The Blue Rose (26 page)

The gate swung noiselessly and easily on its galvanized hinges and they entered Sapphire's sanctum. A rabbit scurried along one side of the fence looking for a way of escape. The sudden movement made Alex flinch.

They had now reached the planter box. Alex lowered the camera bag gently to the ground. Kingston walked slowly around the box, studying the rose from all angles, occasionally bending down for closer inspection. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he stood back and folded his arms. ‘Doesn't seem credible, does it, Alex? That something so innocent-looking could be capable of such evil. I'm not sure why we need them, but we might as well take a couple of pictures while we're waiting.'

‘The light's very bad,' said Alex, ‘but what the heck.' Taking out the Nikon, he put it up to his eye, framed the rose in the viewfinder and adjusted the focus. Just as he was about to take the shot, Kingston walked into the frame, bent down and picked something up from inside the planter box. ‘You're in the picture – what's that?' Alex asked.

‘A marker of some kind.' He held it at arm's length attempting to read it.

‘What are you two up to?' a loud and commanding voice barked.

Alex spun round, lowering the camera, to see two men walking toward them across the paddock.

The shorter of the two had slick black hair, a well-groomed beard and wore a long trench coat. As they came closer Alex could see that his features were slightly Asian. ‘I bet you anything that's Tanaka,' Alex whispered to Kingston.

Kingston nodded imperceptibly.

The other man was balding with greying sideburns and ruddy cheeks. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket over a khaki rib-knit sweater and corduroy trousers that were tucked into his boots.

‘I'm Charlie Compton,' he said in a measured tone. ‘You must be the two chaps that Emma mentioned – from the magazine.'

‘Yes, we are,' Kingston said, stepping forward. ‘She mentioned us, then? About wanting to interview you?'

‘She did,' said Compton.

‘Well, I'm afraid that's not the case.'

Compton looked perplexed. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I'm sorry to say, none of it is true. We told her that as a cover, to gain access to your property to search for this rose,' Kingston said, nodding in the direction of the rosebush. ‘By the way, I'm Dr Kingston and my friend here is Alex Sheppard.'

‘Search my property?' Compton folded his arms across his chest and glared at them. ‘You've got a hell of a bloody nerve! That's all I can say.'

‘I apologize for the deception,' said Kingston. ‘But there was no other way.'

‘This had better be good,' Compton grunted.

‘Don't worry, it will be,' said Kingston. He paused. ‘Actually, that's not entirely true,' he added. ‘You're not going to like what I'm about to tell you.' He glanced at Tanaka. ‘Particularly you. You are Kenji Tanaka, aren't you?'

Tanaka's eyes narrowed. ‘It's none of your business who I am.' He turned to Compton. ‘These two have no business here, they're trespassing. I think you should tell them to leave.'

Kingston ignored Tanaka's remark. ‘Compton, you should know that this rose is stolen property. It was taken from the garden of a friend of ours in Market Drayton over a week ago.' He nodded at Tanaka. ‘Taken by him.'

‘You're lying,' Tanaka snapped. ‘I purchased this rose for a client of mine. Legitimately. Mr Compton–'

Kingston didn't let Tanaka finish. ‘This rose belongs to Alex Sheppard, and you damn well know it.'

Clearly upset and lost for words, Compton scowled at Tanaka, then at Kingston.

‘It's all true,' said Kingston, quietly.

Tanaka, his face screwed up in frustration, searched Compton's eyes. ‘Surely, you're not buying this,' he said. ‘It's obvious what they're trying to pull. Can't you see that they want the rose for themselves?'

Compton looked at Tanaka again. ‘Come to think of it, Ken, you never did mention who you bought the rose from,' he said.

Tanaka didn't answer. Not a muscle moved on his face. His dark eyes went slowly from Kingston, to Alex, then back to Compton. His voice was unexpectedly calm. ‘I bought that rose over there from a man named Graham Cooke. It was his uncle who hybridized it, in fact. Isn't that correct, Sheppard?' He paused, now looking at Alex. ‘You
know
it is, don't you?' he snapped.

Alex looked quickly at Kingston out of the corner of his eye. ‘We believe that might be the case, but–'

Tanaka cut in before Alex could finish. ‘You see, Compton, he admits it. This has nothing to do with them whatsoever.'

Compton looked more confused than ever.

