Due Process (6 page)

              The altercation was over as quickly as it started and the two men were hammering each other on the back and high fiving, and then Clive was back on the sofa.

              “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, your family.  Well, a friend of ours is getting to know your little girl.”

              Tony almost choked. “What?” he yelled, jumping to his feet and pushing at Jake who had grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back. Tony gasped with pain.

              “Jenny, isn’t it? Sweet little girl. Keeps calling for her daddy, I understand.”

              “Why you…” Tony heaved and pushed and twisted, but Jake held him firmly. “Why have you got Jenny? Where is she? What have we ever done to you?”

              “Well now,” began Clive, “here we have the million dollar question. What have you done?  Now that’s something you are going to have to ask your wife?”

              Tony stopped struggling. “My wife?”

              “Ahh, now it’s all becoming clear, isn’t it, Mr. Purcell?  Little wifey isn’t all she seems, is she?”

              Tony shook his head. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Tony felt Jake’s breath in his ear. “Oh, I think you do,” he hissed, “and if dear Mrs. Amanda Purcell doesn’t do what we want, she’s going to be a widow.”

              “And childless,” smirked Clive.

+   +   +

Tony lay on the mattress and went over in his mind everything that had happened.  Amanda had told him her secrets, and he had never told a soul.  The problem was, if they had Jenny, he would have to tell them everything he knew.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Amanda thought she would never have to relive her past again and that it was buried with her memories. This would be a new life, they said. A new start and a new beginning. But it wasn't the new life that was the problem, it was the old life come back to haunt her.

              The hotel was busy and it didn't seem a very good place to meet. But then they always did the unexpected. She would give them their due, at least they had moved quickly. They must have found a local agent to make contact to establish the urgency of the situation. It had only been two hours since she had made that first call and now here she was sitting in a cafe  waiting to meet with someone who she hoped would help her find her husband.

              The hotel cafe was bustling. Children were screaming, people were laughing, waiters were hurrying, and cups were rattling. But then as the man sat down at her table she knew that in fact it was perfect place. She knew they'd sent him as soon as he entered the front door.  She watched his eyes and saw the way they scanned the room noting the exit doors, checking the layout of the room, looking at the faces. Classic.

              As he sat down their eyes locked. If she had hoped for reassurance and comfort she was to be disappointed. There was only a question.

                            “What's going on?”

              He certainly didn't look like an agent. He was young, too young. His hair fell into his eyes like a teenage rock star. His skin was tanned and smooth, not weathered like the usual older agents. His features were small and unremarkable but his overall demeanor was confident and excitable.   His fingers kept tapping on the table and she immediately found it annoying. He was dressed in a white shirt and buff-coloured corduroy trousers. Who wore corduroy trousers these days? His eyes would hold hers for a moment and then dart around the room always searching. He sat on the edge of his chair, casual yet alert. Who on earth had they sent? Some budding James Bond character?

              Finally his eyes stopped scanning the room and came to rest on hers.

              “So let's talk about what's been happening,” he said quietly, picking up his coffee and taking a sip.

              Amanda tried not to gulp hers but it was sticking to the roof of her mouth. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then began.

              "I couldn't say too much on the telephone for obvious reasons. But you must know my background, you must know who I am, you must know what's gone on in the past, so I don't need to go into all that do I?"

              He shook his head briefly.

              "I'm up to speed. Just tell me why you called us."

              "It was a last resort," she said, feeling the moisture begin to form on her forehead. "You know it's been ten years and I haven't contacted you once. There's never been any problem in the past, they have never made contact with me and there has been no reason for me to be concerned. Now that's changed."

              Amanda began to tell the man what had happened, leaving nothing out. She explained the trip to the park, the attempted abduction of Jenny, Tony being taken, the house burning down, and the boat chase. All the while he listened intently, not interrupting her or attempting to make a comment.

              "Did you see anyone you recognized?"

              Amanda shook her head. She was becoming agitated now. Every moment she wasted talking, with every hour that passed, Tony was in more danger.

              "I need you to help me, and I need you to help me now."

              The man held up his hand to stop her talking, he felt into his trouser pocket and pulled out a mobile phone. His fingers flew across the keys as he, she presumed, sought confirmation of the next move.

              He sent the text and they waited impatiently, he clutching the phone in his hand. Amanda found she could not take our eyes off it. While they waited sounds of the cafe echoed around them. The man began drumming his fingers on the table again. Amanda began to watch his fingers. One, two, drum drum. One, two, drum drum. Finally she could stand it no longer and she took his coffee cup placed in his hand.

              "Please. I can't stand that noise."

              Amanda tried not to listen to the sounds around her. As they waited she allowed her mind to drift back through the years when she was a different woman known by a different name.

