A Friend in Need
The Café Noir overlooked Foix Castle. The imposing edifice stood on an equally imposing lump of rock. Humphrey peered over his spectacles and tried to imagine what it was like to live there in the Middle Ages. He had bought a book on Foix in one of the local bookshops. Olaf had failed to put in an appearance and he needed to occupy his time while he waited for him.
Kirstin sat opposite with a sketch pad. She was drawing the castle and had got down its main features. Her main concern was to check on passers-by and see if anyone was spying on them.
Humphrey looked up from his book.
‘The people who lived in that castle could best be described as war lords. They controlled the entire area around here. The king of England ran the show further to the north. He was another of them.’
‘I’m sure they had more flattering ways of describing themselves.’ Kirstin put down her pencil. ‘The president of France has a standing army. That doesn’t make him a warlord.’
‘Things are different now, Mother.’
‘Yes,’ Kirstin nodded. ‘Countries have got much bigger. Europe was once a patchwork of feuding states. I can read too. I do know something about European history.’
‘The counts of Foix ruled in the central Pyrenees,’ Humphrey did his best to sound knowledgeable. ‘There were no big nation states. The King of France and the Emperor of the Germans didn’t rule. Many of the barons, who paid them homage, were far more powerful.‘
‘A bit like today, Humphrey.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The world is slipping back into the feudal era. Globalisation has provided a breeding ground for a new wave of barons. Some international companies are more powerful than many of the countries in the United Nations. They don’t have a vote in the UN and don’t need one. That’s what this case is about … in case you have forgotten.’
Kirstin picked up her pencil and started to draw a woman at the nearby table. Perhaps she knew she was being sketched. Perhaps not. One thing was sure: the lady was trying to hear what they were saying.
They had been speaking in English. Kirstin regretted they had not chosen a more obscure language. Too many people knew English and the woman appeared to be one of them. She had spoken in French when she ordered her coffee but her accent was Spanish.
Spain was just over the mountains to the south. The woman could be Spanish. Kirstin examined the cut of her jacket and thought it looked South American. People from that part of the world were suspected of having a hand in Richard de Villiers’ disappearance.
She was distracted by a sudden noise. The buzzer on Humphrey’s phone had sounded. That only happened when an important call was coming through. His face remained deadpan as he flicked the phone open and read the message.
‘They’ve sent the quote for the garage door,’ he said.
‘Are you going to accept it?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ Humphrey returned the phone to his pocket. ‘I’ll speak to them when we get back.’
Any reference to a garage door was a reference to David. Kirstin guessed he had sent a message. They couldn’t discuss it with so many people around and they couldn’t hurry away as if something important had happened
She turned her attention to her croissant. The woman with the Spanish accent continued to worry her. The croissant needed to be consumed in a leisurely fashion and so did the coffee. She started to sketch a man on a bench outside and Humphrey buried his head in his book. Ten minutes passed and she put down her pencil.
‘Humphrey, we need some exercise.’
She returned her sketch pad to her bag and got up to leave. Humphrey paid the bill and joined her outside. It was cold and a brisk walk was in order. He waited until they were well clear of the café before taking the phone from his pocket and handing it to her.
Kirstin read David’s message and had difficulty hiding her shock. Charlie had been shot and was in a critical condition when David and Mario dumped him in the emergency wing of a hospital in Port Elizabeth. Charlie was taken away. David and Mario were told to wait for the police to arrive but they made off before that could happen. Right now they were with some of Sipho’s friends.
‘Are you sure it’s from David?’
‘Absolutely,’ Humphrey nodded. ‘He’s used all the correct protocols. If someone had tried to fake it, they wouldn’t have got it right.’
‘He says that Charlie and Frank have been busted?’
‘Yes. The Cabal are onto them.’
‘The Cabal?’
‘It’s the name David is using for the people who brought down Richard de Villiers’ plane. He thinks they’re onto him too. He wants us to arrange a rescue.’
Kirstin continued to read.
‘I don’t understand this bit about a light plane and someone or something called “blanket”.
‘It’s his way of referring to Kate Bromley,’ Humphrey said.
‘Kate!’
‘She’s flown for him before.’
Kirstin slowed her pace. No one was following them and she was feeling tired. She remembered Kate Bromley as a vivacious British girl from a dubious aristocratic family. Kate could skim a plane over trees and land on the smallest airstrip under the harshest conditions. She would be just right for the job. But where was she?