Tanaka cut in before Alex could finish. ‘You see, Compton, he admits it. This has nothing to do with them whatsoever.’
Compton looked more confused than ever.
Tanaka’s tone became angry, his voice louder. ‘Look, we have a lot of work to do, Compton. I’m starting to get impatient. Just tell these two to get the hell out of here, before it gets nasty.’
Compton said nothing, nervously rubbing his chin.
‘Well, do something, man, don’t just stand there,’ Tanaka shouted.
The four of them stood by the rose, each waiting for the other to say something. Instead, another voice, strident and menacing, broke the eerie silence.
‘Stay right where you are. All of you.’
Alex spun around. That voice. American. At first he thought he recognized it. But no, it wasn’t the man who had been phoning. He’d know that voice, anywhere. A tall man wearing a dark windbreaker zipped up over a black turtleneck stood at the entrance to the paddock. He was gripping a sinister-looking small black pistol in his right hand.
‘That rose doesn’t belong to any of you. That rose is mine,’ he said, starting to walk toward them.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Someone said that God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.
Sir J. M. Barrie
When Marcus and Kate arrived back at the farmhouse two cars were parked in the courtyard, but there were no signs of the other men. Marcus locked her up immediately in a much smaller room than before.
Few words had passed between them since she had stepped out of the phone box. During the drive she had tried to remain calm, trying to convince him that she and Alex no longer had the rose, that it had been stolen. Then, losing patience, she had questioned him angrily, but Marcus was very short on words.
She had been lying on the bed for less than an hour when Marcus returned. Saying nothing, he escorted her downstairs. Seated in the kitchen, she was given a ham and cheese sandwich, a bottle of mineral water, and a bruised apple.
‘Try to do another runner and you’ll end up a cripple,’ he said, leaving the room.
After ten minutes, he returned. A hollow sensation started in her stomach and rose up into her chest when Kate saw he was holding a dark-coloured scarf and a length of nylon cord in his hand. Commanding her to remain seated he knotted the scarf around her eyes and expertly tied her wrists with the cord. Leading her outside, he bundled her back into the Jeep – she recognized the same air freshener smell – and slammed the door behind her.
Soon she heard footsteps on the gravel. Two people got into the front seats. The doors slammed and the engine started. ‘We’re going for a long drive,’ Marcus said, snapping his seat belt buckle. ‘You might as well settle down.’
‘This looks like it, boss,’ said Marcus, slowing at the sight of the green and gold Compton’s Roses sign. He pulled the Jeep over on to the grass verge a few yards before the closed gate.
‘Good,’ said Wolff. ‘So far, Sheppard’s not lying.’
Kate sat in darkness in the back seat, listening. She had concluded earlier that the American man with Marcus must be the ‘Ira’ they’d referred to at the farmhouse. The man who was going to ‘make the deal’ with Alex. Her wrists were sore from the chafing of the cord that was also tied to the inside door handle and covered with tape. It had been a long drive but thankfully – for part of it at least – she had involuntarily drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
She heard the passenger door open and slam shut as the man got out. Next, the grating of a bolt followed by the metallic squeal of a gate being opened. The Jeep eased slowly forward for several yards, then stopped. Marcus turned the engine off and got out, slamming the door hard, shaking the car.
Kate could hear Marcus and the other man talking outside but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Next, the door beside her was opened, the tape was cut, and the cord attached to her wrists was untied from the door handle. It was then knotted around her waist preventing her from moving her hands. ‘Get out,’ Marcus said.
Kate slid across the seat and, without assistance, got out of the car. The turf was springy beneath her feet. She felt the mist dampen her cheeks. A smell of manure was heavy in the air, the nearby sound of bleating sheep, muted. With Marcus gripping her upper arm, they started walking in silence.
After a minute or so they came to a halt.
Despite the scarf covering her ears she could hear faint voices. It sounded as though an argument was taking place. She couldn’t be sure if it was just two people or whether more were involved. She strained harder but the voices were sufficiently distant to make the exchange unintelligible.
Her concentration was broken by the American man’s voice. ‘You stay here with her while I go and see what’s going on. And for Christ’s sake keep her out of sight.’
Still gripping her arm, Marcus walked her several paces until they were up against a building of some kind. The argument must be over, she could no longer hear the voices. Or perhaps it was because they were now shielded by the building. For the first time since getting out of the car she felt very cold. She shivered, wishing that she wore a heavier jacket. It had gone awfully quiet. The sheep had stopped bleating and there were no other country sounds – for that was surely where they were. Even the chirping of birds was eerily absent.
Kate heard Marcus clear his throat and spit. She was glad she couldn’t see the despicable man. She thought back to the voices, the argument. It was more than likely that Alex was one of them. She was now getting increasingly concerned for his safety. These men were dangerous and set on a mission. The thought of Alex getting into any kind of confrontation with them was frightening. It comforted her to realize that Kingston would probably be with him. She doubted that Alex would have come alone.
She thought she heard a slight rustling noise behind her. It couldn’t be Marcus because she knew he was off to her right. Perhaps it was a dog or a cat. She was about to dismiss it when a voice broke the silence. It was an incongruous and unexpected voice – a rural accent, spoken in a loud whisper. ‘You, over there, stand very still and turn around slowly. You, miss, step back four paces.’
Kate felt a hand behind her head unknotting the scarf and removing it. When she opened her eyes they hurt. She closed them quickly; the light was too bright. After opening and closing them a few times she was gradually able to see clearly. The black scarf was on the ground in front of her. Facing her, ten paces away, was Marcus, still wearing dark glasses despite the dismal weather. He stood motionless, a grim expression on his face, his eyes glued on whomever was standing behind her. She half turned and looked over her shoulder. Standing just a few feet away was a scruffy old man with a deeply lined face wearing a weathered raincoat and cap. He was gripping a shotgun at his waist, pointed directly at Marcus’s midriff. It looked like he knew how to use it.
‘What’s going on here, then?’ he inquired.
Kate turned fully so he could see her bound wrists. ‘This man kidnapped me,’ she said, nodding toward Marcus. ‘We have to call the police.’
‘Jesus! What in hell has he done to you?’
Kate moved behind him. ‘Be careful, he may have a gun.’
The old man brandished the shotgun at Marcus. ‘You move a finger and you’ll be full of bloody holes, mate.’
‘There’s another man here with him,’ said Kate. ‘I think he might have gone looking for my husband.’
He squinted at Kate. ‘We’d better get you out of ’ere.’
‘I have to find my husband.’
‘First things first, young lady. In my right pocket there’s a knife. Press the thumb button to open it, and we’ll get your hands free.’