Tanaka's tone became angry, his voice louder. ‘Look, we have a lot of work to do, Compton. I'm starting to get impatient. Just tell these two to get the hell out of here, before it gets nasty.'

Compton said nothing, nervously rubbing his chin.

‘Well, do
something
, man, don't just stand there,' Tanaka shouted.

The four of them stood by the rose, each waiting for the other to say something. Instead, another voice, strident and menacing, broke the eerie silence.

‘Stay right where you are. All of you.'

Alex spun around. That voice. American. At first he thought he recognized it. But no, it wasn't the man who had been phoning. He'd know that voice, anywhere. A tall man wearing a dark windbreaker zipped up over a black turtleneck stood at the entrance to the paddock. He was gripping a sinister-looking small black pistol in his right hand.

‘That rose doesn't belong to any of you. That rose is mine,' he said, starting to walk toward them.

When Marcus and Kate arrived back at the farmhouse two cars were parked in the courtyard, but there were no signs of the other men. Marcus locked her up immediately in a much smaller room than before.

Few words had passed between them since she had stepped out of the phone box. During the drive she had tried to remain calm, trying to convince him that she and Alex no longer had the rose, that it had been stolen. Then, losing patience, she had questioned him angrily, but Marcus was very short on words.

She had been lying on the bed for less than an hour when Marcus returned. Saying nothing, he escorted her downstairs. Seated in the kitchen, she was given a ham and cheese sandwich, a bottle of mineral water, and a bruised apple.

‘Try to do another runner and you'll end up a cripple,' he said, leaving the room.

After ten minutes, he returned. A hollow sensation started in her stomach and rose up into her chest when Kate saw he was holding a dark-coloured scarf and a length of nylon cord in his hand. Commanding her to remain seated he knotted the scarf around her eyes and expertly tied her wrists with the cord. Leading her outside, he bundled her back into the Jeep – she recognized the same air freshener smell – and slammed the door behind her.

Soon she heard footsteps on the gravel. Two people got into the front seats. The doors slammed and the engine started. ‘We're going for a long drive,' Marcus said, snapping his seat belt buckle. ‘You might as well settle down.'

 

‘This looks like it, boss,' said Marcus, slowing at the sight of the green and gold Compton's Roses sign. He pulled the Jeep over on to the grass verge a few yards before the closed gate.

‘Good,' said Wolff. ‘So far, Sheppard's not lying.'

Kate sat in darkness in the back seat, listening. She had concluded earlier that the American man with Marcus must be the ‘Ira' they'd referred to at the farmhouse. The man who was going to ‘make the deal' with Alex. Her wrists were sore from the chafing of the cord that was also tied to the inside door handle and covered with tape. It had been a long drive but thankfully – for part of it at least – she had involuntarily drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

She heard the passenger door open and slam shut as the man got out. Next, the grating of a bolt followed by the metallic squeal of a gate being opened. The Jeep eased slowly forward for several yards, then stopped. Marcus turned the engine off and got out, slamming the door hard, shaking the car.

Kate could hear Marcus and the other man talking outside but couldn't make out what they were saying. Next, the door beside her was opened, the tape was cut, and the cord attached to her wrists was untied from the door handle. It was then knotted around her waist preventing her from moving her hands. ‘Get out,' Marcus said.

Kate slid across the seat and, without assistance, got out of the car. The turf was springy beneath her feet. She felt the mist dampen her cheeks. A smell of manure was heavy in the air, the nearby sound of bleating sheep, muted. With Marcus gripping her upper arm, they started walking in silence.

After a minute or so they came to a halt.

Despite the scarf covering her ears she could hear faint voices. It sounded as though an argument was taking place. She couldn't be sure if it was just two people or whether more were involved. She strained harder but the voices were sufficiently distant to make the exchange unintelligible.

Her concentration was broken by the American man's voice. ‘You stay here with her while I go and see what's going on. And for Christ's sake keep her out of sight.'

Still gripping her arm, Marcus walked her several paces until they were up against a building of some kind. The argument must be over, she could no longer hear the voices. Or perhaps it was because they were now shielded by the building. For the first time since getting out of the car she felt very cold. She shivered, wishing that she wore a heavier jacket. It had gone awfully quiet. The sheep had stopped bleating and there were no other country sounds – for that was surely where they were. Even the chirping of birds was eerily absent.

