His opponent was much bigger than he was, taller by a foot and maybe sixty pounds heavier. He clasped his hands behind Dan's back and squeezed tightly, forcing the air from his lungs and lifting him off the ground to smash his body against the wall. With his arms free, Dan grabbed the back of the man's head with one hand and forced the thumb of his other into the eye socket. He pulled with his hand and pushed with his thumb as hard as he could between nose and eye until the big man squealed in pain and released him.
Only for the seriousness of the situation, Dan could have laughed at the irony of the fact that a one-eyed man was trying to rip an eye out of another. Would his opponent think it was sheer spite and jealousy? Dan knew it was neither. It was just bloody painful and one of the only actions available that might get the man to release him.
As his feet hit the ground, Dan propelled himself in a desperate dive towards the gun which lay at the base of the stairs. The second male was almost upon him as Dan reached for it and brought it to bear. As the gangster loomed over him ready to strike, Dan shot him once in the head. He fell forwards from the first few steps of the staircase and dropped dead to the floor with a thud.
By the time Dan had swung himself around, his half-blinded assailant was already climbing through the broken door frame and running up the street.
With that threat now disposed of, Dan got back to his feet and began climbing the stairs. Waiting for him at the top was a machete wielding third who, on seeing the pistol and what had happened to his comrades, stood nervously in the doorway. For an instant the man considered entering the apartment to where the others had forced their way, but as Dan closed on him he changed his mind and stood his ground, swinging the machete wildly in front of him.
Dan was in two minds as to what to do. Of all the people he had killed, of which he had to admit there were many, they had mostly been in self-defence, or at the very least for a greater good. This man posed no threat if he kept his distance, but Dan needed to get past. He wished he'd just step aside, or walk away, but he knew that was never going to happen.
Dan's decision was quickly made for him when he heard Heather scream. In a clinical fashion that he had practised many times before, he placed two bullets in the centre of mass. The man staggered backwards, clearing the doorway and falling flat on his face.
Inside, Dan watched three things happen all at once. A small, thin man, whom he faintly recognised, picked himself somewhat unsteadily up from the floor, took one look in Dan's direction, staggered towards the open window and threw himself out of it. A second man, large and cumbersome, ran towards him with a sledgehammer raised over his head, and the Interpol agent in the centre of the room raised his hands in the air.
Switching his aim quickly to the immediate threat, Dan released three shots, hitting the big man twice, before ducking back outside to narrowly avoid the sledgehammer which came crashing down only inches from where he'd been standing. The man toppled forward and, not taking the chance that the first two shots would kill him, placed two more into his back before he could rise. He slumped to the ground where he lay and Dan coolly returned his aim to the Interpol Agent.
"Don't shoot! I'm not armed!"
Dan glanced down, to where a distinctive bone handled knife lay on the floor between them. The Interpol agent saw him do it.
"It's not mine. It was...his."
He glanced over his shoulder to the open window and nodded his head.
"Heather!"
"Dan?"
Slowly the door to the bathroom opened and Heather stuck her head out through the gap.
"Are you OK?"
Heather walked into the room, looking first at the dead man on the floor, then the Interpol Agent with his hands still held high in air, and lastly at Dan.
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Put the gun down, Dan. This is Agent Sousa, from Interpol."
Dan lowered the gun, but kept it by his side, as Sousa breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you. Your Heather's friend I assume?"
Dan ignored the agent's question and paced over to the window. Beneath them on the street he could see a figure limping over to one of the waiting vehicles. He turned for a second, pointed up to where Dan was standing and climbed inside before it sped away from the scene.
Then Dan turned back to Heather.
"Gather up your belongings. Quickly. We need to leave."
The sound of sirens filled the air as four police vehicles skidded to a halt on the street outside.
"Let's go, now!"
As Dan made for the door, Heather stood still, flicking her eyes between him and the Interpol Agent. Indecision was written all over her face.
"But...Agent Sousa said...that I should go with him...to..."
"Heather, we've been here before. It's not safe for you anymore, anywhere! Please, come with me."
Dan felt crushed as she slowly shook her head.
"I need him, Dan. He can help me make a difference."
"Is that not why I came?"
"It is but..."
Calls from the police outside echoed into the room as Dan turned his back on Heather. With little time to spare, he raced down the stairwell past two more dead bodies that would be notched up against his name, and ran out into the street. He was all alone, again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Heather toyed with the phone in her hands, constantly checking the screen for any indication that Dan was returning her calls or texts. She felt awful for not siding with him and nothing that Andrei Sousa said could make her feel any better about it.
"You're doing the right thing, Heather. Your friend cannot protect you like I can. The streets of Fortaleza have no place to hide from the Tercerio Commandos."
"Is that supposed to help? Dan is out there right now. Will he be safe?"
