Trapped (11 page)

She was just re-arranging the chips and frozen burgers over the gun when she heard a noise in the corridor. The bodyguards were on their way. For an instant she panicked, but then, as the steps drew nearer, she reached for a frozen dish marked
Chicken curry
. A few seconds later, as the bodyguards walked stealthily into the room, she was sitting at the bench gazing at the whirring microwave.

‘Starving,' she said brightly. Her heart was racing, petrified by just how close she had come to disaster.

The two men nodded in return and got to work carrying out a thorough search of the mess room, checking the TV cables and behind the pictures on the walls.

To Cate's horror, Ahmed lifted up the lid of the freezer and had a quick look inside, moving a few bits of food around. But the gun stayed hidden.

‘Fanks,' said Mikey over his shoulder as he left the room, the only word either of the men had spoken since they came in. Friendliness was clearly not their priority.

The microwave pinged and Cate sank back onto the bar seat, unsure whether or not to be relieved or terrified.
God, that was close
, she thought. And the evening had hardly even begun.

Carrying a bucket containing cloths and numerous polishes and sprays, Cate walked towards Nancy's bedroom feeling sick with fear and excitement. It was her first real spying assignment.

Just half an hour earlier, she had been up on the top deck serving champagne to a slightly drunk Nancy who was clinging to a rather bored-looking Tass.

Jules and Lulu stood to one side, pointedly ignoring the display of awkward affection. Cate even thought she saw contempt in Lulu's face as she watched Nancy planting kisses on the handsome Russian's cheek, but she could have been wrong.

The soft, early evening darkness had pushed back the last of the sun's rays and the splash pool, lit up by underwater lights, stood out against the twilight like a huge shimmering sapphire.

After such a hot day, the cool night-time air felt like a caress
on Cate's bare arms as she handed out drinks to the four adults, none of whom bothered to thank her.

A table for two, laid with crisp white linen and furnished with silver cutlery and a double candelabra had been set by the side of the pool. As Marcus carried in a seafood paella and lobster platter, Lulu and Jules stood up.

‘We're off to town,' announced Jules. ‘We'll see you guys in the morning.'

Neither Tass nor Nancy took any notice of his words. Indeed they didn't even look in his direction but, as they left the deck, Lulu beckoned sharply to Cate to follow.

‘Leave them,' she hissed as Cate moved up behind her. ‘Can't you see they want to be alone?'

Cate followed behind, then watched carefully as Jules and Lulu tottered off down the pontoon. Cate began to account for everyone left on board. Tass and Nancy were safely on the top deck. Marcus was still in the galley: she could hear his singing as he concocted some amazing dessert, and Wendy was waiting on the main deck until whatever time the happy couple decided to call it a night.

Downstairs in the staff mess room, Cate found Bill playing cards with Mikey whilst Ahmed sat away from the others, on one of the red bar stools. It was a perfect time to go spying.

Cate made a big show of going over to the small sink and pulling out cleaning products and a bucket. ‘Just tidying up some of the main rooms,' she said to no one in particular. Bill and Mikey ignored her and carried on with their good-natured banter but Ahmed turned and gave her a slow stare.

‘Which rooms?' he asked.

‘Not sure yet,' said Cate blithely. ‘P'raps the main salon and the bathrooms. Depends.'

‘Tell me when you're going into Miss Kyle's room,' Ahmed said, gazing into Cate's eyes as he spoke. She held his gaze but behind his pale eyes there was an emptiness which made Cate shudder inwardly. ‘I like to check and double check. Understand?' He spoke flatly, without drama and Cate struggled to find a reply. Then Bill came to her rescue.

‘Blimey, mate, you're a bit keen.' The Australian spoke without looking up from the cards he was holding.

‘That's Ahmed for you,' said Mikey. ‘Likes to keep 'imself busy.'

Cate nodded and went back upstairs clutching her bucket and dusters. She didn't have much time, she reckoned, before Ahmed came looking for her. Something told her he wasn't the type to make idle threats.

