The Bonita Protocol

by P J Skinner

  THE BONITA PROTOCOL

  The Sam Harris Adventure Series

  Book 5

  PJ SKINNER

  Copyright 2019 PJ Skinner

  Discover other titles in the Sam Harris Series

  Fool’s Gold (Book 1)

  Hitler’s Finger (Book 2)

  The Star of Simbako (Book 3)

  The Pink Elephants (Book 4)

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  Chapter I

  Perth 1996

  Jim Ballard knew when he was beaten. He glanced up at his daughter from underneath his hooded eyelids. She had her arms folded over her chest in defiance, and her stubborn expression told him he couldn’t win this battle of wills. He blew out his cheeks.

  ‘Okay, sweetheart, you can have your way this time, but on one condition.’

  A grimace wiped the triumph off her face.

  ‘Only one?’ she said, looking at her nails with studied indifference.

  ‘You can have Bonita, but I want you to take Rhett Taylor along with you to Sierramar for insurance.’

  ‘Rhett Taylor? But Daddy…’

  ‘No buts.’ Her father tried to look stern even though he was dying to laugh at her sulky demeanour. ‘He’s tailored to your requirements.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Yes, I am. Now, come and give your old man a hug before he changes his mind.’

  Amanda tottered around his oak desk, her tight, faux-leather skirt squeaking in protest. She leant forward on her high heels, stood patiently while her father hugged her and then shook him off.

  ‘How soon can you buy it?’ she said.

  ‘Leave it with me. I’ve known Bill Maclean for ages. He’s been doing the rounds trying to get finance without success. I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.’

  ***

  Calderon 1996

  Rain poured down over Calderon, obscuring the El Grande volcano which loomed over the capital of Sierramar throwing a heavy shadow of doom over the city. Every time Sam Harris landed at Calderon airport, she wondered why people lived on the slopes of an active volcano. On each occasion, she dismissed her fears, reasoning that it would not erupt while she was there; a totally irrational belief at odds with her scientific knowledge of volcanoes.

  Outside the airport terminal, the usual gaggle of taxi drivers fought over the tourists, desperate for their gringo-based fares into Calderon. Sam held tight to her trolley and stood on tiptoe to avoid their pleas. A high-pitched shriek parted the taxi drivers like the Red sea, and a brightly coloured tornado whisked her up in a tight, perfumed hug.

  ‘You’re here. I can’t believe it,’ said Gloria, big fat tears of joy leaking down her cheeks taking globs of mascara with them.

  ‘If you cry, I shall leave again,’ said Sam. She squeezed her friend with real affection and then released her with fake efficiency. ‘Now, where’s David?’

  ‘He’s over there in the car.’

  ‘By himself?’ said Sam.

  Gloria shrugged. Sam was already pushing her suitcases towards the vehicle in the ancient trolley, muttering as it wobbled and threatened to keel over.

  David, Gloria’s six-year-old son, waited in the back of the car, his blonde thatch visible in the window. He turned to watch them with his solemn grey eyes. When Sam opened the back of the jeep to load her suitcases, he turned to her and gave her the sort of dirty look her mother was famous for.

  ‘Wow,’ said Sam. ‘That’s astounding. David’s identical to you. Hello there, handsome.’

  David squirmed in his seat.

  ‘No, he isn’t. How could you say that?’ said Gloria. ‘He’s got all his father’s genes and none of mine.’

  There was no point getting into a discussion with Gloria, who didn’t like to lose, so Sam smiled at David, climbing into the front seat and putting on her seatbelt.

  ‘Well, he’s cute as a button,’ she said. ‘Vamos, chica. Let’s go home.’

  The evening traffic clogged the streets with slow moving buses, infuriating Gloria who puffed on a stream of cigarettes unable to disguise her irritation. The smoke flooded over the back of her seat and shrouded David in a grey cloud. He coughed but he didn’t complain.

