“First we see what Senhor Larsson brings to our table. In the unlikely event he outsmarts us, we don’t want two dead children on our hands. Even with my connections, that is a little too much to explain.”
“I can take them out in the boat and—”
“No!” Gonzales scowled. “The American may arrive at any time, and I need you here with a gun. We will deal with him and then get his daughter off the island to avoid any problems until the fixer is ready to do the exchange.”
“And the little English bitch?”
“When this is over, we will sink her in the channel as agreed.”
“Commandante!” The butler clicked his heels together, going seamlessly into military mode.
“Brenda, you were surprised to hear we keep children here, no?”
“A little,” Umchima replied, projecting an aura of calm yet digging her fingernails into her thigh under the table.
“Then I think it is time you met our VIP. I would like the two of you to take a trip together until things calm down, if this is okay with you.”
“If we are to do business together, then it is the least I can do.”
“Very good,” said the mayor, his beady eyes glinting more than usual. “Fernando, after you have called the Boy, take Senhorita Umchima down to the dungeon and introduce her to our guest.”
“Commandante!” The butler snapped to attention, about-turned and disappeared.
- 80 -
“Anything, hon?” Penny passed Hans a can of beer.
“Just kicking myself for not checking this guy out sooner.”
He shook his head and flicked the notebook screen with the back of his fingers.
“Why, what you got?” Penny sat beside him on the couch and ran an eye over the CIA document.
“Videl Manuel Gonzales, born Videl Rodrigo Morales, made a name for himself fighting as a mercenary in the Nicaraguan Contra resistance, rising to the rank of colonel.”
“Whoa! Didn’t the Reagan administration sell arms to Iran and use the profits to fund these psychos?”
“Yeah, to overthrow the democratically elected Sandinista government, on the basis they objected to American imperialism in the region. The National Security Council set up an organization called the Enterprise, with its own airplanes, airfields and ships, staffed by covert operatives and using Swiss bank accounts to train, fund and supply arms to the rebels. CIA elements in Central America pretty much ran the show, and their method was simple: totally destroy the infrastructure of Nicaragua – hospitals, schools, businesses, communities – and destabilize the economy. They killed anyone of note – doctors, nurses, politicians, government officials – even simple peasants suspected of sympathizing with the Sandinistas, who’d done great work for the people during their time in power. The Contras slaughtered thousands, and their MO was bayonetting pregnant women, executing captured enemy and their children, torture, rape, arson – all kinds of atrocities. The country disintegrated into such misery and chaos that even the Contras were sick of it and looking for a way out. Then the CIA slipped a puppet into power at the next election.”
“So what part did Gonzales, or Morales, play in this?”
“In order to raise more funding for their terror campaign, the Contras began shipping cocaine to the US – organized, of course, by the CIA. Back then the drug was the privilege of the affluent – corporate types and Hollywood. They shipped so much of the product stateside that the market flooded – the CIA were literally stockpiling tons of the stuff – and the distributors and dealers had to find a way to increase consumption: basically, lowering the cost. So they came up with crack cocaine, a cheaper, purer and far more addictive form of the drug. The resulting epidemic ravaged impoverished communities and sent crime through the roof.”
“And you’re saying that Gonzales . . . ?”
“Was the kingpin in the drug operation – collaborated with the CIA, oversaw the supply chain and funneled the profits through Swiss accounts.”
“Did he get brought to justice?”
“Ha! Justice isn’t a word that features in this. The CIA later claimed they were under no legal requirement to report any knowledge of drug trafficking by foreign combatants and made sure to cover their tracks. The State Department argued the money they had paid to known drug traffickers was in support of humanitarian assistance to the Contras and that the conflict was justified, since the Sandinistas were supplying arms to rebels in El Salvador. The incoming Bush administration destroyed all documentation linking the players in the drug chain. Gonzales received the protection of Nicaragua’s new US-backed president and couldn’t go to trial in the States because he knew too much. Hell, he was a major card in a huge and tottering house. The deal he’d have cut with the congressional inquiry would’ve brought the US government crashing down. If I remember rightly, they laid all of the blame on some low-level drug dealer in LA.”
