Due Process (10 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Tony kept running until his eyes blurred through lack of oxygen, his chest screamed for air, and his legs would no longer lift his feet off the ground.  He had raced blindly through the forest outside the cabin that had been his prison for so long.   He knew he was already weak from limited food and so little exercise in recent days.  Or was it weeks?  Time had passed from day and night, most of it a blur.

              As he crashed headlong into a tree he collapsed, dazed, to his knees and then lay flat on the floor, waiting for his blood to re-oxygenate his aching limbs.  He concentrated on slowing his heart rate so the pounding in his ears would cease.  He needed to be able to listen for anyone following him or for anything that might direct him to where there might be people, and help.

              He listened to the leaves as the wind blew through the trees above him. Looking up he could see sycamore and chestnut, so assumed he must still be somewhere in England.  Apart from his own gasping he could hear nothing else. He scrunched up his eyes until his vision cleared, and then looked around.  He could see that he had been running through a dense forest, on an unmade track, with thistles up to his waist and brambles entwining bush and sapling.

              He noticed then the scratches on his arms and legs from the bramble thorns as he had run along the track.  Trickles of blood meandered down to his hands and feet like lost rivers seeking the sea.  He wiped the blood with his sleeve and then struggled to stand. He knew he had to keep going,  it wouldn’t be long before Jake woke up or Clive returned, and they would come looking for him, there was no doubt about that.

              He took a deep breath and began to hurry onwards through the trees, slower now, both to keep his breath shallow and to make less noise.

              He thought he could hear the echoing sounds of water, off to his right. He was reluctant to leave the track but the prospect of water nearby persuaded him, and anyway it might be a good idea to move into the trees. Looking behind him he could see his footprints clearly in the soft mud.  He turned right and plunged through the undergrowth, his ears keenly picking up the sounds of running water.

              The forest seemed to suddenly drop, and he paused.  To his left the land went downhill and out of sight.  To his right the land rose steeply. He had the choice of going up the hill and perhaps getting to a higher advantage point where he might be able to see the way out, or follow slope to find the water. He turned left. Everyone knew water ran downhill, he told himself.

              Within minutes he came across a stream, fast running from the hill above, the water playfully rushing over fallen branches and rocks.  Tony knelt down and scooped up the water and drenched the cuts on his arms and legs.  The cool water felt good and after only a moment’s hesitation he cupped his hands and drank thirstily.

              It was whilst he was drinking that he distinctly heard the grating sound of a lorry changing gears.  There had to be a road nearby.  He was about to race toward the sound but stopped.  A road could lead to escape, but it could also bring his captors.  He couldn’t risk it.  He had to keep going.

              He turned and headed down the slope, following the stream in the hope it would lead to civilization and ultimately rescue.

PART 3

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Amanda couldn’t believe she was heading out across the Atlantic Ocean again. Ten years was a long time and she had adjusted to her new life in England.  She no longer thought of herself as Miranda Bell, and other than the occasions the claustrophobia hit her, such as the recent incident in the pantry, she had managed to push her old life to the back of her mind. 

              Her main regret had been leaving her grandmother. She re-read in her mind the letter Tony had sent, suggesting bringing her over for their anniversary.  Such a lovely thought, and it would have been a wonderful surprise, but it could never have happened.  Amanda was wise enough to know that hardened criminals like Samuel King had long memories, and now that he had found her there was no other way than to give him what he wanted. Revenge.  Samuel King had got Tony, and she had got the message. Loud and clear.

              She accepted a drink from the stewardess and looked at her watch.  She had eight hours to Miami and then a two hour layover before the connection to Kingston, Jamaica.  She was travelling under her real name, no point in deception now.  No doubt his men would be waiting for her and from then on she would have to wing it until she was able to look Mr. Samuel King in the eye.

              It seemed a crazy plan at first. If he really only wanted revenge then all he had to do was a knife in the back at the airport and it was done. But she knew it was more than that. He was holding Tony for a reason and that was why there was no other way.

              She caught the eye of the man in the aisle across from her.  He was small and wiry with swarthy skin and dark eyes.  He stared at her until she looked away.  He definitely looked of Caribbean origin, and was more than likely one of King’s mob.  Keeping an eye on her, no doubt.

              She sighed. Was she being paranoid?  Did she really think every man that looked at her was a pimp for Samuel King?  She turned and looked down the aisle of the plane.  She noticed several men watching her. It could be any one of them, or all of them, or none.

