“Not really, but I am in the right place, I know. I’m guessing that any leads are in the refrigerator-sized safe in his room. That’s my next big problem. I just wish it was the size of the safe in my own room, which is about as big as a shoebox and, I discovered, not even attached to the shelf in the wardrobe.”
“Be careful … I need you back here.”
“Are you missing our chats by the bins?”
“No, I’ve run out of cigarettes,” he said.
She changed hands and put the phone against her left ear. “And I thought you were ringing to ask after my health.” There was a slightly awkward silence before she continued, “What’s happening at the villa?”
“Charles is walking around as if his football team is on for the treble, Maria is ordering a new cover for the swimming pool, and Angelica comes out of her room, argues with the first person she meets and goes back in with a tray of food.”
“An everyday tale of billionaire folk?”
“Except that Diego is getting suspicious. He has seen the same two men in a Mercedes pass up and down outside a few times. He’s keeping an eye on them.” Wazz waited for her obvious reaction. There was none, and he could feel that she was completely distracted and scared stiff.
“I can’t handle both the situation with Charles and the mess out here with Randy,” she confessed.
“Then put all of your effort into finding Randy and leave me to look after the Yellands.”
“Patrick, I have some news for you. Brendan Dowell isn’t just in the frame for the events in Colmar; he’s also the orchestrator of the kidnap of Charles Yelland’s family. This is all linked, obviously.”
“Really? This is bizarre.”
“Patrick, any developments at your end? I have to update the PM first thing tomorrow before he flies to Marrakech on Thursday.” Commander Ben Cox really wanted some resolution to events in Colmar.
“No, and yes. No, because Walter Flushing is still in a coma. Yes, because I’ve just eaten lunch with the prosecutor, Madame Bettancourt.”
“Was she forthcoming on anything?”
“I’m tempted to say, ‘No, and yes,’ again. I’m pretty good at reading people, but I find her inscrutable. She’s charming, attractive and professional, but there’s just something that doesn’t click with me.”
“Do you trust her?”
“I think so. Our lunch was off the record, and it was just the two of us, but I don’t know what political pressure she’s getting from those higher up the food chain. She was open about police incompetence and the difficulties of the investigation, but she said she was nervous about the lab results. What have Porton Down said is their final analysis, by the way?”
“I don’t have their final report, but they’ve told me that they’ve never seen the poison before or at least not in this form. They think the French analysis was a bit faulty. However, they tell me that this was made in a state laboratory; this couldn’t have been developed and manufactured by amateurs.”
“Did they think Russian or Moroccan or someone else’s?”
“They thought that it was unlikely to be Morocco, but that is possible, of course, and it also could have been supplied by another country … or anyone else.”
“One other thing she asked me about was Johnny Musselwhite and the PEGASUS gas pipeline. You remember that he was meeting Yves Dubuisson, their Minister of Energy and Minerals, about the potash mine rehabilitation project? Well, she made it clear that Yves Dubuisson was about as dodgy as Johnny Musselwhite, in her opinion. I’m not sure where that gets us?”
“She wouldn’t be the first member of the judiciary who distrusts politicians.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
In Buckinghamshire, it was an early Wednesday-morning start for the police team, including the specialist armed squad, some of whom had come from the nearby London borough of Hillingdon. Detective Sergeant Harry Wardrop had been a little sceptical when he had been passed twelve addresses in his county with the information that one of them, Holly Cottage, was likely to be where the cook and her daughter, kidnapped from Beswick Manor, were being held. He and his team had been laboriously watching CCTV footage from places near the manor house, trying to establish the route the kidnappers had taken in their two white vans. It was proving difficult because this area of Buckinghamshire, being so close to London, had some major roads with good public and commercial CCTV coverage, but it also had a network of rural lanes that most certainly did not.
When Nigel from Special Branch had phoned through Mike’s list, he had also sent aerial photographs, including the one Mike had accessed showing one white van. Harry Wardrop was wondering where these current satellite photographs came from, but he was very grateful that they could well save him and his colleagues days of work.
An unmarked police car had driven slowly past Holly Cottage, but there was no view of the rear area behind the brick walls and the garage.
While this was happening, Harry and his team were checking any available CCTV coverage from the roads, service stations and shops nearest the cottage at the time of the kidnap. The two vans, it appeared, had split up and approached the cottage a few minutes apart. Neither had left since, or so it appeared from other footage. With the appropriate search warrant prepared, the decision was made to send in an armed team, but this wouldn’t be until they had received the layout of the cottage from the rental agent and a drone had been flown some distance away but so as to give a clear view of the rear of the property, including the one white van parked outside.
A separate team was busy searching the records for the numbers of mobile phones recently used in Holly Cottage. They found only one, and it was registered in a false name.
By lunchtime, everyone was ready and fourteen officers with various skills moved off in five vehicles, eventually parking them some distance from the cottage. The eight officers with firearms edged into positions around the property. The drone operator was ready to provide images of the action, and another officer was poised to activate a device that would block any mobile coverage and, probably, mess up any heart pacemakers.
At 12.30pm, they crashed through the front door, firing their stun guns, which delivered flash-bangs, disorientating anyone inside.
This was a textbook operation, watched by the supervising officers via body cameras and via the drone.
An enormous sense of relief washed over everyone involved as Gabriela and her daughter were brought out of the front door. Two kidnappers would be brought out later in body bags.
Victor was chairing a meeting that was meant to be his last formal preparation before he flew from Heathrow to Marrakech. The attendees, of which there were twelve, included Commander Ben Cox and Dennis from the FCO. They had reached item four on the agenda: security.
“OK, we move on to security.” The PM leant back slightly. “Ben? Dennis? Alexander?”
Ben Cox moved some hair across his forehead and began, “Well, let me bring everyone up to date with some good news. A very successful operation has just been completed – I mean minutes ago – in Buckinghamshire. The two kidnapped women have been freed in a joint operation between police, MI5, MI6 and special forces. The two kidnappers are dead. I have no more details. It will take a little time, but we hope that the people behind Mr Musselwhite’s poisoning, the shooting of Mr Flushing and the threats to Mr Yelland of Petronello have now been removed. We are, therefore, content that none of this will now impact your trip to the G20.”
“How is Mr Flushing doing?” Victor asked.
“Still in a coma … and under French police protection,” Ben answered.