by Dawson, Mark
* * *
ZIGGY BROUGHT the car to a halt at the entrance to the yacht club.
"It's clear," he said.
Milton raised his head. They had a view down to the water and, as he watched, he saw a brown and white tender with five people aboard skim across the water toward the big yacht anchored in the bay.
"Not much we can do now," Ziggy opined redundantly.
He was right.
Hicks was on his own now.
* * *
HICKS STARED at the yacht as they bounced across the gentle waves toward it. The vessel was large and, despite that, still managed to look sleek and graceful. It had sugar-scoop windows and a glass lounge that seemed to blend the yacht more seamlessly into the water. Crew in white shirts and khaki shorts busied themselves on the decks, making their final preparations. Deckhands cleaned the outside of the boat. Sun-loungers were set out on the teak deck, the towels placed out on them rolled in tight, neat cylinders.
The tender approached the stern of the yacht. A deckhand threw out a line and the pilot caught it, looped it through a tow-eye and knotted it tight. The tender was brought up close and secured, and the passengers were encouraged to disembark.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Logan," Lane-Fox said. "This way, please."
Not all the men he saw were deckhands. Hicks saw four other men, big and with close-cropped hair, who could only have been de Lacey's private security detail. They were dressed in dark suits, they wore dark glasses and headsets and had noticeable bulges beneath their arms indicating shoulder holsters and handguns. One of the men hovered pointedly as Hicks clambered aboard, fixing him with an even, professional regard.
Lane-Fox led the way through a wide aperture at the stern of the boat and into the interior beyond.
Female stewardesses busied themselves, tidying and cleaning in anticipation of their departure.
Hicks thought it all a little vulgar. It was all about status. A yacht like this was hardly practical, and the costs of running it must have been exorbitant, but it served other purposes. More so than a multi-million-dollar residence, or an Italian sports car, this was the ultimate projection of wealth. It was also the perfect location for business meetings where illicit transactions might be discussed.
Lane-Fox led the way to an open area where another man was speaking on a telephone. The new man had his back to Hicks, but, as he turned, Hicks recognised him at once. He was tall, with a pot belly that signified good living, a sun-beaten face, and greying hair that was swept back from a wide forehead. He was wearing a pale blue suit with a crisp white shirt and cravat. His eyes glittered, matching the sunbeams that sparkled off the water.
Hicks recognised him at once: Fitzroy de Lacey.
De Lacey finished the call and put his phone into his pocket.
"Bertie?" he said to Lane-Fox.
"This is Logan."
De Lacey's face broke into a broad smile. "Mr. Logan," he said. "A pleasure to finally meet you."
"Likewise, Mr. de Lacey."
"Although in less than ideal circumstances. We're leaving tonight, as you might be able to tell. But we certainly can't leave until we've sorted out the unpleasant surprise you dropped on us. I'd like to talk to you about it, if I may."
"Of course," Hicks said.
"Come," he said. "I'll show you the boat."
82
THE MERCEDES had been handed over to a valet who had driven it around the back of the buildings that lined the boardwalk. Ziggy found it easily enough: there was a private car park where an array of expensive cars were kept while their owners went about their business in the club. The lot was open, and inadequately guarded by a single man in a booth. His attention was facing outward, away from the cars in his charge, and it was a simple thing for Ziggy to walk between a Hummer and the Mercedes, shielding him from the unlikely possibility that the guard might turn and look into the lot. He reached into his pocket for the small device, flicked out the antennae with his finger, switched it on and slapped it inside the wheel arch. The magnet attached with a satisfying clunk and, without waiting any longer than necessary, Ziggy turned and made his way back to the car.
* * *
"CAN I offer you a drink? Tea? Coffee?"
"Coffee, please."
De Lacey spoke to one of the crew members, then turned back to Hicks. "They'll find us. Let's take a walk."
They climbed a curved stairway that was surrounded by scalloped silver leaf and equipped with an ostentatiously expensive hand-carved banister. The deck above was dedicated to the dining room, with Baccarat crystal chandeliers, a vast table and alligator hides and kudu horns on the walls.
"Do you like my little boat?"
"I'm not sure I'd describe it like that."
De Lacey smiled, evidently pleased to be able to show off the benefits of his riches. "I bought it from a Russian," he said. "I would have commissioned one myself, but I didn't want to wait. We can accommodate eighteen guests. Perfect discretion. Unmatched privacy, obviously. It's difficult to think of a better place to conduct a business meeting than in the middle of the ocean, away from prying eyes. The security is world-class, too." He rapped his knuckles against a broad, tinted window that wrapped around the superstructure. "Bulletproof. Ultrasonic guns and an anti-missile system, too. Practically impregnable."
"It's very impressive."
They walked on, climbing to the bridge deck. The yacht had been equipped with a stunning infinity pool, and, as de Lacey stopped and turned back, Hicks was able to look out between two vast sun canopies across the water to the sea and, beyond that, to the verdant hills of the coast.
