Luc: A Spy Thriller (11 page)

Now, I waited.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I didn’t have to worry about missing Giuttieri.

Shortly after a quarter to eleven, a massive white yacht appeared on the horizon and eased its way towards us.

As I was applying sun cream to my arms and chest I caught a glimpse of Mortlake arriving. He was with Arundel Salazar, his bodyguard, and they were strolling down the path that led from the road to the marina.

The massive yacht was being piloted into the dock and I began working the lotion into my legs.

Mortlake and Salazar were walking down the wooden jetty to where the yacht was to be docked. Salazar again had a red handkerchief in his suit pocket.

I leaned back on one elbow and faced the woman.

‘Excuse me,’ I said smiling.

She looked over. She wasn’t giving me the satisfaction of a smile just yet; I’d disturbed her sunbathing.

I lifted up the bottle of sun cream. ‘Would you mind?’ I asked.

Mortlake stood at the end of the dock, Salazar occasionally glancing around.

She held my gaze for what seemed an eternity. Eventually she softened a little, allowed me a small twinkling of her eyes (but no smile just yet). She sat up and then got onto her knees, her breasts bobbing a little in her tight pink bikini. She reached out and took the suntan lotion and with her other hand pushed my shoulder with her index finger.

‘Lie down,’ she said.

I lay on my stomach and rested my head on my crossed arms, facing away to my right. Towards the yacht.

I could hear the woman squeeze the lotion onto her hands and then heard the click as she snapped closed the lid. She gently rubbed her hands a couple of times and then, as the boarding ramp was swung out from the yacht, and people started to disembark, I felt her soft, gentle fingers touch my back, and then she pressed down onto her palms and began to spread the cold lotion around my back and shoulders in gentle, caressing, circular motions.

He was the third person to disembark. I guessed it was him. He was as big as his boat.

He wore a navy blue blazer, dark blue shirt and light coloured trousers. His belt (doing its best to rein in an enormous stomach) seemed to be studded.

The sun caught the silver buttons on his blazer. I tensed my jaw.

A tall, glamorous woman wearing a wide hat followed him down the boarding ramp.

Giuttieri stepped off the yacht and greeted Mortlake with a grin and a handshake, Salazar intensified his scanning of the environment. He looked in the direction of the beach, but he wouldn’t see anything out of place over here.

‘What’s your name?’ the woman asked me, her oily hands now caressing my lower back.

‘Philip. What’s yours?’

‘Stephanie.’

‘You’re doing a good job, Stephanie.’

Salazar was now joined by Giuttieri’s own thugs, six of them, and they surrounded Giuttieri and Mortlake and the woman as they advanced back up the jetty towards the road.

***

Giuttieri was fat. No politesse available there, I’m afraid. He simply was very fat. I reasoned therefore that he wasn’t used to doing a lot of walking. In which case Mortlake must have his vehicles parked nearby for the arriving Giuttieri.

Stephanie finished down my lower back, and then brought her hands up for a couple of flourishing caresses of my shoulder blades, and then said, ‘Okay, you’re done.’

‘Thank you, Stephanie.’

Giuttieri and Mortlake, deep in conversation, were now walking up the slope toward the road level, the woman trailing behind them, the thugs still scanning in all directions.

‘Perhaps you’d like to do me now?’ Stephanie said.

I sat up a little, resting my weight on my left hand and looked into her pretty face.

‘Love to.’

She smiled and lowered herself onto her towel, lying on her stomach. She reached behind with both hands and unclasped her bikini top, letting the ends fall to her side. She brought her elbows in to cover the sides of her breasts.

Giuttieri and Mortlake would soon be walking out of sight. And if they were parked nearby - which would be only natural - I had to move soon.

I poured some suntan lotion onto my hands and worked it into her back. I massaged her shoulders and neck, and then moved lower. As I gently rubbed the oil across the valley of her lower back, she moaned softly and appreciatively.

‘Lower,’ she said.

I raised an eyebrow, but I did as I was told. I’m not one of these men who can’t take orders from a woman.

I moved my hands down in successive movements.

‘
Lower
.’ Understood.

My fingers slipped under her bikini bottoms, reaching the rise of her buttocks.

Her appreciative moans intensified.

Giuttieri and Mortlake reached the road level and stepped out of sight.

‘Got to go.’ I stood up and grabbed my towel.

‘
Hey
.’ Stephanie looked up, puzzled.

‘Sorry. Late for church.’

I think she called me a rude word then, but I was halfway across the sand, gripping my T-shirt, my towel over my shoulder.

Giuttieri and Mortlake had gone up the slope. Over this side there was a flight of steps.

I pounded up them, the tops of my thighs feeling the workout.

As I neared the top I slowed as the outlines of the men came into view, standing over to the right. Mortlake was talking animatedly on his mobile.

I reached the top of the steps. I thanked a young, giggling couple who had stepped aside and waited for me to get to the top, and I ambled across the road, not looking right, and got into my Land Cruiser. I immediately felt the heat from the leather seat on my bare back and thighs. I put my T-shirt on and threw the towel onto the back seat. There was a bottle of water on the passenger seat. I took a swig, the water hot as anything now, and as my head went back I looked in the rear-view mirror and shifted a little to my left, and saw Giuttieri and Mortlake. Mortlake was still on his phone. Giuttieri was standing near him, his back to me. The glamorous woman said something to Giuttieri and climbed into the back of a waiting black Range Rover.

