Marcus. ‘We have to call the police.’
‘Jesus! What in hell has he done to you?’
Kate moved behind him. ‘Be careful, he may have a gun.’
The old man brandished the shotgun at Marcus. ‘You move a finger and you’ll be full of bloody holes, mate.’
‘There’s another man here with him,’ said Kate. ‘I think he might have gone looking for my husband.’
He squinted at Kate. ‘We’d better get you out of ’ere.’
‘I have to find my husband.’
‘First things first, young lady. In my right pocket there’s a knife. Press the thumb button to open it, and we’ll get your hands free.’
Kate got the folding knife and after struggling for a few seconds she opened the sharp blade and handed it to the old man. Resting the shotgun on his hip with one hand, still keeping his eyes on Marcus, he took the knife and deftly severed the cord. The skin on her wrists was red and lacerated where the cord had cut in.
‘All right, miss,’ he said, covering Marcus. ‘You follow this path till it meets another. Turn left and stay on the path for about a hundred yards. You’ll see Mr Compton’s house up on the hill. You go on up there and call the police. If he’s there, tell him to come down here right smart. Oh, and tell him Baldie – that’s me – said to bring his Purdey with him.’
‘Purdey?’
‘Shotgun.’
‘What about my husband?’
‘I’ll take care of things here. Don’t you worry.’
‘You don’t understand. It won’t be that easy. They’re professionals. Don’t take even the slightest chance with them. They won’t think twice about shooting you.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ he said.
‘Please, be careful.’
Kate turned and started up the path. All she could think of was Alex and whether he was here or not. He must be. She remembered distinctly when she’d eavesdropped at the farmhouse that Marcus had said Ira was meeting Alex on Sunday. But was it Sunday? Everything indicated that it was – the absence of people in the village and this place, too, whatever it was.
Making the left turn past a large barn, her question was answered. Fields stretched out for several hundred yards, on both sides of the path. Fields filled with evenly planted rows of roses. There must be thousands of them, she thought. She slowed momentarily to look around. Then the pieces started to fall into place. Of course, that was it, she said to herself. Whoever had stolen the rose had brought it here, where it would not only be well hidden but could be cared for professionally.
A jarring explosion coming from behind jolted her to a stop. It had to be Baldie. God! Had he shot Marcus? She pictured it happening, the gory mess. She found herself hoping that Marcus wasn’t dead – only badly injured. She sure as hell wasn’t going to turn back to find out.
Passing the cover of a large copper beech tree she saw the house. A modest whitewashed bungalow with a tiled roof. In less than a minute she was standing on the porch trying to regain her breath, waiting for somebody to answer the doorbell. She rang it again. Still there was no response. She gripped the door handle and turned it. To her surprise, the door opened. She didn’t have to go far into the house to find the phone. It was facing her on a table in the hallway. She dialled 999.
Marcus walked along the dirt path alongside the large barn-like building, his body language betraying no indication of defeat. Baldie followed a few steps behind with his shotgun levelled at Marcus’s back. The voices from the paddock could be heard again.
‘Nice and easy, mister,’ said Baldie. ‘When you get to the end of the barn, turn right.’
They were approaching the entrance to the barn, an opening wide enough to allow farm vehicles to go in and out.
It all happened in less than two seconds. It was like a disappearing act: one moment Marcus was there, the next he had vanished, spinning into the opening of the barn in a low crouch.
Baldie’s finger squeezed the trigger but his reflexes were not quick enough. A jarring explosion reverberated off the side of the barn and echoed around the grounds. A cloud of dirt and dust began to settle where Marcus had stood a few seconds earlier. Baldie lunged forward, reaching the entrance, but there was no sign of Marcus. He took four steps into the barn then stopped, listening for any kind of sound. All he heard was the wind soughing through the cracks in the old timber walls. He was loath to go in farther because he knew how dark it was. The barn was used exclusively for storage; mostly equipment, machinery, bagged soil amendments and fertilizers. ‘Bastard,’ he muttered.
Now his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. He stood very still, eyes searching the area for any signs of movement. There was none. Then he remembered what the young woman had said: ‘He may have a gun’ and ‘They won’t think twice about shooting you.’ Suddenly he realized what an easy target he made. He had to find some cover. Against the wall on his left was an old workbench. A handful of tools and mechanical parts were spread out on its scarred surface. Next to the bench was a small tractor. He’d seen it in use many times around the growing grounds. ‘That’ll do,’ he said to himself. He sidestepped over to the tractor and was about to crouch down behind it…then, a blinding flash and everything went dark.
Marcus stood over Baldie’s prostrate body, the carpenter’s mallet still in his hand. He rolled Baldie over with his foot and bent down to check the pulse in his neck. Satisfied that he was still alive but unconscious, Marcus got up and saw just what he was looking for. It was on the bench, a roll of silver duct tape. He dragged Baldie’s body up against one of the upright posts supporting the roof and lifted him to a sitting position. He placed two strips of tape over Baldie’s mouth, then proceeded to band his entire upper body, arms and all, to the post.
Marcus dusted himself off and walked out of the barn. He thought of going up to the house to look for the Sheppard woman but decided that by now she had had plenty of time to call the police. She might even have roused other people to come looking for him. He had better go and find Wolff and tell him what had happened. That was going to be an ugly scene.
All eyes were now on the tall American holding the gun.
‘Which one of you is Alex Sheppard?’ he asked, halting a dozen feet away from them.
‘I am – and who are you?’ Alex answered, glancing nervously from the gun to the man’s face.
‘First things first,’ he said, walking over to the rose. For a long moment he stood studying it, then slowly circled the container, never once taking his eyes off the rose. Then he turned and approached Alex, stopping a dozen paces from him, the gun at his side.
‘You’re Ira Wolff, aren’t you?’ said Alex.
The man ignored him. ‘In a couple of days that rose is leaving here,’ he announced in a commanding voice. ‘All the export documentation and shipping arrangements have already been made.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ Alex interrupted. ‘But where’s Kate?’
‘That rose is going nowhere,’ Compton butted in.
‘I want to see her, dammit!’ Alex shouted. ‘That was the deal. That’s what your man and I agreed on – Kate in exchange for the blue rose. Where the hell is she, you bastard!’
‘Shut up,’ Wolff barked. ‘You, too,’ he said, glaring at Compton. He turned back to Alex. ‘You, Sheppard, have caused me a lot of grief. This whole business could have been wrapped up a long while ago, but you had to screw it up by playing hide-and-seek with the rose. You should have stayed at home in your nice house and done what I asked you. I’m sure your wife would have found that a much more pleasant experience than the one you have put her through.’
‘What I have put her through – me?’ Alex yelled. Suddenly, he lunged at Wolff. ‘You son of a bitch–’
Kingston grabbed him just in time. ‘Careful, Alex, for God’s sake.’
‘That was extremely foolish, Sheppard,’ Wolff said, raising the gun. ‘Try that one more time and I won’t be quite so charitable. From now on, keep your mouth shut.’ He looked at Kingston. ‘And just who are you?’
‘I’m Dr Lawrence Kingston.’
‘Ah, yes – the professor. I know all about you.’ He waved the gun at Compton. ‘And what about these
