by Greg Coppin
‘Noisy, aren’t you,’ I said.
‘Oh yeah, typical Limey, please and thank you and don’t speak until you’re spoken to and - .’
He shut up then because I’d punched him in the side of his face.
‘I did hint,’ I said.
‘Goddam bastard,’ he said, massaging the jaw on his right side.
‘I learned that one from your master.’
‘I don’t have no master.’
‘Ernesto Giuttieri. Truth be told, he’s got it down pat. I’m still an amateur, I’ll admit.’
‘Little choice, sonny.’
I pushed him against the wall and he sprawled and fell across some old dustbins and he clattered to the ground.
‘Jesus H - do you know what’s down here?’ he said, looking around horrified.
‘What’s the story?’ I asked. ‘What’s going to happen?’
‘I send you the invoice from the dry cleaners,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s gonna happen.’
‘You, Giuttieri and Thurton. What’s the plan?’
‘The plan? The plan is democracy, my friend. Why don’t we just wait for the voters to decide.’ He looked at the ground and his hands with disgust.
‘Thanks to your scumbag tricks, it’s all but certain that Thurton will get it.’
‘Couldn’t be that he’s the best man for the job…’
‘No, it couldn’t,’ I said.
‘Your opinion. And your opinion doesn’t matter.’
‘Why did you set the bomb off?’
‘Because I needed somewhere to toast my marshmallows.’
‘Is that an admission of guilt?’
‘No it’s a light-hearted comment thrown out during a situation of anxiety, your honour.’
‘On your feet.’
‘I was on my feet. Then you goddam threw me down here. You wanna make your mind up about - .’
Grabbed his shirtfront and yanked him up onto his soles.
‘Go on and on, don’t you?’ I said.
‘Yeah, I’m like one of them bunnies,’ he said.
‘Hopefully the boiled kind.’ I pushed him forward down the lane.
‘Gee, aren’t we funny,’ he said. ‘The famous Brit sense of humour.’
‘I get it, you don’t like the British. Well, for your information I’m half French.’
He laughed. ‘Goddam it.’ He carried on laughing. And then he laughed some more.
‘Not happy with the French either, I take it?’
I thought he was going to say something then, but he didn’t. He laughed instead.
Tyres screeched to a halt at the end of the lane, behind us. I swung my head round, a 4x4 was blocking the entrance. Two men in dark clothing got out.
More tyres screeched. This time at the other end of the lane. Another 4x4 blocked that entrance.
‘Boom,’ Mortlake said, grinning.
That was quick. Mortlake must’ve had a tracking device on his laptop or something. But I wasn’t about to get rid of it. We needed everything he had.
‘In you come, fellas,’ Mortlake called out in triumph. ‘Say goodbye to - .’ Smashed him in the face, grabbed his collar, pointed the gun clearly at his head for the benefit of the newcomers and marched him to the first of the cars I’d seen, a small, old VW, parked about ten feet away on our right. As I got nearer I saw it was right-hand drive.
‘Come any closer,’ I yelled out, ‘and I’ll kill him.’
I put a bullet in the side window of the VW and then brushed away enough of the shattered safety glass with my clothed arm to open the passenger door. I coshed Mortlake with the butt of the gun and his body slumped to the side. I grabbed his collar before he fell to the ground and pushed him into the passenger seat, lifted his legs in. I got in, climbed over his slumped body and quickly searched for the wires.
Not having a gun on either them or Mortlake allowed the heavies to think they could come for me. I could see in the rear-view mirror the two behind us, running towards the VW, guns up.
I was having trouble with the wires. Please god let me find the right ones. The men were getting very large in the mirror. They were getting close enough to try a safe potshot at me and -
Vroom…
The engine roared into life and I snapped the gear into reverse and floored the throttle and stayed low in the seat as we tore backwards and one of the men got a volley of bullets off that shattered the rear windscreen and went god knew where else, before the sickening crunch as the VW smashed into him and he was thrown upwards and somersaulted upside down into the brick wall on our right. The second of the two men was now on my left, reacting to his colleague’s demise and I brought the gun up past Mortlake’s unconscious face and fired two shots through the already shattered side window and the heavy clutched his throat and then sunk to his knees with a horrible look on his face, blood streaming through his fingers.
