Under His Watch: A Brothers Synn Novel

by Light, Victoria

  The moment I stepped off the plane, I started making phone calls. My contacts at National Geographic were all asleep because of the time difference, so I woke them up. I was pointed in the direction of a man who worked at the consulate here that could help me, so I grabbed a taxi and headed into the city. I had a few hours before I needed to be at the gala. I checked into my hotel, then hailed another taxi for the consulate and brought my garment bag containing my suit along with me. I continued to call every contact I could think of that might be able to connect me to a bodyguard and got the same answer in various ways from everyone I spoke to: no. Apparently, getting an American bodyguard to join me in the jungle at such short notice was next to impossible. But I wasn't deterred. There had to be a way.

  It was ridiculous. I knew Los Llanos was dangerous, but it wasn't that dangerous. With my experience, I was certain I could handle myself. I hated having assigned protection; they only ever managed to get in the way of my work.

  "I can help you," Riley, the contact at the consulate told me. "It's short notice, but for the right price I'll escort you to Los Llanos."

  "Well, thank God for that," I said. "What are your rates?"

  He wrote a number on a piece of paper and slid it over to me.

  My head spun. "What is this? Per week?"

  "Per day."

  "You've gotta be fuckin' with me."

  "Hey. It's a day notice. Plus, I'd have to outfit when we get to Los Llanos. Law here prohibits weapons, so I don't have my own gear within a day's access. Fee includes that."

  There was no air conditioning. A ceiling fan whirred slowly, pushing hot air around the room. I rubbed my forehead, racking my brain for a way around this. I stared at the exorbitant number on the piece of paper. There was no way I could afford that, not with the minuscule amount of funding I'd received. I was financing this project mostly with my own cash, and the majority of that had gone into travel costs.

  "Listen, I'm going out to photograph an animal that has only been spotted a handful of times. Its habitat is being ripped to shreds for agricultural land, and I know that there are multiple organizations that will pay well for the images I'm going to capture. And your name will be associated with something historic and important." I got out my business card and put it on the table in front of him. "Look me up. I can get you the rest of this payment after the expedition."

  Riley stared back at me like I was an idiot for expecting he'd agree to those terms. I honestly didn't even care about the money I would make from this, which I did anticipate would be significant. I'd self-financed operations many times before, going out to shoot projects that many publications didn't believe in—until they laid eyes on what I'd brought back with me. Then they were fighting for exclusives. It was ridiculous how consistent the cycle was. You'd think a reputation would mean something by now. I was perfectly willing to sacrifice the majority of whatever money would come my way for this story. I needed to tell it.

  I picked up the paper and folded it in half and slid it back to him. "I'll find someone else." I pushed out of my chair, the legs grinding across the dusty floor.

  He chortled. "Brother, you ain't gonna be able to find no one who can take you to a place like Los Llanos unless you've got money."

  "Thanks for the tip," I grunted. "I'll keep it in mind."

  Riley shrugged.

  I turned to leave, picking up my garment bag, and checked the time. I needed to be at the gala. "Where's the bathroom in this place?"

  I emerged onto the dusty streets of Lobo wearing my suit and hailed a cab. I made a few more calls during the drive to the auditorium where the event was being held, without any success. I was determined to find a solution to this problem but so pissed with myself for allowing this to happen in the first place. I took solace in knowing the gala would be a good opportunity. Rubbing shoulders with the type of people who attended a Cesar Castillo event was bound to result in a lead. At least, that was what I told myself.

  Staying focused and instantly shedding any intrusive feelings that threatened to cripple my resolve was the only way I'd come out over this. It was my tried and true method of overcoming difficult times, honed all the way back when I was a kid being homeschooled by conservative parents who refused to acknowledge their son's identity.

  Back then, I'd used the internet to fill in the gaps. That's how I learned that it was normal to feel the way I did about other boys and everything my parents had been telling me was complete bullshit. That was when I'd realized I was on my own and that if I wanted to live my own life I would need to take care of myself. They say that the habits and choices made in youth laid the path for adulthood and the rest of your life. It was my ability to pull myself out of any bad situation that came my way that'd made my successes possible.

  I was confident that I'd be able to figure some solution out.

  The cab pulled up to the venue, a relatively new building in the commerce section of downtown Lobo. Some of city's wealthiest were definitely in attendance this evening, if the vehicles pulling up to the valet were any indication. I stepped out of the back of my cab, carrying my garment bag with me. I knew I stood out as an absolute mess. My suit was wrinkled and I hadn't had a chance to freshen up since stepping off the plane. I was much more comfortable being out in the field in a pair of dirty jeans with a camera in my hands than I was schmoozing it up with “the money”.

  "Can I help you, sir?" the door security asked, holding out his palm to stop me.

  "Yes," I replied in unaccented Spanish. "You can help me by notifying Mr. Castillo one of his honorees is here."

