Eye of the Cobra (34 page)

‘We’ll catch it before they put it on a plane. Max, you arrange it.’

The manager of the local courier service was very happy. Now he would be able to afford the holiday flat he’d been hoping to buy his mistress. He’d received a phone call earlier that morning, something about some videotapes. Well, he’d told his employees to be on the lookout for them. What a find.

A couple of phone calls, and they’d been across like a rifle
shot. He hadn’t even had to barter with them, the money had been laid on the table. Now they had the videotapes, and when the cameraman, a Mr Max Senda, phoned, he would shrug his shoulders and say that these things happened. The videotapes were now officially ‘lost’.

Max Senda waited in the reception area of the hotel, smoking his thirty-eighth cigarette of the day. Where the hell were his videotapes?

A tall, blond man in a Hawaian shirt strode in. He looked vaguely familiar, and under his arm was a batch of video
tapes.

‘Over here!’ Max shouted.

The man came over and looked him up and down, then he handed him the boxes. Anxiously, Max opened them.

‘One’s missing. Where the hell is it?’

‘Must still be at the airport,’ replied the man.

‘Well, let’s go there.’

He followed the man in the Hawaian shirt out of his car. There were two more men in it.

‘My friends. You don’t mind?’

Max couldn’t have cared less. He got into the front seat with the blond man.

‘Let’s go!’ he shouted.

The man drove very quickly, and had a surprising knowledge of the back streets. After a while Max looked down at his watch and saw that they had been travelling for over fifteen minutes. Still, he didn’t know the area; perhaps this was the quickest route to the airport.

‘Far to go?’ he asked, after another five minutes.

The man ignored him. Max noticed that the streets they were travelling through were becoming progressively poorer. He began to feel uneasy.

‘Where the hell are we going?’

The man didn’t reply. Suddenly, Max remembered where he’d seen him - at the track, in the workshop.

He tried to open the car door - and received a blow across the back of the head, then felt something pass over his face. The next second the garotte tightened around his windpipe. He raised his hands to relieve the pressure, but it was no good. Then the other man in the back held a cigarette-lighter to his fingers - but he couldn’t scream out for lack of air. The driver turned to him.

‘Not too far now. Just relax.’

As he was about to black out, the pressure relented and he slumped forward, holding his neck. The man at the wheel grabbed the scruff of his neck and rammed his head into the dashboard.

They pulled up outside a tin shanty, and the two men from the back dragged him out of the car. He tried to run, but they kicked his feet from underneath him.

‘What else did you see?’ the blond man asked.

Max tried to answer but they started kicking him before he could get the words out. Blows struck every part of his body, knocking out some of his teeth, breaking his ribs. He tried to defend himself but he didn’t stand a chance.

‘Ready to talk?’

He lay on the ground, blood oozing from his mouth, and prayed they’d leave him alone. He tasted the dirt mingling with the blood in his mouth, and smelt sweat.

‘What do you want?’

‘Why did you take the pictures?’

‘I’m a reporter.’

This answer was greeted by a heavy kick in the face. The man in the Hawaian shirt then stood on his fingers and twisted his heel around.

‘What do you want!’ Max screamed.

‘What did you see?’

‘You. The truck. That was all. Where the hell’s Suzie von Falkenhyn?’

‘Did you tell anyone about this?’

Max hesitated. He thought of Vanessa undergoing this treatment. Who knew what these men might do? His interrog
ator spat on him.

‘I think you should go for a ride to loosen your tongue.’

They dragged him round to the back of the car and tied his feet to the bumper, so that the rest of his body was lying on the ground. He heard the engine start, and the next minute he was being dragged across the ground at high speed. His clothes tore through in seconds, and his skin started scraping against the ground. When the car finally came to a stop he was barely alive.

‘Does anyone know?’

‘Wyatt Chase and Vanessa Tyson. They’re looking for Suzie. I was following her when I saw you and the truck.’

Max passed in and out of consciousness.

The blond man looked agitated.

‘Is that all?’

Max nodded weakly.

‘Put him in the boot.’

Max could do nothing. They tossed him into the back of the car and pulled away.

As they bumped along the road, he felt sick. He clawed at the edges of the boot. He could smell the exhaust fumes . . . Then he realised the exhaust was feeding directly into the boot.

He banged against the metal, but he was already losing consciousness.

A kilometre later Max Senda was dead.

Wyatt had just about finished the packing, but there was still no call from Vanessa Tyson. He had a tough testing schedule lined up in England, which he needed to get back for, but he wasn’t leaving till he found out what had happened to Suzie.
He would spend a few more days in Rio if necessary. Maybe it was time to contact the police.

He decided he’d talk to Vanessa. He took the lift and went up to her room, but the door was locked, and when he knocked there was no answer. Some sixth sense told him she was inside, and there was something wrong.

He took a run at the door, and kicked it down with a single blow. The room was empty, a picture of order, and Vanessa was nowhere to be seen.

Then there was a noise from the bathroom. Wyatt opened the door to see Vanessa suspended, naked and unconscious, from the shower-rail.

‘My God!’

He put his arms around her and lifted her, taking her weight off the cord, then he reached up with one arm and unhitched it. He threw Vanessa onto the bed and gave her the kiss of life, but there was no response.

Breathe, damn you. Breathe.

He put his hand over her heart and hit the back of it with his fist. Breathe! He smashed the flat of his hand against her chest.

Suddenly she coughed, and then vomited.

Breathe!

She gulped in air as he held her head up.

‘Oh God!’ she coughed. ‘For God’s sake, help me!’