The two men in front couldn’t yet fire at us, fearing that from that distance they could hit Mortlake. They weren’t running towards us either. They were clearly wary of what I was going to do next. Glad that was the case. Because what was I going to do next? I thought about trying to ram them, but they would be wise to that now. I thought of trying to get the whole way down the lane and ramming the 4x4. But the VW was no match at all for the 4x4 and if I did try it the 4x4 would remain where it was and Mortlake and I would be slowly oozing out of a small crushed metal cube.
I did the only thing left. I hit reverse again. We sped back up the alley, away from the two men in front. When we were about to hit the first of the 4x4s I slammed on the brakes. I jumped out, pointing my gun back down the alley. I marched over to the passenger side and dragged Mortlake out, his shoes smacking on the tarmac. Pointing my gun at his head I shouted, ‘Drop your guns. Drop your guns or I shoot him.’
They looked at one another. Mortlake was valuable to Giuttieri. They’d obviously received orders to not endanger him.
‘You know we can’t let you go,’ one of them shouted back.
But we all knew their opportunity to do anything was narrowing drastically.
‘I’ll shoot him,’ I said again.
‘You won’t shoot him. If you do, we will kill you. You must appreciate that.’
I did. I backed up to the 4x4, Mortlake’s heels dragging along the ground.
I had no intention of shooting him, of course. We needed him.
I was at the passenger door of the 4x4 and I quickly glanced inside. Damn. No keys in the ignition. This was a modern vehicle and I wouldn’t be able to do the old trick with the wires. Neither could I exactly stroll back down to get the keys from the downed men.
‘Leave,’ I said to the two approaching men.
‘You know we can’t do that either,’ one of them said.
I was holding Mortlake’s unconscious body in front of me, as I pointed my gun back down the alley at the two men.
‘Leave,’ I said. ‘Is he really worth it?’
They knew what I was saying.
Neither of them backed down. Neither of them left.
I had given them the opportunity, you can’t say I hadn’t.
If I left them, they would keep coming after me.
I fired once, the heavy on the left staggered back, and he dropped to the tarmac, his gun clattering across the ground. He lay on the ground with his arms outstretched.
The second heavy couldn’t return fire at me, because he would hit Mortlake. But he did fire. At the 4x4 behind me. He released a volley of bullets that tore into the front of the car. He was disabling it, so I couldn’t use it to escape. By the noise and the smoke he was doing a good job. Until one bullet silenced him and his gun.
The 4x4 behind me was in no condition to use, even if I got the keys.
Mortlake’s left hand slowly rose up and he bent his head and carefully felt the back of his head. He had come to.
Noise would soon come from his mouth.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
We continued down the s
treet. My hand gripped his collar. There was some people about now. Two cute women in tight clothes and a cool dude of a man, out for the evening. They looked at us a little funny and giggled after we’d gone past.
‘You know what they’re laughing at?’ Mortlake asked. ‘They’re laughing at you, Mister Jean-Luc Pierre Twistleton Smythe. You and that goddam smell of cucumber sandwiches and garlic you’re infesting everyone’s nose with.’
‘Now who’s the comedian?’
‘That’ll be me, sonny. Here all week.’
I couldn’t go back to the safe house. I was carrying any number of tracking devices in Mortlake’s laptop bag and I had no intention of leading Giuttieri’s men to Lucia.
‘Aranda,’ she said. Her voice sounded tired over the phone.
‘Warita, it’s Luc.’
‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve got Mortlake. And his laptop.’
‘What do you mean, you’ve got Mortlake?’
‘I mean he’s standing beside me.’
‘Not out of choice,’ Mortlake chipped in.
‘You kidnapped him?’ Warita asked.
‘Call it a citizen’s arrest, if you’d prefer. He tried to kill me.’