  He blinked, like he hadn't expected me to reply in perfect Spanish. I pulled my invitation and passport from my breast pocket and handed it to the guard. He examined it and nodded, his demeanor immediately changing.

  "Thank you, Mr. Everton. I'll personally escort you."

  "Much appreciated. Is there a place I can put my bag? It's been a long fuckin' day."

  He brought me to the VIP room, passing the exhibition on ecological and environmental disasters in which some of my photos were on display, and told me that Mr. Castillo was on his way and left me to my own devices. An attendant relieved me of my bag and I went to the self-serve bar to pour myself a glass of scotch. Other VIPs quietly milled about the room. I made mental notes of familiar faces, people I would find later in the night after the booze had been flowing for a while.

  I recognized Kathryn Reynoso, an executive for an oil company based out of Argentina. There was Mitchell Runion, representative for a major technology company that had dealings in Central and South America. Roberto Hernandez, who worked in steel export in Brazil. The irony was that the majority of the people gathered here tonight came from industries who were actively contributing to the problems on display in the exhibition.

  But that was PR. Release a shiny, smiley ad campaign and make appearances and trifling donations to the right causes, and suddenly people thought they were on the right side of things. The fucked-up thing was that sometimes guys like me had no choice but to stand by and watch, or else lose any chance of getting the story out there at all.

  "Mr. Everton!"

  I immediately recognized Cesar Castillo's smooth accent and turned, ready to start my night of mingling with socialites.

  "Mr. Castillo,” I said. “Good to see you again."

  "And you, my boy. Your photographs look amazing tonight. Have you had a chance to see the exhibition?"

  "Just got here," I said, raising my glass. "Loosening up a bit first."

  "Oh, what is that?" He took the glass from me and sniffed it. "Ah, this is swill. I know, I know, it's the VIP room." He dumped the whiskey into the trash and put the glass onto a counter. "Come, I have the good stuff in another room. VVIP." He laughed. I shrugged and followed him. It didn't really matter what kind of whiskey I had as long as it did its job.

  Cesar brought me to a different room that he unlocked with a card key, and he poured us both a glass of whiskey.

&nbs
p; "Excellent," I said, tasting it.

  "Good. I'm pleased you like it. Come, I'd like to introduce you to some people. Possible new clientele for you, eh?" He clapped me hard on the shoulder and then laughed. "Excuse me if I seem to be in a good mood. I had quite the day yesterday."

  "Is that so?"

  "Indeed. An attempt on my life. Not so unusual, but always a damn thrill when it happens."

  "Mm. I know what you mean. Nothing like a near miss to remind you're really alive."

  He clapped my shoulder again. "Exactly!"

  We left the room and went out to the main exhibition area where the crowd was growing in size. I snapped up an hors d'oeuvre from a passing tray and chomped it down. I hadn't eaten since New York.

  "I've had the quite day, myself," I said. "No attempts to kill me, but I have seen my life flash before my eyes a couple times. I'm in a bit of a bind, Mr. Castillo."

  I explained the situation to him, asking if he knew of anyone who could help me. He laughed and patted me on the back. Cesar was a short man, especially next to me, and had to stretch his arm to reach. "Yes, yes. I can introduce you to a man who may be able to help you. He's not yet here, but I will bring him to you the moment he arrives. For now, enjoy yourself! It's your night. Have you met the other artists? Come!"

  I was only slightly reassured. There was no way I'd be able to fully relax with this situation still unresolved, so I swallowed down the rest of the whiskey and traded the empty glass for wine. Castillo introduced me to Jan, Hiroki, and Miguel, the three others whose work was on display. We chatted and stuck together for strength in numbers when the patrons began to approach us about the work. Castillo left, and all I could do was watch him disappear into the crowd, wondering if he would remember about what he'd told me and if he even did have a contact here.

  I asked the three photographers if they knew of any leads that could help me, but their responses were not reassuring. I was obviously in a major bind without having significant funds to throw around. In situations like this, money definitely talked with the loudest voice. The advantage that I did have was that I was in a room filled with people admiring my work and looking for ways to be charitable. Corporate representatives aside, the wealthy socialites were my best bet.

  I separated from the group to explore the crowd, hoping to find someone I knew, someone I might already have a rapport with. As I was walking, I turned to admire one of Jan's photographs: a gigantic, wall-sized print of a husband reuniting with his wife after having been separated from her when their town was leveled by a landslide. The couple was embracing, tears of joy in their eyes. It was a gorgeous image, immaculately captured, and I made a mental note to let Jan know how amazing it was.

  Because I was distracted by the photograph and not paying attention to where I was walking, I found myself colliding with a massive wall of man in front of me. I bounced off his chest and stumbled back, nearly falling. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, saving me but not my wine glass. It slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.