“So Gonzales walked away scot-free?”
“Gonzales walked away with a clean slate and a small fortune. He turned up in Cape Verde in 1990 just as the country held its first open elections. Used his money and connections to bring Carlos Fonseca’s Democratic Alliance party to power. Bar a three-year deposition in 2002, Fonseca’s been there ever since.”
“So Fonseca’s likely in the US’ pocket?”
Oh, he’s a puppet all right. The US has been pouring aid money into Cape Verde since its independence in the seventies in return for certain favors. In 2006 Fonseca signed the US Charter for International Development – basically agreeing to whatever economic conditions and standards of governance Big Brother requested in return for ongoing financial assistance.”
“And I’m guessing Gonzales still has ties to the CIA. Is there anything in the records linking him to child trafficking?”
“Get this. When rising up through the ranks in the Contra campaign, Commandante Tres-Ochenta – “Three-Eighty,” as he became – had a penchant for taking the children of captured enemy combatants off into the jungle to ‘show them his spiders,’ and those kids never came back.”
“No!”
“And in 2009 there was a huge police cover-up when a building contractor working at La Laguna reported seeing him in bed with a young boy who’d gone missing a week earlier and who was never seen again. Needless to say, the builder turned up dead on one of the island’s beaches following a ‘swimming accident.’”
“Oh, Hans.” Penny buried her face in his neck.
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ve got to move fast – this has wasted enough time already.”
“Can you wait until Phipps and Clayton get here tomorrow?”
“Did you hear that guy breathing down the phone? That’s not someone who’s gonna give us enough time to organize a rescue.”
“But you can’t go on your own. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you can be more use to me here. If I’m not back in three hours and I’m off comms, contact Karen and Muttley.”
“You’re not going alone?”
“No, I’m going to call Enrique and Eddy Logan. They both said they’d help out if it came to it.”
Hans took out his cell and stabbed at the keypad. “Enrique, Hans. We’ve found our man – it’s the mayor.”
After a distinct intake of breath, “This is not possible – he does much for charity, no?” Enrique replied.
“It is him, trust me. I’ve got proof – a recording on my cell phone of Jessica calling me from La Laguna.”
“Have you told the police?”
“No, they’ll only get in the way.”
“What about Karen?”
“If I tell her now, then as US ambassador she’s obligated to notify the authorities – but she won’t. She’ll cover for me, and that means unnecessary trouble for her down the line. I’ve told Penny if I’m not in contact within three hours, then to go ahead and tell Karen everything.”
“What do you plan to do?”
/> “I have to go and get her out. Listen, Enrique, you said I could call on you for support. I know it means going out on a limb, and I’ll go in there alone if I have to, but—”
“Hans, you got it, man. Where are you now?”
“I’m at the villa.”
“Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Please do – and I’m gonna call Eddy Logan.”
“Logan!”
“It’s a long story, but he’s promised me a favor.”
- 81 -
Mouthwash Man entered the cell with a woman in tow.
“Maria, wake up!” he ordered.
Jessica raised herself, pretending to feel groggy from the pills. She fixed a wonky gaze on the woman, who looked a little like Penny. A similar age, they had the same height and build and shoulder-length sun-bleached brown hair. But this woman’s tresses were frizzy, like Lianna the R & B star, her skin a little darker and eyes piercing blue, like the husky their neighbor old Jake owned back in Portland. A feeling of comfort came over Jessica. She hoped this woman would be as nice as Penny.
“Maria, this is Brenda.”
The woman smiled. Jessica knew the game by now and nodded vaguely.
“Brenda is going to take you on a nice boat ride to a beach, but you must behave and do as she says, you understand?”
“Uh-huh,” Jessica bluffed. “Do . . . they have ice cream . . . at the beach?”
“You can have all the ice cream you want.” The woman chuckled. “If you are a good girl.”
