To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) (15 page)

David’s gaze lowered and he noticed the contents of his knapsack were in a heap next to him, minus his knife, 9mm and ammo. His gun belt was also gone. There was no sign of the packet of cigars containing the charges. Hopefully, they were still within the lining.

“You’re a fool, Bishop. You try anything like that again and I’ll make a phone call, let the men who have Chantelle enjoy some fun before they painfully remove her from your world.”

Reluctantly, David nodded. He had betrayed himself by revealing his feelings for Chantelle. His worse fears had materialized. He no longer simply had his own life to worry about and to hell with the end result. They now had him just where they wanted him.

“I was a little worried the lady might not be that important to you. After all, you have quite a reputation with the ladies. But then I noticed the way your eyes followed her. This one is different, isn’t she? You don’t need to answer me, I think your earlier performance confirmed as much.” He slowly drew on his cigarette, then flicked the butt within an inch of David’s face. “To business then. You fly the plane as arranged; unload the merchandise to the friends of these two” – he gestured to his silent companions -- “Who in turn will give you a package to bring back in payment.”

“What, money?” David’s brows rose questioningly, unable to believe they would trust him or his feelings for Chantelle to that extent.

“Something more profitable in the long term, but before you get any ideas, Bakir here will be accompanying you. The girl will be released and you will collect the other half of your money once you are back here and I have my merchandise.”

“I have to see her in person, see that she’s unharmed. Otherwise, you find yourself another pilot.”

One of the Algerians raised his gun, ready to strike again. David placed his arm over his face to try and protect himself.

“No.” Hendersson stopped Bakir from using the butt of his gun again. “That’s not possible. She is not in the country.”

“Then how do I know you have her at all? You know me; I care little for my own misfortunes. Death comes to us all.” David struggled to his feet and gathered up his possessions. Placing them back in his knapsack, he ignored the waving of the machine pistol and the shouted threats from the Algerians. He cursed them back in French until Hendersson had to step in and stop Bakir from firing his weapon.

“You are one crazy son of a bitch. I will have the girl brought to the refueling stop in France on your return flight. You will see her from a distance then.”

“Fine, but I want to hear her voice now before I even set foot near my plane.”

A deadly silence followed his words. Finally, he reached into his mohair coat and pulled out a cell phone. Bakir started to argue, but Hendersson silenced him.

Hendersson tapped out a long number and several minutes passed before words were exchanged, again in Algerian. Then the phone was handed to David.

The line was so clear he could hear her soft breathing. “Chantelle, are you okay?”

“David.” Relief and fear mingled in her voice. “Why have they done this to us? Please, what is going on? They won’t tell us anything.”

“I can’t tell you, not now.” He spoke in a gentle tone, trying his hardest to sound reassuring. “Trust me and do as they say. They won’t harm you, I promise.”

“How can you say that? You’re not here with a gun pointed to your blasted head! What have you gotten us involved in?”

Her anger was a relief. He’d feared she might have broken emotionally. Tears would have done neither of them any good and the men holding her hostage would prey on it. Still, making them angry was just as dangerous. “Chantelle, remain calm. I know I haven’t given you any reason to believe this, but you are the one and only good to come into my life and it doesn’t matter what it costs, I’m not going to let anyone take you from me.”

“Bravo, such touching sentiment. Let’s hope you are as true as your word.” Hendersson snatched the phone back, and cut the connection. “We have wasted enough time. Once the plane is loaded and fueled, Bakir will tell you where to land for refueling. He has marked the map for your final destination, which is a little different from the original location given.” He paused, that cynical smile appearing. “Just in case you’ve been passing information on already.”

“Since you’re the only one I’ve been dealing with, I hardly think that’s likely, do you?” David bit back bitterly.

As Hendersson had been the one who first recruited David, he had never questioned not trusting the man. He might not have liked him much, but loyalty was one virtue David did have. It was Hendersson who had convinced him that because there was a traitor doing deals with the highest bidder, all information should go through one route only -- him. Now that loyalty left the bitter taste of bile in his throat.

“Smile, my friend. When this is over, you and your little dove can fly off to a new life, just as you planned and with plenty of money.”

David was no fool. When he had done what was required of him, he wouldn’t be allowed to live and neither could Chantelle. Already they knew too much. Hendersson was going to have him watched every second, knowing he would just be waiting for an opportunity to make a move; it was in his nature to fight back. Making sure he didn’t get that chance was where Chantelle came in. They would keep her from him right up until the end.

David did all the pre-flight checks under the watchful and impatient eye of Bakir, then started up his plane. The Islander was large enough to carry heavy cargo and versatile enough for short takeoffs and landings in and out of restricted areas. As he worked, he threw the occasional furtive glance at the machine pistol across Bakir’s lap, fingers resting heavily on the barrel. Bakir’s cold, beady eyes were always alert and suspicious of every movement. When he caught one of David’s glances, his fingers curled around the trigger.

