by Dan Latus
NO
PLACE
TO
HIDE
By the same author
Never Look Back
Risky Mission
Out of the Night
Run for Home
A Death at South Gare
Living Dangerously
And Then You’re Dead
One Damn Thing After Another
NO
PLACE
TO
HIDE
Dan Latus
ROBERT HALE
First published in 2018 by Robert Hale, an imprint of The Crowood Press Ltd, Ramsbury, Marlborough Wiltshire SN8 2HR
www.crowood.com
This e-book first published in 2018
© Dan Latus 2018
All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 71982 621 4
The right of Dan Latus to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Chapter 1
He hardly ever thought of the past. Why would he? It held few attractions for him. Plenty of outstanding questions and problems, but none of them interesting or urgent enough to overcome the certain knowledge that the past – his past – was too uncomfortable a place, dangerous even, to visit.
In the evenings, after supper, he liked to sit on the covered terrace outside the villa, a glass of the local red wine to hand, and listen to the woman singing softly to herself as she cleared up in the kitchen and made things ready for the next day. She was good at homemaking. He appreciated that, and he was getting used to it.
The woman was called Magda. So she had told him, at least. They had been together since shortly after he arrived here, but he had never known how long she would stay. He still didn’t. She hadn’t said, and he hadn’t asked. He preferred to leave it that way. For that matter, he had no idea how long he himself would stay. As she seemed to do, he took it one day at a time.
This wasn’t where he had planned to spend the rest of his life, but it wasn’t a bad little place. The villa was comfortable, and it had everything he needed in a house. The small town nearby was OK, too. Boring as hell, perhaps, but he’d come to appreciate boring. It was another word for safe. He didn’t mind a town that was boring.
The woman, Magda, seemed to feel the same way. He didn’t kid himself about her, though. He didn’t have any illusions. She wasn’t here because of him, any more than he was here because of her. They had both simply fetched up on this distant shore, two of a kind, with a common need. Then they had somehow found and hung on to each other, and stayed together. Until now. That was all it was.
They probably weren’t the only ones in that position, either. São Brás de Alportel, deep inland in the Algarve, was a town where all sorts of people ended up, a least-bad-option kind of town. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. It was far better than the resorts along the coast, where ex-pat criminals and the flotsam and jetsam of life gathered, along with the holidaymakers and the golfers, and where trouble broke out as regularly as the tide came in. Not here, though. There was a lot to be said for the inland, wooded hills of the Algarve.
But now he suspected his time here was coming to an end. He knew that, could feel it in some intangible way he didn’t understand but could still accept. He sensed that soon he would be leaving, and probably not by choice.
The woman finished in the kitchen. She came out onto the terrace to stand behind the chair where he sat. She wrapped her arms around him. He pressed his cheek against her forearm for a moment, and pressed his lips against the warm softness of her skin. Then he sat up and reached for the bottle to pour her a glass of wine, and himself another one.
‘So warm,’ she murmured, blowing a gentle stream of air across his face.
He nodded. ‘And very humid, surprisingly.’
She thanked him for the wine and sat down next to him, glass in hand. Then she turned her head to gaze out across the little garden, and the almond trees and the ancient olive grove beyond.
‘I like these evenings so much,’ she said.
‘Me, too.’ He smiled, studied her face for a moment and added, ‘Something on your mind?’
‘I do love being here with you,’ she said with a sigh.
‘But?’
‘But it will not last much longer, I think.’
‘No?’
She shook her head. ‘My grandmother was Roma – gypsy. She could sense these things. And so can I.’
‘Superstition,’ he said with a smile, but wondering all the same how she knew.
‘Perhaps.’
She shrugged and took a sip of her wine.
‘You worry too much,’ he said gently. ‘You’re such a pessimist.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said again. ‘We will see.’
What did she know, he wondered. How odd that her forebodings coincided with his own. Perhaps it was an infection? But, in that case, which of them had developed it first?
‘An early night?’ she asked with a smile, as she finished her wine.
‘That’s a good idea.’ He smiled back at her and held up his own glass. ‘You go. I’ll come just as soon as I finish this.’
‘Don’t be long,’ she said, slipping away.
He listened, without hearing her, as she made her way through the house. She was such a quiet person, he reflected. And not only in the house. She seemed to move through life the same way, too, making no sound and leaving no trace. It was how she was. Almost a talent. He never heard her.
He heard everything else, though. The house creaked and groaned as it cooled and settled for the night. The tops of the palm trees around the house rustled in a breeze he could neither see nor feel. The cicadas were busy tonight, too.
He sat up, yawned and rubbed his face. The air was heavy and tiring. In the distance, but not so very far away, thunder rumbled. No doubt another dry storm in the offing. There wouldn’t be rain, not here, not yet. Closer to the town a dog barked. Others, troubled by the approaching storm, and on high alert, responded.
