25

THE RUSTY RAILWAY carriage creaked and groaned on the tracks, keeling and rocking as it made its laborious ascent into the rugged, pine-covered mountains of the Sierra Madre. The sun was blistering the dry, soulless landscape, lizards and snakes slithered between grey, slate rocks seeking shade; in the deep crevices of the valleys river beds lay exposed and parched.

Jake’s eyes were closed. He wasn’t sleeping, but hoped he soon would. He and Fernando had boarded the train four hours ago, there were four more to go before they reached their destination. Inside he was calm, his iron self-control had wrestled with his anger and suppressed it. That they were completely in the hands of the negotiators who were leading them blindly into God only knew what was getting to Fernando, but not to Jake. There was nothing to be gained from dwelling on the fact that had they known their destination before boarding the train they could have chartered a plane to take them into the mountains. The negotiators – the kidnappers – hadn’t seen fit to provide them with that information until just over an hour ago when a steward had passed Fernando a note telling them to alight at Posada Barrancas where their next contact would be waiting for them. To the kidnappers this was a game, leading them from Guadalajara to Chihuahua and then on this interminable rail journey to Posada Barrancas, the highest and one of the remotest points of the great craggy peaks of the Copper Canyon. And since they had no choice but to play the game, Jake, whose patience had long ago learned to stand the test of the much more formidable and unpredictable opponents of wind and tide, saw no point in getting himself worked up about something over which he had no control. What he needed now was sleep.

The air-conditioning coughed and sighed, packed up, then a few minutes later groaned back to life. Fernando was watching Jake, he was also watching the Mexican further down the carriage, slumbering beneath his sombrero. A few minutes ago, at La Junta station, the Mexican had slipped out of the train to use the telephone. The Mexican’s name was Alvarez – he was one of Fernando’s men. Alvarez had contacted Javier to inform him of their destination and expected time of arrival. Javier, Fernando’s deputy, had remained in Guadalajara keeping Pedro hostage until such time as he received word of what he was to do with the old man.

Jake shifted in his seat and stretched his long legs into the aisle. After a minute he got up and went to another torn and dusty seat the other side of the carriage. He hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. Again he closed his eyes.

For an hour or so as he drifted somewhere between sleep and consciousness he was vaguely aware of the long, deafening blasts of the train whistle and of others moving about the carriage. Then quite suddenly his eyes flew open. Louisa. He was thinking about Louisa, recalling the softness of her skin, the beauty of her eyes, the exquisite sensation of her legs circling him as he pushed deep inside her. He was aroused by the memory of her, hungry for more, needful of the soothing sound of her laughter, the uncomplicated joy of her presence.

Jesus Christ, he muttered to himself as a spark of anger erupted through his calm. She had no place here. She was in the past. He would never see her again and in his wakefulness he bitterly resented her intrusion at a time when his mind should be focused on Martina.

At last, just after four in the afternoon, Jake and Fernando stepped off the train at Posada Barrancas. A sweaty clutch of back-packing tourists bustled past them, sinking thankfully into the air-conditioned interior of the train. As the makeshift station cleared and Jake moved across the decayed wooden planks that served as a platform, he could feel himself becoming lightheaded. The air was so thin, the sun was blazing. Fernando steadied himself by putting a hand on a rail and waited for his dizziness to pass.

Two dirt roads meandered off into the hills in opposite directions and as the train lumbered on down the track the only other sign of life was a Tarahumara Indian selling her woven baskets and copper bangles which were set out on a woven cloth beside the station. Fernando approached her, but before he spoke Jake touched his arm and nodded towards a dust cloud in the distance. A vehicle was coming towards them. Then appearing from out of the bushes behind them a flat-faced Indian dressed in filthy, unbuttoned and rope-tied western clothes and baring rotten teeth in a grimace against the sunlight loped past Alvarez who was sprawled on a single bench, seemingly waiting for the next train.

The Indian came to stand beside Fernando. Jake’s face was inscrutable as he pulled back into the meagre shade offered by the deteriorating overhead timbers and listened to the Indian speaking to Fernando in a dialect he didn’t understand.

Fernando’s mouth started to curve in a malicious smile, then dragging his eyes from the Indian he turned to Jake and interpreted. ‘He has brought a message from your mother-in-law. She wants you to know that if you go anywhere near her daughter you will be shot.’

