by Mark Arundel
Chapter 23
The goal of a single deal is to achieve a high score with the cards dealt.
My instant reaction, controlled by instinct, was to reach for my gun. My hand flew down and my fingers gripped the Glock in my waistband but I didn’t pull it.
Stephen Bradshaw was standing away from his parked car. He had reversed it into the corner. His empty hands stretched out in an open, friendly gesture. Behind him, standing beside the car were Treadwell and Baines. They both stood calmly with empty hands clearly visible and tried to appear relaxed. Nevertheless, neither could fully disguise their agitation at seeing me.
Bradshaw lightened his face further and said, ‘Look, there’s no need for the gun; I only want to talk.’ I scanned the top of the wall and the three-storey apartment building that overlooked the car park. My instinct had automatically considered the possibility of a sniper. It was all clear. I kept my grip on the Glock.
‘How did you find us?’ I said.
‘We tracked you using the signal from your K106,’ Bradshaw explained. So much for Charlotte telling me it was secure to use. Then Bradshaw said something I didn’t like. ‘Did Charlotte Miller tell you it was safe to use?’ I didn’t answer. Bradshaw lit a cigarette and said, ‘I’ve been working hard since our last meeting. You see, I’ve worked out what’s going on.’ I doubted that very much.
I hoped this wasn’t going to take long. The two young women would soon be returning to their towels and then they would realise their car key had been taken.
Bradshaw said, ‘Look, why don’t you and Geoffrey come with us. We have a car, we can be safely back at the villa in half an hour and have everything sorted out by tomorrow.’ After a moment of consideration, I rejected Bradshaw’s offer of help. I simply didn’t know if I could trust him.
Without taking my eyes from him or his two men I said to Geoffrey, ‘We’re leaving; right now.’ I took the stolen key fob from my pocket and began pointing it at the parked cars while pushing the button. A small car, light coloured and dusty flashed and beeped. I pushed Geoffrey towards it and backed away from Bradshaw. He seemed surprised and annoyed we had a vehicle. He said, ‘You know, you can’t run forever; sooner or later you’re going to have to trust someone.’ We had reached the car. Geoffrey opened the passenger door and I opened the driver’s door still keeping my eyes on Bradshaw. ‘Listen, before you go allow me to give you a piece of advice.’ I paused to hear it. ‘Don’t trust Charlotte Miller; she’s not who you think she is.’ I was about to ask Bradshaw what he meant by that when a high revving saloon car sped down and through the entrance between the buildings and into the car park. Through the billowing dust, I focused on the driver and instantly recognised the ugly face. It was Vladimir Karyotin.
Not only had Bradshaw found us, but so too had the three Russians. They, also, must have tracked us using the signal from my K106. This was becoming quite a reunion party. Bradshaw’s advice was still hanging around like a swinging corpse and Charlotte Miller was in doubt again. There was no time in that moment for deliberation or debate. If we were to get out of the car park alive, I had to think and act quickly.
‘Get in,’ I said. We both jumped into the little car and Geoffrey slammed his door. He was eager to leave. I hurriedly found the ignition. The engine fired and revved wildly with my foot pushed flat to the floor. I glanced across and then looked in my mirror, which I had to adjust up using my hand. Bradshaw, Treadwell and Baines were already in their car. The three Russians had stopped in the middle of the car park. They obviously hadn’t seen Geoffrey clearly, as the car obscured him when they drove in and I had kept my head turned away. Now, they were indecisive. Their hesitation gave me the seconds I needed.
‘Put your seatbelt on and keep your head down.’ Geoffrey did as I told him.
I crunched the gear lever into reverse and took off backwards, steering in a loop, straight for them. My aim was good. My new little car crashed into the side doors with a satisfying crunch. The impact pushed the Russians back and I heard metal buckle and glass smash. The blind side was a good one and it must have shaken them up.
I rammed home first gear and jumped away with the front wheels spinning wildly in the dirt. I steered for the exit and looked back using my mirror.
