by John Day
Just out of sight of Kinshasa, they moored the launch and walked into civilisation. Max contacted Sam and explained everything that had happened. Sam agreed to get money and passports to them straight away. They stayed out of sight on the launch overnight.
The next afternoon, the replacement passports were delivered to Max, as promised, including a generous amount of local currency. Although they were fake passports they were in their names and genuine in that respect. That evening, they were relaxing in their Jacuzzi, getting clean, before going to dinner in the hotel Sam had organised. It was lovely to be civilised again.
Three days later, they were in Sam’s office, back in Italy, going over all that had happened.
Sam told them that the man who had hired Matt and his men, sent in another team to find out what had happened to them, and why contact had been lost.
“They must have found their launch a day after you abandoned it and were on your way home.”
“Who is behind all this?” Asked Max. “There is no doubt it is Gregor Yeltsin. He is a well-known and respected industrialist living in America, but he has reputed links with the Russian Mafia. It appears he had been approached by Bill Potter, the medic on the team. The deal was for Potter to let Gregor know if we made a strike good enough to take over, then Potter would be well paid for the information. It was then that Gregor Yeltsin decided to destroy all traces of the survey team, including Potter, when good progress reports were coming through. However, Gregor was too late; we had already negotiated the mining rights based on your invaluable reports. Well done, by the way.”
“There is a lot of trouble going on as we speak, sorting out what happened at the camp, but you two were never there according to all records. Everyone thinks Matt Stone killed everybody and just disappeared off the face of the Earth.”
Chapter - Revenge in America.
Max had decided to jam a giant spanner in Gregor Yeltsin’s business machine to try to rebalance the scales of justice for those men at the camp, who had been murdered. There was no legal link between Yeltsin and the murders, but it fitted together well enough in Max’s mind, based on the usual impeccable evidence from Sam. Carla agreed.
Because neither Max or Carla had visas for America and did not want to leave any trail back to them, the right papers were acquired from the criminal underworld within four days. Jack Hoffer, 42 a genuine American, currently on holiday in Italy provided Max’s identity. The man was free of any criminal record, had modest means and a widower travelling alone. Carla became Jane Tyler, a 26 year-old brunette under-manageress in her father’s city hotel, also currently in Italy and travelling alone.
Max had difficulty getting used to Carla as a brown-haired woman. Being a creature of detail, Carla made sure her collar and cuffs matched. Max felt decidedly unnerved, even unfaithful when they made love that afternoon. Her character had changed, just as much as her appearance, she was so different. Max saw no need to go to that extreme himself, and after some hair removal and re colouring, matched the passport photo quite well.
Their arrival at Dulles International Airport was routine. Although sat together on the plane and stood side by side going through Security, they appeared not to be a couple.
Carla took a single room at a comfortable hotel and Max took a cheap single room in a less attractive part of the city. By using public information, they soon found Yeltsin’s office block. It was a magnificent 40-storey tower with helipad on top. Finding out where he lived was not so easy. They did not wish to draw attention to themselves by asking around, Yeltsin was obviously ex-directory.
At about 6:30pm each evening, a smart white helicopter landed on the pad, and after a few minutes, it flew off to the north.
A portrait of Gregor Yeltsin hanging in the reception hall of the offices, showed their quarry, in all his glory. The image peered down at them; the warm smile hid the evil greed that lay behind his large brown eyes. The rather chubby face had a kind, but superior look, not the sort of face either of them expected. They could see this man getting into his helicopter each evening, through binoculars, from the stairwell window of a nearby taller building. All they had to do now was find out where it landed.
After a couple of days’ break in routine, they spotted the helicopter approaching from the South. It passed overhead and up towards the mountain. Luck was on their side that day, the white machine landed on the enormous cantilevered balcony of a large palatial stone house built on the edge of the cliff face.
“Typical” thought Max, all these power-mad people seem to want is to dominate the world below them. Then he knew he was just being jealous. What better position might there be? The clear, fresh air of the mountain, away from the noise of the city, but yet within easy reach of it and of course the magnificent view.
It took about four hours to find the place by road. The long winding drive up the mountainside through the trees, distorted their sense of distance and direction, but eventually, there it was.
They drove past without slowing in case security cameras were trained on them. By following a track through the trees on foot, they reached higher ground that overlooked the house. The design was quite castle like and was probably built around a central courtyard. It looked large by virtue of its width on the cliff face, but they could see now, it was equally deep, as well. The building must have been three-storeys high, including the rooms under the small, slate covered dormers. Max wondered what on earth people did in such big places.
"Well," said Carla, “We are here, so how do we get in, even if we do, what next?”
“I don’t know,” Max replied, slightly irritably. “I was hoping you might come up with something.”
“Perhaps I might have,” she said sadly. “But I can’t get the survey team out of my mind. In the short time we knew them, they were all good people, except Potter, even he was extremely likeable.”
At the house, a security guard reported to his chief, “A car passed by an hour ago and has not returned. It was a hired car in the name of Mr Jack Hoffer. The road above this house goes nowhere and stops a mile away, so I wonder if someone should look into it.”
