No Tears for the Lost Read online

Ten minutes later, he’d covered the grounds and stables, and was about to try the house when he heard the hum of vehicles approaching. Headlights flared across the front of the house as two cars barrelled up the drive, spitting gravel. They skidded to a stop near the front door and a tall figure carrying a shiny briefcase jumped out of the first one, issuing orders.

  Palmer guessed it was Henzigger.

  The American was joined by three armed men. One was carrying a large canvas bag, grunting with effort. The other two men reached into the second car and dragged a figure from the rear seat, bundling him roughly towards the side of the house under Henzigger’s directions. The man was having trouble walking and had to be supported by the others.

  In the glow of the security lights, Palmer recognised Sir Kenneth Myburghe.

  He followed their progress to the rear of the house, where they pushed Sir Kenneth down against the wall. He sat uncomplaining, his head lolling back against the brickwork, and Palmer guessed they had sedated him.

  Henzigger issued orders in Spanish, and two of the men ran across the gardens carrying the canvas bag between them. None of the motion-detector lights came on, and Palmer realised they must have been disabled. The men disappeared from sight, to reappear moments later in the distance, now several yards apart. As they ran, they each set something down on the ground, following parallel lines running from the house to the woods in the distance. As each object was left, it was glowing brightly.

  They were laying out a landing strip.

  Palmer was surprised. It looked far too short a space for a plane to land and take off. If the pilot misjudged his approach and speed even by a fraction, he’d hit the house or the trees. Unless, he reflected, it wasn’t the first time they’d done it. It explained why the security lights at the back had been disabled: the glare would have interfered too much with the pilot’s night vision.

  The two men returned, the canvas bag discarded, their breathing laboured. Behind them, the twin line of lights curved away down the slope across the open ground.

  Palmer thought about what he could do to stop the plane taking off once it landed. His options were limited. Four armed men were suicidal odds, and he wasn’t keen on ending his life just yet. He might be able to stop the plane physically, but that would mean using his car to ram it. And unless he timed it just right for when all the men were on board, that still placed him in danger of being riddled with gunfire in the process.

  He stayed where he was. He’d deal with that problem when it happened

  Henzigger, meanwhile, was pacing up and down, glancing repeatedly at his watch. He seemed in a state of high anxiety, his movements erratic. At one point he took out a mobile phone and made a call. Whatever the response, he clearly wasn’t happy, because he took the phone away from his ear and swore at the top of his voice: ‘God damn you to hell!’

  His men were looking at him nervously. One of them asked a question. The reply was furious and curt, and the three Colombians exchanged looks and began shuffling their feet. Palmer didn’t need a translator to know they’d been given bad news.

  The plane wasn’t coming.

  Henzigger waited another fifteen minutes, staring up at the sky. Then he walked over to where Myburghe was still lying slumped against the wall. He said something to the former diplomat, but Palmer couldn’t hear. Then he bent down and cuffed the older man savagely about the head. When there was no response, he followed it with a vicious kick to the ribs and a torrent of abuse in Spanish and English. The assault ceased only when Myburghe toppled over sideways and lay still.

  Palmer watched, gritting his teeth. He felt sickened by such casual brutality. He had little sympathy for Myburghe; having got into bed with these people for his own ends, the diplomat was now having to experience the down side of the arrangement. Even so, it took all Palmer’s self-control not to go out there and give Henzigger some of his own medicine.

  The American turned and gave instructions to his men. They reluctantly dragged Myburghe off the ground and hustled him indoors. It was clear they would sooner have left him there, but Henzigger clearly had further use of him. He followed, his phone clamped to his ear.

  Palmer waited until they were out of sight, then slipped round to the front of the house. The lights here were now dead, too, and he supposed one of the men must have come round to knock them out as a precaution.

  The two cars had been left with their doors open. Making sure he wasn’t being observed, Palmer leaned in and took out the keys, then hurled them away into the darkness.

