Catherine
Vibrissae first encountered this nasty fellow in Catalyst. Now, in Catacomb,
she will meet him again – and it will be a life-and-death situation.
Emilio Zabala: Head of Security at Cerberus, age 39.
Basque killer, got tired of ETA, wanted to kill for money rather than murder
for freedom. Head of Cerberus, Loup Malefice hired him in Barcelona some years
back to remove an obstacle to planning his offices there.
Zabala feels compelled to kill a woman every so
often; it has become a ritual.
He has thin lips, dark hair, dark, almost black
eyes. His voice
seems tinged with menace.
[The Basque surname originally denoted someone who lived in any of
the various places in Biscay and Araba called Zabala, which is derived from the
Basque zabal meaning "large" or "broad".]
Zabala
has business in Morocco (excerpt):
The passport checks were done on the ferry,
Zabala’s passport stamped with an entry number. He debarked from the ferry at
Tanger Med, where a policeman smiled and said “Welcome to Morocco.” A shuttle
bus took him for a short ride to the terminal building and then he joined a
queue to pass through customs and immigration. The official’s scrutiny was thorough,
and he was eventually waved through. His training ensured he was vigilant and
noted the security and cameras. For years Morocco had been terrorist-free;
until 2011 when a bomb exploded in a Marrakesh café, killing seventeen people;
and recently eight Moroccan IS members were shown posturing on video, stating
they ‘intend to bring jihad to Moroccan soil’; maybe Algeria was a buffer
between Morocco and strife-torn Libya, but they weren’t taking chances. As a retired
terrorist himself, he couldn’t blame the authorities.
He
opted for a taxi to Tangier city; it was 40km from the terminal but the route
was so circuitous that it took almost forty minutes. During the journey, he
thought again about the death of Petra. He was shaken by it. None of his other
victims had affected him this way. Perhaps because she was a kindred spirit. He
hadn’t meant to lose control. It had been too long since the last victim; and
it was lousy timing.
They
passed many locals in all kinds of dress, from western through to traditional.
There was amusement and laughter, and the occasional raised voice, probably on
a mobile phone. He didn’t feel comfortable among these people. They were proud
of their country and their king, it seemed, and he felt those sentiments were misplaced.
He still yearned for a republic in Spain. On balance, he’d rather deal with the
likes of Kamal Saleem; that man knew his place, even if he was a director of
the health foods company.
The
taxi driver dropped him at the Hotel Continental. He was familiar with its
white edifice, red flags fluttering from its rooftop. The nineteenth-century
building seemed to mirror the town itself, being on several levels and
featuring balconies, sun terraces and flights of exterior stairs.
He
mounted the steps, passed through the entrance arch and approached the
receptionist, an attractive young Moroccan woman, dressed smartly in white silk
blouse, broad black belt and tight red skirt. He addressed her in French and
she responded with a throaty accent and offered the register. He gave her his
passport, which she photocopied and returned, and he signed in; then she gave
him his key and directed him to his room on the first floor.
The
passageways were decorated in colourful tiles, the arched windows draped with
red curtains.
Once in his room, he flung the case on the
settee. The view through the window was panoramic, taking in the port, but all
he could see was Petra, dead Petra.
He
emptied his pockets onto the small round coffee table at the foot of the bed.
He needed a shower and a stiff drink. Forget Petra, he told himself. You have a
job to do. Head of Security. And overseeing the Moulay Project, too. His
pleasures came expensive and this little jaunt was the ideal means to acquire
enough wealth from the Moulay find to indulge himself. Petra’s demise was
unfortunate, a mistake. Best forgotten tonight with another woman.
***
Catacomb, a
subterranean cemetery: a place where ancient corpses
are found – or new ones
are dumped.
After their recent success in Barcelona, Cat and Rick continue their vendetta
against Loup Malefice and his global company, Cerberus, penetrating the lair of
Petra Grimalkin in Nice.
But death stalks the pair, as do the dogs of law from the NCA, Basset and
Pointer.
Cat’s trail of vengeance next leads to the Cerberus health food processing
plant in the Maghreb. She puts her skills to good use in Morocco where she
again confronts the psychotic killer, Zabala.
From the exotic streets of Tangier to the inhospitable High Atlas Mountains,
danger lurks and a deadly ambush awaits…
Catacomb, to be published 20 October.
E-book now available for pre-order. Paperback available soon!
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