by Rob Jones
Charlie’s MI5 contact had easily tracked Nathaniel Danvers and his team back to Comitán where they had boarded a private flight to Havana. None of them knew why. They doubted Atticus would have sent them on a wild goose chase to Cuba in pursuit of a fictional book of incantations, so there had to be another reason.
Whatever it was, they had little choice but to follow and rescue him. Luckily, Decker had an old buddy from his days in the US Marines who lived in Havana. That meant a warm welcome, good food and soft beds. He had also promised to use his local knowledge of the island to help them track Atticus and the capstone down.
“Ready for the off?”
She turned and saw Riley. The young Australian was standing in the aisle, but leaning casually on the headrest of the seat beside her. As usual, he had brought his wide, toothy smile along with him. Top three buttons of his shirt open, revealing his dog tags and hanging loosely from his tanned wrist, frayed leather surfing bracelets.
She smiled back. “Don’t let Captain Mitch see you wandering around on final approach.”
“I know,” he said with a laugh. “He might put me on a charge.”
On the other side of the aisle, Diana huffed out a cynical sigh.
“Di?” Riley asked. “Did you just make a noise like a small rodent breaking wind?”
She put down her book and glared at him. “No, not at all. I agree with you about Mitch.”
He furrowed his brow in confusion. “You do?”
“Of course,” she said, returning to her book and arching an eyebrow. “What an irritation it is having a responsible, sensible man at the controls of our plane.”
“I walked right into that one.”
“Yes, you did. Now sit down and buckle up like a good little boy and stop being so silly.”
He puffed out his chest. “You think us SAS guys sit down and buckle up?”
She shrugged. “What would your sergeant tell you to do when your plane was coming into land?”
“To sit down and buckle up, of course.” He slammed down next to her and reached around for the belt. “That’s what I like about you, Di. You’re down to earth. You call a spade a spade.”
From the cabin, she heard Decker moaning. “Buckle up, Riley!”
“On it, Cap!”
Decker groaned again. “All I wanted was just a…”
“Just a quiet cargo business,” Selena called back. “I know. I know.”
The American gave a weary laugh. “Okay everyone, we’re about to hit the deck.”
*
A short drive from the airport and they were pulling up outside Decker’s buddy’s place in Cojímar. It was modest but beautiful and offered a great sea view. When Decker rang the bell, they noticed the front door was already open. Decker and Selena exchanged a glance, fearing the worst.
Decker poked his head through the gap. “Cade?”
Silence.
“You okay, old buddy?”
“Hey Mitch!”
Decker blew out a sigh of relief and led the rest of the crew into the small house. He followed the sound of a loud TV set to a back room where they discovered a tall, thin man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and loud Bermuda shorts.
“Lena, meet Cade Thurman. Cade, meet Lena.”
Thurman struggled out of his Ezee Life recliner and wiped a greasy hand on his stained shorts. “Great to meet you Lena.”
Selena eyed the hand for a second, swallowed hard and took it in hers, shaking it. “Yes, the pleasure is all… mine. I’m sure.”
He grinned. “You like fried shrimp?”
“Um, what?”
Decker chuckled. “Do you like fried shrimp?”
“I never…”
“She’s crazy about it, Cade,” Decker said.
Cade reached around behind the chair and produced a bucket of cold, fried shrimp. Giving the posh English professor a genuine, disarming smile, he said, “What’s mine is mine!” Then he belched loudly.
Wafting the stench of stale lager from her face with a slim, pale hand, Selena turned to Decker. “Mitch, are you sure Mr Thurman is the right man for the job?”
“You wanted the best, right?” Cade said.
Selena fixed him in the eye. “Why, of course.”
Cade’s grin grew wider. “Well… he couldn’t make it, so you got me instead!”
Riley and Charlie laughed. Felipe Acosta looked more nervous than amused.
“Ah, another funny one,” Diana said. “Great news.”
“C’mon guys!” Cade said, indicating the chairs. “Take a load off.”
They sat and cracked open some beers. “So,” Selena said, wincing at the cheap, sharp lager. “Mitch says you two are old army buddies.”
Thurman stared at Decker, horrified.
Decker said, “She does it on purpose. She knows we were both marines. Ignore.”
Selena sipped more lager and winced again. “Can’t blame a gal for trying. Goodness, this beer is different.”
Cade laughed. “Yeah, I was in the Marines with Mitch. We left around the same time and when he bought his plane and started up Avalon Cargo, I pursued other avenues.”
“He means he stole a car and served time in Miami in jail,” Decker said.
Thurman gasped. “That is a total lie.”
“Was it?”
“Surely. It was a pickup truck.”
Diana gasped. “You stole a pickup truck?”
He shrugged. “In my defense, it was mine.”
“It was your ex’s,” Decker said.
“Ah, but I thought it was mine at the time.”
Selena looked at him oddly. “You thought it was yours?”
“Yeah. I thought it was in my name, but it was in my then wife’s name. We’d already separated at that time. I went over and picked it up and she called the cops on me. They picked me up on the interstate and she pressed charges, as cool as ice.”
“What a babe!” Riley said.