  He made his way back to the maintenance workshop and rooted around in the dark until he found what he needed. It was time to prepare a diversion and reduce the numbers.

  **********

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Riley estimated they were only minutes from the village of Colebrooke when her phone rang.

  It was Henzigger.

  ‘I guess you know where we are, right?’ he said without preamble. He sounded angry but in control - just. ‘Don’t bother saying anything pointless about how I’ll never get away with this, or I’ll go ahead and finish him off.’

  So, Myburghe was still alive. She switched on the loudspeaker so Mitcheson could hear.

  ‘How was Henry Portius?’ Henzigger continued. ‘I know you’ve seen him – not that he’ll help you any.’ There was a hint of false bravado in his voice, which made Riley wonder what had happened. He still had an edge of hysteria in his tone, but it sounded even more strained than his earlier call.

  ‘You’re right,’ she replied. ‘Portius was a waste of time.’ Instinct told her that if she gave the impression she’d hit a stone wall at the embassy, Henzigger might feel less pressured. The fact that he knew she’d been to see the DEA man confirmed that he still had a contact on the inside. She made a mental note to let Weller know.

  Mitcheson reached out and turned down the air conditioning, slowing his speed so she could hear more easily. Henzigger’s breathing instantly filled the car, a rasping indication of stress that sounded almost painful.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked calmly, to keep him talking. Give him too much time to think and he might simply cut his losses and kill Myburghe anyway.

  ‘I know you’re somewhere near, Riley. How far away?’

  ‘A few minutes.’

  ‘Good girl. You alone?’

  ‘Yes. I left Weller at the embassy.’ She was counting on his informants having told him about the presence of the senior policeman. A little show of information from her might persuade him to lower his guard.

  She was right.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘We don’t need any more cooks at this table. Make sure it stays that way. What about Palmer?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is,’ she replied truthfully. ‘I think Myburghe told him he could go.’

  ‘Okay. When you get here, drive up to the house.’ The way he almost purred the instructions down the phone made Riley think he was smiling at how clever he was. She felt a shiver at the change in tone. Whatever control Henzigger had once possessed, he was losing it. In such a state of tension, he would doubtless be unusually aware of his surroundings, like a cornered animal. Maybe, she thought, he’d been taking samples of his own product.

  ‘What about Myburghe?’ she pressed him, hoping he or his friendly informant in the embassy hadn’t become aware of John Mitcheson in the background. With Toby and up to three armed killers scattered around the place, they needed every advantage they could get.

  ‘He’s good. But he won’t be if you get stupid.’

  ‘What do you want, Toby?’

  ‘Salvation,’ he said with a ragged laugh that ended on a high note. ‘How about that? I want out of here and I figure you’re the gal to help me. You do that and you’ll get Myburghe back in one piece.’

  ‘How can I believe you?’

  ‘Aw, shit, Riley. You’re kidding me, right? Like you could care less about that high-class maggot. I need your help… just for a few hours. W
e’ve got ourselves a serious problem, y’see, and we need a way out.’

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘Yeah. Portius coming over has lit a fire under their asses. It seems the guys in Grosvenor Square have decided I have the plague.’ A voice spoke in the background and Henzigger broke off and muttered something in rapid Spanish. ‘Thing is, I got these three vaqueros with me and they’re breathing down my neck, too. They say they came over to put the bite on Myburghe, but they don’t fool me none - they’re watching me, too. Fucking paisanos - they ain’t got the first idea. Like it matters a whole hell of a lot now.’ He snorted and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  Riley exchanged a look with Mitcheson. Henzigger was rambling. Two minutes ago he’d been cocksure and arrogant. Now all that had changed.

  She looked up and saw the main entrance to Colebrooke House coming up fast, the headlights catching a flash of a fluorescent sign and broken tape. She signalled for Mitcheson to pull in to the side of the road. ‘Okay, so I arrive. Then what?’

