by Tomson Cobb
After a cool shower and a change of clothes from the sweat-marked ones he’d travelled in from London, he was in a better state to plan the night ahead. He cracked open a can of beer from the pack he’d put in the freezer, pulled back the white lined curtains, unlocked the windows and pushed open the protective shutters. As he stepped onto the terrace the heat hit him as if he’d just opened the door to an oversized oven that had been on full power since dawn.
The view down to the small rocky cove was just as he remembered it. It remained one of his greatest regrets that he and Frankie hadn’t been able to visit the beautiful secluded spot more often before she’d been taken from him. The white-hulled Moody 27 still lay moored secure to the small wooden jetty. He was more confident that the boys from the marina in Palma had done their regular maintenance, as it looked a treat. Clean and polished, it should provide the ideal cover for Joe and himself.
The engine started first time. He slipped the ropes and started to motor along the narrow channel marked by a couple of buoys out into the bay. He wanted to make sure that the boat was shipshape, ready for the task he had in mind. It was. An hour later he was back in the villa with a chart laid out on the large table in the main room. The route he had planned should be straightforward. He’d also identified a small area where they could anchor. Around the corner from the bay where Hordiyenko’s villa was situated, it would mean just a short swim underwater for them both to the small private beach beneath the Ukrainian’s property. As he also preferred privacy, their activity there could not be seen by any insomniac visitors to the two hotels on the opposite side of the bay. He just hoped that as it was so early in the holiday season, there wouldn’t be many other yachts anchored nearby.
‘Hi Jago. Just arrived. I’m in the immigration queue at the airport. I should be with you in about an hour,’ Joe said.
‘Good man. Hope you had some sleep on the red-eye. You’ll be busy tonight.’
‘I did. Luckily I learned that lesson years ago from a stewardess I used to date. She said that on long-haul, the advice was always to eat little but often, with sleep whenever possible. I’ve never found it a problem.’
‘I wish I could say the same. I’ll have some food for you when you arrive. Nothing too heavy before we swim, just salad, bread with cold meat. Hope you don’t mind.’
‘Suits me fine. Be with you soon.’ With that, Joe disconnected.
Jago left the chart and walked down to the old wine cellar. He lifted the hidden latch, pulled back one of the racks which exposed the built-in wall safe. He entered the combination and took out two Glock 9mm semi-automatics with Ameriglo night sights, together with four ten-round magazines. He didn’t like firearms, but on this occasion he was prepared to be persuaded otherwise. Shame he didn’t have the same underground shooting gallery that his friend Sammy had installed at his own cottage before he was killed.
‘It’s quite a distance to swim underwater with the kit we have to take with us. Have you done enough scuba work for this?’
The partly retired Navy Seal had arrived in a hire car a little behind schedule. He stood over the chart that Jago had laid out on the table, and using a piece of celery as a pointer he traced the route that Jago had drawn.
‘I hope so, Joe. I haven’t done any in anger so to speak for some time, but I keep my hand in with some occasional wreck dives. When I get the chance, that is, which is not very often recently.’
‘How do we get to that point?’ asked Joe, his salad stick pointed at the X on the map that Jago had drawn to indicate the Ukrainian’s villa.
‘We’ll anchor at ten tonight, just on the point here.’ He stabbed his finger down. ‘We’ll play some music, show the lights, then switch them off at eleven to make out we’ve hit the sack. Leave another hour then we slip over the side around midnight. I estimate it’ll take us an hour to swim there to that outcrop. There’s an overhang above, so nobody can see us from the house or from the hotels over here.’ He pointed. ‘We leave our gear there then you can teach me how to climb a rock face.’
‘I hope that’s an English joke, Jago. You sure you can do this?’
‘The physical side, yes; the mental side, not so much. I will. Don’t worry. We have to get up there before dawn. I want to check out the house so we can bed down through the next day while we wait for La Polpo.’
‘Are you sure she’ll come?’ said Joe.