She vomited again - several small white pills. He reached for the phone next to her bed and dialed reception.

‘Get me an ambulance and a doctor - fast!’

Detective Inspector Farina folded up his small notebook and stared hard at Wyatt Chase.

‘Suicide.’

Farina’s English was good, with hardly a trace of an accent.

‘Rio is a rough town. All we know is that Mr Senda and Miss von Falkenhyn have not been seen. Your lady friend’s attempted suicide is probably unconnected with their disappearance.’

‘So you’re going to do nothing?’

‘I will wait.’

‘What, till someone else dies or disappears?’

‘You may be an expert driver but you’re not a policeman. I haven’t got a lead, and Rio is a big city. Vanessa Tyson is only one amongst over a hundred people who have tried to commit suicide today. If Max Senda or Miss von Falkenhyn do not appear in the next twenty-four hours, I will hand their pictures over to the TV network.’

‘That’s all you’re going to do?’ Wyatt muttered angrily.

‘You want me to declare a state of emergency because your girlfriend has walked out on you?’ Farina replied sarcastically.

Vanessa looked terrible. Her neck was in a brace and there were bags under her eyes. Her arms were held with straps to the side of the bed, as were her legs.

She looked up at Wyatt as he came into the private room at the hospital.

‘You all right?’

‘How does it look?’ she croaked. ‘
Give me a fucking cigarette! My handbag, in that cabinet, if there’s anything left in it.’

He found the cigarettes, placed one in her mouth and lit it. She inhaled deeply and lay back.

‘I thought you didn’t smoke.’

‘That’s privileged information.’

She paused, then looked at him squarely.

‘You think I tried to kill myself?’

‘No.’

The cigarette dropped from her mouth and she started coughing. Wyatt picked it up and waited for her to recover.

‘They say I’m a drug addict,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s quite incredible! All I know is that there’s a lot more to this than meets the eye.’

‘So w
hat happened?’

‘There’s a knock on my door, right? I say, “Who is it?”. I hear a muffled “Wyatt”. I open the door, and this blond
-haired man in a Hawaian shirt bursts into my room, grabs me and rams a hypodermic into my arm. A day later I wake up here, diagnosed suicidal and a drug addict.’

She took another long drag on the cigarette.

‘Now tell me what’s been happening to you.’

Wyatt knew he must tell her the truth.

‘The police found Max’s body this morning,’ he said heavily. ‘We were the last two people to talk to him, and we are the only ones who knew about that videotape. The courier company knows nothing, but Senda was picked up by some men claiming to be their representatives. Two hours later, he was dead.’

Vanessa stared at him coldly.

‘My instincts tell me that you and I had better leave this place, or we’ll both be in coffins pretty soon.’

Wyatt went through Vanessa’s handbag, and found her passport and her credit cards.

‘I’m taking you to the airport,’ he said.

‘You’re not coming?’

‘No. I have a few more loose ends I want to investigate.’

‘Wyatt, you’re in danger!’

‘Listen, Vanessa, I’m taking you to the airport and you’re in no condition to argue with me.’

Wyatt glanced across at Vanessa, securely strapped into the back seat of the taxi next to him. She winked at him. ‘I think I can trust you not to take advantage of me. Let’s go.’

The taxi-driver pulled out into the busy street and weaved his way through the traffic. It had taken Wyatt an hour to discharge Vanessa from the hospital, and a fight with the doctors, but he’d won in the end.

‘I’ll make sure Suzie’s disappearance gets full coverage in the media,’ Vanessa said. ‘They’ll have to mount a search after that.’

Wyatt grimaced. Suzie must be in big trouble. She must have seen something at the circuit. But what?

The taxi-driver turned off the busy street and took a side-road. Immediately another car drew up alongside them. Wyatt caught sight of a flash of metal and dragged Vanessa down to the floor.

‘Jesus, Wyatt!’

At that moment the windows of the taxi exploded around them and the driver leapt out. Wyatt, forcing his way between the front seats, slipped the taxi into gear and pressed the accelerator. The taxi shot forward, bullets ricocheting all over the place. He heard Vanessa moaning, and eased himself into the front seat, weaving the car backwards and forwards now, praying that the bullets wouldn’t find their mark. He swerved into another alley, and the gunfire stopped.

The sweat dripped from his face as he gunned the car on, desperately staring into the rear-view mirror. A car appeared behind within seconds, and more shots slammed into the back of the taxi. Wyatt swung to the right and followed another street that led upwards, towards the wealthier suburbs sur
rounding the Sugar Loaf.

Vanessa sat up to look out of the window.

‘Get down!’ Wyatt screamed as more bullets slammed into the boot. He turned again, and found himself on a road that clung to the side of the mountain, with a precipitous drop on one side.

He looked back again, and sure enough, the pursuing car swung into view.

All right, you fuckers, he thought. Now let’s see what you’re made of.

He gunned the taxi hard into the next corner, the wheels squealing as the machine reached the limits of its adhesion. He looked back - and saw the pursuing car fall away.

Vanessa saw a cold smile creep across Wyatt’s face. He drew up the handbrake and the taxi screamed round, the cliff edge coming into view as they spun in a round-the-clock turn.

‘No!’ Vanessa cried as Wyatt accelerated downhill at a suicidal pace.

The attacking car was coming towards them. Wyatt slammed the taxi into second gear and drove at it head on. In the last millisecond before impact he wrenched the steering-wheel to one side and then back again, and slammed the taxi hard into the side of the attacking car. The car rocketed over the side of the cliff and into space.