by Arno Joubert
Perreira yelled at the waitress to bring him his breakfast and to turn the air conditioner down.
Dublin, Ireland
Callahan swirled the cognac in the glass then sniffed the caramelized nose. “One thing the French were good for,” he mumbled.
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a tiny sip of the amber liquid. He swallowed painfully. It warmed his throat and trickled down, smooth and viscid like honey. He took another sip.
Callahan sat in his study, or his public library, as he liked to refer to it. Tens of thousands of books were all filed neatly, stacked fifteen shelves high, all the way up to the patterned ceiling. A ladder rolled around on a track, offering a foothold to get to any part of the shelves around three walls of the expansive hall. In the center of the study stood a colossal desk made from Zimbabwean teak. The table was an antique, heavy and polished to a bright sheen. Papers and mementos were scattered over the desk. A chromed Beretta acted as a paperweight to keep the largest stack down, and a wire garrote hung as a painful reminder over the shade of an ornate Victorian lamp.
In a corner of the room, Callahan sat in a leather recliner, admiring the fine legs of his drink, holding it to the light of the fire. The room smelled of cigar smoke and leather and opulence. Callahan loved his luxuries.
Callahan picked up a remote and switched on an LCD TV. He flicked through the channels unenthusiastically. He stopped when an image caught his eye and he flipped back a couple of channels. Sky News. Bruce Bryden was on the television, all smug, conducting a television interview somewhere in the African bush. Perreira had briefed him on the shipment that had been lost, and here Bryden was sitting in the open, still alive, all smiles.
Callahan picked up his tablet from a side table, opened a browser, and logged into his personal bank account. Five million dollars had been transferred. He would need it all to get the resources Perreira had requested. He trusted Perreira; the man had never let him down before. But the resources he required were difficult to come by. Maybe Metcalfe would be able to help him out; he should get Roebuck involved.
A soft rap on the door, and Callahan peered over his shoulder. A blonde nurse was standing in the doorway. “Are you ready for your treatment, sir?” she asked, eyelashes fluttering.
Callahan switched off the TV and waved her in with a smile. “Nurse Angelique, you're late.” He pretended to scowl. “I was wondering where you were. I need my treatment to be on time.”
The nurse entered the room, pulling a trolley with an oxygen bottle and mask behind her. The top two buttons of her dress were unbuttoned, revealing a lacy black bra.
“Sorry I'm late, Mr. Callahan. I had to run some errands for the hospital. You know how demanding they can be.”
Callahan smiled. Ha! The hospital. “Sure, no problem, my girl. At least you came. I've been waiting in anticipation.”
She made a fuss of arranging the trolley in front of him, bending forward to open the valve, and fastening the tube to the oxygen mask. He admired her bottom and legs.
“Do you have the cash, sir?” she asked, turning around to face him.
Callahan removed a one hundred euro note from his breast pocket. “Have I ever not, nurse Angelique?” he asked with a wink.
She plucked the bill from his fingers and put it in her bra. “Never, sir,” she smiled and unzipped his pants.
She fondled him, but he gently took her hand away. “I’ve brought you a present,” he said and bent over, picking up a crop from the floor. He glanced up and grinned, motioning with the crop. “Get undressed.”
Angelique’s eyes widened momentarily, then she slowly undid the buttons to her dress and dropped it to the floor. She undid the clip to her bra, slipped it off, and tossed it onto his lap.
“Kneel here,” he said and tossed a cushion to the ground.
She kneeled in front of him then looked up hesitantly. He stroked the top of her breasts with the tongue of the crop then moved down to her nipples. He slapped her nipples, first softly, then hard.
Angelique flinched. “Ouch.”
“Shut up. Get down on all fours.”
She did as she was told. He smacked the crop down hard on her bottom. After the forth smack, she cried out in pain. She sobbed and looked up at Callahan. “You’re hurting me!”
