Luc: A Spy Thriller

by Greg Coppin

  ‘Bloody hell, well haven’t you got a nerve,’ Steenhoek said, seeing me stroll into the room. There was the tangy odour of some sort of antiseptic solution in the room.

  ‘Hello, Mr Steenhoek. How is the knee, by the way?’ I asked.

  ‘There is no knee,’ Steenhoek replied. ‘It’s a collection of loose fragments of bone rattling around in there.’

  I nodded. ‘You know, I am sorry about that.’

  ‘I’ll be having a ceramic replacement.’

  ‘Oh well,’ I said. ‘That’s something, isn’t it.’

  ‘He’s brought this,’ the thug chimed in, holding up the diamond. ‘He says he has more.’

  Steenhoek looked at me and then the diamond. ‘Close the door,’ he said. The thug closed the door.

  I nodded. ‘I need information, Mr Steenhoek.’

  ‘Well this is interesting,’ Steenhoek said. ‘Because I want information too. I want to know why I shouldn’t just have you killed right now. And I’ll be honest, I’m struggling.’

  I indicated the thug next to me. ‘As he says. I have more diamonds on me. Fine quality.’

  ‘I let Toledo here loose on you. I still get the diamonds.’

  ‘You said you don’t go round killing people.’

  ‘Normally I don’t, Luc. Normally I don’t. But a man can be driven to it.’

  ‘Here? Shoot me here? You won’t get away with that.’

  ‘This is a hospital. There are plenty of people in hospitals with bullet wounds. Me, for instance.’

  ‘Yes, but if you shoot me in this room…’

  ‘I could shoot you in this room, doesn’t mean you’ll be found in this room.’

  I shook my head. ‘That would be a one-off payment. You know the business I’m in. Information, intelligence. How many times over the next ten, twenty years might I come knocking at your door? Take the long view, Mr Steenhoek.’

  ‘You’ve knocked at my door already this week. I have received precious little payment, but plenty of blood and bits of bone have splattered about the place, and I am now several men and a kneecap down.’

  ‘I can’t change what’s done, Mr Steenhoek, but believe me…’

  ‘Do you think any amount of payment can compensate, can recompense, for what you have done to me?’

  ‘Look. I can only apologise, Mr Steenhoek. But I do need this information. There is…’

  ‘Toledo, get the diamonds.’

  I held up a hand to Toledo. ‘Mr Steenhoek, that man I asked about. The one shot and dumped in Crooked Tree. He was a colleague of mine and I think that maybe while observing you he saw you with someone else. Someone who didn’t want to be seen. Someone, perhaps, who is from Guatemala.’

  ‘Toledo…’

  ‘Mr Steenhoek, have you recently met anyone from Guatemala?’

  ‘…Get me the diamonds.’

  ‘Toledo, don’t you go near them.’ I turned back to Steenhoek. ‘You can have them, Mr Steenhoek, they’re yours, but in return for that information. I need that information.’

  Toledo pulled the gun from inside his jacket and dug the barrel into the side of my head. With the other hand he patted me down and very quickly found the bag of diamonds in my shirt pocket.

  ‘This isn’t fair, Mr Steenhoek,’ I said.

  Steenhoek noisily exhaled a sort of laugh and looked at me strangely. ‘Where do I start with that?’

  Toledo pulled out the small grey cloth bag. Steenhoek motioned for him to throw it at him. The bag landed on the mauve bedclothes on his lap. He pulled the drawstring and looked inside. Was it my imagination or did Steenhoek’s eyes literally sparkle at what they saw? He took out one of the diamonds and held it up to the light. That’s when I made my move.

  I snapped my head back, away from the field of fire of the thug’s gun. I smashed a fist into the thug’s stomach, did it again, and he doubled a little and I swung out to fully face him and thrust his head down onto my knee. I pounded a massive right hook into the side of his head and he bounced off the wall and I stepped back as he dropped to the floor, out cold.

  I picked up the gun and stalked over to Steenhoek. The blood was up and I stared him in the eyes and thrust the gun into his good knee and I told him, told him, I needed that information.

