‘OK.’
Both Bruce and Aito hunched forwards.
‘Don’t you want legal advice on the agreement?’ Bruce asked.
Wyatt hadn’t got time for all this, he wanted to start looking for Suzie.
‘No. I trust both of you. After all, you both trusted me.’ He took out his pen.
‘Where do I sign?’
He left the room in a hurry and took the lift down to the ground floor. He wanted to find Suzie. The police? Should he contact them, or was that overreacting? As the lift door opened he was approached by a cameraman and a reporter, and immediately recognised Vanessa Tyson. There was no way he could avoid her.
She swept her hair back and stared into his eyes. It was a look that held something more than the cold analytical assessment of the dedicated reporter - but then it was gone, and the professional mask was on again.
‘Wyatt, how do you feel about Ricardo’s behaviour on the circuit yesterday?’
She wasn’t pulling her punches.
‘I think everyone is in agreement that it was excessive,’ he said calmly.
She gave him a thin-lipped smile.
‘Don’t you think such violent behaviour reflects the danger inherent in motor-racing? Doesn’t it scare you that you might have to compete with a man who might assault you, or worse, kill you for first place?’
‘Are you afraid of danger?’
She reddened, more from irritation than anger, he sensed.
‘That’s irrelevant,’ she said. ‘What we’re talking about here is millions upon millions of dollars being spent on what is a very violent and dangerous sport.’
‘If you’re afraid, don't watch it.’
Her face was dead-pan. Wyatt sensed the cameraman was still filming and waited for her next salvo, relishing the challenge.
‘It’s not just the drivers,’ she said. ‘Spectators’ lives are at risk.’
‘People come to motor-races because they like the excitement. It’s been said that some come hoping accidents will happen. I think you’ve been waiting for an accident.’
‘That’s totally untrue!’
He moved forward and before she could block him, kissed her softly on the lips.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’
He saw that the cameraman was smiling, almost laughing. He turned back to the lifts. He wanted to be alone now, to get to a phone and call the police. Where the hell was Suzie?
He got out of the lift on Calibre-Shensu’s floor, to find Mickey in earnest conversation with Bruce.
‘There’s something wrong, to be sure,’ Mickey was saying.
‘Ricardo had a hell of a go at her. I’m sure she’s just very, very upset and she doesn’t want to show her face,’ Bruce said.
‘She wouldn’t take being treated like that. I’m going to check Ricardo’s room,’ Wyatt set off down the hall but Bruce’s voice checked him.
‘It’s empty. Maybe she’s back in your room now, or has left a message.’
Wyatt’s room was in chaos; Suzie’s clothes were scattered all over the place. It was obvious that someone had been there during the press conference and rifled through everything. Suzie was in real danger, Wyatt was sure that something must have happened during the race. He felt powerless and disorientated.
The receptionist reported that Miss von Falkenhyn had not made an appearance since the Grand Prix. Wyatt couldn’t understand it. It was Mickey who came up with a possible direction for their search.
‘Let’s find the reporter who took the picture of Ricardo arguing with Suzie. He’s the last person who saw her, apart from Ricardo.’
There were plenty of reporters still hanging around the reception area, and Wyatt suddenly caught sight of Vanessa Tyson stepping into a taxi with her cameraman. He dashed over and grabbed her hand - and again, as her lips parted, had that sense that her interest in him might be more than professional.
‘I’m prepared to give you a private interview if you can find out something for me,’ Wyatt said tentatively.
‘Well, ask away,’ she answered in the deep voice he found so intriguing.
‘Suzie von Falkenhyn has disappeared.’
‘Scared your next win’s not going to be in designer clothes?’ Vanessa replied cynically.
‘No!’ Wyatt snapped. ‘I happen to be in love with her.’
Now there was a crowd of reporters surrounding them, and Wyatt felt himself getting increasingly annoyed. Vanessa seemed to sense his mood. She led him to the lift, gesturing for her cameraman not to follow. When they were in the confined space of the elevator, she spoke again.
