Adrian Magson - No Tears for the Lost

The plane wasn’t coming.

Henzigger waited another fifteen minutes, staring up at the sky. Then he walked over to where Myburghe was still lying slumped against the wall. He said something to the former diplomat, but Palmer couldn’t hear. Then he bent down and cuffed the older man savagely about the head. When there was no response, he followed it with a vicious kick to the ribs and a torrent of abuse in Spanish and English. The assault ceased only when Myburghe toppled over sideways and lay still.

Palmer watched, gritting his teeth. He felt sickened by such casual brutality. He had little sympathy for Myburghe; having got into bed with these people for his own ends, the diplomat was now having to experience the down side of the arrangement. Even so, it took all Palmer’s self-control not to go out there and give Henzigger some of his own medicine.

The American turned and gave instructions to his men. They reluctantly dragged Myburghe off the ground and hustled him indoors. It was clear they would sooner have left him there, but Henzigger clearly had further use of him. He followed, his phone clamped to his ear.

Palmer waited until they were out of sight, then slipped round to the front of the house. The lights here were now dead, too, and he supposed one of the men must have come round to knock them out as a precaution.

The two cars had been left with their doors open. Making sure he wasn’t being observed, Palmer leaned in and took out the keys, then hurled them away into the darkness.

He made his way back to the maintenance workshop and rooted around in the dark until he found what he needed. It was time to prepare a diversion and reduce the numbers.

**********

Riley estimated they were only minutes from the village of Colebrooke when her phone rang.

It was Henzigger.

‘I guess you know where we are, right?’ he said without preamble. He sounded angry but in control — just. ‘Don’t bother saying anything pointless about how I’ll never get away with this, or I’ll go ahead and finish him off.’

So, Myburghe was still alive. She switched on the loudspeaker so Mitcheson could hear.

‘How was Henry Portius?’ Henzigger continued. ‘I know you’ve seen him — not that he’ll help you any.’ There was a hint of false bravado in his voice, which made Riley wonder what had happened. He still had an edge of hysteria in his tone, but it sounded even more strained than his earlier call.

‘You’re right,’ she replied. ‘Portius was a waste of time.’ Instinct told her that if she gave the impression she’d hit a stone wall at the embassy, Henzigger might feel less pressured. The fact that he knew she’d been to see the DEA man confirmed that he still had a contact on the inside. She made a mental note to let Weller know.

Mitcheson reached out and turned down the air conditioning, slowing his speed so she could hear more easily. Henzigger’s breathing instantly filled the car, a rasping indication of stress that sounded almost painful.

‘What do you want?’ she asked calmly, to keep him talking. Give him too much time to think and he might simply cut his losses and kill Myburghe anyway.

‘I know you’re somewhere near, Riley. How far away?’

‘A few minutes.’

‘Good girl. You alone?’

‘Yes. I left Weller at the embassy.’ She was counting on his informants having told him about the presence of the senior policeman. A little show of information from her might persuade him to lower his guard.

She was right.

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘We don’t need any more cooks at this table. Make sure it stays that way. What about Palmer?’

‘I don’t know where he is,’ she replied truthfully. ‘I think Myburghe told him he could go.’

‘Okay. When you get here, drive up to the house.’ The way he almost purred the instructions down the phone made Riley think he was smiling at how clever he was. She felt a shiver at the change in tone. Whatever control Henzigger had once possessed, he was losing it. In such a state of tension, he would doubtless be unusually aware of his surroundings, like a cornered animal. Maybe, she thought, he’d been taking samples of his own product.

‘What about Myburghe?’ she pressed him, hoping he or his friendly informant in the embassy hadn’t become aware of John Mitcheson in the background. With Toby and up to three armed killers scattered around the place, they needed every advantage they could get.

‘He’s good. But he won’t be if you get stupid.’

‘What do you want, Toby?’

‘Salvation,’ he said with a ragged laugh that ended on a high note. ‘How about that? I want out of here and I figure you’re the gal to help me. You do that and you’ll get Myburghe back in one piece.’

‘How can I believe you?’

‘Aw, shit, Riley. You’re kidding me, right? Like you could care less about that high-class maggot. I need your help… just for a few hours. We’ve got ourselves a serious problem, y’see, and we need a way out.’

‘Problem?’

‘Yeah. Portius coming over has lit a fire under their asses. It seems the guys in Grosvenor Square have decided I have the plague.’ A voice spoke in the background and Henzigger broke off and muttered something in rapid Spanish. ‘Thing is, I got these three vaqueros with me and they’re breathing down my neck, too. They say they came over to put the bite on Myburghe, but they don’t fool me none — they’re watching me, too. Fucking paisanos — they ain’t got the first idea. Like it matters a whole hell of a lot now.’ He snorted and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

Riley exchanged a look with Mitcheson. Henzigger was rambling. Two minutes ago he’d been cocksure and arrogant. Now all that had changed.

She looked up and saw the main entrance to Colebrooke House coming up fast, the headlights catching a flash of a fluorescent sign and broken tape. She signalled for Mitcheson to pull in to the side of the road. ‘Okay, so I arrive. Then what?’

Her question seemed to bring the American back to earth. ‘Then we talk business. You help get me out of here and we’re like best buddies. I might even cut you in on a deal. What d’you say?’

‘Depends what the deal is, doesn’t it?’ She watched Mitcheson climb out and walk to the back door. He leaned in and opened the lock-box, pulling out a shotgun and two automatic pistols. ‘It’s got to be worthwhile.’

‘Uh-uh,’ Henzigger grunted. ‘You’ll find out once you’re here. But you’d better make it quick or His Excellency gets retired!’ With a high-pitched laugh at his own sense of the dramatic, he hung up.

Riley slid across into the driving seat and looked out at Mitcheson. He held the shotgun in one hand and one of the pistols in the other. The weight of the second pistol dragged his windcheater down on one side, and he looked different. It was as if he’d suddenly become an integral part of the leaf-and-branch fabric behind him. She felt sorry for anyone he met in the woods.

Something in her expression must have alerted him. ‘You won’t talk him round, Riley,’ he said softly. ‘Or the people with him. It’s gone too far.’ He handed her the automatic. ‘This is just in case. Keep it out of sight. If you have to use it, click off the safety, point and shoot.’ He was aware of her reservations about using guns, but he also knew that there were times when even she would acknowledge there was no way round it.

‘Maybe,’ she said breezily, tucking the pistol into the back of her jeans, ‘I’ll bore them into submission.’

He grinned briefly, then stepped away from the car and disappeared into the bushes at the side of the road. It was as simple as that; one second he was there, the next he’d gone. She waited, hands on the wheel, giving him a couple of minutes to get inside the grounds and observe her arrival at the front of the house.