Piranha Assignment (9 page)

“Word has only just now reached me of your coming, my friends,” Bastidas said in his high-pitched voice. He wore a white outfit identical to the one they had seen him in last. Felicity wondered how many men she knew who could carry off wearing a cape. This man did it. They shook hands, standing in the glare of Bastidas' brilliant smile.

“I have awaited your arrival anxiously,” Bastidas said. “These two will take your luggage to your rooms. Of course, you'll stay in the main house with me. Have you had lunch? On the plane? Good. I imagine you're anxious to check out our security measures. And of course, you'll want to see the project itself. Worn out from your travels? No, I thought not, hardy creatures like yourselves.”

Locking his eyes on Felicity, Bastidas paused for a breath and lowered his voice. “My dear, you look so much lovelier in red hair. Is this your natural color? That was a dirty trick you pulled on me in California, eh? Taught me a good lesson, though. No hard feelings, eh? You only did to me what I did to others.”

“I'm so glad you feel that way,” Felicity said, offering her own glittering smile. “I brought this by way of a peace offering.” From her pocket she produced a coin and flipped it through space. Bastidas plucked it out of the air. It was his own Brasher's doubloon. As soon as he recognized it, he threw back his head and laughed hard.

“This does indeed close the book on that episode,” Bastidas said. “Now, we all have things to do, but you must come with me to witness the afternoon entertainment. My personal bodyguard will give a demonstration of his skills.”

“Not that clown we met in the hotel room?” Morgan
asked, drawing a cautioning look from Felicity.

“Varilla? No, he has a talent for hurting people but he is the second string, as you Americans say. Now Mister Herrera, he is something special. Come to the back of the house. You will see why my person is never really in danger.”

The arena was a horseshoe shaped pit carved out of the shore, open to the Atlantic Ocean. A mild but detectible odor of decay made Felicity crinkle her nose. She imagined water must seep in at high tide, making it a bog right beside the house. The semicircle, nearly forty feet across, had sides about six feet high. Felicity counted nearly sixty men in fatigues sitting around the arena's edge, trying to get in a position to see down into it. She and Morgan found a spot on the spongy earth and sat. A flunky placed a folding chair at the center of the horseshoe's curve for Bastidas. It was the best spot for observation.

“Any idea what's going on?” Felicity asked.

“None,” Morgan said. “I see a pretty big cage down there and a round wicker basket. Maybe this Herrera does magic.”

As Morgan spoke, the crowd hushed. A figure stepped to the arena's edge and dropped inside. To Felicity, the man was a caricature, from head to toe. His head was square, although it bore the same Latin features as the others around her. He wore his straight black hair fairly short and slicked back with grease. This was in contrast to the men around her, who all seemed to grow their hair long. He wore a thick mustache which went straight across his upper lip, then arced down on either side of his mouth almost to his chin. His skin seemed a little ruddier than the others there, and his dark brown eyes were bloodshot.

The man in the pit moved with an arrogant stride. He was as big as a professional football halfback, maybe bigger. He wore a simple, natural color polo shirt that looked more like an additional layer of skin someone had painted on him. His pants were leopard skin and tight enough to leave no doubt about his gender. They came down to mid calf, where the thongs of his sandals met them, only they were not really sandals, but more like moccasins with straps. He looked incredibly muscular, and in that outfit, an ounce of fat would stand out.

The man had a barrel chest, huge arms, a small waist and very narrow hips. His thighs swelled back out, giving him a bizarre figure eight look. Morgan was muscular, Felicity reflected, but his muscles seemed smooth and flowing. The man in the arena was chunky, angular in a way that made him seem awkward, even as you observed his very graceful, pantherish stride. He looked up at his audience, and his voice boomed forth in a deep, powerful baritone.

“I, Rodrigo Herrera, shall now demonstrate the strength and speed a dedicated man may achieve through hard work and a tough daily regimen.”

Morgan leaned back on his elbows in the short grass. Beside him, Felicity sat in a half lotus posture, wondering if her new jumpsuit would get grass stains. Both leaned forward when Herrera whipped the top from the basket. The head of a huge snake wavered into the air.

