Adrian Magson - No Peace For The Wicked

He settled back to work on loosening the rope around his wrists. The knots were efficient and the rope slightly damp, which didn't help, but he couldn’t simply sit there and wait. While he flexed his hands to work up a sweat, he listened to the sounds of movement throughout the villa. Doors and drawers were being closed and what sounded like cases being dropped onto the tiled floor at the front of the house. It was obvious they were preparing for more than a simple departure until next time. They were evacuating the place. Voices were muffled and low, but he thought he recognised Mitcheson and the two baseball fans. The young one, Gary, seemed to have least to say, but he put his head round the door from time to time to check on Palmer.

“Any chance of a drink?” Palmer asked. He was feeling dehydrated, but more than anything he wanted to test the man’s reaction. If Gary refused him, it meant Palmer’s future was going to be very limited, no matter what the general vote on his usefulness had been.

Gary went away without a word and returned several minutes later with a glass of orange juice. He stood over Palmer while he drank, then took the glass off him as soon as he had finished. Palmer had the feeling Gary was disappointed Mitcheson had stopped Lottie blowing his head all over the utility room wall. The good news was, giving him a drink confirmed that they had a use for him.

He handed back the empty glass and settled back to listen and continue working on his bonds. It was surprisingly tiring work and the flexing of his arms and wrists made his whole upper body feel unbearably heavy. He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling, a gritty feeling around his eyes. Must be the heat, he thought. And the shock of being picked up and nearly shot. Or maybe I’m getting old. He stopped what he was doing for a moment and felt his head dropping like an enormously heavy weight, his thoughts becoming scrambled. He tried to lift it again, sucking in air, but it was no good. Way too tired…

Riley slid over the low stone wall and pushed through the trees surrounding the villa to watch the preparations to leave. The patio furniture was tidied away and through the windows she could see dust covers being placed on the chairs and tables inside. From the front of the house she could hear the slamming of doors as vehicles were loaded with luggage.

There was no sign of Palmer. She’d have to get a look inside the house to see if he was here. She glanced at her watch and wondered how Brask was getting on. She’d relayed to him what had happened to Palmer, and that it was time to bring in official help, preferably on both sides of the Med. He’d been doubtful the police would pay any attention without some official corroboration from the Spanish side, but promised to try. He would also try to get Customs amp; Excise excited about the Cessna, since that, at least, might be carrying some of the guns used by the ex-soldiers. Even if they came up with traces of ammunition or gun oil, it would show that focusing some attention on Lottie Grossman’s activities would be worthwhile.

A car started at the front of the house and faded away down the drive. Riley chewed her lip. It looked like they were off. There might not be a better time to do it.

She pushed through the branches until she was clear of the overhang. Seconds later she was running across the lawn, body hunched and expecting any second to hear a warning shout. She hit the back of the villa and ducked down, her breathing harsh and loud. That’s it, she promised herself; when this is all over, I’m joining a gym. All this work and no play’s turning me into a soft pudding.

She pressed her ear against the brickwork and listened. Apart from the hum of an electric motor there was nothing. She crept along the rear wall, peered round the corner… and ducked back as voices sounded nearby.

Something scraped behind her. She began to rise but found a powerful hand pressing down on her shoulder. Another hand clamped over her mouth.

“Easy,” Mitcheson hissed in her ear. He held onto her until she subsided, then let her go.

“Where’s Palmer?” Riley whispered, spinning round. Her heart was thumping in her chest and a wave of nausea threatened to rise in her stomach. “Is he okay?”

He placed a finger against her lips. “No time. We’re off to the airport. Lottie’s taking a private plane back to England. Ray’s body’s inside. Gary’s going too, with Palmer as insurance. He’s been sedated to stop him kicking off en route. The rest of us are following by scheduled flight to Heathrow this evening.”

“And the drugs?” Riley’s face was centimetres away from his, and she could smell his aftershave, see her reflection in his eyes. Something told her this man couldn’t lie this close up to her. She hoped it wasn’t wishful thinking.

He hesitated for a moment, then said: “They’re strapped to Palmer’s body.”

“What? They’re going to take him through customs like that?”

“No. They’ve filed a flight plan to Luton for customs purposes, but she’s paid the pilot for a last minute diversion to Rickmansworth, claiming engine trouble. Less likely they’ll be searched there, especially with a coffin on board. In any case, they’re counting on enough time to get Palmer out of the plane and away before anyone arrives.”

Someone called Mitcheson’s name from the front of the building. He clamped his hand back on Riley’s mouth but she angrily pushed his fingers away. “Where are they taking Palmer?”

“Horton Road commercial estate, West Drayton. Unit twenty-four. Once they’re in the UK they’ll have no further use for him. I’ll try to stop it but I can’t promise anything.”

As he stood, Riley put a warning hand on his arm. “Wait. There’s something you should know.”

He frowned. “What is it?”

“The police in the UK know you’re coming. Not you personally, but they’ll be waiting for the plane at Rickmansworth.”

He blinked. “How do they know that?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Christ. That’s not good. Okay. I’ll see if I can get them to go in somewhere else, although if Palmer’s caught it’ll be pretty obvious he’s not doing it voluntarily. Anything else?”

“There was another car along the coast where Palmer got picked up. It’s either the Moroccans or the Spanish police. They could be on their way here already.”

He nodded. “We haven’t got long, then. Thanks for the warning.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Whatever I can for Palmer, I promise. You keep your head down. Take care.” With a brief touch on her arm, he was gone.

Riley shivered as a vicious wind cut across the top level of Terminal One car park at Heathrow, bringing a faint sting of rain on her cheeks. Dark clouds had brought the evening in earlier than usual, a brutal contrast to the heat and light of Spain.

She’d been hoping to go out to Rickmansworth to try to intercept Lottie Grossman’s plane, but in the end knew there was too high a risk of missing them. They would have already arrived and Palmer would be long gone by now, spirited away before he was spotted. On the off chance, she’d called the airfield and asked if the Grossman Cessna had returned, but the woman on the other end had been guarded about flight movements.

In the end, with daylight making it too risky to hang around a trading estate too long, she decided to wait at Heathrow for the Malaga flight to arrive and follow Mitcheson and the others to their destination. She was praying nothing would happen to Palmer until the group was together.

She checked her watch. Nearly time to go. She hurried down to the ground floor and found a quiet spot away from the noise. Brask answered on the first ring. As soon as Riley left the villa at Moharras, she’d called and told him what was happening. He had promised to get whatever official interest he could. Now he sounded less than hopeful.