  Steenhoek stared back, palpably tense now, reliving the sound of yesterday’s shot, the hit, the pain; feeling it might come again, might be relived, this time on the other knee, the only good knee. Crippled.

  His mouth was open.

  ‘Who did you meet?’

  A shadow swept across the frosted glass of the door.

  ‘Tell me,’ I demanded.

  The door opened and the nurse I had seen earlier walked in. She immediately reacted on seeing the thug sprawled on the floor and I turned to face her and tucked the gun down the back of my belt, so it rested against the base of my spine.

  ‘This man is leaving,’ Steenhoek said firmly to the nurse.

  ‘Have you been causing trouble?’ the nurse asked me, as she attended to the thug. I pulled my shirt back down over the gun.

  ‘Make sure he doesn’t come back again, please, nurse.’

  The nurse stood up and ushered me out. I glared at Steenhoek.

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow, see how you’re doing,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t ever want to see this man again, do you hear me, nurse?’

  I stared at him. ‘All you had to do…’ I shook off the nurse and marched out. I quickly took a right turn as an unhappy looking Grace Steenhoek came around the corner at the far end.

  I left the hospital, walked back to the Suzuki, which was parked down the street, and got inside.

  I stared at the sky and waited.

  Five minutes later my mobile phone vibrated.

  ‘Luc,’ I said.

  ‘It’s Charlie. When the nurse left he got on the phone. Do you want to hear the call now?’

  ‘Yes.’ The listening device was inside the little plastic bobble on the drawstring of the grey cloth bag.

  There was a click down the line, then some ambient sounds. Then rustling. Then tonal beeps - he was tapping out the phone number. There was the faintest sound of a dialling tone. Then Steenhoek started speaking.

  ‘Hello, I can’t speak long…Not too bad. I’m in the hospital, as you’ve heard. The reason I’m ringing is that as a valued client I thought you would like to know that I have just received some very interesting information which concerns you.’ I couldn’t quite get the next bit, there was some sort of crackling sound, which seemed fairly close to the mic. ‘…tish agent meddling in your…’ and then it went again. And then I recognised what Steenhoek was probably doing. As he was speaking he was scooping up the diamonds in his lap and letting them fall through his fingers. ‘…Meet one of my men. Three o’clock. Usual place. Usual arrangement.’

  The recording stopped and Charlie was back on the line.

  ‘Shame about the crackling,’ she said.

  ‘He was playing about with the diamonds. What about the other phone number?’

  ‘Pre-paid.’

  I nodded. ‘To be expected.’

  ‘Do you want any back up for this meet?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘No. I do not.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  He came out about an hour later. The tall, lean thug. Toledo. Dark clothing. Bruising around the face. A black rucksack slung over his shoulder. He took athletic strides to get to the Range Rover.

  I held back, waited for two vehicles to get between us. He took the turning into Pickstock Street and went right the way down, heading in the direction of the famous Swing Bridge and turned into North Front Road.

  He swung the Range Rover round and parked up on the quayside. I slowed and pulled over to the kerb. The salty aroma of the sea was more pronounced here. A flock of gulls squawked loudly and insistently nearby. Toledo got out and threw the rucksack over his shoulder and walked down the grey wooden jetty. He stepped onto the water taxi. He was going to one of the isl
ands.

  This was not good.

  It was a good security measure - the thug just had to turn round to see if anyone followed him onto the boat. Unless I’d been blown, and he was leading me a merry dance. But I didn’t think so on that score.

  I could see him on the deck, looking out at the marina to the side, occasionally taking glances to his right, scouting the dock.

  Yes, security measure, all right.

  Very good. And it meant there was no way I could get on that boat without him seeing me.

  A small man with quick, practised movements released the rope from around the metal bollard and jumped easily back onto the boat. I watched it glide off, the thug now facing into the boat, his hands spread behind him on the rail.

  Maybe the meet was on the boat.

  If so, I hoped it would happen soon, while they were still in eye shot for me to see the client.

  The thug lazily turned round and leaned on the rail and looked out onto the water. He would soon slip out of view.

