Twelve Thrilling Tales Page 3

  “Oh, don’t worry, my chérie. You just need to slip away from Neville for a couple of hours on Wednesday morning to meet the prospective buyer of the apartment. Just tell Neville you want to do some shopping that morning in the designer stores in Nice. We’ll agree the final arrangements this Tuesday afternoon.”

  “OK, Pierre. Love you.”

  Neville and Leoni’s flight left on time from London City Airport. As the plane began its descent into Nice Airport they marvelled at the beautiful azure blue Mediterranean Sea, the wonderful golden beaches and the magnificent luxury boats moored in Nice harbour.

  “I’m so glad we are taking this break, Leoni. It will do us both the world of good.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right, Neville. I can’t wait to shop in the chic Nice boutiques and relax on the golden beach.”

  After a short taxi ride from the airport they were checked into the Negresco Hotel on the Promenade des Anglais. They were shown to their Napoleon Suite on the second floor. The view from their balcony was to die for, as they looked across to the beach and the inviting blue Mediterranean Sea.

  Neville and Leoni unpacked. Neville went to the hotel bar for a couple of drinks and a light snack. Leoni took herself across the road to the Negresco’s private Neptune Beach to relax in the sun. Once settled, Leoni rang Pierre on her mobile phone.

  “Hi, sweetie. I’ve arrived in Nice, and I’m relaxing alone on the Neptune beach.”

  “Listen, Leoni, don’t get too relaxed. I’ve rented some office space to do the apartment sale with the client I’ve found. Get yourself to 101 Rue du Congrès at ten thirty Wednesday morning. Remember to refer to me as Mr Dupont. Wear something sexy and chic. Look busy at the office desk. Shuffle some papers. Greet the client. He’s called Dimitry Yolkin.”

  “Oh, my God! Is he a Russian oligarch, by any chance, Pierre?”

  “Yes. He’s something big in oil. I’ve got a set of keys cut for the apartment. I will have shown Mr Yolkin around the apartment by ten fifteen in the morning. He’s already seen the property details in the phoney brochure I got printed, and likes what he’s read. We should return to the office by ten forty. The deal will be quick. You will take the deposit of one million euros from him. Be sure to bank that offshore in a few days, when we can split the difference.”

  “Perfect, Pierre. Neville plans to visit the Matisse Museum tomorrow morning. He’s happy for me to shop while he enjoys some culture.”

  Neville and Leoni, after enjoying a wonderful evening meal in the Rotunda Restaurant at the Negresco Hotel, decided upon an early night, where they rekindled their romance. The next day, after breakfast in their suite, Neville kissed Leoni and wished her well with her morning’s shopping. He thought she was rather overdressed. Leoni insisted that she had to look her best when visiting chic French designer dress stores. Neville agreed, and took himself off to the Matisse Museum. They arranged to meet for lunch at the Neptune Beach bar at one in the afternoon.

  Leoni made her way to the rented office. She was shown to a desk with a computer near the window. Pierre had left a pile of papers in the in tray, along with some property brochures.

  At ten forty Pierre (posing as Mr Dupont, an international property representative from the fictitious Majestic Properties), introduced Leoni as his secretary, Miss LaConte, to Mr Dimitry Yolkin. Once the introductions were over Mr Yolkin paid a deposit of one million euros. Leoni promptly took the deposit and issued a fake receipt from Majestic Properties, signed by Claude Dupont (alias Pierre Le Roi).

  Once Mr Yolkin had left the office Pierre helped Leoni clear the desk. They left separately. Leoni carried the briefcase containing the deposit for the apartment back to the Negresco Hotel. She went straight up to her suite, changed into something less formal and promptly left the hotel with the briefcase of money to meet up with Alexei Gavrikov, the real Russian owner of the apartment that Pierre had just sold to Dimitry Yolkin.

  Alexei stood up to greet Leoni. Dimitry Yolkin smiled at her and took the briefcase from Leoni. They sat down. Dimitry handed over two cheques, each for a million euros: one for Alexei and the other for Leoni. Dimitry and Alexei had a brief conversation in Russian. Dimitry left the cafe bar. Alexei leant over the table and kissed Leoni longingly on the lips.

