Hider/Seeker (25 page)

The snake was joined by its partners who did not stop and continued blindly to move onto Harry's muddy foot. He would be as good as dead if the snake climbed inside his trouser leg.

Angela Linehan's scream reverberated within the crypt's stone walls. This time it wasn't caused by a fall or a shock discovery of a body.

‘Bridger, I've got the woman and the boy.'

Baptiste had found them, but Harry could not take his eye off the snake prodding his nose now against his ankle, unsure whether to enter the dark tunnel of his damp trouser leg. That tiniest of hesitations by the serpent was the opportunity Harry was waiting for. He grabbed its neck from behind and jumped to his feet. He'd never handled a snake before, despite all the encouragement to rid his phobia. To his surprise, the snake was warm, not cold like a fish as he had often imagined. He felt strong holding the snake and watching it violently wriggle in front of him. Confronting his biggest fear had suddenly made him feel invincible.

Baptiste fired at him, the bullet sparking stars in the dark as it ricocheted on the stone floor. Harry stepped back, making sure he wasn't about to put his foot on a bed of tangled snakes. Staring up at him were the frozen eyes of Oscar.

Another shot rang out.

‘I can stay here all day, Bridger. I've plenty of ammo.'

Harry could see the man's shadow above him and guessed he was standing inches from the hole.

‘You don't come out, I'll shoot the boy in ten seconds. Do you hear me?'

Harry remained silent.

‘One…two…three…'

The snake was still twisting in Harry's fist, its tail rattling like fury, its jaws wide open and the small fangs ready to tear into any flesh offered.

‘…four…'

Harry had to act. He lurched forward into the shaft of light and threw the snake up at Baptiste's head. A shot was returned, missing Harry as he jumped back for cover.

Baptiste stamped and screamed around the edge of the hole. Then, he tumbled into the crypt, all seventeen stones of muscle thudding on the ground by Harry's feet. The snake had sunk its fangs into Baptiste's fat cheek and would not let go despite a large black hand choking the life out of it.

From the dark corners of the crypt, black and yellow tentacles reached out for the big man as he began to convulse with pain, his limbs twitching and jerking in spasms. But they kept multiplying, weaving and slithering their way around his body, tying him in knots until he finally stopped moving altogether.

Harry had seen enough and decided it was time to make his escape. Squatting under the opening above his head, he leapt as high as he could, his hands grabbing hold of a stone slab ledge, jutting from the broken floor. He swung up his legs and used his feet to walk up the stone wall of the crypt until he could change his position and claw his way out into the open air.

He stood tall in the sunshine, covered in guano and grime, his hands bleeding.

‘Is he dead?' she asked, clutching her son to her breast.

Harry stared at her while he gained his breath, the fresh air never tasting better, his relief never greater. Finally he spoke. ‘Was it all worth it, Angela?'

She didn't understand and looked frightened of him.

‘I need to know,' he said.

Angela Linehan didn't reply and took a step back from him, still holding her son.

‘The money for all this bloodshed? Really?' He shook his head and marched back in the direction of the plantation and the jetty beyond, where he hoped to wave down a passing longboat. A glance at his watch told him they wouldn't be transferring any money back to the Marottas that day. There was no choice, but to spend another night at Monty's.

The next morning, with just a day to spare before the deadline, they walked into WB Bank International on Laborie Street, near Castries' courthouse. A girl in reception with big eyes told Harry, Angela Linehan and her son to take a seat. The private bank's décor looked out of place in a hot Caribbean climate. It had thick carpet, wooden panel walls, paintings and damask curtains. The aircon was permanently on maximum to stop their staff melting in their stiff polyester suits.

They waited ten minutes before the girl took them into the office of Joe Buchanan, an overweight American with a permanent smile. He was in his early fifties, greying at the temples, and healthily tanned. Harry introduced him to Angela Linehan under her new name and Buchanan did a good job ignoring her battered face. He gestured to them to take a seat while he settled into a leather chair behind a big oak desk.

‘Oscar called me a couple of weeks ago to say you might be dropping by,' he said to Harry. ‘We're supposed to be playing golf tomorrow but I haven't heard from him in days.'

