Counterpoint (35 page)

Sam told them that the man who had
hired Matt and his men, sent in another team to find out what had
happened to them, and why contact had been lost.

“They must have found their launch a
day after you abandoned it and were on your way home.”

“Who is behind all this?” Asked Max.
“There is no doubt it is Gregor Yeltsin. He is a well-known and
respected industrialist living in America, but he has reputed links
with the Russian Mafia. It appears he had been approached by Bill
Potter, the medic on the team. The deal was for Potter to let
Gregor know if we made a strike good enough to take over, then
Potter would be well paid for the information. It was then that
Gregor Yeltsin decided to destroy all traces of the survey team,
including Potter, when good progress reports were coming through.
However, Gregor was too late; we had already negotiated the mining
rights based on your invaluable reports. Well done, by the
way.”

“There is a lot of trouble going on as
we speak, sorting out what happened at the camp, but you two were
never there according to all records. Everyone thinks Matt Stone
killed everybody and just disappeared off the face of the
Earth.”

Max had decided to jam a giant spanner
in Gregor Yeltsin’s business machine to try to rebalance the scales
of justice for those men at the camp, who had been murdered. There
was no legal link between Yeltsin and the murders, but it fitted
together well enough in Max’s mind, based on the usual impeccable
evidence from Sam. Carla agreed.

Because neither Max or Carla had visas
for America and did not want to leave any trail back to them, the
right papers were acquired from the criminal underworld within four
days. Jack Hoffer, 42 a genuine American, currently on holiday in
Italy provided Max’s identity. The man was free of any criminal
record, had modest means and a widower travelling alone. Carla
became Jane Tyler, a 26 year-old brunette under-manageress in her
father’s city hotel, also currently in Italy and travelling
alone.

Max had difficulty getting used to
Carla as a brown-haired woman. Being a creature of detail, Carla
made sure her collar and cuffs matched. Max felt decidedly
unnerved, even unfaithful when they made love that afternoon. Her
character had changed, just as much as her appearance, she was so
different. Max saw no need to go to that extreme himself, and after
some hair removal and re colouring, matched the passport photo
quite well.

Their arrival at Dulles International
Airport was routine. Although sat together on the plane and stood
side by side going through Security, they appeared not to be a
couple.

Carla took a single room at a
comfortable hotel and Max took a cheap single room in a less
attractive part of the city. By using public information, they soon
found Yeltsin’s office block. It was a magnificent 40-storey tower
with helipad on top. Finding out where he lived was not so easy.
They did not wish to draw attention to themselves by asking around,
Yeltsin was obviously ex-directory.

At about 6:30pm each evening, a smart
white helicopter landed on the pad, and after a few minutes, it
flew off to the north.

A portrait of Gregor Yeltsin hanging in
the reception hall of the offices, showed their quarry, in all his
glory. The image peered down at them; the warm smile hid the evil
greed that lay behind his large brown eyes. The rather chubby face
had a kind, but superior look, not the sort of face either of them
expected. They could see this man getting into his helicopter each
evening, through binoculars, from the stairwell window of a nearby
taller building. All they had to do now was find out where it
landed.

After a couple of days’ break in
routine, they spotted the helicopter approaching from the South. It
passed overhead and up towards the mountain. Luck was on their side
that day, the white machine landed on the enormous cantilevered
balcony of a large palatial stone house built on the edge of the
cliff face.

“Typical” thought Max, all these
power-mad people seem to want is to dominate the world below them.
Then he knew he was just being jealous. What better position might
there be? The clear, fresh air of the mountain, away from the noise
of the city, but yet within easy reach of it and of course the
magnificent view.

It took about four hours to find the
place by road. The long winding drive up the mountainside through
the trees, distorted their sense of distance and direction, but
eventually, there it was.

They drove past without slowing in case
security cameras were trained on them. By following a track through
the trees on foot, they reached higher ground that overlooked the
house. The design was quite castle like and was probably built
around a central courtyard. It looked large by virtue of its width
on the cliff face, but they could see now, it was equally deep, as
well. The building must have been three-storeys high, including the
rooms under the small, slate covered dormers. Max wondered what on
earth people did in such big places.

"Well," said Carla, “We are here, so
how do we get in, even if we do, what next?”

“I don’t know,” Max replied, slightly
irritably. “I was hoping you might come up with something.”

“Perhaps I might have,” she said sadly.
“But I can’t get the survey team out of my mind. In the short time
we knew them, they were all good people, except Potter, even he was
extremely likeable.”

At the house, a security guard reported
to his chief, “A car passed by an hour ago and has not returned. It
was a hired car in the name of Mr Jack Hoffer. The road above this
house goes nowhere and stops a mile away, so I wonder if someone
should look into it.”

“Yes, send Burt up on foot, he could do
with a stiff walk. Then report back to me.”

Burt set off up the hill listening for
the sound of an engine or voices between his laboured breathing. He
soon noticed the fresh wheel tracks leading up into the trees and
became more cautious. He reported over his walkie-talkie and said
he would continue up the track. He expected to find a couple of
hikers wandering around, certainly nothing for security to worry
about. He had worked at the house for Gregor Yeltsin for six years
now and had never had a real incident occur, so why now?

Burt passed the parked car and
continued upwards into the woods. He tried to be quiet, but he was
no Red Indian. The occasional twig cracked underfoot.

He suddenly spotted them laid in the
pine needles. The girl, in a short skirt, was sprawled onto the
chap and was frantically kissing him. He had responded, having laid
his binoculars on the ground, and started pawing her breasts as she
sat astride his hips. Suddenly she looked up at the man who had
crept up on them, Bert looked startled and coughed apologetically.
“Sorry, ” he muttered and walked back down the way he had come.

