Survival (2 page)

An old man with a cutoff pump shotgun fell out of the doorway as he fired his final shot, which went wide, sizzling harmlessly into the surrounding jungle. His eyes stared sightlessly as the men approached, already gone to whatever afterlife awaited him.

A terrified scream wailed from the largest building and one of the assailants appeared, dragging an unarmed woman from it. Another man followed carrying a baby by one of its legs. Its hysterical cries pierced the sudden quiet after the shooting, the only other sounds the moans of the wounded and the mother’s shrieking.

The man with the pistol ejected his magazine and seated another as he strolled unhurriedly to where the woman was on her knees, a gun held to her head, helpless tears of fear and rage streaming down her face. She could barely breathe, her grief choking her, and she gasped and cried as the man paused in front of her. He brushed flecks of dirt from his trousers and shook his head with disapproval, then turned his eyes to her. When he spoke, his voice was arctic.

“I warned your idiot husband. Do you see what he forced me to do?”

“No, please, I beg you. Don’t. Anything. I’ll do anything,” she cried.

“Yes, oh, yes, you will.” He eyed her. “What are you called?”

“Lola,” she snuffled, her throat tight.

The man smiled: an ugly grin, without a trace of warmth to soften the expression on his reptilian face. “Well, Lola, Alonso has caused me great trouble, for which your town has paid the price. He understood the stakes, and he went forward with his plan anyway. I wonder whether all the dead think it was worth it. My bet is not.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man shook his head regretfully. “Perhaps. Although it’s with great difficulty that I bring myself to believe that your husband didn’t confide his innermost thoughts to you. My experience is that men like to brag, especially to beautiful young women. And you are a beauty, aren’t you?” He paused, studying her. “How old are you, Lola?”

“Nineteen.”

He glanced over at his gunmen, who were gathering in a semicircle now that the village was still. “Such a tender age, is it not? The world is filled with possibility, with only the good, your whole life ahead of you. Ah, to be nineteen again. What I wouldn’t give.” His gaze returned to Lola, who was shivering with fear even in the humid swelter. “It’s a shame that your husband’s actions forced my hand. I do not enjoy this. It pains me to have to eliminate everyone to prove a point, but I am in a business where any signs of mercy are interpreted as weakness – and the strong eat the weak. You understand that, Lola, do you not?”

“Please. No more. Everyone’s dead,” she pleaded.

“Not everyone. You aren’t. And this,” he said, gesturing at the crying baby. “This little tyke is still alive. What’s his name? This son of the man who screwed me like I was his prison bitch? What name did you choose for the fruit of his loins?”

“Oh, God, no, he’s only five months old. He’s innocent.”

The man nodded. “Yes. The innocence of youth. Like young Moses was innocent.” He sighed sadly. “Have you read your Bible, Lola?”

“Please,” she sobbed, panicking at the look on his face.

“The Bible is an amazing book. Especially the Old Testament. One of the things it stresses is the importance of punishment. ‘An eye for an eye.’ Tell me, Lola, do you believe in God? Do you believe that all these newly minted spirits are ascending to heaven, going to a better place, off to their just reward?” He gazed into the distance. “Or perhaps traveling to a warmer climate to pay for their sins?”

“I’ll…do…anything…” she gasped.

“We’ve already established that, Lola, and my men are looking forward to testing your skills. But that didn’t answer the question, did it? I’m a forgiving man, Lola, strange as that seems, but the one thing that infuriates me is when someone ignores a direct question, especially if I pose it politely. Are you trying to anger me, Lola? Are you testing me?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

The man wiped a fatigued hand across his forehead and regarded the sweat on it with disgust. After another glance at Lola, he looked to the man holding the baby. “Throw it into the river.”

Lola’s scream reverberated off the surrounding rainforest as the man with the baby walked unceremoniously to the bank and slung the infant as far as he could. The infant spun in the air and made a lazy arc, its cry fading just before it hit the water with a splash.

The river swallowed the child without a trace. Lola collapsed to the ground, sobbing and keening, the sound of pure misery and hate. The man watched her for a few moments and scowled at his men. “Enjoy yourselves. You have twenty minutes. Make it fast.” He returned his gaze to Lola. “I will leave you, out of everyone, alive, to tell the story of what happens to those who betray me. I have no doubt you’ll remember this day for the rest of your life.”

