We left the bikes parked up and took shelter in one of the open pit garages, listening to the inevitable post- session post mortem. The guy who’d dropped the Ducati took some good-natured stick but didn’t seem unduly bothered by the prospect of going home by recovery truck with what remained of his pride and joy.
There was no sign of any of the other Devil’s Bridge Club members, but I assumed Daz, William and Paxo would be getting ready for their turn on the track. As for Jamie, he was obviously still sulking and was nowhere to be seen.
The rain eased back to a light spit, enough that our leathers were adequately waterproof to venture out in it. Sean and I grabbed a coffee and a burger and found a seat in the stands to watch the boys do their stuff.
As expected, Paxo and Daz went through their grouping with single-minded determination, riding too aggressively for most of the other riders to cope with. In fact, they were so clearly racing each other – despite all the warnings that this was
William was more circumspect but he still cut through the field with an efficient lack of drama. Despite the fact that this was supposed to be the session for the most experienced riders, the standard varied a lot. By the end of it Daz was just coming up to lap some of the tail-enders for the third time. He cut round one so close that he frightened the poor guy into a shimmy that nearly sent him off the track altogether.
Even Paxo didn’t have the stomach for that kind of suicide. He dropped back and the two of them finished with one other bike in between them. William was two places further down the order.
We strolled down to meet them as they came in. I half expected Jamie to be there, too, but he was still absent.
“I haven’t seen him either,” Sean admitted when I voiced my concern. “And there’s been no sign of Tess practically since we got here.”
The Mercedes Sprinter van had seemingly followed us as far as the circuit entrance, and then kept going, making it difficult to tell if it really was tailing us or not. I’d felt secure inside the perimeter, among the crowds, but now I started to get an uneasy niggle at the back of my mind.
When we got to the pits, the boys were rowdily celebrating their performance. Daz in particular was in ebullient mood. He’d been trying so hard that he was bathed in sweat. When he unzipped his leathers his T-shirt was soaked through with it.
“What did you think?” he crowed when he spotted us. “Not bad, huh?”
“Indescribable,” Sean said shortly. “Where are Jamie and Tess?”
William had just grabbed a few bottles of mineral water and he returned at that point, handing one over to Daz with the faintest shake of his head.
“Why?” Daz said, still pumped up and cocky, taking a swig. “They not with you?”
“You know they’re not,” Sean said. I glanced at him. His voice had gone quiet and his body had that coiled look about it. And with a sudden clarity I knew why.
We’d been had.
Daz’s story of meeting the courier later, at the hotel, was just so much smoke. We’d been deliberately kept out of the loop. That was why they’d made Jamie go out in the lower grade session. It explained perfectly why he’d been so pissed off that Sean and I had chosen to go for the intermediate group. Daz and the others had wanted to make sure we were occupied so Jamie could slip away. If we’d gone for the same session as the others, Jamie could have moved up into the intermediate one and still been on his way while we were all occupied on the track.
And, wherever he’d gone, it had to have something to do with the diamonds.
Daz just grinned at us without replying as he watched the realisation take hold of both of us. Sean sighed, took a quick step forwards, wrapped his fists into the front of Daz’s open leathers, and simply swung him off his feet. He rammed the other man up against one of the pit garages with casual violence, all too fast for the others to react. They just stood and gaped. The only reaction from the nearest bystanders was to scuttle out of the way.
“Where have they gone, Daz?” he demanded tightly.
“I don’t know what you—”
Sean lifted him so his feet were barely on the ground and shook him viciously.
“Oh no, no bullshit. Not any more. Tell us now.”
Daz’s gaze swivelled briefly across mine. Anger kept my face cold and hard and he didn’t like what he saw there any better than he had done with Sean. There was the sound of running footsteps behind us but I didn’t turn round to check. I willed Daz’s nerve to break. We only had moments left.
“All right, all right!” he said. “He went to meet the courier, OK? To make the exchange. He should have called by now.”
“Where?”
Another hesitation. Another hard jolt. “The fuel station we stopped at on the way in. He was supposed to meet him there.”
“Now then, lads, what’s all this about, eh?” asked a voice behind us. I finally turned to find one of the pit lane marshals behind us. He was a big guy, rolling his shoulders reflexively inside his orange coveralls.
Sean relaxed his grip slightly and let Daz back down onto his heels. Daz jerked his leathers out of Sean’s hands and slid out from under him, angry and scared. And most angry that he’d been scared.
“Is the big feller causing you trouble, then?” the marshal persisted, nodding towards Sean.
For just a moment, Daz hesitated. If he said yes, the chances were Sean would be thrown out of the circuit and Daz must have known that I would go too. I could see the debate flitting through his brain on whether that would alleviate or exacerbate his problems. Jamie – and Tess, presumably – had gone for the diamonds and had not returned. He might just need us . . .
