King Solomon's Curse

by Andy McDermott

  Playa de las Américas was a relatively new resort, still expanding into the surrounding arid hills. The unfinished shells of apartment blocks and ranks of tightly packed little houses rose up the slopes like a concrete cancer, aesthetics and interior space secondary to giving as many future buyers as possible a view of the sea, however distant, from their place in the sun.

  The trio’s destination was beyond the sprawl, however. The hilltops had already been claimed for the rich, expansive villas imperiously overlooking all below. ‘That’s the target,’ said Brice as Alderley guided the Peugeot up a dusty road.

  The red-roofed villa was about half a mile away. What Eddie could see of it over its high surrounding walls was impressive. ‘Nice place. Where’s the observation post?’

  ‘That ridge,’ Brice told him, pointing. Another dusty hill rose ahead.

  Before long, Alderley turned on to a dirt track, the 308 jolting uphill behind the ridge. Eddie looked up to its top, spotting a man lying beneath a camouflaged sunshade – then tensed as a sixth sense developed from training and experience told him the watcher was not alone. ‘Who else is up here?’

  ‘Three-man snatch team from the Increment,’ said Alderley as he stopped behind a dusty Land Rover Discovery. ‘Well, a sub-unit, GB63.’ He pronounced it six-three. ‘We call them the Removal Men. Because, ha ha, they remove—’

  ‘Yeah, I get it.’ The Increment was one of several codenames for a top-secret MI6 unit, its members drawn from the SAS and other British special forces. Eddie tried to locate the other two men. It took a few seconds to spot one watching them from behind a rock, but the last remained unseen. ‘Anyone I know? Always wondered who the Increment took on.’

  ‘You were almost one of them yourself, Chase,’ said Brice, exiting the car.

  Eddie followed. ‘You what?’

  ‘You went on a selection exercise in summer 2001.’

  ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

  Brice gave him a patronising smile. ‘They wouldn’t have told you what it was. You don’t ask to join the Increment – you’re chosen for it. You went to an SIS training facility. We call it “the Funhouse”.’

  A memory surfaced; Eddie recalled being unexpectedly summoned by his commanding officer and taken in the back of a windowless van to a building somewhere in the English countryside, where he had taken part in an unusual exercise. ‘What, the place set up inside like an Iraqi village?’

  ‘Oh, that’s what you had?’ said Alderley with interest. ‘Every MI6 field officer gets tested in the Funhouse, and everyone gets a different scenario. They must have at least a dozen sets they can swap around. Mine was a half-flooded submarine.’ The recollection did not seem pleasant.

  They started up the hill, Eddie still searching for the third man. ‘So I was being tested to join the Increment?’

  Brice nodded. ‘You were. But you failed.’

  ‘Like fu— . . . like hell I did,’ Eddie protested. ‘I shot every single one of those animatronic dummies guarding the hostages.’

  The smug smirk returned. ‘Sometimes, being a good shot isn’t enough. Killing the kidnappers wasn’t the mission, was it? You were supposed to eliminate the leader and recover his laptop without being detected; the hostages were irrelevant. You prioritised wrongly, so you failed the test.’

  ‘I didn’t even know I was taking it!’

  ‘Which was the point.’ They approached the top of the ridge, Brice nodding to the man behind the rock. Eddie looked back at the car – and to his surprise saw that the third Removal Man had materialised from nowhere, silently following them. Of course; while a casual passer-by would see nothing, someone specifically investigating the area would eventually spot the first two men . . . but by then, the third would have moved in on them.

  Brice hunched down as they reached the hilltop. ‘Any activity?’

  ‘Just the guards patrolling the perimeter,’ the man replied. He glanced at Eddie. ‘This the source?’

  Eddie extended his hand. ‘Eddie Chase, 22 SAS.’ The man – no older than thirty, he guessed, so too young even to have started special forces training by the time he left the SAS twelve years earlier – nodded, then turned back to the binoculars. ‘Nice to meet you too,’ the Yorkshireman said sarcastically.

  ‘Check the compound for Mukobo,’ Brice told him. The man on the ground shuffled aside so Eddie could take his place at a pair of powerful binoculars on a squat tripod.

