Scion (26 page)

Scott
didn’t look back as he picked up his pistol and calmly exited the bedroom.

The second Ashley heard the first crash
, she knew she should not have left Scott alone. She couldn’t believe she had left him to tackle three men. She quickly grabbed a dressing gown and headed back to the bedroom to help him.

Scott
, however, beat her to it, exiting before she had the chance to help.

“What happened?” she asked anxiously.

“I taught them a lesson they won’t forget.”

Scott
steered Ashley back towards the galley. Ashley pulled away and looked at the devastation Scott had left behind, the three men lay motionless, the largest had blood still pouring from his nose. Another was twisted awkwardly while the third one’s leg seemed impossibly contorted.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve killed them!” exclaimed Ashley.

“No they’re fine, just getting a little shut eye after a tough lesson in how not to fuck with my woman.”

Although feeling the punishment didn’t quite match the crime, Ashley couldn’t help but feel a little surprised at how good being referred to as
Scott’s woman made her feel.

Scott
took Ashley by the arm and led her into another bedroom where she could finish her shower and get dressed.

“I got this for you, I hope it fits.”
Scott held out a dress he had managed to buy from the Marina store.

Ashley quickly threw the dress on and although not one of her usual designer brands was impressed
at how well Scott had chosen, both in style and size.

“Perfect,” she announced as she buttoned the last of the buttons.

Exactly thought Scott, remembering some of last nights more pleasant memories. Ashley really was a very beautiful woman. However, it was not long before the less welcome memories of the previous night blighted his thoughts.

“We need to get going and not only because of our friends
next door,” suggested Scott, trying to remain focussed.

“Where to
? Switzerland?” ventured Ashley as she quickly towel dried her hair.

“
Yep, the bank in Geneva, then London.”

“
London?”

Scott
suddenly realised that Ashley knew very little about who he really was, despite their intimacy. They had never had a real chance to talk about who they were now, they had only discussed who they had been.

“I’ll explain on the plane.”

Chapter 4
3

“Stephen,
this is Dwight Jennings.” The president introduced the man whom he had summoned to the oval office. “Dwight is with the FBI and is the Special Agent in Charge of the Washington office.”

“Good evening Dwight
.” Stephen Hughes shook his hand.

“Good evening Mr Hughes,” replied Dwight.

“Stephen, please,” instructed Hughes.

“Please
, everybody sit.” The president motioned towards two sofas.

All four men sat
, Hughes and Walters on one sofa, Dwight on the other and the president on a chair at the head of the two sofas.

“Stephen,” began the president
. “We have reason to believe that a conspiracy is underway which is a direct and realistic threat to the national security of our and many other nations.”

Stephen Hughes
couldn’t help but notice that all three men were studying his reaction very carefully. His reaction, in fact, was one of total shock and seemed to pacify his audience.

“Yes, Mr Hughes,” continued Dwight. “A conspiracy that we have been tracking for over two years now.”

“Two years
!” exclaimed Stephen still reeling from the news.

“
To say this conspiracy runs deep is an understatement,” emphasised Dwight.

“But Mr President why am I not aware of this
? Two Years?” replied Stephen, the indignation clear  in his voice. As head of the US intelligence network, it seemed ridiculous that he was not leading the investigation.

“We don’t know who we can
trust,” said the president but realising his mistake corrected himself. “Of course I trust you implicitly but your organisations, I’m afraid, are rotten to the core. I couldn’t risk involving you earlier.”

“So why now?”

“Because all of a sudden, they’re getting bolder. It’s like they think they’re untouchable. Killing General Jackson was the last straw.”

“They killed Jackson
?!”

Dwight stepped in
. “We believe so, two men we were tracking lost us when they jumped aboard a chopper. Our agents couldn’t follow but the timings and chopper description are consistent with the kidnapping and murder of General Jackson.”

“Holy shit! Who are they?”

“Mercenaries, who appear to have free access to any and all of our top secret facilities and information.”

“So who
’s behind it all?”

Gerald Walters spoke for the first time
. “We have absolutely no idea. Every time we get a lead we hit a brick wall, another nameless account funding the operation.”

“
Perhaps we should start at the beginning,” suggested Stephen, having regained some of his composure.

“Always a good place,” agreed the president.

Chapter 4
4

As far as the eye could see
, a line of ships waited patiently to fill their holds with any number of combinations of fuel. The Punto Fijo oil refinery was one of the world’s largest and sat in the idyllic surroundings of the Caribbean sea on the Paraguana Peninsula on the northern tip of Venezuela.

Eduardo Ramirez looked out across the horizon and smiled as each of the waiting ships bore his ER shipping insignia in their characteristic yellow and red. It was a sight to behold and one Eduardo Ramirez enjoyed every single day
. From the first day he had set foot on the peninsula, over forty years earlier, to discuss potential shipping contracts, he had known he was going to stay. As the contracts grew so did Eduardo’s hunger to own more and more of the peninsula. Where as the west end of the peninsula was dominated by the refineries, the north was almost entirely dominated by the Ramirez estate.

His empire
had grown and was now one of the largest privately owned tonnages in the world. Eduardo’s favourite statistic was that every day, one in every two people touched something that had been shipped on one of his boats. Whether it was grain in Africa, petrol in America or plastic in Asia, there was a one in two chance that his ships had carried it. Obviously, with this statistic flowed fabulous wealth, ensuring the Ramirez estate was one of the most opulent and extravagant estates of the world.