Kate heard Marcus clear his throat and spit. She was glad she couldn't see the despicable man. She thought back to the voices, the argument. It was more than likely that Alex was one of them. She was now getting increasingly concerned for his safety. These men were dangerous and set on a mission. The thought of Alex getting into any kind of confrontation with them was frightening. It comforted her to realize that Kingston would probably be with him. She doubted that Alex would have come alone.

She thought she heard a slight rustling noise behind her. It couldn't be Marcus because she knew he was off to her right. Perhaps it was a dog or a cat. She was about to dismiss it when a voice broke the silence. It was an incongruous and unexpected voice – a rural accent, spoken in a loud whisper. ‘You, over there, stand very still and turn around slowly. You, miss, step back four paces.'

Kate felt a hand behind her head unknotting the scarf and removing it. When she opened her eyes they hurt. She closed them quickly; the light was too bright. After opening and closing them a few times she was gradually able to see clearly. The black scarf was on the ground in front of her. Facing her, ten paces away, was Marcus, still wearing dark glasses despite the dismal weather. He stood motionless, a grim expression on his face, his eyes glued on whomever was standing behind her. She half turned and looked over her shoulder. Standing just a few feet away was a scruffy old man with a deeply lined face wearing a weathered raincoat and cap. He was gripping a shotgun at his waist, pointed directly at Marcus's midriff. It looked like he knew how to use it.

‘What's going on here, then?' he inquired.

Kate turned fully so he could see her bound wrists. ‘This man kidnapped me,' she said, nodding toward Marcus. ‘We have to call the police.'

‘Jesus! What in hell has he done to you?'

Kate moved behind him. ‘Be careful, he may have a gun.'

The old man brandished the shotgun at Marcus. ‘You move a finger and you'll be full of bloody holes, mate.'

‘There's another man here with him,' said Kate. ‘I think he might have gone looking for my husband.'

He squinted at Kate. ‘We'd better get you out of 'ere.'

‘I have to find my husband.'

‘First things first, young lady. In my right pocket there's a knife. Press the thumb button to open it, and we'll get your hands free.'

Kate got the folding knife and after struggling for a few seconds she opened the sharp blade and handed it to the old man. Resting the shotgun on his hip with one hand, still keeping his eyes on Marcus, he took the knife and deftly severed the cord. The skin on her wrists was red and lacerated where the cord had cut in.

‘All right, miss,' he said, covering Marcus. ‘You follow this path till it meets another. Turn left and stay on the path for about a hundred yards. You'll see Mr Compton's house up on the hill. You go on up there and call the police. If he's there, tell him to come down here right smart. Oh, and tell him Baldie – that's me – said to bring his Purdey with him.'

‘Purdey?'

‘Shotgun.'

‘What about my husband?'

‘I'll take care of things here. Don't you worry.'

‘You don't understand. It won't be that easy. They're professionals. Don't take even the slightest chance with them. They won't think twice about shooting you.'

‘We'll see about that,' he said.

‘Please, be careful.'

Kate turned and started up the path. All she could think of was Alex and whether he was here or not. He must be. She remembered distinctly when she'd eavesdropped at the farmhouse that Marcus had said Ira was meeting Alex on Sunday. But was it Sunday? Everything indicated that it was – the absence of people in the village and this place, too, whatever it was.

Making the left turn past a large barn, her question was answered. Fields stretched out for several hundred yards, on both sides of the path. Fields filled with evenly planted rows of roses. There must be thousands of them, she thought. She slowed momentarily to look around. Then the pieces started to fall into place. Of course, that was it, she said to herself. Whoever had stolen the rose had brought it here, where it would not only be well hidden but could be cared for professionally.

A jarring explosion coming from behind jolted her to a stop. It had to be Baldie. God! Had he shot Marcus? She pictured it happening, the gory mess. She found herself hoping that Marcus wasn't dead – only badly injured. She sure as hell wasn't going to turn back to find out.

Passing the cover of a large copper beech tree she saw the house. A modest whitewashed bungalow with a tiled roof. In less than a minute she was standing on the porch trying to regain her breath, waiting for somebody to answer the doorbell. She rang it again. Still there was no response. She gripped the door handle and turned it. To her surprise, the door opened. She didn't have to go far into the house to find the phone. It was facing her on a table in the hallway. She dialled 999.

