Raul explained the facilities before carrying in the luggage, and then he left Jago and Fi in peace.
“Can you help me unpack? Then I’m going to take a shower,” said Fi.
“Sure, I’ll be with you in a minute. I’m just taking in the view out here on the terrace.”
Jago explored the terrace and found the buttons for the jacuzzi and switched it on. Fi appeared beside him and they both sat on the edge of the jacuzzi with their feet in the water like a honeymooning couple. Fi nestled her head into Jago’s shoulder and he placed an arm around her.
Under the cover of the bubbling sounds of the jacuzzi, Jago said, “Let’s just do a visual inspection first and then we’ll unpack the countermeasures kit.”
“Okay, Boss, no problem. It was all charged before we left. I take it we’re sleeping in the same bed to maintain cover?”
“I’m afraid so. Are you all right with that?” Jago asked in a hushed voice.
“I fine with that, Boss. I have earplugs if need be,” she smiled.
***
In silence, Jago and Fi visually inspected the villa in a carefree manner. They calmly checked the most obvious locations first – lamps, mirrors, plants, amongst other areas – before unlocking their black cases. Fi opened a metal shockproof case from within a case and unpacked a thermal emission spectrum analyser. She checked the power, adjusted the settings and swept the villa, room by room, for the most sophisticated listening and recording devices. Meanwhile, Jago similarly unpacked a device from a shockproof case. It was a ST-400 Cayman, a non-linear junction detection designed to detect devices that were inactive. Both diligently conducted their searches in silence, aware of the obvious risk that they were being recorded doing so on a well-concealed camera.
They found a microphone in the lounge under a side table next to the sofa, and another attached to a lamp at the side of the bed in the bedroom. They also discovered two micro-cameras, one in the lounge on the bookcase and one in the dining area in what appeared to be a security sensor. None of the devices were activated and they appeared to have been placed in haste. Jago and Fi made a note of where the devices were and the angle of coverage for the cameras. They left a sensor marker close to each device that would warn them that the device was active by illuminating a red light.
Before completing the sweep, Fi opened the huge walk-in wardrobes, in which hung a vast array of flowing, colourful clothing for Fi and smart-yet-casual clothing for Jago. Yusef had done well. She carried on her sweep of the area and the clothing before allowing Jago to check with his Cayman. Having completed the sweep of the villa, they stored the equipment in their respective cases and locked them.
As an additional precaution, Fi wrote a note on her phone and showed it to Jago. As she did, she said, “Look, we have a message from Abi.”
Jago read the message: Are we going for a recce tonight? If so, at what time?
Fi asked, “Are we going for a drink before dinner?”
“No, I don’t think so. We’ll grab one as we go into dinner. Unless you want to eat here?”
“No, that’s fine with me, darling. I’d like to see who else is on their holiday.”
“Right, shall we be ready for seven thirty then?”
Fi noticed that the sensor for the concealed camera in the lounge had turned red.
“Yes, let’s. I’m going to try on some of my new clothes. Do you want a fashion show?”
“Yes, that sounds good. What shall I do?”
“You just watch, sit in the lounge and watch and give me your honest opinion.”
Fi disappeared into the bedroom, only to return moments later with an armful of clothing, which she placed on the dining table opposite where Jago was sitting. She knew exactly where the cameras were and played to their position. When activated, the camera in the dining room would capture her from behind, and the one on the bookcase would get a side angle. Just like a newlywed, she removed her shorts and strappy top, revealing an elegant G-string and bra. She was tall and her body was athletic and trim. She was in good form and worked to maintain that. She noticed that the sensor had activated for the camera in the dining area.
Jago sat and marvelled at his colleague’s brazenness as she put on a show for the cameras. He couldn’t help but be captivated by her silky, tanned skin, trim abdomen and ample breasts, and he knew that those watching via the cameras would be feeling the same. She occasionally turned as she was changing in and out of clothing, revealing her firm, almost ballerina-tight buttocks.
