Helen drove down town to a Pizza restaurant that served take-away meals. She ordered a pizza and climbed back into the pick-up. There was a lot on her mind as she drove back to her villa and wasn’t aware that a red Buick had been following her for a while.
She turned in to her road and swung into the driveway, bringing the pick-up to a halt beneath the carport. As she stepped out of the truck, she saw the Buick turn into the driveway. It raced up the short drive, tyres squealing and stopped.
A tall, rangy black man got out of the passenger door of the Buick and before Helen could say anything, he walked up to her, clamped his hand over her mouth and threw his arm round her waist. It was so sudden that Helen didn’t take it in for a second or two. Then as the realisation of what was happening hit her, she began to struggle violently, but the man was so strong she had no effect on him.
He lifted her off the ground as the driver of the Buick got out of the car and opened the rear door. Helen was flung into the back and her captor threw himself on top of her. She tried to cry out but the force of his full weight on her just caused her to grunt, and he still had his hand clamped over her mouth. She heard the doors slam shut and felt the Buick reverse out of the drive and roar off up the road. Everything had happened so quickly that not even sixty seconds had passed.
Helen’s pick-up truck still had its driver’s door open and on the seat lay her handbag and the takeaway pizza still warm beside it.
*
“Can I get you a drink Marsh?”
Hakeem Khan had welcomed him almost like an old friend. He shook his hand warmly and guided him to a chair, then went over to sideboard where a couple of bottles stood with glasses beside them. There was also a bucket of ice and sliced lemons and limes. Marsh refused the drink. Khan seemed unperturbed by that and left the empty glasses where they were. As he took a seat opposite Marsh, he fluttered a hand at Batista who left the room.
Marsh looked around the hotel room. It was elegant and obviously expensive, but to a man of Khan’s wealth it was something he would have been quite used to.
Khan looked the epitome of a man at ease with himself. He had the complexion of someone who had spent most of his working life at sea, which added to the aura of composure. He was wearing cream slacks, a simple cotton shirt and leather, slip-on shoes. Although his hair was grey, it was well groomed and he still had plenty there. His smile revealed a full set of white teeth. On his wrist was a gold Rolex watch, and on the finger of one hand a ring of enormous size. Marsh doubted that Khan wore anything like that when he was at sea.
“Now Marsh,” he began. “First I must say I was appalled to hear of your partner’s death, such a sad loss; not only to his wife, but to yourself and the business. And you were so lucky not to have been killed as well. Tell me, what happened?”
Marsh wondered how much of the affectation Khan would put on before they got down to the real reason for his visit.
“I remember very little about it,” Marsh lied. “One minute we were afloat, next thing I know is I wake up on someone’s boat. Even now I have a great deal of trouble recalling the moments leading up to the accident. I think we struck something submerged.” It was enough. He doubted if Khan would want to probe deeper.
“Still, it is so sad. And we are happy that you survived.” He brought the palms of his hands together in a soft, clapping motion. “Now, the reason I have asked you here is to offer you a job. I want you to pilot the Challenger.”
Marsh sighed. If he was supposed to dance with joy at the prospect of piloting the submersible for what would prove to be a lucrative salary, it wasn’t going to work; Khan would be disappointed.
“I told Batista that I didn’t want a job.”
Khan nodded and put his hand up. “I know, I know. But perhaps Julio did not explain to you the reason why I have asked you.”
“No, he didn’t,” Marsh agreed. “Neither did he tell me why you can’t pilot the Challenger yourself. You’ve done it before.”
“That’s true, but I would be risking too much. I have a serious heart condition, Marsh. I’m sure you can appreciate the dilemma I’m in. I need an experienced pilot, and there are very few available. If any,” he added
“I didn’t know about your heart condition,” Marsh answered honestly. “Perhaps the result of too many deep dives?”
Khan smiled. “Old age, I think. But the truth is that I could not risk piloting the Challenger in my condition.”
“But why me? Surely there are others that can be trained?”
“Why is not important, Marsh,” Khan replied. “You are the man I want.”
“Suppose I am already under contract?”
“You are not. If you had been, I would have bought the contract out.”
Marsh whistled softly at the breath-taking arrogance of the man. “What else do you know?”
“I know that the Helena is not ready for sea. And without Walsh you cannot operate her and your company cannot function.”
Marsh shook his head. “Helen Walsh has worked on saturation dives with me before. We could cope.”
“That is academic,” Khan interrupted. “You need a good team on the surface. Together the three of you might have been good, but now you are only two.”
Marsh knew he was right. There would be no commissions from the oil companies or ocean survey institutes until he had recruited and trained somebody to take Greg’s place. Without money to back the yard, it would be difficult for them to operate again unless he worked for Khan. But Khan was linked to the death of Greg. Even if the man did not pull the trigger, Marsh knew that there was some kind of conspiracy going on and Khan was heavily involved in it. To walk into Khan’s lair could be like walking into a lion’s den, and from that there would be no way out.
At that moment there was a gentle knock on the door. It opened and Malik came into the room with Batista. Marsh had noticed before that Malik was completely bald, but now it put him in mind of the eunuchs he had seen as a child in the Hollywood films of Arabian adventures.
