She smiled. ‘And you. Perhaps we’ll meet again but, in the meantime, be careful, Mr Castle.’
Jack returned the smile. ‘Always.’
They climbed into the waiting Bentley and the chauffeur closed the door. As the car pulled away, Jack looked up to the window above and saw the face of Myles DeVere looking down.
Chapter Thirty Three
The cool wind off the Mediterranean made the heat from the sun bearable. The villa on the hilltop, above Monte Carlo, was small but luxurious. Rick Washington floated effortlessly in the infinity pool, the sunlight sparkling on the water. He was happy. His plan to extort the massive ransom from the British had worked better than he’d ever imagined. And now, anyone who had been involved was dead.
Even his illustrious partner, Sir Anthony Grainger, had contributed far more than expected. Abducting his own family was a master stroke, obviously to protect his own neck and deflect any involvement from himself, but still a stroke of genius.
It was a pity the man hadn’t died on the pavement in Knightsbridge and had to be dispatched in hospital. But even that amused Washington. He smiled to himself as he recalled the feeling, the assassin’s tingle, when you kill with your bare hands.
But all that was behind him. Now he would become respectable, and able to live his life in luxurious anonymity. The admission to the Templari Incrementum would ensure that. He had only to wait for their call. Then, after transferring the two billion, he would be untouchable.
The two men they had watching him were useless. He’d spotted them as soon as he boarded the train from Florence and, although they alternated their surveillance, they were still easy to spot. It didn’t worry him. He knew the Templari would watch him, but he also knew they were only interested in his ability to come up with the money. Fuck them, he thought to himself.
He looked across at the woman next to the pool. He smiled. She’d nearly killed him the night before. ‘Hey, baby. Can you bring me a beer, please?’
She slowly stood up, her bare breasts and torso glistening with oil. He watched her glide into the villa. ‘What an ass,’ he said out-loud.
She looked over her shoulder and winked, then disappeared inside.
It was late afternoon when the call came. ‘Giovanni, so good to hear from you,’ said Washington.
‘Mr Washington. Yes, yes, nice to speak to you too.’
‘Please, Giovanni, call me Rick.’
‘Yes of course… Rick. Well I’m sure you know why I am calling.’
‘I do indeed.’
Giovanni could hear the excitement in the American’s voice. ‘I’m afraid I have some disappointing news, Mr Washing… Rick.’
‘Disappointing?’
‘Yes. The council has carefully considered your petition, but I’m sorry to say they are not able to approve your request at this time.’
‘What? I don’t understand. I have the two billion. I can transfer it immediately. Today.’
‘It is not just about the money, Rick.’
‘You’re shittin me! It’s always about the money, with people like you.’
‘Please, Mr Washington, there is no need for such…’
‘Fuck you and fuck the rest of those assholes.’
The line went silent.
Washington went out to the patio. He looked down the hill to the beautiful harbour and the billions of dollars worth of yachts in the marina. His heart was pounding, his breath came hard and fast. He turned to the woman, still lying out in the sun, and said quietly, ‘Get out.’
She slid the designer sunglasses down her nose and looked over the rim. ‘What?’
He raised his voice. ‘I said get out.’
‘But we…’
‘Get your fuckin ass outta here,’ he screamed.
The woman jumped up and ran into the villa. A few minutes later he heard her shout, ‘Asshole,’ and the front door slam shut.
The two Templari had seen the woman leave over an hour before. Now they watched as Rick Washington drove out from the villa gates. The sleek Audi R8, the roof down, accelerated away and up the hill. They quickly started their engine and slipped onto the road, a hundred yards behind the fast moving vehicle. The winding road took them to the summit, over the top and down the other side, into the woods north of Monte Carlo. The agents followed. The Audi was moving fast, and they had to work hard to keep up. Then, as they turned a bend in the road, there it was, pulled into a lay-by under a large olive tree. They stopped the car about twenty yards away.
There was no sign of Washington. They got out as the sun was setting. The shadows in the woods made it difficult to see into the semi darkness. They moved slowly towards the parked Audi.
‘Stand still.’
The men stopped.
‘Turn around… slowly.’
They turned to face Washington, the hunters now the hunted. He smiled. ‘You fuckin amateurs.’ In his hand was a Glock automatic, fitted with a snub-nose silencer. ‘Into the woods ladies… Move it.’
The two men looked at each other, then began walking into the shadow.
Chapter Thirty Four
The return journey to Peretola International, was decidedly more comfortable than their previous taxi ride. The sleek Bentley pulled up to the departures area and the chauffeur bid them a safe journey.
Peretola, although classed as international, is not that big an airport, so Jack and Bogdan had to fly via Rome before travelling on to the South of France. The Alitalia flight from Peretola to Rome was busy, but not so the onward leg to Nice.
It was a little after 6pm when the wheels bounced onto the tarmac and, as the plane taxied towards the terminal, Jack made a quick call to Nicole. ‘You okay, Zaikin?’
‘I’m fine, darling. How you doin?’
‘We’re all good here. Where are you, Jack?’
‘Just landed in the South of France.’
‘The Cote d’Azur?’
‘Yeah, babe.’
‘Lucky you!’
‘It’s just work, darling.’
He heard her chuckle. ‘Yeah right, mister.’
‘Okay, baby, gotta go, just wanted to check-in.’
‘Be careful, Jack. Love you.’
‘Love you too. Kiss the girls.’
The line went silent.
After quickly clearing Immigration and Customs, they rented a car from one of the more reputable agencies. Bogdan was adamant he did not want a ‘little’ Jaguar.
With an unhappy frown, he said, ‘I can’t get in those fuckin things, boss.’
So, when Jack tossed him the keys to a Range Rover, the smile returned to the big man’s face.
The Russian pulled out of the parking area and onto the main road. Jack had tapped the location of Washington’s villa into the Sat-Nav, the display read 32 miles and 45 minutes. It directed them onto the main coast road east, along the Avenue des Anglais and through Nice, on to Villefranche and Beaulieu-sur-Mer, then finally into Monaco.
Jack knew the area well. He and Nicole holidayed here a lot, staying at their villa in Cap Ferrat. The Avenue des Anglais was busy and the sidewalks bustled with happy tourists from all over the world. The slow moving traffic was peppered with some of the most expensive cars available.
As they passed the Hotel Negresco, Jack smiled.
‘Why you smile, boss?’
Jack pointed to the elegant hotel. ‘That hotel, the Negresco. Nikki and I had one of the best meals of our lives there.’