by PAUL BENNETT
‘Do I take it we’re terminating our contract? said Bull.
‘We’re going to wring them dry,’ I said. ‘Make them pay dearly for this. For us and the men that have died today.’
‘You know what?’ said Bull. ‘We weighed up the good and the bad and chose our side.’
‘And?’ said Red.
‘Sometimes there are no good guys.’ I said.
Chapter One
The island of St Jude, Caribbean — Today
Bull and I stood on the sand, bent over with our hands on our knees, breathing deeply. We had just finished a one-mile swim along the coast towards the hotel and then a sprint back. It was a punishing daily routine with the same pattern. Bull, with his giant muscular arms, forged ahead on the swim; while I, a useless left arm, the muscles gone from when they had taken six bullets in a gunfight in Angola, put up a valiant, but forlorn, effort. I made up lost ground on the sprint where Bull’s left leg, hamstrung by the Russians in the same battle, couldn’t produce enough power.
‘Remind me why we do this,’ he said.
‘Two reasons,’ I said. ‘One, to stay in shape just in case we ever have to do something like this for real at any future time.’
‘Like a battle in Venice,’ he said, shaking his head and scoffing. ‘What’s the other reason?’
‘Because the cold beers taste so much better after this.’
We straightened ourselves up and walked towards the timber beach bar that Anna, my wife, and I ran. I went inside the bar and pulled two ice-cold beers from the fridge, opened them and passed one to Bull. We each took a swig, inhaled deeply, and smiled.
‘Anna looks good,’ Bull said. ‘How long to go now?’
I looked across the platinum sand to where she was sat in the shade, her blonde hair ruffled by a warm breeze. I couldn’t disagree. She looked a million dollars. Hidden below the table was the large bump that was caused by being six months pregnant with twins.
‘Three months,’ I replied.
‘Gonna mean a whole change in lifestyle,’ Bull said knowledgeably — he had a young boy called Michael, around four or so years old.
‘We can cope,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to move to the mainland when it comes to schooling, but, until then, we should relish our lives in this paradise.’
‘Could start a school here,’ Bull said. ‘There’s other local kids who would use it. Hell, we got the money from the Russian mission burning a hole in our pockets. Why not use it to do some good? That way neither of us would have to leave here.’
I nodded my head thoughtfully. ‘There’s sure no better place on earth than here,’ I said. ‘I’d hate ever to leave. Forever in paradise. Sounds like one hell of a good idea.’
Alerted by the sound of laughter behind him, Bull cast his eyes back towards the hotel. There was a party of six, three couples, making their way along the beach. It was our stock in trade. The hotel was at the top of the luxury ladder. Provided everything. Except some local colour. Anna and I supplied cool drinks at a third of the price and some tasty Caribbean snacks for lunch; Bull organised fishing trips — marlin being the main draw. Looked like we were in business.
I changed into a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt, raked my long black hair back from my face and took up position behind the bar. Bull headed towards his boat. The party made in his direction, stopped to talk with him and then came across to where I was standing, welcoming smile in place.
They were English, home counties, and, by the looks of the jewellery the women wore and the men’s watches, were made of money. But, that I could have taken for granted since they were staying at the hotel. They were in their thirties and had started to develop a tan — it usually took a few days from arrival before the guests wanted to break free and try something different. The women looked like they had conferred before dressing. They all wore tiny white bikinis and colourful semi-transparent wraps around the lower half of their bodies. The men had on garish Hawaiian-style shirts and shorts that strained across their burgeoning middle-aged spreads. One walked up to the bar while the rest sat down at one of the wicker tables.
‘Guy over there,’ the man said, waving at Bull, ‘is going to take us fishing. Said you could provide a hamper of drinks and food.’
‘Never heard him tell a lie,’ I said.
The man looked at me strangely, was I the island equivalent of the village idiot? ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Can never resist the temptation to be a wise guy.’