              She leant back in her seat and closed her eyes. She would try to get some sleep and not think too much about what was waiting for her in the Caribbean.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

It had started to rain and Tony thought he had never been so cold.  A chill wind had sprung up and the rain would have been horizontal if he had been in an open area, but as it was it fell in cascades from the branches overhead.  It made him wonder if he was high up in the hills somewhere, maybe in Scotland, for the weather to change so dramatically. Of course, he had no idea how long he had been unconscious when they had abducted him, so he could have been anywhere.

              He needed to stop and remove some of the dagger-like thorns from his legs.  The rain was washing away the streaks of blood but it was obvious that some of the thorns were embedded and the pain was excruciating.

              Panting, he sat on a fallen log and gently pulled them from his skin.  There were burrs in his hair and on his clothes, and a myriad of flying insects swarmed around his head.  Got to be Scotland, he thought as he worked, wincing frequently.  When he had removed those he could see he ran his fingers through his hair and looked around. The trees appeared to be thinning and he could see a field beyond the copse he was sitting in. 

              He stood up carefully and painfully, stretching and gritting his teeth. He was disorientated and for a moment couldn’t remember which way he had been running.  Then he looked down and saw his footprints.  Then he saw the tree.

              When he was a boy growing up in Norfolk he had spent much of his childhood building tree houses. There was one in his garden, one in his grandparents’ allotment, one on the common, and one at his friend’s house.  So climbing trees was something he could definitely do.  He took his time but was soon sitting in the branches where he could see beyond the forest to the hills beyond.   A road was clearly visible beyond the field and he knew he had to head in that direction.  He was sure Clive would have returned already and they would both be hot on his trail.  The road was the best option.

              He scrambled down the tree and headed off in the right direction.  Almost immediately the brambles thinned out and the trees grew further apart.  Even the rain had begun to ease, although as he hurried towards the road he could see the grey mist hovering over the land in a ghostly embrace.

              The relief as he left the forest behind was indescribable. The only problem was he could be seen clearly, and so he tried to hurry along the side of the field where a hawthorn hedge shielded him from anyone who might be following.

              Although he had grown up in farming country, he had no idea what was growing in the field, but there were deep ruts along the edge and he frequently lost his footing.  Eventually he reached the road and stumbled on to the tarmac.  The level ground was as welcome as a sauna in Iceland in winter.

              Now the problem was which direction to take.  As he stood contemplating, he heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching car.  He panicked, fear of his abductors overwhelming him, and he raced back into the field and ducked behind the hedge.  A blue Ford drove past, the gears clanking as the driver changed gear. Looking over the hedge he could clearly see the woman driver and cursed to himself.

              He went back into the road and waited.  He had to be strong and believe that he could do this. After a few minutes there was no sign of another car and so he turned in the direction the blue Ford had gone and started to walk. The road was narrow and began to grow steep, and just as he was wondering if he should have gone in the other direction, downhill, he heard another vehicle approaching.

              It was a white van.  He turned to face it, squinting to see the driver behind the scraping wipers.  He put up his hands and stood in the middle of the road so the driver would have no option but to stop.  As the van screeched to a halt Tony felt an overwhelming sense of relief, which turned to horror as the van door opened and Clive jumped out.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Kingston airport had a particular smell to it.  It was a mixture of incense, sweat, perfume, and the intense sweetness of flowers. The air was thick with the cloying odours, coupled with the high humidity the result of a recent thunderstorm.

              Amanda queued patiently.  The line in front of her seemed never ending, and the two passport control officers appeared to enjoy the chaos that was erupting in the arrivals hall.  Children began playing tag around the myriad of bare-skinned legs, squealing and shouting at one another.  The woman in front of Amanda began hopping from foot to foot, gazing anxiously beyond the control stations to the public toilets. Announcements yelled continuously over the loudspeaker, a deep, lilting voice that drowned out the shrieks of the children and advised everyone a long list of items that were forbidden.

              Amanda shuffled forward with everyone else, moving a few inches at a time.  Eventually she reached the yellow line, searched for her passport, and waited to be called.  The passport officer looked up at her and nodded. She handed over her papers and watched as he checked his computer screen. He looked from the screen back to her several times, then stamped the last page of her passport and handed it back to her.