  I got the Suzuki going and took it down the quayside. I parked up and walked down to where a small boat was berthed. I walked along the wooden jetty, looking around for the owner of the boat. There were a group of men about two hundred yards away, laughing and joking, and I was about to go over when the hatch of the boat opened and somebody walked up the little steps. She had blonde hair and was wearing navy blue shorts and a pink T-shirt. I could see out of the corner of my eye the ferry boat was now a silhouette on the sea.

  ‘Hello,’ I said to the woman.

  ‘Oh hi,’ she said, suddenly noticing me. She had beautiful dark eyes.

  ‘Can I ask a favour?’ I said. ‘I need to get to…actually, where does that boat go to?’ I asked, pointing at the ferry now heading towards the horizon. She looked around. Her hair was up in a pony tail and I saw her beautiful soft neck.

  ‘That’s the boat for Caye Caulker,’ she said, turning back.

  ‘That’s exactly where I need to get to. And, well, as you can see, I missed the boat.’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ she said. ‘There’ll be another one in half an hour.’

  ‘Thing is, I don’t want to wait the half hour.’

  ‘Uh-huh. How can I help?’

  ‘I wondered if I could borrow your boat.’ I took my wallet out of my pocket and pulled out some notes. ‘Twenty dollars.’

  ‘Twenty dollars, that’s nice of you. But this is my granddad’s boat.’

  ‘Right. Is he around?’

  ‘No. I’m waiting for him. We’re going fishing out at Ambergris.’

  ‘How long’s he going to be?’ I could see the silhouette getting smaller all the time.

  ‘Oh, not long.’

  ‘How long’s not long?’

  ‘I don’t know. Five minutes. An hour. Difficult to say.’

  ‘That’s - I can’t really wait that long. What’s your name?’

  ‘Lucia.’

  ‘Really? Okay, Lucia, I’m going to give you a hundred dollars for the use of your boat. I promise I’ll get it back to you and your granddad in no later than three hours. That sounds like a good deal, doesn’t it?’

  She looked at me. I got the distinct impression there was some serious evaluating going on behind those dark eyes.

  ‘This is my granddad’s boat,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t let a stranger take it away.’

  I sighed inwardly. ‘Well, how about if you came along too? How about if you took me to Caye Caulker?’

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Philip.’

  Her eyes narrowed again as she scanned my face. She screwed up her mouth and then pulled out a mobile phone from her shorts. She tapped out a couple of keys and then put it to her ear. Twenty seconds later she dropped her arm. ‘He’s not answering,’ she said.

  She looked back up at me. Her dark eyes were warm.

  ‘Well, Philip,’ she said. ‘I size people up pretty quickly.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I hope I’m not wrong. Make it a hundred and twenty and you can jump aboard.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  The little boat was pretty speedy. We nipped through the water with ease and Lucia turned out to be very good at the whole boating thing.

  There was a large floppy hat lying on the floor of the boat, and for added disguise, in case Toledo decided to look in this direction, I decided to wear it.

  ‘That’s my granddad’s,’ Lucia said on seeing me with it on. She reached into a canvas bag and pulled out a small tube. She pulled the lid off and I could see it was a chapstick.

  ‘Trying to keep the sun off my ears,’ I said.

  ‘Then you should sit on the opposite side,’ she said, running the chapstick along her full lips.

  ‘But I also want a tan on my face.’

  She brushed her lips together and then dropped the stick back into the canvas bag. She smiled. ‘You’re strange.’

  ‘As you said, you sized me up pretty quickly.’

  We were now overtaking the water taxi and it was obvious we would make it to Caye Caulker before it. I kept my back to the other boat so, yes, I was getting the sun on my face.

  ‘So your name’s Lucia.’

  ‘It is.’ A smile was never far from her face.

  ‘Lovely name. And interesting too.’ We were speaking a little louder than is usual because of the noise of the engine.

  ‘Why interesting?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, to me anyway. My surname is Luc. L-u-c.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Perhaps we’re meant to be together.’

  ‘You stay there, I’ll get the ring.’ I made to get up.

  ‘Take a seat, Romeo, you’re rocking the boat.’

