The Few (The Abductions of Langley Garret Book 2) (7 page)

'You'll be fine. Good luck Soter,' Chara said, and gave me a kiss on my cheek.

'When you're ready Mr. Garrett,' Malcolm said.

I opened the car door and got out immediately, without even a polite good bye for Chara.

'We meet again. Marcus I believe,' I said, as I stood in front of the square jawed man who had accompanied me on my first experience of being abducted.

He sniffed once. 'Yes, it seems so. If you'd like to board, we're ready to leave.'

I climbed aboard and recognised the interior of the plane. I took a different seat to the one I had occupied previously and within a minute or so, Marcus sat down opposite me.

'We're not travelling far.'

'To?' I asked.

'Just north of Milan, then on towards Lake Como.'

I must have looked surprised.

'Not an unpleasant destination,' he said, and then added a very minute smile after his habitual sniff.

There was no one else in the cabin that I could see or hear, so I presumed we were travelling alone as I looked out from the window near my shoulder and watched as the car pulled away. A few moments later, the door to the cockpit opened, and who I presumed was the co-pilot appeared and closed the door of the plane. He disappeared back into the cockpit and moments later I heard the engines starting. While all this was happening, I was wondering what I should say next to Marcus.

'So, um, what's the news on my apartment?'

'We're looking after that for you. It's a bit of a mess, but we'll attend to what we can.'

'Do you know who they were?'

'Only that there were three, and that they were either looking for something you had there, or wanted to let you know that they didn't like you.'

'Or both.'

'More than likely,' he said, as the plane started moving.

'I'm guessing, but you're ex-army, aren't you?'

'SAS.'

'And this is your cushy post retirement job.'

'You could say that. It keeps me busy.'

'I guess so. And have you been with the Sons of Cleito for very long?'

'I'm with no one Mr. Garrett. It's better that way.'

'Right,' I said, as we taxied, and paused, understanding that Marcus didn't want to tell me much at all, or enter into lengthy conversation. I tried again however. 'Just out of interest, did you arrive in Neuchâtel before or after the three men who demolished my apartment. I mean, did you follow them, or…..?

'Or did they follow us?'

'Well, yes.'

'I don't know. I just followed the orders I received.'

'Which were?'

'To accompany Miss Brennan.'

The engines roared into life and the plane started moving forward for take off. As it made quite a noise, I decided to leave our conversation at that for a while, as I didn't want to shout to make myself heard, and anyway, I didn't really have anything more to say to, or ask Marcus. It did occur to me though that I was traveling without any luggage. As had happened with the man that accompanied Hazel Eyes, perhaps someone might be kind enough to pack a bag for me at some stage, from what was left of my apartment. Then again, Lake Como was so close, I could well be back in Neuchâtel by evening. Somehow I thought this might have been a little optimistic.

It was just over an hour before I felt the plane was starting to descend. Marcus had been quiet company, but I had discovered that he had a passion for chess and classical music and that he would be accompanying me by car on our drive to Lake Como. Wherever I was going, it was clear it was his job to make sure I got there – in one piece.

Or two, if I counted my small brown overnight suitcase, which appeared magically from the plane's under belly just after I disembarked and waited with Marcus on the tarmac next to yet another black car in my life.

'Part of your job too?' I asked him. He sniffed, but half smiled in reply, as a young man in bright orange overalls less than carefully threw my suitcase into the back of the car.

*****

There are only two things worth knowing about the area of Northern Italy that surrounds Lake Como. It's stunningly beautiful, and it takes an awful lot of money to be able to holiday there, let alone live there. For someone else in an altogether different situation to myself, the thought of meeting your long lost, forgotten, or unbeknownst to you father, who just happened to be filthy rich enough to live on the shores of Lake Como, it may have been something to look forward to. A little like an unexpected inheritance of a bucket load of wealth, but without someone having to drop dead first to make it happen. However, this wasn't someone else, it was me, and I was heading towards a meeting with someone, who was only rumoured by Chara's mythical beliefs to be my father, and also quite possibly, again by rumour and myth, the head of an international terrorist organisation. Whether I believed all the myths and nonsense or not didn't really matter right now though because I was now, without a doubt, speeding along towards Lake Como in a very expensive black car with a very military looking ex-SAS officer sitting beside me, whose job it was not to deal in myths, only eventualities.

'Have you met this man I'm supposed to be meeting?' I asked.

Marcus sniffed twice before answering, which was one more than usual for him. 'Yes.'

'More than once?'

One sniff. 'When it's necessary.'

'Like today.'

'No sniff this time, which surprised me. 'It depends.'

'On what?'

'If he wants to see me.'

'Right. But I understand he wants to see me.'

One sniff. 'Yes.'

As was normal with my few attempts at discourse with Marcus, it wasn't developing at all into a conversation. I decided the scenery passing by was more forthcoming with information. The colours of mid spring were grand, and the villas that were becoming larger as we moved along, even more so. For as much as the colours, the mountains and the water were glorious, I sensed that the colour of mountains of money were far more glorious to those who lived here.

The car slowed a little, and when I heard the tick-tick of the indicators, then it taking the freeway exit, I knew my time was near, and my stomach told me I was apprehensive. In that respect, we were in complete agreement for a change. Marcus sniffed, and I wondered if he was a little apprehensive as well about meeting
The Boss
. Marlon Brando entered my thoughts, as the hissing and mumbling Godfather; Vito Corleone, and was probably a close match in my mind for who I was about to meet. Whether the Sons of Cleito were terrorists, freedom fighters or mafia, it was all the same to me – trouble that I didn't want to be involved in. The car slowed after a short distance on the main road from the freeway exit and turned left into a tree-lined avenue. The houses on each side of the road were set back behind tall wrought iron fences or stonewalls, clearly guarding the occupiers' privacy, and security. Ahead I could see the lake, and as we drove slowly towards it, the houses on either side of me seemed to grow larger.