              The wait had been so long the luggage had already been unloaded from the carousel and she soon found her suitcase and passed through the double doors and into the brilliant sunshine.  Kingston airport was hectic.  Aged, rickety taxis stood waiting, exhaust fumes bursting from their rear ends and hanging like ectoplasm in the sticky air.  A group of men milled around the entrance, self-rolled cigarettes hanging from their mouths, some wearing sleeveless tee-shirts and flowery shorts, others bare-chested. A few women of dubious character and intentions studied the single men who left the airport building, assessing their wealth and vulnerability.

              The sound of car horns and grating gears competed with the roar of another incoming plane. Amanda stood uncertainly.  She had no idea where to go from here, assuming that they would make contact with her.  She didn’t have long to wait and soon felt a strong hand take her arm and guided her towards a waiting car. She went quietly, taking note of the black sedan, the driver wearing sunglasses, the tinted windows and as the door opened the darkness within.

              She didn’t protest when the blindfold was tied around her, only grateful it was not a hood. The last thing she needed was another panic attack. She knew there was already someone sitting inside the car, and the man who had gripped her arm followed her into the vehicle, so she was sandwiched between the two.

              The air conditioning was blasting, a comfort after the thick air outside.  She heard the locks click, the gears engage, and the car took off.  No-one said a word, and she kept quiet.  The only person she wanted to speak to was Samuel King.  She was not wired, so there was no point in making comments to give her team any clues.  Just the tracking device in her watch, so they would know where she was at all times.  At least, that was the idea.

              She could feel the car slowing and then speeding up, lurching forward in her seat when the driver slammed on his brakes, but no-one in the car uttered a sound.  She thought it to be about thirty minutes before the car finally stopped, and she was pulled out of the door and into the sultry heat. A hand went to the back of her head and the blindfold was removed.  She squinted as the bright sunlight partly blinded her and then quickly looked around.

The car was parked in a large winding driveway which circled  a house that by any  standards was massive, but by Jamaican standards was a mansion.  Two stone pillars stood grandly by the entrance doors which were polished mahogany, with brass handles and an ornate golden crown sunk into the centre.  Two rounded towers stood majestically at each side of the building, with little turrets made from red brick.  The main part of the building had been painted white, with huge windows framed by matching mahogany shutters.

              It looked absurd.  Amanda knew very well what Caribbean cottages looked like, and whilst the Caymans might play home to many wealthy Americans who liked to flaunt their wealth with pretentious houses, Jamaica was not like that.  This building was more suited to a diplomat than a resident.  But then, she thought wryly, Samuel King probably thought of himself as King of Jamaica.  The crown on the door said it all.

She was led through an entrance hall that was comparable with a five star Dubai hotel, with a flowing staircase, feature windows, and stunning landscape artwork. A doorway off to the left led into a grand room complete with fireplace, gold braided chairs, and a wall the centre-piece of which was a large gold crown. By the feature window sat Samuel King, and she was taken to stand before him. She felt like a thief standing before a medieval king, awaiting sentence.

Samuel King looked at her for a long time, saying nothing, just staring into her eyes. Eventually she looked away and tried to focus on the views outside.  Huge palms tickled the sky,  green lawns freshly watered, looked lush and pristine, edged by tropical flowers and colourful hedges. She forced herself to look at him again as he stretched out his hand.

“The watch,” he demanded.

For a moment she panicked.  He knew about the tracker, which meant there could be no help from the team.  She knew the routine, they would take the tracker and flip it onto the back of a lorry that would probably circle round and round the island so there would be no confirmation of her whereabouts.

She was wrong. As she handed it over to him he turned it over in his palm, took a small knife from the table beside him, and flipped off the back, removed the tracking device, and then re-assembled the watch.  He crushed the device in his massive hand and let the pieces fall to the floor.  Then he handed the watch back to her.

Still she said nothing.  She half expected at any minute to feel the cold steel of a knife in her back, sliding between her ribs and twisting until she was consumed with pain and fell to the floor.  She imagined that he would laugh as he watched. She had dreamed so many times that was how it would be.

But when nothing happened, and still he did not speak, Amanda found she could no longer keep quiet.

“What do you want of me?” she asked.  She fought to keep her voice steady as she met his gaze again.

