MERCENARY a gripping, action-packed thriller (Johnny Silver Thriller Book 1)

by PAUL BENNETT

  4

  Bull and I were still hung-over as we walked along the beach to the bar. Or what was left of it.

  Someone had done a pretty effective job of trashing the place. The tables and chairs were scattered across the sand in more pieces than I could count; the sign had been broken in two, leaving the words Johnny Silver separated from Proprietor; the two heavy padlocks had been forced, the drop-down bar front now hanging by one hinge and the door, kicked in, lying on the floor; what was left inside hardly seemed worth the effort of salvaging. The refrigerator was on its side ten feet away from where it usually sat, its top half poking through the wooden wall against which it had been thrown with force. Every glass and every bottle had been smashed, the floor awash with a heady cocktail of mixed spirits and beer topped by a slick of vegetable oil from the fryer I used to cook the flying fish. They had missed the Browning, and it felt good in my hand as I took off the safety and scanned the beach and the horizon for culprits.

  ‘You shouldn’t have got into that fight yesterday,’ Bull said. ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman deprived of her daiquiri.’

  ‘Or a bridegroom with swollen testicles? Is that what you’re thinking?’

  ‘Makes sense to me,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘On the other hand, maybe you’re wrong.’

  ‘You seem to have covered all the possibilities.’

  ‘Always the best way,’ I said.

  I clicked the safety catch back on the Browning before tucking it into the waistband of my shorts – that was always the best way, too.

  ‘They could have come by boat,’ I said. ‘Slipped in under the cover of darkness, trashed the place and slipped away again.’

  ‘Who’s they?’ Bull asked.

  I shrugged. ‘Anyone who is short of a few bucks and doesn’t mind what they do to earn them.’

  ‘Rings a bell,’ said Bull.

  ‘We were never like that,’ I protested. ‘OK, we got paid – most of the time – for what we did, but we did it for the cause as well as the money. Until Angola, that is, and by then we were running out of options.’

  ‘And causes.’

  ‘What was it the Texan said when we quit Bosnia? “Never come across a cause yet that was worth dying for. But a fistful of dollars….” Angola was the biggest mistake we made, no cause and no dollars in the end.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Bull said. ‘We all agreed to take on the contract. Seemed like easy money at the time.’

  ‘We should have known that there’s no such thing as easy money.’

  ‘Well,’ Bull said, ‘my hard-earned money is still on Wayne and Miss Daiquiri.’

  ‘Reckon we’ll know soon enough.’

  ‘How?’ he asked, running his hand over his shaved head in puzzlement.

  ‘If no one shows up in the next couple of hours, you win your bet. But if you see a helicopter….’

  We were halfway through clearing up the mess when the helicopter flew into view. Bull had gone home and returned with Mai Ling, extra brooms and mops and little Michael. The boy sat on the sand propped up against a palm tree and watched us listlessly as we swept and scrubbed and stacked the cane furniture into a bonfire to be lit at a ceremonial beach party when and if the bar ever reopened. Even when the helicopter landed he could hardly summon up the energy to get excited.

  I ushered Mai Ling and Michael into the relative safety inside the bar and Bull and I took up our positions from the previous day; Bull on the left flank with the pump-action shotgun and I at point with my hand on the butt of the Browning and itching like hell to use it.

  Like yesterday, one man jumped down from the cabin and ducked under the rotor blades. Unlike yesterday, the man was wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat, long white collarless shirt, loose white trousers and brown leather sandals. He removed the hat so that I could see his face, and smiled. Warmly.

  I ran across the sand to meet him.

  ‘Uncle Gus,’ I cried, throwing my arms about him.

  ‘Gianni,’ he said, hugging me back. ‘Or should I say Johnny?’

  ‘You’ve been fully briefed by Roberto then.’

  ‘I’m here as peacemaker,’ he said. He looked past me at the bar. ‘And a little late, it seems.’

  ‘I’d offer you a drink,’ I said, ‘but I’m fresh out of everything.’