‘I apologise. It’s my business to provoke people because I need to get a reaction.’
Wyatt looked at her closely. About five foot five, she was petite yet voluptuous, with a strikingly unusual face. It had a restrained sensuality about it that appealed to him. He sensed she hid a lot of herself from the outside world; that beneath the steely exterior of Vanessa Tyson there might be another woman - a very different woman.
‘I need this thing sorted out privately. I’m worried about Suzie.’
The lift doors opened on the top floor and Vanessa showed Wyatt to her room. Inside, it looked as if a whirlwind had hit it, papers and documents lying all over the place.
‘I work in organised chaos. Find a seat.’
Wyatt moved a lap-top computer and sat down.
‘We went up to my room just now,’ he said. ‘Someone had been through everything of Suzie’s. Ricardo’s gone, probably back to Europe.’
‘Wyatt, are you sure she didn’t have something going with Ricardo?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘So,’ she said, sitting down. ‘How can I help?’
‘I believe that the cameraman who took the pictures of Ricardo arguing with her was the last person to see her.’
‘That was Max,’ she said, reaching for the phone.
Five minutes later, Max, a tall, burly man with a thick beard, was standing in front of Wyatt. From what Vanessa had told him, he knew that Max was one of the world’s top video-cameramen.
‘Yeah,’ Max said, ‘Ricardo really had a go at her. Struck me as the kind of woman you don’t shout at.’
Max paused to light up a cigarette.
‘I got good footage and I took a couple of pictures. You obviously saw the one in this morning’s paper.’
‘Yes, but what happened after all that?’ Wyatt asked desperately.
‘Well, Ricardo stormed off. I was going to go back and watch the race, but Suzie interested me. She was cut up, walking away from the circuit, so I followed.
Wyatt was hanging on every word.
‘She disappeared into one of the workshops,’ Max went on. ‘I don’t know what she was doing - probably pulling herself together. I decided to wait outside. Well, about five minutes later this truck pitches up. It was slightly obscured by the sidewall of the warehouse. I heard feet scuffling and a few commands.’ He took a long draw at his cigarette, then stubbed it out and took another.
‘I put my head around the corner and there’s this lethal-looking blond guy who’s obviously in command. I didn’t wait for him to see me. They must have been loading up something important.’
‘So what happened to Suzie?’ Wyatt fought down his fury. Why hadn’t Max taken the trouble to see that she was OK?
‘I don’t know. I pointed my video-camera round the corner and let it roll. After that, I left very quickly.’
‘The videotape?’ Wyatt asked desperately.
‘I haven’t looked at it. I sent it off ten minutes ago, by courier, to London.’
Vanessa went to the phone.
‘We’ll catch it before they put it on a plane. Max, you arrange it.’
The manager of the local courier service was very happy. Now he would be able to afford the holiday flat he’d been hoping to buy his mistress. He’d received a phone call earlier that morning, something about so
me videotapes. Well, he’d told his employees to be on the lookout for them. What a find.
A couple of phone calls, and they’d been across like a rifleshot. He hadn’t even had to barter with them, the money had been laid on the table. Now they had the videotapes, and when the cameraman, a Mr Max Senda, phoned, he would shrug his shoulders and say that these things happened. The videotapes were now officially ‘lost’.
Max Senda waited in the reception area of the hotel, smoking his thirty-eighth cigarette of the day. Where the hell were his videotapes?
A tall, blond man in a Hawaian shirt strode in. He looked vaguely familiar, and under his arm was a batch of videotapes.
‘Over here!’ Max shouted.
The man came over and looked him up and down, then he handed him the boxes. Anxiously, Max opened them.
‘One’s missing. Where the hell is it?’
‘Must still be at the airport,’ replied the man.
‘Well, let’s go there.’
He followed the man in the Hawaian shirt out of his car. There were two more men in it.
