Last Call For Caviar (27 page)

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CHAPTER 31

R
EDEMPTION

The second thing I did when I got out of the shower was boot up my laptop. There was still no word from Leah, even though the internet was up today. I sent her an email outlining my new situation. I imagined her scream would be heard halfway around the world when she found out I had deliberately missed the boat.

Of course, my first order of business had been to ring the mysterious number again. The waterproof dive bag had protected my cell phone, the external hard drive and the Judge from the corroding seawater, but there was still no answer to my call. I felt the first moth wings of doubt brush my heart. I’d been soaring on pure adrenaline and hope these past hours, but now the skeptical part of my brain kicked in.

Anyone might have sent me that message, either friend or foe. The list of friends was short; in fact, there was only one name that was engraved on my heart. The list of foes was considerably longer. I had to acknowledge the message could be a trap. Whoever sent it would see I’d tried to call back numerous times; they would know that their words had been received. It also meant they could track my whereabouts by the GPS chip in my cell phone, or intercept text messages, if they had access to the technology.

It was no secret the authorities in the Principality listened in on the phone conversations of its citizens and residents. Monte Carlo wasn’t a democracy, and even though the House of Monaco had ruled for centuries and were well-liked by the citizenry, security was paramount. Big Brother was always looking over their shoulder and listening in.

By now, and probably for some months, Slava had had access to Monaco’s spy network and technology. Still, the message had been sent two days ago, and the only reason I could think he would be taking an interest in me was if he’d gotten wind of Anjuli’s double-dealing and imminent plan of escape. If so, he could still track me by my phone and text messages, and interrogate me. As much as I wanted to leave the phone on in case Julian sent another message, just thinking about being hunted by Slava was like the shadow of death darkening my sky. I would turn on the phone and check my messages twice daily, no more. I couldn’t take the risk if I wanted to survive.

Still, I needed to leave a message for Julian where I would be holed up, without drawing a map for the bad guys. I had to leave a clue only he would understand. I thought for a minute, and then went out to locate a can of spray paint in the garage.

Julian still had a set of keys to my villa. Logic dictated this would be the first place he would come. I couldn’t leave a note. Looters might break in before he got here and vandalize my home. Abdul’s security people or Slava’s could toss my home, looking for clues to my disappearance. I would have to take the laptop with me.

I stood on my bed and sprayed these words on the wall: “Where the blue star shone…” and signed it with the symbol of the new moon, with a small star nestled like a kiss in the crescent’s curve.

I’d already stayed longer than I should have. I locked and barred all the windows and doors. I stuffed the laptop into my bulging pack.

I shouldered my backpack, turned on the alarm and locked the door. The sun was fighting to break through the mist as I let myself out of the garden gate. I checked the rounds in the Judge one last time and clicked off the safety. I crept through the vegetation until I had a clear view of the travelers’ camp. They were still wrapped in the folds of sleep. Then, I slipped away as silently as a wraith along the path to sanctuary in the mountains.

I was nearly to the training center when I stopped to check if
Carpe Diem
had weighed anchor and put out to sea. I could see whitecaps harried by the strengthening winds of the mistral. The blanket of fog had been swept from the bay.

I’d only seen the
Carpe Diem
under cover of darkness and fog, but I scanned the eastern sector of the bay, looking for any yacht of approximately her size, or flying the Israeli flag. But the water on the eastern side of the bay was too rough, so no boats sought shelter there. The wind whipped the tops of large swells that pounded against the base of the cliffs. The water had been dead calm when I’d swum for freedom at dawn, but now an intense storm was brewing, and no boat would want to be caught far from land.

A number of yachts were anchored in the lee of the presqu’ile of Cap Ferrat, where they would be protected from the strong winds and waves. I couldn’t see her flag at this distance or the name on her hull, but one of the yachts was similar in length and displayed the tell-tale silhouette of a Feadship.

I’d hoped to see evidence of the plan in motion by the absence of the boat, which should have already slipped anchor and set sail for the rendezvous in Santa Margarita. Instead, weather confined the boat to the bay. It was past noon. With a sinking feeling, I suspected they probably knew I was no longer a guest on board; or maybe the yacht was still at anchor because Anjuli hadn’t made her escape.