When she finished her fashion show, she stood in her underwear and asked Jago, “Well, what do you think I should wear this evening?”
“If you’re really asking me, I would say you’re fine as you are,” he laughed.
“You’re really not any help. I shall choose for myself. Anyway, what are you wearing? It’s nearly time to get going.”
The two dressed, left the villa and strolled towards the restaurant. They paused at a fountain.
“I decided not to do a recce tonight, as I thought that’s what they would expect to happen. I think it’s better that we maintain our cover and let them see that,” explained Jago.
“I see what you mean, Boss. It’s fine with me. I quite like cocktails and posh dinners occasionally. Plus, it will give me a chance to check out the other guests. Oh, and by the way, I set up the recording for later.”
“That’s good. I don’t how long it will take to convince them that we’re a real couple, do you?”
They walked the short distance to the main entrance to the Orientale restaurant, where the maître d’ greeted them. “Good evening, Mr and Mrs Jago. I have your reservation and have placed you in the middle of the terrace, if that is acceptable to you both?”
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
As they approached their table, Jago looked around and said good evening to some of the guests they passed. They sat and ordered drinks before viewing the main menu.
Jago and Fi chatted throughout their dinner about anything and everything, which amounted to their fictitious families, work and interests, all for the benefit of those listening in. For they were under no illusions that the staff could supplement their income by passing on useful information.
When the evening was over, they walked back to their villa. They paused outside and embraced and kissed one another passionately, before entering. They didn’t bother to put on the lights, and laughed and giggled until they reached the bedroom. There, Fi activated playback on the digital recorder. It was a recording of a passionate couple and all the noises associated with carnal desires. She placed the device close to the microphone. Then Fi and Jago, with their phones on silent, checked their messages before getting ready for bed.
Chapter 25
It was 5.45 p.m. and Jago and Fi had spent the day out on a chartered boat. They had snorkelled the reefs, enjoyed a freshly cooked lunch on an isolated beach and soaked up the sun, all the things couples do on a well-earned break.
“Do you mind if I shower first, darling, as I’m expecting a call from that guy Abbas at six.”
“Okay. I’ll just call Mum quickly and then do a few laps of the pool.”
Jago wrote a message on his phone and showed Fi the screen. It read: Get Bernie to contact his black hat friends and start seizing and redistributing our newest friend’s assets.
Fi nodded and grabbed her sat phone and headed for the terrace. She walked to the end of the pool and sat at the edge of the sea with a gentle breeze cooling her. She dialled and waited a couple of seconds before the call was answered.
“Hi, Fi. Going secure,” said Abi.
Fi waited for the familiar tones to settle down, indicating the line was secure, before she spoke. “Hi, Mum. It’s all good here. We had a lovely day out on the water – it’s pristine. What about you? What news have you got to tell us?”
“Let’s start, shall we, with Mikey’s friend, Rick who has a new home and is thrilled with it. His boss, Red has had a terrible accident. He
’s in hospital and it’s touch and go for him. The technology required to make the machine gun remote-controlled could have been added by an individual listed on the National Crime Agency’s most wanted list. A Mark Fisher, Australian serviceman with advanced skills in computerised weaponry. He’s missing.”
“That sounds promising. What about our best friend?”
“Bernie has been working hard to discover more about Mr Augustus Marne. We believe he is one Augustus Horacio Marne, fifty-two years of age and of mixed race. His mother, Agnes Marne, is white, and the father was Indian and is deceased. Marne is close to his mother; he sees her regularly and provides for her very well indeed. Mrs Marne is a bit of a mystery, but we believe her to be Flur Marne, formerly Flur Zidane. She is considerably younger than her husband, at thirty-three years of age. She’s one metre sixty-eight tall, and slim, with olive skin, and she was last seen with long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She has a penchant for gold and headscarves. There is far less information regarding her activities and movements.”