‘Well,’ he continued, not totally won over, ‘he said it would take half an hour before the boat was ready. Said there was time for a drink.’
Or two. Bull always delayed so there was time for more than one drink. It was like he had a share of the profits. But we always had looked out for each other.
I took his order and motioned across to Anna for her to help prepare the hamper. There was a stunned silence as she got up and walked towards the bar. It wasn’t the noticeable bump but her sheer beauty. Along with her straight blonde hair, that nestled on her shoulders like it was a pleasure to be there, she had that classic bone structure of a Greek goddess, although she came originally from Chechnya, and dark mesmerising eyes. Her legs were long and made the most of the high-cut baggy-waisted shorts she was wearing. The only jewellery she had on was her gold wedding ring. Anything else would have been a distraction.
‘Knock-out, isn’t she,’ I said to the man’s gaping mouth.
‘If my wife weren’t here, I’d have to agree.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t split on you.’
‘She’s a knock-out then,’ he said.
‘I’ll bring your drinks over. Relax in the meantime. You might need all your energy if you come across a marlin.’
He cast one more look at Anna and, reluctantly, went to join his wife.
As Anna passed me, she placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled up at me as if to say, ‘Don’t worry, I’m only pregnant, not an invalid. I can handle this. Get on with your drinks.’
I made up the order of rum punches for the women and beers for the men and took them over to their table. Anna started frying the flying fish, freshly caught by our friend Tobias that morning, for the sandwiches, putting together the rest of the hamper while they were cooking.
As I served them, I could see the women casting furtive glances at Bull’s muscular body. ‘If only’, they were thinking. Good job blond-haired, blue-eyed Pieter wasn’t here or they would have had to make a choice as to which one to fantasise over.
We made small talk while I placed the drinks on the table. It was pretty much as normal. How did I come to be here — and deserve such an idyllic lifestyle?
I’d invented a legend to prevent unwanted reactions. If I’d told them I was an ex-mercenary they would have downed their drinks and run away in case I started a war. If I’d said I was heir to the Silver’s investment bank, they would have expected drinks on the house. And, when they asked about Anna, I told them she was a descendent of the Russian czars, the last of the line that had fled from the homeland in the early twentieth century. They usually swallowed that, considering she looked so special. And, boy, what a time they would have recounting the story when they got home.
Thirty minutes and two drinks later we waved them off. The sea was its usual calm, tiny white horses just rippling on the top of the waves, and they would have a day to remember. Providing he liked his clients, Bull took them to a place where the marlin ran. These were a likeable bunch so their chances of landing one of the big game fish were good.
Anna and I went to sit in the shade and watched the boat as it made its way towards the horizon. Anna gave a long sigh and looked into my brown eyes.
‘I love you, Johnny Silver,’ she said.
‘And I you, Anna Silver,’ I replied simply — her birth name would have been a better riposte, but it was unpronounceable.
‘How can life so beautiful be on the verge of getting even better?’ she said, patting the bump. ‘It hardly seems possible.’
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br /> ‘A Buddhist would say that we must have good karma, been very good in our previous lives. You usually get what you deserve in life.’
‘Why just usually?’ she asked.
‘At the risk of sounding philosophical,’ I said, ‘sometimes life has a trick up its sleeve. As you climb the ladder, life, at a whim, can kick it away from underneath you.’
‘But not for us, Johnny. Say not for us.’
‘Not for us,’ I said with my fingers crossed. Superstition, yes, but it couldn’t do any harm.
I looked towards the hotel — it would soon be time for some of the guests to want a simple lunch — and saw a figure running along the sand. As it drew closer, I could see from the chocolate-brown uniform that it was one of the bellboys. His name was Robert, presumably after Marley, and we knew each other well. Like all the bellboys, I gave him a small commission for pushing clients my way. He was carrying a small package in his right hand. He headed straight to where we sat and stood there for a moment catching his breath.
