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

by PAUL BENNETT

  Arnie gave a polite cough. We all looked at him.

  ‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘I was taking some printouts to Ms Oakley’s office. She was at the coffee machine and well … her handbag was on the desk, open. I didn’t open it, I swear.’

  As if we were going to tell on him if he had.

  ‘Her passport was in the bag.’

  ‘And?’ I said.

  ‘Ms Oakley isn’t Ms Oakley. At least she is Ms Oakley, but she isn’t.’

  ‘Take your time, Arnie,’ Scout said.

  ‘Ms Oakley must be her maiden name. The name in her passport is Bellini.’

  ‘Like in the drink?’ Scout asked.

  Arnie didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. He spelt it out for her and she nodded.

  ‘Bellini is a big client of the American bank,’ Arnie continued. ‘Powerful man. No wonder she throws her weight around. There are rumours about Bellini.’

  ‘OK, spit it out, Arnie,’ I said.

  ‘Mafia,’ he said.

  18

  I had a call from Gus, wanting a progress report. We agreed to meet at his hotel for dinner. That gave me some time to prepare – how to make little progress sound like a major achievement.

  Gus was staying at the American Hotel and I knew why. It wasn’t that it was situated in the Leidesplein, among the hustle and bustle of the nightlife; it was because the place oozed style – apparently, so the hotel notice proudly proclaimed, it’s a monument protected by the city for its art nouveau architecture right down to the stained-glass windows. The dining-room was adorned with hand-made flowery wallpaper and chair covers and there were several pictures of naked girls with long flowing tresses à la Beardsley. Gus was admiring one as I was being shown to his table. He welcomed me warmly, throwing his big arms around me and raising a smile at my changed appearance – the short hair, the shave, the dark suit. He was wearing a beige suit with a black collarless shirt and black suede loafers. We ordered drinks – dry white wine for Gus and a cold beer in a frosted glass for me. He took a long sip of his wine and looked at me.

  ‘Well,’ Gus said, ‘how have you been getting on?’

  ‘It’s got a little complicated.’ I said. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘We’ll order first then.’

  He summoned an attentive waiter with a slight flick of his hand and we negotiated the complex menu before settling on rack of lamb. Gus selected a red wine from the expensive list and then the waiter left us.

  ‘Let’s start with the detective that Roberto hired,’ I said. ‘We found him, but haven’t got anything out of him so far – he’s up to the eyeballs in drugs and luxuriating in a private hospital to the south-west of the city. What we do have is his daughter who is called Scout.’

  ‘Scout? What sort of name is that?’

  ‘Nickname. Supposed to be good at tracking people. Got some pretty good contacts too – cops, hire car companies, flight check-in people.’ I didn’t mention Arnie in case Gus let something slip – information was on a need-to-know basis. ‘What we do know is that a big company called Almas kidnapped him and tried to extract information about where Carlo was and the whereabouts of the ten million euros. Did I mention the ten million euros?’

  Gus shook his head, drained his drink and gestured to the waiter to bring refills. He was preparing for the long story I had promised.

  ‘It seems that Carlo absconded with ten million euros in bearer bonds, two million of which have subsequently been cashed.’

  Gus gave a soft whistle at the amount. ‘So what is he using this money for? Didn’t he have enough of his own?’

  ‘Carlo has been gambling at El Dorado – lost big – and he seems to be involved with one of the’ – I hesitated – ‘croupiers. Russian girl called Natasha. Apparently he’s head over heels in love.’

  Our racks of lamb arrived, giving me a chance to draw breath. They were accompanied by a salad that was so artistically arranged it could have been made into an exhibit to accompany the paintings on the wall. Neither of us wanted to disturb it, but in the end we weakened and started by stabbing a tomato.

  ‘We now know that Carlo was, or is, somewhere on the German border trying to get a forged passport for his girlfriend. Starting tomorrow we’re going to cover the main roads along that border and hope that we spot him. I have two problems. One is Almas and what their involvement is’ – Gus shook his head to signify that the name meant nothing to him – ‘and the other is someone called Bellini.’