  ‘I suggest we go to the hotel and talk. But first, why don’t you introduce me to your friends.’ His brown eyes skimmed over Mai Ling and Michael and alighted on Bull with a twinkle. ‘Especially the hunk,’ he added.

  ‘You haven’t changed then?’

  ‘It’s in the genes.’

  ‘And how are you spelling that?’

  He laughed. ‘Depends on the contents.’

  Together we walked over to Mai Ling and Michael. Bull replaced the shotgun in the special compartment under the decking of his boat and joined us. I made the formal introductions. Uncle Gus complimented Mai Ling on her beauty and Bull on his physique. To Michael he did not speak; just gazed down sadly and ruffled the kid’s hair. After a little small-talk, Mai Ling, realizing we needed to talk, shooed us away so that she and Bull could carry on with the clearing up. As we set off for the hotel I could hear Bull mumbling to himself.

  ‘Should have known,’ Bull said. ‘Never bet with a man who doesn’t gamble.’

  We sat at an isolated table at the far end of the heart-shaped swimming pool overlooking the beach, where a canopy decorated with flowers was being set up for the wedding. Uncle Gus fanned himself with his hat while waiting for the drinks to arrive, his long silver hair fluttering with the movement. There were more lines on his face than when I had last seen him, but they could not conceal the kindness in his eyes nor the smile which generally played on his lips. Generally, but not always.

  ‘What’s wrong with the boy?’ he asked, frowning.

  Knowing Gus, it was an expression of genuine concern rather than simply a delaying tactic so that we would not be interrupted by the drinks when discussing serious business.

  ‘Heart condition. He needs a transplant, and he needs it soon.’

  ‘Sounds serious. And expensive.’

  ‘Very. And that applies to both.’

  A waiter, dressed in a uniform of bright yellow trousers, matching shirt and navy-blue sash around his waist, brilliant white napkin spread over one arm, arrived carrying a silver tray. He placed a long glass of rum punch on the table in front of Gus and a bottle of beer flecked with beads of condensation and a frosted glass in front of me. The check he slipped under the ashtray to stop it blowing in the breeze. I glanced at it and then stared enviously at the printed figures.

  ‘Wouldn’t take many rounds of drinks like this to rebuild and restock your bar,’ Gus said.

  ‘If I charged these prices, there wouldn’t be any point in the guests coming. And anyway, bright yellow doesn’t suit me.’

  ‘You should be more adventurous, Johnny,’ he said.

  ‘I’m all adventured out, Gus.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he replied. ‘But that’s why I’m here. To change your mind.’

  ‘Roberto tried bribery and threats yesterday. They didn’t work. What makes him think that old loyalties and charm will do the trick? Unless he believes that I will be much more receptive after seeing my livelihood lying in ruins.’

  ‘It does seem to be a bit of a coincidence, I must admit,’ Gus said.

  ‘And bears the hallmark of Roberto’s petty spite.’

  ‘How can brothers be so different?’ he asked, shaking his head sadly.

  ‘Half-brothers, Gus.’

  ‘That’s just speculation on your part,’ he said.

  ‘And that’s just bullshit on your part,’ I countered.

  He removed the little umbrella from his glass, rolled it between his slim fingers, dropped it into the ashtray and took a long slow sip through the straw.

  ‘Come on, Gus,’ I said, ‘you know Alfredo is not my father. Why else the treatment I had
from him? Or the treatment I didn’t have?’

  ‘Let’s get back to the subject, shall we? The identity of your father is not relevant.’

  ‘To me it is.’

  ‘Then forget about it for a while. Forget about your hatred for Alfredo and your loathing for Roberto. Think about Carlo for a moment.’

  I was tempted to ask ‘Am I my half-brother’s keeper?’, but knew it was a rhetorical question. There had been the promise to look after him. But hadn’t that been made by Gianni Gordini, not Johnny Silver? And surely it hadn’t been meant to last for ever. Or was I just splitting hairs?

  ‘What do you think has happened to Carlo?’ I said.

  ‘Either he has done a disappearing act because he’s embezzled a chunk of the bank’s money, in which case Silvers is in trouble, or he’s so scared of something that he’s gone to ground, if which case

  Carlo is in trouble. Whichever view you take, it doesn’t look good.’