  Sam was dying to say something but there was no point discussing the dangers of smoking near young children, as Gloria might increase her intake. Sam had learned years ago that if you wanted Gloria to do something you had to pretend you wanted the exact opposite.

  They pulled into the driveway of Alfredo’s house where the couple now lived. Hibiscus flowers and climbing plants covered the walls and appeared to be holding them up. Spongy green moss grew in the gaps between the red-clay roof tiles and blocked the gutter outlet. A large green stain spread outwards and down across the creamy coloured plaster.

  The front door of the house hung open and a flustered maid was sweeping water out of the hall over the doorstep. Gloria jumped out of the car. Her hands on her hips, she planted herself in front on the maid.

  ‘What on earth happened, Araceli? Is the washing machine flooding again?’ she said.

  The maid spun around at the sound of her voice, her hands tight on the brush handle, knuckles white. She shrugged.

  ‘Señor Alfredo,’ she said, rolling her eyes towards the stairs. ‘He turned on the taps to run a bath and then forgot about it. I heard water running down the stairs and I rushed straight up to switch it off.

  ‘Have you managed to dry the floors?’

  ‘Most of them. This is the last of the water, but the parquet floor got saturated and may lift.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ said Gloria, in a tired voice.

  Araceli looked at the ground unwilling to voice her suspicions. Gloria sighed and looked to the sky.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ said Sam. ‘We can make a pot of tea and I’ll show you the contraband I’ve brought you from London.’

  Gloria shook her head as if to dislodge the unpleasant truth and leaned into the car to release David from his car seat. She turned around to Araceli.

  ‘Take him in please,’ she said.

  But Araceli had her hands full with the mop and bucket.

  ‘He can come with me,’ said Sam.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Gloria.

  ‘I’m an expert now. Hannah’s son practically lives at my flat.’

  ‘Don’t you find that awkward?’ said Gloria.

  ‘Not now. In the beginning perhaps, when I still cared about Simon, but now he’s married her, it’s different.’

  ‘I’m glad I don’t have a sister. I’d have stabbed her if she took my boyfriend.’

  Sam grinned.

  ‘Hung, drawn and quartered more like. It’s complicated.’

  Sam stuck out her hand to David for holding. He glared at her.

  ‘I’m not a baby,’ he said.

  ‘And who said you were? I want you to take me into the house,’ said Sam, with mock severity.

  A look of astonishment appeared on David’s face.

  ‘He’s not used to being told what to do,’ said Gloria. ‘He won’t like it.’

  Sam locked eyes with the boy. She drew
her eyebrows together in an imitation of stern determination. He peered up at Sam from under his giraffe-length eyelashes, looking so like Gloria that Sam spluttered with laughter. To her surprise he took her hand with his small sweaty one and gave her a smile that melted her heart like cheese under the grill.

  ‘Come on,’ said Gloria.

  Soon they were perched on stools at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, sipping tea from the new mugs Sam had brought with her from London. Gloria eyed them with suspicion.

  ‘Why did you bring me cups? I have hundreds of them,’ she said.

  ‘Actually, I didn’t bring them for you. The average size of mugs here qualifies them for use in a doll’s tea set in England. I’ll need to take one to camp and leave another one in your house. I don’t have any patience with tiny cups.’

  ‘So, they’re not for me?’

  A classic Gloria glare almost singed Sam’s eyebrows.

  ‘Um, not really. But you can keep them when I go home. Anyway, I brought you half of Tesco’s.’

  Sam produced jars of chutney and pots of curry powder and other treasures unobtainable in Sierramar from her suitcase, unwrapping them from protective layers of clothing and bubble wrap. She lined them up on the breakfast bar for Gloria to admire. Gloria picked up a packet of tea and read the label.

  ‘Twining’s Earl Grey. My favourite.’

  ‘I remembered.’

  Gloria relaxed and sat popping the bubble wrap with her cigarette.

  ‘Thanks for the presents,’ said Gloria. ‘I needed cheering up.’

