by Tom Riggs
“No need for that thanks Jack, I’ve got my own,” said Rudd pulling out an old and large semi-automatic handgun, a .45 from the look of it.
“Where the hell did you get that?”
“Taxi driver,” said Rudd. “Places like this, you can get anything off a taxi driver. Only cost me 200 bucks.”
“Bloody hell Charles.”
“When in Rome, Jack, when in Rome.”
“On second thoughts, I’ll follow you two. I don’t like the idea of you loose in Acapulco with a gun you’ve just bought off a taxi driver. But we just go to the chemist, you buy your stuff and then we come back. Ok?”
“Ok, captain. Deal.”
33
Anna and Munro put on hats and sunglasses that Rudd had bought the day before. Anna wore a wide brimmed summer hat and large sunglasses, both of which served to cover her face and make her unrecognisable. Munro donned a baseball cap that read ‘I love Acapulco’ and kept his own black sunglasses on. He kept on his loose light blue linen shirt, khaki trousers and desert boots. The cap was as much fancy dress as he could take. They descended in separate lifts and went out onto the busy street. Their apartment block was on La Costera, the main avenue that ran along the beach front. There were two busy lanes of traffic either side, and every square inch of their side of the road was given over to beach retail of some kind. Their side was in the shade, and not too busy. The other side, the beach side, was in the sun and thronged with holiday makers and hawkers. There were no buildings on the beach side, but the retail was taken care of by the hawkers. There were scores of them, working the beach and the pavement. Some were selling beads, hundreds of wooden necklaces wrapped around them. Others were selling food and drinks. They walked slowly, balancing huge trays on their heads, or holding them at their waists. All of them were shouting, advertising their wares.
Munro fell in step twenty paces behind Anna and Rudd. They looked slightly incongruous together, the young woman and the socks-and-sandals middle aged man. But it was not inconceivable that they were a vacationing father and daughter, or sugar daddy with his new mistress. Although Munro wondered how much sugar a man with Rudd’s dress sense was likely to have.
After five minutes of walking they reached a small glass fronted shop that said ‘Farmacia’. Anna and Rudd went in and Munro took up position outside a tourist shop next door. He pretended to look at postcards as he checked everyone who went in. He also checked the street and road. Rudd had been right. Apart from the tourists, the place was crawling with cops and dodgy characters. He had been offered drugs three times during their short walk, but had always been within a few metres of a traffic cop. As he looked at the various photos of Acapulco bay, an army Humvee trundled past slowly. It was black and open topped. Four soldiers, shaven-headed and dead-eyed, stared out at the streets. They were heavily armed, as if going to war. Three of them had M16s, with extended magazines. The other held onto a mounted M60 heavy machine gun, belts of .50 calibre ammunition slung across his chest like Rambo.
Rudd walked out of the shop and stood on the other side of the postcard rack, also pretending to browse.
“Is she alright in there?” asked Munro.
“She’s fine,” replied Rudd. “She wanted to look around. This is the only entrance or exit so as long as we have this covered we should be fine.”
“Fine,” said Munro.
“Anything going on between you two I should know about?” asked Rudd as he picked up a postcard to examine it more closely.
“What do you mean?” asked Munro as he spun the revolving shelf slowly to his left.
“I am detecting a bit of hostility between you,” said Rudd in a mock Californian accent. “You want to talk about it?”
“No,” said Munro, “I don’t, and there isn’t any hostility. She is our only witness to the murder, she is the only one who can give our client some answers. I’m here to get her to safety, that’s all. It’s strictly professional.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Rudd, “let’s try and keep it that way.”
Just then Munro’s phone rang. He stepped inside the shop, away from the postcard stand to take the call. A few minutes later he came back outside and stood beside Rudd.
“That was my journalist in Sao Paulo,” he said. “She came up with the same answer. The Japura River, it’s deep in the Amazon jungle. Starts in the mountains of southern Colombia and runs through some pretty untouched jungle until it reaches the Amazon. Not much goes on around there, a few indigenous peoples, a bit of gold mining but not much else. It’s mainly all protected up there.”