Malik walked over to Khan, leaned close and whispered something in his ear. Khan’s eyes widened in what looked like triumph to Marsh. Naturally he was curious but he could do nothing about it. Then Khan’s expression changed and he returned his attention to Marsh.
“Now, what is your answer; do we have an agreement or not?”
Marsh felt uncomfortable. Khan hadn’t been listening to him. He glanced at Malik and wondered just what kind of chance he had of bolting for the door. But it was an impulsive thought and he didn’t really believe there was any threat in Khan’s manner. He pushed the impulse from his mind and concentrated on arguing his way out.
“Khan, you know these kinds of arrangements can take time to work out. Contracts have to be drawn up by lawyers; schedules have to be worked out, contract options, timescales. It isn’t simply a question of turning up at the shop and starting work”.
Khan interrupted him. “We don’t have time for that Marsh. My word is my bond and you will be well paid, I can assure you.”
Marsh bit the bullet. “The answer is no, I never take on a commission without a legally binding contract. I’m sorry.” He stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do.”
As he made a move for the door, Malik stepped forward and put his hand on Marsh’s chest. Khan gestured to Batista who pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and dialled a number. Marsh looked on, bewildered. Suddenly, Batista thrust the phone at Marsh.
“Take it,” he ordered.
Marsh hesitated and Malik took the phone from Batista and handed it to Marsh. There was no need for Marsh to be told a second time. He held the phone to his ear and listened. For a while there was just a hollow silence. Then he heard the unmistakeable sound of a woman’s cry of anguish and suddenly she was breathing down the phone. Marsh didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he said hello. It sounded inane.
“Who’s that?” the woman gasped. “Please, what’s happening?”
Marsh felt the
pain of recognition strike him like a knife. “Helen?” His eyes opened wide, still unable to grasp the impact of what he heard.
“Helen?” he called again. “It’s Marsh.”
“Oh Marsh, Marsh,” she cried. “Tell me what’s happening, for God’s sake. Why are they doing this to me?”
Her voice stopped instantly and the phone went dead.
“Helen!” Marsh shouted. “Helen, answer me!”
Malik took the phone from Marsh’s hand as easily as taking a toy from a child. Marsh looked at him with a pained expression in his face. Then he looked at Batista and finally at Khan, who was sitting quite calmly and unconcerned.
“You bastard!” Marsh shouted and launched himself at Khan, but Malik’s speed was so quick that he caught Marsh before he could finish the first step and swung him away from Khan bringing him crashing to his knees with a resounding slap to the side of Marsh’s head. The pain roared through his body and took the strength from his legs. He went down like a bag of cement.
Khan got up from his chair and knelt beside Marsh.
“Now you understand Marsh what is required of you. The woman will remain our guest until it is finished.”
Marsh knew then that he really had stumbled into the lion’s den and that his life was probably forfeit. The thought frightened him, but what scared him even more was that Helen’s life probably was too.
Chapter 8
Helen felt the man’s hand encircle her mouth. With the other he took the phone from her hand and put it back in its cradle. Without any thought for her comfort he dragged her into a separate room and threw her on to a bed. Then without saying a word he turned round and walked out, closing the door behind him. She heard the key turn in the lock.
Although Helen was afraid and bewildered, she had been able to control her fear up until the moment she had heard the sound of Marsh’s voice on the telephone. It had affected her deeply, and now she was shaking badly. She squeezed her knees together and hugged them tight to her body until the shaking stopped. She knew that whatever was happening, she would not help herself by losing control.
Helen had no way of knowing who her kidnappers were or why they had taken her. They were both black and almost certainly local Bahamians. She didn’t know what they wanted because neither of them had spoken to her, but she suspected that it had something to with whoever had searched her villa.
Since his return, Marsh had been fairly withdrawn about the accident and how Greg had died. And his instant refusal at the boatyard to consider a job offer from Batista was not typical of Marsh; he would always have given it careful consideration before turning the work down. But whatever answers Helen tried to come up with, she knew that it was all guesswork and conjecture. The only thing that she kept coming back to was the sinking of the Ocean Quest, and she was certain that Batista and the men who had snatched her were connected with it.
As she sat huddled on the bed, Helen looked around the room. It was obviously a man’s room; the pictures of naked women were testament to that. There were a lot of books and magazines lying on top of a tallboy. A television at the end of the room was still on, but the sound was turned down. There was also a wardrobe with its doors half open, and Helen could see the paraphernalia associated with witchcraft hanging inside it.
Witchcraft, or Obeah as it was called in the Bahamas, was a powerful voodoo medicine that was sometimes used with devastating effect among the islanders. It was a practice that was feared by most of the native people. A lot of it was more ceremonial that sorcery, but there were times when it was used as an evil tool in the hands of unscrupulous Obeah priests.
There was also a window, which was shut. Not that it made any difference because the room was above ground level and Helen doubted if she would be able to open the window because it was probably locked. And if she decided to smash it, her kidnappers would be on her in seconds, so she decided against it.
