Authors: Sue Guillou
‘It’s often used by park attendants, guests or anyone of significance who required anonymity and protection. The hut is installed with premier security and monitoring and is usually kept reasonably secret, making it perfect for us. We were lucky to obtain it,’ said Tom with pride written on his youthful face.
‘I’m in the shower first!’ yelled Gillian as she beat the men in a race to the tiny room. She returned after the specified five minutes to sit for a meal of pasta and coffee.
‘This is heaven. I’ve never really been one for pasta, but right now it tastes as good as the best rump steak,’ said Adam in absolute delight.
‘Delicious,’ agreed Georgio as his tough man image was temporarily marred by a blob of carbonara sauce on his clean shirt.
‘What a slob,’ laughed Gillian, although it was quite evident that her attentions were not on Georgio’s misfortune but on the obsidian box that lay on the table. She was like magnet to metal that was unable to pull away.
‘I vote for a nap. My brain is way too fried to unravel another Kinix puzzle,’ said Adam.
Tom viewed his waterproof watch. ‘We have time. There’s still four hours until we receive the call from the General.’
‘Excellent, Mate. Wake us up in three,’ murmured Adam under the heady haze of sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Dale could not help but smile at Sean’s evident excitement.
‘First flight’s always the best,’ confirmed Dale as the helicopter veered sharply to the right and ventured out over the vast expanse of the Gulf of Mexico.
It was a lovely morning and the crystal clear bay played host to numerous boats of all shapes and sizes. There were large liners steaming toward the Florida Straits, tankers moving cargo and a general clutter of pleasure and speed boats. It was a hub of activity that provided a wonderful vision as the sun rose over the horizon.
Dale massaged his neck. He had spent a very painful evening cramped into the back of Sean’s car and in hindsight, a patch of grass or his much loved swag would have provided more comfort.
Sean looked at him with sympathy and understanding. ‘Sorry about the car.’
‘It’s not your fault. This whole situation leaves a lot to be desired,’ conceded Dale as Sean considered his words for a moment before replying.
‘I know that there is a lot more going on than you have seen fit to tell me, but I appreciate being given the opportunity to help you. This is certainly a lot more exciting then chauffeuring around smelly, rude people all day.’
‘Yes … perhaps … but we still have a long way to go. You were fundamental in saving me from becoming front page news, or worse, a suspected criminal. I am in your debt, but I am keen to ensure that you are not hurt. I owe you that, and a suitable explanation, but I just do not know where to begin.’
‘Try me,’ said Sean, his eyes brimming with curiosity.
‘Not yet,’ replied Dale. The time was not right and he feared the boy’s reaction when he found out they were tracking a notorious drug criminal.
Sean did not argue but continued to view the commotion below as the helicopter encroached on their landing position.
They landed in a field just outside the inner fortified wall surrounding the centre of Mexican capital of Campeche. Home to 220 000 people, the town was conquered in 1540 by the Spanish Conquistadores, the very people who were touted as being responsible for the fall of the Mayans, although Dale was not so sure about that theory. Gillian had earbashed him enough about the failing of the Mayan hierarchy and loss of viable earth to grow food to shed a different light on the subject. The alternative thought was that the civilisation was already crumbling prior to the arrival of the Spaniards. They only hastened the inevitable.
‘I thought we were in a hurry,’ said Sean as he grabbed Dale’s arm and jerked him from the helicopter and onto the grass just as a bullet whistled past Dale’s right shoulder.
Dale winced and looked in shocked disbelief. He had lost a small piece of fabric and there was a minor graze. ‘Shit that was close.’
‘Who the hell is trying to kill us?!’ yelled Sean as they dived for cover behind a small tree.
‘A mean bastard by the name of Arun.’
‘I thought we were looking for Rossler Townsend.’
‘Rossler is only a lead; Arun is the one we are after, the leader of a massive drug ring that has infiltrated all levels of our society from the humble farmer to the White House,’ responded Dale.