De Lacey sat down at one of the shaded tables and indicated that Logan should do the same. He did, and, as he settled back in the comfortable chair and shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun, a uniformed waiter arrived with a silver platter that bore two cups of coffee, a sugar bowl and a plate of biscuits. He placed the cups and saucers on the table, left the sugar and the biscuits in the middle, and, with a barely noticeable dip of his head, he left them and made his way back down to the lower deck.
"So—Milton. Tell me what happened."
"There was a jail break. He was one of the ones to get away."
"A jail break? Really?"
"There was a fire alarm. The doors opened automatically."
"They do that? I would've left them locked in to take their chances. The men in there are scum, Logan. It would have done the world a favour."
Hicks ignored that. "There was a riot. The guards were overwhelmed. They had to send the army in eventually, but it was too late by then. They lost several hundred, including Milton."
"But you have him?"
"Yes."
"Might I ask where?"
"There's an old shabu factory north of the city. I did some business out here a few months ago. It's still there."
"That's where he is?"
"Taped hand and foot and shackled to the wall. He's not going anywhere."
"Can I ask how you managed that? Milton is a very resourceful man."
“Yes, he is. But not everyone is as careful as he is. The police officer who arrested him evidently changed her mind about his guilt. She visited him in Bilibid on three occasions. I was told about it."
"What's her name?"
"Hernandez."
"Who told you?"
"Mendoza."
"Ah, yes. The tame policeman. What happened to him?"
"Milton killed him."
If de Lacey was surprised, he masked it. "Is that so?"
"Mendoza was sloppy. Milton found out that he arranged his transfer from Quezon to Bilibid. And there was a situation with the owner of the hotel where we staged the murder. Mendoza very clumsily tried to clear things up. So, yes, Milton knew he was involved. Hernandez set up a meeting with Mendoza and Milton ambushed him."
"And you were there, too?"
"I followed Hernandez. Milton was there and Mendoza came last of all. Frankly, Milton saved me a bullet. I'
d already decided that Mendoza was a liability."
“And then you recaptured him.”
Hicks nodded.
De Lacey used the silver tongs in the bowl to remove a cube of sugar and dropped it into his coffee. "Where's the factory again?"
"North of the city."
Hicks picked up his cup and sipped his coffee. It was deliciously bitter. The caffeine would be useful. He had managed only a few hours’ sleep over the course of his time in Manila.
"Would you take me there?"
"Of course. But—"
"Yes, you'll want to be paid. That's fine. I don't expect favours." De Lacey stood up. "The same again?"
Hicks knew that Logan had already been paid a million dollars. He stood, too. "A million is too much. Half is reasonable."
"To include disposal of the body?"
"Of course."
De Lacey extended his hand and Hicks shook it.
"Shall we?"
"When?"
"No time like the present."
83
ZIGGY SLOUCHED against the rail and looked out at the yacht as the tender was untied. The boat turned around and sped back to the marina.
He went back to the car. Milton was down low in the driver's seat.
The window was open. "They're coming back," he reported.
"Hicks?"
"He's on it."
"And de Lacey?"
"Yes. I think so."
"How many others?"
"I saw three including the pilot."
“Four total?”
“If you include de Lacey.”
Milton started the engine.
“The tracker is working as it should.”
“Update me if they go somewhere they shouldn’t.”
"Anything else?"
"Walk back to the hotel and clean up. No prints. No sign we’ve been there. Keep your phone on. I'll call if I need you."
* * *
THE SPOT that Josie had suggested was remote and deserted. It was two hours north of the capital, down a road that led off the main Route 8 in the rolling foothills that surrounded Mount Arayat. The road was paved for the first half mile and then became little more than a track. It descended into a depression, a shallow bowl in the landscape that was fringed with large trees. It provided natural cover for the structures that he saw at the bottom of the bowl. There were rickety-looking shacks and two old trailers.
There were also two cars. Milton recognised Josie's and parked behind it. The second car was nearby. He didn't recognise it.
Josie came around a bend in the track and raised her hand in greeting.
Milton got out of the car. It was sweltering hot.
"Is this it?" he asked.
She nodded.
Milton looked at the collection of buildings. None of them were permanent: one of the trailers was no more than a burned-out shell, and three small corrugated iron huts slouched nearby. A chain had been strung up between two trees on either side of the road, blocking the way ahead.
"Will it be okay?" she asked.
"What was it?"
"They made shabu here," she said.
“Meth?”
She nodded. "The trailer caught fire. My partner busted them last week."
"No one comes down here?"
“I've just had a look. It doesn’t look like it."
“It looks good.”
Milton started to work out the best way to proceed.
"Are they coming?" she asked him.
"They're on the way. So we need to move."
"Manuel's over there."
They set off toward the trailers. Josie limped heavily on her cane, each step eliciting a wince of pain.
"Are you all right?"
"Hurts like hell.”
"You don't have to be here."
"Yes," she said firmly. "I do."
They reached the two trailers. The one that had caught fire had been completely destroyed. The windows were gone and the roof had been consumed. The second was intact, and someone had propped a shotgun against the side. The door opened as they approached and a man stepped out.