‘Goddam lies.’
‘Right. His laptop could be good news,’ Warita said.
‘Yes. It’s also got a tracking device. I’ve fought off a few of his men. But more will come after me.’
‘Ain’t that the truth,’ said Mortlake.
‘I need somewhere to go.’
‘Should’ve gone before you came out.’
‘Luc. It’s chaos around here at the moment. Because we were security detailed to look after Falcao, and now Falcao is facing a murder charge… well, everything’s a bit heavy.’
‘Right. Sorry about that.’
‘Yeah.’ She went silent for a couple of seconds. ‘Okay. Look. Maybe there’s a place I can take you to. I have a loyal team I can call on.’
‘When we go to this place, they will come for us,’ I said.
Mortlake nodded slowly, his eyebrow raised.
‘We’ll have to be ready then. Where are you? We’ll bring you in.’
***
The place Warita was going to take us to was a small facility near a place called More Tomorrow. We stood in the shadowed doorway of a grocery store. Two vehicles turned the corner and headed in our direction. I tensed, one hand on the gun, when I recognised Warita in the lead car. The vehicles halted and Warita and Ramos got out.
‘Luc,’ Warita said, nodding at me.
‘Warita, Ramos, thanks for this.’
‘Not a problem.’ Warita glanced at Mortlake. ‘You’re not going to like where we’re going,’ she said.
‘You not gonna get there, sweetheart.’
‘You’re involved in what happened to Julio Falcao, aren’t you?’ Ramos said to Mortlake.
‘Yeah, I heard about that,’ Mortlake said. He shook his head. ‘Disgusting. Man sounds like a psychopath.’
Ramos’s mouth screwed up and he unleashed a right hook into Mortlake’s left jaw. Mortlake slumped, crashing to the pavement. He lay sprawled on the ground, out cold.
‘Not his day,’ I said.
‘Julio Falcao has a family,’ Ramos said. I nodded.
Warita turned to me. ‘Give me the laptop.’
I hesitated slightly.
‘I’ve got an electronics expert in the vehicle,’ Warita said. ‘He can do something with the tracking device.’
Warita took the briefcase and I dragged the unconscious Mortlake over to the waiting Special Branch car. I was in the rear car with Warita and the electronics expert, a tiny chap called Earl. Ramos was in the lead car with three more armed Special Branch officers.
‘Okay, go,’ Warita said into her radio.
Both vehicles pulled out and headed off at speed for the secure facility.
The electronics expert was sitting up front in the passenger seat, alongside the driver. Warita and I were in the back, Mortlake slumped in between us, his head lolling.
The electronics expert announced that he had deactivated the tracking device on the laptop. There had been no others.
‘Well done,’ I said.
‘Now find out what he’s got on there,’ Warita said.
The expert attached a lead from his own laptop into Mortlake’s laptop. He spent a good few minutes tapping away on the computer keys.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’m in.’
‘So what’s he got?’ Warita asked.
‘Cool yourself,’ he said, pushing his thin metal glasses back up. ‘I’m inside, that’s all. I haven’t opened any doors yet.’
I was keeping one eye on the laptop and the other on the roads around us. Even with the tracker deactivated, we had to expect them to come. To storm us. We had Mortlake and his laptop. They wouldn’t let that remain.
‘Yass. Round of applause for Earl the man. I’m in the bedroom and caught a glimpse of…,’ he glanced back at Warita, ‘something.’
‘What have you got?’ Warita said with exaggerated patience.
‘Day One.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s a file labelled ‘Day One’.’
Warita looked across at me. ‘Of Thurton’s administration?’
‘What does it say?’ I asked Earl.
‘Erm… I dunno,’ Earl said. ‘It’s… looks like a map.’
‘A map? What of?’
‘Let me have a look,’ Warita said.
Warita leaned forward and grabbed the laptop. ‘Alta Verapaz. It’s a province of Guatemala. What’s that got to do with his first day?’
‘What else does it say?’ I asked.
