The Tangled Web: an international web of intrigue, murder and romance (2 page)

Adrienne gripped Ian’s hand so tightly he flinched. “Oh my God, they’re going to kill us,” she trembled.

“Shut up!” the man holding the Sig Sauer barked. He turned to his companion. “Let’s take them below and get this over with.”

From that point on, everything seemed to unfold in slow motion: being herded down the steps at gunpoint; Anne McGuire’s legs giving way, Ian reaching out to steady her, his own terror reflected in her eyes; cold sweat washing over his body; David’s voice weak and pleading, “Look, I don’t know why you’re doing this. We haven’t done anything to…” And then the crack of a shot up on the fly bridge followed by the soul-shattering sound of Anne McGuire’s scream carrying across the water in a wail that seemed as endless as the waves. “Nooooo! Ray! Oh my God! Ray! He shot Ray!”

After that, the two men moved fast, taking Ian and David at the same time. As if in a dream, Adrienne watched Ian reel as the bullet from the Sig Sauer ripped through his chest. She watched as he collapsed beside David, their bodies lying side by side in a bizarre brotherhood of death. She screamed. Then she saw no more. It had all taken place in less than a minute.

Still gazing out the window of his plane, Armstrong could see the island now, or rather he could sense it. Though lit by brilliant moonlight, only lights twinkling down the mountains to the harbor were visible from the air. It always amazed him how much subliminal energy this island had. He could almost hear it rising from the earth like the distant beat of rasta drums. It had been more than twenty years since it had been his permanent home, but now, as his plane prepared to land, he had that familiar feeling of coming home. It always felt good to be back, though this time would be different.

The Gulfstream swooped to a perfect landing and taxied down the runway to the terminal. Armstrong quickly disembarked and walked briskly through the arrivals section of the terminal, his travel-worn leather carry-on slung over his shoulder. It didn’t hold nearly enough for his stay, but there was always something he could fall back on up at his cottage in the mountains. He checked his watch. It was already after 1:00 a.m.

A grinning Trevor was waiting at the curbside with the Range Rover idling when Armstrong stepped out into the moist warmth of the tropical night. “Hello, Mr. Logan, had a good trip, sir?”

“Good enough, Trevor, but never mind that. How are you?”

Trevor’s wide smile faded. “I’m okay, sir, but things are getting worse every day. It’s bad.”

“I’ve heard.”

Without further comment, Armstrong slid into the back seat.

The Range Rover cruised out of the airport and turned onto a two-lane highway flanked by the harbor on one side and the ocean on the other. Armstrong lowered his window, taking in the salty breeze off the sea. Over the purring of the engine, he could hear the rhythm of the waves crashing on the pebbly beach that stretched for miles adjacent to the road. He looked out the other window toward the city glittering like a diamond necklace around the harbor and up into the mountains. The breathtaking view belied the reality. Things were not as they appeared at first glance. Armstrong wondered if they ever were. He reached for his mobile.

“I’m here.”

“Where are you exactly?”

“On my way from the airport.”

TWO

Mike Graham studied himself in the bathroom mirror. Not bad for a man in his mid-forties, he mused. Just an extra inch or so around the middle, but still no grey hairs. None to speak of anyway. Most of his friends, particularly the married guys, weren’t holding up as well in his opinion. He’d never been one for working out, so he was thankful he was still in fair shape thanks to the blessing of good genes.

A troubled frown creased Mike’s brow as he quickly ran a comb through his hair. Few things bothered him for long, but he’d been feeling uncharacteristically unsettled over the past two days. That nasty business he had been told about was weighing heavily on his mind. Once again he shrugged off making a decision on whether or not to take action. He pulled on some clothes and went to the car.

Mike drove leisurely through the sleeping suburbs and headed for the nearby mountains, changing into third gear as he navigated the first upward curve. He knew every foot of this winding mountain road like the back of his hand, though lit by a full moon as it now was, it would have been easy enough to navigate without knowing every curve and rut intimately. Mike glanced at his car clock. He was running a few minutes late, but he figured Logan probably was too. He estimated it would take Logan at least an hour to arrive from the airport.

