by Mark Arundel
Clearly, it was a sleepy residential area; the only sound I could hear was coming from the crickets in the nearby field of bananas. Nobody was going to look for us here. I sat back and my neck relaxed as I found the headrest. I breathed deeply and allowed my body to rest. I couldn’t allow myself to fall asleep. Instead, I drifted into my own type of meditation where each connected muscle relaxes one after another and my brain empties and then re-focuses onto one specific thing at a time, enabling me to make deep and careful deliberations. An old army surgeon I once knew told me how to do it and he was right. It really does work.
In my own version of the transcendental state, I was able to understand the subterfuge that Charlotte and her boss, Bartholomew Meriwether had had to orchestrate in order to get me here and put me in place to protect Geoffrey while they attempted to uncover the traitor’s identity. If this was indeed the truth, and it seemed to me likely then, Charlotte was truthful.
I sat without moving for what must have been longer than an hour with Geoffrey asleep beside me. My body was recharging all the time even though I wasn’t asleep. The meditated state can have a similar effect. Resting with my eyes closed I could hear the sound of nothing except my thoughts and my resting muscles. Even my wound was hurting less.
The noise was unmistakable. I opened my eyes and saw the lights. It was the clatter of a motorised diesel engine coming nearer. The twin headlights appeared on the road like two army camp searchlights burning through the darkness. The white, commercial van drove past and I read the words Primera de Seguridad along the side and saw two occupants. Both looked like men. It seemed the residents of Parque San Diego didn’t mind spending their money on protection, after all. The van swung round at the end of the cul-de-sac and then stopped in the road behind me. The driver got out, carrying a torch, while the other person remained inside the vehicle.
The security guard tapped on the glass with his finger, I turned the key to ignition and lowered the window about halfway. He was in his late fifties, wearing a peaked cap and a shirt with lapels. The buttons strained against his belly. He enquired politely in Spanish if everything was all right. I feigned ignorance and said in my best English accent, ‘I’m terribly sorry but I don’t speak Spanish.’
The guard smiled and asked in passable English, ‘Are you okay, señor?’
I returned his smile and said, ‘Oh, yes, thank you. We’ve been to a dinner party at the Greenwoods’ house. Do you know the Greenwoods? He used to be in oil; retired at fifty-five.’ I spoke fast, which meant the man was unable to catch every word. He was already looking for a way out. I gave it to him. ‘My friend is very tired.’ I turned and looked at Geoffrey. The guard looked, too. ‘The wine was very good. I had better get him back to our hotel. We’re staying at the Barracuda and it’s already very late.’
The guard nodded politely and said, ‘Sí, señor, drive carefully,’ and then stepped back. I went to start the engine when movement in the rear-view mirror made me realise we were in terrible danger.
The light from the guard’s torch had reflected off the glass showing me a dark figure moving with speed behind the car. It was the second person from the security van. By the movement and shape of the figure, I realised it wasn’t a man but a woman. Her tied hair was under the guard’s cap that was too big and pulled well down. I noticed all this in just a second of reflected light and dark; however, what I saw, and what made me jolt with fear, was the unmistakable silhouette of a pistol with attached silencer held out in the woman’s left hand and balanced using the right. There was no mistaking the intent; it was a lethal attack. Caught out again and this time, in that terrible moment of realisation, I wasn’t sure whether Geoffrey or I would escape with our lives.
This style of attack was an old favourite, especially of organised crime in America, where the shooter has a captured, unprepared target, seated and trapped. This was exactly my predicament. It was a very difficult position from which to either defend or attack. I had two or three seconds at the most before the bullets from that silenced pistol were going to be entering the car and then entering our bodies. It meant I had to think and act simultaneously. My instinct for action and survival took over.