‘Oh yes. She’ll come. I’m damned sure that Greenstreet has got my message by now. He might have decided he doesn’t need to keep me alive, and as it’s too dangerous for him to import a team of mercenaries into a small place like this he’ll use her. She’s a loner, so she won’t be spotted by the amateur immigration officers here on the island. All they’re concerned about is how many tourists they have to check through on their shift or which ones they’re going to chat up for a date. They won’t expect an international hitwoman to be in the line.’
Chapter 26
Jago and Joe slipped over the side of the yacht at midnight. They didn’t know if any vessels were anchored in the bay, as that would mean sailing around the point to find out, which would expose their presence to anyone on land. All they could do was hope that there wouldn’t be anyone close to them when they surfaced near the beach. A half-moon in the clear sky above them wasn’t ideal, though they’d seen just two other yachts that had appeared from the opposite direction during their three-hour voyage from the house. A large powerboat had scorched past them some distance away soon after they’d left, but that had disappeared from their sight at high speed around one of the headlands ahead while they chugged along at a more modest pace.
Joe had attached a line to Jago so they wouldn’t get detached from each other while he took the lead. They eventually reached the edge of the cliff, which continued into the clear water beneath them. Joe turned to face Jago and showed his palm to Jago’s face mask. Jago watched him lift his head cautiously above the surface before he took a three-sixty turn like a U-boat captain with his periscope. He dropped his head below the water again then raised his thumb.
Jago surfaced and trod water to look around. A loud silence was his first impression. Tiny waves lapped against the sheer rock face, with only a few pinpricks of light from a couple of houses high up on the cliff on the other side of the cove. The bay itself was empty apart from one boat that lay anchored off the beach of one the hotels about half a mile away. It looked to Jago like the same powerboat they’d seen earlier.
‘So far, so good,’ he whispered to his partner. ‘Now for the difficult bit.’
They raised themselves onto a ledge above the waterline. As Jago gazed up with a serious amount of apprehension, the cliff above him looked like the North Face of the Eiger, with the result that his heart rate began to increase at the thought of what was to come. They both took off their wetsuits and pushed them into a crack in the rocks, then changed into black tracksuits, attached their backpacks, and slipped on the soft Black Diamond rock climbing shoes that Joe had brought with him.
‘You knew my size.’
‘Checked it when you were in DC. Detail like that is my job.’
‘Just as well you did. I’ll have enough problems to get up there as it is, without my feet loose as hell in oversized shoes, or worse, ones I couldn’t get on because they were too small.’
‘Just part of the service. You’ll be fine. Okay, I’ll go first. I’ll lay some pitons as I go. I reckon we can do this in two sections. When I find a terrace about halfway, I’ll drop the rope. You climb, I’ll support you. Don’t look down, just concentrate on what’s above you. That clear?’
‘Sure. Let’s start before I change my mind,’ Jago said with a smile. It didn’t reflect the absolute terror he felt at that point at the thought of the task ahead. It was irrational, he attempted to persuade himself. It was only a sodding piece of rock. He could do it blindfolded. In fact, maybe that might be a better option. He pushed the thought from his mind and concentrated on his companion.
&nbs
p; Joe disappeared from sight fast, which left Jago to ponder the reasons for his irrational fear as the minutes ticked by. There had been no indication when he was a child that he’d become so afflicted. In fact, he was known as a crazy man by his school peers when they dared him to pass the rites of entry to the various subgroups he wanted so desperately to join, being a loner by nature. It was only later in life, on a walk in the Alps with a couple of friends from his college, that the fear had struck as they all crossed a ravine on a narrow rope bridge. From that moment on he would become dizzy and nauseous whenever he found himself at height, his eyes drawn down to the surface far below. It was like a voice inside his head that told him to jump, that he had to ignore. A suicide pact with himself, perhaps?
‘You can get help for vertigo you know, darling. You don’t have to be ashamed of it. Why don’t you let me get an appointment with Sebastian? He’s one of the top psychotherapists in his field. I’ve known him since we were at university. I’m sure he’d be able to help.’
