Counterpoint (2 page)

There were no doors on the barn, but
she felt safe in its dark shadows. She got out of the Cherokee and
dragged the money bags out of the back, onto the ground. Popping
the boot of the Prelude, she pulled out a large plastic sheet and a
holdall bag. The sheet was spread out on the floor, and she
stripped off all her clothes, piling everything into the middle.
Taking a long drink from some bottled water, she used the rest to
wash herself, especially those parts normally unclothed. The blood
took some removing, and there was not much water to spare.

Fresh clothes made Carla feel better,
the denim jacket and jeans, white blouse and peaked cap
complimented her ponytail and the Versace shades completed the
picture of a cute little twenty-six-year-old blond, on her way home
to her folks.

The sound of a helicopter caught her
attention, and she peeked out to find it. It was above the clouds
somewhere, and she reckoned it would soon be in sight.

She knew the Cherokee had a tracking
device fitted, so the helicopter, belonging to Marco the
drug-dealing boss who planned the escape route, was expected. Marco
suspected Tim had double-crossed him, and wanted to get his
investment back.

“Time to go,” she said to herself,
leaping into action.

Everything on the sheet and the money
was crammed into the boot of the Honda. As she drove out, front
first, she pressed the Cherokee central locking button on the key
ring twice and threw the keys through its open window, onto the
driver’s seat. The sleek silver car glided onto the road, leading
back to the motorway, without raising much dust.

A minute later, looking up through the
sunroof, she saw a black helicopter starting to descend through the
clouds towards the barn. It hovered a few feet from the ground,
blowing dust everywhere. Two men with guns dropped to the ground
and ran into the barn.

“It’s here,” reported the leading man
over his radio. “The bags are in it as well.”

“Check them and get the money over
here,” a voice crackled back from the helicopter.

“OK! They are full,” replied the
leading man, a few seconds later. The man in the helicopter also
heard a long beep tone picked up from the leading man’s microphone,
and his scream.

“SHIT! The trembler has activated!”

The Cherokee exploded in the barn in a
blinding flash, shooting flame and flying debris, high in the
air.

The Helicopter immediately climbed and
disappeared back into the cloud.

The plume of flame and smoke caught
Carla’s eye and she smirked, “Oh! Naughty Carla” she scolded
herself, “You must have reset the booby trap when you pressed the
key ring twice.”

Feeling safe now, the long journey to
her hideaway home would soon pass, and she could get her
investments set up with the drug money.

Max Fortune had been driving for three
hours now, in the region of the Lago Matese along the SP331, the
quiet purr of the camper’s engine and the never-ending 20-meter
strip of illuminated road in the headlamps, made him drowsy. No
other traffic had passed him during this time, typical for this
time of the night, in this part of Italy.

Throughout the journey, he had relived
the events in his mind, which brought him here. His wife had died
twelve years earlier, and he had struggled to bring up his son
while running a successful business, in England. He had had enough
of the struggle. His son James had passed through university with
honours with a chemistry degree, but then James switched to the
more exciting and rewarding career, in the computer industry. Why
should he, Max Fortune, waste his remaining years? He wanted
adventure!

There had been many women in Max’s
life, but none could see a future with him. He was fully committed
to his work. The truth was, he had not found his soul mate, and at
forty-five, set in his ways, he did not think there was any chance
now. Impulsively, he shut down his business, bought a camper van
and set off, to a life of adventure. So far, life had run pretty
true to form. Three weeks ago he set off for the grand adventure
and so far, on a scale of 1 to 10, thrill and excitement was
somewhere about zero.

Max was now starting the long winding
ascent into the mountains. The hairpin bends on the way up, at
least broke the monotony. He shifted into second gear, then into
first to negotiate the hairpin bend. In the inky blackness of the
night, below he glimpsed the lights of another vehicle. Max was not
sure if he was pleased to see the manifestation of other human life
on this road. He suspected bandits were in this area. He looked
again; the lights were closer now and approaching fast!