Despite his attempt to empty his mind of his problems, Mike’s thoughts quickly returned to his immediate dilemma. He had every reason to fear the person who confided in him would be jeopardized if the police were told. The truth, if anyone cared to face it, was the guy wasn’t alone in doing what he had done to make ends meet. It had become a common enough thing. The fact was nobody could have anticipated it turning out the way it did. It was insane. Mike sighed heavily. He had always adhered to the philosophy
never judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes
. He had never hurt for money himself. And, unlike the poor bastard who had dumped the awful secret on him, he didn’t have a family to support.

But it was a magnificent night now, fresh and cool as it always was at those times of year when a full moon lit the island. The only sound for miles was his car making its way up the mountain, the purr of the engine punctuated now and then by the sound of water rushing over boulders on its journey to join the river a little way downstream. Mike turned the AC off and lowered the windows. This was why he loved the mountains; this stillness that covered them at night in a blanket of peace. During these wee hours of the morning, you could connect with the primeval essence of the land, travel through it to a time before the first Europeans had come ashore and left their footprints on the land and the culture.
Oh island in the sun
…
built to me by my father’s hand…all my days I will sing in praise…of your forest waters…your shining sand
he whistled softly as he rounded the final cliff-shadowed curve to see the familiar lights of Logan’s cottage greeting him from around the bend.

Logan still hadn’t arrived by the time Mike pulled up in front of the cottage and got out of the car. As he climbed the front steps up to the porch, he wondered how he would get in. Ivy, the housekeeper, certainly wouldn’t be up at that late hour. He hesitated at the door, wondering if it made sense to knock. Ivy opened it before he had a chance. Her face fell as she saw him.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Mike. It’s you. I thought it was Mr. Logan arriving.”

Mike ignored the look. “Didn’t expect to find you up at this hour Ivy,” he grunted, striding past her into the living room. “I’ll wait in here for him.”

“As you wish, sir,” Ivy retorted crisply then disappeared.

Mike sank into a lounge chair and made himself at home. He always felt comfortable in this old cottage. He had tried to persuade Logan to sell it to him many times. Untouched by the ravages of three category four hurricanes, it commanded a sweeping view of the valley below, its spacious wrap-around porch a reminder of a time when life moved at an unhurried pace. Like most of the island’s homes of that era, its seasoned wood floors were polished by a century of footsteps. Diagonally across the room from Mike sat a carved mahogany settee Mike was aware had been in Logan’s family for generations. His eyes stopped at the fireplace. Houses with fireplaces were virtually a thing of the past on the island, though at certain times of year it became chilly enough in the mountains for a fire. Ivy looked after the cottage well, Mike had to admit. The place was spotlessly clean. He could see her loving touch in the odd item of heirloom silver, which showed not a sign of tarnish. There were freshly cut flowers in the vases too, though Mike hedged a guess flowers came out only when Logan was expected.

It dawned on Mike Ivy was getting on in age. She was amazing. She could have retired years before, but she still kept house for Logan as she had for his family since anyone could remember. Mike had known Ivy from the time he and Logan were in short pants. Before then, she had been Logan and Virginia’s nanny. Ivy’s frosty greeting didn’t surprise him. He was fully aware Ivy wasn’t particularly fond of him. He suspected it had something to do with Virginia. He had noticed Ivy had cooled to him around the time he and Virginia broke up. Mike picked up a
Car & Driver
magazine lying on the table near him and started browsing through it unseeingly. Once again, he wondered why Logan had insisted on meeting at that late hour. He had the information Logan wanted. He didn’t see why it couldn’t have waited until morning. Something was afoot. The information alone said it all.

THREE

Lauren Anderson’s hand shook as she placed the phone back on its base. The final arrangements were now made. Her conversation with the man overseas had been brief. It had simply been a matter of deciding where and when to meet in London. Once there, she would deliver the package. As apprehension twisted her stomach into a knot yet again, Lauren reminded herself that this was no time for cold feet. Besides, she had full confidence that whatever she had become involved in was nothing to worry about. Yet she couldn’t help wondering what the whole thing involved. The little she knew was far from the entire story. One thing was certain, it was vitally important to someone that the package was delivered. In addition to all expenses paid, she was receiving an astronomical ten thousand pounds for simply flying to London to deliver it.