He grinned. “Hurting you?” He pursed his lips and slapped his palm with the shaft of the crop. “You do not know what real pain is.”
Angelique glanced at Callahan and swallowed. Callahan particularly enjoyed the way her lower lip trembled. This was going to be a fun evening.
Barbie Spencer slipped into the alley and entered through the back door of the Temptations escort agency. Gardo, her pimp, did not like the special girls mingling with the walk-in clientele. And she was a special girl.
This agency was different from the others she had worked for. They specialized in what Gardo called “special needs cases.” They had a diverse client base. Each one of them had an ailment of some kind. Palsy, paraplegics, quadriplegics. One client had Down syndrome. All of them were rich, and all of them had their own special needs.
The Temptations agency satisfied those needs. You had to know what you were doing with a quadriplegic. The ladies received professional training in the different afflictions and how to treat their clientele properly. Gardo chose his girls well. He wanted tender, gentle girls who genuinely cared for his clients.
Carrie Enhardt looked up as Barbie barged through the door. She sat at a metal desk in the corner. The table was piled with papers, magazines, and makeup. An old-fashioned black phone stood on the desk. “Hi, hon, how was your gig?”
Carrie was Temptations’ receptionist. She also did the bookkeeping. And when the girls needed one, she was a shoulder to cry on.
Barbie tossed her handbag on a battered sofa. She stripped naked and threw her nurse’s uniform and underwear in a large front loader industrial washing machine. She turned the dial and the machine filled with water. “Same old. I honestly thought the guy was going to keel over today. I had to get another oxygen cylinder from the car.”
“Hoo boy, sounds like you made his day. Would you like some coffee?” Carrie asked.
Barbie put her hand to her throat and covered her breasts with her arm. “He hit me.”
“He what? Where?”
She turned around and showed Carrie her buttocks. Large blue welts were turning green and yellow. “He used a horse whip, the type jockeys use.”
“A crop?”
Barbie nodded.
“Why?” Carried asked.
“He was into that kind of stuff,” she said and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the palms of her hands.
Carrie shuffled towards Barbie with outstretched arms. She wore a pair of slippers and what looked like an oversized, shapeless white frock. “You’re not going back to that guy.”
Barbie hugged Carrie, resting her cheek on her shoulder. “I’m never going back. He’s taking it too far.”
Carrie pushed her away then shuffled back to the desk and said, “I’m going to tell Gardo. He’ll rip the guy’s balls out.”
Polana Hotel
Maputo, Mozambique
Alexa Guerra gazed over the sparkling infinity pool to the emerald and blue Indian Ocean beyond. Perspiring waiters hurried by in tuxedos and bow ties, balancing trays filled with colorful cocktail glasses above their shoulders. She tucked a windblown wisp of hair behind her ear and sighed. She was bored.
She turned around and sauntered towards the bar, tightening the knot of the multicolored see-through sarong she was wearing over her red bikini-bottom. She ignored the furtive glances she received as every step revealed a beautifully-formed bare leg.
Alexa put her dark glasses on the counter, scraped the chair back, and plopped onto it. A tanned guy with blonde streaks in his brown hair sauntered over from behind the bar.
“Surfing’s good?” she asked, admiring his tanned skin.
He smiled back, probably used to the attention. “Nah, n
o time for that anymore. Lifesaving in the mornings and bar duty till late. Got a baby coming, and I need to save for the future.”
“You married?” Alexa asked, feigning disappointment.
He nodded. “Yep, six months ago.” He flicked a gold band on a leather thong around his neck. “Anything to drink?”
“Damn. Best ones are always taken,” she said smiling. “A Long Island, please.”
He grinned and turned away to prepare her drink.
Alexa swiveled in her chair and leaned back onto the bar, scanning the sunbathing crowd draped around the pool area. She noticed a waiter trudge purposefully towards her, carrying a cordless phone on a silver tray. He offered her the phone with a quick bow. “Miss Guerra, I have an urgent call from a Mr. Allen.”
