by Dan Fletcher
‘Quiet?’ said Santiago, still uneasy in the Chief’s presence. There was something unbalanced about the man, besides the strange requests.
‘Yes, where I can dispose of them without the shots being heard,’ the Chief replied, looking over his glass.
‘My boat would be the best place. You can dump them overboard afterwards,’ said his host. The penny had finally dropped. He knew he was being tested. Santiago made his way over to the drinks cabinet and removed a brown box. Placing it on the table he took out an aging revolver and passed it to the Chief.
‘Excellent, thank you,’ the Chief said, beaming and rising from his chair, ‘it’s settled then. I think I’ll turn in it’s been a long day. Thank you again for your hospitality. Good night Tunge.’ He put the gun inside his jacket pocket.
‘Good night father. I think I’ll turn in too if you don’t mind? Thanks for the meal, it was terrific,’ said Tunge.
‘Don’t mention it, glad you enjoyed it. I’ll see you guys in the morning,’ Santiago replied, standing up. They shook hands and made their way upstairs. Outside Tunge’s room the Chief turned back to him.
‘Don’t go messing around with that white woman, you hear me? I don’t want you ruining my business plans,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ said Tunge.
‘I saw the way you were looking at her, and if I noticed so did he. Just keep it in your trousers for once,’ replied the Chief, striding to his room.
Tunge went into his room and closed the door behind him. He had only just undressed and got under the sheet when there was a tap on the door. Dressed in his boxers he went to answer it.
‘Yes, who is it?’ he said, guessing the reply.
‘Just open the door before he sees me,’ Selena replied quickly.
Tunge opened the door and she ran into the room, her chest heaving with excitement.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said, closing the door quietly.
‘Shhhh,’ she said, covering his lips with her finger, ‘you know what I want.’
She replaced the finger with her lips and probed his mouth with her darting tongue. Tunge put his hand in the small of her back and drew her close. She felt down inside his boxer shorts and gasped.
‘Well, someone’s turned on, aren’t they,’ she whispered into his ear, as she nibbled it gently.
Tunge threw her onto the bed and pulled his boxer shorts off, already rigid, as she opened her negligee to reveal her light golden skin. Tunge’s whole body trembled with excitement as he penetrated her, the contrasts of their skins heightening his arousal.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
‘Why don’t I take you to a motel and you can get a few hours sleep?’ said Mendoza, aching from sitting in the car since arriving at the ranch the previous night. Only Santiago’s wife was seen going in or out in that time. It was now one o’clock and uncomfortably hot in the car, even with the soft breeze coming through the open windows.
‘I’m OK thanks, I slept loads on the plane,’ lied Dayo. There was no way he was missing anything after coming this far. Since arriving at the house Mendoza made himself busy making numerous telephone calls. Santiago was well known to both the DEA and the LAPD and it didn’t take long to find out that the cars and house belonged to him. He also owned a small beach house and private jetty in Paradise Cove. Martinez accordingly split his officers into three teams of six, covering the ranch and beach house, as well as the airport. They would increase the numbers later in the day when it got closer to the drugs arrival.
There was a car watching the house from the other side, up the road towards Agora Hills, and another down on the junction with the Pacific Coast Highway. They were the only two routes in and out of the canyon. Pretty sure nothing would be happening until the evening, Martinez was still leaving nothing to chance.
‘You’re sure they’re on the plane?’ Martinez said, fearful that he was wasting a lot of resources.
‘You spoke to the Commander, they left over an hour ago. The Chief’s here so they’ll be here,’ Dayo replied, who too was feeling anxious.
‘Do you want to get something to eat, I’m starving?’ said Martinez, ‘I can get the guys to come up here and cover us.’
‘Yes, it’ll kill some time I suppose,’ Dayo replied.