“
Fam du calme
!” David responded.

“You can speak English. Your French is no good.”

“Calm down. We’ve a long flight ahead of us, can you understand that?”

“No more talk,” Bakir snapped.

“Fine by me,” David muttered to himself.

The private airstrip was contained in a field bordered by hedgerow; the hangar built into a disused farm building. Taxiing out of the hangar, the truck arrived with crates full of weapons, which were then loaded onto the plane. The surrounding area was silent except for birdcalls and the drone of the aircraft engines as the plane gathered speed. Hendersson and the other Algerian climbed back into the maroon Mercedes and drove off at the same time the plane left the ground.

It wasn’t long before they were in French airspace. David knew the route well enough to keep to designated airspace, avoiding military and commercial airline restriction areas. It was a smooth flight, letting David concentrate little on flying and more on how the hell he was going to get Chantelle and him out of this mess alive. If that wasn’t enough, he couldn’t hand over weapons to a terrorist outfit fighting a bitter civil war against anyone that didn’t share the same beliefs.

“We refuel here.” Bakir pointed to a red ring on the map east of the Pyrenees. It was a mountainous area, both remote and treacherous.

“Are you crazy?”

“You are a good pilot, no? There is a valley with enough room to land and take off. It has been used before. We land there.”

“How the fuck is Chantelle going to be brought here on the return trip?”

Bakir sneered. “Do not worry, she will be there.”

****

Chantelle felt herself being roughly shaken. The object of her anger and passion was holding her in his arms, kissing her, telling her over and over that she was safe, that he had come to take her home. That just like when he had found her under the tree cowering and terrified, he would come for her. The image started to fade; the skin on her arm pinched painfully. “David.” Her eyes shot open to find a grinning dark face staring back at her.

“You dream of your lover, but he does not come.” He dragged her up from the bed where she had been lying fully clothed and slammed her body into his. “Maybe I sample what your lips yield for.”

Chantelle let out a scream, struggling frantically to get away. His fingers dug into the back of her scalp, grabbing a chunk of her hair as he yanked her face around and back, his mouth crushing her tightly pressed lips.

Without thinking, Chantelle rammed her knee into his groin. A curse-laden cry rang out and he released her as he staggered back, clutching himself. Chantelle heard footsteps running from the hallway. Her mother appeared in the doorway with the bearded terrorist by her side just as the younger one regained an upright position and approached her again, murderous rage on his face.

“Jabir!” his friend shouted. “She is not to be harmed, remember.”

This halted him for a moment and then his arm came up, the back of his hand sweeping violently across her cheek. The force sent her crashing back down on the bed, eyes brimming with tears. Defiantly, she looked up, refusing to shed those tears as her mother rushed over, flinging her arms defensively around her.

“Get into the kitchen and make up supplies. We leave soon and the journey will not be a pleasant one,” Jabir barked at them.

The two women did what they were told, packing up sandwiches and flasks of coffee. Neither spoke much, always aware of the two sets of eyes upon them and what the men were capable of. The bruising and swelling on one side of Chantelle’s face was a warning. When it was finally time to leave and the car was loaded, her mother went to follow Chantelle to the car, only Jabir stepped into her path.

“You stay here. Contact anyone and your daughter dies.” Going over to her car, he took out a knife and slashed her tires. Her phones had already been destroyed, leaving her isolated and alone.

Her mother rushed forward, clutching at Jabir’s cotton jacket to stop him. “Please take me, not my daughter. I will be good, do anything and won’t tell.”

“Your mother would become a whore to save her daughter.” He laughed and pushed her from him, the force hard enough to send her reeling back onto the gravel.

Chantelle tried to go to her, but Jabir placed an arm around her waist and swung her back. Dragging her with him, he threw her into the rear seat of the car and slammed the door.

“Do not worry. Your daughter will come back unharmed if her lover keeps his word. If he does not, she will pay for his betrayal.” The bearded abductor raised his eyebrows and put on a forced look of sadness before climbing into the driver’s seat.

Her mother collapsed on the driveway, tears streaming down her face. It was the last glimpse Chantelle had of her before the car drove off toward the Pyrenees.

Chapter 10

The refueling was to last less than fifteen minutes, the truck with the fuel waiting in a small valley at the foot of the Pyrenees. The surrounding area was a black plateau, a scattering of sheep and goats the sole inhabitants. A rough dirt track leading up to an old stone farmhouse was the only sign that civilization had actually reached these parts, but the building was in need of major repair, so it was doubtful anyone lived there. The area had been chosen well for its isolation, the dirt track providing an adequate but bumpy landing.

Two massive, dark-skinned men stepped out from the building dressed in khaki army fatigues. Ammunition belts hung from their huge shoulders, along with high powered semiautomatics.