She scooped it up and flashed him a smile. “Thanks.” She lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hello, Miss Guerra, this is Neil Allen from the Barracuda Dive Shop in Phi-Phi.” He sounded annoyed.
“Hello, Mr. Allen. Do you have any more information for me?” she asked, pleased to hear his voice. She cupped the receiver and thanked the barman as he placed the drink next to her.
“In fact, I do. The BC had a small cut on the bottom cuff,” he said and paused for effect. “A deliberate cut.”
“A cut?”
“Correct. It didn’t before the dive. I personally checked your equipment in the boat. Who was your dive buddy?”
Alexa took a sip from her drink. “I don’t know him; I think his name was Reg or something. We chatted briefly and agreed to buddy up.” She grinned. “To save you the trouble of looking after a newbie like me.”
“Very thoughtful of you, but it wouldn’t have made any difference, I do it all the time.”
“Help maidens in distress?” she asked, enjoying his exasperated tone.
He sighed. “You know what I mean. I thought you knew this Reg guy. You were speaking in French; I thought you two were a couple.”
“Because we both spoke French?” she asked.
“Yeah, a stupid assumption, I guess. Did he disappear during the dive?”
Alexa played along. “Not at all, I was behind him the entire time. Until my air ran out, that is.”
“Something doesn’t make sense. Let me look into it, see what I can figure out.”
“That would be great. I’m diving the Inhaca reef tomorrow. Why don’t you send me an email and I’ll reply with my details, in case I’m not available?” Alexa ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “I’m anxious for this to be solved.”
“Certainly. What’s your address?”
He was taking this seriously. She gave him the details and bid him good-bye. She handed the phone back to the waiter and leaned back onto the bar. She hoped to see Mr. Allen soon.
Alexa drew the curtains back and opened a window. The sun shimmered on the ocean. Tourists were sunbathing on the beach and splashing around in the waves. She ambled back to the desk, flopped into the chair, and opened the email client on her Macbook. One of the messages was from Neil.
From: Barracuda Dive master
Sent: 24 September 10:01 AM
To: [email protected]
Subject: Stop bullshitting me!
Miss Guerra,
I went back to our dive site to recover my mask. I also found a knife buried in the sand. You had it on you before the dive, but the knife was gone after. It’s what you were searching for, wasn't it?
Three questions:
1. Who is B.B.?
2. Who needs a Mossad issued army knife in a marine reserve on their first dive?
3. Why did you cut your BC?
Stop wasting my time.
Neil Allen
She hit the reply button and typed:
OK, Neil, I admit I cut my jacket. And I also admit I’m not a rookie diver. As a matter of fact, I qualified in the French Navy and have logged more than seven-hundred dives. I needed to see how you handled yourself down there. I was impressed. I want to offer you a job.
Regards
Alexa
She waited two minutes and received a reply.
“Skype me. Use my email address.”
She copied his email address into the Skype search box and double-clicked on his avatar. Her request was accepted within a minute. She clicked on the dial icon.
“What job?”
She twirled her hair around a finger. “We’ll get to that later. You will be working with my dad and me.”
“Do I know him?” he asked, seemingly interested. She guessed he needed the cash.
“Bruce Bryden,” she said. She waited for the recollection to follow.
“Colonel Bruce Bryden. Israeli intelligence?” Neil asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Alexa smiled. “Yes. You have met him before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, you could say we’ve met before.” It sounded like he wanted to say something more, but he hesitated.
“Well, he thinks you’re the man for the job.” Alexa leaned back in her chair, enjoying the uncomfortable silence. “But I hardly know you at all.”
“Where are you?” he asked.
Alexa pumped a fist in the air. “In Maputo, Mozambique. I’ll send your flight details to you.” She opened a browser on her laptop and typed in the URL to an online booking agent. “I assume you will be able to take a couple of days off?”