“Yes, send Burt up on foot, he could do with a stiff walk. Then report back to me.”
Burt set off up the hill listening for the sound of an engine or voices between his laboured breathing. He soon noticed the fresh wheel tracks leading up into the trees and became more cautious. He reported over his walkie-talkie and said he would continue up the track. He expected to find a couple of hikers wandering around, certainly nothing for security to worry about. He had worked at the house for Gregor Yeltsin for six years now and had never had a real incident occur, so why now?
Burt passed the parked car and continued upwards into the woods. He tried to be quiet, but he was no Red Indian. The occasional twig cracked underfoot.
He suddenly spotted them laid in the pine needles. The girl, in a short skirt, was sprawled onto the chap and was frantically kissing him. He had responded, having laid his binoculars on the ground, and started pawing her breasts as she sat astride his hips. Suddenly she looked up at the man who had crept up on them, Bert looked startled and coughed apologetically. “Sorry, ” he muttered and walked back down the way he had come.
“I thought I’d heard someone,” said Carla “And I was right.”
"What a shame," said Max, “I thought my luck had changed.” She paused for a moment, leaned forward, and kissed his lips.
“It has, she whispered.” Then, giggling, she undid his jeans.
After they returned from their reconnaissance, Max freshened up at Carla’s hotel, then they went to the dining room for a meal. They discussed various strategies and outcomes until they crystallised their plan.
For best effect they needed the law to deal with Yeltsin, hopefully discredit him with the Russian Mafia and damage his business. Once the law started digging, they would find a lot more things to charge him with.
The two of them had to remain anonymous; after all, the
y were not there legally.
It would be easier to plant evidence than uncover an actual crime.
What evidence could they fabricate and what crime would they use to frame him?
“I think I have the answer,” said Max
“First, we need about 20 K of cocaine, some Paragliding lessons; a lock-up garage for two vehicles, some uniforms, a utility truck and a photo of Matt Stone. Which bits do you want to do?”
“I’ll start with the cocaine.” Carla replied, “I will need a several of days though.”
"OK," said Max, “I’ll organise the rest, then we do the Paragliding lessons.”
The next morning, they went off to carry out their tasks.
Carla drove around the seedy part of the city for the first day, to observe. That evening she dressed down and became a streetwise slut, new in town and listening out in bars and on street corners for the word on who was who in the area.
Having been a smack head at one time, she soon mouthed her way onto the scene. Her good looks and British accent attracted the right attention. As is usual in society, the young bucks lower down the pecking order make their play first while those at the top check out what’s going on and only then if it is worth the effort, they move in, sweeping the others off the board. Carla had set herself a tricky game for a girl to play.
The young bucks hate to lose face, especially to a girl, so she skilfully manipulated them to fight each other rather than her. By the next evening The man himself drew up at the kerb in a large gleaming black Mercedes convertible, his three henchmen as support. After a brief exchange of quick-witted banter, The man was firmly hooked. Carla slid in alongside him, and they set off back to his club. Having puffed up his ego by her skill and cunning Jacko as he called himself admitted he was not at the top of the league yet but was getting there. Carla suggested he was the sort of man to make opportunities happen, not wait for them to drop in his lap. After all, the boys follow, the real men lead. Jacko loved to hear this form of encouragement, especially from the new girl in town. She had put down everyone else so far, and was going with him.
“I know what would do it for you; earn real respect at the same time as making you very rich.” He was all ears, certainly exceptionally wet behind them, but full of enthusiasm none the less.
“Who are the big cocaine players on the street?” She asked. He listed the three key players, bitter rivals and constantly vying for number one position.
“Okay, ” she said, “We can set them up, so one thinks the other has ripped them off. You walk away with the stash and money, they kill each other off, and then you take over.”
Perhaps this is why God put the face as far away from the anus as he did, so they can both have extremely different expressions at the same time. Jacko was grinning like an idiot while his anus was pinching shut, trying to hold back all the bullshit he was filled with.
Carla pushed his buttons again. “Still, if you aren’t up to it, there is no point in taking this further.”
“You have a plan then!” He exclaimed. He hoped she didn’t so he could slide out gracefully.
“Oh yes! Of course, it’s a real humdinger too.”
She asked more questions and then explained how he could pull off the deal. Jacko tried to fault the plan, he could not think of any reason to doubt it. So did his mates, they egged him on, so he couldn’t back out. Carla had done this scam before, it was at the start of her new life and wealth, just after meeting of the Duke.
The rest of the night was spent planning. Carla wanted the results as proof she wasn’t wasting time with a loser. Jacko found her so exciting and positive, just what he needed. He could have cheap pussy any time, but the real exciting pussy was worth waiting for. The plan would be executed the following night.
Max’s phone call to Sam resulted in an e-mail that evening. The attachment was a good quality colour photo of Matt Stone, soon after he left the Marines. Another phone call from a nearby call box, answered an advert he had seen for a double lock-up garage in the back streets of the city. Max called to see the place and hired it for a month, cash in advance.
Nearby was a real estate office. He went in and asked for details of small bungalows, cheap as possible, and a viewing. After seeing them, he told the Agent none of them were what he wanted, not even the empty one.