  It was my turn to indulge in some displacement activity. I raised my glass and drank some of the cold beer, lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke.

  ‘And,’ Gus added, ‘your future doesn’t look bright either.’

  ‘I can cash my investments and fix up the bar,’ I said, shrugging more casually than I felt. ‘It’ll hurt, but I’ll get over it.’

  Gus shook his head at me and frowned. ‘You’ve changed your name and, short of camping out in a rain forest or encasing yourself in an igloo in the Arctic, you’ve chosen one of the remotest places on earth in which to live. How long do you think it will take Roberto to work out that you’re hiding from someone or something? And then what do you think he will do?’

  ‘Splash my photograph, biography and current address all over the front page of every newspaper in the world. That would have all the subtlety, not to mention the malice, of Roberto’s style.’

  Gus nodded.

  Hell!

  ‘I could pack my bags and move on somewhere else,’ I said, although it was the last thing I wanted to do.

  ‘And when Roberto tracks you down again, what then?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘You can’t run for ever, Johnny,’ he said.

  It looked like I was backed into a corner. And when that happens, the only course of action is to come out fighting.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I said.

  Gus smiled and raised his hand in the air to signal to the waiter that he wanted more drinks; the rings on his fingers and the silver identity bracelet around his wrist sparkling brightly in the reflected light from the water.

  ‘But only on certain conditions,’ I added.

  ‘Are you going to drive a hard bargain?’ Gus asked.

  ‘They don’t come any harder. First, I want you in Amsterdam as liaison between me and the family. I do not want any further dealings with Roberto, and none at all with Alfredo.’

  Gus looked relieved. ‘I don’t see a problem with that.’

  ‘Second, I want access to the compliance officer who is investigating the bank’s dealings in Amsterdam. If there’s a trail of embezzled money, I want to be hot on it until it leads me to Carlo.’

  Gus nodded. ‘Sounds reasonable.’

  ‘Third, I want this treated as a professional contract. Arm’s length, as we used to say in the bank. I’m not going to be taken advantage of just because of blood ties.’

  ‘By contract, I assume you mean some kind of payment.’

  ‘A quarter of a million,’ I said. ‘Fifty thousand up front in cash for expenses, the balance held by you to dispense when Carlo is found, or you’re satisfied I’ve done all I can to find him.’

  ‘Dollars or pounds?’ he asked.

  ‘I was thinking dollars.’

  ‘I’m thinking pounds,’ he said. ‘Let’s hit Roberto where it really hurts – his wallet.’

  ‘Lastly,’ I said, ‘I want the name of my father.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten the moon on a stick, Johnny. Don’t you want to add that to the list as well?’

  ‘Those are my terms, Gus. If the family doesn’t like them, I disappear. And by the time Roberto finds me, it will almost certainly be too late for the bank and Carlo.’

  ‘I need to make some phone calls,’ he said. ‘Your mother first, I think.’

  ‘Give her my love.’

  ‘Then Roberto.’

  ‘Tell him I hope he rots in hell.’

  ‘I might save that for a time when the negotiations are at a slightly less delicate stage, if it’s all the same to you?’

  ‘It’s the thought that counts,’ I said.

  I walked back from the hotel on my own, deep in thought and unsure whether to be pleased or not. There was no sign of Mai Ling or Michael, but Bull was standing in front of the bar, smiling proudly.

  ‘If you had some booze, you’d be back in business,’ he said. ‘If you had a fridge to keep it in and some glasses to serve it from, that is.’

  ‘You’ve done a good job,’ I said. The inside of the bar was clean and tidy, the floor dry and the bar front and door were back on their hinges. ‘Now can you board it up?’

  He stared at me.

  ‘And then pack your bags,’ I said. ‘The helicopter leaves in two hours.’

  He shook his head wildly as if to clear his brain. ‘Did I black out for a while? I seem to have missed something of importance. Bags? Helicopter?’