Mortlake cupped his phone and spoke to Giuttieri. Giuttieri nodded and patted Mortlake’s arm, and followed the woman into the back of the vehicle. Mortlake spoke a little more into the phone and then finished the call. He spoke once more to Giuttieri, nodded, and then strode to the rear of the four waiting Range Rovers and got in the back.

The vehicles moved off.

The first two cars swept past me. The rear two cars swung round and took the second turning. Giuttieri and Mortlake were going to different places.

I kept with Giuttieri.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

They stayed on the coast road. I hung back, not allowing any fewer than two vehicles between me and the rear car. They swung round the broad curve overlooking Pilar Bay. The sun glistened on the blue water down below. Gulls soared and dived, plunging into the blue sea.

The indicators on Giuttieri’s vehicles began to flash. They were taking a turning on the right. Up ahead, the road swung left. Straight on was a private road. Giuttieri’s vehicles left the road and roared off down the private road. I couldn’t follow them, of course, and so had to follow the road around.

I could now see, to my right, a large cliff-top villa, partially hidden by trees and bushes. That was obviously Giuttieri’s place. It had spectacular views of the sea.

I carried on along the road. I had the window open and the breeze was ruffling my hair and T-shirt. My phone vibrated.

‘Luc. Charlie.’

‘Charlie. I was about to ring you. I know where Giuttieri’s place is. There’s a cliff-top villa just past Pilar Bay. It’s down a private road.’

‘Okay. I’ll look into it. Luc, the reason I was calling - Lucia has been trying to contact you.’ A dark Audi overtook me on the left.

‘Lucia? Is she okay?’

‘The Belizean Special Branch has brought her in.’

‘What? How?’

‘She went to get her granddad’s boat.’

My shoulders sunk. ‘Oh, Lucia.’

The Audi was slowing. No brake lights.

‘I’d watch yourself, Luc. The - .’

I twisted my head round. Saw two other dark Audis converging behind. The one in front slowed even more aggressively as one now pulled alongside.

‘Too late, Charlie,’ I said. ‘They’re already coming for me.’

It was a well-executed manoeuvre. I was boxed in and forced to a complete stop.

‘Can you do something about this, Charlie?’ I asked down the phone.

I threw the phone on the passenger seat and placed my hands on the dashboard, as men and women with guns converged rapidly on the car.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A woman with a ponytail and a baseball cap was sitting across the table, looking at me. A man was circling the room, throwing out questions. They both wore white shirts and dark trousers.

‘You think you have jurisdiction?’ the man asked. They had introduced themselves as Detectives Harvey Ramos and Warita Aranda.

‘No,’ I said. ‘But two of our people were murdered.’

‘Report it to the police.’

‘Look, I didn’t go out looking for these men.’ Not strictly true, but move on. ‘They attacked us. If you think me or my department is going to sit back and do nothing, you’re mistaken.’ The room smelled of a day-old Chinese takeaway.

‘And if you think that we’re simply going to let you run amok in this country, then
you
are mistaken.’

The woman, Aranda, who had been silent up until now, leaned forward, clasping her hands together on the desk. She looked at me levelly.

‘What do you know?’ she said in a calm authoritative voice. She had sleepy eyes and her smooth skin was the colour of hazelnut.

‘About what?’ I said.

‘You know what. Don’t waste my time.’

‘The bomb?’

‘I said don’t waste my time. You know I mean the bomb.’

‘You must already know the Guatemalan Territories Brigade is claiming responsibility.’

‘Yes,’ Aranda said. ‘That’s a bit like my granny claiming responsibility. What
else
do you know?’

‘How about a bit of quid pro quo here?’ I said.

‘How about you tell me or I drop you from the roof.’ Her dark eyes didn’t waver. I actually got the impression she wasn’t joking.

‘I’m happy to tell you. We think a man named Ernesto Giuttieri may be behind all this. You know him?’

‘Giuttieri? The businessman? Why would he set a bomb off in Belize City? I’m struggling to imagine what message it’s supposed to send out.’

‘I don’t know why either.’

‘So why do you think it’s Giuttieri?’

‘His lawyer,’ I said. ‘Ray Mortlake.’

‘What about him?’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘You’d seriously drop me off the roof?’

‘Why Mortlake?’

‘Let’s do a deal,’ I said.

She seemed to dip lower then, and like an idiot I wondered why. Although not for long. I soon realised why when my chair and I went flying backwards and I cracked the back of my head on the cold hard floor. The next thing I knew I was being pulled up from the floor, held in an armlock and someone had hold of my hair and was pulling hard. I was bundled out of the room and pushed and dragged up flights of stairs, onlookers noting what was happening, none seeming particularly surprised.

A door was thrust open and the sun and the heat hit me and I was pushed out onto the flat roof of the building, still gripped by the almighty armlock - was it the woman? - and I was marched across the asphalt-covered roof at a frightening pace.

The edge of the building and the long drop swung into view and we weren’t stopping and Jesus, that’s -

A calm female voice came from behind.

‘You said something about a Ray Mortlake.’

My feet were dangling over the edge. We were seven floors up.

‘Look down,’ she said.

I didn’t want to, but it was an involuntary thing. I looked down.

‘You’d land on that patch of blood that they can never seem to wash away completely.’

There was indeed a large dark patch of something on the concrete below.

‘I was going to tell you anyway,’ I said.

‘What they all say.’

I told her what we’d got.

***

Ramos brought in some coffees. We were back in the interrogation room. Aranda was behind the desk again. I decided I’d stand near the wall.

‘You got anything stronger?’ I asked when Ramos handed me a mug.

‘All shook up?’