the prim old-maidish voice.
‘Agatha, I have had a terrifying text message from Cayla, something about strange men with guns on board the Dolphin . I cannot contact her. I cannot contact the ship. The last position I have for her was yesterday evening. Write down these coordinates, Agatha.’ From memory she recited the longitude and latitude that Franklin had given her. ‘Now it seems that she has disappeared with Cayla on board. You must phone Chris Bessell at home. Get him out of bed . . .’ Chris was her senior executive vice-president in Houston. ‘He must get everybody he can onto this. He must use all his contacts at the Pentagon and the White House. Request an urgent over-fly of the area from the nearest military satellite. Find out if there is a US warship in the immediate area. Ask them to send it in at its best speed. Ask for a reconnaissance aircraft to fly out of the airforce base on Diego Garcia to widen the search. Keep trying to contact the ship directly. I am flying back home as fast as I can. Try and arrange for me to see the President personally as soon as I arrive in Washington. You and Chris must pull all the strings and press all the buttons.’ She was panting as though she had just run a marathon. ‘Agatha, this is Cayla, my baby! I am relying on you. You cannot let me down.’
‘You know I won’t, Mrs Bannock.’
Hazel broke the connection and rang Simpson’s number on the internal line of the compound. He answered almost immediately.
‘Good morning, Mrs Bannock. We are waiting for you in the boardroom—’
She interrupted him brusquely. ‘Have the helicopter ready for me in five minutes. Radio ahead to have my jet standing on the runway at Sidi el Razig. Order my chief pilot to have her fully refuelled with engines running, ready for immediate takeoff the minute I arrive. Tell my pilot to file a flight plan direct to Farnborough airport in England. We will refuel there before flying on across the Atlantic to Washington DC. We must not waste a single moment.’
She opened her safe and snatched out the satchel which contained her passport, emergency cash and credit cards, then she burst out of her suite and raced down the long passage towards the front doors. Bert Simpson, two of his underlings and Hector were standing there. They had been waiting there since her call to Simpson.
‘What the hell is going on, Bert?’ Hector asked quietly.
‘Damned if I know. But it must be a major catastrophe. She was in a terrible state when I spoke to her—’ He broke off as Hazel Bannock came running down the passage towards them.
She called out urgently, ‘Is the helicopter here?’
‘It has just this moment landed,’ Bert assured her as she strode past him towards the door. Then she saw that Hector Cross was with the other men. He was the only one whose expression was calm. He spoke quietly, holding her attention with that penetrating green gaze.
‘Please remember, Mrs Bannock,’ he said, ‘if you need me, one word will be enough.’
It was then that she realized for the first time that she was weeping openly and that the tears were pouring down her face and dripping from her chin. She dashed them away with the back of her hand, but she wished desperately that Cross had not been there to witness her condition. She had never in all her life experienced such a seething witch’s brew of emotions. She knew she was close to snapping point, and the knowledge frightened her. Hector Cross was the nearest target for her terror and confusion. She rounded on him with the face of a Fury.
‘Don’t you dare mock me, you arrogant bastard, Cross. You know nothing, so what can you do? What can anybody do?’ She turned away and stumbled slightly as she went down the front steps. Hector was gripped by a strange and alien sensation. It was a long, long time since he had last experienced it, so it took him a moment to recognize it. It was compassion. Maybe Hazel Bannock was all too human under that
‘Agatha, I have had a terrifying text message from Cayla, something about strange men with guns on board the Dolphin . I cannot contact her. I cannot contact the ship. The last position I have for her was yesterday evening. Write down these coordinates, Agatha.’ From memory she recited the longitude and latitude that Franklin had given her. ‘Now it seems that she has disappeared with Cayla on board. You must phone Chris Bessell at home. Get him out of bed . . .’ Chris was her senior executive vice-president in Houston. ‘He must get everybody he can onto this. He must use all his contacts at the Pentagon and the White House. Request an urgent over-fly of the area from the nearest military satellite. Find out if there is a US warship in the immediate area. Ask them to send it in at its best speed. Ask for a reconnaissance aircraft to fly out of the airforce base on Diego Garcia to widen the search. Keep trying to contact the ship directly. I am flying back home as fast as I can. Try and arrange for me to see the President personally as soon as I arrive in Washington. You and Chris must pull all the strings and press all the buttons.’ She was panting as though she had just run a marathon. ‘Agatha, this is Cayla, my baby! I am relying on you. You cannot let me down.’
‘You know I won’t, Mrs Bannock.’
Hazel broke the connection and rang Simpson’s number on the internal line of the compound. He answered almost immediately.
‘Good morning, Mrs Bannock. We are waiting for you in the boardroom—’
She interrupted him brusquely. ‘Have the helicopter ready for me in five minutes. Radio ahead to have my jet standing on the runway at Sidi el Razig. Order my chief pilot to have her fully refuelled with engines running, ready for immediate takeoff the minute I arrive. Tell my pilot to file a flight plan direct to Farnborough airport in England. We will refuel there before flying on across the Atlantic to Washington DC. We must not waste a single moment.’
She opened her safe and snatched out the satchel which contained her passport, emergency cash and credit cards, then she burst out of her suite and raced down the long passage towards the front doors. Bert Simpson, two of his underlings and Hector were standing there. They had been waiting there since her call to Simpson.
‘What the hell is going on, Bert?’ Hector asked quietly.
‘Damned if I know. But it must be a major catastrophe. She was in a terrible state when I spoke to her—’ He broke off as Hazel Bannock came running down the passage towards them.
She called out urgently, ‘Is the helicopter here?’
‘It has just this moment landed,’ Bert assured her as she strode past him towards the door. Then she saw that Hector Cross was with the other men. He was the only one whose expression was calm. He spoke quietly, holding her attention with that penetrating green gaze.
‘Please remember, Mrs Bannock,’ he said, ‘if you need me, one word will be enough.’
It was then that she realized for the first time that she was weeping openly and that the tears were pouring down her face and dripping from her chin. She dashed them away with the back of her hand, but she wished desperately that Cross had not been there to witness her condition. She had never in all her life experienced such a seething witch’s brew of emotions. She knew she was close to snapping point, and the knowledge frightened her. Hector Cross was the nearest target for her terror and confusion. She rounded on him with the face of a Fury.
‘Don’t you dare mock me, you arrogant bastard, Cross. You know nothing, so what can you do? What can anybody do?’ She turned away and stumbled slightly as she went down the front steps. Hector was gripped by a strange and alien sensation. It was a long, long time since he had last experienced it, so it took him a moment to recognize it. It was compassion. Maybe Hazel Bannock was all too human under that
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