Martinez radioed the other car and they waited until they could see it coming up the canyon, before heading down to the Beach Cafe.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Tunge found it difficult to eat with Santiago and his wife sitting at the table. Last night she proved to be a dirty bitch, shocking Tunge with some of the things she asked him to do, and was still flirting now in front of her husband. Luckily she was planning a morning of shopping and beauty treatments, and left the house shortly after breakfast. Tunge was trying to relax under the veranda, enjoying the view and cooling breeze, when Santiago approached him.
‘Do you like horses?’ he said, dressed for riding.
‘Yes, why?’ replied Tunge.
‘I’m going for a ride out, want to join me?’
‘Why not, let me go and change and I’ll be back down,’ Tunge replied, heading upstairs.
‘I’ve got some boots that’ll fit you so don’t worry about that,’ called Santiago.
Tunge changed into a pair of jeans and found Santiago waiting out near the pool when he came down.
‘The stables are just over here. Have you got much experience riding?’ he said, as they made their way over.
‘A bit, but that was a long time ago,’ Tunge replied, who played competition Polo as a boy, and was an excellent horseman.
‘Good. I’m letting you ride my horse. He’s the best I’ve got. Be careful though, he can be a bit of a handful when he gets going,’ warned Santiago, understating the horse’s temper greatly.
‘I’m sure I’ll cope,’ Tunge replied.
An armed guard walked by patrolling the grounds as Santiago was unlocking one of the stables.
‘Mornin’, Mr Martinez, beautiful day isn’t it?’ he said politely.
‘Certainly is Fernandez, certainly is. Any sign of that lion last night?’ replied Santiago. A mountain lion had been spotted in the valley the week before. They had found tracks near the stables. That and the coyotes stealing the chickens, was keeping them up at night.
‘No sir, nothing last night. We’ll keep watching, don’t worry,’ he assured.
‘Thanks Fernandez, catch you later,’ Santiago said, opening the top door. ‘Hello handsome. How are you this morning?’ he said, stroking the horse’s muzzle. It whinnied and snorted loudly in reply.
Santiago quickly saddled and bridled the horse handing the reins to Tunge, who led him outside. Stroking his mane and talking to him quietly whilst Santiago prepared the other horse. He brought it out and putting his left foot in the stirrups mounted the horse. Tunge did the same, struggling to lift his foot high enough.
‘Giddy up!’ shouted Santiago, digging his heels into the horse’s sides, heading off at a furious gallop down towards the vineyard.
Tunge’s horse automatically set after them, keeping up easily with the smaller beast. Santiago looked over his shoulder, looking pleased to see Tunge keeping up with him. He kicked the horse again and accelerated even faster down the hill. They reached the perimeter fence and Santiago steered his horse, following the narrow path alongside it. They came to a sharp bend to the right, the path ahead blocked by a small cliff face. Santiago disappeared around it at full pelt ahead of him, Tunge raced behind, sitting up in the saddle, leaning forward and encouraging the horse to go faster.
Rounding the bend he was suddenly hit in the midriff by the branch of a tree, protruding from a crack in the rocks. It knocked him clean off the horse, who galloped on unscathed. Tunge fell, jarring his spine as his back hit the ground hard. The wind was knocked from his lungs. He lay there stunned trying to regain his breath. A few minutes passed and he heard Santiago approaching on the horse, and looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun that was lo
w in the sky.
‘Are you alright buddy?’ said Santiago, dismounting. He reached down and helped Tunge to his feet. ‘Sorry I forgot all about that damned thing until it was too late.’ he said, pointing at the tree.
‘Don’t worry about it I’m fine, no harm done,’ Tunge, dusting himself off replied.
‘We better get you up to the house and checked over,’ Santiago said, gathering the reins of Tunge’s horse. The Criollo had come back, realising that it was missing something. He handed the reins to Tunge again and remounted.
‘You OK to ride?’ he said, keeping up the concerned voice.
