Eye of the Cobra

by Christopher Sherlock

  ‘And if the fucker turns on us?’

  ‘My brother, do you think I am stupid? When Talbot has done everything - then we kill him. Nice and slowly, like you did Ramirez.’

  They left the office and strolled along the corridors, looking into the large, air-conditioned dining-room on their way. It was almost full, and gales of laughter rang from the tables.

  Jules arched his eyebrows. ‘The men think between their legs. The girls are doing a good job, and naturally they will find out what everyone is thinking.’

  ‘Yes, there are always a few who get a little too big for their boots, eh? Then we fly them home early. We push them out without a parachute, and they disappear into the forests . . .’

  Emerson looked out of a window, surveying the steamy jungle that surrounded the camp. Since the last attempt on his life, all he could think about was security; he was fast becoming paranoid on the subject.

  ‘Jules, I do not like this place. I will be happy when we move - the other plant is almost ready. It will increase production and it will be very, very safe.’

  ‘How much do you expect to be able to move out?’

  ‘At least thirty-six tons per shipment . . .’

  ‘It can be done. Talbot says he can do it.’

  ‘Can you trust him?’

  ‘He’s only interested in money. He told me he used to work for Air America, doing crazy flights for the CIA in Vietnam.’

  Emerson smiled briefly. ‘I like it more and more. We only have to trust one man - Talbot. We use him, then we dump him.’

  ‘We think alike, my brother.’

  The helicopter flew on through the clouds of spray, the huge waterfall invisible below it. Water droplets covered the plastic screen and he switched on the wipers. This wasn’t dangerous, this was fucking crazy. In the mirror, Larry Sykes watched the American’s face. The guy was no arsehole; he knew how risky this flight was, but he wasn’t showing or saying anything.

  The American was blond-haired, with emerald-green eyes that missed nothing and a very pale, freckled skin. He was dressed in a green military jacket, khaki pants and black running-shoes. He looked an athletic forty, and on the ground, every movement he made was purposeful. But there was a coldness in the emerald eyes that scared the hell out of Larry.

  They’d shaken hands briefly, and Talbot’s grip had been like a vice-jaw; his hand was still aching from the contact. Larry was having reservations about talking to anyone about this particular operation. He didn’t like the look of Rod Talbot one bit, and he didn’t know who he was working for.

  Talbot was sitting between Antonio Vargas and Jules Ortega. God, the three bloody musketeers. And what a hell-hole. He looked down at the map. Where the fuck were they? With all the bloody mist rising up from the jungle, it was impossible to see very far in front of you.

  Next minute, the rock wall loomed in front, and he yanked hard on the cyclic-stick and the machine shot upwards. He could smell the fear on the men behind him.

  The stone wall seemed endless in the mist, and he was scared he’d lost direction. Then, without warning, they burst out of the whiteness and into blazing sunshine. Larry sucked in his breath. It was incredible! The giant plateau stood high above them, surrounded by sheer rock walls. A lost world in the middle of the jungle.

  ‘This is where you’ve built our processing plant? You are crazy!’ he heard Jules Ortega cry out to Talbot.

  ‘Yes, right here,’ Talbot replied, without a trace of fear in his voice. ‘Don’t worry, gentlemen, the landing strip’s coming up.’ Then, more loudly: ‘Over to your right, Larry.’

  It was a challenge to find the place. The plateau was covered in lush vegetation that lay like a thick carpet over its surface. In the distance Larry caught sight of a concrete slab in amongst the green, ending abruptly at the cliff edge. He put the chopper down carefully.

  This was what Ortega employed him for - to fly him where few other pilots would dare to go.

  Talbot climbed out of the cockpit and was assailed by the wet, sticky heat of the plateau. He glanced back at Jules Ortega, who he guessed might be too thick to realise that this was the perfect location.

  ‘You can’t be serious, Rod,’ Jules muttered from behind him.

  ‘I think we should listen to what ’e ’as to say,’ Emerson said quietly. Until now he had remained silent.

