Fatal (3 page)

Carrie pushed her away then shuffled back to the desk and said, “I’m going to tell Gardo. He’ll rip the guy’s balls out.”

Polana Hotel

Maputo, Mozambique

Alexa Guerra gazed over the sparkling infinity pool to the emerald and blue Indian Ocean beyond. Perspiring waiters hurried by in tuxedos and bow ties, balancing trays filled with colorful cocktail glasses above their shoulders. She tucked a windblown wisp of hair behind her ear and sighed. She was bored.

She turned around and sauntered towards the bar, tightening the knot of the multicolored see-through sarong she was wearing over her red bikini-bottom. She ignored the furtive glances she received as every step revealed a beautifully-formed bare leg.
 

Alexa put her dark glasses on the counter, scraped the chair back, and plopped onto it. A tanned guy with blonde streaks in his brown hair sauntered over from behind the bar.

“Surfing’s good?” she asked, admiring his tanned skin.

He smiled back, probably used to the attention. “Nah, no time for that anymore. Lifesaving in the mornings and bar duty till late. Got a baby coming, and I need to save for the future.”

“You married?” Alexa asked, feigning disappointment.

He nodded. “Yep, six months ago.” He flicked a gold band on a leather thong around his neck. “Anything to drink?”

“Damn. Best ones are always taken,” she said smiling. “A Long Island, please.”

He grinned and turned away to prepare her drink.

Alexa swiveled in her chair and leaned back onto the bar, scanning the sunbathing crowd draped around the pool area. She noticed a waiter trudge purposefully towards her, carrying a cordless phone on a silver tray. He offered her the phone with a quick bow. “Miss Guerra, I have an urgent call from a Mr. Allen.”

She scooped it up and flashed him a smile. “Thanks.” She lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
 

“Hello, Miss Guerra, this is Neil Allen from the Barracuda Dive Shop in Phi-Phi.” He sounded annoyed.

“Hello, Mr. Allen. Do you have any more information for me?” she asked, pleased to hear his voice. She cupped the receiver and thanked the barman as he placed the drink next to her.

“In fact, I do. The BC had a small cut on the bottom cuff,” he said and paused for effect. “A deliberate cut.”
 

“A cut?”
 

“Correct. It didn’t before the dive. I personally checked your equipment in the boat. Who was your dive buddy?”

Alexa took a sip from her drink. “I don’t know him; I think his name was Reg or something. We chatted briefly and agreed to buddy up.” She grinned. “To save you the trouble of looking after a newbie like me.”
 

“Very thoughtful of you, but it wouldn’t have made any difference, I do it all the time.”
 

“Help maidens in distress?” she asked, enjoying his exasperated tone.

He sighed. “You know what I mean. I thought you knew this Reg guy. You were speaking in French; I thought you two were a couple.”

“Because we both spoke French?” she asked.

“Yeah, a stupid assumption, I guess. Did he disappear during the dive?”
 

Alexa played along. “Not at all, I was behind him the entire time. Until my air ran out, that is.”

“Something doesn’t make sense. Let me look into it, see what I can figure out.”

“That would be great. I’m diving the Inhaca reef tomorrow. Why don’t you send me an email and I’ll reply with my details, in case I’m not available?” Alexa ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “I’m anxious for this to be solved.”
 

“Certainly. What’s your address?”
 

He was taking this seriously. She gave him the details and bid him good-bye. She handed the phone back to the waiter and leaned back onto the bar. She hoped to see Mr. Allen soon.

Alexa drew the curtains back and opened a window. The sun shimmered on the ocean. Tourists were sunbathing on the beach and splashing around in the waves. She ambled back to the desk, flopped into the chair, and opened the email client on her Macbook. One of the messages was from Neil.

From: Barracuda Dive master

 

Sent: 24 September 10:01 AM

To: [email protected]

Subject: Stop bullshitting me!

Miss Guerra,

I went back to our dive site to recover my mask. I also found a
knife buried in the sand. You had it on you before the dive, but
the knife was gone after. It’s what you were searching for,
wasn't it?

Three questions:

1. Who is B.B.?

2. Who needs a Mossad issued army knife in a marine reserve
on their first dive?

3. Why did you cut your BC?

Stop wasting my time.

Neil Allen

She hit the reply button and typed:

OK, Neil, I admit I cut my jacket. And I also admit I’m not a rookie diver. As a matter of fact, I qualified in the French Navy and have logged more than seven-hundred dives. I needed to see how you handled yourself down there. I was impressed. I want to offer you a job.

Regards

Alexa

She waited two minutes and received a reply.

“Skype me. Use my email address.”

She copied his email address into the Skype search box and double-clicked on his avatar. Her request was accepted within a minute. She clicked on the dial icon.

“What job?”
 

She twirled her hair around a finger. “We’ll get to that later. You will be working with my dad and me.”

“Do I know him?” he asked, seemingly interested. She guessed he needed the cash.

“Bruce Bryden,” she said. She waited for the recollection to follow.

“Colonel Bruce Bryden. Israeli intelligence?” Neil asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Alexa smiled. “Yes. You have met him before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, you could say we’ve met before.” It sounded like he wanted to say something more, but he hesitated.

“Well, he thinks you’re the man for the job.” Alexa leaned back in her chair, enjoying the uncomfortable silence. “But I hardly know you at all.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

Alexa pumped a fist in the air. “In Maputo, Mozambique. I’ll send your flight details to you.” She opened a browser on her laptop and typed in the URL to an online booking agent. “I assume you will be able to take a couple of days off?”
 

Neil grunted something that sounded like “I guess.”

Alexa smiled. “Good-bye, Mr. Allen.” She disconnected the call.
 