My fingers found and released the door catch. Without any hesitation in my movement, I threw myself down and across the sleeping Geoffrey. My fingers found the passenger’s door catch and as I released and pushed with all my strength I saw the female assassin raise and target the pistol on Geoffrey. In the same movement, I kicked out strongly and the sole of my shoe made solid contact with the driver’s door. It was a beautifully synchronised all-in-one defensive, offensive manoeuvre. Both car doors flew open at the same time and both made contact. I heard the male guard grunt with pain but no sound came from the woman. The door that had struck the man swung back and closed. I was already moving. My focus was on reaching the woman before she could shoot. I propelled myself head first over the reclining Geoffrey using the purchase of my feet on the seat. I flew through the door and landed on the palms of my hands only inches from where the woman was squatting in mid-action of retrieving her gun. The car door had worked brilliantly, striking her raised arm and knocking the gun from her hand. Her arm moved rapidly. She found the gun and her fingers grasped it with controlled urgency. She looked up and for a second, in the muddy gloom broken only by the weak lamplight, our eyes met and I saw cold certainty like meeting the gaze of a hunting leopard.
I sprang at her. She turned and lifted the gun. I just made it; reaching her in time to deflect the gun away and then my body was against hers. She was angular with hard muscles and sharp bones. It felt like knocking into a sculpture made of erected scaffolding padded with joints of meat. She tried to pull away but I gripped her wrist tightly. I twisted the gun skywards and moved to grasp her throat with my other hand. She anticipated and blocked my attack with a powerful sidelong swipe of her steely forearm. She countered with a vicious kick that any footballer would have been proud of, which she aimed at the precious area between my legs—precious to me at any rate. This was certainly not ladylike fighting. I turned my hip in time and her foot glanced off the top of my thigh. For a second, she was off balance and vulnerable. I clenched my fist and aimed a jab at her jaw line. She reacted like a trained boxer and rode the punch by jolting her head backwards. My knuckles struck but not with a telling blow. She twisted again, violently, but my grip on her wrist was iron clad. Then, with tremendous athleticism, she vaulted at me. She leapt into the air with both feet off the ground, even though I still had hold of her wrist, and aimed a kung fu kick. Her target was my upper abdomen. She was going for the jumble of nerve cells that make up the solar plexus. Her dexterity and speed were such that given our close proximity my defensive reaction was not sufficient to avoid the blow. I felt the pain of her heel sink into my stomach and my legs weakened as a shuddering jolt like high-voltage electricity ran through my nervous system. I gulped for air and sensed her predatory excitement at taking the advantage. I needed time to breathe and did what every fighter does after taking a heavy punch, I moved in for a clinch. Using my physical advantage and what little strength remained I pulled her to me and, still holding her wrist, put my arms around her. I pushed my weight against her hard body to pin her arms and prevent her landing any more blows. To anybody watching, we must have seemed like a couple dancing in a close embrace, not that there was any music playing. The only sound I could hear was the ringing in my ears from the kick she had landed. She struggled wildly to free herself but I was in no mood to allow this dance to end too quickly. As the seconds went by, I felt myself recovering. My full strength returned and my head cleared. I focused on the woman that was pinned in my arms. During the fight, her cap had fallen off and her glossy black mane shone in the lamplight. I could smell her hair conditioner and her body cream. I was looking down but I couldn’t see her face; she had it pressed hard against my chest. I didn’t have any desire to release my python like hold and give her the opportunity of turning into Bruce Lee
again. The longer my body remained wrapped around her the more I became aware that, for all her strength and fighting prowess, she was never going to win the tallest girl in the room contest. However, she would easily win the contest for the best jujitsu fighter.
She managed to turn her head and I saw two black eyes staring up at me. They sat neatly in a youthful, unblemished face. The Baby Faced Assassin; the nickname flashed through my brain but I quickly dismissed it. I was in no mood for sentiment. I was actually of a mind to snap her in two like a piece of dry kindling. I wrapped my knee around her, pushing over her buttocks to the small of her back. While maintaining my grip on both her wrists I turned my upper body and moved my arm across her breastplate. By exerting simultaneous force up and down, I was in a position to break her back. As if she realised my intention her body lost all its rigidity and I heard the gun hit the ground. Then she spoke. Her voice was cultured and soft but unemotional. She spoke in English although her accent told me it was not her only language.
