Eye of the Cobra (50 page)

Ricardo nodded.

‘If you would sign here, here and here.’

Ricardo did as he was instructed. When he had finished, the man gathered up the papers.

‘I would like a copy,’ Ricardo said.

‘Mr Sartori. Documents of this nature never ever leave this office.’

Five minutes later Ricardo was walking along the immaculate pavements of Zurich. He felt as if he was walking on air.
His financial problems were over, and now he could concentrate on driving again.

Estelle put down the paper and stared across the empty lounge. It was a large room, the huge terracotta-tiled floor scattered with Persian carpets. Outside, through the beech-framed windows, she could see the rolling grasslands of the estancia that seemed to stretch out endlessly into the distance.

Emotions tore through her. She had already lost one husband; now Carlos and Wyatt were in the thick of something she did not even want to try and comprehend. She looked at her reflection in the wall mirror. She would be forty-eight in a month’s time. Carlos was two years older than her, and the best-looking man she knew.

She touched her face. There was nothing the matter with her, everyone said she looked like a woman in her twenties. Her body was still firm from the hours she spent in the saddle every day. But she wanted Carlos to love her with passion; she wanted to exhaust him in bed, so that he would always be thinking of her body. He must always desire her. To hold him through their wedding vows and the memory of what she had been, was not her way and never would be.

It had been like that with James. The intensity of their love had been frightening, his death unbearable. If it had not been for Carlos, she would not have survived. Carlos had an energy, a passion for life like James’s. She would always compare him with James, she could not avoid it. And in the depths of her heart she knew that it was James she loved the most.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She still vividly remembered the call from the police and the trip to the hospital where the doctor told her that it was Wyatt who had been driving.

God, so much pain. What had she done to deserve so much pain? And then Wyatt had left. He’d gone to live in Japan, cutting himself off from her and everyone else. Then Danny had gone this year, by his own hand.

Estelle looked out of the window and felt how powerless she was against the train of events that had always seemed to dictate the course of her life - even though she tried to resist them.

It was then that she picked up the paper again, and saw the name of the man from New Scotland Yard who was handling Vanessa Tyson’s case - John Tennant.

She picked up the phone and got hold of directory enquiries in England. ‘Yes, madam, I have the number for New Scotland Yard.’

She took it down, and dialled quickly.

‘
Alio
, New Scotland Yard? I’d like to speak to John Tennant.’

‘It’s two in the morning, madam. He’s not here.’

‘Merde!’

There was a momentary silence on the line. Then: ‘Is it urgent? I do have a home number . . .’

‘Give me the number.’

The phone rang for a long, long time. Eventually it was picked up and she heard a very English woman on the other end of the line.

‘Who is it? Do you know it’s two in the morning!’

‘I’m sorry, I am phoning from Argentina, I did not realise.’

There was the sound of another phone being picked up, then a male voice. ‘Who is that?’

‘Estelle Ramirez . . .’

‘Who are you?’

‘Estelle Ramirez . . . Wyatt Chase’s mother. I know where my son is.’

She briefly explained what she knew of what had happened, and that she thought Wyatt was innocent of the drug-trafficking allegations.

‘Where is he now?’ Tennant asked.

‘Somewhere in the Amazon basin. Mr Tennant . . . something else. I . . . want to speak to Vanessa Tyson.’

More silence.

‘Are you prepared to come to London . . .?’

‘I believe Vanessa Tyson is guilty. I think she knows more than she’s letting on. I want to talk to her.’

‘Look, really, I can’t . . .’

‘You want my son, I’m the only person who can lead you to him.’

There was another long silence. Estelle held the receiver anxiously.

‘How . . . How soon could you get here?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Phone me your flight and arrival time at this number, and I’ll meet you at the airport.’

She saddled up her favourite horse and went for a long ride. Carlos and Wyatt were taking one hell of a risk, she knew it. But they had sworn her to secrecy, and she would never break her word.

But there was nothing to stop her from doing some investigative work on her own. She would use John Tennant to find out a few things. Once, long ago, she’d trusted Jack Phelps, but a few days before his death James had said on several occasions that he’d changed his mind about Phelps. Ever since that time, she’d wondered about Jack.

She touched down at Heathrow a day later. Dressed in black, her blonde hair piled high, she wore a simple choker round her neck. It was cold, and she pulled her fur coat tightly around her as she walked through customs.

‘Mrs Ramirez?’ the customs official asked, peering at her passport.

Oh my God, not problems now?

‘Would you mind stepping this way? Your luggage will be taken care of. Please, don’t look so worried. There is nothing the matter.’

She was shown down a series of corridors and then into an underground parking garage. A dark-haired man in his late twenties, early thirties was standing next to a white police Rover.

‘Mrs Ramirez, I’m Chief Inspector John Tennant.’

She liked him immediately. He was different from what she’d expected.

John Tennant sucked in his breath. It was as it had always been - he couldn’t resist an attractive woman. He liked the way Estelle Ramirez carried herself, her back perfectly straight, yet all her movements fluid and sensual.

‘I
am pleased to meet you, Chief Inspector,’ she said. ‘I hope I can help you and you can help me.’

Once they were in the car and moving, he began talking.

‘I work in drugs. I know your son was arrested for assault - but we suspected he might be involved in drug-trafficking.’

His face lost its animation and his features became stony.

‘He is now in serious trouble. He has broken his bail conditions, and has, in short, vanished. Do you know where he is?’