The more he thought about the
situation, the worse it seemed to be. He was being irrational and
feeding his fears.

Max looked for somewhere off the road,
to hide until the car passed. The left side of the road was almost
a sheer drop into oblivion, and the right hand side was a sheer
cliff face to the stars.

He pressed his foot hard down on the
accelerator and the drumming of the now high revving engine,
straining to push the heavy van slowly up the mountain road, made
him panic. He had to get ahead, hide, anything, but let them catch
up and murder him.

“Pull yourself together,” he said to
himself “you’re just psyching yourself up” but his foot pressed the
pedal even harder to the floor.

Frantically he looked from side to
side, to find some sort of refuge; he looked down below and saw the
approaching lights.

“Damn, they are gaining on me! What am
I going to do? Why did I come to this godforsaken place?”

Relentlessly, the lights grew closer,
Max felt sick in his stomach, he had convinced himself bandits were
going to catch him, then rob him, then kill him.

“Damn it!” He shouted.

Logic had deserted him, he could not
think straight. He had led a sheltered life, free from violence.
News reports on television were the closest he had come to the
reality of a violent world, now he was to become a victim. Probably
no one would ever know he had been killed!

The lights of the following car flashed
in his wing mirror. They were on the same upward straight as him.
He checked his fuel gauge, the width of the road, the feasibility
of blocking their path and preventing them overtaking.

The reality hit him. The road was quite
wide, except at the bends, he had fuel enough for the 100km journey
to the nearest town, but he couldn’t block murderous bandits for
100km.

Beeeeeeep - beeeeeeep- beeeeep. The
black Mercedes shot past at least 50km/hr. faster than Max was
travelling, and did not stop.

“You crazy bastards! I hope you kill
yourselves,” shouted Max.

The relief swept over him, and he
started to shake. He felt so stupid! Here was the great adventurer,
and at the sight of the first bogyman after dark, he was a
quivering wreck.

It was from this moment, Max’s life
changed. He was about to enter Carla’s sinister world.

After Carla had invested the drug
money, stolen with the help of dearly departed Tim, in Caserta,
Marco the Drug Baron and his men tracked Carla down and captured
her. Carla was cornered and claimed Tim planned everything, forcing
her to help him. She claimed she had been on the run ever since,
too frightened to contact Marco, believing he would kill her. She
told the men, she had secured the money and if they took her to see
Marco, she would tell him how to get it all back. It was all lies,
of course; Carla needed time to find a way out of the mess she was
in. They were now on the last part of the journey to Marco’s home,
as they passed the very frightened, Max Fortune.

Carla laughed falsely at the light
banter, taking place between her and the four men in the black
Mercedes. She sat in the back between Steve and Pepe.

Steve was from the Gorbals, in
Scotland, an ordinary looking man of 30, close-cropped light brown
hair, masking his premature baldness. His quick wits and ability to
handle himself well in a fight, got him a place on the team.

Tonight, he was as wound up as a coiled
spring; a Cobra ready to strike, and he had good reason. He had
recommended Carla and Tim make the drug deal near Caserta, but they
had pulled a double-cross. If she did not come up with the stolen
money when they delivered her to Marco, he was history!

Pepe liked to think he was in charge.
Older than the others, he knew better, or so he thought, but he was
actually just useful muscle, very loyal to Marco and there just for
the ride. Pepe was planning retirement soon, to spend all his time
with his young wife and her 5-year-old son. Pepe’s thoughts drifted
off to the last time he had seen his Mexican beauty, two weeks ago.
He thought of the few hours of passion they enjoyed together before
Philippe gave orders to find Carla. His eyes glazed over, and his
penis stiffened…

The driver was a fat gutted Brazilian
bastard, called Vincent, a brilliant driver, a sadistic killer and
had a large appetite, not just for killing.