It
was also one of the most secure. Eduardo Ramirez lived in almost complete seclusion. Despite his massive shipping fleet, Eduardo Ramirez was synonymous with a different type of trafficking. Believed to be the world over as one of the world’s leading drug lords, his home in Paraguana was a veritable fortress,. The 16,000 acres were surrounded by over 15 miles of razor topped wall and patrolled at all times by at least a hundred heavily armed and highly capable guards.

Eduardo
sat down on his lounger and closed his eyes, relaxing as he soaked in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.

“Mr Ramirez, I have a Mr Baker for you
Sir. He says it’s urgent.” The perfectly tailored butler rushed to Eduardo’s side, holding a cordless phone.

Eduardo
smiled. He had been expecting the call. Despite the fact that the had not spoken in over twenty years, he had a funny feeling Dan would call him.

“Hi
Dan, how’s it going?” said Eduardo cheerily.

“How’s it fucking going? How’s it fucking going
? Fine until I heard you were crashing my party. What the fuck are you playing at Eduardo?”

“Now, now
. Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“Friends my a
ss.”

“OK, old business colleague?”

“Stop fucking about Eduardo, what the fuck do you want?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing
. I mean, it’s not everyday a protégé becomes president.”

“
You’re throwing some very dangerous words around Eduardo!” replied Dan, changing his tone to a more chilling one.

“I don’t like your tone
Dan, I suggest you remember with whom you are speaking,” replied Eduardo, matching Dan’s chilling tone.

“Don’t fuck with me Eduardo, just stay away. You coming here will do none of us any good.”

Before he could respond, Dan hung up, leaving an enraged Eduardo Ramirez holding a dead phone.

***

The American Airlines flight from Boston touched down only two minutes late and quickly disgorged its 126 passengers into the main terminal at Queen Beatrix International Airport on the island of Aruba. Dressed almost entirely in Hawaiian shorts and shirts, the plane load of tourists rushed through the terminal and presented themselves to immigration and passport control. Armed predominantly with nothing more official than their drivers’ licences the stream of Americans passed through unchallenged and swiftly left the building in search of buses and taxis to take them on to their hotels and apartments for their week long holiday on the island paradise.

One passenger however had planned a much shorter stay
. She made sure she was almost exactly in the middle of the crowd as the eager tourists pushed past the immigration officials. As she flashed her Connecticut drivers’ licence she smiled warmly to the Aruban official who unlike his American counterparts, had a permanent smile fixed on his face.

“Bon Bini, Miss,” he looked at her licence
. “Long.”

“Hi
.”

“I hope you enjoy your stay,” he sai
d as he passed her licence back to her.

“Thank you.”

She took her licence and placing it back in her wallet, walked through the baggage hall carefully scrutinising everyone and comfortable she was receiving no undue attention, exited the terminal.

The first thing she noted as she stepped out
of the terminal was the wind. It blew relentlessly and reminded her of the Mistral in Marseille. This worried her. She grabbed the first taxi she could find and asked the driver to take her to the Riu Palace. Fifteen minutes later, the taxi drew up at the front door of the hotel. She paid the driver, tipping him just enough so he wouldn’t remember her as being either tight or generous and walked into the lobby of the hotel, through the reception area out into the pool area and across the back of the complex into the next door Radisson. A booking for Miss Long was found on the system and she was informed a package was waiting for her in her room.

With a room in the main tower
, she moved across the foyer to the elevators and climbed to the fourth floor. Her room was the third down on the left and as she opened the door, she was met by a breathtaking view of an almost perfect picture postcard scene of the Caribbean. With little time to enjoy it, she moved across to the baggage waiting for her and checked everything she needed was there and most importantly, that none of it had been tampered with before repacking its contents into one large dive bag.

The only thing left to
do was to change her clothes. Walking across the beach in a long dress with a dive bag would not exactly look the part. She changed into her bikini and instantly lost 10 pounds and 10 years. Her previous outfit had been chosen carefully to help blend in with the crowd. Something she could not achieve in a bikini, no matter how unattractive the swimsuit was. Her physique was exceptional.

Breaking
down the cardboard packaging, she picked it up and deposited it at the maid’s station at the end of the corridor. She then returned to her room and wiped it down thoroughly, ensuring no traces of her visit remained. With one last check that she had everything, she hoisted the dive bag onto her shoulder and made her way back down to the hotel lobby. 

The change in her appearance was certainly noted
. Every hot blooded male became aware of her and was keen to offer her some assistance with her bag. Each offer was refused politely but firmly to ensure her swift transit through the hotel and out onto the beach. The weight of the bag would have certainly raised a few questions, particularly how a petite girl could carry a bag that size so easily on her shoulder. Once on the beach, she paused briefly to soak in the stunning view, powdery white sand gently lapped by crystal clear waters and in the foreground, a pier stretching out across the water. It was her first trip to Aruba, a favourite amongst honeymooners and from first impressions, she could certainly understand why. She thought it might well be worth another visit, under more leisurely circumstances.

She spotted the speedboat bobbing gently against the pier, positioned exactly as her instructions had detailed, opposite the donut shop on the pier. On reading the instructions
, she had been sure there had been a mistake but there it was, the donut shop halfway up the pier. What she hadn’t known was that the pier had a number of retail units running down the centre of it with a walkway on the outside. With another three offers of help between the beach and the pier, she couldn’t get there quick enough. Her business was about keeping a low profile. The swimsuit was a mistake she would not make again.