“Finally the woman speaks,” he said in a low voice, clasping his hands together and resting them casually on his lap. “Now, don’t rush ma, I waited a long time fer this moment, and I’m gonna savour it.” His voice, although gruff, still had the Caribbean sing-song lilt.

“You see this here, woman,” he said, gesturing around him, “this here’s ma house and ma home and ma island. ‘Cos of you I had ta leave ma island, and that’s not good. No.  I tell ya now I ain’t never gonna leave ma island again.”

He stood up then, and towered above her.

“Ten years I was away.  Ten long years.  Thanks ta you.”

He brought his hand down hard across her face and she staggered backwards, instinctively clutching her face where he had hit her. She tasted blood where her teeth had pierced her lip.

He brought his head down so that his eyes were level with hers.

“So now ya gonna pay.”

Amanda fought hard against the panic that was building in her.  If he planned to torture her she would be helpless to protect herself.  She shuddered as she wondered if he planned to put her in the ground.  She doubted she could live through that again. She had to co-operate.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly, trying to hide the shaking in her muscles and the quivering in her legs. She had had plenty of time to think things through.  She reckoned if she got this far then he wanted her to do something, and she suspected it would be a drugs haul.  That would be the sort of ironic revenge he would probably want. 

“Like I said, woman, I had plenty o’ time to think on this, and I reckon there’s a way you can pay ma back.”

“Whatever it is you want, I’ll do it, as long as you agree to let my husband go.”

He sat down slowly into his chair, reached for a glass of water on the table beside him, and took a sip.

“Ahh. Mr. Purcell. The lawyer. Well, it sure took ma boys a while to get him. We had to sweet talk the little secretary there.”

Amanda gasped.  “Sarah?”

He nodded.  “I b’live that were her name. Very obligin’ she was too, it seems.  Got to enjoy a little of the Cayman life .  For a while.”

“What do you mean? Is Sarah alright?”

Samuel grinned. “ Well, ‘fraid poor ole Sarah ain’t with us no more.”

Amanda shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Perhaps he was just trying to goad her.  But then she remembered Sarah’s mysterious disappearance, the postcard with Cayman Islands, the mysterious email.  It all began to make sense.

“Anyways, enough talk. I’ve got somethin’ for ya to do, and if ya do it well, then we’s even. We’ll call it a day.”

“You’ll let Tony go?”

“I’ll let Tony-boy come home.”

“And you’ll leave me alone?”

“I told ya, woman. It’ll be quits.”

It only took Amanda a moment to consider what he was saying.  She was here to put an end to this, once and for all, whatever it took.

“What do I have to do?”

Samuel nodded to a man standing by the doorway, who picked up a briefcase and brought it over to them.  Amanda recognized it immediately.

“That’s Simon’s,” she said.

Samuel flicked the locks and the lid sprung open.

“Mr. Simon Buller. Got a little too ambitious.” He picked up several papers and fingered them, then held them up for Amanda to see.

She nodded.  “I’ve seen them,” she said, watching him carefully, and wondering what on earth he wanted her to do with real estate papers.

“Here’s the deal.  Y’see, woman, it weren’t ‘bout the drugs at all, they was just a front. Fooled your boys good ‘n proper. Na, it were about property and land.  These ‘ere documents represent all the deals we eva done.  Now they’s worth a fortune.  Land on Cayman’s a million a plot. That were Mr. Buller’s job.  Not drug running.  Investin’.”

“Money laundering,” said Amanda, sighing.

“Call it what yer like. I want me investments.  Now at the moment they’s all in Mr. Buller’s name.  ‘N I want you to go get ‘em.”

Amanda shrugged her shoulders hopelessly.

“But how can I do that?”

Samuel laughed out loud, a raucous, deep laugh that filled the room and shook his whole body.

“Y’see woman, that’s why ten years was worth it, ‘cos I got me a plan.”  He took some more papers and handed them to her.

“There’s new identity papers for ya, Mrs. Buller.”

“What? How can I be Mrs Buller?  And why, I don’t understand.”

“Well, I’ll ‘xplain it, shall I? Remember at the hotel, when you pretended ta be Mrs. Buller to get the door key?  Well, the desk clerk will confirm that you’s the wife.  All the papers there say you are.  There’s even a Will signed by Mr. Simon Buller and leaving everthin’ to ‘s darling wife. You’s gonna get all them documents signed over to you as the grievin’ widow.  Then you’ll transfer them ta ma. Simple as that.”