by Gemma Fox
It would be a terrible shame if he ended up homeless and wifeless because of this bloody fiasco. God, he hadn’t even slept with Lesley, well at least not on this trip. If he was going to go down in flames Robbie would rather it was for something a little more noteworthy than a sleepless night in a narrow single bed over the kitchen, while little Miss Map Reader here had sulked in his suite and run up a bill on room service.
‘What did that bitch from upstairs want anyway?’ he asked casually.
‘From the studio? Nothing very much – she just wanted to know how I was and where we were – well you heard that bit – and then she just said that as soon as we get back she wants to see me in her office. I’m not sure what about exactly – and she did say that she didn’t want to go into details on the phone –’ Lesley looked towards him, obviously expecting some hint, some clue as to what might be the reason behind the Royal summons. Not that Robbie had any idea but there was no way he was going to tell Lesley that. Instead he made a non-committal noise and looked away. Madam was probably going to give Lesley the old heave-ho though he certainly wasn’t going to say so. Serve her right.
He could see the thinking behind it; Lesley wasn’t a real team player and if he was honest she didn’t have quite the right attitude for the whole Gotcha set-up. He would be sad to see her go but then again the perky little brunette in reception was at least five years younger than Lesley and there was no way she looked like a graduate. They could probably pay her half as much as what Lesley was getting and she would still be grateful. Oh yes, he could see the sense in the decision; sensible use of the company resources. Shame, but there you go.
Beside him, Lesley picked up the video camera. ‘So are we going in then, Robbie?’ she said nervously, peering through the eyepiece.
Robbie shook his head. This was exactly the kind of thing he meant. ‘And film what? Three men sitting in a car picking their noses? No, that’s not the kind of TV we do at Gotcha, Lesley. No, what we need is some action; something special. No, we’ll just sit and see what it is that Bernie and his little friends have got planned.’ Robbie screwed up his eyes, staring hard at what little they could see of the silver-grey car. One thing was for certain, if Bernie Fielding was involved it wasn’t likely to be anything philanthropic. Robbie just hoped that they were in at the kill.
Now that Coleman knew exactly where Maggie Morgan was, he drove round into the police car park, tailing a neat, unmarked navy-blue transit van that drew in ahead of him and then backed up slowly towards the rear doors of the police station. He had already radioed in to head office to let them know he had arrived – and also to request that someone inside the station take Ms Morgan to one side and keep her out of the way until they were done with Mr Lucas. Everything was in place. A transit van was hardly a coach and horses, but as a getaway vehicle it wasn’t bad, and after pissing them about Nick Lucas couldn’t afford to be too choosy.
Inside the police station Maggie was getting increasingly impatient. There was nothing else to read and no sign of the policeman coming back. Maggie stared at the closed doors of the enquiry hatch, willing them to open. Nothing. But as she turned away she did notice, through one of the windows, the arrival of a shiny navy-blue van, and watched as it indicated and pulled into the yard. It was being driven by what looked like two policemen in plain clothes – and some part of her instinctively knew that they had come to take Nick away.
Turning quickly Maggie headed for the great outdoors and just as she did the little hatchway on the front desk slid open.
‘Excuse me, Madam. I’ve put a call through about your friend – one of the detectives will come through and have a word with you, if you like. He shouldn’t be a minute – if you’d like to come this way and wait in the office –’ said the Sergeant, opening a door through into the main body of the police station and indicating that she should follow him. He pointed down the corridor. ‘If you’d just like to go through those double doors on the right. He shouldn’t be very long. Would you like a cup of tea or a coffee while you wait?’
For a few moments Maggie was rooted to the spot, torn between the persuasive and now very personable policeman and the arrival of the blue van. What if Nick was somewhere inside the station, safe and sound after all, just sitting there waiting to be rescued? What if she had got it all wrong? Maggie heard the van start to reverse up towards the building. What the hell, if Nick didn’t get in the van then she could always come back and take the Sergeant up on his kind offer of a sit down and light refreshments.
The Sergeant opened the door a little wider and said, ‘He’s on the phone, but he shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes; if you’d like to come this way.’