He turned from the woman as his men closed in, a fatigued frown on his face, and headed back to the lead Suburban, its engine still running. A blast of cold air blew from the interior when he slipped into the passenger seat, and he sighed in relief. He opened the glove compartment, withdrew a pack of Marlboro reds and tapped one out, and then lit it with a solid-gold lighter fished from the pocket of his slacks. He removed his pistol from its belt holster and tossed the two spent extra magazines onto the floor, exhaling a stream of smoke at the windshield.

Even with the windows rolled up he could hear Lola’s screams as the men dragged her into the shade. He reached over and punched the stereo on, and the voice of Mana blared from the speakers, drowning out the unpleasant screeching. After another disinterested glance at the shamble of destroyed shacks and the bodies of the dead already beginning to bloat in the sun, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, humming along with the familiar song as he waited for his men to return.

A lone gull wheeled in a slow orbit over the river before flapping off, nothing of interest to draw it closer. The inexorably rushing brown water and the swaying palms and mangroves bore mute witness to the atrocity that would receive no coverage, no comment, the forgotten berg to be reclaimed by the silent jungle once the scavengers were done with the corpses.

Chapter 2

Valparaíso, Chile, one day ago

A cool fog hung over the waterfront like a frigid blanket in the predawn gloom. Warning bells from buoys near the harbor mouth clanged in the mist, and the distorted sound seemed to come from all directions. Huge cargo ships tugged at their groaning dock lines as the tide receded, the swell shifting their steel hulls against the concrete wharf in an abrasive symphony of scraping and grinding.

Three dark forms, their furry bodies the size of small cats, scuttled down the wooden planks of the waterfront pier. Norwegian wharf rats ran the harbor at night, disappearing once the first faint glimmer of sunlight began burning away the covering fog. As its followers waited, the lead rodent stopped and sniffed the air, the aroma heavy with marine decay and petroleum, and then veered right toward a dumpster where a bounty of garbage awaited.

A burgundy Chevrolet rental sedan coasted to a stop fifty yards from a café. It was already open for early rising seamen in the port, its faded sign depicting a crusty captain with a peg leg and a harpoon, a pelican perched on an ale cask next to him for company. The driver killed the engine and the headlights flickered off. Igor and Fernanda got out, their practiced eyes surreptitiously scanning their surroundings. The glistening asphalt was slick from condensation, reflecting the few streetlights that ringed the harbor, but they were the only car on the street. Igor cocked his head to the left and listened as the buoys lowed their cautionary lament. Somewhere in the fog, a crane motor clamored and whined, the job of offloading and loading cargo never done.

Igor leaned toward Fernanda, whose Brazilian heritage was apparent from her exotic beauty and high cheekbones, and murmured, “This better be worth losing sleep over.”

“He sounded like it would be,” she responded.

Igor and Fernanda had spent more than a fruitless week running down leads on their quarry, the mystery woman they’d been paid to find and eliminate, but were no further along than when they’d arrived in Chile. After false alarms and chasing tips that dead-ended in blind alleys, they’d finally gotten a promising break – a member of the Chilean underworld had responded to the generous offer they’d circulated in Valparaíso and Santiago, and this morning they were to meet the man in a café. They had no reason to be particularly suspicious, but even so were cautious on their approach to the restaurant. Fernanda’s gaze scoured the upper stories of the buildings facing the water for any telltales of surveillance – a partially open window, perhaps, or lights on when everyone was still asleep. Igor focused on the street level, and his eyes scanned the wharf and sidewalk as they slowly walked toward the entry.

A tall figure appeared out of the soup like a phantom, white tendrils of fog swirling around his navy blue pea coat, a knit seaman’s cap pulled down over his head, three days of scruff darkening his swarthy face. They waited by the entrance as the seaman continued past them unsteadily, the sour tang of stale beer following him like smoke. Igor raised an eyebrow as Fernanda’s stare followed the man and eyed the door.

“Shall we?” he asked in perfect Spanish.

“Nobody’s getting any younger.”

