by Steve Reeder
Tracy gave us a smile of welcome, but I detected worry and uncertainty in her eyes. I gave her arm a squeeze in what I hoped was a comforting manner, and we followed her to the hospital enquires desk. A matronly looking woman consulted her desk top computer screen and told us that Mr Roache had been moved to the recovery room on the third floor. This meant, she said, that he was in a stable condition and recovering well. She would let the ward sister know we were on our way up, and we could spend a few minutes with him, even though it was not actually visiting hours. I thanked her sincerely, and escorted my two companions to a nearby lift.
“Have you had any news from Team Rodber Racing, Tracy?” I asked, as the lift jerked noisily upwards.
“I phoned Julia first thing when I woke up, but there was no news,” she replied. “She sounded so miserable; it’s a good thing your brother was there with her, Michele. She needs someone, and most of her Dad’s family aren’t on speaking terms with him.”
The dilapidated lift ground to a halt with the indicator showing three. We stood uncertainly in the hallway for a moment: there were no signs saying ‘recovery room’ or anything else for that matter. Fortunately, a porter happened to pass and wordlessly pointed us in the right direction. Fourth door on the right, and still no signs. It must be hell for any new members of staff. It crossed my mind that a man with, say, a prostate problem, could easily end up in the maternity ward, ensuring embarrassment all around. Banishing that thought from my mind, I opened the door and stuck my head in to check that we were at the correct place. Bud was indeed there, and spotted me straight off.
“Hiya, Simon,” he said, waving me in cheerfully. “Morning girls,” as he spotted the girls following me in.
“Hello, Bud,” I replied. “I thought we would just pop in to identify your miserable looking corpse, but it looks like we’ve wasted our time.”
Bud grinned broadly. Michele shook her head at this childish male behaviour, and asked Bud how he was, really.
“Oh I’ll survive, don’t you worry about that. But if I ever see those bloody Arabs again, I’ll be slitting their throats for them.”
Knowing Bud as I did, I could well believe he would do just that. For all his cheerful, happy go lucky persona, Bud was a tough nut from way back.
“So what actually happened then, Bud?” I asked.
“The shits took me by surprise, didn’t they? Came out of the side road with headlights on bright, couldn’t see a bloody thing, I couldn’t. Next thing I know, one of the vans smacks the car’s rear end and spins us around. Well, we were doing around seventy mile an hour, like, so the next thing you know, we’re in the ditch, up-side-down, and I’ve got a bleeding great hole in my head, with blood pouring all over the place. I’ve got two broken ribs and a smashed leg too.”
The girls looked both sympathetic and horrified at the same time. I nodded to show my concern, and prompted Bud to continue.
“You were conscious when they grabbed Rodber then?” I asked him.
“Yeah. Only just, mind you.” He stopped and collected his thoughts, then: “There were three of them, in masks - ski masks, you know?” I nodded. “They grabbed the old man: he didn’t seem to be hurt. Leastways he sounded all right. Never heard anyone swear like he was doing. Anyway, they bundled him into one of the vans, and took off. Left me to bleed to death they did. Buggers.” I thought it very unlikely anyone could bleed to death from a scalp wound, but refrained from mentioning this to Bud. I could be wrong anyway.
“How did you come to the conclusion they were Arab, if they had masks on? I mean, you couldn’t have seen much of them. Could you?” I enquired.
“They spoke in Arabic, didn’t they? And clever old me knows a bit of Arabic, don’t I?”
That did amaze me. Bud hardly seemed to speak English well enough, let alone a second language. I later found out, to my surprise, that he spoke passable Spanish as well.
Tracy had planted her self at the head of Bud’s bed, and had been brushing his brow in a soothing manner, and it suddenly dawned on me that there was something going on between them, that was not totally of a professional nature.
The ward nurse had already indicated that it was time for us to leave, so I thought that perhaps Michele and I should leave the two of them alone for a moment. I motioned Michele out of the door, and explained this revelation to her. She shook her head sadly at me.
“Men,” she said in mock disgust. “It was perfectly obvious that Tracy and Bud were involved the moment they were in the same room together. Why is it that you men can build atom bombs and invent computers that think at a million times the speed of your own brains, but you can’t figure out simple relationships?”
I smiled sheepishly and said nothing. Women usually have to hit me in the face with an emotional hint, several times, before I notice anything.
Taking news of Bud’s injuries with us, we set off for the Rodber racing headquarters. We arrived just as Inspector Hammil was getting out of his car, having just arrived himself. A good many people were already hurrying about, as if moving at a more normal pace would have been somehow inappropriate. I assumed they were feeling the need to be working at something normal. When disaster strikes, maintaining a routine is often the best defence against panic or demoralisation. That much I had learnt in the army. We’d had a panicky moment or two.
There was not much they could actually do though, what with both Bud, and Rodber himself, unavailable to direct operations. To add to the confusion, a truck with Italian registration turned up to deliver the expected two new Ducatis.