It was all very odd, Helen thought to herself. Kidnap victims were normally confined in cellars, remote buildings or even holes in the ground. But this house was in a suburb, so why had she been brought here?
The thought teased her but she found no consolation in it, so she got off the bed and began pacing the room in an effort to make sense of it all. She kicked off her shoes thinking it might help her to reason more clearly. It was something she often did, but this time it didn’t help. An hour later she was no farther forward and had ended up lying on the bed, now very bored and getting frightened.
Despite her fear, Helen was asleep when the sound of a key turning in the lock startled her and she opened her eyes. One of her kidnappers stepped into the room. He was holding a gun which he was pointing at her. She got off the bed and stood up. The barrel of the gun followed her.
“Out!”
It was all he said.
As Helen went through the open doorway he pushed the nose of the gun barrel into the small of her back. She was taken to a garage at the back of the house. The Buick was parked there with its boot open.
“Get in the trunk,” he ordered.
Helen hesitated. “Please, I don’t have my shoes.”
“Where are they?”
“I kicked them off in the room upstairs,” she told him.
Another voice broke in. “Leave them, let’s get going.”
Again the gun was used as a pointer. “In the trunk.”
Helen climbed nervously into the trunk of the Buick and her kidnapper slammed it shut. The crashing noise of the lid coming down made her shake violently. The tears were on her cheeks before she realised it as she gave in to her fears and began crying.
The car moved off and Helen felt every bump and turn in the road. Each jolt was a stab of pain until she thought her body could take no more. Numbness settled in and moments of cramp attacked her body as she wondered if the journey would ever end and if she would ever survive.
Eventually the Buick slowed to a halt and the engine died. The silence pressed in on her and her fear returned. She heard the footsteps as the men got out of the car and then the lid of the trunk was flung open. Helen remained as she was, curled up in the foetal position, terrified. It was dark outside and she could not see the faces of the two men as they dragged her out of the trunk.
She was half carried and dragged to a building, which she could just barely distinguish in the darkness. It looked quite small and her own thoughts came back to her about kidnappers taking their victims to remote places. They opened a door and pushed her in. She fell on to a cold, stone floor. She wasn’t hurt but her nerves were screaming out like tautly strung wires.
The door slammed shut and she heard the key turn in the lock. Then she heard their footsteps fading away. The silence returned and she could hear the harsh sound of her own breathing. She pushed herself up and settled her back against the wall, breathing slowly in an effort to calm herself down. And as her breathing settled and became steadier, Helen heard another noise. It was a soft sound like something moving. She couldn’t figure it out at first, but as her eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness, she was vaguely aware of shapes in the room, and vaguely aware of movement.
Then something cold touched the edge of her hand where she was resting it on the floor. She snatched it away and whatever had touched her ran over her legs. She gave in to a piercing scream that bounced around the walls, and for the first time in her life, Helen knew the real meaning of terror.
*
Marsh found himself walking out of the Lucayan Beach Hotel like any guest would; as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was accompanied by Batista and Malik. Apart from a few words in the hotel room, Malik had spoken very little. Marsh still wasn’t sure of the man’s nationality, although he looked like and Arab. Not that it mattered; the man looked tremendously fit and capable. He was also extremely quick when it came to reacting to a threat, and enormously powerful as Marsh could attest to.
They walked together to the parking lots and climbed into the car. It wasn’t long before
Marsh realised they were heading towards the West End. The road followed the coast for almost twenty miles passing Gold Rock Creek, which used to be the home of the American missile tracking station. It was now undergoing a thirty million dollar transformation into a film studio and theme park.
The road crossed the peninsular towards the golf course and finally into the town of West End. Batista drove to a small cay where several boats were moored. He stopped the car. Malik got out and beckoned Marsh to follow. Batista stayed in the car. Marsh looked at him and was about to ask a question but thought better of it. He shrugged and followed Malik. Batista threw them a friendly wave and drove off.
“Where’s he going?” asked Marsh.
“To the airport,” Malik answered. “He’ll be taking the helicopter back to the Taliba.”
“So where are we going?”
“To the Taliba.”
They walked along the waterfront until they came to a small cruiser; the kind favoured by many tourists for their fishing trips. Malik stepped down into the cockpit and called out. A black face appeared from inside the yacht.
“This is Romulus,” Malik told him, and disappeared into the cabin.
Marsh stepped into the cockpit, said hallo to Romulus and followed Malik into the cabin.
“You want a drink?” Malik asked him.
“I’ll have a coffee. Thanks”
Malik took a bottle of clear water from the small refrigerator for himself. He then made Marsh a coffee from the percolator set on gimbals in the small galley.
The boat’s diesel engine suddenly burst into life somewhere beneath his feet and he heard Romulus break into song. He had a pleasant voice and it was a song that Marsh recognised as a local, Bahamian song. The cruiser moved slowly away from the quayside, edging its way along the waterfront until it turned and headed out to sea.
*
Marsh mentally charted their progress. It was not in the hope that he might learn where they were going, but more from habit. The sun was settling low on the horizon and he could just see faint shadows on the edge of the sea where it merged with the darkening sky.
The Devil's Trinity Page 9