by Mark Arundel
I put my K106 away in my pocket and smiled at her. 'I’m not married. It was my boss, hoping I’m having a nice time.’
Alicia smiled and nodded slowly. I think she doubted my honesty.
She said professionally, ‘Enjoy your sticky toffee pudding.’ Then she turned with a sway of her hips and was gone.
The pudding was good but not as moist as the one back home. The coffee, on the other hand, without exaggeration, was fantastic. While I ate, I studied the satnav map on my K106 and realised Geoffrey Button’s apartment was only a five-minute walk from where I sat.
I finished up and asked one of the waiters for the bill. He brought it over in a small white dish and left it on the table. I paid in cash and left a generous tip. As I stood up to leave Alicia reappeared with the smile back on her face and asked, ‘Are you leaving already?’
‘My dinner was lovely, thank you. But I feel a bit tired after my early start today and all the travelling.’
‘Yes, of course. You must return to the villa and get into bed early. Lots of holiday things to do tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ I nodded and smiled.
'Come back and see us again,’ she called after me as I walked through to the open terrace and into the dark.
Around the corner, away from the restaurant, I pulled out my K106 and reopened the satnav page. I followed the directions which took me further down the coast along a footpath, travelling south with the black sea and the lights from the boats on my right. Soft street lamps lit the footpath and I dodged a strolling couple coming the other way. They didn’t seem to notice me. The pathway dipped and turned as the rocky, undulating coastline cut in and out. The indicator on my screen flashed. I was getting close.
On the rise, a wall of rough stone came into view as the bend straightened and walking closer I saw a closed, arched doorway with a sign that showed the address. Written below I saw: CCTV Camaras Operatinas. I continued by and when I reached the brow I stopped and turned back. I looked out over the dark ocean and then back across the footpath and over the wall to the roofs and upper floors of the low-rise apartment block. I estimated around twenty-four at most, set in their own grounds, probably with a communal pool and maybe a resident caretaker. I couldn’t see any CCTV cameras, but it was dark and anyway I didn’t have a clear view. I considered my options.
I could go over the wall, find apartment eighteen, find Geoffrey Button and kill him. No—bad idea, too hasty, too unplanned, too many things could go wrong. He might not even be at home and anyway, it might not end up looking like an accident, or suicide.
If I had brought one of the syringes with me from the villa, I may have considered it differently. If he was at home and he let me in then it might be possible to inject him and then leave without any trace of my visit.
I stood for a while longer, considering what other options there might be. I decided it was best to leave it tonight. At least I now knew where he lived. I’d sleep on it and return tomorrow with a more considered plan.
I retraced my steps back along the pathway until I reached Alicia’s restaurant. I could see in and almost all the tables were full of diners with the waiters busy with their trays. I couldn’t see Alicia; perhaps she was in the kitchen trying the sticky toffee pudding. I climbed back up the hill, away from the sea and found my little Seat where I’d parked it.
I drove up to the roundabout and then back along the narrow, winding coast road and back into the town and my movie star villa.
Inside, I poured a glass of water and relaxed. I was feeling good. Everything was going well. I was enjoying myself. However, tomorrow the serious work was going to have to start.
On the terrace, I switched on the pool lights and the hot tub seemed to draw me in like the soft call from a lover. I stripped off all my clothes, switched on the bubbles and stepped in. Sitting with my back to the villa, so I could look out across the town and the coastline, strung with a thousand lights, I sipped my water and felt like a movie star or was that a porn star, no, definitely a movie star. Relaxing even further, I thought about tomorrow and I realised I needed to make visual contact with the target before finalising my plan. Then I had the strangest feeling that, somehow, this assignment wasn’t going to be as straightforward as I had imagined. I didn’t know why I just had that feeling.
Chapter 8
Usually, bids increase gradually, although occasionally, a higher bid happens which seems overly ambitious.
