Eye of the Cobra (33 page)

Wyatt relaxed. Suzie’s arms were around him . . . Then the alarm clock shattered the dream and he stared round the hotel room helplessly, knowing that Suzie had not returned.

He got up and took an ice-cold shower, then moved into his training routine. First the exercises to build up stamina, which included multiple press-ups and sit-ups, then the
katas,
the moves that were a fight against an imaginary opponent. Soon he was sweating freely.

The feeling of victory was gone, and he felt empty. He had wanted to share his success with Suzie, but there wasn’t a sign of her anywhere.

As he moved into the third of the
katas
his mind cleared, and for an hour he was aware only of his body as it moved through the disciplined sequences.

By nine he had showered and breakfasted. Then he put on a black Calibre-Shensu sports shirt and a pair of matching cotton trousers. Finally he slipped on a pair of immaculate, hand-made Italian mocassins.

The press conference was scheduled for ten in one of the hotel’s conference rooms. Many of the other drivers would already have left Brazil, but Wyatt had to take advantage of the publicity for Calibre-Shensu. He’d received a personal call from Phelps late the previous evening, and Phelps had spelt out, in no uncertain terms, how much was riding on Wyatt. The success or failure of the team, he had declared, was now Wyatt’s responsibility.

He ran his eye over the newspaper that had been stuck under his door. He was on the front page. It was a typical picture - him on the rostrum, spraying the crowd with champagne. The headline, in Portuguese, was simple: ‘Chase Takes Rio’. He saw a sub-head saying: ‘Sartori Suspended.’ The next two pages carried two big pictures, one of Ricardo hitting Hoexter and the other, to Wyatt’s surprise, of Ricardo arguing with Suzie. The headline was as damaging as it could be: ‘Raging Bull’.

What was Ricardo doing, fighting with Suzie?

The phone on the bedside table rang.

‘Tell them I’ll be down now.’

He arrived in the hotel foyer moments later, to be greeted by an explosion of flash-bulbs. Bruce was waiting for him.

‘’Morning, Champion.’

‘Anything special you want me to say?’

‘No. You’ll handle it. Just field any questions they put to you about Ricardo. He checked out of the hotel early this morning and I don’t know where he’s gone. To be quite frank, I don’t care.’

Wyatt went forward into the conference room and climbed onto the rostrum to face a field of microphones and cameras.

The questions started the moment he was up. He kept thinking of Suzie. What was going on between her and Ricardo? Where the hell was she? He answered the press questions in a daze. Then one brought him back to reality.

‘There has been some question as to the legitimacy of the Shadow’s design. How do you feel about that?’ asked a hard- nosed reporter quite close to the front.

Wyatt felt a stab of anxiety, but he didn’t show it. He looked coldly into the reporter’s eyes.

‘I haven’t heard any
thing about that. Mickey Dunstal’s design is so advanced that as a driver I’m only beginning to explore its potential.’

‘You’re predicting another victory in Monaco?’

‘In Grand Prix racing nothing is predictable. I want to win, but like I did here, I want to win against stiff competition.’

That brought a wave of muffled applause.

The conference went on for over an hour - an overwhelming success for Wyatt. He left the room in a hurry; he wanted to start searching for Suzie. Bruce was waiting in the hotel foyer, and Aito Shensu was there as well. Wyatt was surprised that Jack Phelps wasn’t present.

‘Let’s go up to my room,’ Bruce suggested, seeing Wyatt’s agitated face.

In the lift, out of sight of the reporters, Wyatt noted that the confident look on Bruce’s face had dimmed. Wyatt knew what a blow it was for him to lose Ricardo. Aito looked tense, too, and Wyatt could understand why - Ricardo Sartori was hardly the sort of ambassador one needed to launch a new car range.

They all sat down in Bruce’s room and he ordered coffee.

‘First things first,’ Bruce muttered. ‘Wyatt, when we took you on, it was a gamble.’

Wyatt couldn’t help smiling. The tables had turned.

‘It’s no longer a gamble,’ Bruce continued. ‘Both Aito and I feel that you deserve a better deal.’

Wyatt thought: you’re scared of losing me. Then he was embarrassed because he could tell that Bruce knew exactly what he was thinking.

‘This is the deal.’ Aito spoke softly as he handed the agreement to Wyatt. ‘Fifty thousand pounds for every championship point you earn.’

‘That means I have just made five hundred thousand pounds?’

Bruce nodded.

‘I’d like you to read it through now,’ he added.

A waitress came in with their coffee and they were silent while she poured for them all. Wyatt read the agreement. It put him right up in the first league.

‘You’re taking over from Ricardo,’ Bruce said bluntly.

‘I see there’s a second contract?’

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Aito replied. ‘I’d like you to think about that one. You don’t have to take it up if you don’t want to. Basically, you agree to drive cars with my engines in them for the next two years. You will see that for this you would be rewarded substantially.’

‘OK.’

Both Bruce and Aito hunched forwards.

‘Don’t you want legal advice on the agreement?’ Bruce asked.

Wyatt hadn’t got time for all this, he wanted to start looking for Suzie.

‘No. I trust both of you. After all, you both trusted me.’ He took out his pen.

‘Where do I sign?’

He left the room in a hurry and took the lift down to the ground floor. He wanted to find Suzie. The police? Should he contact them, or was that overreacting? As the lift door opened he was approached by a cameraman and a reporter, and immediately recognised Vanessa Tyson. There was no way he could avoid her.

She swept her hair back and stared into his eyes. It was a look that held something more than the cold analytical assessment of the dedicated reporter - but then it was gone, and the professional mask was on again.

‘Wyatt, how do you feel about Ricardo’s behaviour on the circuit yesterday?’

She wasn’t pulling her punches.