“She shouldn’t be hard to spot then. By the way, hubby has asked if Bernie can ask his friends to join the party. Their names escape me, but you know who I mean – one of them always wears a black hat. They could have so much fun with our new friends.”
“I know who you mean and their names escape me too. I’ll speak to Bernie and get them in gear. Listen, I wouldn’t be too sure about easily spotting Mrs Flur Marne. Bernie says we’ve had difficulty getting up-to-date photos of her. She seems to be fairly elusive, although in complete control of the businesses she and her husband run. He seems more interested in his beekeeping and winemaking. Although he does command a lot of respect, and he employs a small army to carry out his will. He’s definitely not whiter than white. If anyone was involved in the massacre, though, intelligence analysis would suggest that it would have been Mrs Marne rather than Mr Marne involved. We can’t even tell if he would have been aware at this stage.”
“We have an invitation to the Marne’s island home. I wonder who’ll be there?”
“According to Bernie, Mrs Marne was last seen taking a private flight to Pakistan. Reportedly, she has major connections with some very undesirable people.”
“Yes, those Aussies that we met mentioned a couple. Are they still around?” asked Fi.
“Yes, they’re being tracked by the security services and we have up-to-date intel on their whereabouts. I will send you a couple of photographs, and you need to be on the lookout for two individuals.
“First is a German by the name of Hans-Dieter Brunner, aka Arthur Mayer. He weighs ninety-five kilos, is one metre eighty-four tall, he’s about forty years of age, has auburn hair, thinning on top, and has a rounded face. He’s fluent in French, German and English, and has some rather unsavoury business associates. As far as we can see, he’s been a middleman for several arms dealers and terrorist organisations. He’s on the usual wanted lists.
“The second individual is of Moroccan birth. His name is Masuda Benali, he’s thirty-five, one metre seventy-five tall, slightly overweight, and has short black wavy hair. He’s also wanted in most North African countries for everything from plotting to overthrow the regime, to smuggling and customising weapons. It’s rumoured that he’s been busy providing individuals with the relevant skills to automate weapons with drone and remote technology. A lot of the stuff is fairly crude, but effective nonetheless. He also features on Interpol’s most wanted list.”
“I can see that you’ve been busy, Mum. What has our lovely Dominic been up to?”
“We sent him to keep an eye on Agnes, Marne’s mum, who lives in Cotswolds – well, near to Bourton-on-the-Water to be exact. He’s going to see if she has any visitors.”
“He’ll love that, keeping a caring eye on an old dear,” laughed Fi. “Listen, send me over those pictures and I’ll share them with hubby. I’d better go now. We’re waiting for a call.”
“Okay, Fi, will keep you posted. Let us know how it goes.”
Fi ended the call, placed the phone poolside and dove into the clear, warm water. She swam up and down the pool like an Olympic athlete. At the end of her swim she heaved herself out of the pool with ease, dried off and grabbed her phone. She entered the villa and checked the photos that had come through as she swam. She showed Jago the screen, and he acknowledged the message with a nod of the head.
Jago picked up a paperback from the bookcase. It was a John le Carré novel, The Night Manager. He used to be a fan of John le Carré, but hadn’t had time in recent years to sit and read. He read the blurb on the back, then sat on a chair on the terrace and started reading. Fi watched from a distance as the strong, silent man retreated into the pages. It absorbed him; he was in another world. She sat on the sofa, listening to music on her phone. She placed one earbud in her ear, leaving the other free to listen for the expected phone call.
It was 6.05 p.m. when the phone rang. Fi reached the telephone first. “Hello? Fi speaking.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs Jago, this is reception. I have a Mr Abbas on the line for Mr Jago.”
“Okay, please put him through.”
“Very good, Mrs Jago,” said the receptionist.
“Hello, Mrs Jago, I don’t know if you recall our meeting briefly yesterday at the seaplane terminal?”
“Yes, I do. How can I help?”
“I was rather hoping to speak to your husband. Is he around?”