Andrei Sousa sighed heavily and sat down opposite Heather at the small table in the canteen of the police station where they had both been that morning. Inspector Portillo could barely hide her glee at their return and, after questioning them thoroughly about what had happened at her apartment, had sent them here to wait until she could decide what to do. In fairness to Agent Sousa, under intense questioning from Inspector Portillo, he had been defensive of Dan's actions when confronted by their attackers. Even going so far as to commend Dan on saving his life when the crewman she recognised from La Mujer Codiciosa advanced with a knife in his hand intent on murder. Portillo wasn't convinced.
Agent Sousa continued with his attempts to placate her.
"Look, Miss Walsh, your friend seems very capable of looking after himself. I'm sure he will be fine."
Heather got up from the table and paced over to the door. There were no windows in the canteen and the small pane of glass set into the door was her only view out. They were alone, and had remained so for a very long time. All the waiting around was grating on her nerves.
Of the half dozen times she had called Dan while they waited, he had answered the phone only once. Well she hoped that he had, because he didn't speak. All she could hear in the background was music and the clinking of glass. After pouring her heart out, whoever it was on the other end hung up. She prayed it was him and his anger would subside.
Through the window in the distance, past the milling throng of busy police officers going about their endless work, she could see a window. Outside it was now dark. Four or five hours had passed and they were still waiting. Where was Dan? Was he OK? Why did she not believe in him when he begged her to? She knew he had been devastated when she refused to leave with him. Would he understand why she had refused him and return?
But Agent Sousa from Interpol was surely her best bet to help the besieged marine reserve. When he told her of his plans and the power he could summon to carry them out, he had won her over instantly. Dan, as good as he was, could never do what Interpol could. He just didn't understand that fact. Yes, once again, he had saved her life and Sousa's, but brute force and violence would only get them so far. To truly save the precious marine reserv
e in Fortaleza she needed help at governmental level and Interpol's Agent Andrei Sousa could get her that. She just prayed that Dan would understand.
She turned away from the window and took up her seat opposite the Interpol Agent.
"Please, call me, Heather."
He offered her a smile and a faint nod of his head.
"And you must call me, Andrei."
Heather smiled back and turned her attention to the vending machine in the corner of the room where bars of chocolate and crisps sat invitingly under a bright neon light.
"I'm starving. We've been here for ages. How much longer do you think we'll be?"
Andrei noticed her interest and searched his pockets, pulling out some change as he walked over to the machines.
"I've asked Inspector Portillo to make the necessary arrangements for your security and accommodation. At such short notice it will be a difficult task."
Heather watched as he chose two bars of chocolate and returned to the table.
"She is not exactly thrilled to have three more dead bodies on her doorstep. I'm afraid your friend Mr Harpur is leaving quite the impression on her."
He handed her a bar of the chocolate and Heather wolfed it down. It was the only thing she'd eaten since breakfast and she needed it badly. She used the time to think more about Dan and where he might be. When she'd finished, Andrei was still eating a bar of his own, taking his time to chew thoughtfully as he looked at Heather. He continued with a smile.
"He's quite a character this, Daniel Harpur. The forensic results have come back from Isaac Garcia's office. They have found fingerprints and DNA linking Harpur to it."
Heather could feel a further revelation coming as Andrei pushed his seat back and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. His tone of voice and posture changed to a more formal stance when he began reading.
"Joined the British Military at the age of seventeen. Served several years in the regular army until he was recruited into the Special Air Service, where he served with distinction and honour until his unexplained voluntary discharge a number of years ago. It seems he then returned to his homeland of Ireland to work a series of menial jobs before losing an eye in an altercation with a Triad. Since then he has been alerted as "Wanted for Murder", along with various other misdemeanours, in Ireland, China and Laos. Everywhere he goes he leaves a trail of dead bodies in his wake. The bodies of villains and gangsters in fairness to him, but bodies none the less."
Andrei paused from his reading and looked up at Heather. She innocently shrugged her shoulders. He flicked to the next page in his notes and continued.
"His first contact with you was just prior to the issuing of his first international arrest warrant. And thereafter, wherever you go, he follows. And the body count keeps climbing."
Andrei returned his notebook to his pocket and rested back in his chair waiting for a response. Heather got up and walked back over to the door, if only to avoid his accusing eyes. She peered out of the small window, frantically searching, like something out there might have all the answers for her.
The people Dan had killed had all been evil. Gangsters and criminals who would have killed him, or her, if they had been given half the chance. People who were directly involved in poaching, shooting and even farming wild animals for profit. It wasn't Heather's fault that Dan had done the things he had. She hadn't asked him to. Well, not directly anyway. So why then did she feel so guilty under such scrutiny?
Heather felt the need to defend him.
"He's a good man. A lot of what has happened was in self-defence. Today for example, he saved your life, and mine, again."
"He did. I can't deny it. But he is not the law, Heather."
"He is to those who don't respect the law. He's exactly what is needed in certain situations."
"He is. I'll give you that. But sooner or later he will meet his match or his past will catch up with him and drag him down. Will he drag you down with him?"
"Never!"
Andrei paused thoughtfully for a moment thinking hard on something, then continued.