He then made a phone call to the water utility company requesting the service be turned on, at the empty property he claimed he had just bought, which resulted in an appointment for two hours’ time. Max temporarily removed the “for sale” board, quietly broke in and waited for the water utility truck to arrive.
Two men got out of the truck; both men were on the large side and ambled to the bungalow. Max invited them in and explained he had just bought the place. Could they check the pipework after the water was turned on, to see if it was safe? $100 each made them happy men, for a few minutes. Whilst one was tied up in the kitchen, he had been working under the sink. Max bound and gagged the other man before he went up into the attic.
Max now needed their uniforms.
Before he temporarily released each man, he warned them that if they gave any trouble, he would kill them both. He then took their uniforms and ID.
He put on the smallest uniform, drove off in the truck to the lock-up, and removed the licence plates. He phoned the utility company and told them where their men were, and that the truck would be returned in the next few days. They were not at all pleased, so Max hung up.
Suddenly water utility trucks became acutely noticeable to Max, he noted the registration number of one that looked like his, and got new plates made up with a similar number, to fit his vehicle.
The next day Carla called and told him of the cocaine scam. He would need to rehearse the route with her and check alternatives for escape in case of problems.
That night at 8pm in a dark back alley a group of eight men stood between the open boots of their cars, parked back to back. The crucial exchange of cocaine for money was taking place between two of Jacko’s rivals. At that moment two black and white police cars glided in, one at each end, blocking off any escape. The police shouted a warning and advanced. A long burst of silenced gunfire from the building above laid out the eight men before they got a shot off.
Carla reversed the police car out of the alley, turned, and reversed back in again so Jacko and his men in police uniform, could load up her car with the money and cocaine. Jacko was on a high, he was now the man, with money, drugs and the girl. He was pinning Carla against the side of the car as she was tonguing him all the way back to his glottis. Carla eased away from the side of the car, he had a boner like an axe handle.
When the loading was complete, she slipped back behind the wheel locked the doors and floored the accelerator. She ducked as shots were fired and yanked the steering wheel round, so the car emerged from the alley with the traffic flow. Moments later she turned up another dark alley, pulled up alongside a water utility truck waiting with its back doors open, and the engine running. The drugs and money were quickly transferred, and the water utility truck, quietly drove away.
“I hope you’re good with a needle?” Said Max.
“Why, couldn’t you get your uniform to fit?” She replied.
“No, mine’s fine, it’s yours that has the problem.”
“That’s a shame, ” she smiled, “One thing I cannot do is sew.”
"I'll have to do it then," said Max, “You can get the sewing machine, I’m not doing it, it is bad for my image!” He joked.
The Paragliding training was not going well. There was no way Max could bring himself to throw himself off a hillside, let alone a mountain. His instructor had lost patience with him and even called him a pussy. A good shove was all that was required in the end, and then he soared up and around like a leaf in a gale. After a while, he got the hang of it and even his landing was good. As usual, Carla soon mastered the technique, and they soared together.
The instructor was surprised at their need to
practise putting on the harness, with their eyes closed. In no time at all, they could harness up and be airborne almost like the hounds of hell were after them.
The next few days were an anti-climax. Research at the local library and on the Internet turned up a good photo of Mrs Yeltsin. It also highlighted her fear of flying. Based on this Carla thought the woman probably drove to the city rather than going in her husbands’ helicopter. They lay in wait for her at the bottom of the mountain road next to the water pumping station.
Several days passed before a gold Lexus glided past them. Yeltsin’s wife was sitting in the back with a beautiful blonde girl next to her. Two more gorgeous girls sat in the front, one driving.
Carla drove a discrete distance behind in the utility truck, Max changed out of uniform into a smart suit as she drove. The Lexus parked in an exclusive underground car-park, so Max got out of the truck and followed the woman to the shops. Carla drove quickly back to the lock-up, changed into smart clothes and a mild disguise, returning to the shops in their hired car. Max phoned with instructions on how to find him in the shopping Mall.
Before meeting up, Carla had a bright idea and went to where the Lexus was parked. She looked it over and returned to the shops. Back together again Max and Carla checked their plan, she added her idea about the Lexus, as well.
Mrs Yeltsin and the three girls had made their way into a crowded area of a large department store. To the casual eye the party could have been a wealthy mother and her three stunning daughters out on a shopping spree. However, a closer study revealed the girls were stony-faced, uninterested in anything in the shops, and seldom looked at one another. Although the older woman was talking, they never appeared to answer her conversationally. Carla knew these were no Barbie dolls; they were probably Russian fashion accessory bodyguards. Their immaculate tailoring probably concealed a variety of weapons and body armour as well as a physique honed for defence. If not downright killing.
The girls glided gracefully through the crowd with Mrs Yeltsin in a clear space between them. In this space, she walked and talked freely as though apart from her and the girls, there was no one else in the store. The girl’s eyes constantly scanned the faces and vantage points, their heads turning to look all around. Discreetly, they each wore an earpiece and spoke without looking at anyone in particular. Carla murmured to Max as they approached them “This is a bad idea; we’re out of our depth here.”