Scorpion

by Ken Douglas

  “ Ask my hangover,” he said. Let her think what she wanted.

  “ Where are you?”

  “ The Normandy.” Now she definitely was going to assume he spent the night with her.

  “ Is she there now?” Did he detect a note of jealousy in her voice? Maybe, he couldn’t tell.

  “ No.”

  “ Good, you wanna go sailing on Daddy’s boat this afternoon?”

  “ I’d love it, but my hangover wouldn’t. I’ll have to pass.”

  “ It’ll be your last chance to see me for awhile.”

  “ What are you talking about?”

  “ The sail this afternoon. It’s a sea trial. I’m sailing up island Saturday morning with some friends. I’ll be gone for four or five months. It’s a long vacation.”

  “ I’m sorry, I’m really in horrible shape. If I’d only known.” He wondered if Kevin Underfield was going along.

  “ Think you might be better by five or six?” she asked.

  “ Probably.”

  “ Then you wanna go to Margarita tonight?”

  “ As in Venezuela?”

  “ Just for one night. I need to go shopping. I need some new clothes for the trip and there’s a few things I’d like to have on board that you can’t get here.”

  “ I can’t. I’ve got to work, sorry,” he said.

  “ Daddy said to tell you that Prime Minister Ramsingh is going to be on the same flight. He made me promise to introduce you.”

  “ Then I’d love to go,” he said, thrilled at the prospect of spending a night with her. Maybe he really did have a chance after all.

  “ I’ll think of your hurting head as we tack and jibe the day away.”

  “ Kevin going?” he hated asking, but he had to know.

  “ Nope just me, Daddy and Sea King.”

  “ A new boat?”

  “ Yes, Wind Dancer was just too small. Sea King’s sixty feet and fast.”

  “ The two of you can handle it?”

  “ Electric winches, roller furling sails, even the main, sure no problem.”

  Broxton didn’t know what she was talking about and didn’t care. All he wanted to do was drink a gallon of water and go back to sleep. “What time’s the flight?” he asked.

  “ Seven-thirty, but it’s a Venezuelan airline leaving from Trinidad, so plan at leaving around eight or nine.” She laughed. “I’m already packed and I’ll have my bag with me, so I’ll go straight from the dock to the airport. Why don’t I meet you there at six, then we’ll drink till takeoff.”

  “ I’ll be there, but don’t expect me to be drinking much. I’ll probably never drink again.”

  “ That’s my Bill. See you tonight.”

  “ See ya,” he said. His hat was definitely still in the ring. Kevin Underfield watch out, because Bill Broxton is back in the game, he thought. Then he lay back, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

  He settled in and had just fastened his seatbelt when his senses went on alert.

  “ Well, Mr. Broxton, how nice to see you again.”

  “ Good evening, Mr. Prime Minister.” Prime Minister Ramsingh was the last to board the plane and he was standing over Broxton’s seat with his hand on the headrest.

  “ Call me Ram, all my friends do.”

  “ I don’t know if I can, sir,” Broxton said.

  The prime minister was smiling, amused at Broxton’s discomfort. “Sure you can. And please don’t call me sir. I’m just plain Ram. I insist. I really don’t like this sir business, especially from my friends. And we better be friends, because I’m not the one paying you to keep me alive.”

  “ I thought-” Broxton stammered, but the prime minister cut him off.

  “ The attorney general was a little impetuous when he told your secretary of state that we didn’t want American help. He embarrassed me into agreeing to go along with his ridiculous notion that we should handle the situation by ourselves, but only a fool would shun the help of someone who was trying to keep him alive. I’ve been called a lot of things, but nobody’s ever called me that, at least not to my face.”

  “ Yes, sir.”

  “ Ram, no more sir,” the prime minister said. “I’ll have an office set up for you next to mine when we get back to Trinidad and I’ll clear my itinerary with you every morning. You can call your people and tell them I’ll cooperate fully. They can send over any help they think you might need. Our goals are the same, to stop the flow of Colombian cocaine through Trinidad, and of course to keep me alive.” He chuckled.