I hadn’t stopped to think through how Abdul would react when he found out I’d abandoned ship. I hoped the blow to his pride would dissuade him from searching for me. I owed him an explanation for spurning his protection and help, but I didn’t have a very convincing one to offer. My decision had been made on intuition and faith the instant Julian’s message had arrived, after waking from my nightmare about abandoning my loved ones to certain death.

If I were wrong about the message, I was now alone and trapped, threatened by the insurgents’ advance from Cannes and Slava’s forces to the east. I had little to offer either side except, perhaps, the gratification of violence and revenge.

I could see the first line of dark clouds mounding on the horizon. Anyone putting out to sea today would be running before the storm. The
Carpe Diem
looked seaworthy and her crew was experienced, but she would be no match for the fierce tornadoes that would rage.

Maybe it was already too late, I thought as I shouldered my bulging backpack and headed up the trail for the training center. Too late for any of us to escape.

Buddy didn’t answer my call. The sacks of dried food hadn’t been touched, and there was no sign of him around the center grounds. I did what I’d done the first day I tried to win his trust all those months ago. I sat on the same patch of grass, my back turned to the main building, closed my eyes and waited. But as the first hour dragged by and the second one commenced, I didn’t feel his eyes watching me. All I heard was the wind rustling through the trees overhead. The center felt abandoned. I realized, with a lump in my throat, that Buddy was gone.

I don’t know what I’d expected, except that he would be here to greet me as if nothing had happened and all was forgiven. He had no reason to trust me now.

I could see the storm closing in on the coast. It would probably reach the Astrarama later this afternoon. I needed to be settled in before it struck. My heart was heavy as I started up the trail. I worried about Buddy being out there alone in the coming storm, but I had only myself to blame. Tomorrow, I resolved, I would start over, locate him and win back his trust.

Happily, I had the foresight to move half of my supplies to the Astrarama back at the end of August. I must have always known, on a subconscious level, that here on the peak I would ultimately retreat and make a stand. I’d left the Colt and extra ammunition, a stash of gold and enough water and food to last me four months if I rationed my supplies. There were five bags of dried dog food for Buddy, too. In my pack, I had my Glock and the Judge, as well as all the extra ammunition I could carry. There were cans of fuel in the garage, as well as Arnaud’s Land Rover, if I was forced to retreat deeper into the Maritime Alps or make a run for the border with Italy.

I had to assess the worst-case scenario if I’d been wrong about Julian. I knew the fighting would spill over from Nice. In the next weeks and months, marauding bands from both sides would be looking to loot the coast from Cap Ferrat and as far east as Italy. I couldn’t look to Monaco for sanctuary anymore.

I could only hope that I was far enough off the beaten path to hide out until the worst had blown over. Perhaps I could risk a midnight sortie in Arnaud’s Land Rover to bring up the rest of my supplies from home.

Gusts of wind rattled the dome of the Astrarama as I completed my inventory and settled in. Rain lashed the coast and would reach the peak in an hour’s time. I was too restless to stay inside. I worried about Buddy, out there in the coming storm. I picked up my binoculars and scanned the hills below, looking for a flash of gold weaving along the paths. I had an hour, at least, before the storm hit.

I grabbed Arnaud’s rain slicker, my Glock and a high-powered flashlight and shoved everything in my backpack. I had time for one more search on the trails by the training center.

The wind must have been gusting eighty kilometers an hour by the time I reached the training center. The trees were thrashing before the force of the coming gale. I scoured the trails between the center and the Astrarama, my voice growing hoarse after screaming his name into the wind for the last hour. The advancing wall of storm covered half the sky. I felt the first drop of rain and knew I was out of time. The wind howled between the buildings, and a door from a shed was wrenched from its rusted hinges and cartwheeled away, narrowly missing me. I checked all the kennels and storage rooms one last time. There were no more places to look.

It weighed on my mind that Buddy might have followed me last night. He might have been hit by a car and lying dead by the side of the road. Or he might be lost below, with no friend or shelter. Unless he’d hidden all day because he no longer trusted me, something had happened to him. Otherwise, how could he have vanished?

The storm reached full force when I was still about two hundred meters from shelter. I could barely make out the outline of the dome through the falling dusk and the sheets of rain. The wind tore at me as though it wanted to fling me off the heights, and the path became a gauntlet slick with mud and slippery stone. I fell just before reaching the viewing deck. My hand came away sticky with blood, my knee lacerated by the sharp edge of a rock. I hauled myself up on the deck and ran towards the shelter of the back door.