Cate hesitated, wondering whether to ask Marcus to act as look out, but when she poked her head around the galley door he was gone, the kitchen immaculate and clearly shut up for the night. Cate cursed silently, thought for a few seconds and then ran back downstairs. She nipped into her room, grabbed her laptop from under the bed and then went to the laundry cupboard and pulled down a couple of thick towels.

With the computer tucked between them, she carried the towels ostentatiously and slowly past the mess room door. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ahmed look up as she went by. To him she was just carrying a pile of towels. He had no idea that they were hiding another pair of eyes.

At the top of the stairs, she dumped the towels, opened up
the laptop and removed the tiny detachable webcam. Looking quickly around her, she spotted a crack between the door and the wall and, switching the camera on, she slid it quickly into the gap.

Reaching the safety of the middle deck she heaved a huge sigh of relief. So far, so good. But she had very little time left to play with. She picked up the towels and laptop again and walked quickly towards Nancy's suite, then stopped and listened intently, her heart beating loudly, her breath shallow.

All was quiet, with just a few sounds of chat and music wafting down from the top deck where, pudding over, Nancy was presumably still snuggling up to her man. But just to make sure, she knocked softly on the door, then a second time more loudly. She opened it quietly. The bedroom was almost dark, lit only by a wavering light coming in through the portholes.

Cate padded silently over to the bedside table and switched on one of the lamps which gave out a light just bright enough to see by but, she hoped, dim enough not to attract attention. Nervously, she checked out the bathroom and the dressing room, looking behind the doors and back into the depths of the closets. To her relief there was no one lurking – she was definitely on her own.

She switched on the laptop, put it on the dressing table, clicked for the webcam viewer and held her breath. To her delight a flickering picture of the lower stairwell came up on the screen. She turned up the volume and within seconds could hear the faint noise of Bill and Mikey chatting just a few metres away. It was basic, she couldn't make out what they were saying, but it did the job. As long as Cate kept an eye and an
ear out for her laptop, she should have advance warning of anyone who came up the stairs from below deck.

Now she was ready to go to work. She started in the bathroom, rummaging amongst the numerous bottles of Crème de la Mer cleanser, La Prairie night cream, and Bulgari scented body soufflés, valiantly resisting the urge to spray some extremely expensive Tom Ford Night Orchid on her wrists.

She moved on into the dressing room and worked her way methodically through the clothes in the wardrobe, checking even the smallest pockets and the linings, but the best she could come up with were receipts from Harvey Nichols (three sarongs), Gucci (two pairs of sunglasses) and Tiffany's (a gold ankle chain). She even checked inside and underneath each of the exquisite shoes.

For a few seconds she stopped and caught herself in the middle of her task.
How do I know how to do this?
she wondered.
Just how have I come from being a schoolgirl on the number 42 bus to a secret agent searching the shoes of a supermodel?

The drawers were crammed with at least fifteen handbags that Cate had never seen before, ranging from tiny little Chanel evening numbers with delicate gold chains to a huge vintage Kelly bag that looked as if it belonged on a Sixties film set.

Despite her best intentions, Cate was starting to flag; the tension and the fear of being caught, not to mention the lack of anything specific to search for, was beginning to grind her down. As the seconds ticked by it was becoming harder and harder to fight the voice in her head that was saying, ‘Get out! Get out now!'

But still she hesitated. She didn't, couldn't, just give up. Not when logic and instinct told her that somewhere in this room could be the information that could help her discover the dreadful fate of those lovely animals.

The flickering screen of the laptop showed that she had already got through four minutes of searching time and Cate, suddenly panicked that she might have missed some signal of approaching danger, used up a few more precious seconds standing by the speaker, ears straining to hear any unusual sound.

But there was no change, nothing to hear apart from the reassuring murmur of the men from the deck below and the music coming from the top deck. She forced herself to stop and think. If Nancy Kyle was carrying something precious, or dangerous, with her, she wouldn't want the hassle of finding a hiding place every time she checked in somewhere new. It was risky and inconvenient. Far better to keep it hidden in something that travelled with her, something familiar, and easy to reach.

