Ascension Day (77 page)

‘I know.’ Bateson thought he hadn’t heard right at first and had asked Nel-M to repeat himself above the background activity and voices. Somewhere busy. ‘Hit me as strange too, given the timing.’

Shavell kept the eyebrow raised. ‘And for doin’ this good deed?’

‘Thirty grand. In cash to a named account, or translated into disposable goods in here.’ Bateson smiled crookedly; he was on the same, and they’d probably each make another thirty big ones from the pills or powder sold on. ‘If you know what I mean?’

Shavell’s eyes shifted from Bateson as he started planning things out in his mind, with no acknowledgement as Bateson left his cell.

42

When the call came through to Havana’s Jose Marti airport, it was taken first of all by a young officer named Ruiz.

Quickly realizing that he was out of his depth, he handed over to his Captain, Sebastian Moragues, who’d started looking over inquisitively as he’d repeated segments for clarification.

New Orleans. Suspected false identity. Cubana flight from Nassau
. Moragues’ inquisitive frown deepened as the request was repeated.

‘So, let me get this clear. This Mr Ayliss arriving soon – you suspect that it might be someone else posing as him? False identity?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And do you have an official arrest warrant your end for that?’

Brief pause, conferring the other end. ‘No… no we don’t. It’s just a suspicion at this stage. Though a very strong one.’

‘And based just on this
suspicion
… you want us to stop and detain him?’ Moragues was old school Castro, and for them the unwritten rule book was clear: no favours for Americans, because they’ve done none for us the past forty years. So unless it posed a threat to Cuban national security or involved drug-trafficking, which Cuba was keen to keep itself free of, Moragues was going to take a lot of convincing. And with not even the right paperwork in place their end?
Madre de Putas
!

Heavier conferring at the other end, Moragues shaking his head with a wry smile towards Ruiz.
Americanos
!

In New Orleans, Derminget had become increasingly frustrated with the three-way conversation. A young sergeant, Tony Salva, had stepped up to the plate for the call. His family had left Puerto Rico when he was fifteen, and his Spanish, he’d explained to Derminget, was still
‘seventy per cent there
.’

‘You tell that stiff-head in Cuba,’ Derminget barked at Salva, one hand stabbing for emphasis, ‘that the guy we believe is posing as Ayliss is actually wanted for murder. And that, we do have a fucking warrant for!’

‘I see. Murder. That
is
more serious,’ Moragues commented as the translation came over, his smile still there from hearing Derminget’s agitation in the background. ‘But this suspected connection between these two men. Have you taken
that
before a judge with some sort of proof to get an arrest warrant?’

Heavier background shouting from the other end, almost screaming at one point. Moragues held  the receiver a few inches away from his ear, shrugging towards Ruiz before he brought it back again for the translation.

‘No… we haven’t got that particular warrant yet.’

‘Then I would kindly suggest that when you
do
have that… that would be the time to be troubling us here in Havana. Otherwise we could both find ourselves in an unfortunate mess if it turns out to be a false detention.’ Not good for tourism: complaints about foreign nationals being unnecessarily detained at Havana airport!

The background commotion hit fever pitch this time, with a fair few expletives – the only words in fact that Moragues understood. His smile widened. He couldn’t wait for the translation.

‘My… my boss hears what you say. But he’s still insistent that you stop Mr Ayliss when he arrives at Havana airport in half an hour’s time. In fact – as one recognized police authority to another – he demands it.’

‘He does now, does he?’ Moragues gently licked his top lip. ‘Well, you tell your
Jefe
from me that he can take his
demand
and, along with the trade embargoes of the past forty years and the exploding cigar the CIA sent to our dear Fidel – stick it in his
culo
!’

At the other end, Derminget’s nerves had all but snapped; and as he saw Salva’s face redden as he listened to something more lengthy, he started screaming, ‘What’s he saying!
What’s
he fucking saying?’

Salva looked up finally as he reached to put the phone down. ‘He says he doesn’t think he can help.’

Last shower…
last time he’d feel water against his body
. It felt strange, unreal; the same as it did accepting that seeing Fran and Josh earlier that day had been for the last time. And tomorrow, last meal, last time food would touch his lips,
then
…

Even though he’d had eleven long years to get used to it happening, now the time was finally here, it felt odd, surreal; and so now the only way he could accept it was to numb himself to it, switch off a part of himself. Like one of those machines or computers on sleep-mode. Brain half-switched off, body…
soul
.

But as part of him switched off, another suddenly became more attuned. He could hear things in the prison he hadn’t heard before: beyond the steady background thrum of its boilers, a faint clicking as pipes contracted; distant voices through the ceiling grill, echoing along the ventilation shaft from guards or prisoners talking; and earlier that night, a steady breeze rustling through the trees outside, and, as it drifted a certain way, some music carrying on it. He’d been told that the protestors beyond the gates were playing music, but hadn’t heard it until that moment.

And now as he felt the water running down his skin, memories that he thought had long ago faded: bathing Joshua as a baby, feeling the water slide like velvet against his soft skin, Josh’s eyes bright and dancing as he looked back up at him, giggling… Fran and himself on the beach one day when they’d gone along the coast to Gulfport, the year before Josh was born, Fran splashing him as she ran in the shallows, and he splashing her back, her looking so bright-eyed and beautiful
… so beautiful…

The images now so real that he fancied he could still taste the salt in the water as some of it splashed on his face… before realizing that it was his own tears as they’d touched his lips.