‘Mr Silver, sir,’ he said.
‘How many times have I told you to call me Johnny?’
‘Wouldn’t be right, sir,’ he said. He looked around. ‘Someone might hear.’
‘We are alone on a quarter mile stretch of sand. Who is going to hear?’
‘You can’t be too careful, Mr Silver.’
I gave a laugh and motioned him to sit down.
‘He said for you to meet him in Suite 203 at one o’clock for a drink.’
‘Slow down. Who said?’
‘The man in Suite 203.’
‘And does he have a name, this man in Suite 203?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And what might that be?’
If the conversation carried on like this, it would be well past one before I had got the necessary details.
‘He is called Mr Toomey, sir. Oh,’ Robert said, ‘he said to give you this.’
Robert handed me the package. I tore open the envelope and looked inside. Raised an eyebrow in surprise. The envelope contained a mass of dollar bills. Now what the hell was this about. Only one way to find out.
‘Tell him I’ll be there.’
Chapter Two
The hotel, for some reason that escapes me and is probably only clear to the designers, was built in the Moorish style. It was just three storeys high with a castellated roof that could have been used in times gone by to repel the advances of the crusaders. There were even little mock slits where archers could once have fired their arrows. The outer walls were some kind of sandstone that shone yellow in the early afternoon sun. In the grounds, I knew from previous visits, was a large pool with a bar that served drinks and snacks at exorbitant prices, but with a flourish that Anna and I couldn’t match. You pays your money and you takes your choice. The ratio of staff to guest was one to one and no request was impossible to deliver.
I entered the mosaic-tiled, marble-floored reception area and, eschewing the lift that would have saved me the bind of walking up a whole two floors, I climbed the stairs. Suite 203 faced the sea, but then all the rooms at the hotel did so, and knocked on the heavy wooden door. There was silence for a while and then I heard the chain being slid and the door being unlocked — whoever he was didn’t take any chances. The door swung open and I was greeted by, I assumed, Mr Toomey. He was wearing a lightweight suit of a light shade of khaki to blend into the sandy background of the beach, a white button-down shirt with no tie and the neck unfastened as the signs that our meeting was informal — probably would have worn a rose in his lapel and carried a copy of the Financial Times if it hadn’t been. I had him instantly down as an agent of some sort — CIA I guessed. He had Langley stamped all over him. My heart sank to my shoes. It didn’t like the situation any more than my brain did.
He was a little shorter than me, six foot or so, I guessed. Slim build, as if anything more would have been a liability, mid-forties, dark hair in a crew cut with a little grey along the sides, and eyes that I recognised and which sent a cold shiver down my spine. The eyes have it. It’s what everyone who had seen me and my mercenary friends noted. The look said stay away if you don’t want any trouble. More than that, it said I could kill you if I wanted. Don’t mess with me.
He gave my hand a perfunctory shake and motioned me into the room. It was the first time I had actually been inside a room at the hotel and it was as opulent as I had imagined. The carpet, a deep shade of blue, looked like it had been combed by someone on their hands and knees. Two black leather sofas faced each other, with a low glass coffee table, not a smear in sight, in the middle. There was a highly polished mahogany dining table, on which sat a vase of flowers that my untrained eye guessed were orchids. Along one wall was a bookcase with someone’s choice of reading material — some literary classics for show, a handful of pulp fiction paperbacks looking out of place, and a set of guidebooks to the islands of the Caribbean. Six matching chairs sat around the table. The last piece of furniture was a long low black-topped cabinet on which was placed a selection of spirits, mixers and glasses for whatever style of drink the guest could conceivably want. The whole effect was overpowering. If I was staying here, I wouldn’t be able to touch anything in case I left a fingerprint on the shining surfaces or put the books back in the wrong order.
The man ushered me through and out onto the balcony. There was a white table and two chairs with deep cushions. The table had a pitcher of orange juice, a bottle of Russian vodka and two glasses on top. It also had three manila files. One would have said business, two spelled trouble, three set off high-volume warning sirens. Whatever was to come, this was very serious.