Jake pulled his eyebrows together and as he turned his eyes on the Indian the Indian took a step back, shaking his head and raising a hand as if to remind them he was only the messenger. Then with several furtive and frightened backward glances at Jake he scurried around the station wagon that had now halted beside them and disappeared into the rocks. Fernando glanced over his shoulder and Alvarez promptly started after the Indian.

The driver of the station wagon, a leathery faced Mexican with heavy eyes and wiry grey hair, stood at the side of his vehicle watching Alvarez scramble up over the rocks, then scratching his head he turned and introduced himself as the chauffeur for the lodge where rooms had been reserved for them.

When they reached the lodge, an incongruous grey stone chateau-like building with an orange tiled roof and a haphazard array of cabins that sprawled upwards through the trees towards the rim of the canyon, Fernando collected the key to the furthest cabin while Jake inspected the horses that were tethered to a rotten fence outside. In front of him the hillside sloped gently away from the lodge to the dozen or so shacks and a church at the heart of the valley. Beyond the mountains rose dramatically towards the languid blue sky. There was no one in sight, no sound of life, human or otherwise.

Their cabin, a mere speck on the rim of one of nature’s most rugged and cavernous gorges, was basic and unwelcoming. It was made of stone and wood and had two windows, one overlooking the canyon, the other overlooking the wide sweep of the valley. As they walked in Fernando threw his gun on the nearest of the two beds and sat down heavily, running his hands down the back of his neck to ease the tension and tiredness. Jake walked to the window between the beds, pulled aside the bright flowered curtain and gazed out. His strong face was as implacable as it had been throughout the journey, the strain showed only in the deepening lines around his eyes. Again he was thinking of Louisa, unable to dispel the need to hold her and reflecting with fear on how the timing of what happened here, in this remote and desolate part of the world some ten thousand or more miles from where she was, was going to affect her.

‘You do realize, my friend,’ Fernando said, ‘that the message from Consuela was an admission that your wife is alive.’

‘Yes,’ Jake said shortly, watching a vulture rise majestically from the depths of the canyon.

Fernando sighed. ‘But we knew that anyway.’

Letting the curtain fall Jake picked a towel up from the bed and nodded towards the phone. ‘See if that works,’ he said. ‘If it does get onto Javier in Guadalajara and tell him to contact Erik and let him know where we are. I’m going to take a shower.’

The shower did nothing to soothe the increasing turmoil inside him. The dread of what the next few days, maybe hours, would bring was sliding as coldly through his veins as the icy water was sliding over his skin. Every time he thought of Martina now he saw Louisa. It was Louisa’s voice he was hearing, Louisa’s eyes that were watching him. And the resentment he felt towards her for standing between him and his wife at such a time was made all the more bitter by the knowledge that he had only himself to blame. He should never have allowed himself to become involved with her, but this was no time to be dealing with his conscience, no time for regrets. Once he saw Martina he knew all other thoughts would be erased from his mind. Getting to her was all that mattered now.

‘Jake! Is that you?’ Erik shouted over the crackling line an hour later. ‘Where the hell are you?’

‘You won’t have heard of it,’ Jake answered curtly. He wanted this line free. He didn’t want to handle anything more than what was happening right there. ‘What is it?’ he snapped.

He listened, without interruption, to what Erik was telling him and as each second passed so the strain in his face deepened.

‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘You know what to do. You know where to take her. Do it now, Erik,’ and he slammed the phone down.

Fernando was looking at him. ‘What was that?’ he said.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jake answered. ‘Nothing that need concern us right now.’

They turned as a figure moved past the window, both snatching up their guns. The door opened. Alvarez came in and they relaxed.

‘Just a local,’ Alvarez told them, referring to the Indian he had followed. ‘He wasn’t armed. My guess is someone slung him a few more pesos than he’s used to and told him to deliver the message. There’s no knowing if they’ll come back for an answer …’

‘They won’t,’ Jake said.

They settled down to continue the wait. Fernando and Alvarez played poker by the torpid light of a brass lamp while Jake stared absently at the vast, fiery fingers of the setting sun that stretched out of the horizon across the fading sky.