The air conditioning in my bedroom kept the temperature cool, making it easy to sleep, naked under a single cotton sheet. As a combat soldier, I’d learnt how to sleep anywhere. Sitting with my head bowed aboard a Chinook helicopter, lying in a foxhole covered by dirt, leaves and branches or even standing up, leaning against the cold metal hub of an amphibian assault vessel. When life consists of one war zone after another, taking sleep when the opportunity presents is a skill quickly learnt. The ability to wake and become active instantly is another. It had been less than a couple of weeks since I’d had to use either of them; I figured I hadn’t forgotten. As with all my army training, it would be there when I needed it.
I awoke before dawn and got up with my mind already working out the day ahead. Since meeting Charlotte, I hadn’t had my nightmare.
The strong, hot coffee steamed in my face as I sipped from the mug and looked through the glass doors and peered into the darkness. A quarter-moon was clear in the western sky and the heads of the giant cliffs showed black against a midnight blue horizon. I was standing naked in the moonlit shadows, drinking coffee and planning the murder of Geoffrey Button. It would probably seem odd to most people, the cold, calculated taking of a man’s life, but I was a soldier who had lived through bloody wars, and it didn’t seem odd to me at all.
It was hard to finalise a plan, I determined, without more reconnaissance, a clear sighting of the target, better terrain investigation and, most importantly, the creation of a positive opportunity.
The glass door slid back easily and I stepped outside, still naked, into the cool dawn air. The tiles around the pool felt cold against the soles of my feet. At the edge, where the rocky drop was thirty foot to the sea below, I could make out the beach and hear the waves as they rolled in and crashed against the sloping sand and the rocks. It seemed nobody else was there as if everyone had deserted the town overnight, but no one had told me. Then I saw the headlights of a vehicle. They shone through the palm trees, moving downhill as the vehicle sped by the hotel and shops. It was a local tradesman in his van making an early start to his working day. I wasn’t alone.
In the eastern sky, the first light of an African sun burned away the cool blue darkness of the night and my first full day on the island of Tenerife had begun. I didn’t know then but it was going to be anything but straightforward. I finished the final mouthful of my coffee and went back inside.
Dawn progressed slowly. It seemed the African sun didn’t travel fast. Perhaps, El Teide was holding it up. Either way, by the time I’d showered and dressed, the sun still hadn’t totally cleared the horizon. I wore a light t-shirt, knee length shorts and expensive brown deck shoes with good rubber soles that gripped strongly.
Breakfast was cereal, fruit and yoghurt, with a couple of chocolate biscuits thrown in somewhere, all washed down with orange juice.
While eating, I watched television. I found the satellite channel menu and ran down the list before selecting Bloomberg. The financial channel flashed on with the three information ticker tapes running along the bottom of the screen and a female anchor talking into the camera.
‘The Dow Jones fell again yesterday on worries about slower economic growth after the job figures were worse than expected. The retail sector suffered as investors took fright following a downbeat forecast from the chairman of the Federal Reserve…'
I listened closely and checked the figures as they ran across the bottom of the screen. The situation was worsening. A recession was coming; it was just a matter of how bad it would be.
‘T
he Footsie is expected to open sharply lower, this morning when trading begins at eight o’clock. The retail sales index, out later today, is not expected to help investor sentiment…'
The presenter was doing her best to look attractive while, at the same time, giving such gloomy financial news.
I switched the television off and put it out of my mind. Back to the job in hand. I checked my K106 but I hadn’t received anything new. Next, I studied the road map of the area and familiarised myself with the location of the apartment complex. Then I plotted a route on foot from the villa along the coastline and assured myself I had a good mental knowledge of the terrain.
I prepared to head out. I took the map, money, passport, driving licence, K106 and my own phone. I considered taking a kitchen knife but decided against it. With the villa secured and my sunglasses pushed on, I sauntered away onto the main strip. The air was already warm and the sun felt hot on my back as it climbed untroubled by nothing more than a few gentle fingers of wispy cloud.