Hammil was shown into the front office by one of yesterday’s keyboard operators, seemingly with nothing to do today. Michele, Tracy and I followed, wishing not only to find out what, if anything, the Inspector had found, but also to give Julia and the other team members the latest on their team manager.
Julia was ushering Hammil into her father’s office when we stepped into the room, and she immediately signalled us to follow. Brett was already waiting, sipping mineral water and saying nothing.
“Tracy,” Julia said, “Could you organise some coffee for us, please?”
Tracy nodded, looking only slightly miffed that the boss’s teenage daughter should be giving her orders, however nicely asked, and stalked off to the kitchen.
I closed the door behind us, and stood behind Michele’s chair. The girls had again occupied the only two chairs in front of the expansive oak desk, and Hammil had stationed himself behind it. Without actually seating himself in Rodbers’ leather chair, he still managed to give the impression that we were in his office.
“Mr Roberts, I believe you and Miss Robinson have been to the hospital to see Mr Roache. How is he?”
I was momentarily surprised that Hammil could know our movements so soon, but let it pass. It was said that he was a very good detective, and as such, he probably knew most of what went on in his jurisdiction.
“Yes, we were at the hospital, along with Tracy, and Bud seemed to be in good spirits. It seems that he will be there for a week at least, and laid up for several weeks after that. But, he did give us a clearer picture of what happened, he said that….” Hammil held up his hand as if halting traffic.
“If you don’t mind, Sir, I’ll stop you right there. I will be going to see Mr Roache myself in an hour or two, and I’d prefer to hear what he has to say first hand. One of my constables will, in any case, be taking a statement from him this afternoon.” He stopped for a moment, perhaps to gather his thoughts, or maybe he realised that his speech was speeding up again, and he’d seen me smiling at his unconscious habit.
Before continuing, Hammil sat down, picked up one of Rodber’s pens and began to twiddle with it, pulling the cap off and on.
“So far our inquiries have not turned up anything that means much to us, except that three members of Sultan Ali Hussein’s people are booked into the Trenchcoat Inn, which, as you know is not far from here.” Which it wasn’t. Not more than nine or ten miles towards the Essex bo
rder. Hammil studied each of us for a moment.
“I see the name doesn’t mean much to any of you,” he stated. We shook our heads. “Nor the Inn?” We all shook our heads again, even though I had stayed there myself on occasion. I didn’t see the point in telling anyone.
“Why would this mean something to the police, Inspector?” I asked. Hammil thought for a minute, considering whether or not we needed to know the answer.
“The Sultan is the royal head of his own Kingdom. I hadn’t actually known there was such a thing anymore, but there you go.” He dropped the pen and looked disgusted with himself.
“Apparently, the place still exists because it has enough oil to be comfortably solvent, but not enough to make it worth the likes of Iraq knocking it off. Not much chance of the West going to war over it if Iraq did though.”
Hammil let us stew over his information for a while. Then, “Your father has been dealing with the Sultan over a period of twenty years, Miss Rodber. Would you know anything about the nature of the business?”
“I never took much notice of what my father was doing with his company Inspector,” Julia replied shaking her head. “He was very secretive in any case. He always said the biggest threat to any design company was industrial espionage. He took security very seriously. I just wish he’d kept those security staff on when he sold off the company.” She looked as if she’d had a sleepless night, not surprisingly.
“Sold the company, Miss? I was under the impression that he’d listed it on the stock market to raise capital, but was still the largest share holder on the board.”
“No, he does still have some shares, but to all intents and purposes he has no more to do with the company.”
There was silence for a moment. A number of questions were forming in my mind, such as ‘if Rodber no longer controlled the company, why would this Ali chap think he could get the missing design patent from Rodber.’ Surely he should address his complaint to the new board? Also, who was the new chairman of the board and what did he think about it all. Was he claiming the patent for the company?
All these questions would go unanswered for the moment, as the phone rang. Hammil picked it up before Julia could reach it, and stated his name. I don’t know what was said, but he rang off after repeating ‘yes’ twice.
“Miss Rodber, I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any news.” And with that he left, striding off with purposeful intent.
Chapter 6
Brett returned from a ten-mile run just as Julia, Michele and I were tucking into a late breakfast at the Rodber mansion.
After Hammil had hurried off, we had sat drinking the coffee Tracy had made. Michele and I had made as if to leave, after all, this was basically none of our affair. Apart from Michele’s brother being an employee of Julia’s father that is. Rodber’s daughter had sat staring into space for much of the time, but when I announced our imminent departure, she suddenly sat up and suggested breakfast at the main house. Again I was about to refuse, on the basis that I wanted to return to bed, hopefully with Michele, but the dazed and vulnerable look in Julia’s eyes, moved me to accept. I always was a sucker for a damsel in distress. Besides, I found that, to my surprise, I was beginning to like Julia. Brett had obviously fallen for her in a big way, but I had the idea she wanted something from me in particular.
All through breakfast, Julia had that same faraway look. At first I thought she was just dazed and a little confused. Then Brett arrived back from his morning shower and immediately Julia became livelier and business like. She made Brett breakfast and sat him down with us at the kitchen table. Looking more purposeful, she said.