  "Ah, crap," I said. "I'm sorry, I—"

  My words caught in my throat when I turned and saw who the hulking stranger was. He wasn't a stranger at all. All thoughts of cleaning up the broken glass vanished from my head like a puff of smoke. I couldn't believe who I was seeing in front of me. Suddenly, my head was filled with flashing cascade of memories like a slideshow gone berserk. My heart was pounding. I never thought I'd see him again. I'd hoped we wouldn't see each other again.

  I could see he was as shocked as I was. No, probably more so, and for good reason that I knew.

  "Bau?" I said quietly. It was the first time I'd uttered his name since I'd been with him seven years ago.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

  I frowned. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I asked you first."

  "I'm on exhibition here."

  Bautista Synn cocked his head to the side and scoffed. "I'd pay to see that."

  "My work is on exhibition.” I lowered my voice. "Is that why you're here?"

  The question of whether he'd come here for me crossed through my mind, followed by the question of "why now?" I'd left Iraq after finishing my assignment without telling the soldier who I'd found myself falling hard for. I'd run away from him, and for a long time I wondered if he would come looking for me. Part of me had hoped for it, but was glad when it never happened. So, after all those years, why now?

  He looked at me like I was crazy. It seemed like I was getting that look a lot lately.

  "I had no idea you would be here, Ryan."

  I had to acknowledge the tiny flame that'd reignited for a moment inside of me before it'd just been puffed out. For a brief moment I felt it all again and had hoped that Bau was here for me. Ridiculous of me, considering that I was the one who'd run.

  I smiled. "Right, an art exhibit isn't really your thing. Who forced you to be here?"

  He was dressed in an immaculately-fitting tuxedo that perfectly accentuated his muscular frame. Bau was massive. I was nearly six feet tall, and I felt like I was short when standing next to him. He'd been extremely built when I knew him back then, and it was obvious that he hadn't laid off the weights at all. He was even bigger now, if that were even possible. It was weird to see him so cleaned up. The Bau from my memories was clad in camo and military gear, an M4 carbine always strapped to his front just as I'd always had my Canon DSLR slung across my neck. He seemed to always have been covered in a layer of grit, as fine as the close-cropped buzz he'd had at the time. Now it was longer, more sartorial, and shimmering with hair product. He looked damn good, I had to admit... Though I did prefer the dirtier version.

  "Ah! I see you two have already met!" Cesar appeared from somewhere and came up to us. "I was looking for you, Mr. Synn. I was going to introduce you to Mr. Everton here, whose incredible works are on display tonight, but you are not strangers?"

  "No, not strangers," I said. "Not really, at least. Hold on a second, Bau is the contact you were talking about?"

  "That's right."

  Ah, shit.

  "Oh, excellent," I said, smiling. "Thank you, Mr. Castillo. I really appreciate your help."

  "My pleasure."

  Castillo left, leaving us alone again. Bau stared at me questioningly.

  "What's this all about?" he asked.

  I sighed. "So, you're out of the Rangers, now, huh? What are you, a merc?"

  "Private security," he replied sternly, pulling a business card from his pocket.

  "Synn Services," I said, reading the text. "So, you're a merc?"

  "I prefer private security. We're a little more judicious than what the word mercenary implies."

  I handed the card back to him. "So, you do bodyguard services, too?"

  "Of course." He paused. "Don't tell me you're looking to hire someone."

  "Actually... I am."

  "And you want to hire me?"

  I wasn't enthusiastic about the idea, not because I didn't think Bau could do the job—I had no doubt that he was likely the best in the business—but because I couldn't handle the thought of being close to him again.

  "I'm looking to hire someone," I said.

  "Okay, and what exactly is this job about?"

  I drew in a deep breath. "I'm shooting a project. I'm looking for a rare jungle cat that's been largely displaced by the deforestation in Los Llanos, and I need—"

  Bau threw his head back and laughed. "You need a bodyguard to escort you into the country. I don't get it, Ryan. Why are you looking for a bodyguard here and not back in the States? Is this where you live, now?"

  "No. I, uh... I didn't realize there was a travel restriction, and I'm scheduled to depart tomorrow. Lobo was only a side trip."

  His laugh became so loud that people turned to see what the joke was. "You're kidding, right? What happened to Mr. Prepared?"

  "I'm not kidding," I said "I need to get to Los Llanos tomorrow."

  "Well, I wish you
luck. You're a resourceful guy, I'm sure you can figure something out." Then he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked away.

  "H...Hey! Hold on." I followed after him, feeling an unusual stab of desperation. I was aware that Bau was my last opportunity to get to Los Llanos. He had absolutely no reason to do me any favors, after how I'd ended things. But I had to find some way to convince him.

  3

  Bautista

  Yeah, I'd say I was beginning to regret agreeing to attending the party.

  On the surface I seemed cool, but I was fucking shell-shocked. He was the last person on this planet I could've expected to run into. Talking to him, looking at him again, hearing his voice for the first time in seven years; I was ecstatic to see him and yet wanted him out of my fucking sight.