  “Well, Leoni darling… that should teach Mr Claude Dupont – or should I say Pierre Le Roi? – a lesson on how not to tangle with Russians over a fraudulent property deal. You and I have gained from this situation, while Pierre Le Roi ends up with nothing.

  “He has been hoisted by his own petard. I sold the apartment on to another colleague for four million euros, making a nice profit of two million euros.

  “See you in Dubai, Leoni, in a month’s time, when you have got rid of that wimp of a husband of yours. Take care, Leoni. Oh, and by the way, do give my regards to your father!”

  Turmoil at the Blue Moon Restaurant

  Frank and Laura Evans were looking forward to celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary at the Blue Moon restaurant in Chinatown. They didn’t dine out together very often: only once in a blue moon, for a special occasion.

  As they made their way to the restaurant on this cold October Halloween evening they both marvelled at the sight of the full moon up in the night sky casting its blue rays down on them. Laura shuddered as she heard the howl of a hound in the distance. Frank, being superstitious, turned over a coin in his trouser pocket for good luck.

  Mixed emotions hit Frank and Laura.

  “Gosh, Frank. It’s almost as if the lunar power of the blue moon is creating a mysterious atmosphere this evening.”

  “I have an uneasy feeling about tonight, Laura. Let’s hope the Chinese meal is worth waiting for at the illustrious Blue Moon restaurant.”

  As Frank and Laura entered the restaurant they were greeted by the manager. He took their coats, showed them to their table and left two menus for them to peruse. The Chinese music playing softly in the background and the low lights made for a romantic, serene atmosphere. Laura looked around the restaurant. It was comfortably full. A party of four young men, tucking hungrily into their Chinese banquet, caught Laura’s attention.

  “Hey, Frank… those four young men, who are dressed all in black with blood-red lips and white ghostly faces, look strange. I heard one of them asking the waiter if he was certain that there was no garlic in their food.”

  “Perhaps they are a group of vampires,” joked Frank. “I believe that when there is a blue moon vampires revert back to a human state, free from bloodsucking.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that supernatural baloney, Frank. At least everyone else in the restaurant tonight looks normal, especially that Chinese couple in the corner.”

  “I wonder if the older Chinese bloke with the young Chinese woman is her sugar daddy,” remarked Frank.

  “No,” replied Laura. “It’s obviously father and daughter. You can see the family resemblance.”

  Frank and Laura ordered their food and a bottle of champagne on ice.

  “This is lovely, Frank. Wonderful Chinese food washed down with a fine champagne. What more could a girl ask for?”

  “Happy fifth wedding anniversary, Laura.”

  “Cheers, Frank. And the same to you, my love.”

  Laura glanced over to the corner table and noticed the older Chinese gentleman making his way to the Gents toilet. He was gone for some time. The young Chinese woman looked anxious.

  Just at that moment the restaurant door opened. Two men entered, dressed in black and wearing face masks. The restaurant manager, who was looking troubled, asked them,

  “How can I help you? Are you looking for someone?”

  The two men ignored him and made their way over to where the young Chinese woman was sitting alone at the table. One of the men took a knife out of his jacket pocket and held it to the throat of the young Chinese wo
man. She screamed. Everyone in the restaurant looked on, aghast. A sudden disturbance and commotion occurred as the other man in black tied the hands and gagged the mouth of the young Chinese woman.

  One of the masked men said to the customers and restaurant staff,

  “Everyone stay where you are. No one is to attempt to call the police. If any of you do so you too will be taken away with the Chinese woman.”

  Frank and Laura looked on in terror. Frank turned a coin over in his trouser pocket for good luck. An atmosphere of fear, unrest and disbelief existed in the restaurant. No one spoke or moved. The two men in black led the young Chinese woman out of the restaurant and into a waiting car. The black Mercedes promptly screeched and sped away at high speed.

  The father of the young Chinese woman reappeared in the restaurant. On noticing his daughter was missing he remarked to the restaurant manager, “Where is my daughter?”

  The restaurant manager replied, “Your daughter has just been bound and gagged and taken away by two masked men.”