At last the phone rang. Jake turned as Fernando picked it up. He listened for a moment then handed it to Jake. ‘It’s him,’ he said, and as Jake took the receiver there was a discernible change in the air as Alvarez cleared the table of cards while Fernando picked up his gun and started to load it.

‘Go outside.’ The voice at the other end of the line was heavily accented with Spanish.

Jake’s eyes moved to the door. Fernando and Alvarez were watching him.

‘She is outside waiting for you,’ the voice told him.

‘How do I know this isn’t a trap?’ Jake said.

‘You don’t,’ and the line went dead.

Jake replaced the receiver. He turned to Fernando then pulling a gun from his waistband started slowly towards the door. Reading the situation Fernando moved to the window. Jake waited as Fernando peered round the curtain, scanning the dusk shrouded valley. Alvarez moved in behind Jake. Fernando shook his head. No sign of life.

Keeping his gun raised Jake eased the door open. Alvarez slipped behind it, peering through the crack, while Jake flattened himself against the wall the other side. Again they waited, and still nothing happened. Jake stepped into the doorway. If they were going to shoot him he was making himself a perfect target. But he’d been that any number of times by now. The money had changed hands, there was a chance they were keeping their side of the bargain.

The temperature was falling fast. A swift breeze was moving through the Apache pines, loose rubble drifted over the barren scrubland of the hillside. He felt a hundred eyes on him and saw no one. Then in the semi-distance someone came out of the shadows into the dwindling light. It was a woman. Her black hair was lifting in the breeze. Her tall, erect figure was being pulled to one side, something was holding her right arm. Then a child, holding her hand, tottered out from behind her and Jake’s pounding heart froze.

‘Martina?’ he whispered, realizing that until this moment he had never truly allowed himself to believe he would ever see her again.

She couldn’t have heard him, but as though she had she turned in his direction. Still he couldn’t see her face, but he knew beyond doubt now that he was looking at his wife. The danger surrounding them suddenly vanished. All he knew was the joy, the incredulity, the unbearable swell of love and relief and urgency coursing through him.

‘Martina,’ he said again, his voice choked with emotion.

Her head tilted curiously to one side as she saw him start towards her. Then fear locked her limbs, and for an instant she looked about to run.

‘Martina,’ he called.

‘Jake?’ her voice was barely audible.

He started to run.

‘Jake!’ she cried. ‘Oh God, Jake!’ and she was running to him, leaving the child behind her. Her long legs carried her towards him, her hair fanned out behind her, her arms were reaching for him. He could see the beauty of her eyes, the redness of her mouth, the brilliance of her smile. She was alive! So beautifully, so radiantly alive! Her mouth opened in a cry of pure joy. ‘Jake!’ she called again, laughing and crying.

‘Jake, no!’ Fernando yelled, but his words were drowned by the blast of gun fire.

Three bullets hit Martina’s chest. Her arms flew out, her head jerked back, her knees buckled.

Fernando raced out the door, Alvarez was already firing.

Martina’s face was frozen in shock.

Jake caught her, clasping her to him. ‘Martina!’ he cried, going down with her. ‘Martina! No!’

‘Jake, is it really you?’ she whispered, touching his face.

‘Yes, it’s me,’ he choked. He pulled her to him, burying her face in his chest, feeling her warmth, touching her hair.

‘Jake. I knew … I knew you’d come …’ she said breathlessly.

‘Yes, my love. Yes, yes, yes,’ he said, kissing her face, stroking her hair and holding her. ‘Martina,’ he sobbed. ‘My love …’

Fernando ran forward, spinning and stumbling, waiting for the bullet that would bring him down. But all had gone silent now. Only the distant echo of the final shot could be heard echoing through the bowels of the canyon. Something moved further down the hill. Fernando spun round, throwing himself to his knees ready to fire. A small figure stumbled into the dim light. Fernando’s heart was seized with horror as the child tottered towards Jake and Martina.

Fernando threw himself towards the child.

Terrified, she looked up.

Fernando reached her before she got to her parents and swept her into his arms. She was sobbing and straining to get to her mother. Fernando held her close, turning her face to his shoulder, unaware of the tears running down his own cheeks as he looked down at Jake and Martina.

‘Jake,’ he said, his voice thick with anguish. ‘Jake, my friend.’

There was no response. Jake’s eyes were staring sightlessly ahead, out to the great, swirling mass of the sky. In his arms Martina lay quietly, her fingers were touching his face, her blood was smeared on his chest. His thumb moved gently over her cheek.