"Manuel Dalisay," Josie said. "He's my partner. Manuel—this is Milton."
Milton pursed his lips. "Just him?"
"You told me to ask someone I trusted."
"I was hoping for—"
"I trust him," she said. "I don't trust anyone else."
The man looked nervous and Milton's negative reaction was making it worse. Milton put out his hand. "I'm John," he said as they shook. "Thank you for coming."
"She said it would be dangerous," Dalisay said as he collected the shotgun. "You think we need more police?"
"More would've been better," he said, and then, when Dalisay grimaced and Josie frowned, he added, "but the man coming here thinks that he's going to find something else. There are four of them. If we're careful, we'll be able to surprise them. We’ve got enough."
"Okay," Dalisay said uncertainly.
Milton glanced down at the shotgun. "You know how to use that?"
"Sure I do."
"You got another one?"
"In the trunk."
"So we'll be just fine."
"Did you bring the other things I asked for?" Josie said to him.
Dalisay nodded back to the second car. "In back with the shotgun," he said.
Milton knew that Josie didn’t trust many people in the department, but he was not impressed with Dalisay. But no matter how querulous he looked, the man was here and willing to help and that stood for something. Ziggy had said that de Lacey was bringing three other men with him. De Lacey had four guns and Milton had three, with Hicks as a wildcard. He knew that de Lacey's men would be professionals, and they were likely to be better armed. Josie was hurt and Dalisay didn't fill him with confidence. On the other hand, Milton had surprise on his side.
He would have to hope that that would be enough.
He looked at his watch. It had taken him two hours to drive up here. Ziggy had called en route to tell him that the tracker was reporting that the Mercedes was also headed north, on Route 8, and that he had a fifteen-minute head start on them.
"When will they get here?" Josie asked.
"Fifteen minutes," he said. "Twenty minutes maximum."
"Then we need to set up. Where do you want us?"
* * *
DE LACEY WAS in the front with the driver, the man with the ponytail. Hicks was in one of the back seats, with the shaven-headed man on one side of him and another similar specimen from the security detail on the other.
The driver turned around. "Where now?"
They had been driving for nearly two hours. Mount Arayat had started as a rumple on the horizon, but now it dominated the way ahead. Hicks had told them to take Route 8 and head for San Fernando. He had never been to the site that Josie had chosen, but she had described it in detail and then Ziggy had ‘driven’ him there with the benefit of Google Street View.
“You’re going to come up to a road on the right,” he said. “Goes to Magalang. Take it.”
The driver grunted his understanding and returned his attention to the road.
Hicks heard the sound of a phone's chimes.
De Lacey reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He looked at the display, his expression inscrutable.
"Everything all right?" Hicks asked.
"Just business," he said. "I have rather a lot going on, as you might imagine."
The men on either side of Hicks reached down and collected metal carrying cases. They each took out a Heckler & Koch MP5 and set about checking them.
De Lacey noticed in the mirror that Hicks was watching them. "Milton is dangerous," he said.
"He is. But he's chained to a wall."
"Nevertheless. No chances."
84
IT WAS dark in the undergrowth between the trees. Milton stayed low, trying to ignore the cramping from muscles that had taken a beating over the past few days. He shifted his position a
little, stretching out his legs. He was painfully aware that if his muscles locked up now then he would be seriously reducing the odds of him—and everyone else—walking out of here alive. Dalisay had brought a second shotgun and Milton had it. It was old and battered, but he was confident that it would fire when he needed it to.
There was only one way that de Lacey could approach them and, with that in mind, he had arranged the three of them very carefully. First, he had instructed them to drive the cars between the trailers and then farther down the track until they were well out of sight. He was in the vegetation to the right of the road, with a clear view along the track as it climbed out of the depression. Josie was on the same side, thirty paces to the north of him. Dalisay was opposite her position.
Milton's instructions were clear: they were to let de Lacey, Hicks and anyone else that came with them get out of their vehicle and make their way to the clearing where the trailers were. Then, on his mark, they would declare themselves and call for them to surrender. If the plan proceeded as Milton hoped it might, they would catch them within a crossfire. Provided Josie and Dalisay followed his plan, Milton was hopeful that the confrontation could be brought to an end without violence.
Twenty minutes passed. He listened. He could hear the steady chirruping of nearby cicadas and then the sound of a larger animal as it crept through the deeper vegetation behind him.
He froze. He thought that he heard the sound of an engine.
He watched as a Mercedes crested the hill and started to descend toward them.
It slowed and stopped, and, after a moment, the doors opened.
Two large men armed with submachine guns stepped out from either side of the passenger compartment.
Hicks came next.
Then the driver.
And then, finally, Fitzroy de Lacey.
Milton stayed low. He clutched the shotgun and waited.
De Lacey called over to Hicks. "Here?"
"Yes. The trailer."
One of the other men spoke. "I don't like it, sir."
"It's fine," Hicks said. "Nothing's changed. It's as I left it."
There was a pause.