Then the phone rang, its old-fashioned shrill tone startling him as it reverberated through the house. He willed it to stop, but it took no notice. So in the end he had no choice. It had to be answered. With a grimace, his heart beating fast, he got to his feet.
Chapter 2
Once the guard was securely bound and gagged, he gave him a vicious crack on the head with a home-made cosh. Then he opened the door, pushed the unconscious guard inside and climbed into the back of the van himself, slamming the door shut after him. After a quick change into staff uniform, he moved up front, alongside the driver.
‘Move it!’
‘Will he be all right?’
‘Never mind him. You’ve been told what to do. Now do it!’
The driver thought about arguing for a moment. Then he changed his mind. With a grimace, he started the engine and put the van in gear. They moved off. With the clearance he had, doors and gates opened automatically.
Five minutes later, the van stopped briefly in a supermarket car park, next to an open-sided shed with a clear plastic roof, where the trolleys were parked. The man got out. Th
e van took off.
As soon as the van was out of sight, the man stepped forward. A black BMW turned a corner and approached quietly. It came to a gentle stop. The man opened a rear door, got in beside the passenger and slammed the door shut.
‘All right?’ the passenger asked.
The man nodded. ‘I soon will be. Let’s go.’
Five minutes later Edward James Fogarty began to relax. He even smiled. He was on his way. What could be better than this? Well, getting his life back and settling a few scores. That would be better. But this was a good start.
Everything had gone smoothly so far. Just as it should do if you planned things properly. He could kiss the lot of them back there goodbye now, however many uniforms they had looking for him.
And they would be looking, he thought with a grim smile. There was no doubt about that. News of his escape would be big enough to cause a few heads to roll, which was something to look forward to and savour. For today, though, this was good enough for him. He was out.
Chapter 3
The number on the caller display wasn’t one Jake recognized but the code made him pause and grimace again before pressing the button. A call from the UK was unlikely to be good news.
‘Boa noite?’ Good evening.
A pause. Then, ‘That you, Jake?’
He smiled with relief. It was a familiar voice, a gravelly Geordie voice, and one he was glad to hear.
‘How are you doing, Bob?’
‘Never better, bonnie lad! Can’t complain at all.’
‘That makes one of us, then.’
The other man laughed. Then he paused a moment before saying, ‘Bad news, I’m afraid, Jake.’ After another pause, he added, ‘He’s out. You know who I mean. We need to talk. We need to meet.’
Jake grimaced. He knew what that meant.
‘You still there, son?’
He roused himself and ran his tongue experimentally around the inside of his mouth. ‘I’m still here,’ he said, struggling to stay calm and keep his voice even. ‘When was this?’
‘A couple of days ago. During the exercise hour.’
That figured. Open air – and opportunity.
‘Where was he?’
‘Belmarsh. The high security unit.’
He nodded. That’s where he would have guessed, if he’d ever allowed himself to think about it.
‘They didn’t manage to keep him very long,’ he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness he felt.
‘No, they didn’t. You’re right, son.’
Bob speaking in a quiet, soothing tone now. Trying to placate him, wanting him to stay reasonable. Not pour obscenities down the line, and hurl the phone away in anger and disgust.
Just a few months, Jake thought. Hardly any time at all. He shook his head. They should have done better than that.
‘So what happened?’
He heard Bob sigh. Could almost see him shrug with frustration.
‘I’m not really sure. There’s talk of a helicopter being involved, but I don’t know the details.’
Helicopter? But of course! It would have to be on a grand scale, wouldn’t it? That was the man all over. Think big, act big – be big! He shook his head, more angry and frustrated than ever.
‘Tell you what, Jake. I’ll come over to see you in a day or two. I’ll have found out a bit more by then.’
Jake was ambivalent about that, much as he liked Bob. It would involve risk. Even the best operatives could be followed, or tracked, one way or another.
‘Let’s leave it for now,’ he suggested. ‘There’s not that much of a hurry, is there?’
‘Whatever you say, Jake. But there’s something else I need to tell you. I’m pretty sure he knows where you are.’
That was another shock.
‘Not exactly, perhaps, but the general area.’
‘That’s not good,’ Jake said as evenly as he could manage.
‘No, you’re right. It isn’t.’
‘How’s that happened?’
‘Who knows? A tip-off, maybe. He’ll certainly have had people looking. You’re not the only one in the frame, either. There’s Nicci, for one. Remember old Nicci? You used to get on well with him, didn’t you?’
‘Well enough, I suppose. But we were hardly best mates.’