“I’ll be good.” Jessica made a pretense of flopping back down on the bed.
“I suggest you are.” The woman thrust out a hand and grabbed the little girl’s hair, then pulled a knife from the pocket of her pants. She flicked open the blade, dragged Jessica’s head into her lap and dug the knife into the side of her nose.
“Ouch!” Jessica tried to pull back, but the woman held her in an iron grip. Blood welled in the wound.
“If you mess with me, I will not hesitate to cut your pretty face so you’re an ugly girl. Do you understand me?”
She nodded. The woman twisted Jessica’s hair around her hand until the kid screamed and her eyes brimmed with tears.
“In fact, you horrible little bitch, I might kill you anyway. Do you understand?”
The woman’s face contorted into an evil sneer, nostrils flared and eyes wide with hatred. She dug a nail into the top of Jessica’s ear and spat in her face in frustration.
Behind her the man giggled quietly. The woman saw he had his fists clenched. She heard him wheezing with excitement and could see he was aroused.
“Okay, cut her hair,” she ordered.
The man stepped forward with a pair of scissors. “Sit still!” he bellowed.
Jessica obeyed, and he began hacking off her long brown locks.
- 82 -
Logan said he’d leave Chico’s immediately, stop by his place to pick up some hardware and meet Hans at Karen’s villa. Twenty minutes later they heard the sound of his BMW skidding to a halt outside.
“Hans, how is it, mate?”
He popped the trunk and vaulted out of the convertible.
“Crunch time, Eddy,” said Hans. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem. I owe you one for keeping quiet about my little import-export business.”
Hans was about to introduce Logan to Penny when the Englishman’s jaw dropped – “You!”
“Are we still on for that 4x4 jeep tour?” She grinned.
“We can explain later,” said Hans, filling him in on recent events.
“There’s some sick shits around.” Logan grimaced. “Let’s hope this mayor geezer comes out shooting so I can blow his head off with this baby.” He reached in the trunk and pulled out his shotgun. “I brought the nine mil for backup.” He lifted his Adidas jacket to reveal a shoulder-holstered pistol.
“Good man,” said Hans, and then explained Enrique’s part in the proceedings. “As soon as he gets here, we’re all systems go.” Hans checked his Rolex. “Damn! He’s late.”
They spent the waiting time checking the radios and going firm on an assault plan. Hans decided it was best to leave the car some distance from the fort and approach on foot, using the lie of the land for cover. As there were no feasible access points in the formidable walls, they would move through the entranceway in a pepper-potting motion, covering each other as they did. If the main door was locked, as Hans reckoned it would be, Logan would give it both barrels with the twelve-gauge, and then they would force their way inside and begin clearing the rooms.
“Do we know how many we’re up against or exactly where Jessica is?” Logan asked, staring at a three-dimensional plan of the castle and the surrounding hillside Hans had drawn on paper.
“Hopefully it’s just the mayor and his bruiser of a butler, but it’s impossible to say. They know we’re onto them because of the phone call from Jessie, but they’ll figure we’ve gone to the police and that it will take time to get a raid organized. As for where she’s being held, everything points to the dungeon, but who knows by now? We’ll have to move through the building fast and neutralize anyone putting up a fight.”
“Good job I brought these.” Logan flapped open his jacket to reveal a pocket stuffed with plastic ties. “I use them for my runner beans.”
Hans fetched his Beretta, holster and magazines from the rear of the jeep. He briefly considered the bulletproof vest borrowed from the embassy, but dismissed it, since it would slow him down and impede his agility.
“You know what the mayor looks like, right?” he asked Logan.
“Yeah, weasel-faced runt with a pointy beard. Comes in the bar now and again with that idiot of a bodyguard.”
Half an hour and two unanswered calls later, Enrique still hadn’t showed.
“Right, we can’t afford to leave it any longer. We’ll go without him. You drive, Eddy.”