PART 2

CHAPTER NINE

              As Miranda Bell she was one of the elite. Her days were spent travelling first class on airplanes, on ferries, whizzing through towns and cities in fast cars, and generally leading the exciting life as an undercover agent. Well that was how it had been for the first two years.  She had aced the training, physical and academic, much to the annoyance of her male counterparts.  It was only after she scored a first-class pass on the shooting range that their annoyance began to turn to admiration. Because she was young and attractive she got the more prestigious assignments; infiltrating the vice gangs, passing back the information on the location of the headquarters, the names of the prominent members, and eventually working her way into the bed of the head man.  Jose Martinez and his illustrious crew of perverts were now safely behind bars in a Texas jail and three little girls who had been abducted from their loving parents were now home and in therapy.

              That was the first two years, and another story.  It was drugs that had been her downfall.  She had always worked with the vice squad and so when she was asked to help out with a drugs bust she took it as promotion.

              “They’re a good bunch of lads,” her boss Gerry Walker told her, “ some of the best.  They’ve been working on this bust for a long time.  They need someone on the inside.  A woman.”

              Gerry had a habit of tweaking his toupee when he was anxious. Everyone knew it was  a falsie, but they never let on.  Miranda found if she squinted slightly she couldn’t really tell.  The little grey flecks over his ears helped it to blend.  Apart from his hair issue, Miranda liked her boss.  He was smart both in dress sense and in his mind.  He always wore a slick grey suit, whatever the weather.  Usually a blue tie held firmly against a crisp white shirt by a tie-pin in the shape of a fish. She wondered if it was intentionally an ichthus, the sign of the fish, an indication that the wearer was a Christian. Gerry didn’t smoke, she had never heard him swear, and seemed a gentle guy by nature, although he had the ability when reprimanding someone to virtually bring them to their knees in mortification if needed. 

              “There’s no pressure on you to accept,” he assured her. 

              But she was ready for a change. She had had enough of vice.

+  +   +

              She had been fully briefed. The drugs were coming from Jamaica, taken to Grand Cayman by a variety of methods including boat, plane, and courier – whatever worked. They went on the basis that for every shipment that was discovered, three went undetected. There was a sophisticated arrangement for collection and distribution.  A group of men had set up a selection of businesses and opened various bank accounts on the island. The team had been following these men for some time, knew their names, where they lived, the bogus businesses.  But they wanted the suppliers.

              Because of the various methods used to get the drugs to Grand Cayman it had been impossible to keep track.  So her assignment was to get ‘friendly’ with one of the businessmen and find out what she could.  If possible they wanted names, times and dates of pick-ups, anything that would result in a full bust.

              Miami airport was buzzing.  Miranda waited at gate 52, watching and listening. Boarding had just been announced, the sign declaring the Grand Cayman flight was on time for the scheduled departure.  Weary travelers began gathering their belongings and lining up at the desk clutching their documentation. There was still no sign of him. Simon Buller, his name, and she knew he was on the passenger list. He had arrived at the airport thirty minutes ago, one of her colleagues had whispered in her earpiece.

              She knew the routine. Arrive late for the flight, dash on board at the last minute, avoid drawing attention.  She put her mobile to her ear and pretended to be having a conversation, an excuse why she could not yet board.  She stood and began pacing, muttering into the phone and raising her hands in frustration.  The gate was empty and the airline staff were consulting their manifest and looking at her quizzically.  She raised her shoulders helplessly and pointed at the phone.

              She heard him before she saw him.  The muffled footfalls behind her.  She turned casually and identified him at once.  Short dark hair, tanned complexion, five foot ten, wearing a crisp light grey suit and carrying a briefcase and a holdall.  He hurried to the desk, handed over his travel documents, and disappeared down the tunnel to board the plane.  Miranda hastily ended the pretend call and did likewise.  The airline crew were waiting, and guided her to her seat.  She was always amazed at the accomplishments of the team, and before she knew it she was doing up the safety belt and her arm was touching his shoulder. The team had got her seated next to him. No time like the present.

              “That was a rush,” she sighed, looking at him, and he smiled. She held up her mobile and explained, “the office. Determined to make me miss my connection.”

              “Business or pleasure?” he asked pleasantly.

              “Oh, pleasure. At least I hope so,” she replied coyly.  He shifted slightly in his seat so that he was facing towards her and away from the window.  Body language, she thought. Looking good.

              “Simon,” he said, offering his hand.  She shook it lightly.

              “Lucy,” she responded, mentally going through her new identity.  Lucy Cray, Sales Manageress and owner.  Cray Cosmetics.  He was bound to ask soon.

              “Let’s order some drinks,” he said, smiling.

+   +   +

              The baking sunshine was giving them both a rosy glow.  The waiter came and went throughout the day and they adjusted the sunbeds to follow the sun’s rays.  They talked about her cosmetics company, how many staff she had, how long she had owned it.  He asked about her home and her personal life, and she told him everything as documented by the team in her new identity. She had no conscience about the lies she told him as she listened to his fictitious account of his own life and work. What a couple of fraudsters we are, she thought wryly, except hers was for the good of man, and his was for the destruction. Ultimately, that is.

              By five o’clock the sun was low and he began glancing at his watch.  She raised her eyebrows quizzically. 

              “Siesta time?” he asked, eyes dancing.  She nodded and smiled.  Her best smile. She knew what she had to do. For the good of the cause.