Harry could have told him that Oscar wouldn't be making it to the green, but nothing was going to interrupt the transfer of money to get Beth back now. Nelson and the hired hands were all set up at a cemetery in Essex to make the exchange, once the money had gone through to the Marottas' bank in Beirut. Harry knew the cemetery well. It was an isolated spot in acres of ground and surrounded by rolling fields. He'd dictated the arrangements to Roberto Marotta the night before and was surprised that he readily agreed to his choice of location.

The exchange would take place in the big car park in front of the chapel of remembrance – Nelson in a SUV and his armed men hidden around the cemetery for protection. If he knew Nelson, there would be a trick or two up his sleeve in case things didn't go according to plan.

‘I know it's a formality but I need to see your passport to make sure you are who you say you are, Mrs – .' Buchanan hesitated a moment as he'd already forgotten her name.

She handed him a mud-stained Guatemalan passport, and he carefully pronounced her surname with a terrible anglicised accent. ‘Alarcon Monterroso de Morales.' He gave her an extra smile and then flicked through the passport pages like a gambler thumbing cards. When he was satisfied, he placed the passport on his desk, and asked, ‘How can I help you?'

‘I would like you to facilitate a very important transaction,' she replied.

‘When?'

‘Today. In fact, now.' It was her turn to smile.

Buchanan wriggled in his seat like the snakes in the crypt. He looked as if he was about to say no when Angela Linehan added it was a matter of life and death. She explained that her bank in Guatemala would like his cooperation, given the unusual urgency of the matter. There would be a chunky fee in it for him.

‘How much money do you want to transfer?' he asked.

‘Seventeen million dollars.' She turned to Harry and whispered, ‘Ernesto insisted I converted out of euros.'

Buchanan didn't react to the sum and agreed to accept a flat fee of ten thousand dollars for his time.

‘It may take the rest of the day,' she added.

That was news to Harry and he pulled her close to him. He lowered his voice and said, ‘What do you mean by “the rest of the day”? Everything is set up in London.'

‘You think we just press a button and seventeen million dollars whizzes into their Lebanese bank?'

‘Something like that,' he nodded. ‘Your bank has been on standby for a couple of days. It's two in the afternoon in London and already four in Beirut. You've got two hours before the bank closes there.'

‘I'll try my best,' she said, sitting upright in her seat again. But he pulled her back to him once more.

‘Don't do anything stupid like typing in a distress code or whatever they have in their security system to raise an alarm and shutdown the transaction.'

‘Anything else?'

‘I swear to God if this isn't done in time, you'll be in a Castries police cell tonight. If anything happens to Bethany, we both go down. Clear?'

Buchanan made a polite interruptive cough and asked if everything was all right. Harry nodded that it was and the American began clearing his desk to start work.

Harry paced up and down the carpeted room while Buchanan verified to Angela Linehan's bank her passport details. The American faxed them an authorisation form with her signature, which he double checked against the one on her passport lying on his desk. He handed the passport back to her and they waited for a call-back from the bank.

The money was kept in a web of banks associated to Banco Riera, her primary bank in Guatemala, set up for her by Ernesto. Even though the banks were on standby to make the transfers, following instructions they received days earlier from Banco Riera, they were still cautious. Faxes went back and forth for an hour between Buchanan's office and the other private banks.

Harry had stopped wearing out the carpet and was on his mobile to Nelson while the banks got their act together. Bethany had arrived in the cemetery car park and was sitting in the back seat of a black Porsche Cayenne about twenty yards from Nelson's four-by-four. Nelson said he'd spoken to her briefly through an open window and she looked fine. Marotta wasn't there, just his boys.

Peter was bored to death with what was going on and wandered in and out of the office. There was nothing for him to do but to look out of the windows at the kids having fun outside in the sun. He begged his mother whether he could go outside to join them, but she was too busy talking to Buchanan. Harry, still on his mobile, stopped Peter from disappearing outside and pointed to a chair where he was to sit quietly.

