Читать книгу The Forgotten Holocaust - Scott Mariani, Scott Mariani - Страница 13

Kristen kept glancing at her watch as she headed quickly back towards the guesthouse, leaving the cottage out of sight behind the tall rocks. She felt giddy and light-headed from the rocket-fuel whisky. Sober up. Sober up. You have work to do. Just twelve minutes to get back, close herself in her room and get on the phone. She’d make it, just.

She had to. There was a hell of a lot riding on this.

If she hadn’t been in such a rush, she’d have paused to admire the sunset. This really was a beautiful spot. And so tranquil, not a soul in sight. Apart from the waves and the birds, the only movement was the faraway car she could see, a black Range Rover or something like it, tracking slowly along the lane running parallel with the beach in the distance.

She hoped that Ben hadn’t thought that she’d made up her pressing business call as a pretext to get away. The fact was, the call really was every bit as important as the need for discretion. It was a chance that wouldn’t come again, and she needed to stick to her plan.

Yet, she regretted having had to break away from Ben so soon. She’d gladly have stayed with him all evening. She pictured his face. A nice face. Not too craggy or butch. Thick blonde hair, blue eyes. Seemed a bit sad and lonely, which maybe accounted for the drinking.

Single, too. And not gay, apparently.

She was definitely interested. Question was, was he?

She wished she could have hung around here for a few more days rather than have to rush back to Newbury. She might have got to know him better. The thought was exciting. But again, business was business. Right now was no time for amorous distractions. Maybe – just maybe – those could come later.

Get your head straight, Kristen.

She cleared all thoughts of Ben Hope from her mind and focused instead on the other man in her life right now, who was sitting by the phone half the world away, just waiting for her to call at the appointed time.

This would be the second contact. The first, thirty-six hours ago, seemed to have gone perfectly according to plan. She’d had the element of surprise, had heard the total amazement in the man’s voice when she’d called him like that out of the blue.

So far, so good. The sum of money involved made her ears pop. She tried to imagine it all sitting there in front of her, a mountain of cash. She couldn’t. But if all went smoothly, she wouldn’t have to imagine it. It would be there, real, all hers.

This second call was even more critically important to carry off right than the first. By now his shock and surprise would have worn off. He’d be ready to talk business. There was a lot riding on this for him, too.

He might even be so eager to talk business that he’d tried calling her while she’d been with Ben. There’d been no message from him earlier – but there might be one now. As she strode over the pebbles, she dipped her hand in her bag for the leather pouch in which she kept her personal BlackBerry and the untraceable, cheap prepaid Samsung she’d bought especially for her plan.

She stopped.

The pouch wasn’t there.

‘No! No!’ She rummaged urgently in the bag. Definitely gone. Where the hell was it?

Only one place it could be. Ben’s cottage, still lying there on the floor.

She remembered picking up the items that had fallen from her bag. Make-up, mirror, hairbrush, purse. What about the pouch? Now that she thought about it, she’d no recollection of picking it up. That’s what you get for drinking all that whisky, she thought angrily. It must have slipped under the sofa or something, and her wits had been too astray to notice.

Kristen looked at her watch. Damn it. Nine minutes to ten. She had time to make it back to the cottage, but there was no way she’d reach the privacy of her room at the guesthouse in time to make the call.

She’d have to make it from Ben’s place after all. Maybe she could lock herself in the bathroom, get him to put some music on so he wouldn’t overhear her conversation. This phone call was definitely not one she wanted anyone else to listen in on, even accidentally.

But she had no choice, and nobody to blame but herself. She turned and started heading impatiently back in the direction of the cottage. She hadn’t gone far before she noticed the black Range Rover again.

It had been driving slowly along the empty lane in the distance, in the same direction she was walking. Kind of meandering along, as if the driver were taking their time to drink in the sea view. Or as if they were lost and looking for someone to ask for help. Now that she’d doubled back the opposite way, it had U-turned, pulled right off the tarmac and was bouncing diagonally in her direction across the uneven grassy ground between the lane and the beach. The sinking sun reflected on its shiny black metal.

She turned to peer back at it as she walked. There was no question that the Range Rover was following her. Should she stop? She couldn’t help them, not being local. And she was in too much of a hurry. In any case, some instinct told her to keep walking, told her something about the vehicle wasn’t quite right. A frisson of worry went down her back.

The Range Rover kept coming, constantly correcting its course across the grass, as if tracking her, just thirty yards behind and catching up rapidly. As it reached the edge of the grass and began crunching over the pebbly beach, Kristen really began to worry. She suddenly felt quite sober.

Something’s wrong here, she told herself. Something is very wrong.

The driver’s intentions were clear. They meant to cut her off before she could get to the cottage. Her heart began to race in panic. What did they want from her? Thoughts of abduction, rape, or worse, flew through her mind. She broke into a run.

Ben’s cottage was almost in sight up ahead.

The Range Rover’s engine growled and it accelerated after her, its tyres crunching, spitting pebbles left and right. Kristen reached the rocky part of the path. She tripped over a boulder and nearly fell. Swore and ran on. Behind her, the Range Rover lurched to a sudden halt. Its front doors swung open and two men got out. She threw a frightened glance at them over her shoulder and saw they were both staring right at her. They left the vehicle doors open and started striding quickly, purposefully, after her.

Kristen had once got away from a man who was pestering her with a lucky kick in the groin. But this situation was something else. There was no chance she could fight them off if they caught her. They were both big, powerful-looking men. One was wearing a hooded top, the other a baseball cap. Their faces looked hard and determined.

And whatever they wanted from her, she could be certain it wasn’t directions.

This was for real. She was in serious trouble.

She ran faster. Her cloth bag kept slipping down her shoulder and the computer inside slapped against her leg as she ran. She let it fall. Glanced back and let out a whimper of fear as she saw the men’s pace quicken.

Suddenly they were sprinting after her. Without slackening his pace, one of the men bent and scooped up her fallen bag. What did they want from her? They split up, taking different lines over the rocks, one to head her off and the other to block her retreat. Hunting her like two dogs after a rabbit. If she didn’t make it to the cottage before them, the only place she could run was right into the sea.

She raced on, her mind a blank, too terrified even to dread what they’d do if they caught her.

The cottage was almost in sight.