  ‘You know me inside out. I’ve told you this.’

  She brushed her tanned thighs to get rid of some sort of bug that was flying about.

  ‘Are you Belizean?’ I asked.

  ‘I am. Born and bred.’ She had a trace of the Kriol lilt to her voice. ‘My granddad, the man who owns this boat, is originally from the U.S. He moved here in his forties and married a local girl. My gran.’

  I nodded. ‘I’m trying to pick up some of the Belizean Kriol. I like learning new languages.’

  ‘I’m glad you call Kriol a language. Some don’t.’

  The wash caused by the boat kept spraying my shirt and arm. ‘I know the arguments. But I’ll stick to calling it a language.’

  ‘You do that. So what have you got so far?’

  ‘Shub dis plog eena datdeh hoal. Which, the room attendant at my hotel informed me when I asked how I got the ceiling fan to work.’

  She laughed, putting the back of her hand up to her mouth. It was a delightfully light laugh. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘you need just a little more work on the accent.’

  There was a beeping sound and Lucia pulled the mobile phone from her pocket.

  ‘It’s Granddad,’ she said excitedly. ‘He’s at the marina.’

  I pointed a thumb behind us. ‘That one?’

  ‘Yes. That one.’

  I suddenly got a little worried. ‘You’re not going back?’

  She looked up at me. ‘I suppose I could drop you off at the Caye first.’

  ‘Yes, because I have paid you a hundred and twenty for just that.’

  ‘Yep. Don’t worry. I’ll do that.’

  ‘How will I get back?’

  ‘You can take the water taxi.’

  No, because Toledo and presumably the client will be on that. ‘Oh yes, hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘You are weird.’

  ‘Can I keep the hat?’

  ‘No, that’s Granddad’s.’

  ‘Come on, you owe me.’

  She chewed her mouth. ‘Okay, for the sake of your ears.’

  We docked at the beautiful small island of Caye Caulker and I stepped out onto the little jetty.

  ‘Have fun,’ she said, reversing the boat back out.

  ‘I was going to. And then you decided t
o go back for your granddad.’

  She held my gaze. She smiled a little and then she turned and concentrated on steering the boat around and away. I watched her leave for a bit and then saw that the water taxi was about to dock about two hundred yards away and with head down I stepped away to the side.

  I looked around. I wouldn’t know where Toledo was going to head. He would have to come this way, so I continued walking along the busy front. There were a couple of bars and a wooden hut for people to buy tickets for the water taxi. More people were hanging around here. Many passed me, obviously heading for the water taxi which was just coming in.

  I passed the bars and there was the smell of roast pork coming from inside one or both of them. After the bars there was another turning, a fork in the road. I couldn’t go much further without risking losing him. There were people, tourists, hanging around the front, leaning on a wooden rail, looking out to sea. I decided to join them. I leaned my elbows on the rail and pulled the floppy hat down further. The water lapped rhythmically below me.

  I turned, attracted by the sound of people disgorging from the water taxi. I kept looking for Toledo, wondering if he was still on his own, or whether he’d already made contact with the client on the boat. Tourists and locals getting off the boat were mixing with those about to get on it. Cameras and iPads were being held up, people were posing in front of the boat, in front of the aquamarine water.

  And then I saw him.

  The thug, Toledo, walking purposefully through the crowd, a rucksack over one shoulder. One of the tourists backed into him as she was taking a group photo. The thug put his fingertips on her back and gently pushed her to the side. She tried to apologise but he was already striding away.

  He neared the first bar and looked around. I fractionally tilted my head lower, so all I could see were his feet. He strolled over and sat down at a table outside the bar.

  A waiter with dreadlocks and a faded green Coca Cola T-shirt stepped out and Toledo gave his order. He looked around again. He was waiting.

  The client was still on his way.

  ***

  The client was late. Three p.m. had come and gone and Toledo, sitting there drinking his beer, didn’t look very happy. He kept looking around, and I wondered whether I should move from where I was. Different tourists were coming and going all the time, but if he recognised that this one figure with a big floppy hat had never moved he might start to get suspicious.