‘Fine,’ Tunge replied, ignoring his bruised ribs and throbbing back. Both men knew what had just happened, and why.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Dayo looked around, wide-eyed, at the rich and beautiful having lunch at the Paradise Cove Beach Cafe. They ate burgers and fries that would have cost Dayo a month’s wages, had Mendoza not kindly insisted on paying the bill.
Confident that the house was being watched, Mendoza decided to take a trip down to the marina and check out the boathouse. The S.W.A.T. team arrived before them and they were already taking up positions around the marina and boathouse. There was even a speedboat with four officers on board, anchored around the corner some few hundred yards from Santiago’s private jetty. The Predator64 bobbed gently in the water alongside it, the waters of the Pacific calm and flat today.
A cleaning crew of three teenage girls were cleaning the boat in their bikinis. Polishing and scrubbing the deck to a blinding white. They finished as Mendoza parked overlooking them from the car park, throwing their sponges and bottles into their buckets. They walked back down the jetty and disappeared out of sight behind the beach house. Reappearing on the other side they got in an open-topped SUZUKI Jeep, throwing their equipment into the open back, and drove away.
There were fourteen DEA officers on duty, excluding Mendoza, huddled in and around the communications van next to his car. All of them receiving extensive training from the FBI and undergoing one of the most rigorous selection processes in law enforcement. They were also tried and tested in the field. The drug war recently escalating to such a level in LA, that they were raiding laboratories and drugs dens on an almost daily basis. There equipment was similar to that carried by the SFOs of CO19. The GLOCK27s were a more up-to-date version of their British counterparts, some officers choosing to use the SIG Pro for more accuracy. The HK G3ks replaced with COLT Model933 sub-machine guns with holographic sights.
They were going through a final briefing before taking up their positions. There was a similar team behind a van in Agora Hills, twelve miles north of Santiago’s ranch.
‘How’s everything going?’ said Mendoza, approaching the group.
‘Hey! Mendoza! Nice of you to show up,’ yelled one of the older members of the squad. A bull of a man with a crew cut and crooked nose.
‘Hi, Dan, how’s it going,’ Mendoza replied, patting him heartily on the back.
‘Fine if they’d ever let me watch a Lakers’ game,’ grumbled the officer.
‘Never mind basketball, we’ve got bad guys to catch. Now remember only move in if we have a confirmed exchange or it looks like the two friendlies are in danger. You got that?’ said Mendoza looking around the group. There was a non-committal nodding of heads and the odd ‘yes’.
‘I said have you got that?’ Mendoza repeated sternly.
This time the nods were more vigorous and there were a few more voiced agreements, but not many.
‘This is Captain Dayo Osunlade of the NDLEA, our friends in Nigeria. He’ll be going to the airport with me to identify the targets and follow them to either here or the ranch,’ he said, as the men shook hands with Dayo.
‘What if they go somewhere else?’ said one of the officers.
‘We’re hoping they don’t, but if they do then we’ll have to mobilise quickly and play whatever hand we’re dealt,’ Mendoza replied, picking some lettuce from between his front teeth.
‘Right everybody take it easy. They won’t be here for a few hours yet. Find a good position and make sure that you stretch your legs once in a while, we need you ready to go when the action starts. I’ll see you all later, and good luck,’ he said, walking off to the car with Dayo.
They drove via Agora Hills to check on the second team, who were all set up and getting ready to move down to their positions around the ranch. Leaving them, Mendoza headed towards the airport on Highway 101. Around forty-five minutes later they were parked in the airport, sitting in the back of the other tail car talking to the two officers. The other two cars were spread along the route to take over from them during the tail if necessary.
‘Right we better get closer to the terminal,’ Mendoza said, looking at his watch. He and Dayo returned to their vehicle, driving round to arrivals, Mendoza stopped at the beginning of the parade and killed the engine. The plane was stationary on the tarmac for twenty minutes, and in that time Mendoza nervously smoked three cigarettes.
‘I’ve notified customs and immigration to make sure they let them through without stopping them,’ Mendoza said, lighting another one. ‘Last thing we want is them getting arrested at the airport.’