  The view through the lenses reduced the mile-wide gap to virtual yards. ‘Okay, so we’ve got . . . three armed men on watch,’ he reported. ‘Two big SUVs, and a guy near them having a smoke. None of ’em are Mukobo.’

  ‘We can cross them off, then,’ said Alderley.

  ‘You thought he’d be doing his own bodyguarding?’

  ‘Mukobo got this far by staying hidden,’ Brice said. ‘Posing as one of your own security detail to protect a decoy is an old trick.’

  ‘Yeah, I saw The Phantom Menace. And, y’know, I’ve done security work for a living.’

  ‘I know.’

  Eddie snorted. ‘Course you bloody do, you’ve memorised my file.’

  ‘Hired by Norwegian industrialist Kristian Frost to act as bodyguard for Dr Nina Wilde in 2008 during her search for the lost city of Atlantis, and married her three years later,’ Brice recited as Eddie continued with his observations.

  ‘I’m seeing something of a pattern,’ Alderley cut in with a smile.

  ‘Since meeting her,’ Brice continued, ‘you and Dr Wilde have discovered several major archaeological sites – as well as averting a number of biological and chemical terror attacks, stopping a missile strike on the G20 summit, and preventing your ex-wife from detonating a nuclear device in New York City. James Bond would be proud.’

  ‘If it’s the Roger Moore Bond, that’s good,’ said Eddie. ‘Raised eyebrows and quips, that’s all I want from a spy – ay up, hold on.’ The smoker and one of the guards hurried to the front doors. Another man appeared, issuing instructions.

  A tablet computer was attached to the binoculars by a fibre-optic cable, relaying what Eddie was seeing; Brice snatched it up. ‘The man who just came out is a driver,’ he noted. ‘They must be going—’ He broke off as his phone trilled. ‘Brice. Yes? Okay, get me the translation as soon as you can.’

  ‘GCHQ?’ asked Alderley.

  ‘Yes. Provone just called. We’ll know what he said in a minute.’

  ‘Maybe he wants to meet Mukobo,’ said Eddie, still watching the villa. More men emerged from the house. All wore similar outfits: dark slacks, white shirts under dark jackets, mirrored sunglasses. Another old trick, making it harder for onlookers to tell the guards from the client—

  ‘Wait, wait, that’s him!’ he gasped. ‘That was Mukobo, I’m sure of it!’

  ‘Which one?’ snapped Brice, staring at the tablet.

  ‘I’ve lost him.’ The briefly glimpsed face had vanished in the crowd. ‘Short hair, he was putting on his sunglasses.’

  ‘They’ve all got short hair and sunglasses,’ Alderley complained.

  Eddie tried to find him again, but with no luck. The men split up to board the pair of vehicles. ‘I couldn’t see which truck he got into.’

  ‘Orders, sir?’ the watcher asked Brice.

  Brice was about to reply when his phone rang again. ‘That was the translator – they’re meeting Provone,’ he reported. ‘The papers are ready.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Alderley.

  ‘He just said “the place we arranged”. We’ll have to follow them – once he gets a new passport, there’s nothing stopping him from leaving the country.’

  The group hurried back downhill. ‘Why don’t you stake out the airport and grab him there?’ said Eddie. ‘I can spot him for you.’

  ‘Tenerife has two airports,’ Alderley pointed out. ‘You’ve got many talents –
well, a few – but I don’t think bilocation is one of them.’

  ‘You’re bloody spies! You must have cameras and satellite links. Or just put me on FaceTime, for God’s sake.’ He gestured at the watcher’s tablet. ‘You recorded everything, right? Let me find a frame showing him, then email it to passport control. They’ll catch him.’

  ‘Not an option,’ snapped Brice as they neared the cars. ‘This operation is both low profile and solely British. We don’t want Mukobo being picked up by some dago customs officer.’

  Eddie was surprised by the MI6 man’s use of the racist insult. ‘Did I go through a time portal back to the 1970s?’ He shook his head. ‘You bloody spooks think every other country’s our rival – or our enemy. Even our allies!’

  ‘In this business, the only people you can trust are the ones you totally control,’ was the dismissive reply.

  ‘You must have a really healthy marriage,’ said Eddie mockingly, though he then noticed that Brice wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. The discovery did not surprise him. ‘Anyway, Mukobo’s on the Red List; he should be arrested on sight.’

