No Peace For The Wicked rgafp-1 Read online

  Doug told him to park the vehicle facing back the way they had come, then climbed out, motioning Palmer to follow. “Come on, Frank. I’ve got some work for you. I hope you’re feeling strong.”

  They followed a narrow path down the side of the slope to a flat, rocky platform just above the waterline. Palmer felt suddenly vulnerable here; he wasn’t the world’s best swimmer, and either side of the platform the water looked dark and threatening. It was a geological oddity, and he guessed the lack of room and the swirling currents made it unattractive to tourists. Ideal, however, for drug-runners.

  A powerful-looking white launch was nosing in towards the platform and Palmer recognised the muscular form of Howie standing at the wheel. A younger, smaller man sat on the prow clutching a rope with a small grappling anchor attached. In his other hand he held an automatic, a quizzical look on his face.

  “Easy, Frank,” Doug warned him. “The little fella’s a bit touchy on the trigger. I think he wants to shoot someone.”

  Howie showed his expertise at handling boats by nosing the launch smoothly against the rock with the barest kiss, while the younger man tossed the anchor across. Palmer let it bounce on the rock before bending to settle it into a crack where it would hold fast.

  “How’d it go?” Doug called across as the engine died.

  Howie nodded and jumped ashore. “It went. What’s he doing here?” His gaze was not unfriendly — merely curious.

  Doug grinned and looked at Palmer. “You remember Frank, don’t you? Of course you do. Frank’s volunteered to help us carry the goods.” His eyes turned cold and he hefted the pistol. “The alternative being we shoot him right now and drop him in the water. How about it, Frank?”

  Chapter 43

  Riley crossed the road back to the Flores and checked everywhere. The feeling of unease in her stomach increased dramatically when she saw Frank’s cigarette lighter still lying on the table. Palmer and his smoking: he wouldn’t have gone without it. She asked one of the waiters to check the washrooms and waited impatiently, hoping to see Palmer’s grinning face coming along the corridor. But the waiter returned shaking his head.

  ‘Sorry, miss. Nobody in there.’

  She thanked him and ran outside to the car, a clear image in her head of the Land Cruiser. If only she’d kept an eye on it.

  She floored the accelerator, pulling the small car round in a tight circle, and set off towards Malaga. If Palmer was anywhere, she was betting it had to be in the Land Cruiser, and she could only be a few minutes behind it.

  Traffic was light and consisted mainly of slow-moving hire cars and the odd delivery van. Riley was able to leapfrog them quite easily but found her progress irritatingly slow, with no sign of the Land Cruiser ahead of her. She shut her mind off from why Palmer had been taken and what his captors might have in mind. If they intended to kill him, they could have done so in the car park and no one would have been able to stop them.

  The questions still remaining were: who had been in the vehicle and why were they there? Top of the list of reasons was to watch over the exchange, but it didn’t rule out the possibility that somehow the Grossman group had got wind of her and Palmer’s presence and had decided to take whichever one they could get as a bargaining tool.

  But if so, how had they found out? Had Mitcheson talked? She couldn’t bring herself to believe that. And why not take her, too? Maybe they didn’t need both of them. If the threat was serious, one would do.

  A horsebox had pulled in to a side turning near a large advertising hoarding, and the driver was scrubbing dust off the windscreen. Riley swerved round the protruding back end of the vehicle and put her foot down. If all else failed, there was one place left to go. But as double insurance, she pulled out her mobile phone and dialled Donald Brask’s number in London.

  The Land Cruiser emerged from the side turning a few moments after Riley had passed. Palmer was in the back seat, hands tied in front of him with a length of rope.

  In the front, Doug was driving while Gary lounged in the passenger seat, eyes flicking back and forth to watch Palmer. Howie had been left to take the boat back along the coast to the marina in Malaga.

  All talking had stopped as the two men kept their eyes open for police or customs. Palmer guessed the easy part for the men had been out at sea. Here inland was another ball game, and even a simple traffic accident greatly enhanced their chances of being subjected to closer scrutiny than they wanted.

  After Palmer had been forced to carry a large rubber package up the path to the Land Cruiser, the men had tied him up and left him in the back while they reported in by phone — presumably to Mitcheson and Lottie Grossman. He hadn’t been able to catch any of their conversation, but the description by Howie and Gary of their sea trip had been animated and triumphant. When Gary had produced a machine pistol from the launch and what looked like an empty magazine, he could see why.