Behind them the roar of helicopters was swooping over the rim of the canyon. Whether they had come to spirit away the killers or whether it was the police Fernando had no way of knowing. He went to kneel beside Jake, still holding the child. ‘Jake,’ he whispered. ‘Jake, can you hear me?’

Jake lowered his eyes. The child reached out for her mother and Fernando let her go. Seeing her Jake’s eyes closed tightly. Then pulling her into his embrace he held them both, burying his face in their fine, black hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Oh God, Martina, I’m sorry.’

*

Louisa spun round, unsure where the voice had come from, but recognizing it instantly as Marianne’s.

‘I’m over here,’ Marianne called in a whisper.

Louisa glanced back over her shoulder to see if Jean-Claude was in sight. He wasn’t, neither was Didier.

‘Why are you hiding?’ Louisa said, coming out into the lane and seeing Marianne crouched behind the bushes.

‘Louisa, you have to come with me,’ Marianne said urgently. ‘Sarah hasn’t turned up in London and no one knows where she is.’

Louisa’s eyes rounded with horror. ‘What do you mean, she’s not in London?’ she cried.

‘She didn’t arrive. I don’t know if she’s even left France. Louisa, please, you have to come with me. I swear I’m not taking you to Consuela, but I just don’t think it’s safe for you here either. My car’s at the bottom of the lane, I’ll explain what I can as we go. Come on, please, before Erik gets back,’ and grabbing Louisa’s arm she ran with her down the hill.

The moment the press caught sight of Louisa they came surging towards her in one horrifying mass. The police leapt to attention, forcing them back as Marianne pushed Louisa into her car and ran around the other side. They were gone so fast that no one had a chance to follow and as they sped out of Valanjou, heading towards the autoroute, Louisa listened as though in some kind of stupor as Marianne told her about Danny and how Consuela had persuaded her to stage her own murder and make it look as though Jake had done it. As it turned out Jake had had the perfect alibi, but Erik hadn’t. So had Erik done it, or had providence just played into Consuela’s hands in making the timing such that Erik could have done it? Marianne had no way of knowing, all she did know was that she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Erik was a murderer.

‘And neither,’ she went on, ‘can I make myself believe that Jake means you any harm. He’s never really spoken to me about you, but it was plain enough for all of us to see the way he felt about you. It was mainly that that made me start looking at him differently. I used to hate him, when I was first working for him I despised him for what he was doing to Consuela, but then things started happening, I started to hear things that just didn’t add up any more. Like if Jake gets to Martina he’ll give Erik the order to kill you.’

Louisa stared at her dumbfounded, feeling her mind ebbing away from reality and still dazed by the speed at which Marianne had taken her from Jean-Claude’s.

‘Consuela spun me some story of how Jake and Erik made some kind of a pact when they were young to abuse and manipulate women as a means of sport, but I’ve never seen anything like that in either of them and believe me I’ve searched for it. And Erik’s known all over the world, if he was doing that sort of thing he’d have been found out a long time ago. But Consuela had Danny convinced of it, I’m pretty sure of that, at least where Jake was concerned.’

‘So are you saying you think Consuela might have killed Danny?’ Louisa said, feeling horribly disconnected from what she was saying.

‘I don’t know what I’m saying,’ Marianne answered. ‘But obviously someone killed her and that same someone very probably killed Aphrodite too. And what’s frightening me now is that you might be next.’

Louisa’s face paled as a blade of fear sank deep into her heart. ‘But why? Why would anyone want to kill me, I haven’t done anything …’

‘Neither did Aphrodite or Danny,’ Marianne interrupted. ‘Or not that I know of. But they both knew what was going on at Consuela’s and so do you.’

‘So do you,’ Louisa pointed out.

‘But I believe Consuela. At least she thinks I believe her and for now that’s what’s important. And I’ve seen the way all this has shaken her up, she looks terrified out of her mind. She’s spent the last two days making frantic calls to Mexico trying to outbid Jake for Martina’s life and quite frankly I just don’t know who to trust any more. What I do know though, is that things are coming to a head. For all I know they already have, which is why you’ll be safer where no one can get to you. I’m taking you to Jake’s place for now, but you won’t be able to stay long because Erik at least will be sure to know about it.’

