there had been, Vargas’s course stayed true and he now held the deeds and the keys.

  As they drew close to the main house the driveway became narrower. Subtle lights illuminated the branches of the tall, trimmed conifer trees standing sentry on either side. The mansion looked anything but four hundred years old. Its face gleamed in soft stone and natural elegance. Three domes topped the three main sections of the house and eight tall columns held up the jutting front roof.

  In her eagerness Sage was out of the car almost before it stopped. She was not surprised to see the massive main doors sweep open as Vargas stepped out into the night. As usual he was dressed impeccably. His classic dark blue three-piece suit contoured his impressive frame with only shining gold buttons to break the severity.

  ‘Ms Adderley,’ Vargas said in a low rumbling tone that sounded like thunder in the distance. ‘I see that you have taken it upon yourself to show some initiative.’

  Sage gazed up at the man, standing tall and proud. There were about twenty stone steps between them. For a split second her senses roared at her to turn and run. To throw the driver from the limousine and floor the bitch, leaving Vargas in the dust and far behind like a bad dream. Right now she felt terrified of actually achieving what she had thought were her heart’s desires. She felt terrified of him. And then the moment passed as he walked down the steps towards her.

  He reached out his hand and she took it.

  ‘Welcome home,’ he said and she was lost.

  ----------

  Travis played mother and poured the tea. He found Meredith Scroggins’ kitchen to be well stocked and even found some chocolate biscuits.

  He was both concerned and relieved that Meredith had been so quickly and surreptitiously removed from the lounge. Even the blood was now an innocuous drying patch on the chair. But the expert removal gave him cause for concern, especially since he could be next on the menu.

  But all he could think about now was that Lochay had killed Chris Taylor, his best friend and most valuable resource for many years. His anger was held at bay when he couldn’t think of a way to batter Lochay without his goons rushing in at the first sound of violence.

  Lochay sat across from him with crossed legs and an endless calm. The two gorillas had retreated from sight.

  Travis sat back and sipped his tea. He refused to speak first. It was petty and childish, but right now he had to take any victory in his reach. Charlotte had betrayed the trust he had shown her and left an innocent victim before absconding with the painting.

  Eventually Lochay spoke and it was the last thing he expected.

  ‘I need your help, Mr Parker.’

  Travis stared at him. He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I know you will no doubt be suspicious of my motives and I don’t blame you,’ Lochay continued. ‘But to be completely honest, Mr Parker, I really don’t care.’

  ‘That’s a rather strange way to ask for my help.’

  ‘I apologise, Mr Parker, but what makes you think I was asking for your help?’ Lochay smiled. ‘We appear to find ourselves in quite the shared quandary.’

  ‘How do you figure?’

  ‘Your companion and the painting have both disappeared and I’m guessing that we would both like to find them.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you tried to have us both killed.’

  ‘And I make no apologies for that, Mr Parker. We all have our jobs to do,’ Lochay replied conversationally. ‘I couldn’t care less whether or not you trust or believe me. You will do as I bid or else I will bury you in the backyard and when I catch up to Ms Goode, I will bury her next to you.’

  Travis stared hard at the man. Lochay’s eyes were deadly serious and he did not doubt him for a second. The doctor had two goons outside more than capable of carrying out his instructions.

  ‘And you killed my friend,’ Travis said with as much venom as he dared inject into his words.

  Lochay smiled. ‘It’s quite possible. I do have some rather busy days. Remind me of his name?’

  ‘Taylor, Chris Taylor. He worked for Vargas. You took him, you tortured him, and then you killed him.’

  ‘Taylor, Taylor?’ Lochay mused aloud. ‘Oh yes, I remember him.’

  Travis felt the involuntary tensing of his muscles; he couldn’t help preparing to launch himself at the ever grinning doctor.

  ‘Calm down, Mr Parker,’ Lochay said, raising a manicured hand. ‘I can assure you that Mr Taylor was quite alive when I left him. I tortured him certainly. You will be pleased to know that he was quite the loyal friend, at least for as long as he could manage. If he died after that, then I can assure you that you only have Mr Vargas to hold responsible.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Travis said through clenched teeth.

  ‘Please, there’s no reason for such vulgarity. I kidnapped the man and tortured him but I did not kill him. I can’t say that I wouldn’t have at some point in the proceedings, but he was alive when I left him just before Mr Vargas’s unfortunate arrival.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Travis said, without much conviction.

  ‘I think I’ve already expressed my thoughts on your opinions, Mr Parker. Now I suppose you are under the impression that the lovely Charlotte has absconded with the portrait?’

  ‘You mean that she didn’t?’

  ‘Afraid not. Ms Goode is now in the not so loving arms of Telfer Vargas. The situation is simple –’

  ‘This whole damn thing is anything but simple!’ Travis butted in.

  ‘You would be wise not to interrupt your elders and superiors,’ Lochay said in a low and menacing tone. ‘It is a very useful lesson to learn at any age.’

  Travis shut his mouth. He did not want to antagonise this man any more than absolutely necessary, especially as he had information that Charlotte might be in danger.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Lochay continued after a brief
and uncomfortable pause. ‘The situation is simple. I want the painting, and you no doubt want to rescue the unfortunate Charlotte.’

  ‘How do you know any of this? How do you know what’s happened to Charlotte and the painting?’

  ‘It’s my job, Mr Parker,’ Lochay said, looking offended. ‘And I intend to keep doing it.’

  Travis sat back heavily in the armchair. His mind was spinning with the sudden turn of events. One minute Charlotte had betrayed him and the next she was in danger. ‘Okay,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Fill me in.’

  Travis sat and listened as Lochay explained about the portrait and Hugo and Eleanor Montague. About how he ran an organisation dedicated to retrieving and protecting the painting – all in the name of Eleanor. Lochay painted himself as a dedicated descendant of Eleanor, and one charged with a great duty.

  Travis had always considered himself an excellent judge of character, and as Lochay spoke he found much about the man rang false. As far as Travis could tell, Lochay cared little in this world for anything other than himself. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said, still puzzled. ‘You’re the good guys?’

  ‘I think terms such as good and bad are hardly appropriate in this particular case, except to say that Vargas’s intentions are far darker than ours. Two sides to every coin, Mr Parker. We are the light where he is the darkness.’

  ‘And you really believe in the curse of Hugo Montague?’

  ‘With so much effort, money, and bodies thrown at finding it, does it really matter?’

  ‘I guess not,’ Travis conceded. ‘So what does he want with Charlie?’

  ‘Vargas has gone to an awful lot of trouble and expense to get his hands on the portrait and it would appear that he deems the young Ms Goode to be necessary for his plans.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a good thing.’

  ‘No, it most definitely does not.’

  ‘What exactly does he intend to do with the portrait?’