  ‘That’s not the mission objective.’ They re-entered the Peugeot, Brice taking the wheel, as the Removal Men jumped into their Land Rover.

  ‘Then what is?’

  ‘All you need to know is that our capturing Mukobo serves British interests. And I expect you to help us achieve that.’ Brice reversed into a turn, kicking up dust, then took out a walkie-talkie. ‘We’ve got to catch up before they reach the main road,’ he barked into it. ‘But don’t get too close.’ The men following in the Discovery responded with curt affirmation.

  The villa came back into view as they emerged from behind the ridge. The two SUVs, identical black Chevrolet Suburbans, drove through its tall gates and started downhill. ‘This road, does it meet up with theirs?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Yeah, about a mile away,’ said Alderley.

  ‘We passed a freeway entrance coming up here. They could be going anywhere on the island.’

  ‘They won’t get away from us,’ Brice said, before adding snidely: ‘And “freeway”? You really have lived in the States for too long.’

  ‘I’m remembering why I left in the first place,’ Eddie shot back.

  ‘Just remember whose side you’re on – to whom you pledged loyalty.’ Brice swung the car back on to asphalt and accelerated down the hill. The Discovery followed. Both Suburbans were ahead on the other side of the dry valley. He judged their speed, then raised the walkie-talkie again. ‘Okay, we have clear sight. Ease off.’

  The Land Rover dropped back. The two roads met, Mukobo’s little convoy heading towards the heat-shimmering sprawl of Playa de las Américas below. Their pursuers kept pace, until—

  ‘They’re splitting up!’ Alderley said in alarm. The second Suburban peeled away to the right as the leading vehicle continued straight on.

  ‘We’ll have to do the same,’ said Brice, lifting the radio again.

  ‘Wait,’ Eddie said. ‘The second SUV had more guys in it, didn’t it?’

  ‘Four in the first, five in the second, yes.’

  ‘We should follow that one. Even when you use decoys, you still need bodyguards, plus the client. And I don’t think Mukobo’d short-staff his own protection.’

  Brice spoke into the walkie-talkie. ‘Follow the first vehicle. We’ll take the second.’

  ‘What? Oh, for . . .’ Eddie said, exasperated. ‘I know what I’m bloody doing! Mukobo’s in the second car – and now we’ll be outnumbered!’

  ‘I can’t take the chance that you’re wrong,’ Brice replied. He guided the Peugeot after the second SUV as the Land Rover continued onwards. ‘We need to cover both vehicles.’

  ‘What’s the point of me being here if you’re not going to listen?’

  ‘I’ll say it again, Chase: the only reason you’re here is to identify Mukobo. Just shut up and do what I tell you.’

  ‘Arsehole,’ Eddie growled, immediately annoyed with himself for breaking his own promise. ‘Was that British enough for you?’

  Brice glowered at him in the mirror, then returned his attention to the road. The highway came into view ahead, but the Suburban’s destination was closer. ‘Are they going shopping?’ said Alderley, incredulous, as it entered a mall’s car park.

  ‘Mukobo must be wanting to buy a handbag,’ Eddie joked.

  Brice drew in after the Chevrolet, keeping his distance. It took a handicapped space near the entrance. He continued past it, stopping a couple of rows away. The three Englishmen watched as the Suburban’s occupants emerged. ‘Is Mukobo with them?’

  Eddie squinted into the bright sunlight. ‘Can’t tell.’ All five men were facing away from him as they crossed the parking lot.

  ‘We’ll have to follow them. Don’t get too close, Chase,’ Brice warned as they got out. ‘You remember him – so he might remember you.’

  ‘How close did you get to him when you met?’ Alderley asked.

  Eddie held his hands a foot apart. ‘About this close.’

  ‘Ah. So he will remember you, then.’

  ‘I dunno, I had more hair then.’ He grinned, then regarded the shopping centre. It was fronted by a large wooden portico in an ersatz-Asian style, the name Siam Mall emblazoned across it. The five men went inside.

  ‘We can’t lose them,’ said Brice. He made a call. ‘Snatch team, we’re at the Siam Mall. Will advise if we locate Mukobo.’

  The mall’s interior was considerably cooler than outside. A large supermarket was on the left, smaller shops to the right, but the men they were tracking were ascending an escalator directly ahead. The rearmost of the group turned to survey the scene behind him. ‘He’s not Mukobo,’ Eddie said. ‘So he’s one of the other four.’