I was only dreaming
…

He’d faded out the foreground, there was just the background left; maybe what he should have done all along in Libreville. Faded out the heavy clump of the guards’ boots along the walkways, their shouts and taunts, the night-time weeping of other prisoners, the cacophony of voices now in the showers… faded it all out until there was nothing left but him and Fran and Josh together again, smiling and hugging each other as if the eleven years in between hadn’t really happened…
just a dream
…

Larry jolted sharply, as if he had suddenly awoken.
Cacophony of voices
! They
had
faded, it wasn’t just in his head. It was suddenly quieter in the showers.
Roddy
!

Larry leapt out and looked towards Roddy. Since the attack three weeks back, he’d made sure to shower at the same time as Roddy every night. He’d said his last goodbyes to Sal, Roddy, BC and Theo just before, then had headed to the showers with Roddy. Last night of protection, BC saying he’d cover Roddy’s back as best he could after Larry was gone.

And so Larry was slightly confused as he saw Tally Shavell emerge through the steam, with Jay-T moving in a few paces behind himself, and Silass to one side. Why didn’t they just wait a day when Roddy would be more vulnerable?

Then, as he saw the focus and intent in their eyes and their angle of movement, he realized that they were moving in on himself! Though it didn’t compute quickly enough given the odd timing, Jay-T taking the last two steps to grip him from behind as the shiv appeared in Tally’s hand and he lunged for Larry.

Larry swung back in reflex with an elbow at Jay-T, twisting his body away at the same time. He managed to shift his abdomen eight inches, but still the shiv caught him on one side, slicing through the soft flesh just above his hip-bone.

Tally pulled back and thrust swiftly again for mid-stomach, but Larry’s second elbow swing caught Jay-T directly in the wind-pipe, and he managed to jerk free and completely side-step Tally’s second lunge as Jay-T fell away, choking. Tally went then for a scything sweep, Larry jumping back clear of it and shifting round so that Silass couldn’t get to him easily, would have had to move through Tally’s path. Roddy had sidled around the back of them, and now, seeing that Larry was more in control, darted off to alert the guards.

 Tally’s eyes gleamed wildly, his breath falling short. Larry had the measure of him now, and he could see from Tally’s eyes that a part of him knew it too – though still fighting against it through a fireball mist of adrenalin and hatred – and as Tally lunged again, Larry side-stepped easily and gripped his knife-arm, snapping it at the joint against his thigh.

Larry snatched the shiv and had Tally twisted around in a forearm neck grip, the shiv blade tight at his throat, before Silass could move in. He backed away a step and pressed the blade hard against Tally’s skin, drawing a tear-drop of blood. Silass and Jay-T glared back challengingly, but held back.

Flurry of boot-steps in the background, Warrell and another two guards appearing, Roddy just behind them. Warrell held one hand up towards him.

‘Don’t do it, Larry!’

‘Why not? I’m dying tomorrow – I’ve got fuck-all to lose.’ The alarm bell started jangling then, more guards starting to appear behind Warrell.

‘Because…’ Warrell was lost for a second for an answer. ‘Because, what’s the point?’

Larry glared back defiantly. ‘The point is, getting rid of this slimy fuck once and for all! After I’ve gone tomorrow, how long do you think Roddy’s going to last with Tally still alive?’ He jabbed the shiv tighter against Tally’s neck, drawing another teardrop of blood. ‘I’d be doing not only Roddy a favour, but everyone else around here. One last good deed before I go!’  

‘With that busted arm… he’s not going to be able to do much for a while in any case,’ Warrell said.

‘He’s still got
one
good arm.’ And, impulse reaction, Larry jammed the shiv into Tally’s good arm by his biceps, grinding it around and feeling it tear through muscle, Tally roaring with the pain. Then, as Silass and one of the guards moved half a step closer, he pulled it out and put it tight again to Tally’s throat.

At that moment, he could think of nothing better than slitting Tally’s throat, rid Libreville of him once and for all, but then, as if reading his thoughts, a voice came from the back of the circle of guards.

‘This ain’t you, Larry. Don’t do it. You’re
not
a killer.’ Torvald Engelson.

   Larry’s eyes fixed on Torvald as he came to the forefront to stand by Warrell. ‘Don’t pride yourself, Tor. You don’t know me
that
well. And that’s not what the State of Louisiana and the judge said.’

Torvald closed his eyes for a second in submission. ‘I didn’t know you then, Larry, so I can’t say what happened. But I think I know you well enough now: you’re
not
a killer. And if you do this now, you might not get where you want to tomorrow.’ Torvald closed his eyes again fleetingly, hating himself for playing the religious card now on Larry, but not knowing what else to do. ‘Like you said to me the other day – a question of whether God believes in
you
, Larry. Whether
he’s
going to accept and understand if you do this now.’

Larry felt himself split like never before in that instant: between what his gut and instinct told him was right, and his heart and conscience said was wrong. Larry felt himself start shaking, his eyes filling as he thought again of the warm reverie of only minutes ago, and him standing here now, cold and shivering, blood streaming down him as he held a shiv to another man’s throat.