 

Marcus walked along the dirt path alongside the large barn-like building, his body language betraying no indication of defeat. Baldie followed a few steps behind with his shotgun levelled at Marcus's back. The voices from the paddock could be heard again.

‘Nice and easy, mister,' said Baldie. ‘When you get to the end of the barn, turn right.'

They were approaching the entrance to the barn, an opening wide enough to allow farm vehicles to go in and out.

It all happened in less than two seconds. It was like a disappearing act: one moment Marcus was there, the next he had vanished, spinning into the opening of the barn in a low crouch.

Baldie's finger squeezed the trigger but his reflexes were not quick enough. A jarring explosion reverberated off the side of the barn and echoed around the grounds. A cloud of dirt and dust began to settle where Marcus had stood a few seconds earlier. Baldie lunged forward, reaching the entrance, but there was no sign of Marcus. He took four steps into the barn then stopped, listening for any kind of sound. All he heard was the wind soughing through the cracks in the old timber walls. He was loath to go in farther because he knew how dark it was. The barn was used exclusively for storage; mostly equipment, machinery, bagged soil amendments and fertilizers. ‘Bastard,' he muttered.

Now his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. He stood very still, eyes searching the area for any signs of movement. There was none. Then he remembered what the young woman had said: ‘He may have a gun' and ‘They won't think twice about shooting you.' Suddenly he realized what an easy target he made. He had to find some cover. Against the wall on his left was an old workbench. A handful of tools and mechanical parts were spread out on its scarred surface. Next to the bench was a small tractor. He'd seen it in use many times around the growing grounds. ‘That'll do,' he said to himself. He sidestepped over to the tractor and was about to crouch down behind it…then, a blinding flash and everything went dark.

Marcus stood over Baldie's prostrate body, the carpenter's mallet still in his hand. He rolled Baldie over with his foot and bent down to check the pulse in his neck. Satisfied that he was still alive but unconscious, Marcus got up and saw just what he was looking for. It was on the bench, a roll of silver duct tape. He dragged Baldie's body up against one of the upright posts supporting the roof and lifted him to a sitting position. He placed two strips of tape over Baldie's mouth, then proceeded to band his entire upper body, arms and all, to the post.

Marcus dusted himself off and walked out of the barn. He thought of going up to the house to look for the Sheppard woman but decided that by now she had had plenty of time to call the police. She might even have roused other people to come looking for him. He had better go and find Wolff and tell him what had happened. That was going to be an ugly scene.

 

All eyes were now on the tall American holding the gun.

‘Which one of you is Alex Sheppard?' he asked, halting a dozen feet away from them.

‘I am – and who are you?' Alex answered, glancing nervously from the gun to the man's face.

‘First things first,' he said, walking over to the rose. For a long moment he stood studying it, then slowly circled the container, never once taking his eyes off the rose. Then he turned and approached Alex, stopping a dozen paces from him, the gun at his side.

‘You're Ira Wolff, aren't you?' said Alex.

The man ignored him. ‘In a couple of days that rose is leaving here,' he announced in a commanding voice. ‘All the export documentation and shipping arrangements have already been made.'

‘That's fine by me,' Alex interrupted. ‘But where's Kate?'

‘That rose is going nowhere,' Compton butted in.

‘I want to see her, dammit!' Alex shouted. ‘That was the deal. That's what your man and I agreed on – Kate in exchange for the blue rose. Where the hell is she, you bastard!'

‘Shut up,' Wolff barked. ‘You, too,' he said, glaring at Compton. He turned back to Alex. ‘You, Sheppard, have caused me a lot of grief. This whole business could have been wrapped up a long while ago, but you had to screw it up by playing hide-and-seek with the rose. You should have stayed at home in your nice house and done what I asked you. I'm sure your wife would have found that a much more pleasant experience than the one you have put her through.'

‘What I have put her through – me?' Alex yelled. Suddenly, he lunged at Wolff. ‘You son of a bitch–'

Kingston grabbed him just in time. ‘Careful, Alex, for God's sake.'

‘That was extremely foolish, Sheppard,' Wolff said, raising the gun. ‘Try that one more time and I won't be quite so charitable. From now on, keep your mouth shut.' He looked at Kingston. ‘And just who are you?'