  Talbot had already figured out that Vargas was Emerson after plastic surgery, but he kept up the charade. He wanted the Ortegas on his side. Anyway, Vargas was coming across as much more than Jules Ortega’s personal assistant.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, clearing his throat. ‘I have undertaken to handle distribution for you, but to do that you have to guarantee supply.’

  ‘So?’ Jules Ortega muttered angrily.

  ‘Your installation on the Vaupes river, I have it on good authority, has been located by my countrymen. It has probably been bombed by now.’

  Jules glowered. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Unimportant. What matters is that it’s true.’

  Jules nodded his head grimly. ‘Yes . . . yes, they have bombed our installation. But we got all the equipment out beforehand.’

  ‘So. I have built you a plant they cannot find. And even if they do find it, it is almost impossible to bomb.’

  ‘But how do we get in and out of this place?’ Vargas quickly asked.

  Larry Sykes moved forward, eager to get in on the action.

  ‘Easy. This short runway, right on the cliff edge. It makes take-off simple, and landing . . . well, you’ve got me, Larry Sykes.’

  Talbot stepped across and hit him hard across the head. Larry never even saw it coming.

  ‘Jesus!’

  He fell across the concrete, his head ringing.

  ‘Shut up,’ Talbot snarled. ‘You’re here to take orders, not to show off.’

  Jules Ortega roared with laughter. ‘I like you, Mr Talbot. Come, show us the installation.’

  They walked down a long concrete tunnel into the bowels of the mountain. Talbot gave them a commentary as they went deeper and deeper.

  ‘This place is built to withstand a full-scale nuclear attack. In short, it’s impossible to destroy with conventional bombing. Located around the perimeter areas of the mountain is an aerial surveillance system, so that any hostile plane can be blown out of the air before it even gets in sight of the place. This is an impregnable fortress. The runway you saw from the air can be covered up in less than a minute, making the whole installation invisible.’

  He opened a huge door at the end of the tunnel and it swung back to reveal what looked like the entrance to a luxurious penthouse. A fountain played into a marble bath, set in the centre of a white tiled floor. Small ceiling-mounted spotlights gave a gentle illumination to the whole area.

  ‘I like, I like,’ Jules exclaimed.

  ‘Through these doors are the master-suites. These are for us. Please follow me.’

  Talbot led them through the dining, cooking and exercise areas to the massive bedroom suites. Each room looked out onto a balcony. Talbot slid back one of the big picture- windows and they walked out onto a cave-like patio that looked out over the cliff wall.

  Emerson peered nervously over the edge. There was no railing. He stared at Talbot.

  ‘These rooms,’ Talbot went on, ‘are invisible to the outside world. There are no railings because they might be visible to someone on the ground with a very high-powered telescope. We’re not taking chances.’

  Emerson nodded and stepped back quickly. The drop made the soles of his feet tingle.

  Talbot led them back through the executive suites and into the plant itself.

  ‘This laboratory area is completely sealed. The air supply comes through the air-conditioning system: should hostile elements intrude into this area, a simple flick of the switch can introduce a nerve gas which will kill anything living in less than a second.’

  Talbot caught Jules’s eyes. ‘And should you want to - how sh
all I put it? - renew your staff, the same procedure can be applied.’

  Jules puffed out his chest. ‘We think along the same lines, Rod.’

  Emerson, alias Antonio Vargas, scratched his nose, then touched Talbot’s arm.

  ‘So, you build us this facility, you provide the distribution network . . . What’s the catch?’

  Rod Talbot looked closely at Vargas. He was still the brains behind the operation and always would be. He was far too clever to be second-in-command to a dumbo like Jules Ortega.

  ‘The catch, Antonio, is the rent.’

  ‘Rent!’ blurted out Jules Ortega.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Talbot. ‘It’s fifty million US dollars a week.’

  Jules moved up to Talbot, to grab the lapels of his jacket. Instead, stinging blows caught the sides of his arms and he felt himself lift off the ground, fly through the air and hit the sidewall of the laboratory. He lay on the ground gasping for breath, furious.

  ‘Bastardo’

  ‘One more word, Jules, and I’ll kill you.’