  ‘Bellini?’ Gus said, almost choking on his wine. ‘What has Bellini got to do with it?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know. His daughter, I guess, is the compliance officer investigating Carlo and the bank’s funds.’

  ‘Bellini,’ Gus said, shaking his head pensively.

  ‘You seem to recognize the name. I think it’s your turn to talk.’

  ‘Bellini is a bad man. The rumour – which he denies vociferously – is that he is the leader of one of the mafia families in New York. Some say he’s legitimate now, but I wouldn’t believe them. Once a man like Bellini has enjoyed power it’s almost impossible for him to give it up.’

  ‘He’s a big customer of the New York office, so my source says.’

  ‘Bellini has a finger in many pies, most of them illegal. Drugs, prostitution, gambling, the usual list that takes advantage of men’s follies.’

  ‘Sounds like the American equivalent of Almas. I did tell you it was complicated.’

  ‘You better watch your step if Bellini is involved.’ He pushed his plate away. ‘Somehow I don’t feel very hungry anymore.’

  19

  Pieter arrived on the red eye, meaning he was just in time for breakfast. Which was bad luck for him. I swear it was the same plate of cold meat and cheese that we had rejected the previous day. He was dressed in white jeans, slightly grubby, a dark-blue sweatshirt and desert boots. As he leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet I saw that the desert boots had holes in the soles. He had put on some weight, but he still had those boyish good looks that the women went for. He surveyed the dining-room with its collection of furniture so old that it looked like it would collapse if you breathed on it and said, ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’

  ‘We’ve lived in worse,’ Bull said. ‘Remember Bosnia?’

  ‘The only thing keeping the cockroaches in check,’ he said, ‘were the rats.’ He gave a shudder and shook his head. His long blond hair moved across his forehead with the shake, revealing that he was receding at the temples.

  Pieter swept his hair back into place, turned his green eyes on Scout and said, ‘And who is this lovely lady?’

  ‘This is Scout,’ I said.

  Pieter looked blank.

  ‘It’s because she’s good at tracking,’ I explained. If I was Scout, considering the number of times she must have been asked the question, I’d have had a T-shirt printed up with the answer on.

  ‘I think I’ll call you Blue Eyes,’ Pieter said.

  ‘Scout will do,’ she said, resisting the temptation to stick two fingers down her throat.

  ‘But it doesn’t do you justice. So, Blue Eyes it is.’ He turned to me. ‘What’s going down, Johnny?’ he asked. ‘Something big or did you just get nostalgic for a reunion?’

  ‘We have a contract.’

  ‘With money, or is it one of your pro bono jobs?’

  ‘Money – plenty for all.’

  ‘Lead me to it.’ He looked across at Scout. ‘And where does Blue Eyes fit into the picture? I’m all for eye candy, but I just want to know the score. Are you and she an item?’

  Scout blushed.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re not an item.’

  ‘So the coast’s clear?’

  Scout looked horrified. Pieter’s charm, in the intervening years, seemed to have worn as thin as the soles of his boots.

  ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning,’ she said to me. ‘And speak slowly for your South African friend.’


  I started at the very beginning with my initial reluctance to take the contract, Michael’s need for a transplant and on from there, getting ever more complicated as the story unfolded. At times Pieter interrupted to clarify a point or ask the significance of a seemingly minor detail. He was as sharp as he had been all those years ago. My confidence in him returned. Even Scout seemed to warm to him a little.

  ‘What’s the worst-case scenario?’ he asked when I was finished.

  ‘That we get caught in the middle between Almas and the Bellinis.’

  ‘Tools of the trade?’

  ‘Stan is bringing them. He’s coming overland.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Scout. ‘Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?’

  ‘Smart too, eh, Blue Eyes,’ said Pieter.

  ‘I’m not putting any of my people at risk without a few safeguards,’ I said.

  ‘You realize what will happen if you get caught carrying a weapon? We’re talking prison, and a long stretch too.’