“Simon, can you take over as team manager until Bud is back on his feet?”
I couldn’t help staring at her in surprise. Yet the team did need someone to keep things moving. The racing season was not going to stop and wait for old man Rodber to reappear, and two riders, sponsors and fifteen other team members, race engineers, drivers and so on couldn’t just sit around doing nothing. They all had a job to do, and that was getting two machines on the track and scoring as many points in each race as they could.
Julia was trying to look cool and business like, but the desperation in her eyes showed how out of her depth she was in the motor racing world. Fair enough I guess. Unless you’ve spent some time around the industry, you can’t possibly know what was needed to make a team run well. In the end it was the look in her eyes that decided me.
“All right. So long as you realise that if I manage the team, it makes me the boss. I don’t say that because I’m power hungry, or anything like that, but because the lads have to know who’s in charge. If I make a decision, then the decision stays made unless I change it. OK?”
Julia nodded. I’m sure she was just glad to get rid of the responsibilities.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t all she had in mind.
“You were in army in South Africa weren’t you Simon? Brett told me a lot about you.” She paused. I sensed there was more to come. “You were an officer I believe?”
“Yes. First lieutenant,” I replied hesitantly, wondering where this was going.
Julia stared at me for a moment, struggling with some inner dilemma.
“You were in some sort of special forces unit?” Julia asked. I began to wonder just how much Bud had told them about me.
“Umm … yes, sort of. Not quite SAS, but …” I was getting worried about where this was going.
“Could you do anything about finding Dad for me?” she asked finally. ‘Good grief,’ I thought.
“What do you expect me to do that the police can’t achieve, Julia. I mean, I’m no detective, and being in the army is no preparation for police work.”
“I know,” she said quietly, “but I know who has him.”
There was a startled silence. Michele looked anxiously at me then Julia. I was providing most of the startled looks, but Brett was just looking at me with a slightly pleading look. He and Julia had obviously planned this together.
“If you know who has kidnapped your old man, Julia, why don’t you tell Inspector Hammil, and let him deal with it?” I asked, as Michele switched her gaze back and forth between her brother and me.
“Please understand, Simon. Dad has had many dealings with some very strange people over the years. I don’t mean that he was helping terrorists, or illegal groups, or anything like that, but he wasn’t shy about by-passing government recommendations on which British businesses we should be doing business with.”
I considered this for a moment and then said, “Surely if these dealings were not actually illegal, then what concern is it of the cops? The fact is, your Dad has been kidnapped, and you know who did it. Therefore, Hammil should be told. And the police can get him back.”
Julia did another couple of minutes of soul searching, before deciding that if I was going to help then perhaps she was going to have to tell me more.
“Firstly, Simon, Dad hasn’t always paid the tax that he should have off all of his dealings. Secondly, would the police believe me? I mean, there has been no ransom note, or demands of any kind. If Hammil went to see this Arab, all he would do is deny everything. He could even claim diplomatic immunity for just about anything.”
“What do you think I could do about it then, short of storming the fellow’s embassy?” Realisation dawned. “Oh shit. That is what you’re suggesting, isn’t it?”
We all stared at her in amazement. At least Michele and I did. It was obvious that Brett had had a hand in the idea in the first place.
“Julia, I’m not sure if you know what you are suggesting here. Think about it for a moment. You want me to break into a foreign embassy, and there is no telling whether your Dad is even in there. The place will certainly be guarded, even if there was nothing dodgy going on in the building. If he is there, then there will surely be extra guards around.” I paused, my mind running over more possible obstacles to such a foolhardy idea. “If this Arab chap is doing anything illegal, and I would defin
itely regard kidnapping as illegal, then his men will almost certainly be armed. I, on the other hand have no access to any guns at all. Never mind that I haven’t fired a weapon of any sort in years. And I’m not too keen to end up in a British prison either.”
No one said anything for several minutes. I realised that the three of them were staring at me, and I had been wrapped up in the problems of such an operation. I couldn’t believe I was considering doing it.
Michele finally broke the silence. “Simon,” she said with a mixture of exasperation and concern, “you’re not thinking of doing this, are you? This, what you’re thinking about. It’s not some movie. You could get seriously hurt.” I was beginning to like the concern in her voice. “You don’t even know if Josh Rodber is in the embassy.”
Julia flashed an annoyed look, but Michele had a point there. Would this Sultan fellow risk taking Rodber to his embassy?
“That is a good point Julia. We can’t go off half-cocked here.” I stopped and thought for a moment. “Is there any way you could find out where these Arab lads are operating from?”
Julia had a confused expression on her face.
“Maybe we could kidnap one of his people and ask him.” She suggested with no idea what she was asking.
“Wait a minute,” Brett interjected. “Didn’t Hammil say that some of these Arab blokes are staying at some hotel not far from here?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. He did, didn’t he?” I replied. “That does make things more interesting.” I stopped and gave the matter some thought. All three of my companions sat and watched me in silence for what seemed like a long time before Julia finally interrupted my thinking.