  They arrived back at the villa and Palmer was bundled out and made to lie down in a utility room at the back. Lottie Grossman appeared shortly afterwards and stood gazing down at him as though he was an insect that had wandered in from the garden. She held a pruning knife with a curved blade.

  Palmer returned her gaze. He found it amazing she could be gardening while people were being killed and kidnapped. It was the first time he’d seen the woman up close, and he was surprised at her age. At a time when most people were thinking of taking things easy, this painted harridan seemed intent on breaking the mould by starting up a whole new criminal enterprise. Oddly, while her clothes looked expensive, the thickness of her make-up gave her the appearance of a cheap, gaudy doll.

  He spotted Mitcheson in the background, his expression blank. The other men hovered close by, evidently waiting to see what their leader was going to do. Palmer began to understand what it was like to be a frog in a laboratory, awaiting vivisection.

  The tension in the small room was palpable, and Palmer felt a sudden need to belittle the woman and show he wasn’t intimidated by her efforts to be the ruthless gangster. It was childish and potentially dangerous, but he smiled and said: “Sorry to hear about the old man, Lottie. Must have come as a big relief to have that old bastard out of your hair.”

  She turned away without a flicker of reaction. When she came back she was holding a black automatic pistol gripped in both hands. She pointed it at Palmer’s head and looked along the barrel, here face totally blank of expression.

  The look on Mitcheson’s face would have had Palmer laughing in other circumstances, and even Doug had his mouth open in shock.

  “No!”

  As the woman’s finger began to tighten on the trigger, Mitcheson leapt forward and pushed her arm upwards. He stared down into Lottie Grossman’s face, reaching for the gun with his other hand and extracting it gently but firmly from her grasp.

  The others stood rock still, the wheezing pool pump the only sound.

  “We need him,” Mitcheson explained, passing the gun behind the woman’s back to Doug, who checked the safety and put it away. “We can use him as insurance. Until we know for sure that the Gavin woman’s out of the picture, we need whatever leverage we can get.”

  Lottie Grossman blinked and studied Palmer for a few moments, her breathing heavy. Then she turned to the other men. “Do you agree?”

  They exchanged looks, clearly baffled by her decision to include them on the investigator’s fate. Doug was first to react. Flicking a brief glance towards Mitcheson, he nodded. “Makes good sense to me,” he murmured.

  The other two nodded and Lottie Grossman turned back to Mitcheson. “Very well. Keep him here until we leave.” She looked at her watch. “My husband’s body will be released at three. We leave for the airport as soon as it’s on its way. I’ve had clearance to use the plane instead of a commercial flight. Gary, make sure the pilot’s ready with his flight plan. The rest of you know what to do.”

  As they left the room, Palmer let his breath out in a trickle. Jesus, he thought. Me and my big mo
uth. That was close.

  He thought about what the woman had said. Leaving this afternoon? He sneaked a look at his watch. It was nearly one-thirty. Where the hell had the time gone? And what were they going to do with the drugs they’d picked up?

  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.

  Chapter 44

  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.

  “I’ve bent every ear I can, sweetie,” he said, “but there seems to be a marked r
eluctance to do anything. The only thing in our favour is there aren’t customs facilities at Rickmansworth to clear the body, so Grossman must be planning to just drop in and take a punt on getting it through without being spotted. However, that may be the official view — I don’t know what the uniformed pinheads may be planning on the quiet, of course. For all I know they may be getting together the massed ranks of the Metropolitan Police Band and Customs amp; Excise and descending on Heathrow and Rickmansworth even as we speak.”

  “If they are, they’re being bloody quiet about it,” Riley replied. “The trouble is, I’m only guessing Mitcheson’s flight number, and all Rickmansworth would say was they weren’t expecting Grossman’s plane, anyway.”

  Brask breathed sympathetically down the phone. “Well, there’s nothing more I can do. Sorry. The best I can offer is some muscle at the commercial place your friend Mitcheson mentioned. It’ll probably take Palmer and the others some time to get through formalities, so I doubt they’ll be out of the airport for a while yet.”

  Riley shook her head. “Forget it. These men won’t think twice about cutting their losses; if they spot a bunch of security guards armed with nothing more lethal than fists and rubber torches, there’ll be a bloodbath.”

  Brask said nothing and the line hummed with static. Riley hung up, feeling suddenly helpless and cut adrift, and wondering where Palmer was.

  Frank Palmer was feeling sick. He was lying on a seat in the rear of a transit van that smelled of paint, and the constant bumping and swaying wasn’t helping. For some reason he couldn’t work out, his body felt as if it was on fire and perspiration was streaming down his face into his collar.