  It wasn’t like her to admit this. The absence of Alfredo hung over them but Sam was loath to open that particular Pandora’s box so soon after her arrival.

  ‘You’re welcome. It’s lovely to meet David at last. He’s such a treasure,’ said Sam.

  Instead of accepting the compliment, Gloria’s face creased in misery and she looked away, catching a sob in her throat.

  ‘Oh Sam. What am I going to do?’

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘There’s something wrong with me. My milk dried up and I couldn’t feed him. I felt like such a failure and then I had postpartum depression.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You’re not a failure. Lots of women bottle feed their children. Anyway, that was ages ago.’

  ‘It hasn’t improved. I didn’t realise how hard it would be to love my own child. He doesn’t even like me. He only loves his father. His first word was Dada.’

  The raw emotion in Gloria’s voice cut her to the core. Sam, who struggled with strong emotions at the best of times, went to science for comfort.

  ‘But Dada is the first word for most babies because it’s the easiest thing to say. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.’

  Gloria ignored her. She folded her arms and sniffed.

  ‘How could he love his father more than me? Alfredo’s a drunk.’

  Life was so ironic. Her sister Hannah, who didn’t want children, got pregnant by mistake and was now a fabulous mother. Poor Gloria who was desperate for a baby, had a miracle child she couldn’t love.

  ‘I’ve no idea. I love you even though you are grumpy and difficult,’ said Sam. ‘Show me my room. I’ve got to reorganise my suitcases into Calderon office clothes, and Cerro Calvo project gear and boots.’

  Gloria watched Sam separate her belongings into piles, making unhelpful comments and bossing her around as usual.

  ‘You have the weirdest things in your luggage,’ she said, poking around in one of the piles and pulling out a chunky piece of coloured plastic with a handle on the side. ‘What on earth’s this?’

  Sam took it back from her and placed it in the Cerro Calvo pile.

  ‘That’s my father’s contribution. It’s a wind-up torch. He likes to give me new products to test.’

  ‘Hasn’t he heard of batteries? You could leave it here if you want.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’ll take it with me. My father would be disappointed if I didn’t report back on its efficiency.’

  Gloria shrugged and fiddled with her hair.

  ‘What’s going on with this new job?’ she said. ‘I didn’t understand what you told me on the phone.’

  ‘Well, from what I’ve been told, the company which offered me the position has been taken over by a famous mining magnate called Jim Ballard.’

  ‘But he’s still going to hire you, isn’t he?’ said Gloria, her brow furrowing.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d already signed the contract. Anyway, if he bought the company, it must have excellent prospect, so that’s great news. I’ll meet the new boss tomorrow at work.’

  ‘What’s Jim Ballard like? Is he handsome?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he’s a she.’

  ‘A woman? Isn’t that unusual? What about Jim Ballard?’

  ‘We’re talking hen’s teeth,’ said Sam. ‘His daughter Amanda is my new boss.

  ‘Wow! That’s amazing. You must be thrilled to have a woman boss at last.’

  ‘Um, sort of. It’ll be different, but the press reports about her were not polite. Amanda Ballard has a reputation for being difficult to deal with, so I’m feeling a little nervous.’

  ‘She’ll love you. I do,’ said Gloria.

  ‘Yes, but you have terrible taste. You married Alfredo,’ said Sam, immediately wishing she hadn’t. She had meant it as a joke but Gloria’s expression was desolate.

  ‘I did,’ she said.

  Alfredo stumbled home later while they were eating supper. David leapt out of his seat and rushed to hug him. Alfredo mussed his blonde mop in an absent-minded way, a look of adoration on his face.

  When he looked up, he noticed Sam sitting at the table and screwed his eyes up to get her into focus. His mouth dropped open and he slapped his brow.

  ‘Sam? I forgot. Forgive me. I’m an idiot,’ he said, throwing his arms around her in a boozy embrace. His tweed jacket smelt as if he had used it to wipe the floor of a bar. Sam held her breath, trying to look delighted at his pungent embrace.