‘Point taken. Anyway, he’s a target. And the others, of course. There must have been a leak somewhere. My information is that Fogarty has found out where you all are. Your own situation being a bit different doesn’t really help much. You’re as much at risk as the rest of them. So we’d better talk about it. OK? Meet me in Faro.’
They didn’t say much more. It was an open phone, and they were both well schooled in the precautions needed.
‘Look after yourself, son.’
‘And you, Bob.’
The other man chuckled. ‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about me, bonnie lad!’
No, perhaps not, Jake thought as he put the phone down. Bob would be all right.
He wouldn’t be, though. Nor would Nicci, or the others. They were all at risk, just as Bob had said. But he couldn’t say it was a total surprise. More like inevitable. He had felt something coming for a while. This must be it.
Chapter 4
Magda had come back out on to the terrace, dressed in a sheer nightdress that clung to her like the finest silk. She looked at him questioningly. He shrugged.
‘Is it time?’ she asked.
‘Time?’
But he knew what she meant. They had both been expecting something. Now this. Time? It looked like it was.
She reached for the wine bottle and poured them each another glass. He nodded his thanks. She smoothed her hand across his cheek and sat down across the table from him.
‘Is it bad?’ she asked.
‘Bad enough,’ he admitted with a sigh.
He was grateful she didn’t press him for details. Instead, they sat in silence for a couple of minutes, while he sipped his wine and considered his options, and she just waited.
Frankly, he thought, his options were rubbish, absolute crap. None of them offered the safety he had thought – until now – that he had here. He grimaced. If not yet a disaster, the situation was galloping towards being one.
Fuck it! He wished, not for the first time, he had never got involved in the first place. It would have been better, far safer anyway, to have stuck with being bored, skint, and having nothing to do.
Too late for thinking like that, though. Far too late. Fogarty was out, and would be coming for him. And for the others. Bob was right.
‘We could go to my country,’ Magda suggested.
‘Your country?’ he repeated with an ironic chuckle. ‘How would that help?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘But it is far from here.’
‘Hm.’
She got up to go back inside.
Her country? He smiled ruefully. He didn’t even know for sure what, or where, that was. Poland? Russia? A territory that used to be part of the Soviet Union? Somewhere like that, he had always supposed. Eastern Europe, anyway, or even beyond.
He didn’t fancy that very much. They had long winters there. All those countries. Hard winters, as well. Worse even than winters in his own country, to which he wanted to go even less. Much less, in fact.
With a heavy sigh, he decided he would wait a little longer. Wait and see. Talk to Bob. No need to jump and run yet. This might still come to nothing. Besides, he quite liked it here. He wasn’t going to leave unless he really did have no choice.
Well, being realistic, he thought with a grimace, you always had a choice. In his case now, the choice might be between staying here and dying, or leaving and living for a bit longer. Some choice. If it came to that, of course. If things worked out badly.
‘Your country?’ he said when Magda returned to the terrace. ‘Where’s that, exactly?’
‘Like I said, far from here.’
‘I heard that,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Does it have
a name, this country of yours?’
‘Česko, they want it to be called now. The Czech Republic. It used to be—’
‘Part of Czechoslovakia.’ He grinned and added, ‘I collected stamps from there as a boy.’
‘Stamps?’
‘Postage stamps.’
When she still looked puzzled, he added impatiently, ‘It doesn’t matter. What’s it like there these days?’
‘Better, I think.’
‘Than when you left?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘A few years, perhaps.’
“Perhaps”? What was that supposed to mean? He mulled it over.
‘Where could I go there?’
She tossed her head and glared at him. ‘You don’t want me with you, just tell me! I will go somewhere else right now.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He sighed. ‘It’s dangerous to be with me, that’s all. You don’t need to put yourself in danger.’
‘It is dangerous here already!’ she said, eyes flashing. ‘I know that. You know that. But I am here, aren’t I?’
He nodded, her logic relentless, and too much for him. Then he smiled, wanting to reduce the tension between them. ‘Do you know somewhere there where we could go – to stay?’
‘Yes. I think so. There is a place in the country. An old cottage.’ She shrugged. ‘It is simple, very basic. But it will be safe there, I think.’
Perhaps. But was anywhere truly safe now? He doubted it.
‘A cottage? You mean you have access to it – or what?’
She nodded again. ‘It is simple,’ she repeated. ‘Not like here,’ she added, with a gesture that took in the villa and its grounds, ‘but maybe safer than staying here.’
That was almost certainly true, he thought with slightly more interest. Not absolutely safe, of course, but almost anywhere in the world would be safer than here now. Except North Korea, possibly.
They always said you had a better chance of losing yourself, and hiding out, in the anonymity of a big city. But he didn’t like big cities, especially ones he didn’t know, where every single person in the crowd could be the assassin hunting you. He preferred space and the open air. If someone was coming, he wanted to be able to see him, and know who he was. So