But what? Cate had already checked Nancy's clothes and her toiletries and just about everything else in her suite that went where she did. Perhaps there was nothing to find. Maybe Marcus and his mates had got it all completely wrong about Nancy.

And just then, Cate's gaze fell onto the large silver-framed photograph of Nancy with the mountain gorilla and she nearly kicked herself with frustration at her stupidity. How could she have missed such an obvious hiding place?

Cate turned over the heavy frame and undid the catches at
the back. The thick wood backing came away easily and taped on the inside was a piece of paper. Cate let out a breath of air. Success.

Trying hard to control her natural inclination to rip away the tape, Cate instead carefully peeled it from the frame, noting exactly where it had been placed. The thick piece of paper was small, less than ten centimetres by fifteen centimetres and folded over twice. Curiously Cate opened it.

The beautiful and the rare animals of the wilderness thank you for your generosity and courage. Your name will go down in history. Such a beautiful woman, you are, quite literally, saving our planet.

Despite herself, Cate found herself grinning at the flowery language, before beginning the task of working out the flamboyant signature at the bottom. It took a few seconds to pick up the rhythm of the bright green inked letters but finally she had it. Frederico Mantoni. Or it could be Mantani. She had no idea of knowing whether it was important but at least it was something concrete to go on.

Quickly she reread and memorised the message and then replaced the letter. Luckily the tape still held and if it did come away the next time it was removed, Cate reasoned, it would look accidental. She replaced the frame exactly as it had been on the bedside table and went to check the other photographs. The first one, showing Nancy with a turtle, drew a blank. The next, a smaller one of her with a Siberian tiger, was empty as well. Cate had just checked the last frame when suddenly, through the speakers, she heard the sound she had been dreading. Footsteps, treading heavily up the staircase and headed her way. Not quickly, but Cate calculated that, even so,
she had less than a minute to cover her tracks and get out of the room.

With no time to be frightened, her mind went into overdrive. The laptop was shut down and hidden within the pile of towels on the bed in seconds. Cate switched off the light and opened the door quietly, giving silent thanks for the thick pile carpet that silenced her footsteps. She grabbed the towels and the cleaning equipment and slipped quietly and quickly out of the room and across into a guest bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Like a whirlwind she ran into the bathroom, turned on the taps and raced back again to the door where she stood, breathless and listening.

Less than ten seconds passed before Cate heard the door to Nancy's room being opened and held her breath, waiting to see if she had left behind any evidence that would betray her to the bodyguard. But there was nothing, no explosion of anger, no shout of annoyance and at last Cate allowed herself to breathe easy. That had been close, very close. And she wasn't out of the woods just yet.

A minute later, when Ahmed barged unceremoniously into the second bedroom, he found Cate in the ensuite bathroom, humming a song and scrubbing the bath with faultless industry.

‘Oh hi,' she said in a surprised voice to Ahmed as she turned to see him. ‘Glad you're here. I've nearly finished up. Can we go and do Nancy's room now?'

An hour later, her cleaning finished and given the rest of the night off by a weary-looking Wendy, Cate was back in her cabin. Checking that her door was securely locked, she knelt on
the floor, powered up her laptop, switched on the scrambler and went into Google. Frederico Mantoni drew a blank. So did Frederico Mantani. But Frederico Mantanini – Professor Frederico Mantanini to be precise – had over three million entries, almost all of them alluding to his controversial work in the field of human cloning.

Cate looked hard at his image – a strange-looking man with a beaky nose, and unusually, one brown and one blue eye. He looked clever, urbane, self-important even. But he didn't look wicked.

‘Arthur,' said Cate to her younger brother who had, rather unwillingly, been roused from a game of
Star Wars Battleship
by a series of increasingly frequent pings from his sister. ‘I think we have just made a breakthrough. Nancy has a thank-you letter from one of the few doctors in the world who will admit to experimenting with human cloning. In fact, two years ago, this Professor Mantanini claimed he was successful and had delivered a baby who was a clone of its long dead brother. But when he didn't produce this cloned baby for medical examination, he was laughed out of the public arena and even those who supported him dropped him like a bad smell. He was struck off the Italian medical register and stripped of his professorship from the University of Milan.