She leaned back in her chair. At last, something to look forward to.

Present Day

Maputo, Mozambique

Neil Allen crumpled up his towel and T-shirt and tossed them onto the sand. He dropped his dark glasses on top. It had been a long flight. He had booked into the Polana hotel and headed straight for the beach; he needed to get rid of some excess energy. And he had a date.

He scanned the beach with squinted eyes. The coastline was packed with vacationers young and old, splashing and diving in the lukewarm waves of the Indian Ocean. Some were lounging beneath straw umbrellas, slopping themselves with sun screen.

Neil kicked off his sandals and bounced over the scorching sand towards the sea. He sloshed through the water, making his way deeper towards the larger breakers. He dove in, allowing the wave crest to fizzle over his body, and came back up for air in a trough behind the surf break. He swam deeper, rolled onto his back, and paddled, floating in the vast expanse. The offshore rip pulled him in an easterly direction and angled his body downstream, paddling with his arms to keep him in the direction of the flow.

The beach moved to his left as he drifted towards a tangle of seaweed that he gripped onto, guesstimating this was close enough to the predetermined meeting spot.
 

Neil noticed a female surfer stand up on the crest of a wave. She wore a white Second Skin and red board shorts, moving forward on her longboard and then back, riding the wave gracefully, willing her board farther. She dove into the apex as the wave broke, came up for air, and slipped back onto the board. She paddled his way.
 

He studied her as she approached, noticing features he hadn’t before. She had olive skin and her dark hair was plastered back. He guessed it would be shoulder length when dry. She had high cheekbones and full lips. When she was ten yards away, she sat up on the board and drifted towards him, paddling with her hands and feet against the stream. She had mesmerizing eyes, green and sparkling from the reflection on the water. She was stunning.
 

“Hot, isn’t it?” she smiled. Rivulets ran down her forehead and cheeks. She crossed her arms, grabbed her Second Skin, and pulled it over her head. She wore a white bikini top that inched up high on her breasts. She rolled the Second Skin in a bundle and pulled her bikini top into place.
 

“Oops,” she laughed. Her deltoids were amazing, six packs. He guessed she worked out. Or she was an army lackey. He had seen thousands of them, but none as beautiful.

She beamed at him. She had a confident aura, one hundred percent relaxed with herself and her surroundings. Neil paddled, feeling the lactic burn in his muscles.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
 

“Hop on.” She shifted farther back on the longboard.
 

He swam towards her, gripped the board with two hands, and pulled it between his legs. She laid back to keep her balance.
 

“Thanks,” he said when he was comfortably seated. “Tell me about your proposition.”
 

“Straight to the point,” she said and smiled, pulling her fingers through her hair. Her voice was subtly sensual and smooth.

“You’ve flown me halfway around the world. I guess this is important, no time to waste.”
 

She leaned forward, paddling the water with her hands. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Nope. I know nothing about you, and you seem to know everything about me. You first.”

She smiled, seemingly amused. “Captain Alexa Guerra, French Foreign Legion.” She looked at him, squinting in the sun.
 

“Bullshit.”

Alexa frowned, questioningly.

“There aren’t any women in the FFL. Never have been, never will be.” Neil prepared to jump back in the water. “Let's not waste each other’s time here, Miss Guerra.”

She grabbed his arm firmly. She was strong. “You are mistaken, Neil.” He turned to face her. “And please call me Alexa.” She released his arm. “I was the first female recruit to pass the Legion’s initiation test.” She smiled, leaning back on the board. “It helped that my dad was the Legion general’s best friend.”

Neil studied her. “Bryden’s your dad?”

Alexa nodded.

Neil thought about this and the puzzle clicked into place. “B.B. The inscription on the knife.” He leaned forward. “He tried to kill me, you know.”

Alexa laughed. “No he didn't.” She splashed some water onto her shoulders. “He doesn't 'try.' If he wanted you dead, you would be.”
 

Neil grinned. “It would be nice to meet your old man.” He wet his hand and wiped his neck. “Somewhere he’s not trying to murder me, anyway.”

“Oh, you’ll meet him, don’t worry,” she said, grinning. “He has a score to settle with you.”
 

Neil groaned. “Is this about his broken finger?”
 

“Not exactly,” she smiled. “His daughter thinks you’re cool. And he is protective over her, especially when it comes to older men.”
 

“Aha,” Neil said. He was beginning to like this girl more and more. “You married?”
 

“No, why?”
 

“Why is your surname Guerra?”
 

“When you join the French Foreign Legion, you may rescind your original citizenship and take on a new persona. Your past is erased, and you receive a brand new French passport.”

“Why?”
 

Alexa shrugged. “You get to start over.”

“OK, I’ve heard about this,” Neil said scratching his chin. “Why did you need a new identity?”

“To stay alive,” Alexa answered. “That’s as much as I’m willing to say right now.”

Neil splashed some water over his back. The sun was beating down on them, and he fell backward into the water.
 

“Race you to the beach,” Alexa shouted, paddling hard.

Neil hauled her in and overtook her, but she beat him by catching a wave and surfing back to the beach.

Maputo, Mozambique

Perreira crouched next to the grave and propped a white daffodil in front of the gravestone. He stood and tugged at his collar, letting out some of the heat.

These visits had become a monthly ritual. He eyed the gravestone. It had an inscription written in Portuguese.

Here lies Maria de la Vosta Perreira. Born 1916, passed on in 1962. She had a heart of gold. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Perreira sucked his teeth. He had come up with the caption on the stone. The bitch had a heart of gold, all right. It had been hard and cold.

He kissed his hand and touched the urn plastered into the headstone. His father’s ashes. The vessel was minuscule and inconspicuous. Like his father’s personality had been when he was still alive.