Shadow of the Rock by Thomas Mogford

Author:Thomas Mogford [Mogford, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Suspense, Thrillers
ISBN: 1408831392
Amazon: B008BJ3TTQ
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2012-08-01T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 39

The petit taxi puttered along the brow of the hill. Spike stared out at another flawlessly clipped lawn. A sprinkler clicked and whirred as a green-uniformed gardener tilled the soil. ‘What do you call this area?’ Spike said.

The driver grinned. His two front teeth were missing and he worked a furry tongue through the gap. ‘Is La Montagne. Or Beverly Hills. See here?’ He pulled up beside a red all-weather driveway leading to a pair of spiked gates. Two armed soldiers guarded the posts. ‘Here is the summer palace for our King.’

‘Is he in?’

The taxi returned to the main road as one of the guards stepped forward. ‘It is Ramadan – the King is in his castle in Rabat. And here –’ they passed a higher set of gates; above, Spike saw the top half of what looked like a replica of the White House – ‘here is for Sheikh Ben-Adis, Prince for Saudi Arabia. And here –’ the driver pointed to another neo-Palladian Christmas cake – ‘is for Mister Forbes.’ Fourbez, he pronounced it. ‘American magazines. Multi million.’ He sawed his tongue back and forth. ‘And here –’

‘OK,’ Spike said. ‘I get it.’

They continued along the ridge, a medley of gardeners and security men sending over heavy, sweaty glances. Below, the Medina and Kasbah were clustered neatly on the hillside. To the right, the Straits glowed tangerine in the setting sun.

At the next corner the taxi pulled up. Two life-size stone lions guarded a pair of iron gates. ‘Voilà,’ the driver said. ‘La Villa des Lions.’

An open-doored sentry box stood to the right, from which a mustachioed security guard emerged. The driver rolled down his window as the guard peered past him to Spike. ‘Name?’

‘Sanguinetti.’

‘Uh?’

‘San-guin-etti.’

Back in his cabin, the guard spoke into a phone; a moment later the gates began to open.

‘You like Mister Fourbez,’ the driver said, tonguing his teeth.

The driveway was lined on each side by sickly, thin-trunked palms. Between them, Spike caught a glimpse of a concrete helipad on the grass. Thirty metres on, the driveway opened into a turning circle, an umbrella pine spreading in its centre. Parked around the outside like dates in a box were twenty or so executive cars, chauffeurs at the wheels, capped and bored.

A rectangular yellow building blocked the far side of the circle, a smartly dressed flunkey already striding from its central archway.

The taxi driver started to reverse into a space beside a Bentley, leaving Spike room to get out, but squeezing his own door so close to its bodywork that the uniformed chauffeur glared up from a paperback.

The footman wore full livery. For a grim moment Spike thought the function might be fancy dress. He turned to the driver. ‘Wait here. OK?’

The footman opened Spike’s door as the taxi driver killed the engine.

‘Welcome, Mr Sanguinetti, please.’

They crunched over gravel towards the gatehouse, Spike smoothing the creases from his blue linen shirt. After passing through the arch, they emerged into a terrace to the sound of soft music and chatter.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.