‘I think everyone is in agreement that it was excessive,’ he said calmly.

She gave him a thin-lipped smile.

‘Don’t you think such violent behaviour reflects the danger inherent in motor-racing?
 
Doesn’t it scare you that you might have to compete with a man who might assault you, or worse, kill you for first place?’

‘Are you afraid of danger?’

She reddened, more from irritation than anger, he sensed.

‘That’s irrelevant,’ she said. ‘What we’re talking about here is millions upon millions of dollars being spent on what is a very violent and dangerous sport.’

‘If you’re afraid, don't watch it.’

Her face was dead-pan. Wyatt sensed the cameraman was still filming and waited for her next salvo, relishing the challenge.

‘It’s not just the drivers,’ she said. ‘Spectators’ lives are at risk.’

‘People come to motor-races because they like the excite
ment. It’s been said that some come hoping accidents will happen. I think you’ve been waiting for an accident.’

‘
That’s totally untrue!’

He moved forward and before she could block him, kissed her softly on the lips.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’

He saw that the cameraman was smiling, almost laughing. He turned back to the lifts. He wanted to be alone now, to get to a phone and call the police. Where the hell was Suzie?

He got out of the lift on Calibre-Shensu’s floor, to find Mickey in earnest conversation with Bruce.

‘There’s something wrong, to be sure,’ Mickey was saying.

‘Ricardo had a hell of a go at her. I’m sure she’s just very, very upset and she doesn’t want to show her face,’ Bruce said.

‘She wouldn’t take being treated like that. I’m going to check Ricardo’s room,’ Wyatt set off down the hall but Bruce’s voice checked him.

‘It’s empty. Maybe she’s back in your room now, or has left a message.’

Wyatt’s room was in chaos; Suzie’s clothes were scattered all over the place. It was obvious that someone had been there during the press conference and rifled through everything. Suzie was in real danger, Wyatt was sure that something must have happened during the race. He felt powerless and disorientated.

The receptionist reported that Miss von Falkenhyn had not made an appearance since the Grand Prix. Wyatt couldn’t understand it. It was Mickey who came up with a possible direction for their search.

‘Let’s find the reporter who took the picture of Ricardo arguing with Suzie. He’s the last person who saw her, apart from Ricardo.’

There were plenty of reporters still hanging around the reception area, and Wyatt suddenly caught sight of Vanessa Tyson stepping into a taxi with her cameraman. He dashed over and grabbed her hand - and again, as her lips parted, had that sense that her interest in him might be more than professional.

‘I’m prepared to give you a private interview if you can find out something for me,’ Wyatt said tentatively.

‘Well, ask away,’ she answered in the deep voice he found so intriguing.

‘Suzie von Falkenhyn has disappeared.’

‘Scared your next win’s not going to be in designer clothes?’ Vanessa replied cynically.

‘No!’ Wyatt snapped. ‘I happen to be in love with her.’

Now there was a crowd of reporters surrounding them, and Wyatt felt himself getting increasingly annoyed. Vanessa seemed to sense his mood. She led him to the lift, gesturing for her cameraman not to follow. When they were in the confined space of the elevator, she spoke again.

‘I apologise. It’s my business to provoke people because I need to get a reaction.’

Wyatt looked at her closely. About five foot five, she was petite yet voluptuous, with a strikingly unusual face. It had a restrained sensuality about it that appealed to him. He sensed she hid a lot of herself from the outside world; that beneath the steely exterior of Vanessa Tyson there might be another woman - a very different woman.

‘I need this thing sorted out privately. I’m worried about Suzie.’

The lift doors opened on the top floor and Vanessa showed Wyatt to her room. Inside, it looked as if a whirlwind had hit it, papers and documents lying all over the place.

‘I work in organised chaos. Find a seat.’

Wyatt moved a lap-top computer and sat down.

‘We went up to my room just now,’ he said. ‘Someone had been through everything of Suzie’s. Ricardo’s gone, probably back to Europe.’

‘Wyatt, are you sure she didn’t have something going with Ricardo?’

‘Definitely not.’

‘So,’ she said, sitting down. ‘How can I help?’

‘I believe that the cameraman who took the pictures of Ricardo arguing with her was the last person to see her.’

‘That was Max,’ she said, reaching for the phone.

Five minutes later, Max, a tall, burly man with a thick beard, was standing in front of Wyatt. From what Vanessa had told him, he knew that Max was one of the world’s top video-cameramen.

‘Yeah,’ Max said, ‘Ricardo really had a go at her. Struck me as the kind of woman you don’t shout at.’

Max paused to light up a cigarette.

‘I got good footage and I took a couple of pictures. You obviously saw the one in this morning’s paper.’

‘Yes, but what happened after all that?’ Wyatt asked desperately.

‘Well, Ricardo stormed off. I was going to go back and watch the race, but Suzie interested me. She was cut up, walking away from the circuit, so I followed.

Wyatt was hanging on every word.

‘She disappeared into one of the workshops,’ Max went on. ‘I don’t know what she was doing - probably pulling herself together. I decided to wait outside. Well, about five minutes later this truck pitches up. It was slightly obscured by the sidewall of the warehouse. I heard feet scuffling and a few commands.’ He took a long draw at his cigarette, then stubbed it out and took another.

‘I put my head around the corner and there’s this
lethal-looking blond guy who’s obviously in command. I didn’t wait for him to see me. They must have been loading up something important.’

‘So what happened to Suzie?’ Wyatt fought down his fury. Why hadn’t Max taken the trouble to see that she was OK?

‘I don’t know. I pointed my video-camera round the corner and let it roll. After that, I left very quickly.’

‘The videotape?’ Wyatt asked desperately.

‘I haven’t looked at it. I sent it off ten minutes ago, by courier, to London.’

Vanessa went to the phone.