Geoffrey said, ‘What...?’ I pre-empted his question.
‘It’s the three Russians again,’ I said.
He didn’t seem surprised and mumbled, ‘They tracked the signal from your K106. Are they following?’
Unfortunately, it looked like they were going to be able to follow us. I should have got out and attempted to stop them but it was too late. I’d missed my chance. It was three against one, and if they’d had time to get a new car then they’d had time to get new guns. There was also Bradshaw and his two pals to consider. I couldn’t be sure what they might do. It was too much of a risk. No, our best chance now was to run and hope we could get away.
We shot through the narrow exit and hit the incline of the tarmac road causing the little car to bounce and whine as the front tyres dug in. For a second, I thought of the two girls on the beach. It was not going to be long before the police would receive a report of a stolen car and realise who it was. Not only did we have to get away from the Russians and probably Bradshaw and his two pals, but we had to ditch our new little car before the police spotted us. Good. Everything was going really well.
The road was narrow and short. At the top was a T-junction. I chose to turn left. We were on a narrow street that was straight with apartment buildings high on both sides. I weaved between the parked cars and searched ahead. Underneath a pale blue sky, the ocean peeked through the gap between the buildings. It sparkled invitingly like a sales sign for fast food. I checked my mirror. The Russians were following. I swore loudly and told Geoffrey to turn off my K106. I thought of Charlotte and Bradshaw. Then I swore again. I needed a plan but I didn’t have one.
Geoffrey asked, ‘What are we going to do?’ He was always ready with the right question. My mood had blackened considerably.
The Russian’s saloon was much more powerful than our little town car. They were already closing on us. I looked back again but couldn’t see Bradshaw’s car. I floored the accelerator pedal but we didn’t quicken very much.
The street funnelled and darkened before it abruptly ended and opened onto the front. The bright sky reflected on the windscreen and I had to brake hard to give way to a car joining from the left. Then I accelerated right, following tight behind the car in front and onto a one-way road with a decorative central hedge and double-parked cars. There were shops and cafes with people sipping coffee and sitting in the shade. I noticed an inmobiliaria (an estate agent) and saw a young couple looking in the window. She was pointing at a property with a slender, tanned arm.
The car in front was slow and the Russians had almost caught us. I couldn’t let them get too close in case they started shooting. They might get lucky with a pot shot.
The little car’s engine screamed like Dracula’s new girlfriend when I stamped the accelerator pedal in second gear and steered through a narrow gap between two parked cars. We bounced over the central reservation, through the hedge and onto the opposite road. I heard a clatter and looked in my mirror in time to see the rear bumper sliding across the tarmac behind us.
‘What was that?’ Geoffrey asked.
‘The bumper fell off,’ I said.
A car driving the other way braked hard and I avoided a collision by weaving around it. I accelerated flat out and a pedestrian walkway gave me an easy route back across. I heard Geoffrey exhale with relief. I was now ahead of the slow car and the Russians were still behind it. I wondered if they would attempt to copy my manoeuvre and they did. They weren’t so lucky, though, clipping an oncoming vehicle and spinning and sliding across the road. They hit a parked car and stopped abruptly. It just wasn’t their day for safe driving.
I told Geoffrey what had happened and he seemed relieved. He said, ‘That will slow them up for a
while.’ I hoped he was right.
The road opened up in a long sweep and I managed to push the shaky little car up to almost seventy miles an hour. We sped away and opened up a good distance from the stationary Russians.
The road straightened and led uphill leading us away from the town. I scanned ahead and realised the road was going to join the main coast road. I wanted to avoid the open highway because the Russians, if they were able to follow quickly, might easily catch us, and there was every chance a police car might see us.
‘Hang on,’ I said and then braked hard, changed down a gear and turned right, driving across the other carriageway in front of oncoming traffic; there was no authorised right-turn. We avoided a collision with the aid of quick reactions and the power of prayer. I glanced at Geoffrey and saw he had closed his eyes tightly shut. Hail Mary, mother of God...
