Luc: A Spy Thriller (28 page)

‘Secondly, don’t bet against them not being able to explain it away. They got Mortlake, haven’t they? The Guatemalan threat. Standing up to terror.’ I shook my head. ‘No. They’ll go ahead with it.’

‘So…?’

‘So, just waiting on my government,’ I said, holding her gaze.

She didn’t say anything for a while. When she did, she said: ‘It would be murder.’

‘It would be taking one life to save thousands.’

‘State sponsored murder. The very thing we were glad Guatemala was not involved in. The very thing, goddammit, we’re fighting against if Thurton gets into office.’

‘There’s one crucial difference. I won’t be setting off bombs in crowded places. My aim is not in murdering as many people as possible. My aim is in
saving
lives. In this case, thousands of lives. There are those who refuse to see the difference. But there
is
a difference.’

‘And you would be happy to do that? To shoot him?’

‘It’s not a question of being happy.’

Warita sighed and sat back. ‘Do you think your government will sanction this?’

‘We’ll see,’ I said.

Warita shrugged. ‘And then you shoot Robert Thurton. Leading candidate for Belize Prime Minister.’

I didn’t say anything.

***

Warita hopped out of the bedroom, still putting her right shoe on. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said.

‘What’s ridiculous?’

She stood up and held her arms out. ‘Whose clothes are these?’

‘I have no idea.’

They were clothes from the stock cupboard.

‘Couldn’t they have anything bigger? Whoever’s this is, she’s like a tiny mouse. And stop your smiling.’

The clean white T-shirt Warita was wearing was about two sizes too small for her. And Warita, whose figure was on the buxom side, was filling it out quite noticeably.

‘You could pop a jacket on,’ I said.

‘It’s eighty in the shade, mastermind. Come on,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘I’ve worn smaller.’

***

The waves to our right were hypnotically calming as we strolled along the sandy beach. Warita had wanted to come down here because, she said, she didn’t want to stay cooped up indoors all day.

‘You used to come here on your holidays, did you?’ I asked.

Warita nodded. ‘We lived in Hopkins. Placencia was a favourite holiday destination. And, I mean, look, you can see why.’

The place was stunningly beautiful. White sandy beaches. Aquamarine sea. The picture postcard view of the Caribbean. Yes, I could see why.

‘And they’re both Garifuna towns?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded.

The Garifuna are a people originally from St Vincent. Warita had told me a little of her people’s history. The British had, er, been involved…

‘Is it me, or are lot of people wearing yellow and black?’ I said looking around.

‘Colours of the Garifuna flag.’

‘Right. Proud lot,’ I said. ‘You know, I like some of the music I’ve heard.’ The sound of rhythmic drum beats, coupled with seductive dancing was never too far away.

Warita nodded. ‘A lot of it’s about death and suffering.’

‘Oh. Hadn’t realised.’

‘Aren’t a lot of the best music? What about the Italian operas?’

‘That’s true.’

We continued along the beach, the golden hot sand pushed between my bare toes.

‘I was sorry about Ramos,’ I said.

‘Yeah.’

‘Had he been your colleague long?’

‘He’d been my colleague for about eight months,’ she said. ‘He’d been my man about three.’

I looked sharply over at her. ‘You were together?’

Warita nodded. ‘We kept it quiet. Didn’t want it big news in the department.’

‘Jeez, Warita. I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

Two happy girls jogged past us. Their laughter filled our silence.

‘Harv loved his job,’ Warita said. ‘He loved the adventure.’

I nodded. ‘Adventure’s good.’

Up ahead, a beach bar sat among tall, willowy palm trees. I asked Warita if she wanted a drink and she said yes and so we sat on wooden stools and looked out at the gorgeous blue sea. I ordered two chilled mango juices.

Warita raised her glass.

‘To adventure then,’ she said.

I smiled and clinked glasses. ‘To adventure.’

‘We’re getting our fair share.’

***

Back in the apartment Warita was in the bedroom changing clothes, trying to find something that fitted better. I was sitting on one of the wooden chairs in the main room.

‘I can’t believe they let Ray Mortlake go,’ I called out.

‘I can,’ she replied from the bedroom. ‘He’s a good lawyer. It wasn’t him who was responsible for all those bodies found on the eighth floor of that building.’

‘Yes it was.’

‘He didn’t pull the trigger. It’s a good defence.’

‘It’s wrong.’

‘That’s life, Luc.’

My phone went. I answered it.

‘Go to secure line six,’ a man’s voice said. I did. ‘What’s the code?’ I told him today’s code. ‘You have a formal executive order to remove Notetaker.’ Thurton. ‘Unconditional.’ Entirely deniable.

He repeated it, but I’d got it the first time.

Warita came in from the bedroom. She was wearing a green silky blouse which just met the top of her navy blue shorts. She was barefoot.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, smoothing her hair with her right hand.

‘Go on.’

‘The girl. The one found in Falcao’s apartment. You and I know Falcao had nothing to do with it. If we can prove he didn’t murder her, get him out of jail, we can start unravelling their plan.’

‘Yes. I can see that. We’ll have to work fast, of course.’

‘Yes. I work best fast.’

‘Warita,’ I said. ‘I have some news.’

She looked at me, her face opening. ‘What?’

‘I got a phone call. It was London. I’ve been given the green light.’

‘They sanctioned it?’

I nodded.

Warita continued to gaze at me. ‘God,’ she said finally, her hand going up to her head.