Maggie had a sense of the soft but increasing pressure. ‘Okay – but I just have to go and get something from my car,’ she lied, and before he could say anything else, she turned and hurried towards the door. Maggie had barely got over the threshold before she clapped eyes on Coleman making his way over towards the van, and alongside him one of the men she had seen earlier in Blenheim Gardens, still talking into his lapel. Her stomach lurched.
In what felt like slow motion, Maggie ran across the tarmac towards them. Coleman looked up at the sound of her footsteps approaching and to her total amazement smiled.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t superwoman herself, come to save the day,’ he said. Any amusement didn’t creep high enough to defrost the ice in his eyes.
Maggie squared up to him. ‘Where the hell is Nick? I know he’s here somewhere –’
Coleman looked down at her.
‘What have you done with him?’ she demanded furiously.
‘Done with him?’ said Coleman, the smile not fading. ‘Nothing, at least not yet. You know, Ms Morgan, you’ve made my job very difficult.’
Her eyes narrowed, ‘What do you mean not yet?’
At that moment the back doors to the police station swung open and there, framed in the doorway, stood Nick.
‘Nick?’ Maggie called out to him, and he looked up as he heard her voice. ‘Are you all right?’ He didn’t look all right, he looked pale and scared and dishevelled and as their eyes met, Maggie’s heart went out to him. ‘I just couldn’t leave you here on your own –’ she began.
‘Go away,’ he shouted. ‘For God’s sake –’
Maggie turned to look over her shoulder; surely he couldn’t mean her?
‘What?’ she gasped in amazement.
‘Please Maggie, get out of here before it’s too late.’
‘Why?’ she said. ‘What do you mean, too late?’
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Nick snapped. ‘If anything happens to you –’
She was about to step forward when Coleman stepped into her path, blocking her way. ‘No,’ he growled in a voice that would have cut through sheet steel.
‘What? Why not – he’s not under arrest or anything, is he?’
The smile on the big man’s face dropped away. ‘If you stay, Ms Morgan, then he’ll die here,’ said Coleman coldly. ‘That isn’t what you want, is it?’
Maggie felt the pulse double in her ears, not quite able to believe what she had just heard. Was there something that she and Nick didn’t know? She looked round anxiously to be met by the stony face of Coleman’s companion.
‘Of course not. But surely you’re here to protect him, aren’t you?’ she gasped.
Coleman snorted. ‘We do whatever it takes to square things away, Ms Morgan, whatever it takes – but it doesn’t always work out quite the way we plan it,’ he said, and then he laughed.
It was an uncanny sound. A cold finger tracked down Maggie’s spine.
‘You want to stay and watch your new man killed, do you, or are you going to let him go?’
Maggie stared at Coleman, trying to make sense of what he was saying. It sounded like total gibberish, and she still couldn’t work out whether he was a villain or a hero. Whichever it was, the enormity of what Nick was involved in hit her in the stomach like a cle
nched fist. She felt sick as she examined Coleman’s face for some clue, some inkling of what was going on. Was Nick really likely to die if she didn’t go? And then as Nick clambered up into the back of the van Maggie realised with horror that he was handcuffed.
‘What has he got those on for?’ she hissed. ‘He hasn’t done anything.’
‘Of course he hasn’t, but we can’t have him running away from us again now, can we, Ms Morgan? Although maybe without you here to encourage him he’ll behave himself. Anyway, we can’t hang around, we’ve got a meeting to go to. Go – bye-bye,’ he waved her away.
Maggie took a step back, mind reeling. ‘What the hell are you on about?’ she snapped, regaining her composure and making a beeline for Coleman and the back doors of the van.
But this time the man in the smart suit blocked her way and an instant later Nick vanished into the shadows and the van doors were slammed shut.
Once they were all in the back of the van, Coleman flicked the switch that would turn on the radio mike in his lapel.
