The Financial Terrorist

by John Gubert

  “My boots are blue. Juliet’s are pink and Jacqui’s are yellow. We’re the psychedelic boot brigade! What colour’s your jacket?”

  “It’s blue and I doubt it’s too waterproof, but it’s very fashionable.”

  “Claire,” called out Jacqui. “It’s like an anorak. How can it be fashionable? They are the very antithesis of anything fashionable. The only thing you can do is wear something tight and clinging underneath one. Then when you get to the pub and take it off, you look fashionable.”

  “And if the tight and clinging thing is really tight and clinging,” came the response, “then the locals will get all excited. But it might be too cold not to wear something large and bulky under the thing.”

  “Wear two surplus layers,” suggested Charles. “The top one should keep you dry. The second should keep you warm. And the third can keep all around you warm. That way you have all you need and you fulfil a social duty as well.”

  “Sexist pig,” commented Claire, nevertheless with a smile of appreciation at the implied compliment.

  Jacqui yawned. “If you’re not careful, we’ll make you sleep out in the yard to cool off.”

  “It’s called a garden in this country.”

  “Oh, I know all about that in dozens of languages. In French I shouldn’t say “I’m full” because it means I am pregnant. And there are hundreds of other expressions to avoid. But as long as you understand, it’s no great shakes.”

  “I understand but I’m hungry. How about having a ploughman’s?”

  “What’s a ploughman’s?” asked Claire in surprise.

  “It’s a cheese plate. They call it that here.”

  “I got quite a shock,” she said. “It sounded as if you’d become cannibals.”

  So they had their ploughman’s and they each had a beer. Jacqui rarely drank that other than in the country. She said she could eat the wrong things there because they did so much exercise. In London she tended to favour healthy food.

  Soon after that they headed off to bed. They knew that Juliet was likely to be up early the next day. Neither of them minded, they liked the anonymity and peacefulness of their refuge in the hills. This was the closest they had got to a mountain retreat. It was the nearest thing to their dream island. This idyllic cottage, nestling in the hills of the South Downs, was their refuge. It had no phone, no television. They had radios and, to be fair, they had mobiles. But, for the moment, they were all off duty.

  The room was warm from the fire downstairs that heated the place well. Charles brushed his teeth alongside Jacqui. She was wearing a long white negligee. He pulled it down over her shoulders and kissed her gently on the back of her neck. He ran his tongue down her spine.

  “Where did you learn that? It’s quite erotic,” she whispered. “But we’ll have to be careful or everybody will hear us.”

  They moved towards the bed and held each other tight. He felt her warmth through the thin fabric. The belt of his dressing gown opened. Jacqui moved forward and kissed his chest. It was a long lingering kiss and the moistness of her lips glided over him.

  His hands went round her face and lifted it up, gently tilting it back. He kissed her lips, then her eyes. He kissed her on the neck and the throat. He eased the nightdress down her shoulders. He kissed her again.

  They moved to the bed and pulled away the sheet. The cool air suddenly hit them for the first time and they huddled under the covers. They clung against each other for warmth. They then moved closer for comfort. And finally they moved together for passion. It was a long, warm, wild and wonderful wave of love, which swept through him and into her. He revelled in the arching of her body, the crushing of her lips, the tight embrace of her thighs.

  The outside world did not exist. The room wasn’t there. For that one long glorious moment of sheer pleasure, they were alone. And as they sunk back into reality, they sensed the world around them come back to them again. They lay together, enjoying the aftershock of love. They allowed in again the noise of the wind and the rain, but it was distant and unimportant. They let the quietness of the rest of the house impose itself on them. They moved apart only to return to each other’s arms and fall asleep together as only lovers can.

  The rain beat against the windows in a fury, lashed by the wind. Somewhere, a window rattled in protest at the pounding that it received. The occasional cow raised its voice in protest at the elements. A fox called to its mate in an early search for food. The birds, which woke them so early on a normal summer’s day, appeared to have long deserted the place in disgust at the unseasonable weather. They may well, if they had any sense, have headed for warmer shores. A dog barked in the distance, perhaps in apology to its master or mistress for taking them out at such an inclement time.