The level of danger had risen unexpectedly, putting his life, but more importantly, Sean’s, in immediate danger. The time had come for Sean to know why they were here and to have the opportunity to get out.
‘If you want to go home, now’s the time! There’s enough cash in my wallet to catch a flight!’ yelled Dale as they sprinted down the pavement past the most fantastic arrangement of pastel coloured homes he had ever seen. In fact the whole hillside was a myriad of colour and under normal circumstances, he would have stopped to look.
Another shot pounded a nearby wall, blowing a haze of plaster into the air.
‘No, I’m in for the long haul! Anyway, who will save your arse if I leave!’ hollered Sean over the din of the passing traffic.
Dale shook his head in admiration. This boy had balls.
They continued their high speed sprint through a local store and out the other side, knocking a couple of stands on the way. Dale began to feel the stirrings of a stitch, which he forced to the back of his mind, and mounted the footpath before running past a set of reflective windows. It was here where he caught a fleeting glimpse of their determined, dark-haired pursuer no more than fifty feet behind.
He was aiming his firearm in their direction.
They both ducked in unison.
‘Where now?!’ screamed Sean as they approached the old fortified wall originally built to keep out invaders and famous pirates like Francis Drake and John Hawkins during the 1600s. Completed in about 1680 by a French engineer, the wall was roughly hexagonal in shape and encompassed the entire city. The eight corners and bulwarks had since been converted for alternative uses such as a museum, prison, city and sea gate and a botanical garden.
Dale gestured to a nearby busy hotel which he hoped would provide the ideal place to lose their pursuer.
They raced inside the tastefully renovated room, fully booked for lunch, and out towards the kitchen door. Men, women and children who had previously been sitting down for a relaxing meal suddenly found themselves with a lap full of food and drink as Dale and Sean barged through in a desperate hurry.
The rampaging gunman was on their heels with a pistol pointed in their direction.
‘Duck!’ screamed Dale as a bullet whizzed past their heads and lodged in a light fitting. The resultant shower of glass just missed the nearby customers.
The place was in an uproar. First from the unexpected intrusion and then from the fear of being shot! Everyone hid under the table and chairs, leaving a ready path for the gunman to follow his intended targets.
‘I don’t think we’d be welcome back any time soon,’ said Sean.
Dale and Sean slammed the back door open, jumped down a small flight of stairs into a dirty alley and ran for their lives. They exited in an adjoining car park and Dale estimated that they had no more than thirty seconds to find the vehicle he was looking for.
As a young man he had been caught in a situation that required the hot-wiring of a car. Whilst he had not stolen the car himself, he had paid particular attention how to do it just in case the skill was ever required again. The catch was that he needed a Honda Civic, but any older car would do.
He found a Toyota in the next aisle that would be suitable, but to his disappointment, it was locked. Dale was stumped; unlocking a door was not on his resume.
‘Move over, old man,’ ordered Sean as he opened the car and started the engine in a mere twenty-five seconds.
Dale stood, mouth agape.
Sean grimaced but did not offer any explanation for his finely tuned skills.
‘I’d be getting in if I were you,’ Sean pointed over his shoulder as a black figure careened toward them.
The vehicle, whilst in bad condition, was not the sludge it appeared to be. It moved without the expected moans and groans onto the road, providing the perfect escape … or so it seemed.
A grey sedan was not far behind.
‘How’s your driving skills?’ asked Dale, concerned his life was in the hands of a boy barely eighteen years of age.
Sean grinned and seemed more animated than any other time. He was clearly in his element and forced the Toyota into a speed at which it seemed incapable of moving.
Dale shrank down into his seat and groped for the panic handles but was unable to locate anything of assistance. He was not enjoying himself in the slightest.
With finely tuned skills, Sean fed the car between the oncoming traffic and a number of parked cars. The pursuer did not fare so well and collided with a street sign and the open door of a Jeep allowing Sean to gain some well-earned ground.
Dale began to relax. This kid was good. Better than he would have been.