‘Glad you could come,’ he said.
‘Did you ever doubt it?’ I said. ‘Not many invitations come with twenty thousand dollars in cash.’
‘That’s just peanuts,’ he said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘A down payment on your immediate expenses.’
‘Expenses for what?’ I asked, dreading whatever was to come. I could feel the power leaching from me to him.
‘For the favour you’re going to do me. You and your friends.’
He picked up some ice cubes with a set of tongs, placed three in each glass, poured in a large slug of vodka and filled the glass with fresh orange juice.
‘Your favourite,’ he said. ‘Your health, and long may it last.’
I sipped the drink and looked him in the eye. He knew too much and that was an ill omen.
‘Who are you, Toomey, and what do you want from me? If I don’t get a good answer, I’m out of here.’
He took a leather wallet from his suit pocket, opened it and slid it across the table. I read the inscription on the badge that glared out at me. DEA. Drug Enforcement Administration.
I slid the wallet back across the table.
‘So tell me your interest in me, Agent Toomey,’ I said.
He tapped the topmost of the manila folders, pulled it toward him and opened it up. ‘You’ve been a busy boy, Silver. Poland, crime lord killed by one bullet too many; Texas, town cleaned up and senator serving a long term in prison; Amsterdam, two mafia families liquidating each other. Wherever you go, people get killed. You must have funeral directors following you wherever you go. The body count is enormous.’
‘None died unnecessarily,’ I countered. ‘All of them had the chance to walk away.’
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he said. ‘I like that in a man. See a problem and solve it — whatever it takes.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question. Why am I here, except for giving you the opportunity to have a few days on expenses in the lap of luxury on a sun-kissed island?’
‘We have a problem,’ he said.
‘That I had assumed,’ I replied. ‘but the we is an assumption. Don’t include me in that.’
‘We have a situation down in Mexico,’ he said, ignoring my interruption. ‘Outside of our jurisdiction.’
‘But not outside of your interest.’
‘Bingo,’ he
said. ‘You and I understand each other, Silver. We’re going to get along fine.’
‘I very much doubt it. Spit it out, Toomey. Where do I fit into your situation in Mexico?’
‘As I said, outside of our jurisdiction. We can’t intervene.’
‘But I can, I presume.’
‘You got it, Silver. Boy, are we on the same wavelength.’
I took a drink of the vodka and orange juice and kept my silence. Whatever was going down was for him to explain. Whether I liked it or not was another matter.
‘New drugs lord in town,’ he said. ‘Out of Columbia and looking for a foolproof way into the United States. We need him taken down. That’s where you come in.’
‘And why should I be interested?’
‘Bear with me, Silver. Ever heard of Emanuel Estevez?’
I gave him my best shrug, already regretting not saving it for later. ‘Ever heard of the restaurant chain called Mexico Real?’
I shook my head, thinking vainly that I might be disqualifying myself from whatever he had in mind.
‘Famous through the southern states of America. Mexican food that’s authentic to the last drop of tequila. All the food is shipped in direct from Mexico. Tomatoes, chillies, corn straight from the farm, home-raised chicken by a guy named Pedro who wears a sombrero and a poncho, that kind of stuff, you name it.’ Toomey paused, sipped his drink and wiped the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin. ‘Estevez is the best ambassador that Mexico has. Self-made man from a humble farming background who champions everything that is good about the country. Not a stain on his character. Get the picture?’
I nodded, wondering where all this was going.
‘Estevez is a family man too; except, at the moment, he’s missing a member of his family, his daughter. That’s where the new kid on the block comes in. His name is Miguel Rojo and he has kidnapped Estevez’s daughter.’
‘Sounds like a matter for the federales.’
‘Rojo says that if the police get involved, he will kill the girl. We don’t doubt his sincerity.’