  Then there was a patter of feet. Juliet climbed onto their bed and snuggled between them. She looked seriously at Jacqui and said, “You’ve got nothing on.” Jacqui pretended she must have forgotten to put her nightdress on. “You often do that. Daddy does, too.” They chattered away for a moment with her before Charles grabbed the bathroom. Washed, changed and shaved, he picked her up and took her downstairs.

  They made breakfast and she chattered happily. Her hair was wild. Her cheeks were rosy. She was happy. Jacqui came down in jeans and a sweater. She looked fresh and relaxed. The country always had that effect on them.

  Soon after, Claire appeared. “Your new nanny snores,” she said to Juliet. “Either that or something’s escaped from the farm. It sounds like a trombone. She’s got strong lungs.”

  “Mummy and Daddy forgot to put anything on last night. When I came to see them they weren’t wearing anything.”

  Jacqui blushed and then blushed even more when Claire said, “No clothes on. I hope they cuddled up to each other or they would have felt cold.”

  “They were cuddled up,” replied the little girl. “But they often do that. Once, when I woke up at night and went to see them, Daddy was playing pretend fight with Mummy. And they didn’t have anything on then. I told them off.” This was said very seriously.

  “Why did you tell them off?” inquired Claire inquisitively.

  “Because Mummy’s nice white nightie was on the floor. You know the one with the pretty coat that goes with it. And Daddy stepped on it when he got out of bed.”

  “Come on Juliet,” said Jacqui. “I’m sure Auntie Claire wants her breakfast. Why don’t we give you a bath and then get you dressed. Charles, why don’t you make a coffee for Claire? And add salt instead of sugar if she doesn’t stop grinning.”

  At that, Claire started giggling. “I’ll get the coffee. Are we still going for a walk? It looks foul outside.”

  “Yes,” called Juliet. “We’re going to see the puppies and I want a ride on the pony.”

  “We can see the puppies but it may be too wet for the pony. We’ll see when we get there.”

  Jacqui led Juliet upstairs and Charles settled down for another coffee.

  “Children can be embarrassing. They blurt out the most amazing things.”

  “Charles. I was in the boat with you not that long ago. I know you and Jacqui aren’t exactly celibate. That is unless you’ve become a different couple from the days in Barbados.”

  “They were good days. We’ll get back to that sort of life again some day. It suits us.”

  “It suited us all. It’s strange to think that in the next year or so, we could all retire.”

  “Don’t forget. We need to make sure that we succeed and survive. I am still uneasy about the Rastinov affair. We need you and Maria to help us if there’s ever trouble.”

  Claire smiled, “Don’t worry. I daydream for a moment only. I’m armed at all times and on the alert. After eight years of this job, you develop a second sense. That’ll take a bit of retirement to wear off.”

  Minutes later Juliet and Jacqui returned, “Well, should we go to the farm in the car or do we walk?”

  “Let’s get warmly dressed and wal
k. The wind has eased and it’s only drizzling now. It’ll do us good. It’s only half a mile to the farm.”

  “What about the nanny?”

  “She’s awake. She’ll be up by the time we return and she says she’ll tidy up the place for us. She doesn’t want to go out in the rain.”

  “She should,” said Claire sardonically. “She needs the exercise. Otherwise she’ll develop even bigger lungs with matching accessories.”

  With that they put on their boots and jackets. Well cocooned, they left the house and walked down the road and into the field. The field led to the lane that gave a shortcut to the farmhouse. Juliet skipped along between them. She sang a nursery rhyme to herself and soon Claire and Jacqui both joined in.

  Charles vaulted the gate, swinging Juliet after him. Then Jacqui climbed over. She was half way over when they noticed the three men, just a few yards away. Some second sense told them they shouldn’t be there. People don’t walk down country lanes at weekends in suits. And one of them was wearing a suit. The others were casually dressed in jeans. And men going for a walk in a Sussex country lane do not look like hoods. They definitely don’t look like Mafia thugs.