“Interesting,” said Rudd, “very interesting.” He paused. “Did you read the part of the five report about the Black Eagles, Hector’s Colombian employers? One of their cocaine shipment routes is through the Amazon, down into Brazil. From the coca fields of Colombia to the busy ports of Brazil, and then on to Europe. I bet a river that runs from Colombia to the Amazon would be pretty useful if you were in the drugs shipment trade.”
“I bet it would,” said Munro.
Just then Anna appeared from behind Rudd. She tapped him on the shoulder and turned to walk back down the street, the way they had come. Rudd joined her, and they started to walk arm in arm down the pavement. The father and daughter, back from their shopping trip. Munro waited a few seconds and fell in behind them, scanning everyone. Scanning and checking. He was fairly sure that if they were being followed, he would know about it. It was almost midday now, and hot. The Pacific shimmered on the other side of the road, past the beach. So hot that even most of the hawkers and dealers had retreated into the shade for a siesta. But there were still a lot of people on the beach, holidaying tourists interspersed with a few mangy dogs.
Suddenly he saw something, only a glimpse, in the crowds on the beach. He stopped and looked closer and then scanned back to Rudd and Anna. They were both safe and walking into the apartment block. Munro picked up his pace to follow them in, checking involuntarily for his pistol.
Back at the apartment, suddenly it seemed much smaller. It was not big enough to hold three adults comfortably. Anna sensed it as much as her two minders.
“Guys, I’m going to go and chill in my room if you don’t mind,” she said opening her bedroom door. “I’m still kind of tired.”
“Of course, not my…” said Rudd as her bedroom door closed behind her. He turned to Jack, about to say something but then looked closer at him.
“What’s wrong old boy? You suddenly look a bit green.”
Munro walked over to the window and looked out before turning back to Rudd.
“It’s nothing Charles, I don’t think so anyway.”
“What is it?”
Munro looked at Rudd and forced a confident smile.
“It’s really nothing, I just thought I saw someone I recognised on the beach down there.”
Rudd suddenly looked serious.
“Who, Jack?”
“The taxi driver. The guy who drove us here last night.”
“Is that a problem?”
Munro paused and thought. He had been young and friendly, a good guy. But he had also had three blue dots tattooed on his hand. The sign of La Mara.
“Is that a problem, Jack?” persisted Rudd, “do you think he saw you? Would it matter if he did?”
“I don’t know Charles. I don’t think so. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure it’s fine.” He hoped he sounded convincing.
“I am sure it is Jack. It’s not unusual to see a taxi driver around a tourist area is it?”
“No,” agreed Munro, “no it’s not. It’s just I’m sure he told us he worked nights.”
Rudd walked up to the window and looked out.
“Well there’s nothing we can do about it now,” said Rudd firmly, “and if he didn’t see you it shouldn’t be a problem. Now let’s get back to our Japura studies shall we? See if we can find any more connections between young Lipakos and this river.
”
“Why not?” said Munro sighing. “Why the hell not?” He hated computers.
They assumed their old positions in front of their laptops and began typing away. Both of them went into a zone of absolute concentration, and for the next hour neither said a word as they tapped away like students rushing to finish an over due essay. Every now and then Munro would get up and go outside to make a call, usually to a South American subcontractor. Eventually, after about two hours of silence, Rudd came up for air.
“Shall we compare notes?”
“Sure,” replied Munro, “you first.”
“Ok,” said Rudd picking up a notepad that he had been scrawling on. “The facts we have are as follows. Richard Lipakos was murdered in Venezuela. He was murdered by several people, one of whom we have id-ed as Hector Ortega. Hector Ortega is a psychopathic criminal with links to two major criminal organisations. The Sonora cartel here in Mexico, and the Black Eagles paramilitary in Colombia. Both organisations’ main business is cocaine transhipment, although the Colombians also produce the stuff. So far so good?”