‘My friends. You don’t mind?’
Max couldn’t have cared less. He got into the front seat with the blond man.
‘Let’s go!’ he shouted.
The man drove very quickly, and had a surprising knowledge of the back streets. After a while Max looked down at his watch and saw that they had been travelling for over fifteen minutes. Still, he didn’t know the area; perhaps this was the quickest route to the airport.
‘Far to go?’ he asked, after another five minutes.
The man ignored him. Max noticed that the streets they were travelling through were becoming progressively poorer. He began to feel uneasy.
‘Where the hell are we going?’
The man didn’t reply. Suddenly, Max remembered where he’d seen him - at the track, in the workshop.
He tried to open the car door - and received a blow across the back of the head, then felt something pass over his face. The next second the garotte tightened around his windpipe. He raised his hands to relieve the pressure, but it was no good. Then the other man in the back held a cigarette-lighter to his fingers - but he couldn’t scream out for lack of air. The driver turned to him.
‘Not too far now. Just relax.’
As he was about to black out, the pressure relented and he slumped forward, holding his neck. The man at the wheel grabbed the scruff of his neck and rammed his head into the dashboard.
They pulled up outside a tin shanty, and the two men from the back dragged him out of the car. He tried to run, but they kicked his feet from underneath him.
‘What else did you see?’ the blond man asked.
Max tried to answer but they started kicking him before he could get the words out. Blows struck every part of his body, knocking out some of his teeth, breaking his ribs. He tried to defend himself but he didn’t stand a chance.
‘Ready to talk?’
He lay on the ground, blood oozing from his mouth, and prayed they’d leave him alone. He tasted the dirt mingling with the blood in his mouth, and smelt sweat.
‘What do you want?’
‘Why did you take the pictures?’
‘I’m a reporter.’
This answer was greeted by a heavy kick in the face. The man in the Hawaian shirt then stood on his fingers and twisted his heel around.
‘What do you want!’ Max screamed.
‘What did you see?’
‘You. The truck. That was all. Where the hell’s Suzie von Falkenhyn?’
‘Did you tell anyone about this?’
Max hesitated. He thought of Vanessa undergoing this treatment. Who knew what these men might do? His interrogator spat on him.
‘I think you should go for a ride to loosen your tongue.’
They dragged him round to the back of the car and tied his feet to the bumper, so that the rest of his body was lying on the ground. He heard the engine start, and the next minute he was being dragged across the ground at high speed. His clothes tore through in seconds, and his skin started scraping against the ground. When the car finally came to a stop he was barely alive.
‘Does anyone know?’
‘Wyatt Chase and Vanessa Tyson. They’re looking for Suzie. I was following her when I saw you and the truck.’
Max passed in and out of consciousness.
The blond man looked agitated.
‘Is that all?’
Max nodded weakly.
‘Put him in the boot.’
Max could do nothing. They tossed him into the back of the car and pulled away.
As they bumped along the road, he felt sick. He clawed at the edges of the boot. He could smell the exhaust fumes . . . Then he realised the exhaust was feeding directly into the boot.
He banged against the metal, but he was already losing consciousness.
A kilometre later Max Senda was dead.
Wyatt had just about finished the packing, but there was still no call from Vanessa Tyson. He had a tough testing schedule lined up in England, which he needed to get back for, but he wasn’t leaving till he found out what had happened to Suzie. He would spend a few more days in Rio if necessary. Maybe it was time to contact the police.
He decided he’d talk to Vanessa. He took the lift and went up to her room, but the door was locked, and when he knocked there was no answer. Some sixth sense told him she was inside, and there was something wrong.
He took a run at the door, and kicked it down with a single blow. The room was empty, a picture of order, and Vanessa was nowhere to be seen.
Then there was a noise from the bathroom. Wyatt opened the door to see Vanessa suspended, naked and unconscious, from the shower-rail.
‘My God!’