  “ Yes, sir, I mean, Ram.”

  “ I’m staying at the Sans Souci. You can stay with me. The presidential suite has two bedrooms. It’s very up scale, with an ocean view. I think you’ll like it.”

  “ I’m sure I will,” Broxton said. Then he asked, “Where’s your security?”

  “ I don’t have any. Mr. Chandee booked this flight under an assumed name and he has me flying second class. He said I shouldn’t worry, anybody wanting to assassinate me wouldn’t expect me to be in Venezuela.”

  “ When someone tells me not to worry, that’s when I start worrying.”

  “ Exactly,” the prime minister said.

  “ Sir, would you please take your seat,” a young stewardess said.

  “ You can ride to the hotel with me,” the prime minister said.

  “ It would be my pleasure,” Broxton said, and the prime minister turned and let the stewardess guide him to an aisle seat four rows forward.

  “ He’s going to Venezuela to sign a treaty concerning fishing rights. There’s been problems between the Venezuelan Coast Guard and Trini fishermen,” Dani said. Her lips were tight and bloodless and Broxton wondered what she was upset about.

  “ They shot up a fishing boat,” Broxton said. “I read about it in the paper.”

  “ I knew it was something like that,” she said, tight lips relaxing, forehead scowl easing. The little crow’s feet around her eyes were hardly noticeable, unless she smiled wide or was angry.

  “ You okay?” he asked.

  “ Yes, I was thinking about Dad’s birthday. I haven’t bought anything yet.”

  “ Damn, I forgot all about it,” Broxton said.

  “ It’s not the kind of thing a man would remember,” she said, again relaxed. “You want me to exchange places with Ramsingh?”

  “ Yeah,” he said, and he stepped into the aisle to allow her to slide out from her place by the window. He remained standing as the plane taxied, while Dani moved up to the prime minister’s seat. He watched her bend down and whisper in his ear. Then she took his seat and the prime minister moved back toward Broxton.

  “ I usually sit in the aisle seat,” Ramsingh said.

  “ Not today,” Broxton said.

  “ Of course. You want to be between me and everybody else.” Ramsingh took the window seat.

  “ Something like that,” Broxton said. Then asking as Ramsingh fastened his seatbelt, “You really have no security on this trip?”

  “ None. Both George and Kevin Underfield said it wasn’t necessary. Nobody knows I’m here.”

  “ Give me a few minutes to digest this.” Broxton leaned back and fastened his own seatbelt. It clicked closed with a snap that sent visions of his last flight flashing through him and he grabbed onto the armrests with a tight knuckled grip. He’d never been afraid of flying, but that last flight was too close in memory for him to be at ease during takeoff.

  “ You have about forty minutes before we land in Margarita, unless someone kills me on the plane first,” Ramsingh said, as the plane started its takeoff roll. His voice had an amused ring to it and Broxton was impressed. Ramsingh was obviously taking the threat on his life seriously, but he wasn’t letting it dull his sense of humor.

  Once they were airborne Broxton was able to breathe easier. He relaxed his grip on the armrests and started to think. When he’d been given the assignment it was an outside chance at best that he’d be able to do anything more than observe the even
ts in Trinidad as they unfolded. It was an easy job, given to him both because of Warren and as a reward for work well done. A short assignment so that he’d be able to say he’d been in the field. Now it was a real job and Ramsingh was his responsibility, at least until he was able to get help.

  “ I’m not a field agent,” Broxton said, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  “ What do you do?” Ramsingh asked, speaking as quietly as Broxton.

  “ I read books, reports, newspapers, anything that has to do with cocaine or Colombia. I analyze what I read, I summarize it for people who don’t have the time to read, then I go back and read some more and do it all over again.”

  “ And who reads your stuff?” Ramsingh asked.

  “ Probably nobody.”

  “ And they made you a bodyguard?”

  “ You have your attorney general to thank for that. He made it clear your government wanted no interference. So the only thing they could do was send me.”

  “ Because you’re engaged to Warren Street’s daughter.”

  “ That’s a sore point with me. We’re not exactly engaged. Yet,” he said.

