‘How you feelin, buddy?’
‘Better, boss, but this is last time I go on fuckin ship.’
Jack gave a weak smile and the big Russian reciprocated. ‘Let’s get inside and see if we can get warmed up. Maybe a cuppa tea eh?’
‘No breakfast for me, boss.’
‘Lost your appetite big man?’
‘Da. I eat nothing until I get back to Moscow.’
Jack laughed this time. ‘Yeah right. Like that’s gonna last.’
Inside, the passengers were stirring from their seats. The restaurant was filling up with diners and the bar already had a crowd waiting for drinks.
Bogdan looked around, then shook his head. ‘How can these people eat after last night?’
Jack grinned and said quietly. ‘They’re French.’
They both laughed.
Chapter Forty One
Washington watched for several minutes as the Salena cleared the harbour and began its voyage south. His mind was racing as he analysed the reasons, the possibilities of why that Limey bastard, Jack Castle was here. He walked slowly back to the carpark, his shadow getting longer, as the crimson fire-ball of sun sank in the West
Yes, the Templari were watching him, but he’d dealt with those two jokers. So why Castle? Did the British know about him? How could they? Were the Templari working with the Brits? No, they didn’t do that…or did they? ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he said out loud.
By the time he got back to the Audi, the flood-lights, in the huge carpark, had come on. He looked around and then saw the big Range Rover two rows away. The 4x4 in the road. They were there in his villa. ‘Shit,’ he said out loud.
He pressed the key-fob and his car’s lights flashed. As he opened the door he stopped and smiled. ‘Those sneaky fuckers tagged the car!’
He closed the door, took out his smartphone and switched on the torch. Again, he looked around. The odd car arrived and departed, but no threats evident. He dropped to his knees then lay down on the warm concrete. Taking care to cover every inch of the underside, he painstakingly scanned the vehicle’s chassis, wheel arches, suspension and steering. Nothing. He stood up and brushed the dust from his clothes, flicked open the boot and continued the search, nothing in the boot, or spare wheel cavity. He opened the door and reached in to flip the bonnet. The massive engine made him smile for a second.
As he leaned in, a voice said, ‘Ça va, monsieur?’
He turned with a start, to see a security officer standing behind him. ‘Oh. Yes, I’m okay.
‘American?’
‘Yes, American.’
‘This is your automobile?’
‘Yes, it’s mine.’
‘You have problem? You need help, monsieur?’
‘No. No, it’s fine. Thank you. Just checking before I leave. I’ve a long drive.’
‘Bon. This is wise. Okay, bonsoir, monsieur.’
Washington smiled. ‘Bonsoir,’ then continued his search of the engine-bay.
After ten more minutes of searching he’d still found nothing. The inquisitive security guard was now standing by the exit, watching him. ‘Fuck,’ he said under his breath.
He closed the hood and climbed in. The big engine gurgled into life and slowly he pulled away from his parking space. At the barrier he put in the ticket, then realised he hadn’t paid.
The guard came over. ‘Problem, monsieur?’
Washington climbed out. ‘Forgot to pay,’ then went over to the machine.
He quickly inserted the ticket.
The guard walked around the Audi, bent down and looked inside.
‘Shit,’ said Washington quietly, then fed a ten-euro note into the slot.
A few seconds later his ticket popped out. He got back in the car and tried the ticket again. The barrier swung silently upwards. As he drove past the guard he smiled and raised his hand. The expression on the guard’s face was anything but friendly.
The sleek Audi pulled onto the Quai de Maroc and Washington put his foot down. As the big engine growled, his thoughts returned to Castle, the Templari, and his next move.
Chapter Forty Two
Jack phoned London a little after 9am The conversation with Mathew had gone far better than he’d expected.
‘Don’t beat yourself up, big brother,’ said Mathew. ‘You did a great job tracing the ransom. The government is recovering the money as we speak. They’ll get it all back, less of course several millions in commission. But that’s peanuts to what was paid.’
‘Yes, but we still let Washington slip.’
‘We’ll get him, Jack. We know what he looks like now. So does the CIA. His face is plastered all over Europe, and Interpol now have him as, Most Wanted.’
‘Not forgetting the Templari,’ said Jack, ‘I doubt they’ll let the killing of their agents go un-punished?’
‘That’s right. The world that was so open to him has shrunk, bro.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘You going to head home from Algiers, Jack?’
‘Might as well. Unless something comes up and we can go after him again?’
‘You dock at seventeen-hundred, local time?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Okay, I’ll have someone from the Embassy pick you up. They’ll sort you out a decent flight home. What about Bogdan? He’s going to Moscow?’
‘No, he’ll be comin’ to London too. I said there’d be a substantial reward.’
‘Okay, good. I’m sure Her Majesty’s Government will be more than generous.’
‘Three-mill generous?’
‘I don’t see why not. All things considered.’
‘Good. Thanks’ Matt.’
‘How you feeling by the way? How’s the voyage?’
‘Don’t ask, bro.’
After leaving the docks area, Washington had gone back into the city and parked-up in one of the less salubrious neighbourhoods.
He got out and had only walked for about a hundred yards, when he saw the two youths appear. He stepped back into a derelict shop doorway, as a large rat ran over his foot. He watched as the kids walked around the sleek car. Jackals, eyeing up a ripe carcass. He grinned.
The keys, dangling in the ignition, made it easier than normal for them to drive off.
As the engine’s growl faded into the distance, he smiled and walked quickly away from the dog-shit laden street. The big rat re-appeared for a second, sniffed the air, then ran across the pavement and into a drain.
Back in the Castellane district, he checked into a small boutique hotel to consider his options. He had a few thousand in euros, plus over fifty thousand dollars available on valid credit cards. But that wouldn’t be enough to get him out of Europe undetected. If the fuckin Brits were onto him, then they’d discovered his new identity. More worryingly they now knew what he looked like. He needed to get onto one of the banks and get some real money transferred.
As he swiped the phone’s screen he smiled. The thought of the money brightened his mood considerably, especially now he didn’t have to hand over two-bill’ to the Templari. A new face in the Philippines again, he thought. He scrolled down and found the number.
‘Good afternoon. Thank you for calling Macau Merchant. How may I help you?’
‘Hello. My name is Boston. May I speak with the Managing Director please?’
‘Certainly, sir. Please hold the line a moment.’
A few seconds passed and then. ‘Mr Boston, good afternoon. How may I help you, sir?’