‘He is with my husband. More than that I cannot say.’

John gripped the wheel tightly. He had to play her out. He could tell she was no fool.

‘Look, I’ve managed to get permission for you to see Vanessa Tyson. She’s been transferred to England.’

‘I know she’s guilty,’ Estelle said. ‘I’m not asking you to believe me, all I want to do is speak to her.’

John looked directly into her eyes.

‘You know the facts. But to me it looks as if she was framed, the victim of a plant, a very elaborate plant. However, there’s not a shred of evidence to support that view.’

‘She is guilty, of that I have no doubt.’

‘There’s something very strange about this whole business, Mrs Ramirez. You were involved with most of these people ten years ago . . .’

‘I think the past is best forgotten. But my late husband, I think he knew something about Jack Phelps, something that changed his relationship with Jack. Whatever it was, it made him realise that he couldn’t trust Jack any longer.’

Wyatt’s clothes stuck to him. Impatiently he pushed his shirt
sleeve above his elbow and chopped away at another tall vine - and suddenly sunlight streamed down, and he was staring up at a rock wall that soared into space.

Carlos staggered up next to him and pulled out the binocu
lars, combing the edge of the cliff. The sheer rock face was filled with fissures and cracks; left and right it seemed to stretch off into eternity. Pockets of mist drifted past it, adding to its unreality.

They must be mad coming here, thought Carlos. He quar
tered the cliff-top with the binoculars, looking for evidence of human activity, all he could see was buttresses and overhangs of rock.

Wyatt stared upwards, saying nothing.

‘What are you thinking about, Wyatt?’

‘How a Japanese person, someone like Aito, would relish the
mu
- the nothingness of this place. It is a lost world.’

‘It’s incredible, isn’t it? Apparently only one party of climbers has ever attempted it, an insane group of Britishers.’

Wyatt took the binoculars from Carlos and felt a wave of despair. How the hell were they going to find the place, even if it existed?

They cleared a rough camp-site from the thickly matted vegetation and stripped off their sodden clothing. Carlos lit up the portable gas cooker, and they soon had a billy-can boiling. The jungle around them was dense, a green abyss that threatened to engulf them at any moment.

Carlos made the tea and handed Wyatt a mug.

‘Now we wait. Six-hour watches each, while the other sleeps.’

Wyatt looked at him quizzically.

‘What the hell are we waiting for?’

‘If there’s something up there, we’d never find it by plane. No one would know about it, and whoever built this place would make sure you couldn’t see it from the air. And from the ground? What maniac would ever approach this hell-hole from the ground?’

‘I still don’t understand.’

Carlos laughed.

‘You, who are so clever? Wyatt, it is very, very simple. The only way these people get in and out is by plane. Sooner or later we will hear one approach.’

‘But what about the other side of the mountain? What if they come in from that side? We wouldn’t see them.’

‘You’re nobody’s fool, are you? You see, this is the only possible direction that a plane can approach Roraima from, according to my learned friend at the university. The other side is too broken up, and there is far too much air turbulence.’

Wyatt gestured to the massive line of cliffs that disappeared into the distance.

‘And what if they are at the other end? It will take days just to cut our way through to the base.’

‘Not so fast. We also studied every available map of Roraima, and this area above us is the most logical place to position a building and an airstrip.’

Carlos lay down in his hammock. God, he felt wet and uncomfortable.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘after asking so many questions, you can take the first watch.’

Carlos fell asleep in minutes, and Wyatt was left alone with the noises of the jungle. He scanned the cliffs above him with the binoculars, but could find nothing of significance. The whole place - the geography of it, the atmosphere of it - made him feel deeply uneasy.

Vanessa couldn’t understand what was happening. She had been woken up in her cell, told to dress, and was not being taken up to the ground floor. She kept running her hands through her hair - she felt shabby and disorientated. Was she to be subjected to more interrogation?

She was shown into an office with a new detective who looked drawn and tired. She felt like crying, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

‘Where is John Tennant?’ she asked forcefully. ‘And why are you holding me? You’re wrong, you know that? I am not guilty, and I intend to prove it beyond a shadow of doubt.’

‘How?’ the detective asked cuttingly.

‘I am innocent till proven guilty.’

‘Innocent? You’re a fine one to talk, Miss Tyson.’

‘What the hell you are talking about?’

‘Let me spell it out. Money can buy you a lot of things, Miss Tyson, but it won’t buy you freedom. We hardly ever get hold of you bastards, because you always slip out of our reach and we get left with small fry. Well, let me tell you, now I’ve got you I’ll make sure you get the maximum sentence if it’s the last thing I do.’

‘I am not guilty you fool!’ Vanessa screamed out hysterically - and then, in spite of herself, burst into tears.

‘You fucking bastards! Do you know what it’s like to sit in that cell and know that there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, you can do about it? Do you?’

He looked at her without a trace of pity.

‘Your boyfriend got out on fifty thousand pounds bail. Then he skipped the country. We’re not about to make the same mistake with you.’

‘You’re wrong, and you won’t accept it,’ Vanessa replied very quietly.

‘You’re going to London for further interrogation. A police officer has your clothes ready in the next room, and once you’ve signed for them someone will escort you to London to see John Tennant.’

She went through to the next room and signed for her clothes. They were creased, and hadn’t been washed, but she was glad to put them on anyway. They made her feel like a human being again.