‘Hello, this is Coleman here. I want the plod to nip out and pick our Ms Morgan up and hold her until this thing is done and dusted.’ There was a voice of protest at the far end of the line but Coleman really was in no mood for negotiation. ‘I don’t give a tin shit what your objections are. We don’t want any witnesses other than those people with an engraved invitation, understand? No civilians, no onlookers, no trouble. Capiche?’ The voice twittered again.
Coleman sighed; it had been a long day. His feet hurt now as well as his head. The helicopter ride had made his ankles swell. ‘Look, to be perfectly honest I don’t care what they pick her up for, they can get her for jaywalking, loitering with intent, being a nosy little cow, I don’t give a fuck as long as she is out of the way. Have I made myself clear?’ On the far end of the line someone coughed. It was all the acknowledgement Coleman needed.
Once he was done with the radio Coleman pulled out his mobile phone and tapped in a text message before looking across at his wheyfaced passenger.
‘Well, Mr Lucas, it seems as if you’re about to pay your dues. Any last requests before I call in the wolf pack?’
Nick paled and dropped his face into his hands. Coleman smiled and pressed Send.
‘Don’t you worry, son,’ he purred. ‘It’ll soon be over.’
Nimrod heard his phone beep, once, twice. Pulling the mobile out of his jacket pocket he read the message and then, smiling, his eyes alight with fire, said, ‘Apparently our services will be required after all.’
Cain looked up at him. ‘Meaning?’
‘That Mr Lucas is about to be delivered straight into our hands. Seems that our man is a lot better connected than we thought. Give me the street map, will you, Cain – unless of course you can help us, Bernie?’ he said, turning to look over his shoulder at their hapless passenger.
Maggie stood with her heart in her mouth. She knew that she had to do something but didn’t know what; she couldn’t quite fathom what was going on, or why. The sense of impotence and the memory of Nick’s fear was almost overwhelming. Cursing under her breath, Maggie hurried around to the front of the police station and ran out into the street. The blue van was already heading away from her up the road; there was no way she could catch up with them now. Maggie pulled out her car keys, but guessed that the van would be long gone before she was on the road. She still had to try. Her mind raced. Who could she call, who could she trust? The van accelerated away. Damn, damn, damn – Maggie was so preoccupied with watching the transit disappearing into the distance that she barely noticed the silver-grey car pull up alongside her.
‘Well, hello there, Maggie, something the matter, sweetie?’ said a low reptilian voice. Maggie swung round only to come face to face with a pair of the palest blue eyes she had ever seen. Their owner was in his mid-thirties, lightly tanned with cropped, bleached-blonde hair, broad shoulders and a face that was as handsome as it was cruel. Alongside him the driver was dark-haired and tanned, with cheekbones that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a fashion model. They were both tightly sprung and as sleekly muscled as alley cats. Hunched in the back seat Bernie looked almost reassuringly out of shape, not to mention very pale and interesting.
Maggie froze. ‘Who the hell are you?’ she began, although she had already guessed. These were the men she had seen with Bernie in Blenheim Gardens, these were the men that had been sent to kill Nick.
The man in the passenger seat got out of the car, every movement unnervingly fluid, his expensive suit emphasising his long, lean physique. He exuded an air of quiet menace.
‘Nimrod, Nimrod Brewster –’ he said, offering her his outstretched gloved hand. Instinctively Maggie drew back as if he had offered her a live snake. He smiled, revealing a row of perfect pearly white teeth. ‘Why don’t you just get in, sweetie, and we can introduce you formally to the whole of our merry little crew,’ he said.
Maggie stared at him. ‘Why on earth should I? We’re outside the police station; all I’ve got to do is scream and half-a-dozen coppers will be out here to see what the hell all the fuss is about. I can’t imagine that you would welcome police attention.’
‘Oh my, aren’t we the cocky one?’ The man smiled. ‘You can scream all you like, sweetie. But before you do I’d just like to point out that we know where your friends are taking Nick Lucas.’
Maggie stared at him, wanting to know more while every instinct told her to run away while she still could.