She said, ‘You are the soldier?’ She spoke fast. ‘My name is Xing. I know you are protecting him.’ She breathed in softly. ‘If you let me live I can help you. I have information.’
I might be a kind and trusting soul but I’m not gullible. I tightened my grip. Since the fight had begun no more than a minute had elapsed, although, it seemed more like a couple of seconds. I remembered something, Geoffrey and the other guard. I spun my head to look. Geoffrey was out of the car and he and the guard were standing together watching us. The guard had hold of Geoffrey’s arm. In his hand, he held a gun. He said to me, ‘Let her go.’ I instantly thought of the gun on the ground and considered whether I could make it in time. I decided I couldn’t. I smiled reassuringly at the guard and slowly turned towards him while still holding Xing. The guard seemed unsure, nervous almost. The expression on his face was hard to read and then I recognised it. He was confused; he didn’t understand what was happening. Right at that moment, I didn’t have time to work out what that meant. I had to decide what to do. Still smiling, I shuffled my feet into a better position. Without warning, I dropped taking Xing with me. We hit the ground hard. I had to release her, so I could grab the gun. I felt her spin away from me. I spun as well and brought the gun up in both hands ready to fire, but I didn’t fire. The guard looked even more confused. Geoffrey didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger. Xing was running to the security van. She reached it, jumped in and raced away down the road. I levelled the gun on the guard and said coldly in Spanish, ‘Drop your gun.’ His eyes turned scared and then the gun clattered to the ground. I told him in Spanish to step away and he obeyed. I went over and picked up his gun. I said to Geoffrey, ‘Get in the car.’ He obeyed me, too. They could both see my mood was black. I eyed the guard closely with my gun still raised. He backed away silently. I considered questioning him but realised he knew nothing. It was time to move. I jumped in next to Geoffrey, fired the engine and sped off. I drove back to the roundabout keeping a watchful eye for the security van in case Xing had decided to stop and have a second go, but the road was deserted. As we left the estate of villas and drove past the security box, I saw what I had missed on the way in. Hard to see in the dark, attached to the top of a pole and pointing up the road was a surveillance camera. I stopped at the roundabout and considered which way to go. I had to ditch the car and quickly, and it was still several hours before first light. Geoffrey had been silently watching me. Now he spoke. He asked, ‘What happened back there?’
I said, ‘Xing dropped by to say hello.’
Geoffrey said, ‘Who is Xing?’
Chapter 17
The term ‘pre-empt’ refers to a high-level tactical bid by a weak hand.
I stared through the dusty windscreen at the large sculpture proudly displayed in the centre of the roundabout while I decided which way to go. My stitched wound was aching after the action, so I popped two painkillers and gulped them down with several mouthfuls of water. There were three options. We could turn north and drive away from the resort into the mountains. However, by breakfast time we needed to be back in the resort, which ruled out north; head west back into the resort itself, the seafront and potential danger; or, south which again would take us from the resort along the coast road and away. After considering the three options, the choice was obvious. I drove west, straight over the roundabout and down the hill back towards the village. Whether trouble waited for us there, I didn’t know. However, it was there we had to be, and so it was there we went.
The roads were quiet, the intense darkness only broken by the yellow glow from the streetlamps, and the car’s searching headlights. I kept an eye out for the white security van.
Driving slowly, I began to consider where to ditch the car and what to do until first light and then breakfast time. I glanced at Geoffrey. He had his head back and his eyes closed. Awoken after only a couple of hours from a deep sleep his body was forcing him to sleep again. I kept silent.
