Trapped (14 page)

‘Welcome to you all,' he said. ‘Welcome to Le Ricochet. Your table is waiting.' And with that, the group was whisked onto the hot beach, up past the sunbathing customers and through a low wooden gate into the restaurant garden.

The place was breathtaking in its simplicity. Tables, some for two, some for twenty, all covered in pure white and deep blue tablecloths were dotted around underneath olive and eucalyptus trees. Each of the tables was set, immaculate glassware shining and silver cutlery gleaming. Above the tables, fairy lights were strung from the trees and, in the far corner of the garden, a woman was playing gentle jazz on the piano. It was utterly perfect and Cate, who had seen some fabulous places in her time, thought she had never been anywhere so beautiful in her life.

Many of the tables were already filling up with wealthy middle-aged couples, large beautifully turned-out family groups and, of course, those who were clearly in the throes of romance. As Cate looked around, she suddenly got the
extraordinary sensation that she knew many of the lunch guests. She corrected herself hastily. She didn't actually know them. It was just that she had seen them so many times, on TV and in newspapers and magazines, that they felt as familiar to her as her own family.

The first celebrity she spotted was a very leathery, very lecherous former Italian Prime Minister. True to form he was surrounded by a gaggle of nubile girls not much older than Cate, one of whom was feeding him a strawberry.

Over in the far corner sat a well-known golfer with his teenage sons and latest wife being entertained by a very lively BBC sports commentator who was clearly doing most of the talking. Across from him a former British cabinet minister only had eyes for a young Hollywood actress who was laughing uproariously at all his jokes. Cate passed by a larger table and realised it held six members of the past and present England football team. They were drinking sparkling mineral water, playing on their PSPs and somehow finding them more exciting than the persistent attentions of a group of stunning French girls who were giggling on the table next to them.

If she was impressed by her fellow celebrities, Nancy wasn't about to show it. In any case, she had an entrance to make. Following Pierre to her table, she sailed through the garden, pushing out her chest and wiggling her hips as she went, now and again stopping to give someone she knew a wave, or if they were really lucky, a kiss. PSPs were dropped, and even the aged Italian lothario suddenly ignored the pouting beauties at his table.

Pierre led them to what was undoubtedly the best table in the restaurant. Set right by the low fence that separated the
beach from the garden, it was shaded by a gently rustling orange tree and had a spectacular view out over the bay and to the boats beyond.

Waiting for them was Tass, who, as Nancy strutted towards him, was looking rather like the cat who had got the cream. A very hungry-looking Mikey was chewing glumly on breadsticks and Ahmed was as morose as ever.

‘Good table, Nancy,' said Tass, as she sashayed into the seat next to him and leant over for a long lingering kiss before helping herself to the stuffed olives on his plate. ‘But do we really need to be joined by your entire staff?'

‘Oh, darling,' said Nancy, sounding not at all put out. ‘If you want this table you have to have a large group. Everyone knows that. Pierre won't put a table for two here, not even for me.' She smiled brightly around the table. ‘Wendy, you order, babe. Fish, pasta, whatever.'

Cate was sure that she saw Pierre wince. ‘Nancy,' he said suavely. ‘I must go and oversee the kitchen. I'll send Jacques over to you and I'll be back to see you in an instant.'

The group devoured the antipasti, which was followed by the catch of the day – a huge plate of salt-encrusted roasted snapper set in a small sea of sparkling prawns – followed by fresh paw paws, mango, strawberries and blueberries with a delicate vanilla and Cointreau flavoured cream.

The feast finally over, the group began a hot debate on whether or not to move to the sun loungers on the beach.

‘You guys make up your minds,' said Bill, getting up from the table. ‘In the meantime, I've got some errands to do in the town – bits for the engines, that sort of thing. I'll love ya and
leave ya.' And with that, he strode off.