  Her question seemed to bring the American back to earth. ‘Then we talk business. You help get me out of here and we’re like best buddies. I might even cut you in on a deal. What d’you say?’

  ‘Depends what the deal is, doesn’t it?’ She watched Mitcheson climb out and walk to the back door. He leaned in and opened the lock-box, pulling out a shotgun and two automatic pistols. ‘It’s got to be worthwhile.’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ Henzigger grunted. ‘You’ll find out once you’re here. But you’d better make it quick or His Excellency gets retired!’ With a high-pitched laugh at his own sense of the dramatic, he hung up.

  Riley slid across into the driving seat and looked out at Mitcheson. He held the shotgun in one hand and one of the pistols in the other. The weight of the second pistol dragged his windcheater down on one side, and he looked different. It was as if he’d suddenly become an integral part of the leaf-and-branch fabric behind him. She felt sorry for anyone he met in the woods.

  Something in her expression must have alerted him. ‘You won’t talk him round, Riley,’ he said softly. ‘Or the people with him. It’s gone too far.’ He handed her the automatic. ‘This is just in case. Keep it out of sight. If you have to use it, click off the safety, point and shoot.’ He was aware of her reservations about using guns, but he also knew that there were times when even she would acknowledge there was no way round it.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said breezily, tucking the pistol into the back of her jeans, ‘I’ll bore them into submission.’

  He grinned briefly, then stepped away from the car and disappeared into the bushes at the side of the road. It was as simple as that; one second he was there, the next he’d gone. She waited, hands on the wheel, giving him a couple of minutes to get inside the grounds and observe her arrival at the front of the house.

  When her inner clock said time was up, she drove the Land Cruiser past the broken police tape and up the drive. She skirted the fountain where Henry had taken his early bath and cruised the last two hundred yards to the front door. She turned and stopped with the nose of the car facing back down the drive.

  As she turned off the lights and ignition, she looked up through the Plexiglas sun-roof and caught a flicker of movement against the sky. A silhouette of a man showed up on the roof of the house, peering over the parapet.

  As she stepped clear of the car, she detected a smell of petrol in the air, and something burning, like old leaves.

  Toby Henzigger opened the front door and beckoned her forward. He held a gun in one hand and was keeping most of his body behind cover. Riley walked across the gravel, taking care to keep her hands well away from her sides. She felt her scalp crawl at the idea of the man on the roof above her, and realised that if she’d stepped out of the car with a weapon in her hand, she’d have got no more than a few feet before being killed.

  ‘Jacket off. ‘ Toby signalled with his gun for her to stand against the wall just inside the door. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got under there.’ He sniggered at the double entendre.

  Riley slid her jacket off and turned round. He took her mobile and dropped it into a tall Chinese vase on a side table. When he found the automatic, he looked surprised. He gave her a sharp look, then ejected the magazine and threw the gun to one side. It bounced off the marble floor and skidded under a chair.

  ‘You’re full of surprises, you know that? Guess you had to try, though, huh? I don’t blame you - I’d do the same.’ He gestured towards the stairs with his gun. ‘Okay, now we’re going upstairs, nice and slow. You try anything, like mule kicks or any of that chop-socky shit, I’ll shoot you in the back of the knee and let my three vaqueros finish you off. Then Myburghe gets it. You don’t need telling how they like to use knives, right?’ He chuckled nastily and stepped back a pace.

  Riley stared at him, defying her nerves. ‘Toby,’ she told him as calmly as she could, ‘this isn’t going to end how you think. Why don’t you cut your losses and vanish? It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?’

  There was a two-beat pause. Henzigger blinked as if he might be seriously considering the idea, then shook his head once. There was a rancid smell about him, of stale sweat and cooked food, and Riley decided that personal hygiene probably took a back seat when someone was facing the ruination of all their plans. Especially when operating at the deep, murky end of the pool.

