Eye of the Cobra (41 page)

‘Talk,’ Raoul said quietly.

Manuel’s face was pushed against the hot metal, and there was the smell of burning flesh. But Manuel gritted his teeth and remained silent. He wanted the reward money for himself. He had been stupid to boast to Isabel.

‘Ah, Manuel, you must know something. And yes, you are very scared to tell us. I think we must move to the front of the car.’

One of the men o
pened the bonnet and Manuel stared at the running engine, wondering what they would do. Then one of the men grabbed his arm and forced his hand into the cooling-fan.

‘No! No! I’ll tell you, please . . . She is in the jungle, held by the Ortega Cartel. My sister works at their secret factory. I have a map . . .’

‘Ah, this is good, I will collect the reward money . . .’

‘But if they find out, the Ortega Cartel will kill us.’

‘No, you are wrong, my friend. They will kill you.’

Bruce rested his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. They were watching Mickey explaining a detail of his new plan to the Japanese design team from Shensu. Tall, forceful and wild, Mickey was a complete contrast to the pliant Japanese designers who surrounded him, noting his every move and gesture.

‘He reckons he can have the new Shadow on the track in four days,’ Wyatt said, ‘and then have it air-lifted out to Belgium in time for the first practice.’

Bruce stared down at Wyatt. He knew Wyatt was angry at the press reaction to his behaviour at Monaco, but he was more worried by his reaction to Suzie’s disappearance. He would have to have a private chat with him.

Bruce was now greedy for more championship points. And with Charlie Ibuka in the second car, they were suddenly looking very competitive again. Provided, of course, that FISA accepted the modifications.

Phelps had been driving Bruce particularly hard - the threat of his withdrawal was a real one. Bruce knew that if he didn’t have a car on the track in Belgium, Phelps would cut him out of the team. He didn’t want to think about that possibility.

‘I’ll send Reg over in advance with the rest of the pit crew,’ he said now. ‘You’ll go with them, Wyatt, and the moment the Shadow Two arrives, you can start testing. But it’ll be a very different car from the one you’re used to.’

Wyatt listened, but Mickey had told him the machine would not feel different - that the basic design of the Shadow would stay the same, it would just sit a little lower on the tarmac and have slightly altered handling characteristics.

Aito Shensu came into the design centre, looking remark
ably relaxed considering the circumstances. He went over to Mickey, whispered something in his ear and shook his hand warmly. Then he walked over to Wyatt and Bruce.

‘Great news. We start full production of the Shensu Ninja tomorrow. I anticipate launching it at the German Grand Prix. Can you imagine the impact?’

‘I’d rather see how Wyatt does in Belgium before you plan your launch. If we’re still winning, then yes, I think it’s a good idea,’ Bruce replied cautiously. There was enough pressure on Wyatt already.

‘I am not the only one to have such faith in Wyatt’s ability - Jack has already set his publicity machine in motion.’

Wyatt could only admire Aito. At seventy he still flew by the seat of his pants. He was taking one hell of a risk, basing his faith entirely on their ability to win the Belgian Grand Prix.

‘You will be the star of the commercials that Jack plans to shoot for the Ninja, Wyatt. It will be launched with a live road-test. Imagine it, the world’s top performing Formula One driver gives his first impressions of Japan’s finest sports machine.’

‘And what if I don’t like it?’

‘That is my gamble. You must say exactly what you think.’

‘Then that’s fine with me.’

‘We’ll set up the shoot after Belgium. I have told them that it is not to take up much of your time.’

‘It’d better not.’ Bruce was anxious that Wyatt should be given ample time to relax after the race.

Mickey came over, having finished his discussion with the Shensu design team.

‘Aito,’ he said directly, ‘it is going to cost a lot of money, to be sure. But it’ll be worth it. Your lads know what they’re doing.’

‘The money is unimportant. Just concentrate on doing your best, that’s all I want.’

The lights burned continuously at the Calibre-Shensu head
quarters. The Japanese design team worked alongside the factory mechanics, rebuilding the chassis and fine-tuning the modifications.

After midnight, Mickey took a break and strolled round the offices. He found Wyatt hunched over the phone in his office, his face taut, his fists clenched. Mickey waited till the conver
sation was over, and Wyatt put down the phone. He saw the bags under Wyatt’s eyes - and the look of total exhaustion and despair on his face.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Still no trace of Suzie. How the hell can someone just disappear?’

Mickey sat down and stared across at Wyatt. He wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him, he decided; there was something very ruthless in his dark eyes.

‘I pray to God you find Suzie,’ he said quietly.

Wyatt clenched and unclenched his fists. If someone had taken her, if someone had hurt her, he wouldn’t rest till he got them.

Jules Ortega felt Suzie’s hand dig into his arm. She was lying on the bed, a gag through her mouth to muffle the screams. He knew she was going through hell and he thought she deserved it. She was an addict, and that made her his slave.

He glanced out over the rain-forest. Already the first rays of sunlight were beginning to appear, and thin pockets of mist drifted across the green horizon. He studied the mangled fingers on his right hand - all he could think of was revenge.

They had been stupid to deal with Talbot. Why had they allowed the American to control them? It was the Ortega Cartel who ran the drugs business, not the suppliers. His brother was running scared now he’d changed his identity, but Jules wasn’t going to stand for it any more. He would kill Talbot.

Wyatt put the phone down, his hand shaking. He glanced across at the clock by his bedside. It was just after midnight. The call had come unexpectedly - a long-distance call from the Brazilian police. A man called Raoul had contacted them and said he could give them information that would lead them to Suzie.

Wyatt knew there was no way he could deal with this alone, but he knew someone who could help him - someone he trusted more than anyone else in the world. Suzie’s life depended on it.