Cate tried to look casual but inside her heart was racing. Was anyone else going to make their excuses and leave? Was Bill really off on an innocent errand, or was he up to something more sinister? She looked around the table. Nancy, Tass and Wendy, followed by the two bodyguards, were already starting to make their way down to the beach to settle on the sun loungers. Clearly they weren't going anywhere else anytime soon. And Lulu? Cate watched as she moved to a small chair in the shade of a tree, took out a book from her handbag and started reading. It looked like she too had little intention of moving for the rest of the afternoon, or was that just for show? But just as Marcus had suggested might happen, someone was leaving the group. And that someone was Bill. She had to make a decision fast.

‘I've never been to St Tropez before,' said Cate. ‘I think I might pop off and explore a little if that's OK.'

Wendy nodded vaguely at her over her shoulder but no one else in the party seemed to care either way.

Mentally crossing her fingers that she had picked the right option, Cate walked casually through the garden and then increased her pace once she was out of sight of the tables. She hoped she hadn't left it too long, that she hadn't already lost Bill before she had even started following him. To her relief, as she came out onto a quiet residential street, she saw him in the distance.

‘I'm getting used to this,' said Cate grimly to herself, as she first checked behind her to see that no one else was following either her or Bill.

Bill showed no sign of being uneasy or nervous. He walked purposefully but without rushing, and Cate started to think she should have been keeping an eye on someone else.

But still she stuck to Bill, tracking him down the long street, which was edged with high houses all shuttered up against the bright afternoon sun, and then out onto a main road.

To her left she could see the harbour, glimpses of the bright blue sea visible through the numerous small parks and trees. But rather than head for the harbour and the shops, Bill took a right fork and began to walk briskly and purposefully up the hill and away from the town centre. It was harder now to keep him in her sights; the cars, motorbikes and pedestrians that thronged the busy tarmac road were obscuring her view and the cafés spilling out onto the pavements created a natural obstacle course. Cate had to jog to avoid losing him.

There was probably an innocent explanation, thought Cate to herself. Most likely he was heading for some kind of engineering workshop. The commercial road gradually faded away to be replaced by a shabby street with boarded-up offices and locked-up graffitied garages and then, suddenly, Bill stopped, outside a nondescript prefab building with painted panels that had the air of a small abandoned school.

Cate darted to the opposite side of the road and pressed herself into a small alleyway that ran between two old garages. The air was baking hot and chokingly dusty. Cate caught the whiff of stale oil and, as she looked behind her, she could see the alley was littered with old engine parts. That was it – he must be searching out an obscure engine part.

Bill knocked on a door that was set into a grubby white wall surrounding the property and, within seconds, it was opened by a man who stepped out into the street to shake his hand. Cate did a double take, hardly believing her eyes. There was no mistake, no forgetting that long lank hair. Standing just a few metres away from her, being greeted by Bill, was one of the men who had beaten Andrei half to death. She strained her ears to hear what they were saying and her heart sank. They were talking in Russian, both men chatting like natives.

‘I can only speak Australian.' She remembered Bill standing in front of her on her very first day aboard
Catwalk II
, his face open and honest. The best type of liar. Could Bill really be one of the bad guys? It seemed almost beyond belief.

Suddenly a thought struck her. Perhaps Bill was investigating Nancy, too, either working for Marcus, like her, or even on his own. Cate knew she might well be clutching at straws but despite herself her spirits rose. She would watch and wait, and not jump to any conclusions.

The gate was propped open now, the lank-haired man leaning against it while Bill went inside. Five minutes, ten minutes passed while Cate grew increasingly anxious. Something wasn't right, she could sense it. The lank-haired man was nervy, chain-smoking, looking up and down the street and at the deserted buildings around him as if he feared he was being watched. At one point he turned and started to walk back into the building but then changed his mind and came out and resumed his manic pacing. Then he disappeared around the corner of the house and came back, pushing a large moped.