While one of the men connected the refueling pipe from the truck to the plane, David was taken inside the stone building and offered a thick black treacle substance they called coffee and some bread and cheese. He wasn’t hungry, but ate to keep his strength up, all the while carefully scrutinizing the enemy. These were not kids. Most likely, they were dissident ex-Algerian army who were now part of a terrorist outfit.

They were just as suspicious of him, watching his every move, which made his number one priority of checking out the cargo he was carrying impossible. Even when he made an excuse of checking the plane for an electrical fault responsible for causing one of the instrument dials to repeatedly light up, Bakir wouldn’t let him out of his sight.

David tried not to let the thought of Chantelle being held in the clutches of such men haunt him, but it did, especially knowing on his return trip she would be brought to such a place. It was up to him to get them both out alive and the odds were stacked against him. If he didn’t try, they were both dead. Witnesses could not be left alive to disclose the truth. David wasn’t the forgiving type and Hendersson knew it.

Once back in the air, there was another four hours flying time before they reached the coast of Algeria. It was a long, uneventful, tedious flight, especially for the passenger. Several times, Bakir’s head dropped forward. Then, he’d jerk himself upright, his fingers tightening around his gun, and cold, wary eyes on David, who’d reward him with a lift of his eyebrows and a darkly amused smile. As for David, adrenaline was his strength.

The flight had been planned to coincide with nightfall and in order to avoid detection, he had to fly in low. Finally, the well-lit port of Algiers could be seen and David made sure to keep it far to his right as he followed the coastline in. The exact location in which to land was a rough coordination worked out from the crudely drawn map shown to him by Bakir. Luckily, he knew a little of the terrain, but it didn’t help in finding a landing platform in the middle of an olive grove in the dead of night. He had to fly really low as they left the coastline and headed inland where the olive groves stretched on for miles. Circling the area several times, he scanned the ground below.

“You better find this blasted landing strip. Otherwise, we’ll be up here until our bloody fuel runs out,” he shouted to Bakir.

“Down there.” Bakir pointed.

Sure enough, David could just make out the scattering of lights. As he flew in closer, he spotted a large patch of ground that had been flattened of olive groves. Headlights from several Land Rovers lit up the area and it was here he was expected to land.

David cursed. “You’re bloody crazy! We’ll both end up dead. There isn’t enough runway.”

Bakir raised his gun. “Do it.”

Banking the plane, David took several dummy runs before finally deciding to go for it. He mouthed a silent prayer as the plane hit the sun baked and uneven ground, the force throwing them violently forward. The seatbelt whipped across David’s chest, bringing him back. There was no time to worry about the discomfort as his hands wrestled with the control column, the airbrakes fully applied to try and slow down before they ran out of runway. The air exhaled out of him at the same time as the plane finally ground to a halt.

He had made it. Leaning back, he released another deep sigh, his muscles finally relaxing. For the first time, he noticed the silence beside him and his eyes widened as they fell on the slumped form of Bakir. His head was jammed up against the metal frame of the cockpit canopy and a splattering of blood marred the Perspex where his head must have first made contact.

David reached out and touched his neck, his fingers feeling for a pulse. There was none.

The fool had forgotten to re-clip his seatbelt. David wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse. It depended whether Bakir’s comrades believed he had not played a part in it. His gaze fixed on the gun lying at Bakir’s feet. Reaching down, he was stopped from clasping the weapon when the cockpit door swung open. He looked up and around to find himself once again staring down a barrel of a machine pistol.

“Your friend had an unfortunate accident. I was simply relieving him of his gun since it won’t be of much use to him now.” David gave a small shrug of his shoulders, showing only cold indifference. Compassion over the death of another would not be expected of him and could be viewed with suspicion.

A large bald-headed man used his forearm to push David back in the seat and leaned into the cockpit to take a closer look at Bakir. Going around to the other side, he opened the door and Bakir’s body fell out.

David stepped down from the plane under the watchful eye of another who was as ugly and dangerous looking, his gun pointed in David’s direction. He walked around to where the bald one was leaning over Bakir’s body, checking for a pulse. It was obvious it had only just happened. The body was still warm, the forehead stained with fresh blood.

Standing up, he cast quite a daunting figure, just a leather waistcoat hung from the black gleaming chest. A tongue passed over thickly set lips before a broad grin appeared. “Shame you do not make better landings.” He let out a rumble of a laugh.

David smiled back out of sheer relief.

“Come let us see what you have brought us. If I’m pleased, you fly back to your associates, all of you much rewarded.”

Communication between fractions in terrorist groups wasn’t always that up to date. With Bakir’s demise, David started feeling hopeful his cover hadn’t been blown with this lot. They still seemed to see him as merely another mercenary out to get rich quick.

