Smile of the Tiger.
6.
Chas had joined Dempsey and Harry in Spikings' office and had overheard Harry complaining that they had little or nothing to go on in trying to locate Arabella.
"Didn't you say there was a witness to her being bundled into that Bentley?" he asked.
Dempsey smacked his forehead.
"Yeah. You remember that don't ya, Harry?" he said. "That bozo in the sex shop told us."
"Yes I do." admitted Harry. "We were a bit preoccupied with the description of the car at the time though, weren't we."
"We were, yeah." agreed Dempsey. "But we oughta check her out. She may have seen somethin' that could help us."
"Follow that up then you two." ordered Spikings. "If you find her, she may be able to give us a description of the kidnappers."
"We must be slippin' princess." he said, as they drove over to Soho. "We shoulda thought 'bout findin' that witness, not have Chas remind us."
"I wasn't going to say anything in front of him and Spikings, but I suspect your attention was diverted elsewhere in that sex shop at the time." she replied, glancing across at him with a knowing look in her eye.
"Oh and yours wasn't?" he countered, returning her gaze.
"Okay, touche." she said. "But it is unforgiveable and unproffessional of both of us."
"Yeah, slaps on the wrists huh?" he replied, trying to look deadly serious but failing miserably. "You gotta admit there sure was some kinky stuff in there."
"Enough to make my eyes water, certainly!" she said. "Anyway, we're here. Turn a blind eye this time, Dempsey. Please?"
They parked outside the shop and found the same tattoo'd, multi-pierced creature as before.
"Can't stay away eh?" he said, recognising Harry. "Got some new stuff in now. Wanna see it?"
"No thanks." she replied, staring at him, coldly. "What we do want is some more information."
"Yeah? What information?"
"You told us a woman came in here who'd witnessed a kidnappin'." said Dempsey. "Did she buy anythin'?"
"I don't bloody know!" replied the assistant. "I can't remember everybody who comes in 'ere buyin' stuff."
Dempsey stood up close to him, staring him down, his eyes hard and threatening.
"Well try, dumbass!" he said, opening the front of his jacket, the handle of his Magnum clearly visible in his shoulder holster.
The assistant swallowed, his bravado well and truly leeched.
"Okay okay." he said, scratching his bald head. "No need to get heavy."
"We're waitin' slap 'ed." said Dempsey, getting impatient.
"Yeah I remember." said the assistant. "We don't get many women in 'ere. Mainly blokes. She was well dressed too and middle-aged. She bought..."
"We don't need to know what she bought." said Harry. "We do need her details. Name and address, please."
Hold on a sec then." he said and walked to the rear of the shop, Dempsey and Harry following. He took out a book of receipt slips and trawled through them eventually arriving at the one he was searching for.
"Here it is." he said, holding the small book open at the relevant page. "Mrs T Danvers. No address, though. She paid cash. Probably not even her real name."
"How do you know that's the same person we're looking for?" asked Harry.
"'Cos she bought a complete dominatrix outfit, basque, whips, masks - the works." he said, grinning lecherously at her. "Most people buy bits of it. This lady didn't. That's why I remember 'er."
"Wipe that goddam grin of ya face or I'll do it for ya!" said Dempsey, glaring at him.
"Ok, ok lighten up, mate." replied the assistant, looking instantly solemn.
"That's better." said Dempsey, turning on his heel, then putting an arm round Harry's waist as they walked out of the shop.
"Every time we get somewhere close, a lead shuts down!" she said, exasperated, as she slammed the car door.
"Yeah." agreed Dempsey. "I guess we'll just have to hope somethin' comes up when Arabella is handed over on Thursday."
"Spikings hasn't said anything about us being involved in that, Dempsey." reminded Harry. "And if we are, we'd better be super invisible."
"We've gotta be involved, angel." said Dempsey. "How else are we gonna catch these meatheads?"
"I don't know." she replied. "Until we know the details of the exchange we can't plan a thing. Talk about frustrating!"
"So we're just gonna be sittin' on our butts an' twiddlin' our thumbs for the next three days!?"
"Looks like it." said Harry. "Unless you've got a chrystal ball, that's exactly what we're going to be doing."
With nothing to go on, they had to wait until the kidnappers made the next move and, as expected, that came about at the pre-determined time of four forty-five Thursday afternoon.
Along with Jonas and Lady Annabel, who had strengthened her resolve for the sake of her sanity, Dempsey, Harry, Spikings and Rupert were all gathered together in Jonas's study when the call came through from Hani.
"I trust you have the money ready, Lord Jonas?" he said. "And I trust it is also in unmarked notes. We wouldn't want the authorities tracking it, now would we."
"You have my word." replied Jonas. "I just want my daughter back. And she had better be in good health, otherwise I will track you down if it's the last thing I ever do."