  “ But that’s why they picked you, because of Warren?” Ramsingh asked.

  “ Exactly. They figured I couldn’t do much, but I was better than nothing.”

  “ Not a comforting thought.”

  “ But now it’s my job to keep you alive.”

  “ Think you’re any good?” Ramsingh said.

  “ I don’t like to fail,” Broxton said.

  “ Let’s hope that’s good enough.”

  An hour and a half later the three of them were sharing a taxi to the Sans Souci. Broxton was sitting in front with the cab driver, Dani and Ramsingh were sitting in back.

  “ I hope you don’t mind my stealing Mr. Broxton from you,” Ramsingh said.

  “ Not at all. I’ve got a lot of shopping to do and he’d only be in the way.”

  “ It’s a shame you think you have to leave Trinidad to do your shopping,” Ramsingh said.

  “ It’s a shame you have a fifteen percent value added tax added on to such a high duty. It keeps your people poor and your goods inferior,” she said.

  “ Government has to run.”

  “ Not on the backs of the poor. Government should encourage full employment so that it can survive on a graduated income tax. The rich need to pay their fair share.”

  “ I can’t change the system overnight. Some things are just going to have to wait until after the election.”

  “ You promised you’d get rid of the vat before the last election. I didn’t hear you saying, ‘Elect me and I’ll coast through my first term and if you reelect me I’ll do something about these unfair taxes’.”

  “ The government was in much worse shape than I thought before I took office.”

  “ That’s an old story. Every third world government uses it.”

  “ It’s true.”

  “ Can you two cut it out?” Broxton said. “You sound like you hate each other.”

  “ Not really,” Ramsingh said. “This is an old game between us. Nobody else has the courage to talk to me like this, except the loyal opposition and the press, and they don’t count. I enjoy Dani’s wit. She’s made a difference.”

  “ Anybody can agree with a prime minister,” Dani said. The cab turned right onto a short palm tree lined road on the Sans Souci property.

  “ Why don’t you check in and we’ll see you later for dinner,” Broxton said after the cab had stopped in front of the lobby.

  “ I can’t. I have someone to meet, then it’s off to Ratan’s,” Dani said.

  “ Ratan’s?” Broxton asked.

  “ Very large supermarket,” Ramsingh answered.

  “ Where you can get all those American goodies you can’t get in Trinidad, because it’s not a free market economy,” Dani added.

  “ She never quits,” Ramsingh said.

  “ That’s why we all love her,” Broxton said, and they all laughed.

  “ Okay, dinner in an hour,” Dani said. “Then it’s off to Ratan’s for me.”

  “ Won’t they be closed?” Ramsingh said.

  “ They stay open till midnight. When you have a duty free economy people have more money and stores can afford to be open later.”

  “ The Venezuelan economy is in the toilet,” Ramsingh said.

  “ Not Margarita’s. If they ran their country like they run this island everyone would be better off.”

  “ All right, no more, please,” Broxton said.

  “ He’s not very political,” Dani said.

  “ Doesn’t sound that way,” Ramsingh said.

  At reception Dani checked in first, then headed off toward the elevators promising to meet them in the restaurant in an hour’s time.

  “ I believe you’ve the presidential suite reserved for me,” Ramsingh told the desk clerk.

  “ We’d also like something smaller, two single beds on the same floor,” Broxton said, “and a lot less expensive. You have something like that?” Broxton felt Ramsingh tense up next to him, but it couldn’t be helped. Everything was happening so fast. One minute he was heading for a short vacation and the next he was not only in charge of the prime minister’s security, he was the prime minister’s security.

  Ramsingh didn’t speak until they were up in the small room. “This is it? We’re staying here?”

  “ It’s not bad,” Broxton said. “Modern, clean, view of the beach, very touristy.”

  “ And not very presidential.”

  “ Did you book your room yourself?” Broxton said.

  “ No.”

  “ How many people on your staff know where you’re staying?”

  “ They all do.”

  “ And your attorney general thinks you’re secure?”

  “ Surely you don’t think?”