“I thought I’d heard someone,” said
Carla “And I was right.”

"What a shame," said Max, “I thought my
luck had changed.” She paused for a moment, leaned forward, and
kissed his lips.

“It has, she whispered.” Then,
giggling, she undid his jeans.

After they returned from their
reconnaissance, Max freshened up at Carla’s hotel, then they went
to the dining room for a meal. They discussed various strategies
and outcomes until they crystallised their plan.

For best effect they needed the law to
deal with Yeltsin, hopefully discredit him with the Russian Mafia
and damage his business. Once the law started digging, they would
find a lot more things to charge him with.

The two of them had to remain
anonymous; after all, they were not there legally.

It would be easier to plant evidence
than uncover an actual crime.

What evidence could they fabricate and
what crime would they use to frame him?

“I think I have the answer,” said
Max

“First, we need about 20 K of cocaine,
some Paragliding lessons; a lock-up garage for two vehicles, some
uniforms, a utility truck and a photo of Matt Stone. Which bits do
you want to do?”

“I’ll start with the cocaine.” Carla
replied, “I will need a several of days though.”

"OK," said Max, “I’ll organise the
rest, then we do the Paragliding lessons.”

The next morning, they went off to
carry out their tasks.

Carla drove around the seedy part of
the city for the first day, to observe. That evening she dressed
down and became a streetwise slut, new in town and listening out in
bars and on street corners for the word on who was who in the
area.

Having been a smack head at one time,
she soon mouthed her way onto the scene. Her good looks and British
accent attracted the right attention. As is usual in society, the
young bucks lower down the pecking order make their play first
while those at the top check out what’s going on and only then if
it is worth the effort, they move in, sweeping the others off the
board. Carla had set herself a tricky game for a girl to play.

The young bucks hate
to lose face, especially to a girl, so she skilfully manipulated
them to fight each other rather than her. By the next
evening
The man
himself drew up at the kerb in a large gleaming black
Mercedes convertible, his three henchmen as support. After a brief
exchange of quick-witted banter,
The
man
was firmly hooked. Carla slid in
alongside him, and they set off back to his club. Having puffed up
his ego by her skill and cunning Jacko as he called himself
admitted he was not at the top of the league yet but was getting
there. Carla suggested he was the sort of man to make opportunities
happen, not wait for them to drop in his lap. After all, the boys
follow, the real men lead. Jacko loved to hear this form of
encouragement, especially from the new girl in town. She had put
down everyone else so far, and was going with him.

“I know what would do it for you; earn
real respect at the same time as making you very rich.” He was all
ears, certainly exceptionally wet behind them, but full of
enthusiasm none the less.

“Who are the big cocaine players on the
street?” She asked. He listed the three key players, bitter rivals
and constantly vying for number one position.

“Okay, ” she said, “We can set them up,
so one thinks the other has ripped them off. You walk away with the
stash and money, they kill each other off, and then you take
over.”

Perhaps this is why God put the face as
far away from the anus as he did, so they can both have extremely
different expressions at the same time. Jacko was grinning like an
idiot while his anus was pinching shut, trying to hold back all the
bullshit he was filled with.

Carla pushed his buttons again. “Still,
if you aren’t up to it, there is no point in taking this
further.”

“You have a plan then!” He exclaimed.
He hoped she didn’t so he could slide out gracefully.

“Oh yes! Of course, it’s a real
humdinger too.”

She asked more questions and then
explained how he could pull off the deal. Jacko tried to fault the
plan, he could not think of any reason to doubt it. So did his
mates, they egged him on, so he couldn’t back out. Carla had done
this scam before, it was at the start of her new life and wealth,
just after meeting of the Duke.

The rest of the night was spent
planning. Carla wanted the results as proof she wasn’t wasting time
with a loser. Jacko found her so exciting and positive, just what
he needed. He could have cheap pussy any time, but the real
exciting pussy was worth waiting for. The plan would be executed
the following night.

Max’s phone call to Sam resulted in an
e-mail that evening. The attachment was a good quality colour photo
of Matt Stone, soon after he left the Marines. Another phone call
from a nearby call box, answered an advert he had seen for a double
lock-up garage in the back streets of the city. Max called to see
the place and hired it for a month, cash in advance.

Nearby was a real estate office. He
went in and asked for details of small bungalows, cheap as
possible, and a viewing. After seeing them, he told the Agent none
of them were what he wanted, not even the empty one.

He then made a phone call to the water
utility company requesting the service be turned on, at the empty
property he claimed he had just bought, which resulted in an
appointment for two hours’ time. Max temporarily removed the “for
sale” board, quietly broke in and waited for the water utility
truck to arrive.

Two men got out of the truck; both men
were on the large side and ambled to the bungalow. Max invited them
in and explained he had just bought the place. Could they check the
pipework after the water was turned on, to see if it was safe? $100
each made them happy men, for a few minutes. Whilst one was tied up
in the kitchen, he had been working under the sink. Max bound and
gagged the other man before he went up into the attic.

Max now needed their uniforms.

Before he temporarily released each
man, he warned them that if they gave any trouble, he would kill
them both. He then took their uniforms and ID.

He put on the smallest uniform, drove
off in the truck to the lock-up, and removed the licence plates. He
phoned the utility company and told them where their men were, and
that the truck would be returned in the next few days. They were
not at all pleased, so Max hung up.

Suddenly water utility trucks became
acutely noticeable to Max, he noted the registration number of one
that looked like his, and got new plates made up with a similar
number, to fit his vehicle.

The next day Carla called and told him
of the cocaine scam. He would need to rehearse the route with her
and check alternatives for escape in case of problems.