  ‘We have a contract,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘What happened to all that stuff about out of practice, out of training and can’t run to save your life?’

  ‘None of that is relevant. This contract is different.’

  ‘That’s what they always say.’

  ‘All we have to do is find my brother,’ I said. ‘For once there won’t be people trying to kill us. This one will be sweet and easy.’

  ‘Why me?’ he asked.

  Good question. And a delayed echo of my own thoughts the previous day.

  ‘Because I need someone to guard my back.’

  ‘On a sweet and easy job?’

  ‘Why take risks?’ I said.

  ‘Uh huh,’ he said, unconvinced. ‘Anything else I should know?’

  ‘Only what it pays,’ I answered.

  ‘So what does it pay?’

  ‘Enough for Michael’s operation.’

  5

  The other travellers in first class didn’t quite know what to make of our unlikely trio. They alternated uneasily between the two extremes of staring fixedly at us and desperately trying to avoid our gaze. Even the steward found our appearance hard to take in his measured stride without the occasional raising of a perfectly plucked eyebrow. I didn’t blame them: years ago – another time, another life – I would have done the same.

  With only two hours before the helicopter took off, Bull and I had had just enough time to secure the bar and the boat, issue instructions to Mai Ling for the journey to America, say a brief and almost tearful goodbye to Michael and throw a few things into a bag. We had changed into khaki chinos and shirts, relics of our mercenary days and still stained with patches of pink where the blood hadn’t entirely washed out. If I’d borrowed Gus’s straw hat, Bull and I could have been mistaken for Robinson Crusoe and Man Friday.

  ‘The first thing we have to do when we land,’ Gus said, taking a glass of champagne from the steward’s tray, ‘is to get you both some new clothes. At the moment, the pair of you are about as inconspicuous as camels in the Kentucky Derby.’

  ‘While you blend in perfectly,’ I said, looking pointedly at his white shirt, trousers and sandals.

  ‘I can get away with it,’ he said. ‘It’s one of the few benefits of being an eccentric. I am a threat to no one.’

  ‘And we are?’ I said.

  ‘There is something about your eyes,’ he said. ‘And I don’t just mean the way they rove around, scanning everybody and each situation, alert for danger. There’s a look about you both. It’s not exactly a coldness, not exactly a hardness, it’s….’ He s
ighed. ‘I don’t know. But whatever it is, it unnerves people.’

  ‘Windows on the soul?’ I said. ‘Or just past images of death showing through?’

  ‘Maybe a haircut will help,’ he said, answering the questions by avoiding them.

  ‘Nothing drastic,’ I said, unwilling to return to the distinctive short crop of Bosnia and Angola where depriving the lice of a cosy home had been the sole factor in choice of hairstyle. The Russians hadn’t got a good look at me during their raid on the camp, but if any photographs existed of me in my mercenary days I wanted to look as different from them as possible.

  ‘Can we settle on more businesslike?’ Gus said.

  ‘Depends on what you define as my business. Like I said, nothing drastic.’

  ‘No rebirth, then?’ he asked.

  ‘That comes when I find Carlo, and the family keep their side of the deal. You will see to it that they don’t renege?’

  ‘I have your mother’s word.’

  ‘And what about Alfredo the Great, is he in any position to countermand her?’ I asked distrustingly.

  ‘Your mother can handle him – being the main shareholder helps more than a little in that respect. Alfredo is still the titular head of the bank, although most of the day-to-day responsibility has devolved to Roberto, but he was never the same man again after the shooting incident.’

  ‘Some good came from it, then.’

  ‘They think it was the Russians, you know.’

  ‘Russians?’ I said, noticing Bull’s head swivel towards us anxiously from across the aisle.

  ‘There were ten heads of European investment banks assassinated that year – Alfredo was the only target to escape alive. There was a news embargo at the time – neither the governments involved nor any of the banks wanted to alarm investors or shareholders – and it’s only been recently that some of the details have been emerging.’

  ‘Why assassinate investment bankers?’ I asked. ‘Alfredo excepted, that is.’

  ‘Because they wouldn’t do what they were told – launder money for the Russian mafia.’