  The atmosphere was ice-cool. There was fear in Jules’s eyes noted Talbot, but not in Vargas’s. Vargas was the killer, he knew that. And as he expected, it was Vargas who broke the silence.

  ‘And if we do not agree to this “rent”?’ Vargas asked quickly.

  ‘Then you build your own laboratories again and again, because wherever you put them, the CIA will find them.’

  ‘The rent is extortionate.’

  ‘When you clear three hundred and fifty million dollars a week?’

  Anger flashed in Vargas’s eyes. ‘We pay.’

  Wyatt Chase did not like sitting behind a desk, but there were a few technical papers from Shensu he had to read. He also had to look through Suzie’s clothing designs for himself, Ricardo and the pit crew. He liked them, they had an oriental feel.

  It had been another exacting day on the test track. He found the silence of the night soothing after the animal noises of the engine that had filled his ears all day long.

  He heard a noise outside the main building and looked out of the window.

  ‘What’s going on, Wyatt?’ Suzie asked from behind him.

  He turned and pulled her close to him.

  ‘Just another delivery of Carvalho tyres.’

  Wyatt watched the driver of the truck being directed across the track to the area behind the pits. They would put the container down so that its doors opened directly into the rear of the pits.

  ‘Bruce has been worried about the tyres,’ Wyatt said softly. But he wasn’t thinking about the tyres. His hands were working their way under Suzie’s dress and starting to caress her between her legs.

  ‘Please . . .’ The word was a gasp.

  He eased her round so that she was pressed against the darkened glass of the window. She wore only stockings and a suspender-belt under the dress.

  As her hands unzipped him and guided him towards her, another Carvalho truck drew up outside. Bruce came out and directed it towards the slip-road running next to the track. There must be some other storage facilities, Wyatt thought distractedly, that he hadn’t seen.

  He started to withdraw. ‘You bastard,’ Suzie sighed, turning round to face him.

  ‘I only have one real obsession,’ Wyatt said. He unzipped her dress as he spoke. Then he raised her up onto the desk, parted her legs and began to kiss her.

  Her hands worked their way through his hair and he felt her body convulsing. Every part of her was beautiful, he wanted her to have pleasure.

  Her head arching back, her blonde hair cascading around her naked shoulders, Suzie screamed out as sensation soared through her body. Wyatt rose up and plunged inside her. She lost control as he rode her, memories and feelings coursing through her mind. Then suddenly she had only one vision: this dark-haired man astride her, mastering her, possessing her.

  She felt him pour into her, then sank into his arms. Within a few minutes she had fallen into the most delicious sleep she had ever known.

  Ricardo came in without knocking. Suzie woke suddenly, embarrassed, crossing her arms to cover her naked breasts.

  ‘Wyatt, you should spend your time learning to drive, eh.’

  It was a deliberate taunt. Suzie got up and slipped on her dress while Wyatt faced Ricardo squarely. ‘Perhaps someone should teach you some manners,’ he said.

  The Italian was bristling. He was shorter than Wyatt but unafraid.

  And then, before Wyatt realised what was happening, he was gripped from behind - two arms came round his torso.

  There was nothing he could do to stop what happened next - the reactions were inbred. He dropped slightly, and felt his unknown attacker sag forward; then he pivoted, drove his right elbow back hard and hit out with the left.

  Now Wyatt saw Ricardo closing in and drove his right fist out, striking him on the side of the head. Ricardo left the ground and flew against the desk.

  Wyatt was still breathing normally as he regained his focus. Suzie was staring at him in astonishment; Bruce de Villiers was lying on the floor, clutching at the edge of the chair; and Ricardo was pulling himself up from the desk, retreating nervously backwards.

  Wyatt helped Bruce to his feet. ‘Don’t ever surprise me like that again. I could have killed you.’

  Bruce coughed and drew in his breath. ‘I was trying to stop you fighting Ricardo.’

  ‘Don’t interfere.’

  Ricardo was staring at him, hatred burning in his eyes. Wyatt loathed himself for losing control.

  ‘Beat him on the track not here, Wyatt,’ Bruce managed to cough out.