Neil grunted something that sounded like “I guess.”
Alexa smiled. “Good-bye, Mr. Allen.” She disconnected the call.
She leaned back in her chair. At last, something to look forward to.
CHAPTER TWO
Present Day
Maputo, Mozambique
Neil Allen crumpled up his towel and T-shirt and tossed them onto the sand. He dropped his dark glasses on top. It had been a long flight. He had booked into the Polana hotel and headed straight for the beach; he needed to get rid of some excess energy. And he had a date.
He scanned the beach with squinted eyes. The coastline was packed with vacationers young and old, splashing and diving in the lukewarm waves of the Indian Ocean. Some were lounging beneath straw umbrellas, slopping themselves with sun screen.
Neil kicked off his sandals and bounced over the scorching sand towards the sea. He sloshed through the water, making his way deeper towards the larger breakers. He dove in, allowing the wave crest to fizzle over his body, and came back up for air in a trough behind the surf break. He swam deeper, rolled onto his back, and paddled, floating in the vast expanse. The offshore rip pulled him in an easterly direction and angled his body downstream, paddling with his arms to keep him in the direction of the flow.
The beach moved to his left as he drifted towards a tangle of seaweed that he gripped onto, guesstimating this was close enough to the predetermined meeting spot.
Neil noticed a female surfer stand up on the crest of a wave. She wore a white Second Skin and red board shorts, moving forward on her longboard and then back, riding the wave gracefully, willing her board farther. She dove into the apex as the wave broke, came up for air, and slipped back onto the board. She paddled his way.
He studied her as she approached, noticing features he hadn’t before. She had olive skin and her dark hair was plastered back. He guessed it would be shoulder length when dry. She had high cheekbones and full lips. When she was ten yards away, she sat up on the board and drifted towards him, paddling with her hands and feet against the stream. She had mesmerizing eyes, green and sparkling from the reflection on the water. She was stunning.
“Hot, isn’t it?” she smiled. Rivulets ran down her forehead and cheeks. She crossed her arms, grabbed her Second Skin, and pulled it over her head. She wore a white bikini top that inched up high on her breasts. She rolled the Second Skin in a bundle and pulled her bikini top into place.
“Oops,” she laughed. Her deltoids were amazing, six packs. He guessed she worked out. Or she was an army lackey. He ha
d seen thousands of them, but none as beautiful.
She beamed at him. She had a confident aura, one hundred percent relaxed with herself and her surroundings. Neil paddled, feeling the lactic burn in his muscles.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Hop on.” She shifted farther back on the longboard.
He swam towards her, gripped the board with two hands, and pulled it between his legs. She laid back to keep her balance.
“Thanks,” he said when he was comfortably seated. “Tell me about your proposition.”
“Straight to the point,” she said and smiled, pulling her fingers through her hair. Her voice was subtly sensual and smooth.
“You’ve flown me halfway around the world. I guess this is important, no time to waste.”
She leaned forward, paddling the water with her hands. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Nope. I know nothing about you, and you seem to know everything about me. You first.”
She smiled, seemingly amused. “Captain Alexa Guerra, French Foreign Legion.” She looked at him, squinting in the sun.
“Bullshit.”
Alexa frowned, questioningly.
“There aren’t any women in the FFL. Never have been, never will be.” Neil prepared to jump back in the water. “Let's not waste each other’s time here, Miss Guerra.”
She grabbed his arm firmly. She was strong. “You are mistaken, Neil.” He turned to face her. “And please call me Alexa.” She released his arm. “I was the first female recruit to pass the Legion’s initiation test.” She smiled, leaning back on the board. “It helped that my dad was the Legion general’s best friend.”
Neil studied her. “Bryden’s your dad?”
Alexa nodded.
Neil thought about this and the puzzle clicked into place. “B.B. The inscription on the knife.” He leaned forward. “He tried to kill me, you know.”