  The elderly Chinese gentleman picked up a letter from his table. He opened it. His hands shook as he read the letter. He turned to the restaurant manager and cried out, “My daughter has been kidnapped. Her kidnappers want £1,000,000 pounds. I don’t know why she has been taken. I don’t have the money to pay for her release. What am I going to do?”

  Frank got up from his table and walked over to the Chinese gentleman.

  “You are going to have to call the police and report this incident.”

  “I can’t,” replied the elderly Chinese gentleman. “I am a Chinese diplomat. My credibility will be compromised. Please, all of you, just go home. There is nothing anyone can do.”

  Frank returned to his table. He helped Laura on with her coat and paid the bill. Other diners followed suit. Once outside the restaurant Frank and Laura shuddered. They walked away arm in arm in the cold, blue night air. The full moon shone brightly in the night sky, and a hound howled in the distance.

  “Well, Laura, that was certainly a night to remember.”

  “Yes. Thank goodness we only eat out once in a blue moon, Frank.”

  “I’m so sorry it’s spoilt our anniversary celebrations, Laura. Next year we will celebrate our sixth wedding anniversary at home, with a takeaway meal.”

  Frank and Laura didn’t sleep well that night. They spent it tossing and turning, wondering if the young Chinese woman was still alive.

  Over breakfast the next morning Frank and Laura heard the local news briefing on the radio. It announced,

  At ten o’clock last night, at the Blue Moon restaurant in Chinatown, a young Chinese woman – Shu Lee Wong, daughter of the Chinese diplomat Chen Lee Wong – was kidnapped by two armed masked men. A ransom of £1,000,000 has been requested by the kidnappers. Chen Lee Wong is helping the police with their enquiries.

  A trained negotiator has been commissioned to assist the police in securing the safe return of Shu Lee Wong. The police believe the motive for the kidnapping is that her father, Chen Lee Wong, owes a considerable amount of money – in the form of gambling debts accrued from playing mah-jong. Consequently the Blue Moon restaurant has been temporarily closed by the police, upon discovering an illegal gambling club in the basement of the restaurant.

  “Ah,” said Frank, “that accounts for why the young Chinese woman’s father left their table for some time last night. He must have been trying to win back some –or all – of his lost money in a game of mah-jong in the restaurant’s illegal basement gambling club.”

  “I said to you last night, Frank,” remarked Laura, “that the power of the blue moon had created a mysterious atmosphere, casting its omen of bad luck. Looks as if I was right after all.”

  One of Those Nights at the Hotel California

  The ‘Eagle’ had landed. Tay Alan, hired assassin, walked over to the bar at the Hotel California. Heads turned to admire the good-looker.

  “What can I get you?” said the barman.

  “A tequila sunrise with ice would be just perfect.”

  As Tay Alan got out some cash to pay for the drink a photograph of a young man fell out on to the bar counter. The barman glanced at the photograph.

  “Have you seen this guy recently?” enquired Tay Alan.

  “No, not recently, but he does drink here on occasions,” replied the barman.

  Tay Alan slipped the barman a twenty dollar note.

  “Let me know when he next appears. I’d like a word with him.”

  “Will do,” replied the barman.

  It was Friday the thirteenth. Unlucky for some, but not for Tay Alan, whose horoscope foretold:

  Hitting a lucky seam on Friday the thirteenth enables you to take several steps forward in following your intuitive hunch to make a significant move. This will lead to an all-important breakthrough, with you calling the shots, to reach the goal within your grasp.

  Tay Alan fancied a bit of ‘afternoon delight’ before the evening kicked in. However, on looking around the bar, no one appealed enough for Tay to want to fulfil that desire. After leaving the bar Tay Alan moved outside to the poolside and admired the lithe, tanned bodies of the lazy sunbathers. Nothing special there, either. Just the rich and famous enjoying the American dream… while it lasted.

  Suddenly, at that moment, Tay Alan’s mobile phone rang. On pressing the answer button Tay immediately heard the gruff voice of Frankie Owen, former big time war hero (and now a small fry private eye) asking for an update on progress.