  “ I don’t have the training or the insight to know who to trust, so I’m going to compensate by not trusting anybody.”

  “ How about Dani?”

  “ Not even her. Certainly she’s not going to try to kill you, but who knows who she might talk to. She could easily slip and say the wrong thing. So until we get some real professionals, it’s better not to trust anyone.”

  Then the bomb went off.

  Broxton threw himself at Ramsingh, pushing him onto the floor and covering him with his body. The room seemed to vibrate, but the windows didn’t break and the explosion was muffled.

  “ I’m all right,” Ramsingh said. Broxton eased himself off and helped the prime minister up.

  “ It won’t take them long to find out you weren’t over there. Then they’ll come here,” Broxton said. “We have to go, now.”

  Ramsingh reached for his bag.

  “ Leave it.”

  “ I can’t, it’s got government papers in it.”

  “ Your life’s worth more,” Broxton said on his way to the door.

  “ I’m leaving it.” Ramsingh stepped into the hall behind Broxton. The doors to every occupied room on the floor were open and the hallway was teaming with people in various stages of dress and undress.

  “ What happened?” a female voice said.

  “ Sounds like the boiler blew,” a man said.

  “ They don’t have boilers anymore, at least not on the fifteenth floor,” another voice said.

  “ We’ll take the stairs,” Broxton said, leading Ramsingh toward the stairway at the end of the hall.”

  “ Billy.” Broxton recognized Dani’s voice and stopped.

  “ Are you all right?” he called toward her.

  “ What happened?” she said, pushing her way through the throng toward them.

  “ I don’t know, but we’re leaving.”

  “ The elevator’s the other way.”

  “ We’re going down the stairs.”

  “ Let’s go.” She followed them through the excited crowd toward the end of the hall and the staircase.

  T
he stairway was lighted and empty. Broxton took the steps two at a time, the prime minister and Dani doing the same as they passed floor after floor. They were four floors down with ten to go when the fire alarm went off and Broxton quickened his pace. They were five more floors down with five to go when they met the first panicked person entering the stairway.

  “ Is the hotel on fire?” she asked. She was a young mother, with a baby in her arms.

  “ I don’t know,” Broxton said, stopping and gathering his breath. He was panting heavily, but both Ramsingh and Dani looked like they’d just been out for a short walk. “We have to go.”

  “ I can’t go down with the baby.”

  “ Give it to me,” Broxton said. The woman handed over her child and Broxton again started downward. Three more floors and the stairway started filling up. Broxton pushed into the panicked people, yelling out, “Please make way, my baby’s not breathing, please make way,” and the frightened people moved aside as Broxton, the baby’s mother, Ramsingh and Dani hurried down the stairs.

  Broxton burst through the door at the bottom and jogged through the lobby with his troop still following behind. The fire alarm was still wailing, short, steady blasts, but the people in the lobby appeared more curious than panicked. A few were headed for the doorway, but most were standing around like they were at a garden party, talking, laughing, wondering what the fuss was about.

  Outside, Broxton saw a couple getting out of a late model Mercedes. A man in an evening jacket was holding the door for a woman dressed like she was going to the Academy Awards. The parking valet was standing solicitously to the side, waiting for the keys.

  “ You’re safe now,” Broxton said, handing the baby over to the young mother.

  “ Thank you,” she said.

  “ Dani, see that she’s all right,” Broxton said. Then he stepped over toward the Mercedes as the overdressed gentleman was dropping the keys into the valet’s hand and he snatched them out of the air.

  “ I’m going to borrow the car for a bit. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt it.”

  “ See here,” the man said. Two words and Broxton knew he was British.

  “ Life and death, forgive me,” Broxton said. Then he turned away from the man and held the door as Ramsingh slid into the passenger seat.

  “ Life and death?” the man said. Broxton nodded and noticed a big man leaning on a palm tree, watching him. He was speaking into a handheld radio and Broxton had the impression that he and the prime minister were the subject of the conversation. They locked eyes for an instant, then Broxton hustled around to the driver’s side of the Mercedes.