  ‘Put her down,’ said Gloria. ‘You don’t know where she’s been.’

  Her voice cracked. Alfredo released Sam but stood gazing at her with a squiffy smile on his face while swaying on his feet.

  ‘It’s Sam, she’s come to see us,’ he said, waving his arms about.

  ‘She’s come to work,’ said Gloria.

  ‘And see you,’ said Sam.

  ‘Are you staying?’ said David, tugging her arm.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam.

  Chapter II

  Thick creamy coloured cloud lay over the city of Calderon like the froth on a newly poured pint of Guinness. The El Grande volcano poked through into the sky, its summit covered with snow, and a plume of smoke rose from a vent at the side. One of these days the whole thing will blow thought Sam as she got dressed in the small back bedroom of the house.

  What should she wear? Normally, she threw on her uniform of khaki and stomped in to a new job pretending to be one of the boys, but an office-based job might be different. Would she be expected to have office clothes? The luggage allowance in economy did not allow for a suitcase full of suits and smart shoes as well as the goodies for Gloria, and Sam had her priorities, so she had thrown a few smart fitted shirts in pastel colours and some linen trousers in with the chutney and mint jelly.

  She put her hair up in a bun and used Gloria’s hairspray to glue down the halo of fine stray hairs that refused to cooperate. A smear of lipstick completed the look. She stood in front of the full-length mirror and sighed. Her sleeked back hair and lipstick gave her the appearance of one of the models from the Addicted to Love video but her wrinkled shirt and trousers had more of an Indiana Jones vibe.

  The older she got; the more jet lag combined with the high altitude of Calderon affected her. An impending headache signalled the need for tea and a couple of paracetamols. Right now, the only thing that would improve her situation was breakfast. She brushed the hairspray out of her hair and put it back in a wispy bun before
wandering downstairs.

  Gloria gave her a withering glance and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Honestly Sam. You can’t go to a new job like that. You look like a refugee,’ she said. ‘Take your clothes off and give them to Araceli so she can iron them for you.’

  ‘What about Alfredo?’

  ‘Don’t worry about him. We’ll be lucky if he appears before midday.’

  Sam considered protesting, but hunger got the better of her. She handed over her clothes and perched on the kitchen stool in her underwear while Araceli tutted and puffed her way through the ironing. A cup of tea and a couple of excellent boiled eggs killed the jet lag and warded off her headache.

  ‘Where’s David?’ said Sam.

  ‘He leaves early for school. Put your clothes back on and I’ll drive you to the office,’ said Gloria.

  The office was on the same side of town as Alfredo’s house but traffic was much worse than Sam remembered. The ancient cars, which used to populate the roads on her first trips to the city, had disappeared to be replaced by bright hatchbacks and flashy jeeps which had bred like rabbits and clogged the streets, dodging the still decrepit buses used as public transport. These relics pumped thick smog into the thin air making it harder to breathe.

  The rush hour jams were compounded by a power cut in the sector where Sam’s new office was located. The traffic lights were dead. Stressed policemen stood at the junctions whirling their arms like windmills and trying to avoid being run down by ministerial cars which did not stop for anyone. Beggars took advantage of the standstill in vehicle circulation to sell sweets and newspapers to the frustrated drivers, making progress even slower while they searched for change and dithered over the choice of candies in the boxes shoved through their windows.

  Gloria drove a brand-new Toyota four-runner which she forced through the traffic and the swarms of disappointed traders with the single-mindedness of a tank commander. A present from her father no doubt. Hernan Sanchez, the self-made man, never let his daughter go without. Since the majority of the ministerial cars were of the same make and shape as hers, Gloria could drive around like she owned the town, flashing broad smiles at the harassed officials. She dazzled them with her glamour which had not dimmed in the slightest despite the burden of being married to a drunk and having a child she found hard to love.