The car slowed, almost to a halt, before turning left off the avenue into a short narrow lane, with high hedges on both sides and ended abruptly at a set of imposing black wrought iron gates. When the car stopped, the driver lowered his window and waited for an intercom, which was built into a stone pillar alongside the car, to respond. I heard a crackling voice from it, and the driver announcing himself, before the gates began opening slowly.

'What do I call him?'

'Who?' Marcus asked.'

'Kratos.'

'Sir works for me.'

'Right, thanks.'

The tree lined entrance road ended at a white gravel driveway that encircled a large manicured garden with a tall stone fountain centrepiece, and as the car moved slowly around towards the house, I realised it wasn't a house. The word palace entered my head when I could see it clearly. Two storeys with enormous stone pillars at its centre framing the entrance, and then each side of the building arcing to the right and left, as if cradling the circular garden in its arms. Marcus opened his door as soon as the car stopped, and gathering that this was my destination, I got out too. He walked around towards me and just nodded his head towards the front doors. We had only just stepped up onto the white marble porch when one of the two doors opened.

'Please come in gentlemen. He's expecting you,' she said. Marcus nodded and sniffed, while I tried to politely smile and hide my surprise at being met by an old lady, quite wide at the girth and wearing a green floral apron, not dissimilar to ones I recalled my grandmother wore.

'Just wait there,' she said, pointing to an anteroom on our left as she closed the door. She came in behind us and fussed and tidied some magazines lying on a table as we waited to sit. Once she seemed satisfied with the neat pile she had made, she said, 'Please take a seat. I'll tell him you're here.'

She walked from the room, almost waddling, as she seemed to slightly favour one leg or hip.

'Who is she?' I asked, when I was sure she was out of earshot.

'The housekeeper.'

'I was probably expecting someone more, … um, … formal, I suppose.'

'Yes,' he replied, just as his phone must have vibrated in his pocket. He answered his phone with,' Yes?' His only addition to the conversation after that was another yes, before he put the phone back in his pocket. 'Wait here. Someone will come for you shortly,' he said as he stood, and I nodded, and then he walked out. I heard the front door open and close. Thumbing though the neat pile of magazines on the table, I found a current copy of TIME. As I seemed to have plenty of that right now, I sat back, tried to relax, and started reading an interesting article about Swiss bank fraud. It only held my interest for a short while unfortunately, so I skipped a few pages until I found something about a new political crisis in South America. I flipped a few more pages.

'You must be Langley, I presume.'

My head shot up from my magazine at the surprise announcement, and was even more surprised by who had said it. A bent old man was standing at the doorway, supporting himself on a walking stick in his right hand.

'Um, yes. I'm Langley Garret,' I managed, as I stood politely and went to put the magazine back on the table, but missed. I bent down and picked it up from the floor and tried again, with more success.

'Well, come along then, we have things to talk about.'

'Yes,' was all I managed before he turned on his heels, and walking stick, and started hobbling away. I followed and caught up with him as he made his way across the vast entrance hall.

'We'll go out on the terrace while the sun's still got something to offer.'

'Ok. Fine,' I said, as I wondered how old he was. His quite long white unkempt hair, white whiskers, unshaven for a couple of days and wrinkled face reminded me of what Fagin must have looked like in his latter years of picking a pocket or two.

'How's your hand coming along?' he asked, looking directly at me as we walked. His eyes were lightening blue and razor sharp.

I hesitated, surprised by his question. 'It's getting better, thank you.'

'Right, just though here,' he said, pointing at the glass doors with his stick. I stepped ahead of him and opened one side and let him through. A long white granite table sat on the terrace under a wide awning, shading half of the table.

'I'd better sit in the shade. Bloody skin cancer,' he said, as he found the chair he preferred and slowly lowered his frail body into it. I decided on the sunny side, opposite him. 'It's easier getting down into these damn chairs than it is to get back up out of them'. I nodded. 'You met Giovanna I presume.'

'Eh yes, your housekeeper.'

'I told her to retire, but she won't.'

'So she's been with you for a long time.'

'Too damn long. I'd hoped to get a younger and better looking one for years, but I've given up now. She'll probably outlast me anyway,' he said, as I noticed Giovanna walking the short distance from the door.

'You're far too old for young women, and very lucky I stay and put up with you,' she said, winking at me.

'Ahhh! You're lucky to have a job at your age!' he guffawed.

'Well, at least I don't need a walking frame yet. So what can I get you?' she asked me, smiling.

'Whatever you're ….,' I started.

'Beer. Cold beer,' he said firmly.

'Um yes, that's fine,' I said.

'Yes, I know. And damn the doctors,' she said, with half a laugh.

'Women! Phhft!' he said, as she walked off, still laughing a little.

'Is it just the two of you here?'

'Most of the time now, but there's still work to be done, so we have visitors.'

'Yes,' I said, and held myself back from asking about who visited.

'You must be all at sea.'

I looked at him and nodded just a little.

'How old are you now. Forty-five or so?'

'Forty-six.'

'Too damn old to finally meet your father, isn't it?'

'If it's true,' I said, finding some resolve and firmness in my tone.