“So far so good,” said Munro, “can’t dispute any of that.”
“Now Richard Lipakos. What do we know about him? We know he is a committed environmentalist and that his father is rich. We know why he was in Brazil. He was working, at least in part, for an environmental charity that also worked with indigenous peoples. His father, apart from being very rich…”
“…also happens to own an environmental reserve the size of Greater London.”
“Also happens to own a large chunk of Brazilian rainforest,” continued Rudd. “We also know, from Anna, that Richard used the word ‘Japura’ in several conversations he was having with person or persons unknown. We have Anna’s belief that whatever these conversations were about, they concerned his laptop. Next, we know that no laptop was recovered from Richard’s room after he was murdered. Which indicates that his laptop was taken by his killers.”
“Or that the police nabbed it,” said Munro taking out his gun and putting it on the table.
“That’s a possibility,” agreed Rudd, “although for the sake of my theory, let’s say that Ortega and his men took the laptop. What are you doing by the way?”
Munro was starting to take his 9mm semi-automatic apart. “Cleaning my weapon,” he replied, “it’s been a while. Should have done it yesterday.”
“Right,” said Rudd. “Anyway, back to my theory. So far, all I have said is what we already knew. The next two facts I have found out just now. One, the Japura river runs straight through the huge tract of land owned by one Constantine Lipakos. The Lipakos Bio Reserve. Two, as I suspected, the Japura river is a known shipment route for narcotics from Colombia to the Brazilian port of Belem.”
“And three, we know that Richard spent time travelling around his father’s reserve just before he met Anna.”
“Exactly,” said Rudd.
“I know where you’re going with this,” said Munro.
Rudd looked up from his pad. “Ok smart arse,” he said. “Where am I going?”
“You think Richard went up country to the Japura river, on his father’s land. There he finds evidence of drug smuggling, possibly cultivation. Both of which are potentially environmentally damaging. You think he put this evidence onto his laptop. But that before he could make it public, he was killed by the Colombian smugglers.”
Rudd paused, annoyed. “More or less, but you’re forgetting who Lipakos is. He is the son of a billionaire, the son of a powerful man, the son of a powerful man who owns 400,000 acres of rainforest. That’s why they killed him. If he was just some punk backpacker, they could have ignored him. But they had to stop him before he told his father, because his father was someone who could actually do something about it. It’s a guess, but I’m willing to bet that at least some of his father’s employees were being paid off by the smugglers. A lot of people would lose out if young Richard had exposed the Japura smuggling.”
“I got the same facts,” said Munro,” but I am not sure I agree with your conclusion.”
“It’s a working theory, not a conclusion,” said Rudd.
“What about Lipakos senior?” asked Munro. “Maybe he was involved in the smuggling himself?”
“No way,” said Rudd. “I asked around in London, the man owns mines, oil trading companies, big legitimate businesses. He has plenty of money coming without having to get involved with gangsters.”
“I agree with you on that,” said Munro. “My sources have told me the same thing. His money is clean, he’s too big for it not to be.”
“And plus, if he was involved with the Colombians, he could have protected his son.”
“Very true,” said Munro carefully poking a rag down the barrel of his pistol. “Very true.”
“But you don’t agree with my theory?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps. Some things just don’t make sense.” Just then Munro’s phone rang. He looked at the caller id, and said to Rudd, “Sorry, I need to take this.”
Munro got up whilst holding his ringing phone and walked out onto the balcony to answer the call.
“Eduardo. Buenas.”
“Buenas to you Jack my old friend, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Eduardo, its good to hear your voice too,” he paused. “Erm, how are you?”
“I am well thank you. But let’s cut the shit shall we? I told you to stay out of trouble. I told you that Puerto Vallarta is in a region totally controlled by the Sonora cartel. I told you that the police there are totally in the pay of the cartels. I told you to be careful. And what do you do? You go there, you get a gun and within two hours of your having landed, you kill five men.” Munro could not make out if he was angry or happy, he went with the former.