The electronics expert was a bit huffy as he took the laptop back and got into position. He tapped away, hunched over the keys.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I don’t even know what this is.’
Warita sat forward again, looking over the man’s shoulder. ‘Jesus. That’s a plan of a tactical ballistic missile.’
‘We got something else here,’ Earl said.
‘What?’
‘Looks like a speech. It says ‘from Prime Minister Robert Thurton II’.’
Warita raised an eyebrow. ‘Read it,’ she said.
Earl cleared his throat. ‘People of Belize. It has been my unfortunate task that my first action on becoming Prime Minister has been to defend our great nation.
‘Shortly after eleven o’clock this morning I sanctioned the Belizean Defence Force to launch six surface to surface missiles on our neighbouring aggressor, Guatemala.
‘The missiles were aimed at a terrorist organisation in Cobán. This was an act of self-defence. I can report that our actions were successful in destroying the operating cell that had the destruction of the sovereign state of Belize as its goal.’
Warita looked up. She looked at me. Her eyes were wide.
‘Cobán is the city where Giuttieri’s sister was murdered,’ I said.
‘Six missiles? He’ll destroy virtually the entire city.’
I was nodding. ‘Yes. And I’m guessing that’s what he wants.’
‘All because of his dead sister?’
‘This is it, isn’t it,’ I said. ‘This is what it’s all been about for Giuttieri. This is his ultimate goal.’
‘The idiots will kill hundreds. And start a war.’
And then light flooded the interior of the car and we looked behind and saw the headlights of four large vehicles storming our way.
***
We tried to outrun them, but we knew we wouldn’t be able to make it to the facility before they got to us. Warita ordered both vehicles to fan out and we stormed down the street, side by side. Warita threw a carbine sub-machine gun at me and we wound the windows down and leaned out, pointing the weapons back down the street.
The pursuers shot their own windscreens out and armed men started firing at us. We were on Constitution Drive in Belmopan, a large wide strip of road.
Glass was shatt
ering all around me, bullet holes were being punched into the bodywork of the vehicles, the noise and the fury was deafening. They weren’t holding back much. If there ever had been an order not to endanger Mortlake, then they were either ignoring it or it had now been changed. My guess was that they were aware that we’d accessed the laptop and had now been told to retrieve or destroy that laptop at all costs.
Warita and I, machine carbines in our hands, returned fire, volley after volley, back down the street.
‘You think we can hold them off?’ Warita asked me.
My sights were on one of the attackers. I loosed off two rounds. He suddenly shot back into his seat, his arms flung wide, his assault rifle thrown into the head of his adjacent colleague.
‘Yes,’ I said. I was entertaining no other outcome.
His colleague shook his head a couple of times and then resumed firing at us.
I moved my sights to the right. The driver. I was lining his moustachioed face up. I was about to squeeze the trigger when I almost fell out of the window and had to grab the hand hold above the door. I then realised that we’d taken a right turning. At speed. I waited until the vehicle followed, and there it was, swinging round the turning. I got moustache man back in my sights, he was a calm looking chap and as Ramos’s team shredded the adjacent vehicle with a pounding of bullets I gently squeezed the trigger and the calm man suddenly looked surprised, but there was no eyebrow to raise above his new third eye and his vehicle lurched to the right and into the path of the adjacent vehicle and there was a crashing sound and the front car tipped over and rolled and the vehicle behind tried to take evasive action and we all now trained our guns on this rear car, the wounded animal, we weren’t showing mercy, we had drawn blood, we were going for the kill.
Volley after volley, pounding into the car. Shredding it. I stopped to reload and quickly resumed.
‘Dammit,’ said the electronics expert, who was huddled up on the floor in front, still working on his computer. ‘What the hell?’
We were all pretty preoccupied, but Warita managed a ‘What?’
‘It’s gone.’
‘What’s gone?’
‘Everything.’
Amid the deafening chink-chink-chink sound we were making with our machine guns, we both nevertheless turned our heads a little at that.
‘What’s he saying?’ I asked.