"Yes, yes, quite understandable." said Hani. "She's a little sleepy, but other than that, totally unharmed. Now, are you familiar with Middle Dock on the A1206 in the East London Docklands?"
"No, I'm not." replied Jonas. "But I'm sure I can find it."
"Yes you'll find it." said Hani. "There's a disused warehouse there. We will meet you inside it at ten am tomorrow morning. Be sure you come alone, because if you don't the following will happen. One, you will not see your daughter again. And two, certain photographs will be delivered to all the national newspaper groups in Fleet Street. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly so." replied Jonas, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. "I want to speak to Arabella."
"As I said she's sleepy right now." said Hani. "But you have my word she is quite well. It is not in my interests to have her any other way."
"I swear to God I'll..."
"Yes, I know what you'll do, Lord Jonas." interrupted Hani. "Until tomorrow then."
The line went dead.
As the crow flies, the distance from London to Paris was just over two hundred miles and by road, nearly three hundred.
The Avenue Montaigne in the 8th Arrondissement runs from the Place de la Concorde to the Place de l'Etoile and boasts the home of the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Élysées and Place de la Concorde, together with a selection of very expensive bourgeois and grand homes.
One of these was owned by Philipe de Cadenet.
His family tree stretched back to the reign of Louis 1V and, although born into wealth and privilege in 1946, by the mid sixties he had turned his back on it all, preferring the excitement of crime to the staid straight jacket of the families banking business.
Disinherited and cast adrift by his father, Philipe, aged 20, entered the Parisian underworld, rising swiftly in its ranks to become second in command to Jean-Luc Dubois, the feared and reviled head of the most vicious crime families Paris had ever seen.
Loved like a son, Philipe had replaced him as the organisations head when Jean-Luc retired in 1976 and in the last eleven years had doubled its profits, year on year, mainly due to adding drug supply to its portfolio of prostitution, the making, distribution and sale of pornographic films, gambling, brothels, loan sharking plus several night clubs, casinos, restaurants, cocktail bars and bistros to launder all the cash.
Always conscious of the pennies looking after the pounds, Hani Ahmadi owed Philipe half a million dollars for drugs he'd supplied him but not paid for.
Half a million was nothing - it was small change - but the debt had been outstanding for a month now and Philipe wanted it settled.
He knew how slippery Ahmadi could be, but the tentacles of his organisation reached far and wide and he'd got wind of Hani's latest wheeze involving the fraudulent investment scheme, but he knew nothing of Arabella's kidnapping.
At the time of Hani's telephone conversation with Jonas, a dark grey Mercedes 500SE saloon had disembarked from the cross channel ferry at Dover and was travelling to London.
It's destination was the Mayfair house.
Inside were four of Philipe's hand picked ex legionnaires, tough, uncompromising individuals who took no prisoners.
When they arrived they parked the car in front of the electronic garage doors and moved round to the rear of the property, prizing open a back door with ease and slipping inside.
Discovering Hani's two bodyguards in the kitchen, they swiftly overpowered them, tieing them up and gagging their mouths.
Hani was being entertained by two high class prostitutes when the four Frenchmen appeared in the lounge, weapons drawn, each with silencers fitted.
"Quitter!" demanded Rene, the assumed leader of the four, to the two girls, who screamed, gathered their clothes and ran out of the room.
"Mettre votre pantalon sur. Vite!" he ordered Hani, who, calmly, did as he was told and pulled on his trousers.
"Se lever!" said Rene, gesturing upwards with his gun.
"Parlez vous anglais?" asked Hani, standing up as ordered.
"Un peu." replied Rene.
"I have a young girl in a bedroom." said Hani, speaking slowly. "My hostage. She is worth a quarter of a million pounds which I will collect tomorrow."
"Show me!" demanded Rene, jabbing the point of his revolver into Hani's ribs.
They followed him through to Arabella's bedroom where she lay from having been given a recent sleeping drug. Her presence being an unexpected development, Rene needed to speak to Philipe.
Gesturing back the way they came, they returned to the lounge, Rene picking up the telephone and dialling.
After a brief conversation in French, he beckoned Hani to the 'phone, handing it to him when he reached for it.
"Hani Ahmadi." said Philipe, in English. "You owe me half a million dollars and your time is up. I know all about your present scam but why do you have a young girl hostage?"
"She is my security." Hani explained. "Lord Jonas Cosgrove-Hartley is her father and I am extorting half a million pounds out of him tomorrow for her return."
Philipe had been consulting his latest copy of 'Who's Who' while he listened.
"Lord Jonas Cosgrove-Hartley is a very rich man." said Philipe, eventually. "She is worth a lot more than a quarter of a million pounds to him. You will not meet your rendezvous tomorrow. Instead you will telephone this Lord Cosgrove-Hartley and tell him the price for his daughters freedom has just gone up to five million pounds!"