“Eduardo, I am sorry. I really am. I know they were cops, but they were about to rape an innocent girl, I couldn’t just let them…”
Eduardo cut him off with a laugh. Happy not angry. “Jack, don’t worry about the men you killed. For one thing, they weren’t police officers. Even round there the police do not arrest and kill innocent Canadian girls. Four of the men you killed were members of a local Sonora cartel gang, called Los Pellones. They had stolen some police uniforms. One of them actually was a cop, but from a different state. But that’s another story. He had been suspended from duty and should no way have been in another state in a stolen police uniform. So don’t worry about the men you killed. They were cockroaches, you did Mexico a service by crushing them. The man whose conyos you shot out, the man out of uniform, was called Luis Gutierrez. He murdered three of my men in Nuevo Laredo last year, slit their throats and left them to die in the desert like dogs. Believe me Jack old friend, you did a good thing when you killed these men.”
“So I’m not in trouble? I thought the police were looking for me. I saw them pulling over cars, we had to avoid a road block getting down here.”
“Jack my friend, Mexico is a complicated place. The killings outside Sayulita have not been put down to you. Five gangsters turn up dead in a wood and it is put down to the war, not to a crazy gringo. But yes, the police are still looking for you. The cartel doesn’t like you Jack, and now you’ve killed five of their men, they like you even less. They have put word out that the first person to find you and Anna Neuberg gets one hundred thousand dollars. You have a price on your head old friend. So yes, the police are looking for you. Which means that any embassies are also not an option, as you will be on the police wanted list. But most of the police don’t know why they are looking for you, all they know is that they get more money than they could make in a lifetime if they find you.”
“That’s not good,” said Munro.
“No Jack, it’s very bad. That’s why you need to get to my province, the Yucatan. I have no power outside of the Yucatan. Get here and I can get you and the girl out of the country. Probably out of Cancun. My men control the airport there. I don’t know where you are now and don’t tell me, just come here, and
come here fast.”
“We’ve got an escape route planned here,” said Munro.
“Don’t use it. They are following you closely. Your pick-up was spotted in a surf town north of Manzanillo. They missed you there, but they’re not far behind you. Every state cop between Manzanillo and Mexico City will have your pictures by now. They’ll have your pictures and a big juicy one hundred thousand dollars being dangled in front of them.”
“Thanks for the warning Eduardo, but how do you know so much?”
“Both sides in this war are riddled with informants and double agents. It’s actually an almost symbiotic relationship we have with the cartels. They know everything I do, and I know everything they do. And at the moment, they are looking for El Ingles.”
“El Ingles?”
“That’s what they are calling you. It’s actually an honour, anyone who is anyone in the war has a nickname.”
“Thanks.” El Ingles. He liked it. “What’s yours?”
“I don’t have one,” replied Eduardo quickly, slightly testily. “I’m in the army, it’s different. Just get yourself and the girl to Cancun in one piece. Call me when you are close, and good luck.”
“Thanks Eduardo.”
“De nada, Jack, de nada. I just wish you had called me sooner.” And with that he was gone, and Munro was back looking out at Acapulco in the midday sun.
Entering the kitchen area, Munro opened the fridge and took out a pack of pre-sliced bread and pre-sliced cheese.
“Who was that?” called over Rudd.
Munro told him everything Eduardo had said.
“Well that’s good,” said Rudd after he had finished. “You only killed some gangsters, and pretty nasty ones by the sounds of it.”
“But now we need to get to Cancun.”
“Cancun? How far away are we?”
Munro paused briefly as he did the mental arithmetic. “About twelve hundred miles.”
“Right,” said Rudd. “Not far then…let me work something out.”
Rudd turned back to his screen and Munro sat down on the sofa. He lay back and started to eat his basic cheese sandwich.