With just thirty minutes to go before the Beirut bank closed for the day, Angela Linehan finally sat down before Buchanan's computer to enter the passwords to open up her accounts. Harry stood behind her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was not to comfort her, but a reminder of what he might do if she didn't stick to the script. One false move to get her accounts automatically shut down, and he'd drag her around the corner to police headquarters.

Her fingers clicked the keys, entering the new destination account and slamming enter. Millions of dollars were sent through the ether as she hit the button again and again, until all of the money piled up in Beirut.

Harry called Marotta and he picked up instantly. ‘One second…' There was clicking of keys at the other end of the line. ‘You're five million short.'

‘That's all there is. She's spent the rest.'

‘Well, we want it.'

‘Release Bethany now,' demanded Harry.

‘Not until we get everything we're entitled to.'

‘This is not the time to play games. You want me to pass on your bank details to the cops?'

‘You can if you like, but while we were talking we have already pulled the money out and closed down the account.'

‘So how are we supposed to send you the rest of the money, assuming we still had it?'

‘Don't worry, we'll send someone around to come and collect it.' The phone went dead.

Harry speed-dialled Nelson. ‘No deal, repeat no deal – free her from the car.'

He listened on his mobile as Nelson yelled orders. Commotion followed, then wailing police sirens. Harry couldn't figure out how the cops had suddenly turned up. It sounded pure pandemonium on the phone; Nelson's car was rammed or Nelson rammed his car into theirs, it was impossible to tell. Three shots rang out and further shouting ensued. Then everything stopped, and all Harry could hear was the wind whistling. Harry told everyone in the room to shut up and pushed the mobile tighter to his ear. All eyes were on him while he waited in silence for some news.

‘She's free, she's free,' shouted Nelson on a crackly line.

Harry almost crushed the mobile in his hand.

‘We've got Bethany, Harry,' reported Nelson again. ‘She's perfectly safe.'

‘Put her on.' Harry waited a few seconds, but it felt longer.

‘Bridger?' The voice he feared he might never hear again was once more in his head.

‘You alright?' he asked.

‘I am now that they've all gone.'

‘What are the cops doing?'

‘What cops?'

‘I heard sirens.'

‘Nelson's secret weapon. They were fake sirens and blue lights he and a couple of guys from the theatre rigged up around the cemetery. As soon as they went off, I was dumped from the car. Made them panic; they thought it was a police raid. They sped off, smashing the wing of Nelson's car.'

‘No one shot?'

‘Just Nelson firing warning shots as they drove away.'

‘Give Nelson a big kiss from me,' said Harry.

‘How did you arrange all of this?'

‘Too complicated to explain now. The main thing is that you and the baby are okay.'

‘Bridger,' she said, pausing to hold back her emotion. ‘Thank you.'

Harry didn't know what to say and remained silent.

‘When will I see you?' she asked.

Harry still didn't know the answer to that and said, ‘Soon. Now for Chrissake get over to your mother's straight away, her nerves can't take any more waiting.'

‘You're coming home?'

‘Go. We'll speak later.'

He disconnected and put the mobile in his pocket. All eyes in the room were still on him.

‘She's okay?' asked Angela Linehan.

He nodded and went across to shake Buchanan's hand. The American tried to slip him a business card, but Harry ignored him and walked out of the office.

Angela Linehan and Peter ran after him, giving Buchanan a cursory thank you.

‘Hey, what about my fee?' he shouted after her.

‘I'm coming back,' she replied, disappearing through his door.

She caught up with Harry on the street. ‘Stop a second.'

Harry stood still and turned to her.

‘What happens next?' she asked.

‘We go our separate ways,' he replied.

‘Then what?'

‘Disappear like a ghost. Marotta isn't finished with either of us.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘It'll be close to a miracle if we get through the next year or two.'

‘But you said –'

‘Forget what I told you.'

‘And if we survive the next couple of years, then what?'

‘Our chances of reaching retirement go up.'

‘So this is it, then? I won't see you again?'

‘Not if I can help it.'

The firmness of his reply made her laugh involuntarily. ‘You really meant that, didn't you?'

‘Bye, Angela. Go and pay the lawyer.'

She went on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.

But he showed no response and walked away from her and the boy, disappearing into a crowd of workers going home.