Next to him was Philippe, the
archetypical Columbian drug lord. Some thought he was the Devil’s
spawn. He had handsome, but cruel looks; brown eyes, olive-brown
skin, black hair, and ponytail. He was as cunning as a fox, a
consummate charmer and utterly loyal to Marco, his boss. That is
why he was Marco’s second in command, though Philippe intended to
take over from Marco, very soon.

Carla Day had transformed her
appearance to look like a cute, but rough little tart of
twenty-six. Her slightly husky voice made her appear mouthy, and
hinted she probably took drugs. Her shoulder length blond hair was
a bit of a mess, wild like her.

What she could not disguise was her
quick wits, her angelic face, and sapphire blue eyes. With care and
grooming, she would be stunningly attractive.

She pondered a while, considering the
events that led her to this situation.

Carla was scared. She knew that at the
end of the ride was a bullet in her pretty head. She had messed up
big time ripping off Marco. It was not her fault Philippe’s goons
had blown up the drugs, in the Cherokee. Well, it was,
actually!

She knew the risk, but had got away
with a similar scam, elsewhere in Italy. Crooks do not run to the
police when they are ripped off, so she thought she stood a good
chance of getting away with it.

She felt a little emptiness at the loss
of Tim, the guy she worked with, who had also been her lover.

“What a waste,” she thought. “A
good-looking hunk like that.”

She shuddered when she relived in her
mind, the grotesque way he had left this world, gut shot and
dragged along the road. Then she felt the awful feeling of dread,
the sick feeling deep down in her stomach, the feeling of her
bowels opening, out of control. She would be dead like Tim,
soon!

Carla suddenly refocused her thoughts
and regained composure. Everyone had gone quiet now, each man
preoccupied with personal thoughts.

Carla knew that she was up against four
ruthless killers who knew she was on her way to certain death,
though no one had let on. That was Philippe’s orders. He thought
she would be more manageable and perhaps more cooperative if she
could see a way of getting away with her life. The others could see
the logic in that.

She quietly visualized a number of
scenarios, all relying on surprise.

However, even if she could kill all
four armed men, how could she control the speeding car on this
mountain road, from the back seat?

The road had a precipitous drop on one
side and a rock face on the other. On one hand, at 60 to 80 km/hr.
the car would ricochet off the rock face and plunge over the
precipice, or on the other hand, just plunge.

Then the answer came to her, and she
smiled to herself.

The men were still quiet, Pepe had gone
much further with his imagination and only his body was in the car.
Steve was arguing in his mind with Philippe, justifying his
position, and convincing himself that he could get away with it.
The argument was of course all one sided and did not consider any
counter argument. Nevertheless, it took his full concentration, and
it showed on his face as a series of mild grimaces, twitches and
rapid eye movement.

Vincent, the driver was hoping he would
get to execute Carla. He envied most other men; the likes of Steve,
Philippe and most of all, dear departed Tim. They all had no
trouble getting women; even old Pepe had a gorgeous wife. He had
heard, and believed, good looks were not particularly important to
women, so why couldn’t he get a beauty? He imagined that if he said
to Carla. “Stick with me and I will spare your life, we can make a
life together,” she would go for it. He fantasized about being with
her, he would make love to her, she would be a willing lover
because he held her life in his hands, and then he would kill
her!

His arousal gradually reduced the cars
speed by 20km/hr. Only Carla noticed.

Philippe was preparing in his mind for
the meeting with his boss, Marco. He thought he, Marco and Carla
would sit down together in a relaxed atmosphere. They would ask
Carla where the €2,000,000 of cash she and Tim had made off with,
was kept.

They were going to give the impression
that they believed Carla had been loyal, even though the exchange
at Caserta had gone wrong. That she was in hiding from the buyers.
Carla could either, see a way out and hand over the money, or be
stupid and die with her secret. Either way, they intended to murder
her, but she might save herself from a lot of pain if she went
along with the ruse.

Philippe realized that Carla was
outstanding in the wits department, she would bargain for her
freedom in exchange for the money. Now what would she come up with?
He stared through the windscreen into the night with unseeing
eyes.