He watched as the wooden crates were removed and pried open. The eight men who now surrounded him took out the weapons and held them up for inspection. There was a frightening assortment of weapons ranging from AK47s, M16 rifles with 40mm grenade launchers, C4 plastic explosives and detonators. All in all, there was enough to equip a small army and cause untold destruction.

His hands started clenching, his heart pounding, and he felt bile rise in his stomach again. As much as he wanted Chantelle and him to get out of this alive, he couldn’t allow such weapons to remain in the hands of these killers. Whether they called themselves freedom fighters or terrorists, the end result was always the same, innocent people murdered and maimed.

He joined in their enthusiasm, holding up weapons to demonstrate their qualities, his gaze on the C4, waiting for the right opportunity. Finally, it came when the terrorists’ attention were all on the bald-headed one to whom he had handed an MP5. Having pointed out its capabilities, the guy was now murdering several olive trees by peppering them with lead.

Leaning over, David removed a small amount of plastic explosive and placed it in his inside trouser pocket. He was wearing loose-fitting khaki combat trousers so hopefully, the bulkiness wasn’t noticeable. He would have preferred to get his hands on a grenade launcher, but it wasn’t something he could simply tuck under his arm and walk back to the plane with.

Casually and unnoticed, he climbed back into the Islander. The cabin area was now completely cleared out of the wooden crates which had spilled out from the cargo hold. In the corner, hanging on one of the hooks for the parachute lines, was his canvas knapsack. They had allowed him to keep it with the belief they had found and removed any weapons he had hidden.

Ripping through to the lining, he removed the packet of cigars, each cigar containing a homemade charge. Working fast with one eye on the open portside door, he primed the charges to detonate in thirty minutes with the desperate prayer that once they had refueled and loaded up the weaponry, they wouldn’t want to hang around. He had to judge it right. Too much time could allow them to reach a populated area before the charges went off, too little time and he would end up part of the explosion.

Without warning, a dark shadow blocked the moonlight streaming into the cabin. Having secured the charges into the C4, David placed it carefully and in easy reach near the top of his knapsack, his body blocking the act. In almost the same movement, he picked up half of a cigar from the ones he had used to disguise the charges if the packet was opened. Placing it between his lips, he straightened, slung the knapsack over his shoulder and turned to the door. Acting undisturbed by the other’s presence, he asked in French for a light. The terrorist smiled, suspicion fading from his features as both stepped out from the plane.

With the weapons now fully inspected, orders were given for them to be loaded onto one of the trucks. Another truck pulled up and with all the men assisting, the plane was turned around on its makeshift runway and a feeder line from the barrels of fuel on the truck was then fed to the refueling point in the upper surface of each wing. The whole process took fifteen minutes.

When a small padlocked metal box was finally handed to him, David couldn’t hide his surprise. He had expected a suitcase full of money, not this.

“You look concerned, my friend. We had a deal, no? These little rocks far more valuable, you will be plenty rich now,” he said in broken English. The heavy frown was a suspicious one.

David smiled broadly. “No problem, as you said, plenty rich. But I think I’d like to see for myself.”

“You do not trust me?” His hands were on his hips, his chest puffed out.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

That belly laugh sounded again and he brought out a key from his waistcoat. Unlocking the box in David’s hands, the lid lifted.

Now David knew why Hendersson had sent Bakir along as extra security. A couple of these beauties could have him flying to a tropical paradise a very rich man and to hell with everyone and everything.

Except, Chantelle. Hendersson had done his homework well. No amount of diamonds or money could tempt him away from what had become his main objective: to keep Chantelle safe.

David glanced at his watch. He had less than ten minutes to get airborne and out of here. He shut the lid, clicking the padlock shut to keep the lid secure and placed the box in the knapsack hanging from his shoulder.

“I’ll be on my way then, after…” He motioned that he wanted to relieve himself by unzipping his jeans and moving around the side of the weapons truck. Placing one hand up against the framework, he pretended to support his body when instead he was obscuring the view. With his other hand, he quickly unscrewed the petrol cap. Then, with a furtive glance to make sure he wasn’t being watched, he removed his hand from the framework and retrieved the small explosive package from his knapsack and pushed it into the petrol tank. Replacing the cap, he continued what he had started, zipped up his fly and moved back toward his plane.

“Wait!”

The voice made him freeze. Another fear surfaced; they might have decided it was more profitable to kill him here and now. After all, terrorists were not known for their trust and honor when money and weapons were involved.

Slowly, he turned around, knowing he had six minutes left. The seconds competed with his heart galloping forward while he tried to act calm, his movements leisurely.

“You tell your associate we like what he sends. We will do business again.”

David could feel the blood flow through his veins again. He was getting too old for these life and death games; his heart was likely to give out on him if he carried on like this. “Yeah, sure,” he called back over his shoulder, knowing that by the time he’d finished with Hendersson, the only business he’d be doing would be six feet under.