The reptile's rough skin was light brown in color, almost pink, with a row of big black blotches running down its back. When it opened its mouth, Felicity could see fangs that had to be an inch long. A deep pit between its eyes and nostrils made its face menacing. Felicity's flesh crawled as the viper slithered out of its basket. It must have been ten feet long, and it eyed the only human within reach as if it had found its lunch at last..

“Bushmaster,” Morgan whispered, answering Felicity's unspoken question. “Native to here. Biggest poisonous snake in the Americas, North or South.”

Despite Felicity's interruptions, Morgan was focused on the movements of the man in the arena. As he watched, fascinated, Herrera crouched before the snake. He held his hands out before him, weaving them slowly through the air in intersecting circles. Was he trying to hypnotize the creature?

The snake's head swayed rhythmically, following Herrera's movements. Morgan sighed as Felicity nudged him again and shrugged her shoulders, asking another silent question. He could guess her thoughts and answered in a soft voice.

“The bushmaster and its cousins are called pit snakes because of the heat seeking organ in the pit on their faces.” As he said that, Morgan suddenly realized what the performer had in mind, and inwardly flinched. He thought Herrera must have been chewing peyote to try something this idiotic for fun. Nobody is that fast.

Even as Morgan thought this, Herrera seemed to make a false move with his left hand. Morgan recognized it as the feint a good knife fighter might make. The bushmaster committed to a lunge, and in that instant, Herrera struck. The crowd sucked in a collective gasp. His right hand had darted out, capturing the snake just below its jaws.

Out the corner of his eye, Morgan saw Felicity shaking her head. She did not think it possible either.

Ten feet of killer snake was whipping about in front of Herrera, who held its head up at arms length. His right arm knotted as he began to squeeze. If anyone in the audience thought snakes were spineless, they soon knew better, because they all heard the thing's backbone snap. Then Herrera captured the snake's tail with his left hand. With a
quick movement, he cracked the snake like a leather whip, smashing its head on the ground three times. When he dropped the limp body, the crowd burst into applause.

Morgan caught Bastidas' eyes for just a second. He returned Morgan's gaze, looking quite smug and pleased. Morgan had the feeling that this show was for him. He touched the Browning under his arm for comfort, and hoped Bastidas was not nursing any grudge for the con game they played on him in his luxury hotel room.

When he looked back, Herrera was opening the cage. A cat stalked out, growling low in its throat. It was a good six feet long, not counting its switching tail, with a golden coat covered with light spots within dark borders. It paced around so that it faced the man in the pit, whose back was to Morgan and Felicity. Black spots showed on the big cat's face.

“Is that a leopard?” Felicity asked, elbowing Morgan.

“Jaguar. To the ancient Mayans, they symbolized strength and courage. If this guy wanted to impress his Panamanian audience, this is the way.”

“Can he possibly fight that thing?” Felicity asked. “Look at the size of that cat.”

“Must weigh close to three hundred pounds,” Morgan said. “Then again, Herrera probably weighs more. I don't know, Red. I've seen men wrestle alligators.”

“Those things are set ups,” Felicity reminded him. “Does that cat look drugged to you?”

“No. He's alert and aware. Hush, now. It'll all be over one way or the other in one pass.”

The two animals in the pit locked eyes. The four legged one released a deep growl, and Morgan thought he heard an answering growl from the two legged beast. Was he really as big as Morgan thought? He watched a lot of football, and sometimes professional wrestling for fun. None of those
guys looked like they weighed three hundred pounds, but most of them did. This man's muscles twitched with anticipation of the battle. He wondered if Felicity found it sexy in some way.

The crowd, and even the surf seemed to hold its breath watching the frozen tableau. Only the twitching of the jaguar's two foot long tail reminded them that this drama's participants were living creatures with real blood flowing through their veins. Morgan felt sweat sliding down his back, and his throat ached from the tension of restricted breathing. There was no breeze, but he was sure he could already smell blood.