  The instant Wyatt’s guard was down, Ricardo picked up the ashtray from the desk and hurled it at him. Wyatt caught it in mid-air.

  ‘Ricardo, try that again and you won’t walk for a month.’

  Ricardo’s eyes ran scathingly between him and Suzie, then the Italian driver turned on his heel and staggered out of the office.

  ‘Take it easy, Wyatt, you’ll beat him,’ Suzie said softly. ‘Are you all right, Bruce?’

  De Villiers managed a smile, and Suzie gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  ‘I’ll leave you two alone for a while,’ she said, and smiling at Wyatt, she left the office.

  Wyatt was glad to see that Bruce was fine. He offered him a chair.

  ‘I saw we got more tyres,’

  ‘That’s the new compound from Carvalho. Dr Jorge da Silva believes it’s a perfect match for the Shadow’s exceptional cornering power. I want you to take her out tomorrow and put those new slicks through their paces - show Ricardo a thing or two about driving.’

  Wyatt was pleased. It would be a good opportunity.

  It was past midnight, and Suzie lay next to Wyatt, staring around the big room and then out of the window that looked over the Thames.

  She didn’t have to look for reasons when she was with him; it was enough that he was there. No man had made love to her the way he had earlier at the office; she hadn’t thought she was capable of feeling so much. And then Ricardo had come in and there had been that explosion of violence. Suddenly, a lot of pieces had fallen into place. She’d heard about the ten years he’d spent in Japan.

  He was everything she’d been searching for in a man, and the terrifying discovery was that it was the physical thing she craved after all. She needed his strength, needed to draw from it to make herself whole.

  She was in love in a way she had never dreamed possible. The thought of life without him was too terrifying to contemplate. She thought of children, and other things that had remained essentially foreign to her for so many years.

  He turned over and held her in his arms, still asleep. Fear starting gnawing at the pit of her stomach; fear that she might lose this man. She thought of the money backing the Shadow, and of Wyatt’s all-consuming desire to win. She thought of the team’s determination to win the championship, whatever the cost, whatever rules had to be broken.

  She sensed he could not make a commitment to her yet, but
she knew he would be faithful to her. That would have to be enough.

  But in a week’s time they would be testing at Kyalami, almost ready for the first race in Rio.

  She was so afraid of losing him . . .

  She closed her eyes, smelt the animal huskiness of his body and concentrated on the present.

  Bruce stared at the screen of the Cray computer and the design of the Shadow projected on it. Mickey was next to him, punching in commands, making subtle yet significant alterations - the result of the testing.

  The test results were beyond expectation. The Shensu V12 had surpassed itself. Stripped and rebuilt again and again, it now appeared to be flawless. Usually it took months of driving, then months of analysis to develop the machine to its full potential.

  Mickey turned to him. ‘Let’s call it a day. There’s nothing more to be done.’

  Bruce could feel the excitement surging through his body. They had a great car. They could win the championship. He slapped Mickey on the back.

  ‘She’s a winner. A piece of real genius. But I don’t like to challenge the rules, so I hope she complies with all the regulations.’

  ‘Oh, she does, to be sure.’

  ‘How’s the development of the sports car going?’

  That day Mickey had received the full go-ahead from Shensu. He had already made a few tentative sketches of how he envisaged the machine would look - a road-going car based on the Shensu V12 engine.

  ‘Well, Bruce, the Italians have always led the field in design, but now the Irish will show them a thing or two. With a little help from the Japanese, of course.’

  Bruce stretched, and felt his bruises.

  ‘Our German designer,’ he said, has fallen for our number two driver.’

  ‘All the bloody luck for Wyatt.’

  Bruce settled down into the leather armchair next to Mickey’s.

  ‘How’s her work, do you think?’

  ‘Good. Very good.’

  Mickey handed Bruce Suzie’s drawings, and he spent some minutes evaluating them. Bruce’s opinion of her rose. There was a lot more than just a good understanding of design principles here; the curving shapes that she had placed on the bodywork genuinely added to the graceful lines of the car.