Holidaymakers and locals mingled like an ice cream sundae, and a shoal of taxi drivers chatted lazily as a green bus drove past. The newsagent was open and I went in and bought an English newspaper and a paperback book. If I was going to spend time waiting around, watching for Geoffrey Button, then I should have something to read, to make me appear like a holidaymaker, and not a hired killer waiting for his victim.
I noticed two lifeguards were on the beach preparing for a day of drowning prevention. That didn’t please me.
On the pavement, I saw an electronic sign illuminating a temperature reading in big red digital numbers. It was already 22°c and I wondered what the temperature was back in England.
A little further was a beachwear shop with a female name. Inside, the man, who clearly wasn’t the named owner, offered me his assistance. He was dark and burly with North African features and a strong accent to match. He watched me look around and sharply observed my gaze as I perused his selection of hats.
He asked, ‘You want a hat?’
I didn’t reply as I continued to look.
He pressed, ‘Very nice hat. Keep the sun off very well. A man like you should have a hat, a very distinguished man.’
He lifted one in each hand and I took the straw Panama styled one from him and examined it.
‘This very nice, you try it, you try it,’ he encouraged.
The hat was cheap. It was weak and poorly made. I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror, which he held up for me.
The man said, ‘Very nice, very good fit. You like?’
I didn’t like, but it was exactly what I wanted.
I asked him, ‘How much?’
He smiled broadly and replied, ‘Five Euros.’
I paid him and left with the hat still on. It had a wide enough brim to cover my eyes.
Back on the pavement, I continued upwards away from the beach and the shops. I walked slowly and checked the map a couple of times. I recognised some landmarks, such as a statue and a Mexican restaurant, which I’d seen the night before from the car.
Before I reached the crest where they had converted old buildings into apartments, I found a pathway, which led away from the road. I took it and walked downhill towards the sea. It was steep and I had to balance steadily on the smooth concrete surface. The pathway turned and flattened at the bottom, revealing a small inlet and a narrow black sandy beach with a scattering of black rocks. Moored alongside, a few old, wooden fishing boats swayed with the swell. On the far side, beyond the supporting concrete wall, I saw a café. Half a dozen round tables and metal chairs filled the space in front of the single storey, white painted, wooden building.
I walked beyond the low wall and stopped while I checked the map. The sea was calm and shimmered as if it was a ‘70s sequined disco dress. Restful waves broke on the sand with barely enough effort to raise a line of froth.
I turned at the end of the wall next to the opening to the beach, walked beside the café and up along the inlet, climbing again on the rocky coastline.
The walkway followed the shoreline and I was enjoying the stroll with an expansive view out across the Atlantic, and the warm sunshine and the fresh sea air. I really was on holiday. For a moment, I forgot about Geoffrey Button.
Further, I recognised the spot where I’d stood the evening before, in the dark, and looked over the wall into the complex. In the daylight, I could see the orange tiled roofs and the white plastered walls. On one corner, pointing downwards, at what I guessed was the pool area or an entrance, was a CCTV camera.
I walked on until I reached the arched doorway in the wall where the sign showed the address. I tried the door handle. The lock held it firm. Stepping away and turning to look, inconspicuously out to sea, I considered my options.
The first thing I needed to do was achieve visual contact with the target. I checked my wristwatch. It was still early enough for him to be in his apartment and likely, I reasoned, for him to come out soon, maybe to go food shopping or to buy a newspaper.
I looked up the pathway and saw ahead, a low, flat wall bordering the sweeping bend. In front of it was a bench. I strolled up and sat down, putting the book I’d purchased down beside me, and opening the newspaper. From here, I had a clear view of the door and could see anyone coming or going in either direction. I sat back and waited.