‘That’s them!’ Dayo said excitedly, spotting Patience and Alan coming out of the terminal, he lent forward, pulling against his seat belt. Mendoza flicked his cigarette out of the window and started the car.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
John was feeling much better by the time they landed in LA. Physically that was, mentally he was much worse, not having so much pain to concentrate on. The thought of going through customs caused his stomach to churn. That, and his imminent death. Happy stuck close to him as they went through passport control.
‘Are you guys here for business or pleasure?’ said the spectacled officer, pushing his glasses back up his narrow, pointed nose.
‘Err...a bit of both hopefully,’ John replied, being totally honest.
‘Oh, what line of business are you in?’ said the man, checking his passport details against the computer. A note flashed up alarmingly on the screen.
‘Um...interior decorating,’ John replied, wondering if there was a need for painters in the Los Angeles area.
‘Good luck sir and have a nice day,’ said the official, handing back his passport. ‘Next please.’
Obviously there must be a shortage because Alan didn’t have any difficulty either. They were escorted to the carousel and waited for the two grey suitcases to come out. Their bags were amongst the last to come out onto the conveyor. There was only one family and an African woman left waiting with them.
‘They must have found the bloody stuff,’ John said, under his breath, trembling.
‘Calm down mate, not really our problem if they do, is it? Might be the best thing that could happen,’ Alan replied.
‘Thank fuck for that!’ exclaimed Alan, seeing the first suitcase appear. He went to collect it but the woman dove past him to grab hers, and he was forced to wait for it to come around again. Patience lifted the other suitcase off and put it on a trolley for John. They waited as Alan finally collected the other, using a separate trolley the group made their way to customs.
‘Down on the ground now!’ instructed one of the security guards. John instinctively ducked his head and was about to dive for the floor, when he realised the shouts were directed at someone else.
The woman who rudely cut in front of Alan was jabbering away, waving her hands around excitedly.
‘Look madam, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me. We have a few questions we’d like to ask you,’ said the immigration official, there were two more stood behind him and the desk.
‘But I am here on vacation to visit my family,’ shouted the woman, in an accent that was becoming all too familiar.
‘That’s not what we’ve heard,’ said the official, nodding to the two men. They grabbed the woman, screaming her protests, dragging her through a white door in the wall behin
d the desk. It closed automatically behind them, erasing her existence.
The group of four slipped past with their trolleys in the commotion. Happy grinned to Patience as they walked through the automatic doors.
‘What the bloody hell was all that about?’ said John, as they walked side by side to the exit with Patience and Happy either side of them.
‘You really are thick sometimes aren’t you mate?’ replied Alan, walking out into the sunlight with Patience beside him.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Mendoza and Dayo watched as they were greeted by the Chief and ushered into the back of a black SUV, joining the two trucks from the previous day. They followed a few cars behind, as they headed out of the city on the PCH.
The convoy turned off the highway and headed down towards the beach. Mendoza grabbed the radio.
‘It’s the beach house. I repeat it’s the beach house. Agora team, make your way down to the junction near the Paradise Cafe and await further instructions,’ he said, replacing the mike in its holder.
‘Looks like this is it then,’ Dayo said, adrenalin coursing through his veins.
‘Certainly does buddy, certainly does. Here take this,’ Mendoza replied, pulling to a stop in the car park. He took a small six-shooter from an ankle holster and handed it to Dayo.
‘Thanks,’ he said, checking it was loaded and that the safety was on.
Santiago’s trucks turned into the gated driveway to the beach house. A man got out of the lead truck and opened the gate, making no effort to conceal the holstered pistol outside his shirt. They expected them to be armed so Mendoza didn’t bother to pass the information on. Waiting for them all to enter the building he turned to Dayo, his pupils dilated.
‘Let’s go. Stay close behind me and try not to get shot,’ Mendoza said, opening the door. They left the car and headed for the east side of the property, away from the sea, at a crouched run.