‘It’s not vertigo, it’s acrophobia. Vertigo is a medical condition, mine’s a sort of panic attack. I’ve told you before, Fran.’
‘Well, whatever. Seb can treat both I’m sure. Why don’t you give it a go? For me, if not for yourself.’
‘If you insist, Chez.’
His wife Francesca had meant well, however the results of the visits to her old friend were negligible. He still suffered shakes that left him debilitated, even sweats and palpitations whenever he was presented with the prospect of just air beneath his feet. All symptoms he was experiencing at this very moment.
The rope clattered on a rock in front of him which broke the spell. Rather than consider further, he attached the rope to the harness that he’d strapped on while he waited, then tugged it to let Joe know to take up the slack. He started to climb.
The ascent was more difficult than he’d expected. Joe had scampered up the rock face with little problem. When he followed, Jago found it much harder to reach the cleft in the wall of rock where the ex-Seal was crouched, one arm wrapped around a rock that secured the rope as it dangled over the edge of the chasm below.
‘Well done, Jago. See? No problem, was it?’ Despite the encouragement, Joe watched him with a look of concern.
‘Piece of cake. It’s Annapurna next for me.’
‘We’ll leave that for the future. I’m ready for the next stage. Same technique. You still okay?’
‘Sure, Joe. Go. Let’s get this over with as fast as possible. If we don’t, I may be stuck here forever.’
‘Good man. I’ll be as quick as I can.’ Joe arched his back, reached up for his first handhold, then launched himself up and away with animal-like ease, like the barbary macaques Jago had seen years ago on the Upper Rock area of the Gibraltar Nature Reserve.
‘It’s probably all to do with a fall when you were young. Either that or you picked up on the same fear that one of your parents had. Do you remember one?’ asked Sebastian.
‘No. Can’t say I can,’ Jago replied.
‘Well. You don’t want to use beta blockers, so I’d like to try some more cognitive behavioural therapy plus a little virtual reality treatment. We’ve got the equipment next door you can try out.’
The result had been the same. It had embarrassed him, he remembered as he contemplated the next section of the climb ahead. Why the hell had he been given this lifetime weight around his shoulders? There was no other fear that worried him, not violence, speed, threats, just bloody heights.
The tug on the rope brought him back to the problem in hand – literally. He started to climb once again, attention fixed on the square yard of rock in front of his eyes. It was a slow, deliberate effort, but with the help of his Sherpa he managed to keep moving upwards without any glances at the sea below.
‘I have to say, the view’s quite impressive from here Joe.’ He’d made it to the summit.
Jago’s shakes started to subside, his heart rate felt almost back to normal. He took in some deep breaths as he viewed the new scene around him with relief that he’d achieved the first part of their nocturnal task.
‘I’ll look after the alarm,’ Joe said as he ran over to the side of the villa, while Jago looked ahead at the villa.
The house was impressive rather than ostentatious. Red bricks were interlaced with white stone under the oak-coloured tiled roof. The structure provided multiple layers of sea views from each of the windows on the three floors, which overlooked a large infinity pool that reached to the edge of the cliff. The architect had provided an impressive result for the 25 million euros that the property had cost Simon Hordiyenko the year before. He knew that as, after all the time he’d searched online, he’d found the details from the realtor’s website still cached in memory before it had been sold to the Ukrainian mafioso. It had also given them useful detail of the interior of the house.
‘Okay. That’s done. Strange though. Not a very complicated system for a house this expensive,’ Joe said. ‘Where do we go in?’
‘The other side, away from the road. There’s a small window into the staff quarters which should suit us. It can’t be seen from the road. There’s no other property within half a mile, so we’ll use that one just to be on the safe side, I think that’s the best option. You still sure there’s no motion sensors outside anywhere, Joe?’
‘I’m sure. The pictures we got from the sat showed no installations out here, just the ones inside. I’ve disabled them now.’
‘Right. Let’s go then.’ Jago led the way around the back of the property to the recessed area he’d identified from the floor plan on the website. The window proved simple to break and enter. Another career option beckoned.