  ‘If he’s here at all,’ said Brice. They started up the escalator. A breeze blew in from above, the top floor only under partial cover. There were a couple of shoppers between them and the rear guard, whose mirrored gaze remained fixed on those below – until he looked around as a line of fountains on the ground floor gushed to life. The distracted man smiled at the sight.

  Eddie pretended to watch the aquatic display as the escalator carried its passengers higher. The five men reached the top and headed left. When their three tails arrived at the upper floor, Brice went right, going back around the escalators towards the mall’s front. Alderley and Eddie trailed him, surreptitiously watching their targets move out into bright sunshine.

  A display of several Hyundai cars had been set up beneath the canopy. Eddie pretended to examine a Santa Fe SUV. ‘You need to call the other car in.’

  ‘We still don’t know if Mukobo’s one of them.’ Brice waited until the last man passed out of sight behind a shop, then followed.

  Eddie waved away an over-attentive salesman and went after him, Alderley in his wake. ‘I know I’m just some stupid squaddie and you’re an Oxbridge super-spy, but trust me, he’s here.’

  ‘I need proof, not instinct.’ Brice halted at the shop’s corner. In the far corner of a broad terrace were several gazebos, covered outdoor seating for a restaurant. The five men headed for them. A figure waved from one of the shelters. ‘They’re meeting someone.’

  ‘Must be Provone,’ said Alderley.

  ‘Provone’s got mates with him,’ Eddie observed, seeing other figures within the gazebo. The intense sunlight reduced them to silhouettes. ‘Bodyguards?’

  ‘Probably. I doubt he trusts Mukobo any more than Mukobo trusts him.’

  The Yorkshireman glanced back towards the escalators. The mall was not busy, but there were still shoppers milling about. ‘I don’t like this. If something kicks off here, civvies’re gonna get hurt. Call your boys in so they can pick up Mukobo once he’s back outside.’

  ‘For the last time,’ Brice snapped, ‘we aren’t going to do anything until we confirm that Muko
bo is here. All right?’

  ‘Okay, then,’ said Eddie, looking into the shop, ‘I’ll get you confirmation. Alderley, you got money?’

  ‘Er, yes?’ said Alderley, surprised.

  ‘Good. Give me fifty euros.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I can buy a bloody lottery ticket. Just give it to me!’ He held out a hand, waiting until the older man reluctantly produced a banknote, then snatched it from him and entered the shop.

  Two minutes later, he emerged again. Brice stared at him with wordless contempt. ‘Oh, God,’ sighed Alderley.

  ‘What?’ Eddie protested. ‘It’s the perfect disguise. No undercover cop’d wear this. Or spy.’

  ‘No sane human would wear that.’ The Yorkshireman had donned a wide-brimmed fabric sun hat emblazoned with images of SpongeBob SquarePants, a Hawaiian shirt exploding in rainbow colours and a pair of oversized sunglasses with bright cyan frames. ‘You look like . . . like Elton John vomiting a packet of Skittles.’

  ‘So, a tourist.’ He took out his phone. ‘Okay, I’ll be right back – and I’ll have your confirmation,’ he told Brice as he started towards the tents.

  ‘Er . . . my change?’ Alderley asked hopefully.

  Eddie ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on the silhouetted figures. Mukobo – he was certain the warlord was here – and his bodyguards were with another four men, one from each group standing to keep watch on the mall. Mirror shades turned towards him, but he kept going, heading for the terrace’s edge. Both guards lost interest, dismissing him as a harmless tourist.

  Relieved, Eddie held up his phone and slowly turned, pretending to take a panoramic photo of Playa de las Américas and the blue Atlantic beyond. From here, he could see more in the gazebo’s shadows. A Caucasian man – he assumed Provone – was talking, gesticulating with Mediterranean flourish. An open briefcase sat on the table. He still couldn’t tell which of Provone’s guests was Mukobo, though.

  The wind flapped at his hat. That gave him an excuse to turn away and face the gazebos directly as he secured his headgear. He regarded the seated men over his sunglasses. The farthest away was definitely not Mukobo, his face the wrong shape. The two nearest were too young, and too tall. That left . . .