  “Not a lot of action here at present,” said Tay Alan. “Got the barman on the lookout for the target. Will let you know once the mission is accomplished.”

  Tay Alan strolled over to an empty table near the poolside and sat down. After taking out a cigarette and lighting up Tay Alan surveyed those swimming in the crystal-clear pool. One guy, who was wearing a pair of tight red Speedos, was of particular interest to Tay.

  It can’t be? Surely not? It is the assassin’s target, marvelled Tay. This assignment was certainly looking like an easy kill – providing Tay could get the target on his own, away from the glitzy crowd.

  The target, Monty Scott – desperado, and the most wanted international drug baron – was still enjoying his afternoon swim in the hotel pool. As he swam over to the side of the pool where Tay was sitting he shouted to Tay, “Hey! Could you pass me a towel?”

  Tay did as requested.

  “Thanks,” spluttered Monty Scott as he rubbed himself down with the towel.

  “What’s the food like in the restaurant?” enquired Tay Alan.

  “I’ve heard it’s pretty good. Maybe see you later for a drink?” remarked Monty Scott.

  “Maybe,” replied Tay Alan.

  When Tay eventually got back to the hotel room there was a note pushed under the door. On opening the note Tay read

  TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT.

  DON’T FORGET THE DUTY-FREE.

  SEE YOU AT EIGHT THIS SUNDAY FOR DINNER.

  Tay took a shower, changed for dinner and transferred the lighter and cigarettes to the jacket hanging over the back of the desk chair.

  After dinner in the hotel restaurant Tay strolled through to the hotel bar and sat down at a table. Sitting at the bar was none other than Monty Scott. Tay Alan noticed the barman looking closely at Monty Scott as he took his drinks order. Tay got up from the table and sat on the bar stool next to Monty Scott.

  “Hi, there. How are you doing? Let me buy you a drink,” said Monty Scott.

  “I’m doing fine, thanks. I’d like a tequila sunrise with ice, please,” replied Tay Alan.

  “I was supposed to be meeting my brother here tonight but for some reason, at the last minute, he couldn’t make it,” remarked Monty Scott.

  “Oh… I’m sorry to hear that,” said Tay Alan.

  “Listen, it
’s a lovely warm moonlit night tonight. Why don’t we continue our conversation outside, on the poolside terrace? Hey, barman, can you bring the drinks outside?” requested Monty Scott.

  Tay Alan and Monty Scott both made their way outside to sit at a table on the terrace. There were no other guests sitting outside. Tay offered Monty Scott a cigarette, which he accepted. Monty Scott leant forward to accept a light from Tay. Tay Alan discreetly pressed the hidden button on the base of the cigarette lighter. This promptly released a shot, which directly hit Monty Scott right between the eyes. He slumped forward, his head hitting the table top.

  Tay got up. There was no time to spare. After walking over to the other side of the swimming pool Tay walked out of the open side gate, started up the getaway car, and drove out of the Hotel California. Los Angeles Airport was a thirty-minute drive.

  On arrival at the airport Tay Alan checked in and proceeded through security.

  After purchasing a couple of items in the duty-free shop Tay went to relax in the airport lounge. Sky News was on the big screen television. Tay Alan glanced at the subtitles as they flashed across the screen. One subtitle of interest reported that Jerry Scott, a Los Angeles city banker – and identical twin brother of Monty Scott, desperado and international drug baron – had been found dead on the terrace at the Hotel California. The death was being treated as suspicious.

  Tay Alan sat motionless. Friday the thirteenth was certainly one of those nights Tay would never forget. Failing to know that Monty Scott had an identical twin brother was definitely a major oversight on the part of the British intelligence service.

  How was Tay Alan, hired assassin, ever going to live this mistake down? More to the point, Monty Scott, the desperado drug baron, was still at large somewhere in the USA. Tay Alan had failed miserably in completing the assignment. This would inevitably result in a permanent foreign posting to some godforsaken outback.

  What made the situation so much worse for Tay Alan was the fact that her career – as the only female hired assassin working with British intelligence – was well and truly over. Right now, Tay Alan would welcome a cushy little administrative job in the City of London.