I started to think back over what had just happened. I now knew the young policeman from earlier had definitely been looking for the silver saloon. This was a bad development; it meant the local police force were now after us, too. They had obviously found us because the surveillance camera at the entrance to the estate of villas had picked up the car. The local police station had probably contacted all the security companies and asked them to watch out for it. Xing, the kung fu assassin as I had decided to call her, must have been able to use the local police under a pretext regarding who she actually was. When the call came in all she had to do was join the security guard who took her straight to us. If it hadn’t been for my car door manoeuvre coming off, she would now be on her way home, mission accomplished. As it was, she was probably planning how to get a second chance. I suspected a senior official of some kind had given the police their orders and this information might be of interest to Charlotte in helping her uncover the traitor.
I decided I would call her. I used the phone I’d bought in the Sony shop and not my K106. I know she said it was now safe but I wasn’t going to take an unnecessary chance when I didn’t have to. It rang only twice before Charlotte answered. She said, ‘Tell me what’s happening.’
‘Did I wake you?’ I said, not that her voice sounded at all sleepy.
She ignored my question and said, ‘Is Geoffrey still alive and safe?’
‘He’s sleeping right here next to me like a baby. I wonder if he’s dreaming about that pesky wabbit.’
‘What?’
‘He looks like Elmer Fudd.’
Charlotte didn’t laugh. She said, ‘Why have you called?’
‘I think I’ve met your Chinese assassin. She said her name was Xing.’
‘She uses many names. Xing might be one of them. What did she look like?’
‘Sweet and kind, and friendly, too, with black shiny hair like wet coal, and eyes that fix you like a hunting leopard; and she can fight, she knows karate and jujitsu, and she jumps like a cricket.’
‘Yes, that sounds like her.’ Charlotte paused and then asked, ‘Did you kill her?’
‘No, she got away.’
‘Then she will try again.’ I already knew that, but she would have to find us again first. I was planning to keep plenty of distance between Geoffrey and Xing. I didn’t want the pleasure of getting to know her any better than I already did.
I said, ‘Charlotte, the local police have got involved. I don’t think they know what’s going on; it’s just they are watching out for us. I think Xing was able to use them somehow. That was how she found us. Listen, the police will have received their orders from someone senior, probably an official in Santa Cruz and someone from the British consulate may have asked him. If you can find out who that person was it might lead you to your traitor back in London.’
I heard Charlotte smile and I pictured her intelligent eyes and tried to remember the detail of her attractive face. I couldn’t recall it clearly enough to be sure she was as pretty as I remembered.
&nbs
p; Charlotte said, ‘Yes, that is interesting. If there isn’t anything else…’ I didn’t respond, ‘…all right,’ she said, ‘I’ll call you later with the new accommo—’
I ended the call cutting Charlotte off in mid-sentence. The reason wasn’t that I was bored of talking to her, it was what I saw coming in the other direction. Driving towards me was a police car. We passed each other. The car contained two officers. I watched the vehicle in my mirror. The police car’s brake lights shone bright red, but they were not as bright as the blue spinning lights that appeared on its roof. They had seen us and were turning around. I couldn’t let them get us. Once back at the station it would be impossible for me to protect Geoffrey. I had two choices, either stand and fight or run. I knew they would have guns. I had no real desire to kill two local policemen, so I changed down into second gear and floored the accelerator pedal. The silver saloon lurched on its front suspension in shock and then sped off with reasonable urgency. I didn’t know if I could outpace the police car and get away but I was going to try my hardest. The first thing I did was switch off the car’s lights. The sudden darkness made it harder to see the road but I didn’t slow down. The black tarmac dropped into a steep incline and swept tightly into a blind bend. I stamped the brake pedal and spun the wheel. The saloon dipped violently, shuddered on its dampers and then lost traction. I spun the wheel into the slide and heard the rubber fight for grip. The squealing saloon wriggled beneath me and then straightened, so I buried the accelerator pedal again. The engine howled in protest like a banker deprived of his bonus, and the car raced along a stretch of gently sloping road. I took the opportunity to glance in my mirror and saw the blue flashing lights appear around the tight bend. They were chasing hard. I glanced at Geoffrey whose eyes were now open and he was groggily coming awake; shaken like an expensive martini by my rally-style driving.