I spun the wheel and exited onto a narrow street between tight, overhanging buildings with balconies and double wooden doors painted blood red. I accelerated hard, uphill, with the little engine whining loudly in the echoic confines between the old apartment blocks.
‘Can you see the Russians?’ I asked.
Geoffrey turned in his seat. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Is anybody following us?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
We were approaching a crossroads. I left the braking until late and then turned right, heading back the way we had come. A plan was formulating in my head and my black mood had started to lift. I turned and smiled at Geoffrey.
‘Why are you smiling?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got a plan,’ I said.
He didn’t seem that happy and said, ‘Oh, good.’
‘I knew you’d be pleased,’ I said.
We had turned on to a cobbled street and the town car’s wheels bumped repeatedly making a noise like an old Sten gun from a 1940s gangster movie.
‘What’s the plan?’ Geoffrey asked. I told him. He said, ‘It’s not so much a plan as the blueprint for a wing and a prayer.’ I laughed.
‘Have faith,’ I said. ‘It’ll work. We’ve lost them already.’
We were in the old part of town where the streets were even narrower and they crossed like a rabbit warren. The place was deserted. It was late morning and the sun was high and bright. I kept driving south-west until I found what I was looking for. The long street that ran east to west from the middle of the old town to the front, and the ocean road on which we had just been driving. The one I hoped the Russians hadn’t yet left.
I turned right and drove towards the sea while watching carefully for the Russians, Bradshaw or the police. Any of them could be nearby. We mustn’t run into them. I drove slowly trying my best to look like a lost tourist while I scanned the parked cars, small hidden junctions, blind doorways, alleyways and shop fronts. I kept searching ahead and in my mirror. We were almost alone. A white tradesman’s van crossed over ahead of us and two old men sat on wooden chairs in the entrance to their apartment building playing a board game. They both wore open neck shirts with the sleeves rolled up and dirty grey braces that fitted loosely over their shoulders.
As we neared the end of the street, I saw what I wanted. The estate agent’s office occupied the corner plot with double windows at the front and an entrance door recessed on the side. I parked on the same side of the street and reversed up tight to a big 4x4. It covered the small car and concealed the missing bumper. We were only a short distance from the estate agent’s door. I checked again and the road was still all clear.
‘Okay, let’s go,’ I said.
We left the car carrying our bags and wearing our hats. I took the keys in case we needed to return. We walked together quickly, along the tiny pavement between the buildings and the parked cars. At the shop’s entrance, I pushed Geoffrey into the recess and after a moment’s glance inside we entered through the open door. The shop wasn’t air-conditioned and it smelt of fresh coffee.
A smartly dressed woman of about my age with a white Alice band holding back her dark hair sat at a small wooden desk working on a laptop. She looked up, smiled formally and then greeted us in Spanish.
I removed my hat, returned her smile and said, ‘Hola,’ and then asked, ‘¿Usted habla ingles?’
She nodded and in a reasonable accent replied, ‘Yes, señor, I speak English.’
I changed to my best-spoken accent and said, ‘How do you do.’ I told her my name and introduced Geoffrey, who smiled at her. She nodded back politely.
‘My name is Señorita Maria de Cordoba. How may I help you Señor?’
‘We’re visiting Tenerife on holiday, staying a few miles up the coast near the giant cliffs, and I’ve fallen in love with the place. So much so, that I’m thinking of buying a holiday home here. Would you be able to show me some property details?’
The woman smiled again. ‘Yes, of course; are you thinking of a particular type of property?’
‘A villa, I thought. It must be in the area where I’m staying.’
While we were talking, I ensured I was covering Geoffrey from the door with my body. I thought we were far enough in not to be seen through the windows due to the bright sunlight outside. I had told Geoffrey to keep his hat on and he had done as I asked. Our parked car was a giveaway, so I didn’t want to stay in the shop longer than was necessary.
From the selection of property particulars laid out on the desk, I picked a front line three-bedroom villa with a price tag north of one million euros. I said, ‘This one looks perfect.’