“Yes, he’s reading on the terrace. I’ll just go get him; he won’t be a moment.”
Fi strode the length of the villa to the patio door, where she stopped. “Darling, a telephone call for you. It’s Mr Abbas, the man you met yesterday at the seaplane terminal. He’d like to speak to you.”
“I’ll just mark my place and I’m on my way.”
Jago picked up the receiver. “Hello, Abbas. How are you today?”
“I’m very well, thank you. I’m calling as planned, and I’d like to tell you that we’ve dispatched our motor launch to collect you and your wife so that you may visit us.”
“What? That’s great. But we do have a lot here at our disposal.”
“Oh, I insist. Besides, it should be with you within the next half an hour. May I suggest that your wife brings something like a cardigan. We experience the odd sea breeze in the evening over here, being a little higher above sea level.”
“We’ll be down at the quayside in thirty minutes. We’ll see you soon.”
Abbas ended the call.
Jago gently replaced the receiver and turned to Fi, who was waiting for feedback.
“Well, are we going to visit or not?”
“Mr Abbas has sent their private launch for us and it will be at the quayside in thirty minutes. He suggested that you take something like a cardigan to keep out the sea breeze. Can you be ready in time?”
“I can; the question is, can you?”
***
Jago and Fi were busy chatting to the quayside attendant as a classic motor launch approached. It was a sleek boat and judging by the throaty engines it had power. It also had a spacious cockpit, and the foredeck was an ideal sun pad for those lazy days. The boat pulled up alongside and a stocky Asian man threw the rope to the quayside attendant before jumping up onto the quay. The man wore a holstered sidearm.
“Mr and Mrs Jago, would you come this way, please,” he said in impeccable English.
“And you are?”
“Here to help you, sir,” came the reply. He was obviously not one for sharing his name.
Fi and Jago climbed aboard the launch, and the man jumped in after them and requested the rope from the quayside attendant before signalling to the launch pilot that it was clear to get underway. Once the boat was moving, the man asked, “Would either of you care for a drink?”
“I’d like a white wine spritzer, if you have it?” asked Fi.
“May I have a glass of red wine? What sort do you have?”
“I think we have a Shiraz, a Bordeaux or a Rioja.”
> “I’ll have a Rioja.”
“Please sit down, be comfortable. I’ll bring your drinks out directly.”
Fi and Jago sat in the aft area of the boat, and after a few moments the gun-toting waiter served their drinks.
“How far is it?” asked Fi.
“We’ll be there in about thirty minutes, madam, if the water stays calm like it is now.”
The water was rippling and the launch cut through the ocean like butter. Fi looked over the side, through the clear waters, and then to the left, at a tiny island atoll that wasn’t big enough for a garden shed let alone anything else. Jago was looking ahead; he seemed mesmerised.
“A penny for them, darling?” asked Fi.
“Sorry, what? Oh, I was miles away. What did you say?”
“I said a penny for them – you know, your thoughts.”
Jago stared blankly. “I don’t think I was thinking anything. I haven’t done that in years. It must be the motion of the boat and the setting.”
“Nothing to do with me then,” quipped Fi as she snuggled in close.
“It may have a little to do with you too,” smiled Jago as he sipped his Rioja. He returned to his thoughts of Rebecca and wondered how many bottles of wine they had shared.
The launch pilot stuck his head out of the cockpit and interrupted Jago’s thoughts. “We’ll be there in about five minutes, if you would like to finish your drinks.”
Ahead of them they could see an island. It was significantly larger than the ones they’d been passing. It appeared large in part because it was higher above sea level than the others. As they drew near, it became clear that once they landed on the quayside there would be a series of steps to climb, leading up to the main headland.
They docked at the quayside and the boat’s pilot tied off the rope.
“Go ahead, you can’t miss it. Just go to the top of the steps and follow the path; it will take you right to the front door.”
Lethal Promise Page 16