He put his arms around her and lifted her, taking her weight off the cord, then he reached up with one arm and unhitched it. He threw Vanessa onto the bed and gave her the kiss of life, but there was no response.
Breathe, damn you. Breathe.
He put his hand over her heart and hit the back of it with his fist. Breathe! He smashed the flat of his hand against her chest.
Suddenly she coughed, and then vomited.
Breathe!
She gulped in air as he held her head up.
‘Oh God!’ she coughed. ‘For God’s sake, help me!’
She vomited again - several small white pills. He reached for the phone next to her bed and dialed reception.
‘Get me an ambulance and a doctor - fast!’
Detective Inspector Farina folded up his small notebook and stared hard at Wyatt Chase.
‘Suicide.’
Farina’s English was good, with hardly a trace of an accent.
‘Rio is a rough town. All we know is that Mr Senda and Miss von Falkenhyn have not been seen. Your lady friend’s attempted suicide is probably unconnected with their disappearance.’
‘So you’re going to do nothing?’
‘I will wait.’
‘What, till someone else dies or disappears?’
‘You may be an expert driver but you’re not a policeman. I haven’t got a lead, and Rio is a big city. Vanessa Tyson is only one amongst over a hundred people who have tried to commit suicide today. If Max Senda or Miss von Falkenhyn do not appear in the next twenty-four hours, I will hand their pictures over to the TV network.’
‘That’s all you’re going to do?’ Wyatt muttered angrily.
‘You want me to declare a state of emergency because your girlfriend has walked out on you?’ Farina replied sarcastically.
Vanessa looked terrible. Her neck was in a brace and there were bags under her eyes. Her arms were held with straps to the side of the bed, as were her legs.
She looked up at Wyatt as he came into the private room at the hospital.
‘You all right?’
‘How does it look?’ she croaked. ‘Give me a fucking cigarette! My handbag, in that cabinet, if there’s anything left in it.’
He found the cig
arettes, placed one in her mouth and lit it. She inhaled deeply and lay back.
‘I thought you didn’t smoke.’
‘That’s privileged information.’
She paused, then looked at him squarely.
‘You think I tried to kill myself?’
‘No.’
The cigarette dropped from her mouth and she started coughing. Wyatt picked it up and waited for her to recover.
‘They say I’m a drug addict,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s quite incredible! All I know is that there’s a lot more to this than meets the eye.’
‘So what happened?’
‘There’s a knock on my door, right? I say, “Who is it?”. I hear a muffled “Wyatt”. I open the door, and this blond-haired man in a Hawaian shirt bursts into my room, grabs me and rams a hypodermic into my arm. A day later I wake up here, diagnosed suicidal and a drug addict.’
She took another long drag on the cigarette.
‘Now tell me what’s been happening to you.’
Wyatt knew he must tell her the truth.
‘The police found Max’s body this morning,’ he said heavily. ‘We were the last two people to talk to him, and we are the only ones who knew about that videotape. The courier company knows nothing, but Senda was picked up by some men claiming to be their representatives. Two hours later, he was dead.’
Vanessa stared at him coldly.
‘My instincts tell me that you and I had better leave this place, or we’ll both be in coffins pretty soon.’
Wyatt went through Vanessa’s handbag, and found her passport and her credit cards.
‘I’m taking you to the airport,’ he said.
‘You’re not coming?’
‘No. I have a few more loose ends I want to investigate.’
‘Wyatt, you’re in danger!’
‘Listen, Vanessa, I’m taking you to the airport and you’re in no condition to argue with me.’
Wyatt glanced across at Vanessa, securely strapped into the back seat of the taxi next to him. She winked at him. ‘I think I can trust you not to take advantage of me. Let’s go.’
The taxi-driver pulled out into the busy street and weaved his way through the traffic. It had taken Wyatt an hour to discharge Vanessa from the hospital, and a fight with the doctors, but he’d won in the end.
Eye of the Cobra Page 26