Fatal (20 page)

“It was clever of you to use Guerra to get rid of Callahan. When Allen suggested it to me, I thought he was mad. But when I thought about it, it made perfect sense.”

Perreira called the waitress and ordered more coffee. She filled a cup and put it in front of Laiveaux, who nodded a thank you.

Perreira emptied his cup. “I get what I want. You get rich. Sheer genius, really. You trained the Guerra bitch to become my own personal assassin,” he said with a chuckle, shaking his head.

Laiveaux nodded. “Yes, she is good.” He ground the cigarette into the ashtray.

”How are you planning on taking care of them?” Perreira asked, popping a chunk of meat in his mouth and chewing noisily.

Laiveaux moved closer. “Miss Guerra has been called up to Baghdad. I've arranged a surprise for her.” He smiled. “In the form of a letter bomb.”

Perreira nodded his head excitedly. “Yes, and the others?”

“Allen is going to have a dive accident. I have four of my best men on the case.”

“And finally . . . ?” Perreira asked, his eyes widening.

“Bryden is dead already. You can thank me for that. He isn't as feisty when he is asleep.”

Laiveaux placed a knife on the table. It had an ivory handle and the letters “B.B.” were carved into the blade. Perreira slapped the table with the palm of his hand, sending cigarette butts flying out of the ashtray. He grabbed the knife and examined it closely. He shivered visibly and looked at Laiveaux, a smile on his face.
 

“Excellent, you have done well, General.” He handed the knife back to Laiveaux.
 

Laiveaux waved him away. “Keep it. As a memento.”

Perreira grinned and called the waitress. “Salina, bring me a couple of bottles of scotch, then close up shop. You can leave; I’ll lock up.”
 

Salina smiled and nodded gratefully. A minute later people filed out of the cafe.

Salina returned with two bottles of Glenlivet, an ice bucket, and two tumblers. She placed them on the table in front of the men, cracked the cap, and poured them both a double. Perreira waved the waitress away, holding his glass in the air. Laiveaux clinked his glass to Perreira’s and they quaffed the drinks.

Laiveaux sauntered out of the cafe, his hands stuck deep in his jacket pockets, then hailed a cab. He checked his watch. It was quarter to four in the morning, and the roads were deserted.

He had left after Perreira had passed out in the booth, his head on his arms.

He looked up as an inebriated tourist wearing a floral shirt and a camera around his neck staggered his way, holding onto the wall for support.
 

“
Merde
.”

Laiveaux hooked an arm into the tourist’s and dragged him with him.
 

“Hey, what’s your problem—“

“We need to get out of here,” Laiveaux said. “Trust me.” He pulled the man along. “Let me pay for your cab.”

A white Mercedes jerked to a stop in front of them, and he pushed the guy into the backseat, then he opened the front door and slid into the seat beside the driver.

Alexa glanced sideways. “Done?” she asked.

Laiveaux nodded then positioned the rearview mirror to check on their passenger. The man had fallen onto his side and was snoring loudly. “Anyone else in the street?”

Alexa shook her head. “It’s clean.”

He nodded then turned to Alexa and grinned. “You know what they say, Captain?”

Alexa gunned the German sedan down the open road. “No, General, what do they say?” Alexa asked, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile.

Laiveaux opened the window, enjoying the cool air on his face. “Keep your friends close.”

Alexa smiled and nodded. “And your enemies closer.”

She shifted gear and accelerated. Laiveaux turned back and looked at the road behind them. He pulled a detonating device from his pocket and pushed a button. A massive explosion blasted across the road, blowing the roof off the Mardi Gras Cafe.

Alexa checked the rearview. “I’m going to miss that knife.”

Tartaruga Beach
 

Inhambane, Mozambique

Alexa slopped some sunscreen onto Neil’s back and shoulders and massaged it in.
 

Neil stiffened his shoulders. “Ow, dammit,” he moaned, slapping her hand away, touching the bandage around his shoulder tenderly. “Be careful, Alexa.”

She winced and lifted her hands up. “Oops, sorry, I forgot.” She planted some kisses on his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

He cast her an accusing glare, then fumbled, trying to position the straw between his lips. She helped him, and he took a sip of his smoothie. “OK, under the circumstances,” Neil said with gritted teeth. His broken jaw had been wired shut. “I just wish they would take this shit off,” Neil said pointing at the wires on his teeth.
 

His words were barely audible, coming out in a nasally, muffled drawl.

Alexa kissed his lips then laughed. “You look like shit,” she said and lay back on her towel.

He shrugged then grimaced again. He turned stiffly to face her. “This is all your fault, you know?”

She frowned. “No it’s not.”

He pointed at his jaw. “You did this to me.”

She sighed. “I saved your damn life, Neil.”

He pointed at his ribs. “Three broken, courtesy of Miss Guerra.”

Alexa shrugged, rubbing some sunblock on her arms. “It was a simple misunderstanding, it could have happened to anyone.” She slapped his leg. “At least the shoulder wasn’t my fault.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “You think?” he said through his clenched teeth. “If I hadn’t taken the bullet for you, you would have been a goner.”

She rubbed some sunblock on her tummy. “Yeah, but that was your own choice. You didn’t have to do it, you know?”

Neil stared at Alexa with a blank expression then simply shook his head. He lay on his back and rolled onto his good shoulder, facing away from Alexa. “A simple thank you would have sufficed, you know,” he muttered.