Like a spring loaded missile, the jaguar leaped at its prey. Impossible as it seemed, Herrera leaped forward at the same instant. The two growls merged into an insane roar. The cat's weapons, teeth and claws, glittered for a moment in the tropical sun. Herrera jammed his left forearm into the cat's mouth, locking it open. He twisted, and the jaguar's rear paws raked empty air.

Then they were locked together on the ground. Herrera was inside the reach of the killing fore claws, and locking his legs around the beast rendered the rear claws ineffective. His right arm looped around the animal's neck, holding their faces close. They wrestled eye-to-eye. Morgan anticipated the crunch sound of a breaking arm bone, but it never came. Herrera rocked forward, swinging his left arm out, straightening it with amazing force. The jaguar's head, locked to that arm by its own jaws, twisted around at a sharp angle and for the second time in minutes, they heard the crack of a neck breaking.

The crowd remained silent until the jaguar stopped twitching and Herrera managed to roll the dead animal over and disengage himself from it. When he stood, sweat glistened on his skin like oil, adding to his muscle
definition. He reminded Morgan of Hercules movies he had seen when he was a kid. As the gladiator rose to his feet, the men surrounding the arena roared their approval.

With casual ease, Herrera leaped out of the pit to stand before Bastidas. He spread his hands to his sides, bowing at the waist before his master. Looking up at him, Morgan heard Felicity swallow hard. Herrera was a mass of muscles that never seemed to relax. Bastidas stood and smiled up at Herrera.

“You have honored me today, my friend,” Bastidas said. “Now you must have the doctor look at that arm right away.”

“Yes, Captain Bastidas.”

“And I believe a tetanus shot is in order,” the smaller man continued.

“At once, Captain Bastidas.”

“Just before you go, I would like you to meet my new security chiefs,” Bastidas said, as Morgan and Felicity gained their feet. “I have hired their firm to oversee our safety for the last few days of the project. This is Mister Morgan Stark. His associate is Miss Felicity O'Brian.” Herrera stuck his right hand out and Morgan took it. The pressure was fierce but brief. The two men smiled at each other.

“You protect the project,” Herrera said. “I am all the protection Captain Bastidas needs.” So saying, he walked off as if his mind was already elsewhere.

“Rodrigo Herrera is very dedicated to me,” Bastidas said, standing.

“He's that,” Morgan said, flexing his hand. “And strong too.”

“Well, the afternoon is still young,” Bastidas said, leading them toward the front of the main house. “Would you like to look over our existing defenses? I feel they are
quite sufficient, but that is what you are being paid for, no? The Pentagon requires me to take certain precautions, else they will move their own people in. That I will not tolerate. For yourselves, it should result in a very easy assignment.”

“Perhaps so, Mister Bastidas, but we'll make our own evaluation,” Felicity said, as they neared their leased vehicle. “By the way, do all the men call you Captain?”

“Yes, that was my rank in the Army and I've retained it. I will see you at dinner. We serve promptly at seven thirty.”

“We'll be there, boss,” Morgan assured him, starting up the engine. “I just want to make sure we can enjoy it in peace.”

“I understand,” Bastidas said. “These are difficult times for my country. It may appear peaceful on the surface but the stench of revolution is always thick in the air. And the drug traffickers continue to bring crime and violence to my land. I would not want that violence to overlap into my private territory here.”

Panama's greenness, its lushness, overwhelmed Felicity. Her native Ireland was known as the emerald isle but it could not compare to this. The land near the coast was fairly flat and not as rugged as the central area they had driven through earlier. Fewer pines grew near the shore, but there were trees aplenty, and ferns and bushes and more green growing things than she could classify.

She remembered being stranded in Belize not so long ago, but she was too scared then to appreciate the beauty she now saw from a moving vehicle. And the sounds. Tropical birds screeched and screamed at them nonstop, and monkeys chattered above them. She heard the sounds of the big cats as well. She imagined Morgan could identify them, but to her jaguars, ocelots and pumas sounded alike.

They drove the compound's entire cleared border, questioning guards who had all been briefed to expect them. Looking at security from their different perspectives, they both liked what they saw. But as the afternoon wore on, their conversation centered more on what they had seen at the main house.