Hans hugged Penny and hopped in the passenger seat of the BMW. “Remember, I’ll try and keep you updated, but if you haven’t heard anything in three hours, get on the phone to Karen.”
“Will do, Hans, and take—”
The BMW’s wheels spinning on the gravel drowned her words.
As Logan pulled onto the main road, Hans’ phone rang.
“Enrique!”
“Hans, I’m so sorry. I went off the road in the Porsche. I’m in the hospital with a broken foot and suspected concussion.”
“We’ve got to go ahead with the plan.”
“Yes, you must. I’ll keep my phone on in case there’s anything I can do.”
“Thanks, Enrique.”
Logan powered along the coast road, overtaking everything in his path. At the turn inland, he swung the wheel violently to the right and then quickly left, balancing the performance car perfectly to take the corner sideways in a screech of tires without slowing.
“South London School of Driving,” he shouted above the rally noise, sensing Hans’ surprise.
Hans ordered him to stop the car a quarter mile from the fortress and hide it off the road. From here they would move on foot, aiming to reach the building unnoticed to maintain the element of surprise. They clipped on their radios and earpieces.
With the American leading the way, they jogged up the hillside using the dead ground and scrub as cover, managing to get within twenty yards of the fort’s impressive entrance tunnel without spotting a soul. Hans put his finger to his lips and gestured for Logan to stay where he was, maneuvering into position for a scan of the building.
The place looked dead – bizarrely reassuring yet a little unnerving. Hans was about to suggest Logan sprint for the archway while he covered him when something struck him as odd. A garbage can sat halfway along the tunnel, placed against the stonework on the left-hand side. It took Hans a second to figure what was out of place – there was no garbage collection this far from the city.
Hans turned to crawl back to Logan . . . and his heart stopped.
; Logan was up and running for the portal.
Hans’ initial reaction was to go for the walkie-talkie, but there was not enough time, so he rose to his knees and yelled, “Eddy! No—”
The sniper’s bullet glanced off Hans’ skull, and he crashed facefirst, unconscious, onto the rocky ground before the shot rang out. Inside the entranceway Logan stopped, confused, and turned to run back. With a greeny-yellow flash, the explosion rocked the hillside, blowing him out of the tunnel like wadding from one of the castle’s antique cannons.
- 83 -
Hans came around tied to a chair in a dimly lit chamber deep in the bowels of the castle. Head thumping, throat parched, and blinking in the gloom, he felt a thick cake of congealed blood mixed with volcanic grit cracking around his left eye and temple.
Gonzales sat behind a simple desk with Hans’ and Logan’s weapons and cell phones piled on top of it. His butler, Fernando, leant against the wall behind him, giggling softly like a lunatic.
“Senhor Larsson,” the mayor hissed as he sat there snakelike. “So nice to have your company again.”
“Commandante Three-Eighty,” Hans rasped, spitting out dirt.
“I see you have done your homework,” said the mayor with the air of a victor, clearly reveling in a plan come good. “Then you must know who this is.” He turned to his butler.
“I expect you’re going to enlighten me.”
Hans stared into the mayor’s eyes yet took in everything in the room. The motionless mass on the floor was Logan, Hans figuring he was dead.
“Allow me to introduce you to Sargento Chavez.” He turned to acknowledge the butler, who grunted. “As my most loyal man in Central America, he was better known as El Chacal. Tell me, do you know much Nicaraguan folklore, Senhor Larsson?”
“I’m a huge fan.”
“Then you will know El Chacal, “the Jackal,” is a fearsome creature that lives in the woods, a beast half-man, half-wolf-dog. Sometimes his clothes are made of twigs and leaves and his face the color of the forest, so he remains invisible. Other times he wanders naked along the footpaths in search of the next child to kill. El Chacal is said to stare into his victims’ souls as he strangles them to death. Can you see why Sargento Chavez earned this reputation, Senhor Larsson? Can you imagine the unspeakable acts we got away with down there? Can you imagine the unspeakable acts he has committed against your daughter?”