Sean accelerated along an open road, careened through a roundabout and spun into the lane between a petrol station and a car wash. The road led through an industrial park and out into a large, open car space allowing Sean to pull in between two large parked garbage trucks. This effectively concealed the vehicle from passing traffic. The small Toyota looked like the meat in a sandwich, but it served its purpose and the pursuer tore straight past them.
‘Bloody hell. Where did you learn to drive like that?’ asked Dale in shock.
‘My parents brought me up well, respecting the law and all, but on occasion we were so desperate for money that something needed to be done. I stole a couple of cars to get us by. My parents didn’t know. They thought I was working, but I could not earn in a year what one car gave me.’
Sean did not look Dale in the eye.
Normally Dale would have a criminal arrested without remorse, but Sean’s illegal skills had saved his life. He had no right to judge this boy for his past actions, particularly not now.
‘It’s okay. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.’ Dale had a few he cared not to remember. ‘But we have to move. Arun knows we’re here and will do his best to hide any evidence of his dealings.’
‘Drugs … so, this is about drugs? I suppose it makes sense. Why else would we be running for our lives?’
Dale could not tell if Sean was being sarcastic.
‘My GPS tells us that the home of Rossler Townsend is only a block from here,’ said Dale as he clambered from the car and waited momentarily for Sean.
‘Let’s go,’ said Sean eagerly as they proceeded cautiously along the street, ensuring they retained cover in as many doorways as possible, arriving quickly at a pastel yellow two storey abode.
All looked quiet.
‘I vote that we go inside and see what we can find,’ said Sean as he waltzed brazenly up to the front door, exhibiting the inexperience and carefree attitude of youth.
Dale called for him to get away. He had studied the building, noting that the curtains were hastily drawn, but the tabby cat was busy eating a fresh meal from the blue bowl on the front step. A faint reflection on the side fence also revealed that a light in the upper floor was on.
He instinctively knew something was not right, but Sean had already opened the door only to find himself face to face with a fully loaded pistol. He quickly judged the situation, easily determining that the distance between himself and the gunman was too far for him to intercede. His only problem: inaction would surely spell Sean’s death. He did the only thing he could do.
Dale dived between Sean and the gunman at the same time that the man fired directly at Sean’s temple. Impacting with his waist, Dale was too late to stop the bullet from hitting Sean, but he did manage to force the boy in the opposite direction. The bullet missed the target, striking the soft flesh just below his shoulderblade.
Sean groaned in agony as the killer re-aimed his gun at Dale, but Dale had already rolled forwards and grabbed the assassin by his ankles. He had easily recognised the large, dark-skinned man with a formidable physique and long brown hair as the person who had been chasing them. But how had he known their destination? The only answer that made sense was that this man was Rossler Townsend and this was his home.
Dale yanked at the man’s feet, bracing himself as Rossler fell backwards, hitting his head on the doorjamb at the top of the stairs. Unfortunately this did nothing to deter him. As Dale tried to swivel him around and wrestle the gun from his grasp, he elbowed Dale in his upper chest.
Dale gasped from the loss of air and the speed of his opponent’s actions. He was not prepared and not nearly robust enough to beat him at his own game. He had to be smarter … but how?
Rossler struggled to his feet, but just as he was regaining his balance, Dale hurdled himself onto his back. Rossler spun around but clung to him like a spider, collecting the porcelain bust on the pedestal in the hallway with his back. It went flying and shattered against the pale blue wall, causing plaster dust to burst into the air.
Rossler coughed, the temporary distraction giving Dale the moment he needed.
With added determination, Dale caught him off guard, grabbing him and flinging him backwards in an attempt to throw him to the ground. Unfortunately Rossler was well prepared, turning the move to his advantage and spinning a full 180 degrees before dropping onto Dale and pinning him between his overly large arms.
Rossler grinned. He had the upper hand and reached sideways to grab the gun that lay on the black and white tiled floor. Dale had no time to contemplate his actions – doing what he always classed as devious and unmanly. He kneed Rossler in the balls.