Present Danger

55

‘I am sure we’ll hear from FARC tomorrow,’ Milraud had said before he went up to his bedroom, but from Piggott’s absent nod he could see the man wasn’t listening. It was then he’d realised that Piggott didn’t care about selling Willis any more. He’d decided to do something else.

Milraud lay now on his bed in the dark with his clothes on, listening carefully. He was filtering out the noises of the wind and the wildlife outside – the owl hooting and the bats squeaking – from the sound he was expecting to hear at any moment. It was four-thirty. He was tired, very tired, but he’d managed to grab a cat nap in the early evening precisely so he wouldn’t fall asleep now, when he most needed to be alert.

He had received an email from Seurat. It said that he needed more time to consult the British before replying to Milraud’s offer. Perhaps that was true; equally, though, it might be an effort to buy time while he and his men hunted them down. He had replied tersely, Time is running out, and hoped Seurat would understand the urgency.

For Piggott’s behaviour had if anything become more unbalanced – he had begun talking to himself, and pacing continuously. He had started complaining of being ‘cooped up’, and he’d even threatened to take the ferry for a visit to the mainland.

This had forced Milraud’s hand – he’d had to tell Piggott then about Seurat’s visit to Annette, and explain that there was surveillance on the mainland. Piggott had taken this news badly, and had started making even more forays out to ‘check the boat’, which still lay hidden down by the beach. On one of these jaunts, Milraud had taken the opportunity to search through the American’s belongings, and he was glad that he had. In the small hold-all beside Piggott’s bed he’d found a Smith & Wesson .38.

He felt it first, rather than heard it – a faint reverberation, a slight shuddering of the floor. If it was an earthquake, it was very mild. But then he heard the soft burring noise. What was it? A helicopter some distance away, or something else?

As he listened, he heard a creak from the landing. A door was being quietly opened. Silently, he swung his legs off the bed and sat up, straining to hear. Another creak, then the distinct sound of a padded footfall.

Getting up, he went to the door, which he had left open a crack. Peering out, he could just distinguish a figure moving slowly, cautiously. Slim, tall – it was Piggott. He’s leaving, he thought.

‘James,’ he said calmly, opening his door.

Piggott didn’t seem startled. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked. ‘It sounded like a chopper.’ He was moving towards the porch. Was he carrying something? In the half-light, Milraud couldn’t tell.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Milraud.

‘To check the dinghy,’ said Piggott over his shoulder. He opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch. ‘That’s our only ticket out of here, and I’m not letting anybody take it.’ And the screen door banged shut behind him.

Milraud waited, counting to ten, then went back into his room and picked up a heavy torch. He walked across the landing into Piggott’s room. In the torch beam he saw the bed, unslept in, and looked around for the hold-all that held the .38. It wasn’t there – Piggott must have taken it with him.

That confirmed what he suspected – Piggott wasn’t checking the boat; Piggott was going to take the boat, to get away. Which would be disastrous – left with a homicidal Spaniard and a hostage, Milraud calculated that he’d either be shot by the Spaniard when he discovered Piggott had fled, or shot by Seurat’s men when they arrived to rescue Willis. If he somehow managed to survive, he’d be in prison for ever after kidnapping a British intelligence officer. None of these options appealed. Should he get out himself – hide and catch the first ferry to the mainland in the morning? No good. He’d be picked up before he’d gone far, and the Spaniard would kill Willis if he found he’d been left on his own. Then the charge Milraud would face would be accessory to murder, as well as kidnapping.

The only thing to do was to follow Piggott and persuade him not to leave. That would buy enough time to alert Seurat that he must move in fast.

But how was he going to do that? Milraud had no idea. Strangely for an arms dealer, he never carried a gun. He had a deep-seated personal aversion to them, and he’d never owned one. Even in his former incarnation as an intelligence officer, he had always refused to carry a weapon. He was quite ready to be guarded by armed men (like his chauffeur), and very happy to sell anybody the means to kill. But when it came to using one himself, he wouldn’t. But now for the first time in his life, he wished he had a gun. With Piggott, bullets spoke louder than words.

But there was nothing for it. He had to go after Piggott and stop him leaving. Opening the screen door, cautiously switching on his torch and shading the beam with his hand, he moved gingerly outside, towards the path that led down to the beach.