He dialled the number in Argentina. It rang for a long time and then was answered by a servant. Wyatt thought of the estancia, of the polo field and the mountains in the distance. What was he doing here in London?

‘Is Carlos on the ranch?’

‘Si, I call him for you.’

He waited patiently, hearing the faint calling and then the noise of feet across the floorboards.

‘Wyatt. You are all right after Monaco? The press were unkind . . .’

He felt a surge of relief on hearing Carlos’s voice.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I will race in Belgium.’

There was a long pause.

‘Estelle is concerned about you,’ Carlos said at last.

‘You know how it is between us,’ Wyatt replied quietly.

‘I know.’

Another long pause.

‘Carlos,’ Wyatt said. ‘I need you to help me, but it might be dangerous. The Brazilian police have a lead on Suzie, a man called Raoul. You must make contact with him, find out what he wants and then get the money to him.’

‘Don’t worry, Wyatt,’ Carlos’s strong, reassuring voice came down the phone.

‘I will handle this.’

Raoul put down the phone. He had spoken with Wyatt Chase, the man who had put up the reward money, and Chase had said he would send his stepfather, one Carlos Ramirez, to meet Raoul with the money. Ramirez would give him the money in exchange for information that would lead them to Suzie von Falkenhyn. Chase had emphasised that the infor
mation had to be good.

Raoul knew now that Manuel had been telling the truth. Manuel was barely alive, but he had talked.

Raoul understood why Manuel had been terrified to talk. This cocaine factory hidden in the bowels of the Amazon basin sounded incredible. And it was in this secret factory that Suzie von Falkenhyn was being held, supposedly for the pleasure of Jules Ortega.

Raoul lay back on the bedstead and stared at the dis
coloured ceiling. By late that afternoon he would be a millionaire. He would kill Manuel, then he would move on to another
country. He wanted to be away from this hotel, the brothel and the town. Every minute was dangerous here. If the Ortega Cartel knew what Manuel had told him, they would have both of them killed.

It was just before midday when a helicopter buzzed noisily over the roof of the hotel. Raoul sank back behind the curtains. It must be Carlos Ramirez. It had to be - he didn’t want to wait any longer. Thank God! He would supply Ramirez with a map showing the location of the factory where Suzie von Falkenhyn was held, then he would take the money, kill Manuel and run.

He moved back to the bed and pulled out the Uzi carbine, then let himself out of the window and onto the fire-escape. Five minutes later there was a knock on his door.

‘Who is it?’ he shouted from outside the window, the Uzi lined up on the door, his finger stroking the trigger.

‘A Mr Ramirez to see you,’ said a voice from behind the door.

‘Tell him to come up here.’

He was sweating now. He must be very careful not to give too much away. He wanted his million dollars.

There was another knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ Raoul shouted, and moved to the side of the window, out of view.

A man came into the room. He was over six feet tall, blond, and wearing an airforce jumpsuit. In his right hand he carried an attache case.

‘Put down the case or you die,’ Raoul said softly.

The man walked forward and dropped the case on the bed.

‘Who are you?’ Raoul asked.

‘Talbot. Rod Talbot.’

Raoul laughed uneasily.

‘You lie. You must be Carlos Ramirez.’

‘No. But I have the same amount of money as Ramirez.’ Raoul moved into view.

‘What do you mean?’

Talbot flicked open the catches on the case to reveal wads of money.

‘The rest is in the chopper.’

‘You pay me the money so I don’t talk to Ramirez?’

‘You get the drift good, buddy. I have my contacts in the police force, and they put me onto you.’

Raoul stepped carefully over the window-ledge and into the room.

‘We go to the helicopter to get the rest of the money. You walk, I follow.’

Raoul looked closely at Talbot’s back. The muscles were rock-hard on the neck beneath the crew-cut.

They moved out of the hotel and into a field behind it. The helicopter stood on the grass, empty and forbidding.

‘Show me the money that buys my silence.’

Talbot reached inside and pulled out a couple of bulky holdalls. Raoul felt his pulse racing.

‘Take out the money.’

Talbot reached inside one of the bags, pivoted - and a shot exploded from his side, taking Raoul in the hip. Raoul staggered back, but before he could fire Talbot deftly kicked the Uzi from his hands in one fluid, lightning movement. Raoul writhed in pain on the ground.

‘Where is the person who told you where she is being held?’ Talbot asked. When he got no answer, he knelt down next to Raoul and pressed his fingers into his wound.

‘No! No!’ Raoul screamed.

‘Where is the person?’

‘His name is Manuel, it was his sister Julia, who works in the cocaine factory, who told him. He’s in the basement with my men. Please let me go - it was his idea to claim the reward, not mine.’

‘Turn over.’

Talbot bound Raoul’s hands and left him face-down in the grass, then walked back into the hotel. Minutes later, Raoul heard screams. After what seemed an eternity, Talbot dragged Manuel into view, blubbering like a child.

‘Why you call him?’ he sobbed at Raoul. ‘He works for the Ortega Cartel. He kill us both.’

Raoul looked at the blond man in terror.

‘Let me live, please! I will say nothing.’

‘Shut up, cock-sucker. I had to fly a long way to get here, and you’ve really upset me. Now, Manuel, be a good man and sit on the edge of the hold.’

Manuel obediently sat on the edge of the chopper, his feet resting on the landing-frame, and Talbot hauled up Raoul and deposited him next to Manuel. Then he climbed into the cockpit and took off. High above the ground, he tilted the machine to one side so that the two of them were almost falling out. The road in front of the hotel lay one hundred metres below them. Manuel was shaking.