  I nodded. ‘Better than being dead because you can’t fire back. This is a professional contract and we have to approach it professionally in all ways. This is what we were all trained to do. If it makes you feel better, I promise we won’t shoot unless we have to.’

  ‘Not a good defence in law,’ Scout said.

  ‘I’m interested in justice not the law.’

  ‘He talks sense, Blue Eyes,’ said Pieter.

  Bull nodded his agreement.

  Scout looked at the three of us in turn and said, ‘Men!’

  ‘You better believe it,’ said Pieter.

  She gave him a withering look and said, ‘I’m off to get a fresh pot of coffee. Try to be grown up, boys, while I’m away.’

  The three of us destroyed our macho image by giggling.

  ‘What have you been up to over the years?’ I asked Pieter.

  ‘A bit of everything. When I got back after Angola I spent some time doing security jobs, worked my way up the ladder so I run my own company. Security consultant – anytime, anyplace, anywhere. You know, maybe the gold mines, maybe guarding some tourists while they’re on safari – I handle most anything.’ He changed the subject. ‘What about you guys? Prospering?’

  ‘We make a living. I run a bar and Bull has a yacht charter. We’re the mainstays of the tourist industry on St Jude. Bull stills limps, I can’t throw a left hook, but apart from that it’s a good life.’

  ‘And then you had to get involved in this?’

  ‘We’re regarding it as a means to an end.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s not a means to our end.’

  Scout returned with a fresh pot of coffee and poured some into our cups. Pieter went across to his baggage and produced a bottle of Scotch. ‘Anyone for a sharpener?’ he said.

  ‘Ain’t it kind of early?’ Bull said.

  ‘Just to get the blood circulating – you know, medicinal like.’

  ‘We’ve got some driving to do later,’ I said. ‘Better save it for now. We might even be celebrating by night-time.’

  ‘OK,’ said Scout. ‘Down to business.’ She moved the plate of cheese and ham and spread out a map of Holland and its boundaries over the table. ‘This is the border – runs from Groningen in the north to Maastricht in the south, by way of Enschede and Arnhem. These are the main roads and major intersections. Our best plan is to split the roads up into sections and take one each.’ She pointed at the map and checked with each of us in turn so that we were all sure exactly which stretch we were covering. ‘Sit and watch the traffic by day and do a tour of the hotels and motels en route in the evening. It can’t be too difficult to spot a bright red Lamborghini. Yes, we might miss him, or might not be able to catch up with him during the day, but they have to have somewhere to sleep at night. We need some hire cars, so I suggest we spend the rest of the morning making arrangements and then head off in the afternoon. Any questions?’

  ‘Very thorough, Blue Eyes.’

  ‘One last thing,’ she said, turning to Pieter. ‘If you call me Blue Eyes one more time I’ll show just what damage someone with a black belt in Karate can do to a guy’s private parts.’

  ‘I love a girl with spirit,’ he said.

  Scout screamed, tore at her hair and stormed out the room.

  ‘I think she likes me,’ he said.

  Pieter went off to catch a few hours’ sleep before taking up duty on the road. Bull and I sat around the table finishing our coffee.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ Bull said.

  ‘About what?’ I said.

  ‘Do you ever get the feeling we’re like dinosaurs? You know, that our time has been and gone?’

  ‘Not until we arrived here,’ I said.

  Bull became thoughtful. ‘And what do you reckon?’ he said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Pieter.’ He made a waving motion with the fingers of his right hand. ‘Flaky?’

  ‘He’ll need watching. Can’t have him drinking this early in the morning. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and put it down to jet lag. Once he gets down to work maybe all the old habits will come back.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Bull said.

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ I said. ‘Can’t afford any weak links in the chain. I don’t want a man who might be drunk watching my back.’

  The thought made Bull shiver.

  ‘Wonder how Red has turned out,’ Bull said. ‘Weathered the years better, I hope.’