"Men like Dan Harpur will always be needed. I think it was George Orwell who said, "People sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." I am a firm believer in that. But, Heather, this must stop now. Inspector Portillo is throwing every resource she has into catching him. He will not get far. I will try my best to help him when he is eventually caught, in return for saving us, but for now we must keep you safe and try to capture La Mujer Codiciosa. Will you help me?"
Heather pushed any further thoughts of Dan to the back of her mind. Andrei was right. Dan was a big boy. He could look after himself. The reserve should be her first priority now that she had Interpol to help her.
"Of course I will"
"Good. Then let me find Inspector Portillo and see if we can get moving. We are doing no good cooped up in here."
# # #
Salma Portillo sat patiently behind her desk completing the necessary paperwork that quickly built up in her busy role if left unattended. Now and then she glanced down at her phone and pressed a button so the screen saver would flash up and hold for a minute. It was a picture that calmed her and justified her actions.
This time she stopped what she was doing and picked it up to examine the image more closely. It showed her and her daughter, Anna, only three years old at the time, on a beautiful beach in Mexico. The sand was white, the warm sea an inviting dark shade of blue and the cloudless sky was partly blocked out by the broad leaves of a palm tree that they stood next to. Salma noted the smile spread wide across her face and the way her arms clung tightly around the waist of her daughter who was giggling with laughter. She almost smiled again at the memory. Those were the happiest days of her life. The days before she got involved with the Tercerio Commandos.
It wasn't like she had done it on purpose. Like going out one day on purpose to meet them and then offer her services. It had all just happened by chance.
In the beginning, when she had been young and naive, it was just a few dollars here or turning a blind eye there. Everyone was doing it. But as her career progressed, so did the stakes. Now, she was firmly in the pocket of Antonio Correia, Fortaleza's most notorious crime lord. Nothing she could do could remove her from his grasp. She had witnessed first-hand what happens to those who cross him. And even if she did, and succeeded, where would she be? Homeless? On the run for the rest of her life from not only the Tercerio Commandos but also the Fortaleza Police? Would she bring her daughter with her? For surely it would not be safe for her to stay.
No, Salma was trapped. All she could hope for was that this whole fuss would blow over, Interpol would lose interest and this madman Harpur and his girlfriend would disappear. Soon at least one of those things might happen.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and Salma resumed reading the reports on her desk for the benefit of her visitor.
"Yes?"
Sergeant Pereira, the lead investigator in the manhunt for Harpur, a diligent and principled man known for his hatred of violent crime in his home town of Fortaleza, entered her office.
"Inspector, we have been monitoring the mobile number of Heather Walsh for several hours now. She has made four calls in that time. As you suspected, they were all to the same number, which has connected only once. But it was for long enough for us to make trace. He is in the south side of the city, on Rua Santiago. In a bar called La Mesa."
"Good work, Sergeant! Assemble a team immediately. But wait for my order to move. I must clear this arrest operation at the highest level. If it is Harpur, he is armed and dangerous. We cannot take any chances."
Pereira closed the door behind him and Salma picked up her phone. She took one last mournful glance at the picture of her daughter before typing in the password and dialling a number etched into the depths of her memory. It answered within seconds.
"I hope you have good news this time."
"I have the
whale woman here with me and I have located the one-eyed man."
"Very good. Keep her safe for the time being. What do you know about the man?"
"He is wanted for multiple murders in several different countries. Interpol have assisted us in expediting his details. Agent Sousa seems a very determined and thorough individual. He is planning to make your life very difficult indeed. I really think you should..."
"Yes, yes...I trust you will keep me up to date on his activities, Salma. I have much invested in my fishing fleet. I will not be disrupting any of my operations at only the slightest chance of trouble. He is a long way from concerning me just yet. For now, tell me about this trouble maker and where I can find him."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The joy of the sea that had once meant so much to Captain Lucas Machado, was no longer what it used to be. Worry and doubt now took over his way of life, ruining what little job satisfaction and personal pride he once held.
As he stabbed and hacked at the thrashing shark, which seemed intent on entangling itself further despite his best efforts to free it, Lucas puzzled again to find a way out of his predicament.
Ironically, he was much like the shark before him. Trapped in a net of someone else's making, through no fault of his own, and no matter how much he twisted and turned, he would never free himself. His captor was bigger, stronger and better equipped - resistance was futile.
With a final twist of the knife, Lucas cut the shark free. It spilt onto the deck of the ship along with half of his catch and he watched with grim resignation as those of his crew nearby tried their best to salvage what they could, gathering up the flapping fish whilst avoiding the small but angry shark wriggling helplessly across the deck.
He turned away for a second to regain his breath and looked out over the sea towards the mainland, where other ships captained by men he knew well, ferried the last of their "eco-passengers" back into the harbour before darkness fell. From there they would filter out into the city of Fortaleza and spend thousands more dollars on food, wine and accommodation - just like the whale woman had told them. It was a growing trade, Lucas knew that, but those same people would be paying good money for fish to eat, and someone had to catch them.
The Dead Sea Page 8