Jago and Joe used the pencil flashlights they’d brought with them just once to check the main room for hidden trip alarms. The interior of the place was more attractive than the exterior, Jago decided. The large floor-to-roof windows allowed the moonlight to cast shadows across the high exposed wooden beams that criss-crossed the ceiling, from which a large model of a motor cruiser was suspended, as if on a voyage across the room. Plain white walls provided a contrast to the expensive wooden parquet floor, which complemented the two large white leather sofas that faced each other across the wide expanse of space. The first-floor balcony with a polished wooden handrail gave the interior an added sense of space, although the stark design gave an impression of coldness rather than one of warm comfort. A bit like a plastic surgeon’s waiting room might look, Jago thought.
‘Joe. I’ll check the upper floors, you do the rest of the ground floor plus the basement. I’ll meet you back here,’ he whispered.
Jago ran up the stairs two at a time, his Glock held in both hands. The many areas of glass allowed the moonlight in, which meant he could check all the rooms without the need for the flashlight. The whole place was empty of any personal effects apart from the main bedroom, where a large walk-in wardrobe exposed the sartorial taste of its owner like an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. A line of brightly coloured Hawaiian shirts took centre stage, with rows of slacks, shorts and shoes of all colours laid neatly along the lower shelf as if in an exclusive army barracks for millionaires.
The four bathrooms were also sparsely furnished, with the same range of expensive men’s toiletry together with dozens of thick blue towels of all sizes. It was if the owner planned to rent out the villa on a lock-up-and-leave basis.
Jago returned to the bottom of the stairs to look for his colleague. There was no sign of him in the small office off the main room, nor in the dining room, both of which were devoid of any personal effects apart from furniture that looked unused. He began to think that the place had been emptied recently, perhaps that day. But if that was the case, how could they have done it? His traceable email to Ivan had only been sent the day before, so it was unlikely that any such clearance order from Hordiyenko could have been organised that fast. He took the Glock from its holster on his belt to retrace his steps to the kitchen, which was
off the hallway at the rear of the main room.
‘Joe,’ he whispered in a stage prompter’s volume. ‘Where are you?’
His flashlight picked out the large central island hob with rows of cabinets that surrounded three of the walls. It all looked clean. Too clean. The last wall featured a door which he knew from the realtor’s details led down a few steps to the sauna. Jago picked his way cautiously down the dark stairwell until his light showed a heavy wooden door with a large stainless steel handle. He stood to one side and pushed it back with his foot, inch by inch until it opened with a creak. A wave of heat hit him, followed by the escape of a wall of steam like a hot blizzard that made it impossible to see the rear of the room. He waited until the steam cleared a little then moved into the doorway, crouched, the Glock pointed ahead. The flashlight that he’d expected he’d need to illuminate the large space was unnecessary, as the light from within was dazzling. Jago aimed the gun at each corner in a staccato sweep of the space.
On his right stood a large Harvia wood stove with layers of fuel stacked above it, its fire glowing bright behind the cast-iron framed glass door while a copper flue rose up into the roof like a piece of modern artwork. Buckets with ladles lay neatly in a holder alongside the stove. To his left, the wooden benches ran from floor to roof, stepped into two levels, the higher one set back to enable several participants to enjoy its benefits. As the steam cleared he saw an electric drill in the far corner. Above it sat the body of Simon Hordiyenko, his arms folded, eyes open, naked except for a towel around his waist. It was covered with the blood that had been released from the small hole in his forehead, which had run down in a neat pattern over his face and chest and looked as if it had been drawn by a dark red marker pen.
Alongside him sat Joe, his right arm around the shoulder of the deceased mafioso as if ready for a posed holiday snap. The same-sized neat hole between his eyes, Jago realised, had not come from the drill, but more likely a silenced automatic. It was the last image Jago saw before a heavy weight hit him hard on the left temple and a visual aura of multicoloured jagged lines replaced the macabre tableau that had been prepared just for him.