  I was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

  We all travelled to the airport by taxi and the others went off to pick up their hire cars and head towards their designated points along the Holland/Germany border. I stayed behind to meet Red, brief him and then send him on his way to join the troops. We were almost a complete set. I called Stan and diverted him to hold fire on the German side of the border and await further instructions.

  It wasn’t hard to spot Red. He was wearing cowboy boots, blue jeans, sweatshirt, Ray-Bans and a Stetson. So much for keeping a low profile. He strode across the concourse like John Wayne, dumped his huge rucksack at his feet and gave me a manly hug. ‘It’s been too long,’ he said.

  ‘Or not long enough,’ I said. ‘Sorry to have to call you when we’re in trouble, but I need the old team together.’

  ‘Not so much of the old,’ he said.

  ‘None of us are any the younger.’

  ‘But we’re wiser,’ he countered. ‘Hey, let’s grab a coffee and talk over old times.’

  We found a coffee shop and took two double espressos over to a table at the back in the corner. We faced outwards. Old habits die hard. A few other customers stared at us – whether it was Red’s dark glasses or that indefinable glint in my eyes, I didn’t know, but it kept everyone at a distance. Red took off his Stetson to reveal jet-black hair. That, the brown eyes and the dark complexion he owed to being half Comanche, which in lighter moments he would play up by doing the full kee-mo sah-bee routine. There was going to be some contest between Scout and Red as to who was the best tracker. I wondered who was going to be first to put their ear to the ground.

  ‘What have you been up to over the years?’ I asked.

  ‘This and that,’ he said.

  ‘Come on, Red. Level with me.’

  ‘I’ve mostly been doing the rodeo circuit.’

  ‘Hard way to earn a living,’ I said.

  ‘Keeps me fit and in the open air. So what’s going down?’ Red asked.

  I went through the story with all its complications. He listened attentively and nodded in all the right places. He seemed as sharp as ever.

  ‘So you want someone to chase a Lamborghini? Well, you certainly came to the right guy. Ain’t no one faster on four wheels. And when we find this Carlo, what do we do then?’

  ‘Call me and I’ll come running. He will trust me and relax. Then we find out what all this mess is about.’

  ‘Hope the story’s got a happy ending.’

  ‘The best s
tories have a happy ending for the good guys and an unhappy one for the bad guys.’

  ‘But that’s fiction, not life. Remember the Alamo?’

  20

  I watched Red drive off in a blur of burning rubber and climbed into my rental car. I hadn’t driven for a good few years and it took me a while to get acclimatized, especially to the Amsterdam traffic. I was armed with a road map and a list of accommodation courtesy of the tourist office at the airport. I headed east on the A9 before picking up the Al for Arnhem. Once there, I zigzagged to Nijmegen and halfway down to Venlo so as not to overlap with Bull’s territory. I stopped at each service area en route and checked out the parked cars. Later I would detour to the nearest towns and villages and scan the car-parks around the hotels, motels and guest-houses. It got monotonous very quickly and I had to concentrate hard so as not to overlook anything. I gave up at ten o’clock and booked into a motel in a small town on the Rhine called Emmerich, grabbed a burger and a beer at the motel café and settled down with the map to see if I could introduce any variety into tomorrow’s vigil.

  I thought about Carlo driving around in his Lamborghini, maybe with Natasha in the passenger seat, maybe not if he was entering Germany. I tried to second-guess him. Looked at the long list of hotels, motels and boarding-houses and knew we had underestimated the size of the task. There had to be a better way. If it was too laborious and slow to get us to Carlo, maybe we could get Carlo to come to us.

  I was up early the following morning and went on a small shopping expedition. I bought a leather wallet from a gift shop, a pair of scissors from the local general store and a copy of that day’s newspaper. Back in my room I cut up the sheets of the newspaper into euro-sized pieces and stuffed the wallet so it was bulging. I took the tourist office list of accommodation and marked all those with either four or five stars – I was reckoning on Carlo not settling for anything less – and planned a route. Then I checked in with the others, told them of my idea and that they should copy it.