She punched him on his shoulder. “Stop being such a crybaby.”

He sat up stiffly. “Ow, shit, be careful.”

She winced again, holding her hands up. “Sorry.”

“You’re bloody hurting me on purpose,” Neil grumbled through his clenched jaw.

“Why don’t you ask me about my leg?”

“Because it was a bloody scrape compared to my wounds.” He waved his hands dramatically. “Look at me!”

“A scrape? They had to dig a metal slug out of my thigh, you uncaring oaf.” She lifted her hand to punch him again, but he glared at her, pointing a finger.

Alexa sat up. “Let’s go for a swim.”

Neil looked at her uncertainly. “I could try.”

She jumped up and hobbled towards the sea, glancing over his shoulder. “What, you afraid you’ll drown?” She waded into the waves and stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for him.

She laughed as Neil stood up stiffly, then jog painfully over the sand. He muttered “Ow” with every uncomfortable step he took. He glanced up at her, muttering expletives through a clenched jaw. “This is all your fault,” he grumbled.

“I love you too, baby,” she said with a laugh and splashed some water into his face.

Let’s Talk!

I would like to say a very big THANK YOU to all the readers for making Fatal an Amazon Best Seller!

That’s right! Fatal has made me one of the Top 100 Authors in the Romantic Suspense charts on the Amazon Best Sellers list, and I would like to extend my most heartfelt thanks to all of the readers who have made this possible.

Still.

Writing is a lonesome occupation. So I’m going to ask you, my reader, a
huge
favor.

Please get in touch with me. Write me at [email protected] and tell me what you think, what you enjoyed, and where you reckon I should improve. Hey, I’m no Stephen King or Thomas Mann for that matter, but I do think I spin an interesting yarn, and if you would like to continue on this journey with me, please let me know.

And if you have a moment to spare, please leave a review for this book or any of the other books you may have read.
 

It would be
greatly
appreciated.
 

You may also sign up for my newsletter to receive exclusive content and short stories, notice of sales and new releases, and invitations to review advanced copies of upcoming books. You will never be spammed, and if you want to unsubscribe, click the link at the bottom of every newsletter.

Click the following link to sign up:

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Hope to hear from you
Guerrians
soon!

Arno Joubert

Author of the FATAL Series

Acknowledgments

Writing a novel is lonely, challenging, intimidating, monotonous work. But also extremely self-fulfilling and gratifying, especially when a reader comments on your expert knowledge on a particular subject area.

When a novelist starts his career, he or she often makes mistakes and they subsequently get one star reviews for the work that they’ve poured their heart and soul into perfecting.

Why?

Because, as a writer, we are stupid, or too lazy to do some proper research. You see, we make things up for a living, so who would care that army troops cannot parachute from a B-52 bomber? But people do care. To suspend disbelief and truly submerge yourself in a story, it has to be as close to reality as possible.
 

As a writer, you need to get your facts straight.

Luckily there are some gifted readers and confidantes who gently point out our mistakes and indiscretions, reminding me that I cannot simply hit someone’s septum into his brain, and that it is disrespectful to toss bags of donated blood on the ground.

Without these specialists who have painstakingly taken their valuable time to pore over my tomes, the work would have been so much weaker, and I cannot thank them enough.
 

So here is a shoutout to all the people who have helped me during the past year:

Doctor Rob Gentz for your medical expertise, useful comments and observations and just your humorous way of pointing out my mistakes. Man, I should have paid more attention in those anatomy classes. Also, thanks for being a pal! Next beer’s on me, man.

To Colonel Kenneth Gerchman, thanks for all the advice on how to blow various things up, explaining to me which is the weapon of choice in CQB’s (Close Quarter Battles) and thank you as well for pointing out that the term “Ex-Marine” is a misnomer. I get it, the men worked hard to earn the title; they will always stay Marines. I salute you, sir.

Laura Kingsley, my Content Editor. Your brilliant mind and sharp wit inspires me to be so much more than I can be. They day you said that, ‘there's a good book lurking in the mess’, I felt so proud that you didn’t simply say that I should stop writing this blathering rubbish. Thank you for your observations and guidance, and soon, another piece of hogwash will make its way to your inbox to be ripped open and torn apart and cajoled into some coherent tome that I will be proud to display to the world. But, all jokes aside. Honestly, thanks. I couldn’t have started this journey without your expert guidance and advice. You’re the best, and don’t stop chastising me, I’ll get there in the end.

Amy Maddox, copy editor extraordinaire, perfectionist and all-round fantastic human being. If I had a penny for every mistake you have picked up, and another for every time I asked “Now how did I miss that?” I would have been a gazillionaire by now. You put so much effort into polishing my work, whatever I pay you is not enough. Thank you so much for all your help and God Speed to a truly nice person.

Finally, thanks to my enduring and loving wife, Deidre’. I’ll make dinner tonight, I promise.

Excerpt from Alexa Book 2 : Peak Oil

Gypsy Fair,
 

Forth Worth, Texas.

The two fighters were surrounded by a rough-looking crowd. Tattooed men wearing white vests and jeans and gold-cord necklaces were slapping their fists into their palms, shouting and jeering. Scantily dressed women wearing too much make-up shrieked one-liners that the snot-nosed kids on their hips shouldn’t have had to entertain at such a young age.