Charlie gave a sympathetic smile. “How kind of her.”
“Yeah,” Cade said with a fading smile. “She was always a very kind lady.” The smile returned and he clapped his hands together. “Anyway, what can I do for you, old buddy? You said you were in some trouble.”
“More than a little,” Decker said.
“In that case, let’s go outside and fire up the barbecue. Three day-old fried shrimp only goes so far, you know what I’m saying?”
*
They explained their situation over a dinner of grilled steaks and fresh vegetables, and Cade even supplied some half-decent bottles of red and white wine. After dinner, Selena sipped some white wine and watched the Straits of Florida sparkle in the bright Cuban moonlight. After the brutal fighting back in the jungle it felt good to ease back into a soft chair and enjoy a cold drink. By the looks on the faces of the rest of the crew, she wasn't the only one who felt this way. Decker was lying back on a reclining chair, snoozing with his hat over his face, Charlie and Diana were playing cards and Riley, Atticus and Acosta were making headway into two glasses of iced Cuban rum.
Hot sea air blew over their balcony and reminded Selena of long-forgotten summer vacations with her parents. A happy childhood, with everything in the right place. A safe house with a loving mother and good food and lots of books. A father who brought spontaneous adventure into her lift with a mischievous smile.
What a life she had led. Mohenjo-Daro. Angkor Wat. Petra. Chichén Itzá. Knossos. All these amazing archaeological sites and many others all before she was ten. A love of the ancient past ran through her veins in the same blood that ran through her father’s veins. Any other life she found impossible to imagine. She closed her eyes and blew out a deep breath, praying her father was all right.
To her left, Diana had grown tired of beating Charlie at poker and threw her hand down. “I’m out, Charlie. For the night.”
“Just as I was starting to win!” he said.
She gave him a withering look. “We’ve played over twenty hands and y
ou only won the third one.”
“And now my luck is changing. I feel it in the air.”
“Then you play against the air. I’m tired.”
As he mumbled to himself and picked up the cards, she hid her smile and took a sip of her wine. It was a Cuban vintage Cade had picked up someplace and tasted good. It reminded her a little of the alentajo her parents used to drink with meals at the weekend. She felt a wave of homesickness when she thought about home. Her parents had almost died at the hands of Rakesh Madan during the Shambhala mission, and all because of her involvement in it. For that, she would always feel a terrible guilt.
She raised her glass and made a silent toast to her family’s health back in Porto and then took a long sip. Another breeze of hot night air blew across the balcony and rippled through her hair. It felt good. Another memory of warm Portuguese nights with the family. For how much longer she would be able to fly around the world at a moment’s notice with the Avalon crew, she had no idea. Sometimes she couldn’t imagine any other sort of life. Other times, she wanted to quit the team and fly back to her old life.
“So what’s the plan?” Charlie asked, breaking the relaxed silence.
“The plan is we sleep,” Cade said. “It’s getting late and we have no leads. In the morning, we start looking for your kidnapped dude and the magic keystone.”
“That’s my father, not a kidnapped dude,” Selena said. “And it’s a capstone, not a keystone. Other than that, you’re doing well.”
“Thanks, man.”
Decker woke from his slumber, removed the hat from his face and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m beat. I’m calling it a night.”
26
Across the city, Tarántula watched the house from the darkness of his car. The old colonial property dated from the 1920s and was an impressive sight in the city center. Set over four floors, with the top three all having balcony access, the bright pink townhouse commanded a beautiful view over the ocean. The boulevard was mostly quiet and parked outside were several brightly colored Buick and Chevrolet convertibles from the 1950s, ubiquitous on the island.
But Tarántula was not in a brightly colored vintage convertible. He was sitting inside a rented black Cadillac Escalade alongside the Mercado brothers and each of them was concentrating on the figure of Professor Salvador Diaz. The old man was pottering around on the top floor of his home, possibly watering plants. It was hard to tell, exactly.
It didn’t matter. Whatever he was doing was about to come to a swift and brutal end. It had to be that way. It was what the Snake King had ordered and he had to be obeyed. They had already snatched the English archaeologist, but now he wanted this man, too, and if he had learned one thing, it was never to question the Snake King.
“And this is definitely the correct address?” he asked coolly.
“Yes, boss,” Carlos said. “Triple checked.”
“And I asked at the local store just down the road,” Miguel said. “Old couple. They were very helpful. They confirmed this is his address.”
“How helpful were they?” Tarántula asked. “Not helpful enough to give the police your description?”
“Not that helpful, boss. They’re now both lying dead in the back room.”
“Good, very good,” Tarántula purred. “We cannot fail el rey serpiente. The Snake King is not known for his forgiving nature.”
The Mercados shared another quiet look. Raised in a strict Catholic family, neither brother held any stock in the idea of ancient Maya gods meting out divine retribution. All they cared about was the large amount of gold they had been promised by Tarántula on completion of this job. Then they would quietly slip away to a beach they knew in Costa Rica. Buy a bar and live out their lives surrounded by beautiful local women in awe of their wealth and power. That was all the Mercado brothers cared about anymore.