Louisa had desperately wanted to protest Erik’s innocence, but the fact that Sarah hadn’t turned up in London dried the words on her lips. She felt sick with fear and with an unbearable mistrust of Erik who might just have purposefully manipulated things to make it look as if it was all just bad luck and the lack of French urgency that had stopped her seeing Sarah before she’d left.

The rain started as they arrived at Jake’s house. Louisa ran inside, grabbed the phone and dialled Sarah’s number in London. It rang and rang, but there was no reply. As she turned to Marianne she could feel herself starting to shake, but Marianne appeared even more distraught and kept peering from the window to check they hadn’t been followed. In the end, when she was sure they hadn’t she told Louisa she was going to get food.

‘Keep the doors locked,’ she warned. ‘And find yourself some candles because if this storm gets any worse we’ll be sure to lose power.’

The rain was coming down in torrents as Erik’s Jaguar came speeding up the lane to Jean-Claude’s and skidded to a halt.

Jean-Claude tore open the front door as Erik dashed up over the steps. One look at Jean-Claude’s face was enough to turn Erik’s blood to ice.

‘What is it?’ he demanded, looking wildly from Jean-Claude to Didier. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he cried reading their expressions. ‘She’s not here is she?

Jean-Claude shook his head.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Erik yelled. ‘I told you I was coming for her. I told you not to let her out of your sight …’

‘She’d already disappeared when you called,’ Jean-Claude answered. ‘I tried to tell you, but you rang off before …’

‘Jean-Claude, don’t you realize what’s going on here?’ Erik shouted irrationally, for no, they didn’t know, at least not yet. ‘If Consuela gets anywhere near Louisa there’s no knowing what’ll happen to her,’ he went on, swinging round as the telephone started to ring.

Jean-Claude picked it up as Erik started to pace, grinding the heel of his hand into his head. He’d just heard what had happened in Mexico and if he’d been in any doubt before, which he hadn’t, he now knew exactly what they were dealing with in Consuela. That any woman could pay for her own daughter to be shot and in such a way was beyond human understanding. And now, if she had Louisa, if she knew the way Jake felt about Louisa then … Jesus Christ, he didn’t even want to think about it.

‘It’s Marianne,’ Jean-Claude said holding out the receiver. ‘She says Louisa’s with her. She wants to speak to you.’

Erik snatched it up. ‘Marianne,’ he barked. ‘What the hell’s going on? Let me speak to Louisa.’

‘She’s safe,’ Marianne answered. ‘I’ve taken her somewhere where neither you nor Consuela will find her.’

Erik’s relief was fleeting. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ he raged. ‘She was safe here, for Christ’s sake …’

‘Was she?’ Marianne’s voice was shredded with anguish. ‘I don’t know who to believe any more, Erik. All I know is that Louisa shouldn’t be with either of you, not until …’

‘Marianne, listen to me …’

‘No, Erik. You listen to me. You tell me why Sarah and Morandi haven’t turned up in London. You tell me what’s happened to them. You and Morandi were the last ones to see Sarah, so where is she now?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Erik cried. ‘Sarah’s in London.’

‘Then why isn’t she answering her phone?’

‘Christ knows! Look Marianne, you’ve got to tell me where Louisa is …’

‘I told you, she’s safe and once I know who’s telling the truth I’ll bring her back.’

‘Marianne! Marianne!,’ he shouted, but the line had gone dead. He slammed the receiver down and rounded on Jean-Claude. ‘Go through Louisa’s things and see if you can find a number for Sarah,’ he said, starting to dial again. ‘I’ll try Morandi.’

As he waited for the connection he quickly related what Marianne had said, then a few minutes later, having spoken to Morandi, he turned to Jean-Claude with a terrible foreboding in his eyes.

Jean-Claude’s face visibly paled. ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Sarah’s all right, isn’t she?’

Erik nodded then snatching up his keys he started for the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Jean-Claude cried, running out into the rain after him.

‘I’ve got to get out of here before the police arrive,’ Erik shouted back.

‘What? Erik! What’s happening?’ Jean-Claude shouted.

‘There’s not time now,’ Erik answered, starting up his car. ‘I’ll call you later, but start saying your prayers Jean-Claude, because if what Morandi just told me is true then all I can say is God help us all.’