Adrian Magson - No Peace For The Wicked

A car approached with a crunch of tyres on the gravel drive at the front of the villa. One of the baseball fans disappeared to investigate, and returned moments later followed by John Mitcheson.

Riley felt a jolt at seeing him again, and remembered with uncomfortable clarity what had happened in the Palacio. She ducked further down into the cover of the trees, sliding into the undergrowth and glad she had thought to change her clothes.

From behind her came the noise of another engine and tyres on the road. She wriggled backwards, risking a quick peek. It was Palmer. He got out of the car and hopped over the wall to squat beside her.

“Where the hell have you been?” she grated. “I thought you’d already be here.”

“I fancied an ice-cream,” he murmured breezily. Then his expression became sombre. “Benson’s dead.” He explained what he had just seen.

Riley didn’t say anything for a while. Then she said: “I asked Mitcheson about him, but he didn't seem to know the name.”

“Maybe he doesn’t. He might not be as much inside as you think.”

She shook her head. “Christ, are you defending him?”

“He could be telling the truth,” Palmer suggested. “Left hand and right, I expect. What’s going on here?”

“Another meeting. Looks like some high-level horse-trading is going on with the man in the cream suit. I think that’s his minder against the house. Mitcheson said they’re trying to raise money from drugs to keep Grossman out here. My guess is, that’s where cream suit comes in.”

“Drugs.” Palmer wiped a bead of perspiration off his cheek. “Hell of a way to fund a retirement plan.”

“The cream suit and Lottie G had a set-to earlier on. He looked ready to walk but they seem to have patched it up. By the way the Black Widow smarmed all over him, she must have realised she’d come close to losing it.”

“Good. Shows they’re desperate.”

Whatever had been agreed or not, the talking seemed finally to have ended. The man in the cream suit stood up and shook hands with Lottie, nodded at Mitcheson, then beckoned to his bodyguard. With Lottie leading, the three disappeared through the house, while the baseball fans and the third man drifted out of sight towards the front.

Left by himself, Mitcheson stood by the edge of the pool staring out across the lawn. For a second Riley could have sworn their eyes met. She froze, her breathing suspended. Then his gaze moved on, inspecting the tree-line foot by foot, before turning and walking into the house.

“Jesus… ” Palmer breathed, and Riley realised he, too, thought they had been seen.

“Come on,” she said, moving backwards towards the wall. “I need to find out who these people are and where they’re based.”

Palmer followed, and before reaching their cars, they agreed to switch positions periodically, with Palmer going first to get ahead of the Moroccans’ vehicle. Riley waited until the Lexus nosed out of the gate, then set off in pursuit. As the Lexus drew up at the junction with the main coast road and signalled to turn right towards Malaga, Riley spotted Palmer’s car parked outside a shop near the corner. There was no sign of him and she wondered what he was playing at.

In a sudden change of manoeuvre, the Lexus turned left and surged into the traffic heading east towards Almeria. Riley, already indicating right, was caught out as a small delivery van rattled alongside on her left, blocking her path.

Just then Palmer stepped out of the shop doorway, eating an apple. He signalled with a flattened palm movement for Riley to hold it where she was and climbed unhurriedly into his own car. Then he set off after the Lexus.

Riley waited until both cars were out of sight. She wasn’t sure if the sudden change of direction by the Lexus was because she had been spotted or whether the Moroccans had genuinely decided to go elsewhere. She decided not to risk getting too close, and let three cars similar to her own go by before easing out and following Palmer.

Three cars back from the Lexus, Palmer chewed on his apple and wondered where they were going. He glanced in the wing mirror, spotting Riley some distance behind. Luckily she had caught his delaying signal and had not immediately given chase.

Forty minutes later the road began to veer inland as it approached the small town of Motril. The Lexus signalled left and disappeared up a narrow road. Palmer waited until he was sure another car was still between them, then followed.

The road passed through an area of uninspired, dusty houses and emerged into a development of small, neat villas set amid landscaped gardens. Traffic was light and the streets too straight, with little available cover, and Palmer was beginning to feel conspicuous. He had done a lot of surveillance and pursuit exercises, but had never quite lost the feeling of vulnerability that came over him whenever circumstances brought him too close to his quarry. It was difficult not to imagine the driver in front peering into his rear-view mirror and knowing precisely what you were up to.

He tapped his brakes as the car between him and the Lexus — a rickety Datsun with puffy grey smoke blowing from the exhaust — slowed and pulled into the side of the road. As he steered round it, a trio of children burst out of the rear door and raced across the pavement towards an elderly couple waiting at a gate to a small villa.

The Lexus was now ahead of him, but had slowed dramatically, and Palmer could see the driver looking in his rear-view mirror. Damn, it, he’d been spotted. All his instincts cried out to make an instantaneous decision and abort the chase. With no defence and no back-up, he was too exposed. He did the only thing he could think of: he signalled and pulled in just ahead of the Datsun.

Ignoring the Lexus, Palmer hopped out of his car and raised both arms to the couple outside the villa as if greeting long-lost friends. Then he strolled back to the Datsun and thrust his hand out to the male driver, who automatically responded, although clearly puzzled. From the corner of his eye Palmer saw Riley drive by. The Lexus had now reached a corner a hundred yards away, but was still moving slowly. Maybe the driver had been convinced by his little role-play.

“Am I in Motril?” Palmer asked the driver. It was the first thing he could think of.

The man looked blank, but his wife appeared to understand. Or maybe she just anted to get rid of this strange man who’d leapt out of nowhere. She pointed towards the east, in the direction where the Lexus and Riley had gone. “Si. Motril… one kilometre.”

‘ Muy gracias ,’ Palmer said.

As he turned back to the car, another vehicle passed by. It was a dusty Seat with two male passengers in dark glasses, their attention on the road ahead. A car like so many others in the area, except that, with a cold feeling in his gut, Palmer sensed their interest was focused specifically on Riley Gavin.

He jumped into his car and took out his mobile, keying Riley’s number. But the screen remained blank. They must be in a blank spot for mobile reception. He turned the ignition and screamed away from the kerb, tyres spinning.

As the Lexus turned a corner and headed back towards the coast road, Riley dropped a gear and followed. She hoped Palmer’s quick thinking had dropped him out of the frame. Now all she had to do was avoid being detected herself. Following the car too quickly round a blind corner risked finding it waiting to see who was on its tail, but it was a chance worth taking if she could find out who these people were.

Another sharp turn and the Lexus disappeared. Riley spun the wheel and followed, and knew instantly that she’d made a mistake. She was on an unpaved track between housing developments, and the Lexus was parked just fifty yards away, waiting.