She smiled appreciatively, lifted the colour leaflet and read out the details on the back page.
I asked, ‘Would it be possible to view the villa?’
She smiled again. ‘Yes, of course, I will get the diary.’
I stopped her and asked, ‘Can I see it now?’
Surprised, she asked, ‘Now?’
‘Yes. I’m very keen to find a place before the end of my holiday when I have to return to England,’ adding lightly, ‘I don’t have any time to waste.’
A minute or two later, after Señorita de Cordoba had checked with her boss, who was working in an upstairs office, and found the right keys, we were leaving the shop together.
I explained, ‘We came here today in a taxi from our resort. We were planning on getting a taxi to take us back.’
Maria de Cordoba replied, ‘That is okay, señor. I will drive us in my car.’
I smiled at her and said, ‘Thank you, Señorita de Cordoba, that’s very kind of you.’ Then I smiled triumphantly at Geoffrey. He nodded a look of acknowledgement that my plan was working and then, as we left the shop, he pulled his hat down over is eyes and clutched his satchel tightly. He was right; we weren’t safely in the Señorita’s car yet.
She led us back up the street, the way we had come. I watched carefully for any danger. The street was empty. Our luck was holding.
Coincidentally, her vehicle was the big 4x4 against which I had parked so near. She saw the difficulty of getting out and cursed in Spanish. I pointed out the missing bumper and suggested she give the little car a gentle nudge to give herself more room. She giggled and then smiled at me conspiratorially.
The remote control unlocked the doors and we all climbed aboard. The 4x4 was new and expensive. It smelt of leather and perfume. She started the engine, put the automatic gear lever into drive and took my advice. Her business skirt had ridden up and I involuntarily glanced at her bare thighs. It made me think of what Charlotte had said about knickers and driving in trousers.
We pulled away from the kerb and Maria said to me, ‘What is your work in England, Señor?’
‘I work for a bank in corporate investments.’
‘Do they pay so very much?’
‘I earn a big annual bonus and my job entitles me to cheap mortgage money through an employee scheme.’ It was only fair that she asked. Maybe I didn’t look a dead cert for a guy with a million euros to splash on a holiday villa, but then, as we all know, looks can be deceptive. Just look at
Geoffrey.
Maria drove along the road, which led away from the town. Earlier we had been on the same road. Geoffrey and I searched for the Russians but they weren’t there. Maria turned left onto the main coast road and two police cars, travelling the other way with their blue lights flashing, drove past. They turned down the way we had come and headed towards the centre of town.
I said, ‘Do you have much crime here?’
Maria was unhappy with my question, fearing it might influence my decision to buy. She shook her head firmly. ‘No, no, there is almost no crime on the west coast; a little more in the south, but then the south has much bigger resorts. The weather here is too nice for crime,’ she said and smiled at me.
I played my part. I smiled and said, ‘Yes, the climate is wonderful.’
Maria smiled again, happy with her sales performance.
She drove slowly north along the coast road with the banana fields and the wide, shimmering Atlantic Ocean passing by. She chatted lightly about the island and the property market and told me about the west coast and the weather. Geoffrey remained silent. A phone rang. It was mine; the one I had bought from the Sony shop. I answered the call. It was Charlotte. She said, ‘Right, we need to talk.’ She was damn right we needed to talk. I said, ‘I’ll call you back,’ and hung up on her.
After another ten minutes of cheerful conversation, Maria turned left off the main road and drove down into the town and onto the front. We passed the turning to the wonderful villa Charlotte had originally rented for me and I wished we could go back there but I knew it was impossible. There was every chance the villa was being watched. It was just much too risky.
The attractive black beach was experiencing an acne breakout. Painful splotches of vivid colour bumped across its smooth surface. The tourists were enjoying their holidays.
The shops and apartment buildings flashed by and the road wound uphill until we reached the roundabout with the prominent sculpture in the centre. Maria turned down and headed back towards the coast. I was beginning to know my way about, and I recognised many of the landmarks and remembered the places where Geoffrey and I had been before.