  The man closest to them wore the suit. It was shiny by intent rather than wear. His long dark coat was open and his right hand was in his pocket. His greasy hair was slicked back. His eyes were cruel. His mouth was drawn into a grotesque sneer. He watched them and they watched him. It was a matter of seconds. Jacqui stood frozen at the top of the gate, one leg on one side and the other half way over. Claire was not yet aware of the scene. She was looking the other way and was on the other side of the gate. Juliet sensed something was wrong and her eyes widened in fear.

  Charles hand moved to his gun and he started to draw it. The man’s hand darted out of his pocket and they were looking down the barrel of a gun. But not for long as a shot from Claire roared out from behind them; the man in the suit staggered back. His gun was on the floor and his hands were clasped to his chest. Blood was flowing freely. He stumbled to his knees and then collapsed in a half conscious, moaning heap on the grass.

  Jacqui screamed. Charles turned to pick up Juliet. He fell on his side, as he was pushed to the ground. A boot kicked him in the stomach. He bent double in pain. The other two men had quickly come up behind him, as he was distracted. Now they were retreating. Their guns pointed at them. One had grabbed Juliet who was struggling as she was pinioned under his arm. She called to them in terror and then started screaming, too. Claire jumped the fence and faced up to the men.

  “One move from you and the child dies,” shouted one of them.

  Jacqui seemed to fall back off the gate. Charles thought she had fainted. He then realised that, out of view of the men, she was circling them. The hedgerow would give her cover and she would try to surprise them from behind. He recalled a stile about sixty or seventy yards up the lane. She would get over that. He hoped she was armed. They usually were, but her gun was rarely powerful enough for times like this

  Claire pointed her weapon at the ground. Charles did the same. They knew they had to play for time. They had no option but to wait for Jacqui to appear. The man on the ground groaned. He tried to get up. There was so much blood on him. His clothes were sodden with it. The other two seemed indifferent to his plight. Charles suspected he was dying. They must have realised that, too. They had no further use for him.

  Charles looked at them carefully. The one was big. He wasn’t grossly fat, but he was getting that way. He was large. His head was square. His hair was cut in a style-less crew cut. He, too, was wearing jeans and a jacket that could not hide the fact that he was running fat. A large paunch stretched over his trousers under a dirty white vest that poked through a gap in his shirt. The bottom button was missing, and it looked as if the next could follow for it was under severe pressure from his excess girth. His face, though, was the most remarkable part of him. A square fat face. There were no eyebrows and no eyelashes. The eyes were too small for that large head. One ear was deformed. It must have been cut in a fight or something. And there was a deep red scar down the right hand side of his face.

  Next to him, the smaller man was unremarkable. He was dressed in jeans and a sweater. He was slimmer, and even looked slight next to his grotesque companion. He had worried dark eyes and, from time to time, poked his nose with his free hand. The other pointed a gun at them both.

  They backed off carefully. They kept them covered. Charles and Claire waited rather than move forward. They had to be patient. Jacqui was their best chance and the men appeared to have forgotten about her. Would she wait and ambush them? Or would she come down the lane? Charles hoped she would do the former. If she came down the lane, the dying man would see her and could still alert his accomplices. Juliet called out, “Daddy, Daddy.” She looked at Charles in disbelief and distress when he did not come.

  She called out again “Come Daddy, come. They’re hurting.” Once again he could do nothing except suffer the look of betrayal in the eyes of a child.

  Then, Jacqui appeared. She had her gun at the ready. “Take the thin one,” muttered Claire to Charles. “I can drop the other slob at this distance without hitting Juliet.” They moved forward slowly as the men moved back.

  There was a shout from the fat man, “Stop there. Don’t move.” The voice was guttural. It sounded foreign. They were definitely not English. Charles had no idea what nationality they or the dying man were. The voices seemed more Italian or southern European. The fat one could well have been a Russian. This could be Rastinov’s people. But, Charles realised to his horror and fury, there was more chance they came from Di Maglio.