As the sun rose higher, my surreptitious attention steered towards many people, unfortunately, none of them were Geoffrey Button. Most people were walking or jogging by. A few did come out through the door and I watched each one closely, but none of them was he. I also found out the door locked again automatically when it shut. I did this by getting up and trying it.
By twenty minutes past midday, I was becoming impatient and frustrated. I was also hungry and thirsty. I should have bought something with me to eat and drink. I decided to postpone my craving for sustenance, though, and take direct action to cure my frustration first. I considered the best way to enter the complex and settled on the hardest but the covert route.
From the top of the rise, looking back across the wall, I could see that the coastline cut back in, behind the complex. The rocky shoreline was unfriendly, definitely, but it did butt up against a low wall, which bordered the apartments and a communal garden area. My plan was to walk back down to the small beach and to swim out, around the point, down the coastline to the complex wall, climb the rocks and enter unseen. I guess this was a plan a soldier would decide on.
Back at the beach, I chose a rock against the far wall to leave my things. The beach was quiet with a few young families and some retired folk, so I figured they’d be safe. I kicked off my shoes, put the book and newspaper down, my sunglasses, money, passport, driving licence, map, K106, my phone and then pulled off my t-shirt and used it to cover everything. I looked around and saw I hadn’t attracted any attention. Nobody was interested and nobody had seen what I’d done.
Happy my valuables were safe I waded out quickly and dived in. The water was the same temperature as the day before. Plenty warm enough for the length of the swim I had planned. The point was about one hundred and twenty-five metres and I reached it in about a minute. I showed the rocks due respect and swam out before turning and swimming around the point and moving out of sight from the beach. Another fifty metres and I was heading back in behind the complex. The water was more choppy here and I realised I would have to be careful when I got out not to injure myself on the rocks.
As I swam, my mind worked on my plan to kill Geoffrey Button. Hoping I would find him at home and alone, my plan was to render him unconscious and then get him into the sea, where I was currently swimming and drown him. I hoped to make it appear as either an accident or suicide. Clearly, the plan might need altering depending on events as they unfolded, but I was feeling positive and was confident it would work if carried out properly. Good fortune would be on my side, I hoped. Alternatively, of course, I could just inject him with the lethal drug.
I studied the shoreline whilst tre
ading water. The perimeter wall of the apartment complex was low and deserted. I found what I wanted. It was a flat, deep rock, just above the waterline to enable me to climb ashore. I swam over to it carefully and timing my movement with the swell of the sea, lifted myself out of the water and onto the rock with my palms flat and my right knee bent. I steadied myself and then pushed again and got to my feet. From there it was a dozen or so precise steps up and across the rocks to the wall.
I kept low and checked for any CCTV cameras, but just as I had thought, at the rear of the complex, without any obvious entry point, there weren’t any. Pleased, I hopped over the wall into the garden, ran quickly to the nearest building and stood flat against the wall.
I listened, but I couldn’t hear anything except the lapping ocean. It was so far, so good. Now, I needed to find the right apartment. Moving to the corner of the building, I peeked into the gap and saw nobody. The complex was a series of connected duplex style apartments on three levels, with about six in each separate structure. I would have to show myself in front to discover the apartment numbers. I was still wet from the sea but I was drying in the warm air. It was a pity I didn’t have a towel with me as I could have looked as if I’d just come from the pool. Anyway, I decided to walk out from the building’s cover and look for the apartment. I stepped out into the sunshine, onto a paved walkway as nonchalantly as I could. It was possible to observe me from any one of twenty windows. I walked to the closest door and searched for a number. I found it fixed helpfully to the side pillar. It was number six. I was unlucky. It meant number eighteen was the farthest apartment away from where I was standing. I turned and began to walk along the path and onto the third level hoping I wouldn’t meet anyone. As I got closer, my luck was still holding. I reached number eighteen and looked at the door and the windows. They were dark. I went up to the window next to the door and leant against it. I cupped my hand beside my face, to shield the light, and peered in. I didn’t see anybody.