‘This from the woman who dangles people off the top of tall buildings?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not because I necessarily disagree with it. It’s just…’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know.’

***

The journey north was relatively quiet. I took the Hummingbird Highway and neither of us spoke much. Each lost in our own thoughts.

I didn’t relish what I was going to do. But it had to be done. And I knew for an absolute certainty that it would save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives.

Thurton had made his bed.

And it had to be him. We could take out both Giuttieri and Mortlake, as they rightly deserved to be, and Thurton would still win the election and most likely still press that button.

I pulled out, pressing down on the accelerator and passed a slow moving Peugeot. I eased back into lane and looked across at Warita. Her face looked stern. Or was it fear?

‘You okay, Warita?’

She nodded.

A little while later we drove into Belmopan.

I again glanced across at Warita. ‘Are you sure we can’t lend you somebody?’

Warita shook her head. ‘Lot to do. Best I do it alone. You going back to your safe house?’

I shook my head. ‘Someone’s driving down with the equipment.’

Warita smiled grimly. She knew I meant sniper’s gear. Our eyes met, and hers looked into mine with warmth.

I pulled over to the side. Warita snapped the door open, pulled her baseball cap down low and jumped out.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The building directly opposite Thurton’s office was a no-go now, as useful as it undoubtedly would have been. Giuttieri’s men and I had shot the eighth floor up and going back would not be a good idea. The building next door to that was not ideal, but it was the best I was going to get. The angle was more acute, it closed off a lot of the field of fire, and I may have to be swifter in taking the potential shot. I could, I suppose, have gone for a close-quarter action, using a knife or a handgun, but there was no guarantee I would’ve been able to get close. So it was the adjacent building, across the road from Thurton’s office.

I was in an attic storeroom above a group of offices. Charlie had got me in with a cover of carrying out maintenance on the roofing. The door was locked. The glasses and wig were on a tea chest.

The crosshairs on the scope of the sniper’s rifle quadrisected a magnified image of an empty office. I had heard from Charlie that Thurton had a round of early morning radio interviews to do. I hoped that sometime afterward he would return to his office.

I slowly stretched my neck to the left, and then to the right. I could be here a while.

A little later my hands-free mobile beeped. It was Warita.

‘Could be getting somewhere,’ she said. ‘The girl worked the area around Georgetown Street. I’ve been speaking to a few of the girls there. They said a cocksure dude in black with tats up one arm spent a long time speaking to her. They specifically remember the chains he had around his waist.’

‘Jimmy Dondero?’ I said surprised.

‘That’s what I was thinking.’

‘Right. Well, if it is Dondero, what they did to Falcao had been planned for some time.’

‘I’m going to get a photo of Dondero. See what reaction that produces. I’ll speak to you soon.’

I got straight on the phone to the safe house. Dondero’s phone was back there. I asked Mike to go through the messages again, this time with a view to looking for anything related to the girl.

Knock. Knock.

My head swung round. I ignored it initially, hoped they’d just go away.

Knock. Knock
. ‘You all right in there? The door’s locked.’ They weren’t going away.

‘I know the door’s locked,’ I called out. ‘I don’t want anybody coming in. Unless you want a ceiling falling on your head.’

‘Oh. Alright. You want a drink?’

‘I’m fine. Thank you.’

‘Right.’

Heard footsteps tailing away.

I looked back through the scope. The office still looked empty.

The phone beeped.

‘Mike. What you got?’

‘Okay. The incoming texts for most of these have been deleted. But the answering ones from Dondero are as follows:

‘Wednesday 13th, 17:06:
That’s not a problem
. Wednesday 13th, 23:36:
Got her
. Thursday 14th, 03:01:
She real cute
.’

I remembered that one from when I had flicked through the texts looking for mentions of the whereabouts of the hostages. These texts bore no relation, and seemed like perfectly everyday comments. Now, they were taking on more sinister undertones.

‘There’s one here where he hasn’t deleted the incoming text,’ Mike continued. ‘The incoming is from Ray Mortlake. Thursday 14th, 16:52. It says,
Is it done?
Dondero replies three minutes later:
Done. Doornail done
.’

Again, remember it, but again it didn’t lead me to the hostages. Now…the dead body of the girl was found only a few hours later.

‘Circumstantial at best,’ Mike said.

‘Entirely. But confirms to me that Mortlake was behind her death.’

‘And to me. But we’ll need considerably more than that. Why do you think he didn’t delete Mortlake’s incoming on that one?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he was proud of his little joke.’

‘Yeah. Not exactly Tommy Cooper,’ Mike said.

***

Activity below. A large 4x4 was pulling up outside the building opposite. I tensed when I saw Robert Thurton step out.

He had a bony frame and leaned forward when he walked. He disappeared into the building.

I looked back through the scope. Slowed my breathing. The crosshairs trained at a point on the carpet.

The earpiece beeped.

‘Luc, you sitting?’ Warita asked.

‘You got something good?’

‘Firstly, it
was
Dondero who the girls had seen. They recognised the photo I showed them.’

‘That’s good.’

‘So I then decided to pay a visit to his apartment. Wife and noisy baby were there. I got in on a pretence of being police. Follow-up call on her husband’s murder. While she’s making me tea I had a chance to look round. There wasn’t much. But in a drawer I found a memory stick, so I was able to pocket that.

‘Anyways, cut a long story short, back outside I go to a cyber cafe and…god, I don’t know what it is, maybe he was going to blackmail Mortlake, or just use it to get more money from him. I don’t know. But he recorded everything.’