The interior of the dining room was century-old beams overhead and dark driftwood walls. Black-and-white photographs of tall ships hung in cheap frames between paintings of whaling vessels and scowling unnamed seafarers, mutton-chop sideburns and gin blossoms the common feature aside from haunting eyes. Fernanda surveyed the room in a quick glance and settled on an olive-skinned man wearing a black leather zip-up jacket and a chocolate dress shirt. She smiled as she approached him and he returned the smile, but it never reached his eyes.

“Carlos?” she said in a low voice as she neared the booth.

“You must be Christina,” he said, using the alias she’d given him. “A pleasure. Please. Sit. And this is…?” he asked, giving Igor a once-over.

“My friend,” Fernanda said, ending that line of inquiry.

“I see.”

Fernanda slid across from Carlos. Igor took the seat next to her, the bulge of the Glock he’d bought from a street dealer obvious beneath his windbreaker. Carlos glanced at it in passing but seemed unconcerned that Igor was armed as he waved the tired-looking waitress over.

“What would you like? Coffee’s not bad,” he suggested.

Fernanda regarded the waitress, noting the discoloration beneath her eyes and the deep frown lines that framed her thin mouth, and held up two fingers. “Two cups.”

“Breakfast?” Carlos asked.

She shook her head. “No, thanks. Just the drinks and conversation, for now.”

Nobody said anything until the woman returned with a pair of chipped oversized mugs of steaming brew and set them on the hardwood tabletop. A sheet of glass protected the hundreds of whittled names that covered every inch of the wood surface. Both Igor and Fernanda sipped theirs black while they waited for Carlos to open the discussion. He glanced around the café and leaned toward them, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I have what you requested. Or at least as much as it’s possible to get.”

“What does that mean?” Fernanda asked, an edge to her words.

“It means that I know that my organization arranged for some people to be smuggled aboard a cargo ship bound for the United States last week. I’ve got the ship schedule, as well as blueprints of the boat. And a piece of critical information that will be of great interest to you.”

Igor put his coffee down. “Really?”

Carlos offered him a crooked grin. “Really.”

“Care to elaborate?” Fernanda asked.

“Once we have a deal.”

Igor caught Fernanda’s eye. “How do we know your information is what we’re after?”

“Gee. Let’s see. You’re looking for a woman, a man, and a kid. I have confirmation that the passengers include a man and a kid.”

“What about the woman?”

“I haven’t been able to get confirmation on that, but when you hear the final bit of info, you’ll understand why I believe this is what you want.”

Igor shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“Fine. Then you have my number. Think it over. But every hour, the boat moves further north and your options narrow.”

Fernanda’s eyes narrowed. “Why? It’s a long way to the U.S.”

Carlos gazed slyly at Fernanda. “That’s where the information comes in. They’re to be smuggled off during the voyage.”

“What? Where?” Igor demanded.

“That’s all I can tell you. But wait too long and they’ll be out of your reach.” He sat back and regarded them calmly. “That’s it…until we have a deal.”

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Fernanda asked.

“Of course,” Carlos replied. Igor slid out of the booth and Fernanda joined him on a hunt for the bathroom.

On the way she whispered to him, “We have no choice.”

“I don’t trust him. And his information’s incomplete. This could be a red herring.”

“True. But if we don’t take this, we’re dead in the water. And the clock’s ticking.”

“It’s a lot of money.”

“Yes, but we’ll bill the client.”

“They’re unlikely to pay if we don’t perform.”

“Obviously. It’s a calculated risk. But at this point, we’re out of options.”

They each used the restroom, and then Igor followed Fernanda back to the table. When they were seated, she gave Carlos a warm smile.

“Fine. You got us.”

“Do you have the money with you?”

“Of course. In my friend’s jacket. But we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves. Time for you to show us what you have.”

“I’ll give you everything but the details about the method they’ll use to get off the ship. That you’ll get once I have the cash in hand.”

“Fair enough. Now give.”

Carlos removed a flash drive and slid it across the table. “The ship’s the
Seylene
, flagged in Liberia. Departed San Antonio bound for Long Beach. Crew of sixteen. The schedule on the drive will tell you where she’ll be at any given hour, and there’s a GPS locator chip aboard you can track. I also included blueprints of the ship and a crew roster.”