Lauren threw herself on the sofa remembering how she had got roped into the unlikely assignment. It had started with a seemingly casual invitation from Margaret Thomas, the indomitable Minister of Finance. She hadn’t been in contact with Margaret for some time, when out of the blue Margaret had called and invited her to tea that coming Sunday. Lauren’s reporter’s antennae had risen immediately. She was accustomed to dropping in on her aunt unannounced. “Tea on Sunday? That sounds rather formal. What’s the occasion?” she had asked curiously.

Margaret laughed. “Well, if it takes a formal invitation to see my niece, so be it. Think you have time to squeeze your aunt into your busy schedule?”

Lauren couldn’t help smiling at the blatant guilt trip tactic. “Come on Aunt Maggie. It’s you who has the impossibly busy schedule, so don’t blame it all on me. But of course I’ll come for tea. What time?”

“Around four, if that’s okay with you.”

Lauren hung up and sat thinking for a while. Something was up, she firmly decided.

It was on the dot of four when Lauren arrived at Margaret’s house, bursting with curiosity. “Looks like you couldn’t wait to get here,” Margaret teased as she led her out to the garden.

“Where’s Uncle Rich today?” Lauren asked on noticing the absence of her uncle-in-law.

“Playing golf as usual. Which is perfect. I wanted to see you alone.”

Margaret led the way to a table under a vine-covered arbor. As they sat, she purposefully poured Lauren a freshly brewed cup and handed it to her. There was a pregnant silence before she announced, “Lauren, there’s something important I want to discuss with you.”

Lauren’s thoughts flew to her mother who had been in and out of hospital in the past year. “What is it?” she asked anxiously.

Margaret didn’t answer immediately. Lauren sweetened her tea, waiting for whatever was coming. They were alone, out of earshot of anyone, yet Margaret lowered her voice as she said, “What I’m about to say must remain strictly between us.”

Lauren eyed Margaret with a mixture of relief and apprehension. From Margaret’s tone, it was clear this was not about her mother. But whatever it was, it was important, Lauren knew. The thought crossed her mind it might have something to do with the government. But surely not, she quickly decided. Margaret wouldn’t divulge sensitive government information to a reporter, even if that reporter were her niece.

“I need someone to run an errand,” Margaret confided as she took a sip of tea. “It has to be someone who is totally discreet. Unfortunately, not many people fit that bill.” She paused, measuring Lauren’s response, before continuing, “There’s a package that has to be delivered to someone in London, no questions asked.”

Lauren stared at Margaret in bafflement. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“I’m asking you to make the delivery.”

For a minute, Lauren was speechless. “Am I understanding you correctly?” she at last exclaimed. “You’re asking me to deliver something on the condition I know nothing of what I’m delivering? Then in addition you want me to swear to secrecy? Aunt Margaret, this sounds very cloak and dagger. What on earth is it about?”

“I wish I could say more, but I can’t. But you of all people must know I would never involve you in anything illegal.”

“There’s no question about that. Still, why all the mystery? Could you clue me in just a little?”

Margaret rolled the edge of her napkin contemplatively. “I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me on this one. I can’t tell you how much I’ve agonized over asking you to do this, but I can think of no one else. There are certain things you’ve never come out and said in so many words, but I can read between the lines of your columns. I have to confess as a minister of the very government you criticize so vehemently, sometimes what you write makes me cringe with embarrassment.”

Lauren’s eyes narrowed on her aunt. What exactly was Margaret attempting to rope her into? Whatever it was, she was now reasonably sure it had something to do with the government. She helped herself to a slice of pineapple upside down cake to buy time to think.

“Who would I be delivering this package to?” she finally asked.

“You’ll be given the information you need, of course. That’s if you agree.”