  Jacqui was now about ten feet from the retreating men. Juliet could not see her. That was lucky, she may have given the game away. They ignored the fat man’s instruction and moved forward without reducing the distance between the men and them.

  The injured man was now behind them and Claire had kicked his gun well away from him in passing. But they were still around fifteen feet from the other men. That was still far enough for them to feel safe. But close enough for Charles and Claire to have a good chance when the moment arose.

  Jacqui had now moved to within five feet of the men. They were still unaware of her presence as they stepped backwards, monitoring every move as Charles and Claire kept pace with them. They must have been thinking of a way to break the deadlock. The two found it difficult to retreat quickly. They didn’t dare open fire for they stood an equal chance of being killed in the exchange. And they still appeared to have forgotten about Jacqui. That was amazingly stupid as she was now just behind them. She had placed herself behind the fat man holding Juliet. If she could grab Juliet, the others could finish the job off easily.

  Her gun fired and Charles’ roared at the same time. The fat man stumbled and dropped Juliet. His hand was on his heart. The other man stumbled and then shuddered under a stream of bullets. He lay still as Jacqui swooped up Juliet and moved her out of the line of fire. At that moment, Claire’s gun opened up again and bullet after bullet found its mark in the fat man’s chest before he collapsed in a heap.

  Claire and Charles approached the two on the ground. He kicked the gun away from the thin man and bent down to feel for a pulse. “He’s dead.”

  Claire knelt down. The fat man’s gun was a few feet from him. As she checked for his pulse, his hand shot out and he grabbed her towards him. Claire jerked back. His other hand held a long and angry looking knife. It swept towards her. The roar of her gun ensured it never reached its target. The square head became shapeless at the impact of the bullet. The hand let go of Claire as the hulk fell, lifeless, onto the muddy field.

  Jacqui was holding Juliet tight. The girl was still sobbing in panic as she clung to her. Jacqui was making soothing noises. She still held a gun in her hand. Juliet sat half on her arm. The other hand held her and stroked her head at the same time.

  Claire covered the lane behind. Charles edged back to the gate and che
cked out the Italian looking man. He was dead. He checked his pockets, there was nothing to identify him. He looked down the lane. At that point it was straight for a good fifty yards. There was no other sign of life. It had started to rain harder. The blood was spreading into large watery red pools.

  He picked up the gun. It would be dangerous to leave it. He returned to the other two bodies. “No papers. There’s nothing to tell who they were,” Claire said. She had picked up their guns and the knife from the fat man. They stood in the lane, Jacqui, Claire and Charles. They all held guns and looked first for anything else out of the ordinary. Then they checked if there were any chance witnesses as Juliet sobbed piteously in Jacqui’s arms.

  Claire said, “There’s no way we can dispose of the bodies. Someone would find them. We can leave everything here and hope nobody saw us. Or we call the police.”

  “Claire, they know Charles and I have guns. We can be traced. Yours is legal too. We’re going to have to call the police.” He took out his mobile and dialled ‘999’.

  A ring and then a voice said calmly, “Police, Fire or Ambulance.”

  “Police,” he said in a resigned voice. The weekend was hardly going to be the break that they had hoped for.

  “Police,” said a voice with a strong Sussex accent. “What can we do?”

  “There’s been a shooting in Rose Wood Farm Lane. Three people are dead. There has also been an attempted kidnapping.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Charles Rossi from the Old Oak Cottage near Rose Wood Farm.”

  “Are you alone, Mr Rossi?”

  “No I’m with my wife and little daughter. And a friend from America is here too.”

  “A car is on the way. Did you witness anything?”

  “Yes. Three men were here and attempted to kidnap my daughter. There was a shootout and they are dead. We’re all alive.”

  There was a silence at the other end of the line. You don’t expect to be sipping your tea in a provincial police station and hear something like that. Emergency calls, at worst, are usually about the odd break-in.