              They were both at the Hyatt Regency, and she already knew his room number. As he slid the key card into the lock and the door popped open with a click, she thought briefly about what was going to happen inside his room. She had no illusions.  This was her job, and she had to do whatever it took to find the information.  She slid her fingers inside her bag and slipped the sleeping tablet into her pocket.  All she needed to do was convince him to take a few glasses of wine.

              He had thought ahead, and a bottle of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket, accompanied by a plate of chocolate covered strawberries.  He had spared no expense, it seemed.  His mobile chirped as they sat at the table and he began to pour the champagne.  He looked at the message briefly, took a sip, winked at her, and got up and walked towards the bathroom.

              “I just need to answer this,” he called.

              Without taking her eyes from his back she found the tablet, crushed it in her fingers, and slipped it into his glass.  She topped it up, holding the bottle high so the liquid caused more froth and the sleeping tablet dissolved quickly.

              She heard him talking into the phone, his voice subdued. Then he was back.

              “Lucy, I’m afraid we will have to postpone our little tryst.  I have to go to a meeting.”

              “Work?” she asked, watching his glass of champagne continue to bubble. But he didn’t answer, just handed her bag to her and walked her to the door.  He nuzzled her neck.

              “Later,” he whispered.

              She ran down the stairs and along the corridor to her own room and quickly changed into a pair of white shorts and yellow shirt, and grabbing sunglasses hurried outside and jumped into her hire car.  Then she turned on the air conditioning and slid down in the seat to wait.  It was only a few minutes before he appeared.  Miranda had expected him to be wearing the suit, but he, too, had changed into casual Bermuda shorts and a white tee-shirt. He walked quickly to a grey sedan, put the briefcase on the back seat, and drove away. She followed him slowly out on to West Bay Road, and was surprised when he turned right, away from George Town, and wondered exactly what sort of meeting he was going to.

              She kept three cars between them as they headed round the bay.  Soon the other cars turned off and she dropped back as far as possible.  After a couple of miles he turned down a dirt track and she pulled over to the side of the road.  It would be too obvious if she followed him in the car.  She opened the glove compartment and took out a pair of binoculars and watched him as he drove slowly on. Scanning the area she saw another car was already parked ahead of Simon, and thanked her lucky stars she had not turned onto the track, as they would have spotted her for sure.

              Simon stopped in front of the other car, and got out. The other car door opened and a man got out slowly.  The two men stood looking at each other, neither moving towards the other.  They stood like that for several minutes and just as Miranda was wondering what on earth was going on, she heard the drone of an engine. Her eyes flicked to the mirror but there was nothing in sight.  Neither could she see another car up ahead.  She slid the window down further and turned off the air conditioning so that she could hear better.  The drone was getting louder.  Suddenly a light plane flew overhead, so low that she ducked automatically.  As it flew towards the two men, Miranda watched in amazement as the plane door opened and a large package was thrown out.  It landed about fifty yards from the two waiting men, bounced a few times, and then was still.  Simon and the other man hurried over to it and carried it back to Simon’s car. 

              Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the plane had gone.  Miranda turned the car around and headed back to the hotel.  This assignment was turning out to be more difficult than anyone had thought.  It looked like she was going to have to get a little closer to Simon Buller.

+   +   +

              Miranda sipped her latte and watched the reception clerks.  When the efficient tall blonde girl took a call she hurried over to the desk.  A younger girl looked slightly alarmed and was clearly in training. Miranda smiled at her.

              “I wonder if you could help me?” Miranda asked, leaning forward confidentially. The young clerk automatically leaned forward too.

              “ I seem to have misplaced my door key card. Room 107.  Can you issue another?”

The girl immediately looked relieved. This was clearly something she knew how to do. She checked the computer, asked for proof of identity, and gleefully produced a duplicate card.

              “Thank you so much,” said Miranda as she turned and went back to her coffee.  The tall clerk finished her call and continued going through paperwork with the trainee. Miranda finished her drink and sat back and waited.

              People came and went, some pulling cases, some being followed by uniformed porters pushing trolleys stuffed with cases and bags.  After about half an hour Miranda saw the two female clerks collect some papers and move to a room behind them. At the same time a male clerk moved over to the desk and answered a call. Miranda saw her chance, ran her fingers through her hair to ruffle it, and hurried over to the desk, the spare door key card to her own room in her hand. She waited impatiently whilst the clerk dealt with the call. She began shuffling from one foot to the other, caught the clerk’s eye, and raised her own to the ceiling.  He understood she was flustered and in a hurry and nodded at her.  As soon as he finished the call he looked at her expectantly.

              “Can I help?” he asked politely.

              Miranda handed him the key card.

              “It’s my door key,” she said, “it doesn’t work, and I can’t find my husband anywhere.”

              He nodded, took the card, and put it into a machine.

              “Room number?”

              “203,” she said calmly.

              He checked the computer, typed the number into the card machine and handed the card with a smile.

              “Thank you so much,” she said smiling.

              “No problem, Mrs. Buller.”

She turned and walked to the lifts, heading for the second floor and Simon’s room.