Honestly? Ryker felt more than a little perturbed by Yasmin Khaled’s cryptic clues. Why hadn’t she just blurted whatever she knew?
Still, he’d come away from the villa with a vastly different impression of the woman from when he’d first laid eyes on her. Yes, she was in mourning, and her grief was clear, but she hadn’t been an accessory spouse to Mo Khaled’s criminal life. She’d been a key part of a mini-empire. Was now the queen of what remained of that empire.
But who sat above it? Were they the reason that Grichenko was now dead and that a female assassin was after Ryker and his crew from Doha?
Ryker headed back to the Range Rover, but he didn’t go anywhere. Anyone coming from or going to the Khaleds’ villa would pass by this spot. The conversation with Yasmin echoed in his mind.
‘Neither of us was the big one, you see, neither of us was Louis-Antoine de Bougainville.’
‘So who is?’
‘I think you’ll figure that out yourself soon enough.’
Cryptic? Maybe, maybe not.
Ryker had been sitting for less than an hour when the convertible, top-down, whizzed by. Her sunglasses on, Yasmin’s hair flapped wildly in the wind. She was alone in the car.
A nice, simple choice. Go back to the villa, tackle the two chumps, and take a better look around, or follow.
Follow. For whatever reason, he had an inkling Yasmin was helping him out here. Though that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be discreet. Had Yasmin spotted him? If she hadn’t, would she expect him to be there, following her? Either way, he kept well back as he trailed down the mountain to the coast. She headed on through Marbella town, and to the even more exclusive Puerto Banús – a marina world renowned for the celebrities and rich people that frequented it.
Yasmin drove into a multi-story parking lot attached to a designer shopping complex. Ryker followed in and took up a parking spot on the ground floor. He had no clue if she was going into the shops, or to somewhere outside. He banked on outside. More hoped, really. If she’d only come out for a spot of shopping then he’d made a mistake and he wouldn’t hang around.
No. No mistake. As he waited by a palm tree on the corner by the parking lot entrance, he spotted her thirty yards away, coming down the steps of the complex and to the road. She was smartly dressed now – low heels, a floral dress, and denim jacket. Aviator sunglasses covered most of her face.
He waited until she’d crossed over then set off behind her. She made a beeline for the marina, past trendy and expensive shops, bars, and restaurants. A few cheap ones, too, whose owners made a living by playing off the area’s renowned high-end vibe, and catering to the ‘normal’ folk who flocked to gawk.
It wasn’t long before Ryker moved on to the busy thoroughfare that wrapped around the marina like a walkway at an aquarium. 95 percent of the many pedestrians idled at a snail’s pace as they ogled the array of luxury yachts. At least the busy street meant Ryker could keep a better watch on Yasmin without fear of being spotted.
Halfway along the marina, she headed onto the bustling terrace of a seafood restaurant. Ryker kept going. Took a left at the corner of the marina and then took a seat at the café terrace there, where he had a decent view back to where Yasmin had gone.
She wasn’t alone. She was seated with her back to Ryker. Across from her was a man. Louis-Antoine de Bougainville, Ryker presumed. He was in his late fifties, perhaps early sixties, with a shaved head and sun-weathered skin. Ryker would’ve guessed from his features, his dark eyes, and his complexion, that, like Khaled, he was of North African or possibly Middle Eastern origin. He wore a striped designer shirt, had shimmering sunglasses propped on his forehead.
But it wasn’t the man himself who Ryker took a keen interest in, but the entourage around him. Yasmin had gone to the restaurant alone, but as Ryker scanned he counted three, four, five, six men seated around who he was sure were keeping watch over the man Yasmin was with.
A waitress came to Ryker and he ordered a soft drink. Over the next twenty minutes, he kept a close watch on Yasmin and the man as other people came and went, both on the terrace, and all around. Neither Yasmin nor her companion ate. Ryker tried his best to discreetly take photos with his new phone, but he hadn’t bought the cheap burner for its camera, and at a distance, the pictures were likely next to useless.
Finally, movement. Not from Yasmin or the man, but from the stooges around them. Three of them left the terrace, one by one, scanning all around like Secret Service agents protecting the US president. Except these Secret Service agents wore shorts and flip-flops. Next, the man himself got to his feet. No shake of the hand with Yasmin. No embrace, or kisses on the cheeks. Everything was cold and perfunctory.
The man headed out of the restaurant with his crew. Some of them close by him, others ahead and behind. That was the problem. Two of them remained behind. Standing just outside the terrace as the boss walked further away from Ryker. He wanted to follow but he’d have to go straight past those two to do so.
Yasmin got to her feet. She moved out to the pavement. She glanced in Ryker’s direction for a split second. He froze. But moments later she was walking away.
The two men were still standing in wait. Watching. Ryker had to at least try.
He put a five-euro note on the table then got up. He headed back onto the street, then cautiously walked along the pavement toward the restaurant. Yasmin turned left down a side street, back toward her car, and was out of sight. Up ahead the boss was still in Ryker’s view, but only just.
The two men remained in position, on the opposite side of the pavement to Ryker. He kept one eye on them as he neared. Neither was paying him much attention. Ryker was almost alongside them when one of them whistled. An ear-piercing, fingers-in-the-mouth whistle. Several people turned to see who it was and why. Ryker did too. The whistler was staring at Ryker with a smug grin on his face.
‘Yeah, you,’ he said to Ryker.
Ryker stopped and faced him, said nothing.
‘Come on, follow me.’
The man turned and went to walk away. In the opposite direction to the boss.
Ryker didn’t budge and the man soon stopped.
‘So?’ the guy said, facing Ryker again. ‘Are you coming or not?’
What did he have to lose?
‘Yeah,’ he said, moving into the road to cross over to them. ‘Show me the way.’