“All right.” Tarántula glanced at his Rolex Daytona. “It’s time. Take him.”
Carlos and Miguel Mercado didn’t have to look at each other. They each popped open their door and climbed out of the Escalade. Business as usual. A sniff and a sigh. Eyes swivelling for cops. A quick pat of the jacket to make sure the cuete was in place, all locked and loaded and ready for action.
Carlos brushed his knuckles on his jawline as they crossed the street. Miguel pulled a cohiba cigarette from a fresh pack he had stolen from the tobacconists he had just murdered. He offered one to his older brother who waved it away. Miguel lit the cigarette and blew the fragrant smoke out into the humid night air. Of all the dichos or sayings that he knew, poco a poco se andra lejos. Little by little, one goes far, was the one he believed in most.
Once just two boys from the world’s largest slum in Nezo-Chalco-Itza, today they had seen and done it all. Now, after the prospect of endless years in an American maximum security prison, they were on the cusp of not only retiring as free, wealthy men, but also getting the chance to wipe out millions of Americans. Who knew revenge could be so sweet? Just take it one step at a time, Mico, his inner voice told him. One small step at a time, and you will create great things for yourself. You will have everything you ever wanted.
Carlos was a step ahead of him, walking to the front door and stepping up into the shadows. The big broad-backed Mexican was out of sight now, beneath the colonial style portico. He rang the bell, sniffed and turned to his baby brother. “Let’s get this over with. Nice and fast and quiet. Get him back to the car and then we can get out of here.”
“Agreed.”
Casually, as if he was pulling a wallet from his pocket, he drew a Jericho 941 from a holster under his jacket. Gun controls in both Mexico and Cuba were some of the strictest in the world, but getting hold of a weapon like this, or bringing it into Havana presented little problem. At least, not when you owned the people Tarántula owned, and this was further facilitated by the use of the big man’s impressive private jet.
Miguel flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk and pulled his own weapon, a neat Beretta 92. He exhaled the smoke and turned to keep the gun out of sight. Then, the door opened.
“Si?”
“Professor Diaz?” Carlos asked.
“Yes, that’s me. How can I help?”
Carlos raised the gun and stepped forward. It happened lightning fast. The muzzle was now pushed into the man’s forehead and Carlos was inside the hall, pushing him back out of sight. Miguel turned and checked no one had seen, then followed his brother inside and closed the door behind him.
“What is this?” Diaz said, his voice trembling. “I have nothing of value!”
“That’s where you are very wrong,” Carlos said, pistol whipping the man and knocking him clean out. He collapsed down onto an antique runner on his floorboards. “Very wrong indeed.”
“You think he’s all right?” Miguel asked.
“He’s fine. Check the street is clear then bring the Escalade up to the sidewalk. I’ll pick him up and take him out to the car.”
When his brother disappeared out of the front door, Carlos slipped his gun into his holster and reached down and heaved the unconscious man into a fireman’s lift. Then, when his brother told him the coast was clear from outside near the Cadillac, he walked briskly down the path with the professor and tumbled his body into the back of the SUV. He slammed the rear door shut and climbed into the front. Miguel was already at the wheel.
“Good,” Tarántula said. “You have done well.”
27
Diana sipped her coffee and opened the newspaper she had just bought at the local store. It was a bright, warm morning and the walk had been quiet and relaxing. Like the rest of the Avalon crew, the thought of Atticus’s kidnapping was weighing down heavily on her, so she followed her mother’s favorite advice and took a good, long walk to clear her mind and get some perspective.
Sitting in a beam of relaxing sunshine at Cade’s patio table in his back yard, she took another sip of the coffee and started to go through the newspaper. It relaxed her further, and took her mind awa
y from the mission. But not for long. When she opened the front cover and looked inside, she saw a picture of a townhouse somewhere in Havana and, inset, a grainy black and white portrait photograph of an old, wiry man with a gray beard.
She read the story with interest and then said, “You get many kidnappings in Cuba?”
“Not at all,” Cade said. “It’s not Mexico.”
“In that case, I might have an idea why Danvers came here.”
Selena said, “You do?”
“Sure.” Diana folded her copy of Granma down and peered at Selena over the top of it. “It says in here that there was a kidnapping in the city last night.”
“Are you certain?” Selena asked.
She nodded. “It’s written in Spanish, not Portuguese, but I am fluent in Spanish. It’s clear enough. It says that last night, there was a break-in at the address of a Professor Salvador Diaz over in Habana Vieja.”
“The Old Town,” Cade said, scraping some butter over his toast. “It’s not far from here, just over the Canal de Entrada. You drove through it last night to get here.”
“Interesting,” Decker said. “Maybe this might speed things up a bit.”
Charlie sipped his freshly ground coffee and stretched his arms. “What else does it say?”
Diana dipped her head back into the newspaper. “Last night Professor Diaz was reported missing by his niece. She was supposed to be meeting him for a late dinner but when she got to his address she found the door open and signs of a struggle in the hallway. She reported it to the Havana Police Department straight away and they immediately travelled to the property, which they searched. They found no sign of him. Neighbors reported that they saw suspicious looking men parked outside his house.”