Nimrod looked Maggie up and down; he could see the wariness in her eyes but he could also see the fire. He wasn’t much into hostages but her presence would be a bonus if the going got tough – a nice little ticket home. No one in their right mind would ever use Bernie as a bargaining chip – there would probably be lots of people who would pay to see him suffer – but Maggie Morgan might come in very handy if things went wrong. And if things went right? Well they could just drop her and her ex off on the motorway and pick up their flight home courtesy of the Invisible Man. He had assured them that if the plans went belly-up he’d get them back to Spain on a private plane from a secluded little airfield in Kent, although if he was perfectly honest Nimrod would have preferred the ferry.
As Maggie hesitated the man caught tight hold of her and pulled her closer to him. ‘Now let’s get in the car, shall we? There’s a good girl,’ he growled in an surly voice, his gloved fingers tightening around her wrist like a wire snare. ‘This is not a request stop, sweetie, and we really don’t want any fuss, do we? Or you’ll never find out what happened to your precious Mr Lucas.’
Maggie winced as his fingers bit into her flesh.
Bernie looked up at her from the back seat with haunted eyes, and for an instant she saw just how afraid he was.
‘Run, Maggie,’ he shouted as their eyes met, but as she turned Nimrod jerked her closer still.
‘Don’t even think about it, sweetie. Just get in the car. Now. Or else –’
He pulled open the back door and pushed hard, his hand on top of her head. Maggie was in and sitting alongside Bernie before she really got a grasp of what was happening.
‘You can’t do this,’ she protested.
‘Oh, I think we can,’ said Nimrod as he clambered back into the passenger seat. ‘We can do anything we like. Now – we have to get to Quay Street – are you going to tell us where that is or do we need to get the map out?’
Maggie blanked him, her heart ripping out a rhythm in her chest, the beat echoing in her ears.
‘Please yourself,’ growled Nimrod.
‘I know where it is,’ said Bernie, in a tiny voice. ‘We have to head back into town.’ Then he turned to Maggie. ‘I’m sorry about this but maybe if we cooperate –’ he left the rest of the sentence blank for her to fill in. She sighed, trying to guess what bonus Bernie could possibly imagine these two wolves had on offer.
From the front seat Nimrod turned round and smiled. ‘Well done, Bernie, that’s the spirit,’ he said.
‘There they go again,’ said Lesley. ‘Time to rock and roll–’
‘What?’ Robbie was still fiddling with the radio, still trying to work out what it was the men in the car were listening to.
‘Bernie Fielding – he’s on the move again – and it looks as if they’ve picked up someone else as well,’ Lesley said as she screwed up her eyes, peering through video camera eyepiece and working the zoom lens backwards and forwards looking for a sharp image. ‘Oh my God. I don’t believe it. It looks like Bernie’s ex-wife,’ she said in surprise. ‘Surely that can’t be right.’
Robbie snorted. ‘Who can say what’s right with this mob,’ he said. ‘All seems a bit bloody incestuous to me.’ He turned the key in the ignition. ‘What the hell is going on here? Make sure you keep the video camera handy, Lesley. I’m depending on you.’
Lesley nodded, her hand cupped through the strap and under the body of the camera. Robbie pulled out and they turned back towards town and the throngs of holidaymakers. Robbie sighed; surely it couldn’t be much longer now?
Maggie stared out of the car window at the holidaymakers milling round on the Avenue, totally oblivious to what was going on. Cheeky tee shirts, ice cream and souvenirs of glorious Minehead were in sharp contrast to the atmosphere inside the car. Her spirits sank lower with every passing second; no one else in the world knew where she was or what she was up to. Even if Maggie didn’t ring home it might be days before her mother thought about raising the alarm. What the hell was going to happen to Bernie, to her, to her boys. And to Nick? Surely if Coleman was on the level he ought to have whisked Nick away to a safe house miles away from Minehead, not have driven him back into town. What the hell was going on?
Alongside her Bernie was still hunched over, and so pale that his skin looked almost green. He had his eyes tightly closed and appeared to be praying.
17
In the back of the van Coleman looked across at Nick, his eyes as glassy and unreadable as canal water. ‘So, Mr Lucas, here we are at long last – the grand finale. I did warn you not to audition for Blind Date but would you listen? Oh no.’