Even from her hiding place, Cate could sense his fear and now she was frightened too. She was sure something evil was about to happen, and she knew with certainty that she couldn't stop it. Suddenly there was a loud, muffled bang and the lank-haired man jerked his head almost involuntarily towards the house. A few minutes later Bill appeared, carrying a bright blue laptop under his arm, and nodded at his companion. Wordlessly, the lank-haired man gunned the moped. Bill pulled the gate shut behind him with a slam, secured it with a thick chain and padlock, and still clutching the laptop, hopped on behind him.

The dark blue machine was U-turning in the street, passing Cate at speed as it headed towards town. She watched as the bike disappeared in a cloud of dust. She could never hope to follow them and, for a few seconds, she felt like screaming and stamping in frustration.

She didn't allow herself to rant for long. That wasn't going to achieve anything. It was time to do a bit of exploring but first she needed a weapon and she wished for a second she had brought the gun. She eyed up the rubbish littering the ground behind her and spotted a thick metal pipe half hidden in the stringy grass. She pulled it out gratefully, dislodging two very surprised lizards as she did so, and gripped it tightly. It was perfect – just the right weight for her to carry, but heavy enough to inflict damage if necessary.

She watched the house across the road for a full five minutes. It seemed silent and empty, there was no movement from behind the boarded-up windows. She scanned the eaves and the roof but couldn't see any cameras.

Finally, plucking up the courage to move, Cate checked
that the road was clear, and, her hands slippery with nervous sweat, left the alleyway and crossed the road to the gate. The metal pipe made quick work of the padlock and Cate was through the gate and into the relative safety of the doorway. She paused for a breather and to try to still her nerves, listening to see if anyone had heard her, but there was complete silence.
Even the birds don't sing here,
thought Cate, and shuddered slightly.

She looked closely at the door, trying to size up what was keeping it shut. There was no visible lock, no obvious means of opening it up. She brought out the tiny tin that Marcus had given her. He had been thorough as he went through the list of equipment in the tin: ‘An electromagnet for causing mayhem with computers, a tiny laser which will cut through metal, a data stick – with data card reader and a spare data card – with enough capacity to copy a NASA hard drive.'

She picked out the small hyper magnet. As she flicked the switch she felt the power surge through the tiny piece of metal, and it was all she could do to hang onto it before it escaped from her grasp. She placed it quietly on the door and slid it methodically from side to side, trying to work out where the lock was. Almost instantly it fixed onto the centre of the door where it clung like a limpet.

Gotcha,
thought Cate triumphantly. She turned the tiny dial on the top of the magnet up to its highest setting. If the lock on the other side was controlled by any form of digital software, the magnet would scramble it and make it useless.

The gadget didn't let her down. Cate pushed gently on the door and it opened without protest into a dark, dingy corridor
containing a staircase and not much else.

Clutching her weapon, she moved silently up the small, bare staircase. She reached the landing and paused, listening again, but there was nothing.

At the end of the landing, by a small boarded-up window which would once have looked out onto the street, stood a stained door which was covered with filth of every description, including something which looked horribly like blood. Cate noted two parallel gouges running down the side of the door. Were they claw marks? Something or someone had put up a good fight for their freedom.

Cate pushed at the old door. It wasn't locked. She found herself in a long room, the only light coming from a few chinks in the boarded-up windows. On the opposite wall stood barred cages stacked floor to ceiling, some large enough for a man, others not much bigger than a shoe box. The animals had obviously been kept here. No wonder the gang had chosen this virtually deserted district to house the animals. Even if anyone did hear them, it looked exactly the type of area where everyone minded their own business anyway.

Cate began methodically checking each of the cages, but they were empty, cleared out. Whatever creatures had been confined here had been moved elsewhere and Cate felt a hopelessness overwhelm her.

She took out her phone, and began taking pictures of the room, of the cages and the boarded windows. As she did so, she realised that there was a door at the far end of the room. Cate cursed herself for not being smart enough to check her surroundings before she started searching the cages. Anyone
could be behind that door. She had put herself at risk and was lucky that so far she hadn't had to pay the price for her carelessness.