pool. ‘In here,’ the Colombian said, leading the Americans to a set of arched double doors. He opened them to reveal a large room that was a combination of luxurious lounge and office, leather armchairs and couches laid out before a black chrome desk with a top of polished granite. Along one wall was a bar with hundreds of different bottles arranged behind it – and above them a large, yet seemingly empty, aquarium.
Goldberg regarded the glass tank curiously, but de Quesada passed a second archway to the hall and went behind the bar to the shelves at its end. He pulled out one particular bottle – which only slid so far before stopping with a click. ‘My vault,’ he told the intrigued pair. ‘There are some documents I don’t want them to find, you understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ said Bloom.
‘Good.’ He swung the shelves away to reveal a small room hidden behind them. Goldberg tried to peer inside, but at his stare switched her attention back to the aquarium. ‘You like my pets?’ he asked. Both lawyers were puzzled, seeing nothing. ‘There, in the middle.’
Goldberg stepped behind the bar, finally spotting one of the tank’s occupants: a little yellow octopus, two of its suckered tentacles holding it to the transparent wall. She leaned closer, hesitantly tapping the glass. The octopus leapt away, turning a far brighter yellow with rings of black and vivid blue appearing all over its body. Eight limbs pulsing in unison, it shot towards the surface.
‘Don’t stand too close,’ said de Quesada. ‘It’s a blue-ringed octopus – one of the world’s deadliest creatures. If it bites you . . . you’ll die.’
‘The glass looks quite thick,’ she said, covering her brief shock with haughty indifference.
‘Maybe, but the tank has no top – and they can climb.’
She hurriedly retreated. De Quesada laughed harshly. ‘Now, here is what I want you to do,’ he said. ‘Wait on the bridge for them to arrive, and do not let them pass. Say you need to check the warrant, any legal shit you can think of, just hold them up for as long as you can.’
‘This . . . isn’t really what you hired us for,’ said Goldberg.
‘I hired you to keep me out of prison, and I pay you a lot of money to do it. So do it. Consider it part of your client service.’ The bodyguard entered, carrying Bloom’s briefcase. ‘Take your case and go. Keep them busy.’ When they didn’t move immediately, he barked:
Affronted, Bloom collected his case and the lawyers departed. The bodyguard waited until they were gone, then went to the bar. ‘Did you do it?’ de Quesada asked.
‘Yes,
‘Good. Tell the others to arm up. And bring Alicia and Sylvie here – I want them as my last line of defence.’ A cruel smirk. ‘No man would dare shoot them.’ He returned to the hidden vault. ‘I have to destroy the hard drives. Get ready – they will be coming!’
‘The guy may be a criminal,’ admitted Nina, ‘but he’s got a gorgeous house.’
The combined force from Interpol, the Drug Enforcement Administration and the Colombian police – and the two representatives of the International Heritage Agency – was concealed amongst the trees along the clifftop, looking at the little island below. De Quesada’s villa had been impressive enough in photos, but in reality it was magnificent; white walls gleaming in the sunlight.
‘Nice taste in bodyguards, too,’ said Eddie, taking a closer look through binoculars.
Nina could guess at what – or whom – he was looking. ‘Give me those,’ she snapped, wresting the binoculars from his grip as the two young women emerged from the infinity pool and padded, still topless, into the building. ‘And I’m pretty sure they’re
Eddie grinned. ‘No harm in looking.’
‘There will be if I catch you doing it again.’ She panned along the house to the crossing. While it seemed solidly built, it was still merely a footbridge, too narrow to accommodate vehicles. The drug lord’s cars were kept in a garage on the mainland, outside which an SUV had stopped and disgorged a suited man and woman about twenty minutes earlier.
She moved her view back to the island. At each end of the bridge were tall and stout wooden poles, a cable that she guessed was a power line hanging between them. Near the far pole was the house’s main entrance – the doors of which suddenly opened. ‘Someone’s coming out.’
It was the suited couple. ‘De Quesada’s lawyers,’ said Baker.
‘They don’t look happy.’ The pair were in the midst of an agitated discussion.
‘I think I know why.’ Nina looked round to see Kit, holding several sheets of paper, and Probst slipping through the bushes. ‘This just came through over the mobile fax.’
Baker took the pages. ‘Outstanding.’
‘The warrant?’ Eddie asked.
‘Signed, sealed and delivered. We now have full authority to go in and get that son of a bitch. Okay, Mr Jindal, Dr Wilde, Mr Chase, wait here until we’re done. Walther, are the snipers covering the jetty?’
Probst nodded. ‘We can take out the boats any time.’
‘Great. Okay, time to kick ass . . . ’ He stopped, seeing that the lawyers had come to a standstill three- quarters of the way across the bridge. ‘Now what the hell are those two doing?’
The answer came as the man called out in American-accented Spanish. ‘Well, shit!’ exclaimed Baker.
‘What’s he saying?’ Eddie asked.
The DEA agent shook his head in disgust. ‘They want to talk to us. Guess they heard about the warrant.’