  She slipped her jacket back on and walked up the broad stairway past the row of Myburghe ancestors, their eyes following in grim disapproval. Once on the landing, Henzigger grunted and motioned her to the right. The air smelled musty up here, as if the house needed a good airing, and she guessed Myburghe hadn’t bothered getting a cleaner in for a while. Henzigger kept his distance all the way, allowing her no opportunity to get too close.

  He grunted again and indicated a room on the left, which Riley thought overlooked the rear of the house. It was plush and warm and the size of a small football pitch, and contained, among other things, a huge double bed. Somebody was lying on it.

  Sir Kenneth Myburghe.

  He was positioned with his body tilted sideways, and Riley thought he was dead until he opened his eyes and glared at Henzigger. Then she saw his hands were tied tightly behind him by a length of curtain rope. The former ambassador was dressed in shoes, pale trousers and a crumpled blue shirt. There was a vivid red mark on the side of his face, rapidly turning into a bruise. At least, she thought, he’s still alive.

  ‘What’s this,’ she said. ‘Did thieves fall out?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Henzigger genially, settling himself against a large, ornate dresser, from where he could command the room. He lifted one foot and rested it on a steel briefcase, of the sort favoured by trendy city types. It looked heavy. ‘His Excellency, here, has just decided he doesn’t want to play with us blue collar types anymore. That’s a shame, because he’s been instrumental in clearing a route for us to ship in our product.’ He looked at Riley with a slight grin. ‘But I guess you know all about that, right? Portius is a real piece of work, isn’t he? I still have friends in the agency… they keep me up to speed about who’s doing what. Maybe I should get someone to visit with old Henry and do a number on his arms and legs. That’d stop him interfering. I do hate people who mess with my plans.’ He turned his head and looked at Myburghe, then raised the gun and sighted down the barrel. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Riley tensed, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop him. The distance between them was far too great, and with all his experience, Henzigger would kill Myburghe and calmly take her out as well before she got halfway across the room.

  On the bed, Sir Kenneth stared dumbly at the gun, anticipating the bullet. The fact that he kept his eyes open was the nearest thing to courage Riley had seen him display, and she felt a grudging respect for him.

  Henzigger grinned and made a loud ‘pow’ noise, then lowered the gun.

  Myburghe flinched. His body seemed to deflate like a collapsin
g air mattress, and his face burned red with shame. It was soon obvious why, as a dark patch began to spread across the front of his pants.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Henzigger!’ Riley protested, and felt contempt for Myburghe’s tormentor. Right then, all she wanted was for Palmer or Mitcheson to come through the door and shoot him.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Henzigger, and looked at Myburghe with an expression of disgust. ‘Wonder what your Queen Elizabeth would say about that? Anyway, what was I was saying? Oh, yes… Lord Pisspants, here, wants to renege on our deal, which, by the way, Riley, is paying for this pile of shit to be kept standing a few more years. Did you know that? So much for the honour and integrity of the diplomatic corps, huh? Thing is, the end part of the deal also included a plane out of here, nice and private. Just me and my friends. Only it’s all gone wrong and there ain’t no plane. Still, I got some of the money.’ He tapped the briefcase with his foot. ‘Unfortunately, I have no way of getting out. Which means I still need his help. Or yours.’

  He turned and pointed the gun at her and smiled.

  ‘You must be joking,’ Riley muttered.

  Henzigger shed the smile in an instant, his eyes going dark. ‘Joking? Actually, no. Let me show you.’

  Without hesitation, he turned and shot Myburghe.

  *************

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The blast was deafening in the room, the shock waves making Riley’s ears ring. On the bed, Myburghe took the full force of the bullet and was flung over onto his front, a fine spray of blood fanning out across the bedspread, bright and vivid against the pale fabric. He groaned once and lay still.

  Riley was stunned but took care not to move. Henzigger was watching her like a hawk, the gun now aimed at her. His hand was as steady as a rock.

  ‘That was a demonstration. I only winged him. You refuse me again, he gets another one. And believe me, I can keep this up for hours without killing him. I’ve done it before. Want to see?’